Part 4 (2/2)

'Carrie was tellin' me about that friend of 'ers.'

Nellie shook her head sadly. 'It's a shame about that family,' she answered. 'They live in Bacon Street Buildin's. Florrie Axford knows them well. She said the gel's farvver is on relief an' 'e sells bits an' pieces from a suitcase in the markets. 'E 'as ter go over the water ter do 'is sellin'. Poplar an' Whitechapel, I fink Florrie said. 'E can't do any sellin' around 'ere, somebody's bound ter give 'im away. b.l.o.o.d.y shame really.'

'Can't 'e do anyfink else?' William asked.

Nellie shook her head. ''E 'ad a bad accident in the docks a few years ago. Got smashed up bad, by all accounts. Florrie said 'e broke 'is back an' both legs. One's inches shorter than the ovver. 'E can't do any 'eavy work at all now.'

'Carrie told me she was goin' ter ask if I'd let Sara come wiv us on Sat.u.r.day but the kid can't come now. 'Er muvver's ill apparently an' she's gotta look after 'er.'

Nellie finished her cocoa and put the mug down on the table. 'It mus' be b.l.o.o.d.y 'ard fer the kid. She looks a poor little mite. 'Er clothes look like they're fallin' off 'er. I fink I'll 'ave a word wiv Florrie termorrer. P'raps we can sort a few bits an' pieces out fer the kid ter wear.'

William nodded. 'I don't s'pose Florrie's got anyfink though,' he said. 'She never 'ad any kids.'

'Florrie knows a lot o' people round 'ere,' Nellie replied. 'I bet she'll scrounge somefink.'

William stood up and yawned, then he reached out for Nellie's hand. 'C'mon, luv,' he said. 'Let's go ter bed.'

She stood up and felt the strong grip as his hand closed around hers. 'I mus' remember ter talk ter Florrie termorrer,' she said, yawning.

It was late when Nora Flynn heard the front door shut. She had looked in at the room directly below hers once or twice and satisfied herself that Josephine was sleeping soundly, then she had settled down to read. The book fell from her lap as she stretched her arms above her head and yawned widely. The sound of a deep chuckle followed by a high-pitched giggle carried up to her room and she sighed irritably as she glanced up at the clock on the mantelshelf. It was past twelve. They'll wake Josie up if they're not careful, she thought, walking over to her door and pressing her ear against its panel.

There was a clattering noise and then the sound of a door closing. Nora waited a few minutes and then quietly went down the carpeted stairs and peered into the child's room once more. Josephine was sleeping soundly and Nora breathed a sigh of relief. As she turned and made her way back up to her own room she heard mumbled voices and then giggling. It was always the same with George, she thought. He would spend a week or more sitting in his darkened room in the evenings, drinking heavily, then as though feeling he had done his penance he would suddenly change and become almost friendly. It was then that he brought back those women. Nora knew where George spent his evenings when he went out. He had told her about the music hall in Abbey Street where saucily dressed girls danced around the tables. It was at the music hall that pleasure could be bought for a drink or two, but of course George had not told her that. Nora had known for some time of the dubious reputation of that particular hall and guessed that George's latest woman friend had been solicited there.

She sighed as she got undressed. There was a time when she would have welcomed George Galloway into her own bed, she admitted to herself. He was still an attractive man, although coa.r.s.e and very often ill-mannered, and fate had made them akin. Both had lost their partners in tragic circ.u.mstances, and through the children Nora had steadily grown to know George. When the pain of her loss had eased and nights became more bearable, Nora had begun to think about her employer in a physical way. She had taken pains to make herself as presentable as possible and tried to please him with the meals she knew he was fond of. There had been little if any response from him, although occasionally he sat with her and talked at length about his problems. Nora had tried to open up to him about her own feelings but natural reserve inhibited her. In his own way George was still grieving, and her discreet attempts to let him know the way she felt were lost on him.

Nora had finally realised that she was not going to lure him into her bed and resigned herself to doing the job she was paid to do. Lately, George had become more morose, and a hard, unfeeling father to his two sons. As far as Josephine was concerned, his att.i.tude seemed to be one of thinly veiled dislike. He spoke to the child only when he had to. It was left to Nora Flynn to provide the love and care lacking in the child's natural parent.

It was patently obvious to his housekeeper that George blamed the child for Martha's death. What he would not admit to himself, Nora reflected, was the fact that Martha was thirty-six and not very strong when he had made her pregnant. There had been a gap of eleven years since young Frank's birth and Martha had paid a tragic price for her third pregnancy. Maybe George did blame himself, she thought. Maybe in his inner thoughts he knew that he had been unfeeling and clumsy. Perhaps that was why he punished himself with the bottle, and with the hard-faced, painted tarts he brought home. He would do better to stay sober long enough to take stock. Maybe then he would see what was there for him under his own roof.

The following evening the two women walked purposefully along Page Street and turned left into Bacon Street. Each of them carried a brown paper carrier bag. As they reached the tenement block, Nellie Tanner pulled a face. 'Gawd 'elp us!' she breathed.

Florrie Axford nodded at Nellie's reaction on seeing the buildings close to. 'What a b.l.o.o.d.y dump,' she remarked, her eyes flitting over the front exterior of the dwellings and catching sight of a mangy cat sniffing at a kipper bone in a block doorway. 'Fancy 'avin' ter live in a place like this.'

Nellie nodded, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her face up as she stepped over an old newspaper that contained the remains of some fish and chips. 'I thought our ole 'ouses were bad enough, Flo,' she muttered incredulously.

Bacon Street Buildings was a four-storey tenement block which had been built in 1840 and had long since fallen into disrepair. There were four entrances which led up flights of stone stairs to small, unconnected landings on each level. On every landing there were four flats, and each storey contained sixteen flats. At the back of the building was a foul-smelling tannery. It was one of the larger rear flats on the top floor overlooking the factory that Florrie and Nellie were making for.

As they climbed the well-worn stairs, puffing at their exertions, the two women saw naked gas-jets spluttering out dim light on landings where the front doors had long since shed their coats of varnish. Sounds came drifting out from the flats. They heard babies crying and voices raised in anger as young, miserable children were scolded by despairing, miserable mothers.

When they reached the top landing Florrie stopped outside number 32 and gave Nellie an anxious glance before knocking. After a few moments the door opened and they were confronted by the young Sara Knight, clad in a long dress with an ap.r.o.n tied around her middle. The child stood wide-eyed, her pallid face full of surprise as she looked up at the two visitors.

'We've got a few fings fer yer mum, Sara,' Florrie said, holding up her carrier bag.

The child stood back for the women to enter. As they walked into the disordered flat, they saw two young children sitting at the kitchen table. Both children's faces were smeared red as they ate slices of bread and jam. There was a low fire burning in the grate which was enclosed by a metal fire-guard. Freshly washed napkins had been placed across the guard and were steaming dry. The windows were covered with holed and grubby curtains, and equally grubby wallpaper hung down from the walls.

Sara led the way to the bedroom and Florrie and Nellie followed her in. The child's mother was propped up in bed with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a towel around her neck. On top of the bedclothes there was an old overcoat, and beside the bed medicine bottles and an empty soup bowl were sitting on a chair. A baby slept fitfully in a cot beneath the window and in the far corner a battered metal trunk stood against the water-stained wall.

Annie Knight pulled the blanket closer about her and forced a smile. 'Sara luv, bring the ladies a chair, there's a dear,' she croaked.

Sara left the room and returned with only one chair, looking at her mother for guidance. Florrie smiled at the child. 'It's all right, Sara, I'll sit on the bed,' she said.

When the child left the room, Florrie turned to Annie. 'I'm Florrie Axford and this is Nellie Tanner, Carrie's mum,' she told her. 'We've got a few fings 'ere fer yer. 'Ope yer not offended?'

Annie smiled at Nellie. 'She's a nice gel, your Carrie. 'Er an' Sara seem ter git on very well.'

Nellie smiled back at the sick woman. 'Yeah, they do. My Carrie's always talkin' about your Sara.'

Annie's eyes suddenly clouded and she reached up the sleeve of her nightdress and pulled down a handkerchief with which she dabbed at her eyes for a moment. 'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'The place is a mess an' the doctor told me I can't get up yet. It's a lot fer Sara, but she's a good gel. She does the best she can.'

'What's wrong wiv yer, Annie?' Florrie asked.

'Doctor Preston said it's quinsy. It's burst, but it's left me so weak. I've gotta keep this towel roun' me neck. Sara does me bread poultices an' it's eased the pain. She's a good gel.'

Florrie fished down into her carrier bag and took out a bundle of clothes. 'Yer might be able ter make use o' these. There's a coat might do Sara a turn, Annie,' she said. 'They're all clean an' I know where they come from, gel.'

Annie smiled her thanks and watched as Nellie unpacked the contents of her bag and laid the articles on the end of the bed. The sick woman's eyes opened in surprise and grat.i.tude as she saw tins of soup, a pat of b.u.t.ter wrapped in waxed paper, a large bag of biscuits and a block of strong red cheese. There was also a packet of tea and a tin of condensed goat's milk. When Nellie brought out the last item from the bag, a packet of dolly mixtures, Annie broke down and cried. She knew only too well how hard it must have been for people to provide her with such gifts from their own impoverished larders. The gift of sweets for the children had touched her heart and she shook her head as she struggled to find words to express her thanks.

'There's no need ter fank us, Annie,' Florrie said quietly. 'Yer'd be the first ter give if yer was able. We all look after our own round 'ere. It's the only way we can survive, an' b.l.o.o.d.y survive we will.'

Nellie had been choking back her own emotions as she saw the look of grat.i.tude and wonderment on the white face of Annie Knight. Now she swallowed hard. 'Look, Mrs Knight, I was finkin',' she said. 'I don't know if Sara mentioned it ter yer, but my Will 'as ter collect bales of 'ay from the country now an' again an' 'e usually takes my Carrie wiv 'im. 'E was gonna take your Sara too but she told my gel she wouldn't be able ter go, what wiv yer bein' poorly. I was wonderin' if yer'd let 'er go? I could come in an' keep an eye on the little ones till she gets back in the evenin'.'

Annie was still trying to comprehend her good fortune and her eyes were bright with surprise as she nodded. 'It'd make a luvverly change fer her. She 'as worked 'ard an' she never complains. That's if yer really don't mind?'

Florrie reached out and touched Annie's arm. 'I'll come wiv Nellie too,' she said, smiling. 'It'll be no trouble, will it, Nell?'

Annie leaned back on her pillow and sighed deeply. 'I was feelin' very low when I woke up this mornin',' she said in a husky voice. 'The kids was bawlin' an' young Sara was strugglin' ter keep 'em quiet an' get me breakfast. I didn't care if I lived or died right then, but now I'm feelin' much better. Yer mus' fank all those people fer me, gels. An' fank yer both fer all yer kindness. I'll never ferget it.'

The women sat chatting for some time, then, as they said their goodbyes and made their way out into the kitchen, Nellie and Florrie exchanged glances. The two young children were sitting cross-legged in front of the fire-guard as Sara shared out the dolly mixtures between them.

The two women walked out of the flat and made their way back down into the dark street. It was not until they had turned into Page Street that they broke silence.

'Did yer see the look on those kids' faces when we came out?' Nellie said to her friend.

Florrie nodded. 'It was somefink ter see, wasn't it?' she said quietly.

Chapter Six.

Sharkey Morris and his friend Soapy Symonds were sitting together in Charlie's coffee shop in Tooley Street. When the cafe owner's wife Beattie slapped down two thick toasted teacakes on the grey marble table, Sharkey opened his and looked at the cheese filling before taking a bite.

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