Custard Tarts and Broken Hearts (7 page)

Mrs Gilbie unexpectedly took her hand. She had been a handsome woman in her day. There were still streaks of a fiery auburn in amongst her grey hair, and her face, though worn with hard work and illness, was still pleasant to look at. But it was her eyes that drew Nellie in: there was an intelligence there, which seemed to take in more than the bare facts told her by Sam.

‘I didn’t know my Sam was walking out with someone,’ she said in a weak voice, which came in gasps between laboured breaths. ‘I’m glad it’s you.’

Nellie tried to explain but struggled to find words. How could she tell this proud mother that Sam was the last person she was thinking of walking out with?

‘He’s… very kind,’ she finished lamely.

‘He’s a good boy. He’s been the breadwinner since his father passed away and he’s never once complained. But you know that already. He doesn’t make a show of things, but his feelings go very deep, Nellie. What I mean is, I hope you’ll be good to him, won’t you? And if ever the day comes...’ she took in a wheezing breath ‘... then be good to my children as well.’ Here she paused, while she struggled with a bout of breathlessness that Nellie thought had ended the conversation. She thought the woman, who had closed her eyes, had drifted off into sleep. But then she stirred and, still with her eyes closed, went on in a barely audible voice. ‘Look after Sam and the children… when the time comes. I can see you’re the one for him, Nellie. I can see it in his eyes.’ Her voice had faded away almost to nothing and now there was only a silence, waiting for Nellie to fill it.

All Nellie could think of was her dream, how she had been falling with Ted, through the gap in Tower Bridge, to the engulfing water below. And now it felt to her as if another gap was opening up to swallow her, here, in this little cosy room, where the dying woman was extracting from her a promise she could never keep. How could she promise such a thing? How could she not?

7

Bread

Nellie inhaled the tantalizing aroma of the freshly baked crusty loaves. There were thousands of them, stacked on trestle tables in the large lecture hall of the Labour Institute. She had left Sam Gilbie’s home, without breakfast, not wishing to deprive the children or his sick mother of their last bit of bread and jam. She’d last eaten the evening before, sharing a scant half of Sam’s mutton stew. Matty had ladled out the supper, giving Nellie mostly cabbage. Nellie admired her fierce protectiveness towards her older brother. She would have done the same. In fact, it hadn’t been long before Nellie was bewitched by the child. She had a way of singing to herself as she undertook the grown-up tasks of the kitchen, and when she finally took herself off to bed she was still singing. While Nellie washed up plates, she could hear Matty’s voice, clear and pure and bright, receding up the stairs.

‘We call her our little canary,’ Sam explained. ‘She keeps the place bright and it reminds us of Dad. He had a good voice.’

She and Matty had shared the bed in the top back bedroom. The other room was occupied by Sam and his brother, while their mother, who was too weak to climb stairs, had a truckle bed in the kitchen. The little girl was still awake when Nellie finally crept into the bedroom. She snuggled up in the bed, next to Nellie, and now seemed to view her visit as a great adventure. What was left of the night was almost all used up listening to the little canary’s chattering and childish confidences, until finally Nellie fell into a fitful sleep, full of dreams of little caged birds, singing, singing, singing.

Now, standing behind this trestle table loaded with bread felt like torture. Her hollow stomach gurgled and she wanted nothing more than to tear into one of those warm, enticing loaves. Instead, she went to find Eliza James. She found her out in the back yard, supervising the deliveries of food pouring in from well-wishers and strike supporters. The woman had an energetic air about her, as though the act of standing still was only ever a launching pad for another activity. Now she was moving down a line of packing cases, list in hand, ticking off each delivery.

‘Perishables over there in the brick outhouse. They need to be distributed first.’ She addressed some volunteer dockers, who immediately started to heave off crates of fish, stacked in ice.

Eliza James turned and noticed Nellie waiting patiently for instructions.

‘I’ve come to help with the loaves, madam,’ Nellie said quietly.

Eliza smiled broadly, obviously remembering her from the day before. ‘Ah, it’s Nellie, isn’t it? I see you survived your father’s wrath!’

‘I’m afraid he chucked me out when I got back, madam.’

‘You don’t mean to say you spent the night on the streets?’ Eliza’s shock was obvious, and Nellie felt acute shame on behalf of her father.

‘No, madam, I stayed with… a friend.’ She hardly knew how to describe Sam now his kindness had subtly shifted their relationship. ‘Sam, the young feller that helped me yesterday, Sam Gilbie.’

Nellie immediately became conscious of an uncharacteristic stillness about Eliza. Once more, she felt she’d stumbled upon a feeling of connection between Eliza and Sam. Nellie’s curiosity needed to be sated. ‘You met him yesterday,’ she probed. ‘Do you know him?’

For the first time, Nellie saw that Eliza’s habitual poise had left her, and she actually stuttered. ‘I… no… not well. I don’t know Sam well.’

Nellie waited in silence as Eliza James, a woman who could command thousands from atop a tea crate, stumbled and blushed, but she said no more. Instead, Eliza hastily turned to address a query from one of the young lady volunteers about the queue of noisy women forming at the door of the institute.

‘Yes, let them in now, if you will, Sarah.’

When she turned back to Nellie, she was more composed. The smooth veneer, which had cracked briefly, was once again in place and she was every inch the Madam Mecklenburgh of the podium.

‘But look, Nellie, we must help you find somewhere. You’ve lost your home for the cause and the least we can do is help you find somewhere permanent.’

Nellie just had time to thank Eliza for the offer of help before Sarah came back to marshal her away to the work station. She led Nellie back into the lecture hall, full of the fragrant loaves, and immediately Nellie’s growling stomach protested. Once she was engaged in making up parcels of bread and tea for strikers’ families, she slipped a loaf under the trestle table. Digging her fingers into the end, Nellie pulled out a hunk of the soft white bread, surreptitiously stuffing it into her mouth. She was starving and it was delicious.

The doors opened at eight o’clock, and after three hours the stream of women and children showed no sign of slacking. The hall was all confusion, full of chatter, laughter and screaming babies, but as soon as Ted came through the door Nellie spotted him. She was so disconcerted that she handed out an extra food parcel to a woman and her children, who trotted off quickly with their windfall. Ted walked boldly up to the trestle table, leaned over and filched a loaf.

‘Oi, keep your hands off, Ted Bosher!’ She went to slap his hand, but he simply laughed at her,

‘While I’m at it, I’ll have one of these an’ all.’ And he leaned across the table and stole a kiss for good measure.

‘How did you get on with the old man last night?’

When Nellie told him, Ted’s face hardened. ‘Why d’you go with Gilbie? Me mum would’ve taken you in!’

Nellie shook her head. ‘No, Ted, she’s got enough on her plate, without me turning up on her doorstep.’

Ted seemed unconvinced and turned his anger on her father. ‘I tell you what, Nell, you’ve got more guts than your old man will ever have, turning his back on his own! Don’t worry, he’ll get his, we’re going to start cracking down on the scabs.’

Nellie grew frightened. Hard as he was, her father’s explanation of his behaviour had made a kind of sense. ‘No, don’t say that, Ted. He’s only doing what he thinks is best for the family. You can’t bully people into going along. I’ve made me bed—’

‘And now we’ll just have to find you another one to lie in…’ His green eyes twinkled mischievously and Nellie caught his meaning. She flushed.

‘Don’t you come the old acid, Ted Bosher. You may call us the custard tarts but that don’t mean you can take advantage!’

Nellie shoved another parcel into a woman’s hands and beckoned to Sarah. Her bruised ribs ached, her legs were trembling with tiredness, and her heart was thudding with what felt like fear. She felt caged behind the table, cornered by Ted and suddenly overwhelmed. Like a hunted animal, her instinct told her to head for home, and yet she had no home, not now.

‘Can I take a break now, Sarah? Is there anyone to fill in?’

The young woman smiled over at her. ‘I can do that, Nellie. You go off and have a bite to eat. You look tired out. There’s a little canteen set up in the basement.’

Nellie hugged Sarah gratefully and swept past the young man, feeling a fool as she remembered her father’s warnings. Ted followed her, with the loaf of bread still clutched in his hand.

‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Nell. Listen—’

But she let the double doors swing back in his face and was already clattering down the stone steps to the basement kitchen.

‘What a stupid, stupid fool! He’s only interested in what he can get,’ she berated herself.

It was mortifying to her to think her father had been right, probably knowing a young chap like Ted could get his pick of the girls. She sat at a round wooden table, with a mug of tea and a bowl of soup. Eliza James and her helpers had thought of everything, even down to feeding their own workers. She’d heard Eliza had written to all the newspapers, asking for handouts and funds to support the strike. The woman must have worked round the clock to get so much organized; Nellie doubted Eliza would ever find time to solve her personal predicament.

She was beginning to wonder if the estrangement from her family hadn’t been a huge mistake, even for such a good cause. She’d faced the rift with her father because she wanted to show herself, more than anyone else, that she wasn’t just a wage slave. But now the memory of Bobby’s tears and her sister’s anguish made her realize what was really important to her. Who would be a mother to the family, if not her? She was no Madam Mecklenburgh, she knew that much – a woman with seemingly no other life, or family, or purpose, but the struggle. Nellie had taken on the mothering of Bobby, Freddie and Alice without complaint, and whatever her father had done to her, she couldn’t desert them. Now she wondered how they would be coping without her. Still, she told herself, Alice was a good girl; she would manage for the time being.

She dipped some bread into the soup, but a lump of it stuck in her throat and the tears welled up, like an unstoppable spring. Eliza James might be able to find her a room, but the thought of another night away from her family was more than she could bear. She put up her hand, to shield her face and her tears. She heard chair legs scrape as someone came to sit beside her. Quickly brushing her wet cheeks, she looked up into Lily’s worried face.

‘Ted’s just told me! Oh, Nellie, why didn’t you come to me?’

Nellie fell gratefully into her friend’s arms, unable to stop her tears. ‘It was too late and your poor mum’s got no room, and then Sam came along. He was so kind, but, oh, Lil, I don’t think I can stay there again. I’ve promised his mother something stupid!’

Nellie felt entirely safe confiding in her friend, for she knew Lily would not judge her, and now all her troubles and worries came tumbling out between sobs. ‘Mrs Gilbie’s so ill, I didn’t have the heart to say no. Now I’ve gone and promised I’ll take on her kids if she dies!’ She buried her face on her friend’s shoulder, with another heaving sob. ‘Oh, Lily, what am I going to do? I’ve got enough on my hands, with looking after me own family!’ She went on, in a choking whisper, ‘And I must’ve given her the wrong idea about me and Sam… I’m sure she wouldn’t have asked, unless she thought he was my feller!’

‘Oh you soppy ’apporth, Nellie Clark, that won’t never come back on you!’ Lily said, cutting through Nellie’s confusion with her own certainty. ‘And it’s not
your
fault she got the wrong end of the stick. You must’ve been in a right two an’ eight, poor thing. Now, I don’t want to hear no arguments. You’re staying with me tonight!’

Nellie’s objections were stifled by another hug from her friend. There was no one she would rather stay with, even though it would mean sleeping on the floor.

‘We’ll make you up a cosy little bed next to mine, Nell, and at least you’ll be close to the kids.’ Lily herself slept in a cot bed, made up each night in the kitchen.

‘Thanks, Lily, the poor little things were heartbroken. I’ve promised them I’ll go and see them, but I’ve got to pick the right time.’

Lily nodded understandingly. ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’ll let Alice know where you are and she can bring the boys round later on.’

A wave of gratitude overwhelmed Nellie, and the two girls linked arms as they went back upstairs to dole out more food parcels to the seemingly unending line of hungry strikers’ families.

It was almost like being at Pearce Duff’s, the two of them working together as they reached for the food, wrapped it, and handed it out. And when Lily took her home at the end of the day, Nellie was glad she at least had her own strike-fund pay and a food parcel, to contribute to the Bosher household.

When they entered the kitchen, Betty and Billy Bosher were sitting down to a meagre tea of bread and dripping, but Betty took Nellie’s presence in her stride.

‘’Course you’re staying here, where else?’ was Betty’s immediate response. ‘That’s so long as you can put up with this big bugger’s snoring all night. The walls is paper thin!’

Billy Bosher’s large pug-nosed face creased into laughter as he got up from the table and grabbed his coat from the back of the kitchen chair. ‘I’m off. I’d rather be on the bloody picket line at Butler’s Wharf than in a houseful of women. I’m outnumbered good and proper now!’

As he was leaving, Nellie glimpsed through the kitchen window three familiar figures, trooping down the basement steps. She ran to the front door and immediately swung Bobby up into her arms. Even the usually undemonstrative Freddie hugged her, as Betty called from the kitchen for Nellie to bring them all in. She plonked an enormous enamel teapot on the table and an assortment of mismatched cups. ‘They’re all welcome to sleep in the kitchen too, but we’ll have to put ’em top and tail!’ she added cheerily. Once the three Clark children were seated around the Boshers’ kitchen table, drinking Betty’s dark sweet brew, Alice quickly unburdened herself. She said their father had forbidden all mention of Nellie’s name, but oddly he seemed to have lost interest in the rest of them.