Gaslight in Page Street (55 page)

Josephine had borne the tragic news with courage, and the following Monday evening attended her nursing training at the church hall as usual. She had tried to talk with her father and find some common comfort with him but found it impossible. Geoffrey’s death seemed to have widened the barrier between them and Josephine was left to grieve alone. She was determined to be strong and threw herself into her work, but each day as she gazed down at the sick and maimed soldiers on the endless rows of stretchers she thought of Geoffrey, and found herself mumbling frantic prayers that Charlie Tanner would return safely.

The death in action of Geoffrey Galloway had saddened everyone who knew him. William Tanner was particularly upset. He had always found Geoff to be a friendly and easygoing young man with a serious side to his nature. He had managed the firm well and at times gone against his own father when he deemed it right. William felt that this was something Frank Galloway would not be inclined to do. The younger brother was less approachable than Geoffrey had been. He was more like his father and seemed to have the same ruthless streak.

The young man’s death had come at a time when there was already a tense atmosphere in the yard. Jake Mitchell had grudgingly apologised for his assault on Jack Oxford but still displayed a sullen, mocking attitude. William could not help dwelling on the frosty meeting he had had with George the morning following the attack on the yard man. Galloway had spelt out in no uncertain terms the reasons why he was not prepared to get rid of Mitchell and there had been a thinly veiled threat in the owner’s words. William knew for certain now that if it ever came to a choice between him and Mitchell, he would be the one to go. In that eventuality Jack Oxford would be sacked too, William was sure, and he felt sorry for the tall, clumsy yard man. Jack did his work well enough and asked only that he be left alone to get on with it. He too had worked in the yard for many years, although William was well aware that this did not seem to count for much where Galloway was concerned. There was also a distinct likelihood that things would begin to change for the worse now that he had lost his elder son. William felt that the loss of Geoffrey would make Galloway even more ruthless than ever.

During the quiet days of late December, after the Christmas festivities, Fred Bradley suddenly summoned up the courage to invite his young employee out for the evening. Carrie was wiping down the tables after the last customers had left, and Fred sauntered over looking a little awkward.

‘Look, Carrie, would yer like to come to the music ’all on Friday night?’ he said suddenly. ‘The Christmas revue’s still on at the Camberwell Palace, and it’s supposed ter be really good.’

Carrie looked at him in surprise. ‘This Friday?’ she asked, too taken aback to say anything else.

Fred nodded, his face flushing slightly. ‘Well, after all, everyone else has been enjoyin’ ’emselves over the ’oliday. The break’d do yer good,’ he said, smiling nervously. ‘As long as yer can put up wiv an old geezer like me escortin’ yer while all the young lads are away ...’

Carrie was touched by Fred’s disarming remark, and the wide-eyed look of anticipation on his face made her chuckle. ‘All right, Fred,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, that’d be very nice.’

‘We can go in the first ’ouse,’ he went on, ‘an’ I’ll see yer back to yer front door, don’t worry.’

As the time of the outing approached, Carrie began to feel apprehensive. She remembered the times she had gone to the music hall with Tommy and she was worried in case Fred tried to become too familiar with her. But it turned out to be a lovely evening.

Fred looked smart in his tight-fitting suit, starched collar and sleeked-back dark hair, and he held his head proudly erect as he escorted Carrie along the Jamaica Road to the tram stop.

The show was very entertaining, and Carrie was tickled by Fred’s noisy laugh. During the interval he bought her a packet of Nestlé’s chocolates wrapped in gold paper, which they shared, enjoying the sweet taste. When the lights dimmed for the second half of the show, Fred sat forward eagerly in his seat, looking directly in front of him as though afraid he might miss something, and Carrie was touched by his boyish enthusiasm.

When the performance was over and the audience crowded into the street, Carrie held on to Fred’s arm tightly and screwed up her face against the cold as they waited at the tram stop.

As good as his word, Fred saw her back to her home in Page Street, and as they walked they chatted together like old friends. At the front door Carrie thanked him for the evening and he made a slight, comical bow, smiling awkwardly. Then he turned away and walked off through the gaslight, whistling loudly as though to hide his embarrassment.

A week later, at the beginning of January 1917, Carrie heard from one of the carmen who called in the café that Tommy Allen was home from the war. She was unable to glean much information from the customer except that Tommy was wounded and had got his discharge. The news threw Carrie into a state of confusion, wondering whether she should go to see him. She could still remember clearly all the anger and remorse she had experienced at the end of their affair, and yet despite all that had happened between them she was still very fond of Tommy.

When she finished work that Saturday morning Carrie walked through the railway arches into St James’s Road and knocked on Tommy’s front door. She stood there waiting in the cold air for what seemed an eternity. Finally she heard noises in the passage and the door opened. Tommy seemed taken aback to see her but quickly invited her in and led the way into the tiny parlour. He was leaning on a walking stick and his left foot was heavily bandaged and encased in a boot that had been cut away at the instep.

‘One o’ the customers told me yer was ’ome,’ she said, sitting herself down beside the lighted kitchen range.

Tommy smiled awkwardly. ‘News travels fast. I only got back a few days ago. I’ve been fer convalescence in Wales.’

Carrie watched as he eased himself back in his chair and stretched out his bandaged foot towards the fire. ‘What ’appened?’ she asked.

‘Frostbite,’ he answered simply. He saw her enquiring look. ‘I lost me toes.’

She winced visibly. ‘I’m so sorry. Are yer in a lot o’ pain?’

He shook his head. ‘There’s not much pain now. The only problem is, I can’t walk prop’ly. I’ll be able ter do wivout this stick in time but I’ve gotta get used ter ’obblin’ about.’

Carrie felt uncomfortable under his gaze and glanced towards the fire. Tommy pulled himself up straight in the chair. ‘I’m sorry, I should ’ave asked yer if yer wanted a cup o’ tea,’ he said quickly.

‘I’ll get it,’ she said, getting to her feet, but Tommy stood up and reached for the teapot.

‘I’ll do it. I’m not exactly useless,’ he remarked with a note of irritation in his voice.

Carrie watched him as he poured the tea and could see that he had lost weight. He looked pale and drawn, and there were dark shadows around his eyes. His short-cropped dark hair showed signs of premature greying. ‘’Ow’s yer mum?’ she asked, trying to ease the tension.

‘She’s all right. She’s still wiv me bruvver,’ he answered, handing her the tea. ‘I’ll be ’avin’ ’er back, soon as I can.’

She sipped in silence, her eyes straying down to his bandaged foot. She grew more uncomfortable, realising she could not think of anything to say.

Tommy suddenly brightened. ‘I’m not complainin’. I was one o’ the lucky ones,’ he told her, smiling. ‘I was on a night patrol, the last in the line, an’ I slipped in a shell-’ole. It was freezin’ cold an’ I couldn’t call out. I jus’ sat there until the patrol come back. By that time I couldn’t feel me feet an’ that’s ’ow I got frostbite. As I say, though, I was one o’ the lucky ones. The next day I was carted off ter the forward ’ospital an’ at the same time me mates went over the top. It was sheer murder, so I was told. I could ’ave bin wiv ’em if I ’adn’t fell in that shell-’ole.’

Carrie looked down into her empty cup. ‘My bruvvers are all in France. Danny, the youngest, ’as only jus’ gone over there,’ she said quietly.

‘They’ll be all right,’ Tommy said cheerfully. ‘It’ll be over soon. There was talk about an armistice when I was in the ’ospital.’

‘I ’ope yer right,’ she said with feeling. ‘We’re all worried sick. Me mum didn’t want Danny ter go, ’im bein’ the youngest, but ’e wouldn’t listen.’

‘None of us would,’ Tommy replied, easing his position in the chair. ‘Anyway, let’s change the subject. What about you?’

‘I’m well, an’ I’m still workin’ in the café,’ she told him. ‘It seems strange now, though. Most o’ the customers are older men. There’s only a few young ones come in. It’s the same in our street. All the young men ’ave gone in the army.’

Tommy looked into the fire. ‘I bumped into Jean,’ he said suddenly, his eyes coming up to meet hers. ‘Yer remember me tellin’ yer about Jean? She was the young lady I used ter go out wiv. Apparently she’s split up wiv ’er bloke an’ we’ve been out a few times. She wants us ter get tergevver again.’

‘Will yer?’ Carrie asked him.

‘I dunno,’ he answered, prodding at a torn piece of linoleum with his walking stick. ‘It all went wrong before an’ now I’m takin’ me muvver back as well.’

‘Does Jean know?’ Carrie asked.

‘I told ’er, but she still wants us ter try an’ make a go of it,’ Tommy replied.

Carrie’s eyes searched his for an indication. ‘Do yer really want to?’

He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve bin finkin’ over all that’s ’appened an’ I realised I didn’t give ’er a fair chance. It was the same wiv me an’ you, Carrie. We were doomed right from the start. I’ve decided ter try again wiv Jean, an’ this time I won’t let the ole lady come between us. One fing’s fer sure, though, I’ll never ferget our time tergevver. We did ’ave some good times, didn’t we?’

Carrie nodded, a strange feeling of sadness and relief welling up inside her. Tommy had been her first love, but she knew that he was right. Their romance had been doomed to failure. She had come to accept their parting and realised that he had too. Although she was sad at the thought of what might have been, it was some relief to know that Tommy had a prospect of happiness.

‘I wish yer all the best, Tommy,’ she said, getting up from her chair.

‘That goes fer me too, Carrie,’ he said, taking her arm and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. ‘I ’ope we can stay good friends.’

Carrie walked back through the railway arches deep in thought. The war had cruelly changed Tommy just as it had Billy Sullivan. How many more young men would be maimed or killed before it was over? she wondered, trying not to think about her three absent brothers. A train passed overhead and the rumble sent a flock of pigeons into the air. A chill wind stung her face and Carrie shivered as she crossed Jamaica Road.

Since his brother’s death Frank had been hard put to it at the yard. His father had lost interest in the business and very rarely shown his face in Page Street. It was only after many arguments and much pleading that Frank managed to persuade the old man to become involved in the firm again. At first George called into the yard once or twice a week, but as time went by he began to turn up more regularly, and it was obvious to everyone how he had changed. He was an embittered man, and he made life uncomfortable for those around him. Jack Oxford was always an easy target for the firm owner’s anger and he kept himself out of sight whenever possible.

On Saturday morning George Galloway drove his trap into the yard and jumped down, looking agitated. ‘’E’s bin droppin’ ’is ’ead. I fink it’s the knee joint,’ he said to William.

The foreman bent down and lifted the gelding’s foreleg, gently running his thumb and forefinger down from the knee to the fetlock. ‘It’s a thoroughpin,’ he pronounced, lowering the horse’s leg.

‘A what?’

‘An inflamed tendon sheath. Look, yer can feel it.’ William showed him.

‘What yer gonna do, poultice it?’ Galloway asked.

William nodded. ‘I’ll put the ’orse in the small stable an’ put a linseed poultice on. It’ll need a couple o’ days’ rest.’

Galloway nodded and walked away, mumbling under his breath.

Frank looked up as his father came into the office. ‘There’s a message from Don McBain,’ he told him. ‘He said it’s on for next week.’

George allowed himself a brief smile. ‘Well, that’s a bit o’ good news. Don’s bringin’ anuvver punch-bag down from Glasgow,’ he said, lowering himself heavily into his chair. ‘I’m sure Jake’ll be pleased. ’E’s bin waitin’ fer this one.’

Frank shook his head slowly. ‘You ought to be careful, Father. One of these days someone’s going to put Mitchell down on the floor and you’ll lose a packet.’

‘I know what I’m doin’,’ George said quickly. ‘I can judge a fighter, an’ if the opposition looked too good I wouldn’t lay a bet. Besides, McBain pays ’is boys ter climb inter the ring. I pay Jake Mitchell on results. That way there’s an incentive. Not that Jake needs any goadin’. ’E’s got a vicious nature, an’ when ’e pulls those gloves on ’e wants a lot o’ stoppin’. Jake jus’ loves ter fight.’

Frank shrugged his shoulders and got on with the books. He was feeling worried and not in the least inclined to hear about Jake Mitchell’s prowess. Bella had told him she was pregnant, and she was none too happy about it either. Frank had already been rowing with her over her socialising, the endless round of parties she had been attending with that nancy boy Hubert. Not that there was reason to suspect him of any impropriety, Frank thought to himself with a smile. Even Bella admitted that Hubert preferred men to women. Frank knew that the young man had many contacts in the theatrical profession, and being seen in Hubert’s company was helping to further Bella’s career, but he felt angry that she never asked him to attend the parties as well. He seemed to be totally ignored. Well, her little forays would soon be over, he told himself. Even Bella would blanch at the thought of attending one of those parties in an interesting condition.