Hattie’s Home, page 35
Lenny hunched up the velvet collar of his wide-shouldered overcoat and patted Ronnie’s face, before nimbly trotting back down Southwark Bridge Road to a waiting car.
Ronnie shoved his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking, bunching them into fists as he walked, sniffing against the cold. ‘I’ve had me chips now, oh God, well and truly had me chips,’ he muttered as he walked, not knowing where to go or what to do. All he knew was that if he didn’t turn up at Lenny’s when he was called, Hattie would pay for it; but if he did, then he would pay.
He turned into a side alley which hugged the riverside, and passing under the railway arch he found himself in Clink Street, a black cobbled place, where warehouse walls closed in on him like dark wings. A gap between the buildings gave him a glimpse of a parapet with the river beyond. He ran to it, gasping for air. I might as well chuck meself in, he thought, imagining the slap of the water and the icy grip of the tide bearing him off downriver to the sea. Tears, hot and salty, trickled into his mouth and he suddenly remembered Sue, how she’d always hated going over the bridges; even when he carried her on his back, she’d squeal. She didn’t like the water. Perhaps she wouldn’t be where he was going. He sobbed and tore his eyes from the eddying green tide surging towards London Bridge. Looking up, he saw the square, pennanted tower of Southwark Cathedral blocking out the sky above him. He pushed off from the river wall and began walking towards the cathedral. He only went in because he didn’t know where else to go. But once he’d slipped inside the dark interior he felt safe. He crept along a side aisle and found a small, pointed arched entrance into a side chapel. It was quiet. Coloured light from a stained-glass window spilled across the short pews. He picked up an embroidered kneeler and laid it on a pew, then, with his head on the kneeler and his legs curled up on the pew, he fell asleep.
When he woke up, the sun had moved round and the coloured light was dimmed. He uncurled his legs and shivered. It was cold in the side chapel, but he wished he could stay there forever. His neck muscles protested as he lifted his head. He sat up and his eye fell on a small wooden altar on which was painted a scene of Jesus on the cross, with the two thieves on either side. Ronnie thought it was horrible. Nails in your hands and your feet were the sort of thing Lenny Harper might do to you if you upset him. He leaned forward to read the gold lettering beneath the painting. This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise, it said. And then Ronnie knew what he had to do.
* * *
When Barry was finally discharged from Guy’s Hospital, the committee had told him he was welcome to stay at the squat. He could keep the hut he’d appropriated for as long as he liked, they’d said. Clara couldn’t argue with their decision. After all, she owed him her life, and Martha’s too. But she worried for Alan, who, so far, had done everything to assure her she should take all the time she needed to decide which of them she wanted. He’d been almost too accommodating. It would have made it easier for her if he’d raged or insisted, or claimed her as his own. But that wasn’t Alan, and perhaps she wouldn’t have loved him if it was.
Alan wasn’t exactly avoiding her; they were living in the same hut after all. But she had felt him withdrawing and it made her panic. She didn’t want Alan to make the decision for her and simply drift away, but neither was Barry in any condition to talk about the future. He was still in pain from his burns, and she and Hattie went daily to his hut to change his dressings and take him food, making sure he had fuel for the stove and a bucket of water. But as the weeks passed and he grew stronger, Clara knew the time had come.
Tonight, after tea, she went to fetch Barry’s covered plate, which was keeping warm on the stove. She noticed Alan glance up from the table, where he and Joe still sat. Their eyes met and he smiled. Hattie usually ate with them, returning to her empty hut to sleep. Until now, Clara had made sure she was never alone with Barry, and seeing her readying his tea things, Hattie joined her. But tonight, once they’d left the hut, Clara said, ‘Hattie, I think I’ll take Barry’s dinner in on me own tonight.’ Her hand, holding the plate, trembled. Only now did she realize how nervous she was to be stepping out on to the precipice of her future.
‘Oh!’ Hattie said, understanding immediately what this might mean. ‘You’ve made up your mind then?’
‘I think so.’
‘You think!’ Hattie said in a hushed voice, for they were still in earshot of the hut. ‘Don’t you know by now?’ She was unable to hide her exasperation.
‘It’s not easy! He’s Martha’s dad and he’s saved our lives. I do think he’s changed. I always told you he really loved me, didn’t I?’
Hattie shook her head. ‘I never bought it, Clara. Actions speak louder and all that…’
‘Actions? He would have died to save us! But I’ve started thinking about Martha more than myself. Will she blame me later on, when she finds out I sent her dad away?’
Hattie groaned. ‘You’ve got that all arse up’ard. He’s the one broke up your family when he decided to be greedy and have two! Remember? Besides, Alan would be a great dad for Martha.’
‘I know you want me to choose Al…’ As Clara said the words, she felt a wave of sadness almost knock her off her feet. It was the realization of what it would be like to give him up, send him away.
‘It’s not that,’ Hattie said, gripping her by the shoulders. ‘I just want you to decide what it is you really want and then fight for it!’
It was good to see the fire back in Hattie’s eyes, even if it was directed at her. ‘I could say the same to you, Hattie.’
Hattie’s face reddened. ‘That’s different.’
‘Is it?’ Clara replied, shocking herself with her own directness. ‘Anyway, I’m going now, Hattie. Before I lose me bottle.’
As she steadied her hands around the dinner plate and walked towards Barry’s hut, she heard Hattie call after her, ‘Just follow your heart!’ And Clara reflected how unusual the phrase sounded on the lips of her unsentimental friend.
‘Hello!’ she called, pushing open Barry’s door. ‘Your tea’s ready.’
He was dressed, washed and shaved, and sitting on the bed waiting for her. He gave his broad, sunny smile.
‘No chaperone tonight?’ he said, clearly pleased. ‘Stay for a cuppa while I have my dinner?’ he asked, as Clara pulled up a camp table and produced a knife and fork for him.
‘OK, I’ll stay,’ she agreed, going to boil a billycan of water on the stove. The hut was bare of any comforts and she was grateful that Barry hadn’t made it a home yet. She watched him eat and remembered the days in Sydney, when he’d come home after being away for a few days, supposedly doing labouring jobs.
‘When you used to come home – from being with her – and I’d make you your tea, I suppose you must have already eaten with her… I never thought of it before; couldn’t have been pleasant, trying to eat that second meal,’ she said, speaking her thoughts, and remembering how she’d always tried so hard to make something nice for him to come home to after his days eating in greasy cafés.
He paused with his fork midway to his mouth. ‘I always preferred your cooking,’ he said with a grin.
‘I don’t care about that, Barry!’ she said, enraged at his reaction. How could he believe her remembrance had anything at all to do with whose dinners he preferred. ‘I put my heart into everything I did for you! Dinners, or making our home, or looking after our baby… I did it all because I loved you, and I thought I had the same from you! It’s nothing to do with a bloody cookery contest!’
He tried to get up and grimaced, holding the thigh that had been burned raw. ‘Oh, Clara, I’m a stupid feller sometimes. I put my foot in it all the time, but I did love you like that, same as you did me. It was just the bind I was in with… her.’
She wished he would use her name. ‘It was only you who got yourself into that bind, Barry,’ she said, fixing him with a look that made him flinch.
‘I know. There’s no excuse. But I need to tell you, Clara, soon I’ll have to be moving on… unless. Well, look, I might not get you on your own again, so I need to ask again.’ He tried to drop to one knee and his face contorted with pain. She leaped up to stop him.
‘No. Don’t do that, Barry. Stay where you are – it’s hurting you.’
‘I don’t care. I just need an answer. Will you give me another chance?’ His warm brown eyes pleaded for her to remember the man he was when they first met. But the gap between then and now was a vast gulf, a chasm of disappointed hopes and dreams.
‘Barry, I’m so grateful for what you did, for saving me and Martha and Hattie. But you took me away from everything I’d ever known. I gave up my family and I went to a strange country just to be with you. You said you loved me then, but what sort of love is it that ripped out my heart and threw it away? Why would I ever give you a chance to do that all over again?’
His eyes filled with tears. ‘But I’ve given up everything for you now – to show you what a mistake I made! I’ve worked my passage here and I’ll work for you and our daughter till I drop. I promise. I’m so sorry.’
‘I know you’re sorry. But, Barry, it’s too late. My family still won’t talk to me. I’ve had to bring Martha up on me own. You don’t know how hard that was. But I’ve found some good friends here, and I’ve met a man I love with all my heart. He beat you to it, Barry. He’s already asked me to marry him, and he ain’t got another wife on the side. He loves Martha – she’ll be just fine. We’ll both be just fine.’
She felt exhilarated, free. She opened the door of the hut and breathed in a deep draught of cold air, feeling that all the corners of her heart were being swept clean of past hurts. But then she heard the strangulated sound of a man attempting to suppress his sobs. There was no doubt in her mind that Barry’s remorse and regret were genuine, but did that mean she should ever trust him again? She had almost reached their own hut when she heard heavy footsteps on the duckboards. He was behind her and she felt his hand on her shoulder and flinched away.
‘I’m sorry. Don’t look at me like I’m a monster. Just try to believe I love little Martha. If you don’t want me back I understand, but please, do it for our daughter. She deserves to have her dad!’
She brushed away his hand. ‘Don’t. You might be her father, but Alan’s been more of a dad to her than you’ve ever been!’ She could see how much it hurt him, yet there was an arrogant streak in Barry that she’d chosen to ignore, and it had fuelled his return. He couldn’t believe anyone would deny him what he wanted. She went on in the face of his shock. ‘When did you last change her nappy, or laugh at her babbling, or be proud of her first words and her first steps? Never! You just weren’t here, Barry. If you want forgiveness, you’ve got it. But you’ll never have me.’
In a few strides she was at her hut door; she didn’t look back. But once inside she felt her limbs turn to water and she leaned against the wooden door, holding on to the handle for support. Alan was sitting by the stove. He looked up, a question in his eyes if not on his lips.
Joe got up. ‘Just popping out,’ he said. ‘Something I forgot to tell Hattie.’ And he gave Clara an encouraging smile as she moved aside to let him out.
Alan stood up and all Clara’s world narrowed to the space separating them. His distance and her vacillation seemed to have made those few feet into an uncrossable chasm.
‘Alan, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to Australia,’ she said finally.
His sparkling eyes dimmed with sadness, but he attempted a smile. ‘If that’s what will make you happy, Clara, love, I’d never stand in your way. ’Course, I’ll move back in with Mum and Dad till you’ve gone.’
For a moment she wondered if her indecision had broken them, but then she understood.
‘Not with Barry, you idiot! I’m going with you!’ she said, flinging herself across the room into his arms, and suddenly the space between them was no space at all.
23
Traps
October–December 1948
Hattie and Joe had been arguing for over an hour. They were in the narrow camp bed, which was still virtually all the furniture her hut contained, apart from the stove. A comforting red glow filtered through the edges of its closed door and the only other light was provided by a couple of candles that guttered in the draught from the rotting sash windows. She hadn’t chosen the best of huts, but it would only be for a short while, and she could put up with it till they left. They lay fully clothed beneath the grey army blanket, her head on his chest. He never raised his voice in an argument, but she could register from his heartbeat when he objected to anything she offered.
‘I’m just saying there has got to be a safer way – and I know that’s usually your line, but this time I’m just being cautious for you,’ Hattie said, in as even a tone as she could manage.
‘Buster’s told me the Harper brothers will be out all next Saturday till gone eleven. They’re going to the races and then on the piss. I’m not worried about their old mum. I don’t think she’ll be chasing me off with a poker!’
‘You think they’ll all be out, but that family’s massive. Any one of the cousins or uncles could decide to pop in for a visit and you’ll be caught like a rat in a trap.’
‘So, what other “safer” way do you suggest I can make sure he’s still got Wardick’s photos? I’ve been waiting for this chance for ages and it’s our best bet! It’s no good waiting any longer. If the photos are sold the police won’t be able to do a thing!’
She sighed. ‘I don’t want to fight.’
‘No, I’ve noticed that,’ he said, and there was an edge to his voice which she didn’t like.
‘Oh, I wish you lot would stop going on at me. I’m sick of it. I get it from you, from Buster and even Clara, of all people! But none of you know Lenny like I do.’
‘He’s not going to burn every hut down. He’d have nothing left to rent out!’ Joe said, with maddening logic.
‘Maybe not, but if the scare tactics don’t work, he could just decide to walk in mob-handed and turn us all out of our beds.’
‘Which is why we decided to stop him first.’
‘Yes, but it was meant to be a “clever” move, and this ain’t clever. Why can’t we just tip off the police and let them deal with it?’
‘Because they’ve got to collar him when the photos are on the property. If they raid the place and he hasn’t got the photos, we’ve lost the advantage. Once I know for certain, I’ll go to the police. Don’t worry. I’ll be in and out in no time.’
‘Joe, I just don’t want Lenny to get his hands on you. He’ll hurt you.’
‘Nastier people than him have tried that in the past and failed.’
She still wasn’t convinced the risk was necessary, and wondered if his motivation was simply male pride not to be bested by her ex. Her retort was silenced by his lips on her mouth.
‘You always shut me up like that when you can’t win,’ she said eventually.
‘Complaining?’ He smiled, and for answer she put her lips to his.
*
Hattie had promised Anne she’d go to the children’s flats to help ring around for donations. They’d lost half the council funding, and if things didn’t improve the flats would have to close for the want of £100. She’d completed a morning of dispiriting phone calls to businesses and charities before deciding to walk off her disappointment. She was locking up the flat when she saw Lou on her landing, peering down into the courtyard. Hattie waved. ‘No work today, Lou?’
But Lou didn’t seem to have registered who Hattie was. She stared at her and gave a vague smile. She had forgotten to cover her mouth and was pulling at her flyaway, unwashed hair. Knowing instantly that something was wrong, Hattie ran for the stairs, and when she saw Lou dressed only in nightdress and slippers, her heart lurched.
‘Lou, it’s Hattie.’ She put an arm round the woman and led her into her flat. ‘Has something happened? Is Ronnie all right?’
‘Oh, Hattie!’ Lou said. ‘It’s you, gel, I didn’t recognize you! Gawd’s good, I know, but I think he’s taken my Ronnie. The boy’s gone out of here this morning in a terrible state. He never got up for school and when I told him off, he says to me, Mum, I’m the man of the house now, I ain’t got time for school, I’m gonna sort out them Harpers once and for all. Did I tell you, he was ever so upset about Lenny burning your place down?’
‘Yes, you told me, Lou. Did he say where he was going?’
Lou tried to speak, then sobbed into her hand. ‘I didn’t hear him properly, but he says, Don’t worry about me, Mum, something about I’m going to paradise… He had such a funny look on his face. Oh, I don’t know… I gets so confused.’
Hattie licked dry lips. It seemed as if all the men she cared about were determined to go up against the Harpers. It was much easier when she was indifferent. ‘Don’t you worry, Lou. Buster and I, we always find him, don’t we?’
Lou nodded. ‘So, I’ll just stay here and wait?’
‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll tell Buster.’
She sprinted all the way to the Alaska, arriving out of breath and windblown. The yard was quiet, empty of the delivery vans that usually filled it, but peering into the electrician’s shop, she found Alan drinking tea.
‘Hello, Hattie.’ He beamed. ‘What’s up?’
‘I need to find Buster.’
‘He’s up with the nailers, last I saw. Fancy a cuppa?’
‘Sorry, can’t stop. Urgent.’ And she dashed off, leaping the stairs to the nailing room.
But when Levin the nailer finally heard her and removed the nails from between his teeth, he told her that Buster had already left for the shearing shop. When she got there, he’d moved on to bambeating. She cut across the iron gantry linking the old and new buildings, but halfway across it, her way was blocked by a grinning Chris Harper. She tried to push past him without speaking, but he grabbed her arm.
