Lily of Love Lane (6 page)

Life was strange. There was Mr Grey with an abundance of money and a desirable home, but he wasn’t happy. Lily had seen the sadness in his eyes. Grief was the clue there, she was sure of
it now. Then there was her own family who were as poor as church mice but were happy because they had each other. It seemed you had either one or the other, not both.

What would she do if she was wealthy? She could think of a thousand things, the list would be endless. The first and most important action she would take, would be to settle the family’s
debts. Then she would buy a bath like the one she had seen today, but then she would have to have a bathroom to put it in. And a large range to heat the hot water. In fact, one thing led to
another. She would have to move to a bigger house altogether. Was that what she wanted?

Lily’s imagination was working overtime as usual. It was as though she had a cinema in her head, showing all the films, with her family and herself taking the leading roles. She could put
the characters anywhere she wanted, give them anything they wanted. Often at market she found herself daydreaming. Sometimes it was a shock to come back to earth and find herself still here.

‘Lily?’

‘What? Oh, sorry, Mum.’

‘You were miles away again. Did you hear what I said?’

‘About the pawnshop?’

Josie shook her head sharply. ‘The winkleman is outside; I heard him calling. I’d like a couple of penneth for tea.’

‘I’ll go and get some.’ Lily jumped up, found her coat and bag and just in time stopped the man as he wheeled his barrow to the end of the street. The moist winkle shells
glistened as he turned them over with a spoon and shovelled them onto newspaper.

As Lily paid him, she imagined she was returning to a large house full of beautiful furniture with a grand and opulent bathroom upstairs. The good feeling inside her was so strong that she could
almost believe she was there. She walked home seeing lines of long Georgian windows and white steps that sparkled in the sunlight.

R
ain seemed to blight trading all the next week. There was a wind too, which meant that Lily had to place the heavier objects on top of the lighter
ones to keep them from blowing away. All the old magazines and papers became soaked. There were leaks and drips and the customers complained continually. The haberdashery stall which stood outside
of the butchers, had all its cottons and laces blown away. Lily helped Florrie Mills retrieve her stock from the fur of the dead rabbits that hung outside the butchers. The Old Girl’s Stall,
run by Vera Froud, was a pile of wet, soaked garments. Each one had to be taken away and mangled before they could be sold again.

The stallholders were all disheartened. Colds and coughs abounded. It was at times like this that Lily was tempted to change her job as she stood in the miserable conditions, with no let up to
the rain that soaked through the holes in her boots and distorted the shape of her hat. If she took a factory job she could earn more money and help her mum. She could also have Saturday afternoons
off with Hattie. But as the week wore on, and a bright sky appeared once or twice, the thought of leaving the market dismayed her. Then, at the end of the week, when a sparkle of sunshine dotted
the puddles, a trader from the West End appeared. In one fell swoop he bought all the silver and crockery, two old boxes of cutlery, and the fire fender and companion set. Lily achieved almost full
price and Reube was delighted.

‘Good on you, girl,’ said Reube, counting out the pound notes. ‘Tell you what, here’s a five bob bonus.’

Lily stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’

Reube grinned. ‘Go on, take it.’

Lily smiled. ‘Mum will be pleased with that.’

‘You should spend it on yourself. Them boots is as old as the hills.’

Lily glanced down and noticed that the stitching by the soles had come apart. There had been a small hole there before, but now it showed her toe. Her feet had been too wet and numb to
notice.

‘I’ll buy some soon.’

‘You do that.’ Reube began to put the money in the tin box. Lily dropped her bonus in her bag, her mind doing a quick reckoning. With working tomorrow afternoon, her wage would go up
from the usual fifteen shillings to twenty. Today’s bonus would give her a total of twenty-five shillings altogether. Perhaps her dad wouldn’t have to take the skin job for too
long?

The following day Lily missed seeing Hattie, but as the rain had stopped completely, the general public came out to celebrate. It was another good business day for the traders.

‘What’s all this?’ Josie exclaimed when, that night, Lily turned her purse out on the kitchen table.

‘Reube gave me a five bob bonus for selling a lot of stuff. And with working Saturday afternoon I got twenty five shillings altogether.’

‘You should have some for yourself.’

‘No, I’ll manage.’

Josie quickly slipped the money in her apron pocket. ‘Well, ducks, I’ll be able to go to the corner shop and hold my head up high again.’

‘And clear the arrears on the rent.’

‘Of course. Are you going to see Hattie tomorrow?’

Lily nodded. ‘If she hasn’t got to sit with Sylvester.’ She looked through the kitchen window to the tin tub hanging on the side of the shed. ‘Is Dad using the bath
tonight?’

‘Yes, after what he’s been doing on them ships, he’ll need a good scrub.’

‘Could I have the first bath, then?’ Lily hated the smell of the disinfectant he had to use, that clung to the sides of the bath.

‘Course you can. It’ll be filthy when he’s finished with it, anyway. I’ll get the water warmed in the copper first.’

Lily hoped she could have a long soak. She wanted to lay in the water and think of herself in a big white bath with lion’s claw feet. She had imagined doing this all week through the rain
and wind. She had been disappointed not to see Charles Grey again. But what would a man like him want to return to Cox Street for?

On Sunday afternoon, Lily called for Hattie. ‘Can you come out?’ She stood muffled up to the ears with a scarf and her hat pulled hard down around her ears. It was
threatening to rain again.

‘I’ll ask Mum and Dad. Come in a minute.’

Lily stepped inside. Hattie hurried off and was soon back. ‘They ain’t going for a walk as Sylvester’s poorly,’ she said in whisper as she put on her coat.

‘What’s happened?’

‘He had one of his nightmares. Is it gonna rain?’

‘It might.’

‘I’ll take the umbrella then.’

Lily knew that Sylvester had such bad dreams of the war that they made him very ill. As she waited for her friend to put on a hat and tuck her bob gently inside she felt very sorry for the Parks
family. Their life was dominated by Sylvester’s illness. Despite this, Hattie always managed a smile and to take a pride in her looks.

Hattie glanced in the hallstand mirror. She turned this way and that, pouting her lips, then she drew her middle finger under her eyebrows as if she was urging them up. ‘How do I
look?’

‘Beautiful as always.’

‘Don’t be funny. I’ve had a rough night.’

‘I mean it. It don’t matter what sort of night you’ve had you always look the same.’

‘That’s Madame’s training for you. She’s a stickler for looking your best. She says her girls are representatives of her work. So we all have to remember that outside of
work.’

‘She expects a lot, don’t she?’ Lily asked as they stepped out into the gloomy afternoon.

‘Yes, but she pays me well, don’t she? And in the end it’s the money that counts.’

‘You’re right about that,’ Lily agreed, thinking that nearly all her thoughts were taken up with how she was going to pay this or that, or which bill she should help her mother
to settle first. It was a relief to know now that at least the rent was up to date.

They walked arm in arm, discussing the events of the past week as they took the foot tunnel from Island Gardens to Greenwich. The tunnel wound under the River Thames to the South Bank, and by
the time they saw daylight at the other end, they had begun to discuss Lily’s birthday in March.

‘I’m going to make a cake for me twenty-first, with twenty-one candles,’ Lily said.

Hattie laughed. ‘You’ll need a lot of puff to blow that lot out. You’re getting old, girl.’

‘You’re only six months younger than me.’

‘Are you gonna have a party?’ Hattie wanted to know.

‘I’d like to. But I haven’t asked Mum yet.’

‘Can she afford it?’

Lily shrugged. ‘I’m trying to save up a bit.’ She didn’t want to tell her friend just how difficult things were at home. Hattie’s Dad brought home a regular wage
and with Hattie’s contribution they never seemed to struggle.

‘Have you seen Ben?’

‘No, why?’

‘Reube says he’s going to buy this bloody great motor vehicle. It’s as big as a bus.’

‘The charabanc you mean?’

‘You know about that?’ Hattie asked in surprise.

‘Ben said he was hoping to go into weddings and funerals.’

Hattie giggled. ‘Trouble is, it’s beige, not black. Reube says Ben’ll have to tell people he only does happy funerals.’

The two girls looked at one another and laughed.

Lily wiped the tear from her eye. ‘Well, it’s got to be better than the lorry. The day we went out in it to deliver that aspidistra, I had to shout as the engine was so
noisy.’

Hattie put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’d forgotten about that! What happened?’

After describing the lovely house in Dewar Street, in particular the bathroom, Hattie’s expression was shocked.

‘A real bath you mean?’

‘Yes, a huge white one, in a big room all to itself.’

Hattie sighed enviously. ‘Me mum and dad would love a bathroom. It would make looking after Sylvester a lot easier.’

Lily was thinking the same. She had managed to have a bath last night, but the Naptha from previous uses had become ingrained in the tin. She could even smell it on her today.

‘Where did you decide the plant should go?’ Hattie asked.

Lily told her friend the rest of the story, adding that Ben had rushed her off and she was unable to discover more.

‘What’s he do that for?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you going to see this Charles again?’

‘Of course not,’ Lily said a little too quickly. ‘What would he want with someone like me? I was just curious that’s all.’

‘You say he’s a widower, do you know anything about his wife?’

‘I didn’t have time to ask, did I?’

‘That’s a pity.’

Lily nodded, encouraged by this spark of interest. ‘I’ve worked it out though. He must have been heartbroken and just let the house go a bit as the windows were dirty and there
wasn’t much furniture downstairs. That sort of thing.’

‘But you say he had a maid?’

‘Well, a hired help anyway. She hadn’t cleaned or looked after the house though. There was a lot of dust around. He just seemed to have lost interest in the place.’

Hattie glanced at Lily. ‘I hope you don’t feel sorry for him. You’re always a soft touch. Don’t forget he’s not from round here and you haven’t known him five
minutes.’

Lily didn’t like being thought of as a soft touch. She felt she was quite the opposite, with a sensible, level head and wasn’t taken in easily.

‘Come on,’ said Hattie, pulling her along, ‘let’s go to the park café. I know you’re broke, so it’s my treat.’

As they made their way to Greenwich Park, Lily wondered what Hattie would think of Charles Grey? But then realized she was allowing her imagination to run away with her again. There wasn’t
much hope of that. Charles Grey only lived in her dreams!

It was on the last day of January, a Friday, when a group of Blackshirts arrived at market. They stood on boxes and were noisy and disruptive. No one wanted to hear their
propaganda.

‘Bloody fascists!’ Vera Froud exclaimed, coming over to Reube and Lily. ‘That’s what they are. They’d like to overthrow the monarchy given the chance and have us
all under a dictator. Why don’t they go back to where they come from!’

‘Italy, ain’t it?’ Florrie Mills suggested as she frowned at the noisy group.

‘This is Mosley’s lot,’ Reube put in. ‘Trying to find a way to stir up trouble amongst decent people. Cause unrest, so they can get in with Joe Bloggs under false
pretences.’

‘They got big gobs on ’em that’s for sure.’ Vera crossed her arms and frowned. She had squashed her black hat down on her head and the strands of her faded red hair
sprang out like snakes. ‘My Bert would like to take them down a peg or two. Trouble is, that’s what they want.’

‘Yer, the buggers,’ nodded Ted Shiner, coming up and sticking out his big chest. At over six foot he was well muscled and took after his grandmother, Fat Freda. For years they had
run the fruit and veg pitch, and Lily knew Ted had cause to dislike the Blackshirts as he’d got in an argument down the Quarry with them once. He’d come off worst, as they’d made
him look daft with their clever words and knowledge of politics. It was an occasion that he’d never forgotten.

‘Why don’t the rozzers move ’em off, that’s what I’d like to know,’ said Reube standing beside Ted and throwing black looks at the noisy bunch.

‘’Cos they’d prefer to pick on an easy touch,’ replied Vera angrily. ‘Like some poor sod who’s got a bit merry and can’t find his way home.’

‘You’re not wrong there,’ agreed Florrie.

Lily hadn’t seen these men before, and she found them frightening. They shook their clenched fists and shouted ferociously. They were telling everyone that the Great Depression was a
result of the country’s management and the people should rise up against the restraints of the government.

Not content with keeping to their group, several of the dark-clothed men began to infiltrate the market. They approached the stalls and pushed their way through the crowd, handing out pamphlets.
People took them because they were too scared not to. When one of them came over, he made his way towards Lily. Smiling unpleasantly at her, he waved a paper in her face.

‘Read this and learn how to throw off the shackles of your imprisonment,’ he yelled at her.