Dream On (28 page)

As always, the moment Susan spotted Ginny she launched herself across the room, with a delighted whoop of ‘Auntie Ginny!'

After a hasty brushing of her lips on her mother's cheek, Susan struggled out of her wet, oversized coat – another legacy from Florrie's grandchildren – and let the heavy, dull-brown garment drop in a heap on the floor; an action that Ginny noticed drew not the slightest reaction from Dilys.

‘And where have you been, my little angel? You're soaked.'

Susan looked warily at her grim-faced mother. ‘Out playing.'

‘You dopey thing!' exclaimed Ginny, reaching out to ruffle the child's damp hair. ‘You should have come home when it started raining. Go and fetch me something to dry you off.'

Susan ran out of the room and returned immediately with a dingy-looking towel, clambered on to her ‘auntie's' lap and gazed up adoringly at her.

‘You could have fetched a clean one,' Ginny teased.

Susan managed a thin smile and snuggled closer.

‘Like I was saying,' Ginny continued. ‘I meant what I said about good money, Dil. Honest, I'm earning plenty. I've even given up me job at the factory.'

She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, mindful that Susan was sitting with her. ‘D'you know, the girls earn at least a tenner a night. Their basic's quite low, but what with the commission on all the drinks that the customers have to order,' Ginny winked at Dilys behind her hand, ‘by way of payment for their company, if you catch me drift; plus all these tips they get. And even their cocktail dresses are supplied by the governor. I've never met him, but apparently he likes to keep the tone of the club just right. Likes a bit of class about the place. But I'm not a fool. I know that some of the girls', she looked down at Susan and then mouthed, ‘
go
with the blokes. But you should see the presents they get from the fellers when they do take them upstairs for a bit of you-know-what. I'm not saying I agree with it, but like Leila says, even—'

Dilys leapt to her feet, her dressing-gown flapping open. ‘You
what
! You come round here looking like a two-bob tom with your bleached hair and your nylon stockings—'

Ginny's hand went automatically, defensively, to her legs, as her bright smile closed – snap! – on her face.

‘—talking filth in front of my baby!'

‘Your baby?' Ginny said quietly, hugging Susan protectively. ‘What, the one who was out in the rain, Gawd knows where, and had to let herself in, while you was sitting here not even dressed?'

Dilys pulled Susan away from Ginny. ‘D'you really think I'd let you buy my kid anything out of whoring money?'

Now Ginny was also on her feet, but she kept her voice low, as she didn't want to scare Susan. ‘Dilys, I told you, I ain't got nothing to do with that side of things. I sell cigarettes. That's all.'

‘Cigarettes, my Aunt Fanny. Pull the other one,
sweetie
, it's got sodding bells on it.' Dilys jabbed a furious finger in Ginny's face. ‘I'm disgusted with you, Ginny Martin, really disgusted.'

Susan picked up her coat, stuck her thumb in her mouth and made resignedly for the haven of her bedroom and her teddy. She knew when it was best to keep out of the way.

Dilys was now in full flight; her venom at seeing Ginny looking so good and so happy, and her own dissatisfaction with the joys of motherhood, triggering off every kind of nastiness and wild accusation.

‘Just look at the way you're done up,' she finished triumphantly.

Ginny blinked back the tears that threatened to spill on to her cheeks, determined not to let Dilys see how much she was hurting her, knowing that her friend's temper would subside as easily as it flared. ‘I thought you'd be pleased to see me looking smart again,' she said reasonably.

‘Smart! You call dressing like a brass smart? And Christ knows what you think you're up to, hanging around clubs.'

‘I thought you liked clubs.' Ginny could have added: ‘Well, according to Milly Barrington, your nosy neighbour, you do,' but she didn't want things to degenerate any further, certainly not with Susan in the next room.

‘I ain't a bloody married woman, am I? But you are.'

A married woman? A punch-bag more like. Ginny swallowed hard, as the memories of the kicks and beatings, and the humiliation, flooded her mind. She rubbed her hands over her face. She wouldn't let the memories stay there, she wouldn't let Ted have that power over her. But then, as clearly as if it were happening right in front of her eyes, Ginny saw Pearl's funeral and Ted sitting with Susan on his lap . . .

She had to stop letting these stupid ideas taunt her, or she'd make herself ill.

‘Are you listening to me?' Dilys demanded.

‘What?'

‘I said, you should know better. And Gawd knows what Ted's poor mother's got to say about all this.'

‘Nellie don't know nothing about what I'm doing.' Ginny drew her breath in sharply, as she saw the look of triumph on Dilys's face. ‘But it wouldn't matter if she did,' she added hurriedly. ‘You know her. She wouldn't give a toss what I'm doing so long as there's money coming in.'

‘Well, I reckon you're wrong there, 'cos even Nellie's got standards.'

There was a moment's uneasy silence, as Ginny bit back the question as to what on earth Dilys knew about standards. She couldn't risk not being allowed to see Susan for a few weeks, just to score an easy point in a row that would, as usual, be forgotten as soon as Dilys grew bored with it.

Ginny had to be the appeaser. With all the dignity she could muster she fixed on a smile and said cheerfully, ‘Well, if we're gonna get there before the shop shuts, me and the little ‘un had better get going.'

‘Better get going?' echoed Dilys incredulously. ‘I'll give you better get going. You just get out of here, Ginny Martin. Go on. You go back to your Yvette and your Carmen and your Leila and all the rest of them. And don't bother coming back. I ain't having no kid of mine mixing with no whores.'

As Dilys shoved Ginny towards the street door, she seemed genuinely unaware of the irony of her words.

While Ginny was waiting at the bus-stop in the pouring rain, not caring, or even really noticing, that she was getting drenched to the skin, so angry was she with herself at not handling Dilys better, Ted was pulling his car into the kerb outside a scruffy-looking terraced house in Plaistow.

Ted hated his new car, a tiny Austin that looked as though it should have a family squashed into the back seat, complete with picnic hamper and tartan travelling rug, singing ‘Ten Green Bottles' at the tops of their voices. But he had to have something to drive after he sold the MG.

It had almost physically hurt when he'd had to let his open-topped bird-puller of a car go, even though he'd made a more than good price on it. He'd always enjoyed displaying that he had money to spend, and what sort of impression did selling the MG and driving a bloody Austin give to people? That he was having hard times, that was what. And the impression was just about right: times weren't so good for Ted Martin any more.

It seemed that no matter what he tried lately, it all went wrong. Everything was so difficult, there were barriers no matter which way he turned and it was sending him round the sodding bend. In the past he'd always been able to make a living, a very good living, ducking and diving, doing a bit of this and a bit of that – he had been well on the way to becoming what he'd always wanted to be, a face to be reckoned with – but then it had all started going wrong. And Ted was convinced he knew why.

Saunders. That was all you heard nowadays. It had been bad enough when they'd had that ruck over that stupid bitch Lilly, but that was nothing like what was happening now. Since the bastard had started expanding his business into the East End it seemed like the no-good cowson was everywhere. No matter what scams and schemes Ted tried setting up, all he got was: ‘No mate, not without clearing it with Saunders first.' And Ted knew exactly what Saunders's reaction would be if he did turn up with a deal.

Even the money-lending had gone wrong on him. His loans had been ‘bought up', and he'd been paid off – nothing compared with what he should have earned out of it – by a pair of goons who would have terrified even the likes of Freddie Mills. They'd told him that someone else was running the debts now, and that if he knew what was good for him, he'd sling his hook like a good little boy and keep his head down and his nose clean.

The trouble with arseholes like Saunders was they were powerful enough to do exactly what they felt like and to hold a grudge for a very long time. They didn't have to be beholden to anyone, but they still knew they had to show that they held all the cards, all the power, in their hands, or someone else was standing there, ready to step right into their shoes.

Jamming his trilby on his head, Ted shut the car door with an angry slam. Poxy rain! He could happily have murdered Saunders. He was earning a fortune and what was Ted doing? He was back to having birds doing tuppenny ha'penny hoisting for him; lifting bits and pieces to sell off in pubs for fucking peanuts. Pubs that weren't even on his own manor. Not that he had a manor any more.

And it was all Saunders's fault.

He smacked at the street door with the flat of his hand. The silly whore had better be in. He didn't have a penny to bless himself with and he was getting bloody soaked.

‘Are you telling me this is all you've got?' Ted snorted heavily, as though he had been running, but his panting was more to do with anger than exertion. He held up the striped hand-towels with a scowl of disbelief. ‘You're a lazy bastard, Irene.'

‘
Me
a lazy bastard?' Irene, a girl of barely nineteen, stuck her fists into her waist and threw back her head. ‘If what I've nicked ain't good enough for you, then do something about it. You take the bloody risks. I've had enough of this lark anyway, and I've had enough of you thinking you can stay here whenever you fancy it. Well, you've got a shock coming, mate, 'cos I'm getting out of here. The place has been bought up by some businessman. He's paid me and all the other tenants in the street to move out. So I'm going. I've got plans.'

‘What did you say?'

‘You heard.'

As she continued to talk, telling him exactly what she thought of him and what she was going to do about it, Ted rose slowly to his feet.

Young Irene no longer had her prettily dimpled chin stuck arrogantly in the air, she had it tucked down close to her chest, as she cowered against the wall with her arms folded over her head, trying to protect herself.

A few hours later, Ginny was sitting alone in the front room of Bailey Street, listening to the wireless she had bought for Nellie's birthday, with the paper, unread, in her lap. She felt really miserable and instead of making the most of her first night off from the club, she was dreading spending the rest of the evening alone.

It wasn't really the row – Dilys always had been one for making dramatic gestures – it was something else and it wasn' so easy to deal with. Ginny hadn't realised just how lonely she had become before she had met Leila.

Knowing she was going to be with the girls each evening had given her something to look forward to. Hearing their constant chatter, their joking around, sharing in their laughter, was like a bright light shining into her life. And even if their jokes were sometimes a bit close to the knuckle, at least there was no pretence with them.

Not like Dilys and her sudden moral conversion.

Ginny sighed loudly. All her adult life she had had to give in or make allowances for someone or other. And it got her down at times, but she knew that she would soon be round the prefab, knocking on the door, smiling like a fool as though nothing had happened, hoping that Dilys either wanted something off her, or was in a more reasonable mood, so that she would at least let her in and allow her to apologise. And, if she wanted to see Susan, that's what Ginny knew she would have to do.

She looked up at the clock. It was only ten to eight – although it felt more like midnight – and she didn't know what to do with herself. She had finished all the clearing up and there wasn't a single handkerchief left unironed. There wasn't even anybody to talk to, not even Nellie and her moaning, as she'd taken herself off to Florrie's to play cards and to put the world to rights.

Ginny sighed again. Things were in a bad way when she found herself wishing she had Nellie for company.

She was as bored as hell, but she was damned if she was going up to bed.

She'd make a cup of tea. That's what she'd do. There was nothing else to bloody do . . .

‘Hello, gorgeous. Enough left in the pot for me?'

Ginny spun round and let out a little gasp of surprise, nearly dropping the teapot. ‘Ted! I didn't hear you come in.'

He winked lazily and lifted his foot, displaying a heavily buckled, crêpe-soled, black suede shoe. ‘Brothel creepers. Silent but deadly. Got 'em off this bloke in a pub. Latest thing from the States, they are. You see, they'll all be wearing 'em soon.' He laughed easily as he pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and straddled it as though he were riding a horse. ‘Swapped 'em for a set of poxy hand-towels, if you can believe it. Told him they was best Turkish quality, as found in all the big hotels up West. What a mug!'

Ginny joined in with his laughter. He was in a good mood and he hadn't been drinking.
This
was the Ted she had fallen for: the one who made her smile, made her feel good about herself. The one she loved. It was over a month since she'd even set eyes on him and that had only been for a few minutes when he'd come to collect some clean clothes in the middle of the night; and she had missed him. Well, she had missed this particular Ted.