‘I’m going now,’ Alice called down. ‘I’ve been sitting with Sophy ’cos she’s got belly ache and been sick.’
‘Poor little cow still being sick?’ Fran asked Tilly as they emerged into the dismal atmosphere of Campbell Road on a grey morning. There was no sign yet of spring arriving.
‘Thought she’d got past all that throwing-up stage,’ Tilly said with a frown. As Alice emerged behind on the pavement her mother turned to her.
‘Is Sophy getting herself up and off to work?’
‘Dunno, Mum,’ Alice replied. ‘She reckons her belly aches bad. But she wasn’t sick that much. ’S’pect she’ll be off soon.’ With that Alice slipped past and trotted off to school.
The sisters linked arms and started towards the shop.
Halfway up the road they spied Margaret Lovat coming towards them. Tilly scowled at the woman.
Margaret turned her head and avoided her eye. Tilly Keiver was the landlord’s rent collector. Margaret had lived in Campbell Road long enough to know that Tilly bore grudges. She’d expected the cow to have them put out on the street. But the Lovats still had a roof over their heads and she wanted to keep it that way.
After the confrontation between the Keivers and the Lovats that fateful Sunday morning in January an uneasy truce had settled between the families. An unspoken agreement had been reached with Sophy too. Not that any family discussion had ensued after the uproar on that day. The crisis with Fran losing the baby and being so ill had pushed all thoughts of Sophy’s pregnancy to the back of everybody’s mind for some days afterwards.
Then when things seemed to be getting back to normal Jack had got Tilly on her own for a quiet chat. What he’d had to say had been short and to the point, and he’d been in the sort of mood that Tilly knew well. She might get her way on some things with him, but on this she wouldn’t. So she’d listened and just grunted at the end of his speech.
‘Sophy’s made her decision over it all,’ he’d stated firmly, ‘and it don’t seem bad to me. No wedding, no abortion. Welfare’ll get the kid as soon as it’s born and that’ll be the end of it. Fresh start for her and better for the baby ‘n’ all. So that’s how it’s going to be. Right?’
‘Al!’
On hearing that brusque summons Alice emerged from the back room. She was pushing Bethany in front of her and continued plaiting her sister’s long brown hair whilst looking enquiringly at her mother.
Tilly continued pouring tea for each of her nephews. Despite their dad having up and left them in relative safety some weeks ago Bobbie and Stevie still liked to keep to the routine of spending most of their time with their cousins upstairs despite the crush of bodies. When in their own home their mother seemed to be always bawling; either at them or into her pinny.
‘Your birthday soon, Al,’ Tilly stated.
Alice smiled. ‘Oh … yeah … it is.’
‘You’re getting older, growing up.’
Alice nodded and looked wistfully into space for a moment. In just a few more days she would be a teenager. She focused again on her mum, a bit puzzled as to what had brought about this odd chat. At this time of the morning her mother was usually keen to get all the kids out from under her feet and off to school. Sophy had already left for work.
‘I was talking to Annie Foster yesterday,’ Tilly said. ‘She’s got a new job round in Thane Villas. The toy factory’s takin’ on.’
Alice raised her eyebrows. It was always interesting to know where work was available but she didn’t see what it had to do with her. Annie Foster was a lot older than she was and not one of her friends. In fact since Annie’d bolted round into Playford Road to escape her brutal stepfather she’d only seen her about on odd occasions.
‘Annie says they want people bad and aren’t asking too many questions.’
Suddenly Alice had an inkling of what her mother was getting at. But she’d made a mistake in calculating her age. She gave her a grin. ‘I’m thirteen soon, mum, not fourteen.’
‘Yeah … I know that … but who’s gonna know how old you are if they ain’t taking birth certificates? You look a bit older than you are. You look a lot older than Sarah Whitton, fer instance.’
Alice stared at her mum; slowly she realised she was serious. ‘What about school?’
‘What about it?’ Tilly turned from the table and stuck her hands on her hips. ‘Staying on at school ‘n’ doing it all by the rules ain’t done Sophy no good. Look at the mess she’s got herself in.’
‘I ain’t getting meself in that sort of mess, ever,’ Alice said emphatically.
‘No, you ain’t!’ her mother replied with equal force. ‘What you’re getting, miss, is a full-time job.’
Tilly gesticulated with a thumb at the boys and Bethany to get off to school.
At the doorway Bethany turned back. ‘Can I get a job too, Mum?’ she asked plaintively.
‘Wish you could, Beth,’ Tilly sighed. ‘But ain’t sure we’d get away with that one. Now off you go.’
With a grimace of disappointment Bethany followed her cousins.
‘You can stop home today,’ Tilly told Alice once the door had closed. ‘See if you can bump yourself into Annie at dinnertime outside the factory and find out all about it. She might know the name of the charge-hand doing the hiring.’
Having got over her astonishment Alice considered what her mother had said. It took little more than a minute for her to come to the wondrous conclusion that she didn’t mind one bit starting full-time work before she was supposed to. She didn’t even mind that the factory her mother was referring to was where Louisa Whitton – so it was rumoured – had gone mental. In fact excitement was tightening her stomach and curving her mouth into a surprised smile. Very shortly she might be properly grown up, earning good money, and wearing new clothes instead of cast-offs from Billy the Totter or from the rag shop.
Alice didn’t always agree with what her mum did or said but on this she thought she was right: what was the point in staying at school for another year, till she was fourteen? More schooling wouldn’t help get her a better job round here. She’d just be a year older … a year poorer. Her address would still be Campbell Road so she’d get shown the door by most employers unless she lied and said she lived elsewhere. It’d be a wasted year; a year spent just scrubbing doorsteps or rubbing brasses for measly half crowns at the end of a very long shift. And then you had to fight to get your clients, and keep them. Having mulled it all over in her mind for a few minutes Alice realised she was thankful her mum had made mention of it. The sooner she started earning, and saving, the sooner she could get herself out of The Bunk. And that was her dearest ambition. It’d gnawed away at her ever since she could remember.
When she’d been about five her mum and dad would sometimes take her and Sophy on a trip out to a posh area in Highgate or Hampstead to do a bit of busking to earn cash. Alice could still remember the first few times she’d seen those wonderful big houses that had gardens with grass and flowers out front instead of muck stuck to iron railings. She remembered the scent of coloured petals and of the fine ladies who’d bend to press pennies into her small, outstretched hand while her mum rattled a tambourine and did a jig with Sophy, and her dad played a whistle.
They had not often trekked the miles there for Sophy and Alice quickly flagged during the tramp. But her mum would encourage her tired little legs to keep going by saying the rich pickings to be had off toffs would get them