The Street of Broken Dreams Read online

  ‘Give them a chance, Mum,’ Mildred chuckled. ‘They’re not even here yet. At least, they wasn’t a minute ago. Expect they had to catch a bus and it was late. Usually are, and doesn’t I know it. There’s too many what rants and raves at me as if it’s my fault!’ She rolled her eyes dramatically. ‘But I remind them there’s a war on, and they should be glad there’s any flaming buses at all.’

  ‘Maybe not for much longer.’ Eva jabbed her head emphatically as she plonked the teapot down on the table so hard that the brown liquid slopped out of the spout and ran down to make yet another mark on the well-worn wood. ‘The war, I mean. Could be over any day. Turn on the radio for us, would you? Can never get the hang of tuning the thing meself.’

  ‘Yeah, OK. Just a minute. I hope it’s over soon, too. Be about bloody time.’ Mildred gave a long, satisfying stretch, leaning back in the chair with her arms above her head. ‘To think I was still a schoolkid when it started.’

  ‘And now you’re a wise old woman,’ Eva teased. ‘All of nineteen years old.’

  ‘Well, it’s made us feel a lot older. Especially with Gary fighting somewhere out in the Far East. Without the war, we might’ve been married by now. But I do enjoy me job on the buses, and I mightn’t have got the chance without the war. Might have ended up working in that bleeding factory like Gert did. Oh, thanks, Mum,’ she said as Eva pushed the chipped mug of tea towards her.

  ‘That bleeding factory, as you put it, kept your dad in work all his life and food on your plate,’ Eva reminded her.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Mildred paused to light a cigarette and drew on it deeply. ‘Wonder what’ll happen to it after the war? With part of it destroyed by that V1 last year? I mean, I know they was up and running again ten days later, but it wasn’t easy, Dad said. And if the gas and electric ain’t gonna be interrupted by Hitler’s bombs no more, will people want so many candles for emergencies and what have you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Candles are still cheaper, and people like them for Christmas and birthday cakes and things. And churches. So hopefully it’ll keep your dad going till he retires. Got a few more years yet, mind. And what with him having paid into Price’s pension scheme most of his life, we’ll be able to manage OK.’

  Eva bit the inside of her lip. And with her little legacy. She didn’t like keeping it a secret, but she’d promised Stan she would. For now, anyway.

  ‘Oh, this a letter from Gert?’ Mildred asked, spying the already dog-eared corner of the paper sticking out from under the old chopping board. ‘Can I read it?’

  ‘Course. And while you do, I’ll just pop out and see if the new people have arrived yet.’

  ‘Well, take your curlers out first, Mum,’ Mildred grinned. ‘You look like something from outer space. Don’t wanna frighten them to death before they’ve even moved in.’

  ‘Cheeky monkey!’ Eva admonished, grinning from ear to ear as she gently cuffed her daughter around the head. Nevertheless, she duly removed her curlers before quickly dragging the hairbrush that resided on the mantelpiece – clogged with hair – through her unruly waves. She even paused to take off her pinny – her jumper wasn’t too grubby underneath – and withdrew her aching feet, bunions and all, from her slippers and wriggled them back into her shoes.

  Leaving Mildred reading Gert’s letter, Eva went out into the street. Excitement bubbled in her stomach as she stepped straight onto the pavement since the houses on that side boasted no front gardens. Or at least, you could hardly call the few inches of ground beneath the bay window of each front room a garden, in her opinion. It was a short terrace as London terraces went, consisting of only nine little houses. But then it was a short street, part of a grid of roads set at right angles to each other, more or less, that had been built towards the end of the last century, or so Eva believed. She vaguely remembered they’d been relatively new when she’d come to live there as a small child with Old Sal and her dad. Before the old devil scarpered, that was, leaving his wife and little daughter to fend for themselves! What a lot of water had gone under the bridge since then.

  The houses opposite were much grander, particularly the first four that dated from some time earlier than the terrace. Each boasted a semi-basement for the servants – not that any of the residents had servants nowadays – with what were known as area steps leading down to a separate servants’ entrance. A short flight of stone steps led upwards from the pavement to each main front door and there used to be railings along the pavement to stop anyone falling down into the ‘area’. They’d all been taken away to be made into bombs or planes or something, but it was rumoured that doing this all over London had been a complete waste of time as it turned out they were mainly made of the wrong metal! Now there were just stumps along the pavement, although some people had made an effort to fix up some sort of makeshift barricade for safety’s sake.

  The remaining houses opposite were slightly less grand, with no semi-basements and with the front doors on street level. They were, though, a lot posher than Eva’s terrace, with tiny front gardens. All the houses on that side also had decent back gardens as opposed to the claustrophobic yards on Eva and Stan’s side.

  Eva paused for a moment, surveying her little domain, her chest swelling with pride. She might have lived in one of the humbler dwellings almost all of her life, but she considered she was queen of the street. Matriarch, her Kit had proudly pronounced her. Eva liked that word. It made her feel like royalty, although Kit had explained that it meant a motherly figure. And Eva supposed she had acted like a mother to almost everyone in the street.

  Take Number Three opposite. The hoity-toity Braithwaites had lived there for some years, considering themselves superior to their neighbours until Gert and Hillie had secretly befriended their down-trodden daughter, Jessica. But the barriers had eventually been broken, to a certain extent, at least. If not exactly bosom pals, Eva had become friendly with the Braithwaites, even the wife, Hester, who was more stuck-up than her husband, Charles.

  The Braithwaites had eventually moved up the ladder to a posh apartment in a fancy block. But it was to Eva that Hester had turned for consolation when Jessica had been with her dentist husband in his native Nigeria when war had broken out and had been marooned there ever since with Hester’s two grandsons. And again, when Arding and Hobbs, where Charles was employed, had been bombed and Hester was terrified for his safety, it was to Eva’s door that she’d come running.

  Meanwhile, a Miss Chalfont had moved in after the Braithwaites had left – a school teacher who was also acting as caretaker for the brewery that owned those first few houses as well as the pub on the corner. A pleasant but self-reliant woman, busy with those of her pupils who hadn’t been evacuated, she was happy to pass the time of day with Eva but was always scuttling about on some errand.

  And then, soon after the Blitz began, a Mr and Mrs Hayes had moved into the upper rooms of the house, having been bombed out of their previous home. They had a little daughter, Lily. Must have had her quite late in life, Eva considered. And why Lily hadn’t been evacuated, Eva had never discovered. Tragically, John Hayes had been killed on ARP duty the previous year as a result of a V1, and Eva had helped poor Ellen pick up the pieces of her life.

  A few doors down in one of the more modest houses lived a family almost as chaotic as the Parkers. It seemed the Smiths were equally as unfortunate, as they’d had several relatives who’d also been made homeless by the Blitz. They’d all come to squeeze in together and muddle through as best they could. Eva had sometimes given them a hand when they’d needed it, too. A bit of washing here and there, or, on a few occasions, she’d given them some of the precious kindling Stan brought home, useless leftovers from his work at the sawmill at Price’s factory. And Eva had given them all an open invitation to call in for a cuppa.

  It had been the same with the Goldsteins. On their arrival, the elderly couple had spoken little English, and when they’d talked to each other, it sounded like gobbledegook to Eva. But when ot
hers on the street had been wary of them, Eva had embraced their presence, especially when they’d managed to convey their sad story to her. ‘That there Hitler is as much their enemy as he’s likely to be ours,’ she’d explained to the neighbours back in the years before the war when nobody had known quite what a monster the man with the funny little moustache and even funnier haircut was likely to become. It was through Eva that the sympathy of others had come to join hers, especially as the horrors committed against the Jews by the Nazis had become more apparent.

  But now the Goldsteins had lived out the rest of their lives in relative peace – if you could call the Blitz and the more recent V1 and V2 attacks relative peace. And coping with all the other deprivations the war had brought. And now new people appeared to be moving into Number Twelve – whether a family or just a couple, Eva had yet to find out. But she was determined to make them feel welcome in their new abode. Besides, she liked meeting new people. It was part of life’s rich tapestry, as far as she was concerned.

  Just as Mildred had anticipated, the horse and cart had come to a stop outside Number Twelve. An older man in a flat cap and an old jacket darned at the elbows was starting to unload, with the help of a boy just as poorly attired. Eva tutted to herself. At least someone had made the effort to patch them up. It was taking make-do-and-mend a bit far, but they probably couldn’t afford new clothes even if they had enough coupons, which they probably didn’t. No doubt, they’d sold any clothing coupons they had on the black market. But Eva was pleased to see that at least the horse looked well cared for.

  A couple of dining chairs not much better than Eva’s already stood incongruously on the pavement, although the man and his lad were struggling to lift down a heavy armchair which would put Old Sal’s dilapidated thing to shame. As she shuffled up, Eva noticed there wasn’t a great deal on the cart, mainly old greengrocer’s boxes used as packing cases and a couple of battered suitcases among some odd bits of furniture. But then she knew Number Twelve was let partly furnished, so it already had the basics.

  It was as she reached the items dumped on the pavement that Eva noticed an old pram on the back of the cart, its large wheels a bit rusty and its coachwork scratched and dented. Oh, did that mean it was going to be a young family with a baby? Maybe a wife who’d got preggers again when her husband was on leave and couldn’t wait for him to come home for good when the war was over, which mightn’t be long now. Oh, how exciting! Eva could take them under her wing if they didn’t have anyone else to help. She missed having little ones around her, and none of her grandchildren lived near. She wouldn’t intrude, mind, if her new neighbours didn’t seem to want her friendship. She might have a generous nature, but she’d hate anyone to think she was a busybody!

  ‘Here, lady, yer ain’t got a key ter this place by any chance, have yer?’ the carter’s rough voice jolted her from her thoughts. ‘I ain’t got time ter hang around waiting. Time is money. Got uvver customers waiting, see.’

  Eva shook her head. The man’s brusque manner had spoilt her reverie. She did still have the key Abraham Goldstein had given her, but she’d taken an instant dislike to this fellow. Besides, how would it look to her new neighbours if she opened up their new home to this chap who was probably a stranger to them? She’d give them the spare key when they turned up, of course, explaining why she had it. That would be a good excuse to introduce herself.

  ‘Sorry, no, I ain’t got one,’ she lied, and had to bite her lip as the man rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  But then she saw his expression lighten as he looked past her back down the street. ‘Oh, never mind,’ he growled. ‘Here they come. What took yer so long?’ he shouted, raising his voice.

  Eva at once turned round and had to quell her surprise at the little group walking towards her. She’d expected a youngish woman carrying a baby and with a few other children in tow, judging by the state of the pram. And maybe accompanied by some other adults who’d come to help her. But what Eva saw was very different.

  As they came nearer and she could see their faces more clearly, Eva judged that the woman leading the band was maybe in her mid-forties. She was the one carrying a bundle that Eva guessed must be the baby, and not the young girl walking by her side as one might have imagined. The girl was carrying a string bag in each hand, and there was something about her that captivated Eva’s attention for several seconds. Was it the graceful way she held herself, her long, swanlike neck? She was a beauty and no mistake, and even though she wore a baggy old cardigan over a loose-fitting dress, Eva could see that her limbs were long and slender.

  Eva reluctantly dragged her gaze away from the girl to the two men walking behind. One was young, twenty or so at a guess. Like the girl, he was tremendously good-looking, and Eva could see a strong resemblance between them, so she assumed he must be her brother. But unlike the resigned expression on his sister’s face, the lad was wide-eyed with curiosity, his head swivelling on his neck as he gazed this way and that, taking in his new surroundings.

  And then, once again, Eva quickly had to hide the look that wanted to show itself on her face as shocked sympathy flooded into her generous heart. The other fellow might be twenty years older than the woman carrying the baby, although perhaps his strained face might have aged through suffering. A crutch was tucked under his right arm, although as they drew level, Eva could see that this wasn’t quite the case. The crutch was buckled with straps over his shoulders and around his arm, which ended in a hook. And instead of a foot protruding from his right trouser leg, she could see the end of a wooden stump. No wonder it had taken the family longer to get there than the impatient man with the cart had anticipated. The poor fellow, who was clearly missing his right arm and leg, could only walk slowly, and his family, or whoever they were, weren’t going to leave him behind.

  Eva instantly respected them for that, and she pushed past the removal man, smiling as broadly as she possibly could.

  ‘I take it you’re our new neighbours?’ she beamed. ‘Welcome to Banbury Street. I’m Eva Parker and I live at Number Eight. Anything you need, just knock.’

  Three

  The woman’s green eyes creased at the corners as she smiled back at Eva’s welcome. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind, so it is. Bridie Cresswell. Shake your hand, I would, only I can’t,’ she nodded pleasantly, using her eyes to indicate the bundle she was carrying.

  Eva’s grin broadened as she absorbed her new neighbour’s friendly attitude and the fact that she clearly hailed from the Emerald Isle. But there was another matter that filled Eva with delight as well. ‘Oh, a baby!’ she exclaimed, peering down at the tiny face swathed about in a shawl. ‘Can I have a hold? Your arms must be aching something rotten.’

  ‘So they are,’ Bridie Cresswell agreed, moving the said limbs forward to relinquish their precious cargo into Eva’s eager hold. ‘The baby’s called Jane, and this is my daughter, Cecily,’ she added, indicating the girl at her side, ‘but we all call her Cissie.’

  Eva dragged her gaze from the infant in her arms. ‘How d’you do?’ she asked Bridie’s elder daughter, who replied with a half-smile as she nodded in greeting but spoke not a word, as if she’d rather not be there. Perhaps she was shy and needed some encouragement, so Eva said brightly, ‘You look about the same age as our Mildred. I’ll have to introduce you.’

  ‘That’d be good,’ Bridie answered, almost as if covering up for her daughter, Eva felt. ‘My husband, Ron, and our son, Zac.’

  Eva glanced towards the invalid with just time to exchange broad smiles with him before the handsome young man stepped forward and held out his hand, seemingly not noticing that Eva couldn’t shake it because she was holding his baby sister.

  ‘Pleased – to – meet – you,’ he said with slow deliberation, and the penny dropped with Eva as she moved her face into the most open, welcoming expression she could muster. It had crossed her mind that it was unusual to see a lad of his age on the streets and not in uniform. He could have been home on
leave, of course, but most of the men in the forces still wore their uniforms proudly when out and about. It struck Eva at once, though, from the way he spoke, that Zac Cresswell wasn’t quite all there, the poor lad.

  ‘Here, you lot, stop gassing, will yer?’ a sharp voice cut in over Eva’s shoulder. ‘I ain’t got time ter waste even if you have. Who’s got the key, or d’yer want us ter leave everyfing on the pavement?’

  Eva had to bite her lip to stop herself from giving him the length of her tongue but distracted herself by cooing down at the baby as Bridie produced the key and marched up to the front door of Number Twelve.

  ‘I’m sorry we took so long,’ Eva heard Bridie apologise. ‘Had to break our journey to collect the key from the landlord’s agent, so we did, and missed the next bus. And my husband can’t move so fast, of course.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ the carter grunted irritably, since he couldn’t argue with that, could he, Eva considered with satisfaction. ‘You gonna show us where yer want everyfing, then?’

  ‘As best I can—’

  ‘Well, if it ain’t in the right place ter start, don’t expect us ter move it. That strapping lad o’ yers’ll have ter do it.’

  Eva couldn’t believe the affrontery of the man, but it probably wouldn’t do to interfere. Her new neighbours wouldn’t be too happy if the fellow took offence and indeed dumped all their belongings on the pavement as he’d threatened. Of course, if he hadn’t been paid yet, he probably wouldn’t, but often these sorts of chaps demanded payment up front. But, either way, he seemed an unpleasant character, and better not to upset him. Eva wondered why the Cresswells had employed such a brute, but maybe he came cheap and they didn’t have much money. And with the war on, and petrol even for businesses such as removals still scarce, perhaps he was all they could find.

  Eva watched as Bridie disappeared inside the house she herself knew so well and propped open the front door so that the obnoxious removal man and his sullen boy could start bringing things inside. Eva turned, drawing a breath to engage in conversation with the other members of the family, but got no further.