East End Angel

East End Angel

Kay Brellend

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2014

Copyright © Kay Brellend 2014

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014

Cover photographs © Colin Thomas (woman); Culver Pictures/Superstock (girl); Topfoto (children).

Kay Brellend asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007464197

Ebook Edition © February 2014 ISBN: 9780007464203

Version: 2015-07-10

For Mum and Dad, with everlasting love and gratitude for your hard work and sacrifice.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Epilogue

Q&A with the Author, Kay Brellend

Read on for an extract from The Street

Keep Reading – The Windmill Girls

About the Author

Also by Kay Brellend

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

February 1936

‘Have you killed her?’

‘Don’t care if I have,’ the big man growled. ‘The slag deserves to be six feet under for what she’s done.’

‘What could she have done to deserve this?’ the young woman bellowed.

Kathy Finch weighed seven and a half stone and stood five foot three in her shoes, but she was trying to wrestle the brute away from the prone bloodied body of his young wife. He swatted her aside as easily as he would an irritating moth.

Kathy regained her breath and balance, then launched herself at the stevedore again. This time when she grabbed his hairy forearm he allowed her to pull him back, having delivered a final lazy stamp to the figure on the floor.

Ruby Potter had curled into a foetal position in a vain attempt to protect herself and her unborn baby from her husband’s boots. But whereas moments ago she had been gamely fighting back – punching and slapping at his thick shins – now she was motionless, her face fallen away to the wall.

Satisfied with the punishment he’d inflicted, Charlie Potter sauntered off to get his donkey jacket from a filthy armchair. The child sitting on it barely flinched as the coat was whipped from under her.

‘I think you know right enough what she’s done, miss,’ Charlie finally answered Kathy. ‘Don’t come the innocent with me. Ruby talks to you about all sorts of stuff. I’ve heard her.’

‘She talks to me ’cos I’m her midwife!’ Kathy yelled. She’d dropped down beside Ruby and was feeling her limp wrist for a pulse. She swivelled on her knees, aware that at any time the vicious bastard could again let loose his temper and she might be on the receiving end. She felt ire well up inside. She’d go down fighting, like Ruby had.

She’d no idea what had led up to this beating, having arrived after it had started. At the sound of the blood-curdling commotion, she had raced down the passageway and burst into the room, but by then her patient was already on her knees. The punch she’d seen Charlie deliver had looked savage enough to fell a horse. It had certainly put Ruby out like a light.

Kathy’s eyes slewed to the chalk-faced child sucking her thumb and watching everything with unblinking intensity. She knew she herself was relatively safe, but a maniac such as Potter, who believed his family were his chattels to do with as he liked, wouldn’t think twice about laying into his small daughter if he thought she was being insolent.

‘You’d better get out of here! I’m warning you … I’m calling for an ambulance and then I’m getting the police.’ Kathy’s fear was subdued by fury.

Charlie Potter swooped on Kathy, pinching her chin between his calloused fingers. Her neck strained as he hauled her up using just those remorseless digits until she was on her feet and gritting her teeth in agony. When standing in front of him she tried to jerk back from his leery gaze but the pain increased so she settled for despising him with china-blue eyes.

‘If she’s a goner, I’ve got friends who’ll say I was with them. I’ve got other friends who’ll turn things bad fer you.’ He patted her cap and gave her a tobacco-stained grin, making her recoil from his stinking breath. ‘Just ’cos you’re friendly with the coppers don’t mean nuthin’. My friends have got mates in the constabulary ’n’ all, if you get my drift. So you think on, miss. You’ve been about long enough now to know how we do things round here.’ His crafty eyes slipped over her slender figure beneath her gabardine mac. ‘We don’t need you comin’ round, interfering. I’ve told you that before. Ruby’s got all the help she needs with friends ’n’ family.’

‘Leave her be!’ The weak command came from behind and Kathy spun around so quickly and violently that Charlie’s fingernails scored her skin.

‘Are you all right?’ Kathy crouched, her roving hand immediately testing Ruby Potter’s distended belly. A tiny undulation beneath her fingertips made her whisper a relieved prayer. She turned to glare at the thug behind. There was no flicker of remorse or thankfulness at this sign that his beating hadn’t proved fatal. He simply scowled, pointing a menacing finger at his battered wife that promised more was to come. A moment later, he swaggered out of the room.

‘Help me up, will you, Miss Finch?’ Ruby asked wearily once she’d heard the front door crash shut.

‘You stay there. I’m just going out to call an ambulance for you, Mrs Potter,’ Kathy blurted.

‘No! Don’t do that. It’ll just make things worse if busybodies get to hear what’s gone on.’

‘But … your face needs stitching,’ Kathy said gently, not wanting to upset the woman. The gash on her cheek was sure to leave a nasty scar if left unattended. Ruby looked a dreadful state, and the shame of it was that she’d probably been quite a pretty woman in her time. Kathy glanced at her patient’s tangled dark brown hair and pallid complexion. From Ruby Potter’s medical notes, Kathy had gleaned that the woman was only six years older than herself. Had she not read her age as twenty-six she’d have guessed her to be in her mid-thirties.

The child jumped down from her seat now she knew the coast was clear. As Kathy gripped under Ruby’s arms and strained to lift her, little Pansy shoved her mother on the posterior, trying to do her bit to help.

There was an iron bed set against one wall and, settling Ruby on the edge of the grimy mattress, Kathy gently tilted her chin to get a better look at the damage Charlie had inflicted. ‘You should get yourself seen to at the hospital,’ she urged.

‘Can’t you do it, miss?’ Ruby pleaded.

‘I can’t stitch you up.’ Kathy had guessed that might come. She was a qualified nurse, but had not been trained to close wounds.

Kathy did her rounds in this poverty-riddled quarter of London, where slum conditions and rough people made the job unpredictable. But she was determined to continue in her vocation, no matter how unpleasant it was at times. For every vile brute like Charlie Potter there were twice as many salts of the earth around Whitechapel who were terribly grateful for the work she did.

‘Don’t care how it looks. Just don’t want no germs getting in. I’d be grateful if you’d do what you can.’ Ruby attempted a smile but it simply made blood leak again from the corner of her mouth. ‘Don’t want to get you into no trouble, of course, Nurse Finch,’ she mumbled, lifting a corner of her pinafore to dab her face.

Kathy shook her head to herself, delving into her nurse’s bag to find something with which to clean up her patient. ‘I don’t carry any equipment for stitches … sorry …’ Kathy knew if she did she’d probably flout rules and risk her job for Ruby Potter’s sake. As she looked at the pathetic spectacle sitting with hunched shoulders on the bed, she felt tempted to run after Charlie Potter and let fly with her fists, even though she knew it would make her no better than he.

‘Make Nurse a cup of tea, Pansy.’ Ruby’s fat lips made the words sound slurred, as did the muffling edge of the pinafore she was again pressing to her face to stanch the bleeding.

The little girl shook the dented kettle and, satisfied it had water in it, set it on the hob grate, then squatted down in front of the fire to wait for it to boil.

‘Probably got no bloody milk. Suppose that selfish git’s used it all in his tea,’ Ruby muttered. ‘Christ, me head aches …’ She clutched at her forehead and closed her eyes.

Pansy jumped up and found a milk bottle. She swung it to and fro to let her mother see there was a little bit sploshing about at the bottom.

Kathy wetted some lint under the tap and dabbed it on Ruby’s face, rinsing and repeating the process. She drew from her bag a clean piece of wadding.

‘Suppose you’re wondering what set him off this time,’ Ruby mumbled.

‘Your husband seems to think I know all about it. He thinks you confide in me.’ Kathy’s clear blue gaze drifted from the split cheek she was tending to Ruby’s brown eyes.

‘He’s jealous.’

‘Even so, he has no right to beat you unconscious.’

‘He’s got a right to be jealous, though,’ Ruby replied sheepishly.

‘I know he has,’ Kathy sighed. Gossip was going around the neighbourhood that Ruby Potter was a shameless baggage. In Kathy’s opinion, the woman was a fool not to have run off with the other fellow rather than stick with a brute like Charlie. But young and single as Kathy was, she realised life wasn’t that simple for the likes of Ruby: the woman’s boyfriend was quite likely to be married too, possibly with a brood of children and no money and no job. Charlie Potter was considered one of the lucky ones to be working at the docks, and Kathy had heard him loudly impressing that on Ruby on previous occasions when she’d visited.

But Kathy couldn’t condemn Ruby for wanting a man – any man – to show her some love and tenderness.

‘All the men round here would’ve done the same,’ Ruby volunteered in her queer voice, breaking into Kathy’s brooding. ‘Sal Turpin got a fractured skull off her old man when he caught her with a fancy man. Ended in hospital, she did, and her kids got took away.’ She raised her eyes and gave Kathy a meaningful look.

‘There’s no excuse for any of them to act like savages,’ Kathy replied. ‘What are you waiting for, the pair of you? Pine boxes to leave in?’

‘Where shall I go with no money and three kids?’ Ruby grunted an astonished laugh. ‘Got one under me feet, one at school and one in me belly.’ She shook her head. ‘Ain’t that easy, Nurse Finch, fer the likes of us. You take it from me, ’cos you’ll never know, will you? Nice clever gel like you’ll have a doctor or someone posh like that walking you up the aisle.’

Kathy felt a flush warm her cheeks. Ruby was being either sarcastic or diplomatic. She liked the woman, so gave her the benefit of the doubt and decided Ruby probably didn’t want to accuse her of being a copper’s nark to her face, as some folk did. It had soon got around in the district that Nurse Finch was walking out with a local constable. And nobody liked him: it was David Goldstein’s job rather than his character or his Jewish roots they took exception to. East End working-class people roundly despised the police.

‘Go on, just do it … start on me cheek, if you like,’ Ruby suggested gamely.

Kathy continued working as gently as she could on Ruby’s face, wiping blood and pressing together edges of skin. She knew the woman was trying not to flinch. She knew too that Pansy had come closer to watch her tending to her mother. When Kathy allowed her eyes to dart quickly to the child, she noticed Pansy’s eyes were bright with curiosity rather than fright.

‘Got that tea made, Pansy?’ her mother asked, grimacing against the pain in her face. ‘Can hear the kettle steaming.’

The girl trotted off and splashed hot water onto tea leaves. She put milk into chipped cups a drop at a time so as not to waste any, just the way she’d been told.

‘Don’t forget to give it a good stir, Pansy. And don’t spill none in the saucer fer the nurse.’ The curt warning made the child turn large eyes on the adults.

‘She’s always very quiet,’ Kathy remarked without looking away from her delicate work of patching up Ruby.

‘She natters sometimes,’ Ruby said, flinching at the sting in her lip.

Kathy had done what she could and started packing away her things.

‘She keeps shtoom when strangers are around.’ Ruby gingerly touched her face, feeling for the damage. ‘Then when Peter gets in from school he never stops, so poor Pansy don’t get a word in edgeways, even if she wants to.’

‘When is she going to school?’

‘No rush …’ Ruby said, sounding defiant.

Kathy guessed that Pansy was already of an age to attend school. She was small and slight from under nourishment – as were most of the local children – but Kathy suspected she was over five years old. She bent to smile into Pansy’s face. ‘Is that my tea?’ Kathy tipped her cap at a chipped cup and saucer with an unappetisingly weak brew in it.

Pansy nodded.

‘Thank you.’

The little girl’s response to unwanted attention was to shuffle towards her mother and press against her.

‘If you lie down, Mrs Potter, I’ll listen to the baby’s heart before I go and make sure there’s nothing amiss.’

‘Ain’t no need, Miss Finch; I can tell you the little blighter’s strong as an ox. Lays into me almost as hard as its father does …’ Her words faded away.

Ruby knew for sure, even if Nurse Finch did not, that Charlie Potter wasn’t this baby’s father. Charlie knew, of course, and that was what was making him nastier than usual. He could count months as well as she could and knew he’d been away courtesy of His Majesty when the baby was conceived. He’d been lucky to get back his old job at the docks following six months behind bars. Anyhow, her husband would know for certain when it was born; Ruby feared the child would look foreign, being as the man who’d knocked her up was Chinese.

‘You promise me you won’t say nuthin’ about this commotion?’ Ruby pleaded, eyes widening. ‘You won’t tell Dr Worth, will you? The authorities will poke into me business. Then what’ve I got left if I lose me kids?’

Kathy could see Ruby was close to crying. The woman had taken a beating off her husband without shedding a tear, yet might weep now but for having her vow of silence. Around here, the disgrace of interference from the hated authorities was deemed worse than being married to a brute. Kathy sighed agreement. ‘Now I’m here, I’ll just take a look at you and make sure everything’s all right with the baby,’ she insisted.

‘Never had none of this fuss and bother with me other two,’ Ruby muttered, easing herself back gingerly on the bed. ‘Me mum’s friend Ivy from across the street took care o’ me before when I was due with Peter and Pansy.’

‘Things have changed, Mrs Potter, and people like Ivy Tiller mustn’t deliver babies unless they want to get into trouble.’

Kathy was used to coming up against resistance from women – and their husbands – who had been used to calling in local handywomen to care for them during labour. Rather than risk arrest, most of the unofficial midwives adhered to the ruling, if grudgingly. Kathy sympathised with those women: their livelihood had been bound up in their unofficial profession. Times were hard for everybody and jobs not easy to find.

Kathy listened to the strong heartbeat, amazed at how resilient these working-class wives were. Her own father had been a bully, yet, absurd as she knew it to be, Kathy considered him better than Charlie Potter because his brutality had been controlled. Potter didn’t give a damn about the consequences of beating his wife. He believed his criminal acquaintances protected him from trouble. Eddie Finch had not risked drawing attention to himself, or his career fencing stolen goods in Islington, with a charge of wife battering.

He’d floored Winifred with his punches but had refrained from following them up with a kicking while she sprawled defenceless. Like Ruby Potter, Kathy’s mother had no intention of allowing outsiders to know her business. Winifred Finch’s greatest terror had been giving the neighbours a reason to gossip about her, so she’d hide indoors until her bruises had healed rather than go out and face knowing looks.

Dwelling on her family prompted Kathy to glance at her watch. She’d told her sister, Jennifer, she might call in and see her later on, but time was short and she had a postnatal visit to make to a woman still confined to her bed in the Lolesworth tenements. Besides, after the disturbance with the Potters, Kathy didn’t think she could face going into Jennifer’s and bumping into the unsavoury characters she kept company with.

‘Baby seems fine, surprisingly enough,’ Kathy said, having concentrated for some time on the rhythmic thud in her ear. ‘There’s a nice strong heartbeat.’

‘Hear that, Pansy?’ Ruby turned to her daughter, standing by the side of the bed. ‘Your little sister is doing right as rain.’

Pansy wagged her small dark head.

‘You want a girl, do you?’ Kathy asked, picking up her bag in readiness to leave.

‘Don’t want no more men about the place, that’s fer sure,’ Ruby said. ‘Peter’s already getting his father’s swagger about him … he’s only eight ’n’ all.’

‘Will you come to the antenatal clinic next time for a checkup at the surgery? It’s on Wednesday afternoons at two o’clock.’

‘If I can,’ Ruby said, as she always did.

Kathy knew that she wouldn’t turn up. If the pregnant women in the dilapidated cottages around Fairclough Street would just attend the local clinic for a quick checkup, it would save her the job of home visits.

Kathy gave Pansy a wave as she went towards the door. Glancing over a shoulder, she saw that Ruby was, head in hands, sipping the weak cup of tea that had been left untouched on the table. She felt a surge of hatred for Charlie Potter and all his like. It was wasted passion. The women would never leave. As Ruby had pointed out, they had no choice but to stay with the brutes and take a bit of happiness where they could with other men.

CHAPTER TWO

‘What have you done to your hair?’

Blanche Raven turned her head, inspecting her new hairstyle in the hallway mirror. She was pleased with the permanent wave she’d had put in, even if her mother wasn’t, and she guessed from the tone of her voice that Gladys didn’t like it. But then her mother could find fault with anything, and sound sour when discussing the weather on a fine day.

‘Is Dad in?’ Blanche asked, ignoring her mother’s question. She was after a sub off her father, having just spent all her wages at the hairdresser’s. She knew asking her mother for a few bob would be a dead loss, even though Gladys was flush, having just got paid for her job as a machinist.

‘Your father’s gone out. I think he’s meeting Nick, ’cos he heard he might have a job for him, but of course, I don’t get told all of it.’

The mention of her estranged husband made Blanche prick up her ears. She’d only been in minutes but she buttoned her coat ready to leave the house again.

Gladys Scott eyed her daughter grimly. ‘Thinking of going chasing after Nick again, are you? Won’t do you no good, my girl. He still won’t take you back, and you know it.’

‘Oh, shut up, Mum,’ Blanche muttered, crashing the front door shut behind her. She hunched her shoulders against a sense of dejection and the bitter February wind. She feared her mother was right. Nick had given her the brush-off earlier in the week when she’d turned up at his place with seduction on her mind. She’d felt humiliated when he’d practically bundled her out of the door and told her to go home. He hadn’t even offered her a lift in his flash car and she’d had to catch the bus.

Hearing a bus wheezing to a stop at the corner of Bethnal Green Road, Blanche trotted towards it and managed to jump on just before it pulled off. She settled down on a seat next to a fat woman with a basket on her lap. The woman gave her a glare, even though she was taking up most of the seat with her porky backside.

When it reached her stop, Blanche got off the bus and walked briskly in the direction of the Grave Maurice pub. She was hoping that Nick would be in his local, as he usually was at dinnertime, and that her dad would be with him. Nick was more tolerant of her company when her father was around because the two men liked one another. If only she’d listened to her father’s advice rather than her mother’s, she’d never have let Nick Raven slip through her fingers.

Blanche dawdled outside, peering through the pub windows. She was itching to creep inside and see if Nick and her father were propping up the bar, but she had been brought up right – as her mother would term it – and knew it wasn’t nice for a young woman to enter such a rough house on her own. Besides, Nick didn’t like pushy women – he’d never got on with her mother – and wouldn’t appreciate Blanche marching in on him now if he was with pals. But Blanche didn’t fancy loitering outside freezing to death so she had a decision to make.

‘Who you after, then?’ A burly fellow had just emerged from the pub and seen her on tiptoe, trying to peer into the saloon bar over the frosted-glass pane. He gave Blanche an appreciative top-to-toe look. She was a pretty brunette, and her ample bust and curvy hips were undisguised by the heavy winter coat she wore. He thought she seemed familiar but couldn’t bring to mind where he’d met her before.