East End Angel. Kay Brellend
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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