The Girl from Cotton Lane Read Online Free Page A

remark. ‘Mrs Dingle always ’ad a clay pipe stuck in ’er gob. She used ter sit in the Kings Arms on the corner o’ Page Street shellin’ ’er peas in the summer an’ puffin’ away at that clay pipe of ’ers. She used ter wear a cap stuck on the back of ’er’ead an’ a docker’s scarf. Gawd knows what become of ’er. I ain’t seen ’er about fer ages. P’raps she’s snuffed it.’
     
    Fred cut into the pieces of meat with a vengeance, fighting the urge to shake the chattering Bessie Chandler by the scruff of her neck until she snuffed it. ‘P’raps she ’as,’ he replied quietly.
     
    Bessie was not finished. ‘Like I was sayin’ earlier,’ she prattled on, ‘yer gotta be so careful wiv kids.’
     
    Fred had had enough. He put down the carving knife on the chopping block and wiped his hands on the end of his apron. ‘Leave the rollin’ out, Bessie. I’ll do that. Give Carrie an ’and, will yer?’ he almost implored her.
     
    Bessie nodded, glad for the chance of making her views known to the young mother, and she quickly flounced off out of the kitchen. Fred sighed to himself as he looked at the rest of the meat lying on the chopping block and at the pile of dough still to be rolled out. She’ll have to go, he told himself, fearful for his sanity while at the mercy of Bessie’s constant chatter. He picked up the sharp knife once more with a frown and growled at the meat as he diced it, imagining that it was Bessie he was carving up.
     
     
    On Friday evenings Carrie was in the habit of visiting her parents in Bacon Buildings. First she bathed Rachel and gave her a feed before settling her down, then she washed and changed, combing out her long fair hair and setting it on top of her head again. Fred watched his young wife go through her weekly ritual thinking how beautiful she looked. Her body had soon regained its youthful shape and he marvelled how trim she looked. Her breasts had become larger since Rachel was born and the tops of her arms too, he thought. Carrie’s bright blue eyes mirrored her good health and she hummed happily to herself as she brushed down her best coat. She was glad to get away from the shop for a short while and she felt confident about leaving the baby in Fred’s charge. Normally Rachel slept for a few hours after the feed and Carrie had made sure her husband knew what to do should the baby wake up before she got home. Once ready she turned to Fred and he raised his hands quickly in front of him. ‘It’s all right, I know what ter do if she wakes up,’ he reminded her. ‘Pick ’er up an’ bring up ’er wind. Check that the pin ain’t stickin’ in ’er, an’ if she don’t stop cryin’ walk up an’ down wiv ’er till she do.’
     
    Carrie kissed her husband lightly on the cheek and made for the stairs. She turned and was about to say something when Fred held up his hands once more. ‘I know, get Rachel’s next feed ready,’ he said quickly.
     
    Carrie smiled at him and hurried down the stairs. As she stepped out into the dark night she thought of the gloomy squalor of Bacon Buildings and the smile left her face. Her parents, William and Nellie Tanner, had been forced out of the terraced house in Page Street, the home they had brought the family up in, when her father’s employer George Galloway, who owned the house, decided he was going to make changes. Galloway had now installed a motor mechanic there whom he had hired to look after his new motor vehicles. Carrie’s parents and their youngest son Danny had been forced to find alternative accommodation and they ended up in one of the most dilapidated tenement blocks in Bermondsey. Carrie knew how hard it had been for her father, who had spent almost thirty-seven years as a horsekeeper for Galloway, to look for other employment. He had found a job as watchman at the council depot but it had caused him to become morose and ailing. His fortunes had changed, however, when a man who had befriended