A Lesser Evil - Lesley Pearse [50]
‘That ees wonderful,’ Yvette exclaimed in delight, clapping her hands with joy. ‘You must be so ’appy.’
Fifi had confided that she wasn’t certain about that, and then went on to tell her about her parents disapproving of Dan, and how she was afraid if they didn’t manage to get a house of their own they’d get stuck in Dale Street.
‘Then you must, ’ow they say?, take the bull by the horns,’ Yvette said with an enigmatic smile. ‘Become the strong one.’
Fifi took that to mean Yvette thought she should push Dan harder. But that wasn’t necessary – since she’d told him about the baby he wanted to work all the hours God sent. They’d stopped going out for meals and if they went for a drink it was only for one. He was taking fatherhood very seriously.
It occurred to Fifi that Yvette had misjudged Dan in much the same way her parents had. Why did they assume he was feckless and weak? That wasn’t how he was at all.
*
Yvette glanced up at the windows across the street as she reached to draw her own curtains. She could see Fifi silhouetted in her window on the top floor and guessed she was alone again. She hoped Dan really was working late and not down the pub with his workmates.
Yvette really liked Fifi. But then she was the kind of girl almost anyone would like, for she was beautiful, sunny-natured and so full of life. She remembered how back in early June Fifi had come rushing in to tell her that Dr Stephen Ward, the osteopath at the centre of the big vice scandal, had committed suicide. Yvette had taken very little interest in the affair of Christine Keeler and John Profumo, for she’d known people back in France far worse, but Fifi knew every last thing about it, and the girl’s passionate interest made her laugh. Yvette hoped for Fifi’s sake that she’d move on soon, before this street changed her.
In the sixteen years Yvette had spent here, she’d observed how the street made people apathetic. It was almost as if there was something poisonous in the soot-laden air. No one of course really wanted to live here, except perhaps old Mrs Jarvis and the Muckles who’d never known anywhere else. Everyone said it was just a temporary place to live until they found something better. Yet almost all those who had arrived since the war ended were still here.
Stan the Pole had told her he was going to find work on a farm. Miss Diamond had her sights set on a place on Clapham Common. Frank and June Ubley were intending to join their daughter and grandchildren in Australia. But Stan was still a dustman and Miss Diamond was still complaining that it wasn’t what she was used to. Sadly, June Ubley had died, but Frank stayed on, keeping his net curtains snowy-white in memory of his wife, when there was nothing to stop him going to Australia. There was always farm work available for a man like Stan, and as for Miss Diamond, surely she could reply to any of those advertisements for flats that required a mature business lady with good references?
Yet Yvette knew why they hadn’t moved on, for the street had affected her too. She loathed everything about it – the meanness, squalor, lack of sunshine, the dust and noise from the coal yard, and the Muckles next door above all else. She could afford to live somewhere better, so why was she still here?
She had told Fifi it was because she couldn’t face searching for another flat or packing up all her belongings. That was true to a point, but it was also the neighbours, with the exception of the Muckles, who kept her here.
In the absence of real family, these people had taken their place. As she sat sewing in her window, their familiar faces made her feel less alone. She knew they were like her, the flotsam and jetsam of humanity, tossed up here to live out the remainder of their damaged lives. Some had shared their stories with her, and it made her feel better about herself because they