knows what I can do, he’ll leave you alone... at least for a while.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ her mother sobbed. ‘Me poor girl, you’ve got nowhere to go. But you can’t be here when he gets home—’
Just then they heard the front door banging open and the old man stumbled into the kitchen. He had lost his cap and his choker was askew. Milly’s mother jumped up to stand in front of Milly. Her father staggered, holding one hand to his ribs. He didn’t look at Milly; his eyes slid past her to Mrs Colman.
‘Get me the liniment, she’s broke me fuckin’ ribs.’ He slumped down into his chair by the fire, wincing. Her mother went to the sideboard and the old man stared at the fire, speaking almost to himself. ‘Keep her out of my sight. I don’t want to see her.’
‘Go on...’ Her mother was pushing Milly out into the passage. ‘Make yourself scarce.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Come back when he’s in bed!’
Milly stepped out into the street, where by now the excitement had already died down. Domestic disputes came and went with great regularity in Arnold’s Place and they were always conducted in public. The houses faced each other with only nine or ten feet of paving between them and the front windows were positioned opposite each other, so that any degree of privacy was minimal. But the neighbours had retreated inside for Saturday tea and Milly found herself contemplating a long evening alone. She looked for regret in her heart, but couldn’t find any. The remembered sensation of her fist connecting with his jaw was so sweet it was worth a lifetime’s exile, and she had the deeper satisfaction of knowing she’d saved her mother from any more abuse, at the very least until his ribs healed. She absent-mindedly rubbed her grazed knuckles, then made up her mind.
Saturday night was dance night at Bermondsey Baths and she’d arranged to meet some of the other jam girls there. Why should she change her plans? If her own home was denied her, she would find another, on the streets of Bermondsey.
She headed for the two-up two-down in Hickman’s Folly, where Kitty Bunclerk lived with her parents, five sisters and little brother Percy. After six girls, Mr Bunclerk had wanted to name him Perseverance, but Mrs Bunclerk, being more merciful, had suggested they compromise with Percy.
When she arrived they were sitting down to Saturday tea. As one of the older Bunclerk girls ushered her through the narrow passage, Milly smiled at the three youngest children, who were seated on the stairs, plates balanced on their laps. The tiny kitchen wasn’t big enough for them all to sit round the table at once and Milly could barely fit herself into the room. Mrs Bunclerk welcomed her in, just as Kitty came out of the scullery.
‘You’re early! We heard you give your old man a good hiding! Has he chucked you out?’ Kitty asked, wide-eyed.
‘Not yet, but I’m steering clear of him for a bit.’
‘You’d better keep your head down, love,’ a toothless Mrs Bunclerk smiled cheerily, ‘and lock the bedroom door an’all, he’s the sort’d kill you in your bed!’
‘Mum! Stop it, you’ll frighten the life out of her. Come in the scullery, Mill.’
The others looked disappointed as Milly squeezed round the table and out into the back scullery.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Kitty turned her bright, concerned eyes on Milly.
‘I’m going to the dance, what else?’
Kitty burst into giggles. ‘Milly Colman, only you could pay your dad in front of the whole world and then go dancing as if nothing had happened.’
‘Well, I’ll need to tidy myself up a bit first, look at the state of me.’
She peered into the small mirror hanging on a nail above the sink and pulled at her hair. Looking down at her coat, she noticed it had lost a couple of buttons in the scuffle. ‘And look at me dancing shoes!’ Milly lifted her foot, to show her friend the old work boots she was still wearing.
‘Come
‘Oh, Jesus,’ her mother sobbed. ‘Me poor girl, you’ve got nowhere to go. But you can’t be here when he gets home—’
Just then they heard the front door banging open and the old man stumbled into the kitchen. He had lost his cap and his choker was askew. Milly’s mother jumped up to stand in front of Milly. Her father staggered, holding one hand to his ribs. He didn’t look at Milly; his eyes slid past her to Mrs Colman.
‘Get me the liniment, she’s broke me fuckin’ ribs.’ He slumped down into his chair by the fire, wincing. Her mother went to the sideboard and the old man stared at the fire, speaking almost to himself. ‘Keep her out of my sight. I don’t want to see her.’
‘Go on...’ Her mother was pushing Milly out into the passage. ‘Make yourself scarce.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Come back when he’s in bed!’
Milly stepped out into the street, where by now the excitement had already died down. Domestic disputes came and went with great regularity in Arnold’s Place and they were always conducted in public. The houses faced each other with only nine or ten feet of paving between them and the front windows were positioned opposite each other, so that any degree of privacy was minimal. But the neighbours had retreated inside for Saturday tea and Milly found herself contemplating a long evening alone. She looked for regret in her heart, but couldn’t find any. The remembered sensation of her fist connecting with his jaw was so sweet it was worth a lifetime’s exile, and she had the deeper satisfaction of knowing she’d saved her mother from any more abuse, at the very least until his ribs healed. She absent-mindedly rubbed her grazed knuckles, then made up her mind.
Saturday night was dance night at Bermondsey Baths and she’d arranged to meet some of the other jam girls there. Why should she change her plans? If her own home was denied her, she would find another, on the streets of Bermondsey.
She headed for the two-up two-down in Hickman’s Folly, where Kitty Bunclerk lived with her parents, five sisters and little brother Percy. After six girls, Mr Bunclerk had wanted to name him Perseverance, but Mrs Bunclerk, being more merciful, had suggested they compromise with Percy.
When she arrived they were sitting down to Saturday tea. As one of the older Bunclerk girls ushered her through the narrow passage, Milly smiled at the three youngest children, who were seated on the stairs, plates balanced on their laps. The tiny kitchen wasn’t big enough for them all to sit round the table at once and Milly could barely fit herself into the room. Mrs Bunclerk welcomed her in, just as Kitty came out of the scullery.
‘You’re early! We heard you give your old man a good hiding! Has he chucked you out?’ Kitty asked, wide-eyed.
‘Not yet, but I’m steering clear of him for a bit.’
‘You’d better keep your head down, love,’ a toothless Mrs Bunclerk smiled cheerily, ‘and lock the bedroom door an’all, he’s the sort’d kill you in your bed!’
‘Mum! Stop it, you’ll frighten the life out of her. Come in the scullery, Mill.’
The others looked disappointed as Milly squeezed round the table and out into the back scullery.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Kitty turned her bright, concerned eyes on Milly.
‘I’m going to the dance, what else?’
Kitty burst into giggles. ‘Milly Colman, only you could pay your dad in front of the whole world and then go dancing as if nothing had happened.’
‘Well, I’ll need to tidy myself up a bit first, look at the state of me.’
She peered into the small mirror hanging on a nail above the sink and pulled at her hair. Looking down at her coat, she noticed it had lost a couple of buttons in the scuffle. ‘And look at me dancing shoes!’ Milly lifted her foot, to show her friend the old work boots she was still wearing.
‘Come
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