East End Angel. Kay Brellend

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      ‘Know her, do you?’ Blanche snapped. Her female intuition was telling her that Nick was not immune to Joyce’s charms.

      ‘Not as well as I’d like to.’ He removed her arms from his shoulders. A moment later, he was heading off towards his Alvis parked at the kerb.

      Suddenly Nick halted and strolled back towards Blanche, hands thrust into his pockets. Now he ignored Joyce giving him a come-hither glance over her shoulder, concentrating on his estranged wife. ‘We need to talk about the divorce, Blanche.’ He gazed into the distance, hoping she wasn’t about to get hysterical as she usually did when he mentioned putting an official end to their marriage. In the past he’d backed down rather than upset her and her family. But enough time had passed and he knew he would never again love her or want to live with her. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he ever had loved her or wanted to live with her. But four years ago he’d been determined to do the right thing by their unborn child and meet his responsibilities. Not that he could be certain it had been his child … and he never would know, as she’d miscarried the little mite at about five months. They’d been married when that happened. The booking at the town hall had been just six weeks premature because Blanche had insisted she wanted to have a ring on her finger before she got a pot belly. In the event she never did get fat but she got her ring and Nick had wondered, once they were all over the turmoil of losing the baby, what the hell he’d done.

      Now Blanche shot backwards, clearly not going to listen to any talk of divorces. She knew if she could just get Nick to sleep with her, make her pregnant again, he’d never leave her. He’d stood by her before when she’d been carrying his child and she reckoned he’d do so again.

      Nick smiled acidly as he saw her stumbling towards the pub. He’d learned that if there was one sure way to shake Blanche off it was mentioning putting their divorce into motion.

      ‘Ain’t talking about it. You know how I feel.’ Blanche pointed a shaking finger at him. ‘When I took me vows they was for keeps.’

      ‘Yeah? Which ones exactly?’ Nick asked sarcastically, following her to the pub door to prevent her entering. ‘Weren’t the vow of fidelity, was it?’ He pulled her roughly to one side so people could exit the pub. ‘Now I’ve told you I can get a divorce on the grounds of adultery – come to think of it, so can you now. But it’d be best if we keep it all nice and friendly, for everybody’s sake.’

      ‘We can make a go of it. Why you being horrible?’ Blanche gazed up at him, bottom lip wobbling. ‘I’ve said sorry. So I made a mistake – we all make mistakes, don’t we?’

      ‘Right ’n’ all … I made one when I married you,’ Nick said, but not nastily. ‘It weren’t ever right between us and you know it. It ain’t ever going to be right between us, and you need to accept that, Blanche. Find yourself somebody else,’ he added quite gently. ‘Don’t pin your hopes on me changing me mind, ’cos I never will.’

      Blanche ripped her arm out of his clasp. ‘You’re me husband.’ Her mouth was set stubbornly as she whipped past him, diving into the pub to find her father before Nick could say anything else to upset her.

      Tony sighed as he saw his daughter storming towards him. ‘Ain’t having any of it, is he?’

      Blanche ignored her father’s pessimism, polishing off her gin and orange, sniffing back angry tears.

      ‘Anyhow, why aren’t you at work?’ Tony asked. ‘Ain’t your afternoon off.’

      ‘Old Emo gave me the day off ’cos I had bellyache.’ Blanche worked in a dress shop in Whitechapel High Street and her boss was the Jew who employed her mother as a machinist.

      ‘Yeah, you had bellyache all right,’ her father mocked. ‘You think that crafty old git ain’t gonna know you got yer fancy hairdo on his time?’

      Blanche shrugged. ‘Don’t see it matters anyhow. Emo never pays me if I don’t turn up and do me shift.’

      ‘You’ll lose that job,’ Tony warned. ‘Then your mother’ll have something to say.’ He hopped off the stool, having drained his glass, and thumped it down on the bar. ‘She’s already warned you you’re out of the door the moment you stop paying your way. I ain’t going to argue with that. You were lucky we had you back home when Nick kicked you out, considering what you done.’

      ‘Don’t care if Emo does sack me,’ Blanche said. ‘Don’t care if Mum throws me out neither. It’s me husband’s job to keep me. So I’m gonna make sure that’s what Nick does,’ she muttered defiantly beneath her breath as she followed her father to the door of the pub.

      Once he’d got in his car Nick pulled a packet of Weights from his pocket and lit one. While dragging deeply on the cigarette he made a mental note to see his lawyer about starting divorce proceedings. He drove off round the corner and noticed Joyce Groves standing at a bus stop. Her brother had disappeared. She stepped closer to the kerb as she spotted Nick’s Alvis approaching so he couldn’t miss her.

      Nick drove on and didn’t bother looking in his rear-view mirror to see how she took that. He’d seen her about for a while and fancied her enough to give her reason to think he’d do something about it. But this afternoon he’d lost the urge for a woman following his talk with Blanche. He knew he could be a hard-nosed bastard when dealing with business matters, and just wished he could find the same attitude when dealing with his estranged wife. He wasn’t sure why he felt lethargic about the divorce process. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t find the money for the lawyer. He liked his father-in-law but not enough to want to keep hearing Tony call him ‘son’, and as for that dragon Tony was married to, he’d happily never clap eyes on Gladys again.

      In his mind Nick cancelled the meeting with his lawyer. What did it matter if he remained married to the silly cow? He’d already made up his mind he wasn’t ever taking on a wife again, and at least the women he slept with knew not to expect too much of him while Blanche was hanging about in the background …

       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘For goodness’ sake, Jennifer! Can’t you clean this place up, once in a while?’

      ‘Why?’ Jennifer Finch was in the process of rinsing out her stockings and underwear. Turning from the sink she sent her sister a sullen look while listlessly dunking the smalls in a metal bowl. ‘This dump won’t look no better without the dust, you know.’ Lethargically, she glanced about.

      ‘It’s not a bit of dust that’s the problem, Jen, is it?’ Kathy retorted.

      Jennifer had a couple of ground-floor rooms in a converted house just off Mare Street in Bethnal Green. The upstairs was unoccupied as the landlord had refused to mend the leaking roof and make it close to habitable. On arrival today, Kathy had found her sister’s flat in a state, as usual. Jennifer was always promising to have a spring clean, but never did. The only place that ever seemed slightly tidier was Jennifer’s bedroom, and Kathy reckoned that was to impress her scummy punters.

      Jennifer’s sitting room had once been separated from the kitchenette by a partition wall. The landlord had knocked it down to a low level so now a few old cupboards, a small cooker and a butler sink with wooden draining board were on view.

      The faded wallpaper had come unstuck where rain had penetrated through the ceiling and bay window, and now drooped, СКАЧАТЬ