A Reunion at Mulberry Lane. Rosie Clarke

      ‘Thank you for telling me,’ Sheila had replied. ‘I’ll speak to his father.’

      She had done so immediately, but Pip hadn’t been interested. Sometimes, Sheila thought his mind was immersed in his work and that he seemed to forget about her and have little time to spare for his family. She knew he loved her; he just didn’t get around to showing it often.

      ‘I want Chris to concentrate on maths and English, and perhaps French and German languages,’ Pip had said when she told him of his son’s love of music. ‘If he has those behind him, he will have a good career at his fingertips, Sheila. He might even become a commercial pilot.’

      ‘Supposing he’d prefer to play music?’

      ‘He can do that in his spare time when he’s older,’ Pip had told her. ‘Besides, he’s far too young to learn music seriously. Let him play games until he’s ready to leave preparatory school, Sheila. Time enough then for him to develop his own interests…’

      Sheila had got a book from the library about a child genius who began playing the piano at the age of five, and the more she read, the more she believed that her son should have the chance to start music lessons now. Some of the famous musicians like Mozart and others had begun very young. So why not her Chris?

      Sheila was glad Peggy had asked what Chris wanted for Christmas. Pip might have got cross if she’d bought the guitar herself, but if it came from Peggy, he wouldn’t say a word. Peggy had a way of calming him down and making him see sense, and that was another reason she was glad her mother-in-law was coming for Christmas. If she had her way, she would love to see Peggy back in the lanes permanently. She could always pick up the phone and ring her, but Maureen was right, it just wasn’t the same as living close by.

      ‘Mum… can I read in bed tonight?’ Chris tugged at her skirt and she looked down at her son, smiling as she saw he had the library books she’d fetched for him. There was one on Roman history with lots of pictures of soldiers and ancient Rome and another album about football, because Chris liked sport as much as the next schoolboy and often spent an hour before supper kicking a ball in the lane with his friends.

      ‘Yes, of course you can, darling,’ she said. ‘I’ll bring you some cocoa up soon – and don’t forget to clean your teeth and wash your ears…’

      ‘Aw, Mum,’ Chris said, wriggling uncomfortably. ‘My ears are clean. I had a bath on Sunday and I wash every day…’

      ‘Yes, a lick and a promise,’ she said, but she was laughing because she made sure he had a bath every Sunday and after games. Small boys got very muddy after playing football at school. ‘I shall inspect them to make sure.’ She sent him off to bed with the threat and laughed inwardly at the face he pulled.

      Sheila continued laughing as she put the milk on for his cocoa. Pip was still in his study working and would be for the next couple of hours. Sheila decided to go into the bar after she’d taken her son his bedtime drink. She may as well help out for a while as sit here on her own. She enjoyed the customers’ gossip and hearing them talk about their lives and the changes since the war. Pip found it boring, but she didn’t.

      So, she would take cocoa to her son and ask her husband if he wanted one and then she’d pop into the bar and pull a few pints, even though her barman could manage perfectly well with the help of young Pamela Makepeace, who was still at typing college but did a shift on Friday nights.

      7

      Rose had left her youngest son with Alice for the morning. Her elderly neighbour wasn’t as spry as she had been during the war years, but Jackie was very good for her. Alice talked to him and told him stories and he would happily munch a piece of her home-made flapjack and listen, as good as gold, until his mother returned.

      ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Rose had asked Alice as she sat Jackie in the high chair in Alice’s warm kitchen. ‘He isn’t too much trouble for you?’

      ‘It’s the best part of my week when you go shoppin’ and leave this little love with me,’ Alice had declared, her now very wrinkled face lighting with pure pleasure. ‘Take all the time you want, love, me and this little ’un will be fine.’

      Rose had thanked her and left quickly. Jackie was gurgling with laughter and hardly noticed her go. He’d got over his tummy trouble and was back to his normal sunny self. Alice was his unofficial grandmother, because neither Tom nor Rose had a mother and so Alice was always ready to stand in. Rose had worried whether it was fair to put so much on her, but Tom told her that Alice would live until she was at least a hundred and do her own housework until the day she died.

      ‘Alice is as tough as old boots,’ he’d declared stoutly. ‘She’s one of the old breed of Londoners, Rose. They sailed through the war and they might not like the way things are changing in the East End these days, with all the new building and regulations, but it would take more than our Jackie to upset Alice.

      So, Rose went off happily to do her weekly food shop. Besides, the normal groceries, which she ordered from Maureen’s shop and would be delivered, Rose wanted fruit and vegetables from the market. You could get a better variety and at Christmas some of the stalls had special big sweet oranges and tangerines, nuts and extras for the children. Also, it was easier to buy the Christmas gifts for her family without having to lug Jackie around.

      Jenny’s gift was almost complete. Rose had bought her a lovely dress for best in a sky blue with a neat little collar of white and a nipped-in waist and flared skirt. It was a little girl’s version of the Dior sensation that had hit the high streets the previous year. As soon as Christian Dior’s New Look had appeared in the national papers, every workshop in London had started to make their own version. Rose was wearing a dark blue dress with a full skirt and a coat that had a shaped waist over it. She’d bought them for a good price in the dress shop she favoured and Tom said her clothes looked every bit as smart as those the high-fashion models wore.

      Of course, Jenny had wanted a dress like her mother’s, so Rose had bought material and had it made. She’d bought white leather button-up shoes to go with it and Tom had purchased an imitation pearl necklace and bracelet for his daughter as his special gift and he’d made her a special surprise as well.

      Jackie would have a new pair of short trousers and a bright red jumper, because he loved the colour red. However, his main present was an electric train set. Rose suspected that his father was looking forward to setting it up for him and teaching him how it worked. Tom hadn’t been given much in the way of toys when he was small; times were harder then, and his parents had known more of a struggle. So that was perhaps why he insisted that his children had toys. Jenny preferred costume jewellery and clothes or a colouring book and pencils and she would find all those things in her pillowcase, because Rose’s friends all gave the children little things to open on Christmas Day.

      Rose wanted to buy several little bits and pieces too. It was fun wrapping them with Tom last thing on Christmas Eve and the children often loved a toy that cost two shillings as much as their main gifts.

      Rose walked briskly towards the covered market where she liked to shop. Between her lane and the official market, several unlicensed stalls often set up in little alleys or at the side of the road, especially at Christmas, and she bought some nuts from one young lad selling them on his dad’s stall.

      ‘I like the look of those walnuts,’ she said to the cheeky youngster. He must have been fifteen or so but was small for his age and had an infectious grin. ‘They’re almost like wet walnuts and I love those.’

      ‘Them give yer the runs, them do,’ the lad chortled.

      ‘Mind your manners, Nobby,’ his father said and winked at Rose. ‘Sorry, missus, my lad don’t mean nuthin’ wrong. He’s just full of it ’cos I’ve let him help me on the barrow.’

      ‘He hardly looks old enough to have left school,’ Rose answered. He seemed friendly enough, though she didn’t care for men winking at her in a familiar way,

      ‘Don’t