The Tea Rose Part 18

"Did 'e break it off?"

"No, but 'e will. I'm sure of it."

She told him all about Joe's letter. "It's been ages since 'e sent it," she said. "I want to see 'im, but every time I get two pennies together something 'appens or somebody's 'ungry and they're gone. I know 'e doesn't care for me anymore ... 'e'd come see me if 'e did ... " She pressed his handkerchief to her face as fresh tears overtook her.

"Aw, Fiona, is that all it is?" he said, relieved. He was worried she might be up the pole. "Joe cares for you. 'E always 'as. Just go see 'im and make it up, will you? "

"Charlie, I 'aven't got the money. Did you listen to anything I said?"

''I'll give you the money. I've got a bit of a sideline going ... a way of making some extra bra.s.s. I can't tell you what it is, but ... "

"Oh, I know all about it."

He looked at her, surprised. "What do you know?"

She touched the scar under his eye. "I know 'ow you got that."

"I got it from the rim of a beer barrel I was lifting. It slipped and 'it me in the face."

Fiona smirked. She pulled his collar open and peered at the Jove bite on his neck. "Beer barrel give you that, too?"

He slapped her hand away, scowling. "All right, so I'm fighting. Just don't tell Mam. I've got a match next Sat.u.r.day. If I win, you'll 'ave bus fare to Covent Garden."

"Oh, Charlie ... really'?"

"Aye."

She hugged him tightly. "Thank you ... oh, thank you!"

"That'll do, Fee," he said, extricating himself.

She blew her nose in his handkerchief then handed it back to him. "Um ... that's all right. You keep it," he said.

"Where's Seamie'?" she asked, suddenly worried.

He nodded at the riverbank. " 'AIfway to Lime'ouse, the little b.u.g.g.e.r.

Let's go get 'im. And then we'll go 'ave a pint at the Black Dog."

"With what for money?"

He gave her a superior smile. "Unlike yourself, Fiona, a person as 'anddsome as I am needs no coin. The barmaid's sweet on me. She'll give us a couple of pints for free."

"Is that who put those marks on your neck'? Is she a girl or a flipping vampire?"

"No, that was another lady friend."

"You better watch yourself, Charlie."

He rolled his eyes. He did not need a lecture on this topic from his sister. "I mean it! All we need now is some la.s.s showing up on the doorstep with an ugly red-'aired baby in 'er arms."

He shook his head. "It'll never 'appen."

"Because you're ... " She blushed slightly at the words. " ... you're being careful, right?"

Charlie snorted. "Aye, careful not to tell 'er where I live!"

"TURN," Ada Parker, Millie's dressmaker, commanded through a mouthful of pins.

Millie did and Ada deftly hemmed the last few inches of the mauve satin skirt she was fitting.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels to appraise her work and frowned.

"What's wrong?" Millie asked.

"I don't know. The skirt's loose around your waist. I can't understand it. Everything looked fine at the last fitting. I know I cut it properly. I know your measurements by heart."

She unhooked the skirt and made Millie step out of it. Then she took a tape measure from her pocket and wound it around her waist. "There's the answer," she said, batting her on the rump.

"You've lost weight! What's wrong'? Why aren't you eating?"

"Nothing's wrong, Ada. My ... my appet.i.te's a little off, that's all."

"You should see a doctor. You don't want to get too thin or you'll ruin your beautiful figure.

And then how will you find a husband'?"

Millie smiled. ''I've already found one. I'm expecting a proposal of marriage any day."

"That's wonderful! Congratulations, my darling," Ada said, hugging her. Then she shook a finger at her. "But you won't keep him if you lose more weight!"

Millie skimmed her hands over her belly. "Oh, I think I will," she said. "In fact, Ada, let me see your taffetas before I leave. An ivory, maybe. Or possibly a cream. White doesn't suit me. Not at all."

Chapter 17.

Fiona mopped up the last bit of gravy ,on her plate with a crust of bread and washed it down with a swig of weak beer.

"Like that, did you?" Ralph Jackson asked her.

"It was delicious. Mrs. Jackson makes a smashing steak pie."

"Don't I know it!" he exclaimed, patting his impressive belly. 'Tm glad you liked it, la.s.s. You could use a little building up."

Fiona smiled. Any girl under two hundred pounds was in need of building up in Mr.

Jackson's eyes. She washed her dishes, grabbed her shawl, and bade him ta-ra. It was chilly outside, but the supper had filled her up and she felt a warmth throughout her body that only came from a good hot meal. It was Sat.u.r.day, just after six, and she started down the sidewalk toward her home with a spring in her step. Her spirits were improved, she was hopeful. If Charlie won tonight, and she had prayed so hard that he would, she'd be on her way to Covent Garden tomorrow afternoon, right after she finished at the pub, to see Joe. She hated that her fare would be earned from his cuts and bruises, but she was desperate. She would make it up to him somehow. As soon as she and Joe had their shop, she would start putting aside money for his pa.s.sage to New York.

She had only gone a few yards down the sidewalk when she heard someone call her name.

She turned. It was Joe. He was standing about ten yards behind her. He looked at her, then looked away again. She called to him. Her heart filled with love and happiness at the sight of him. Joe, her Joe! He was here, oh, thank G.o.d, he was here! He didn't hate her; he'd come to see her. He still loved her. He did! She ran to him, beaming. But as she got closer, her steps slowed. Her smile faded.

Something wasn't right. He looked thin and haggard. He was unshaven.

"Joe?" He raised his eyes to hers. The look she saw in them terrified her.

"What is it? What's 'appened?"

"Come on, Fee. Come to the river," he said, in a voice so hopeless, so dead-sounding, she barely recognized it. He turned in the direction of the Thames and started to walk.

She grabbed his arm. "What's going on? Why are you 'ere and not at work?"

He wouldn't look at her or answer her questions. "Just come for a walk," he said and she had no choice but to follow.

When they got to the Old Stairs, they sat in their usual place, halfway down. Joe took her hand and squeezed it so tightly, it hurt. He tried to speak, but no words came. He lowered his head and wept. Fiona was so frightened she could hardly find her own voice. She'd only seen him cry once, when his grandmother died. Was that it? Had someone died?

"Luv, what is it?" she said, her voice trembling. She put her arms around him. "What's wrong? Is it your mam? Is your father all right?"

He looked at her through his tears. "Fiona ... I've done a terrible thing ... "

"What? What 'ave you done? 'Ow bad can it be? Whatever it is, I'll 'elp you. We'll fix it." She tried for a smile. "You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

''I've made Millie Peterson pregnant and now I've got to marry 'er."

Fiona would later remember that the seconds that followed his words were without sound.

She heard nothing of his voice, nothing of the river traffic or the noise from the nearby pub. It was as if her ears had been seared by those words, permitted to hear no more. She sat upright, arms wrapped around her legs, rocking slightly. Hearing nothing. Nothing. Part of her knew Joe had just said something, something bad, but if she didn't think about it, she'd be all right. She knew he was still speaking, but she wouldn't listen, because if she did he would tell her about ... he would say that he'd ... Millie ... that they'd ...

A low cry escaped her throat, an animal sound of deep, crushing pain.

She doubled over as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She heard him now, crying her name, felt his arms around her, pulling her to him. He'd made love to Millie Peterson. What they had done because they loved each other, he had done with her. Seconds ago, her mind would not accept it, now it tortured her with images or them together-his lips on her, his hands on her. She pushed him away, staggered to the water's edge, and vomited.

When her stomach stopped heaving, she dipped her hem in the water and wiped her face. She tried to straighten, to walk back to the stairs, but then her mind seized on the rest of what he'd said.

Millie was pregnant. He was going to marry her. Be her husband. Go to bed with her, wake up with her. Spend the rest of his life with her. Like a gla.s.s vase dropped on a hard stone floor, her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She covered her face with her hands and sank to the ground.

Joe jumped down from the steps, lifted her up, and held her. ''I'm sorry, Fiona, I'm so sorry.

Forgive me. Please, please forgive me ... " he said brokenly. She struggled against him, kicking him, pummeling him. She broke away, stumbling backward. A murderous rage filled her. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

she screamed. "All those times you told me I was jealous, told me I 'ad no reason to be! Looks like I 'ad a b.l.o.o.d.y good reason! 'Ow long 'as this been going on, Joe? 'Ow many times did you f.u.c.k 'er?"

"Once. I was drunk."

"Oh, just once? And you were drunk ... well, that's all right then, isn't it? That excuses it completely ... " Her voice cracked, she had to swallow before she could continue. "And did you kiss'

er like you kissed me? On 'er lips? 'Er 'eart? Between 'er legs?"

"Fiona, don't. Please. It was nothing like that."

She walked up to him, her whole body twitching with fury. She wanted to slap his face, kick him in the b.a.l.l.s, do something to him that would make him feel one tiny fraction of the pain, the humiliation, she felt. Instead she burst into tears. "Why did you do it? Why, Joe, why?" she wailed piteously, her beautiful blue eyes red and swollen.

"I don't know, Fiona," he cried. "I go over and over it in my 'ead and I still don't know." He told her everything in a gush of words. About being at the party and missing her and worrying that she hated him. He told her about wanting his promotion so badly and feeling like a king when he got it. Ibout drinking too much and Millie showing him around and his head spinning and ending up in her room. And then realizing what he'd done and being so violently ill that he'd retched up blood. "I was so drunk ... and it felt like everything I wanted was right there before me ... all the attention, the money, the ease of everything, but it wasn't. Everything I want is right 'ere in front of me. I thought I'd lost you, Fiona. I waited and waited for you at the bus stop and you didn't come. I thought it was over, thought you 'ated me. Why didn't you come?"

"I tried," she said dully. "I was on my way when Mr. Jackson, the publican, sent for me. I'd asked about a job there and 'e told me I could 'ave it, but I 'ad to start right away. I was going to write you, but we needed the money you sent to buy Eileen medicine. I'm sorry," she said. Fresh tears coursed down her face. "If only I'd come." Sobs racked her entire body. She could not speak. When she could finally get the words out, she asked, "Do you ... do you love 'er?"

"No! G.o.d, no!" he shouted. "I love you, Fiona. I made a mistake, a stupid f.u.c.king 'orrible mistake and I'd give anything to be able to go back and undo it. Anything! I love you, Fee. I want to be with you, I want things to be like they were before everything went wrong. I can't ... I can't go through with this ... I can't ... oh, G.o.d ... " He turned away from her and his words were lost in his weeping.

But you will, Fiona thought. You have to. There's a baby coming. Your baby. She watched him as he cried like a child and into the maelstrom of emotion engulfing her - sorrow, rage, fear-came a new feeling, one of pity. She didn't want to feel it. She wanted to hate him, because if she could just hate him, she could walk away from him. But it was impossible. Instinctively, her hand went out and stroked his back. He felt it, turned to her, and pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. She felt sick and quaking in her very soul. "Do you know what you've done?" she whispered. "Do you know what you've thrown away? Our dreams. Our lives, past and future. Everything we were, everything we 'oped for. The love we 'ad for each other ... "

"No, Fee," Joe said, taking her face in his hands. "Don't say that. Please don't say you don't love me anymore. I've no right, I know it, but please, please still love me."

Fiona looked at the man she'd loved her entire life, the man she needed more than anything or anybody. "Aye, I love you, Joe," she said. "I love you and you're going to marry Millie Peterson."

As the sun went down over London, darkening the sky and chilling the air, Joe and Fiona remained by the river's edge, holding each other as if they would never let go. Fiona knew it was for the last time. When they left the river, it would be over. She'd never know the feel of him, the smell of him again. She'd never sit at the Old Stairs with him again, hear his voice call her name, see his quick blue eyes crinkle with laughter. They'd never have their "hop, a home, children, a life. Her dreams were gone forever, stillborn. Out of the blue, her best friend was leaving; her hope, her love, her very life was leaving her.

She couldn't bear it. It hurt too much. Without Joe in it, her life was no longer worth living. It was nothing to her. With sudden clarity, she knew what she would do. She would tell him to go, and when he had, she would walk into the Thames and let it swallow her. It would be quick. It was nearly December and the water was cold. She wanted an end to this blinding, tearing pain.

"When is your ... your wedding?" she asked, not believing that these words were coming from her mouth.

"A week from today."

So soon. My G.o.d, it's so soon, she thought. "I need something from you," she said.

"Anything."

"I need the money. My part of our savings."

"You can 'aye it all. I'll bring it round."

"Give it to me mam if I'm not ... if I'm not there." She looked at him one last time, then trained her gaze on the river. "Go now. Please."

"Don't send me away, Fiona. Let me 'old you while I can," he pleaded.

"Go. Please, Joe. I'm begging you."

And then he was standing, looking at her and sobbing. And then he was gone and she was alone. Suicide was a sin, a small voice told her, but she didn't care. She thought of her grandfather, her father's father, who'd jumped from a cliff when his wife died. People said time healed anything.

Maybe those people had never loved anyone. Time wouldn't have healed her grandfather, she was sure. And it wouldn't heal her.

She walked to the water's edge and took a last look at the river she loved, at the wharves and the barges and the stars coming out in the dark London sky. She was in the water up to her ankles before she heard the shouting from the top of the stairs.