Free The Bells of Bow by Gilda O'Neill Page B

been on every morning since and as she fully intended being on many other mornings.
    ‘Course she didn’t clock you in.
I
did,’ Babs glared at Evie as she settled herself back down next to her at the workbench. ‘So what was the matter with you this time? I couldn’t wake yer this morning, no matter what. Even with the cup o’ tea I went to all the trouble of bringing up to yer. And I suppose that’s still on the floor by the bed and all.’
    ‘You don’t half go on, Babs.’ Evie sighed and rubbed the backs of her shapely calves. ‘The roads was so busy out there, what with all them blokes painting white lines on all the kerbs and everything, I had to get off the bus at Vallance Road and walk all the way up here to bloody Aldgate.’
    ‘Cor, you had to walk a couple of hundred yards! Mind yer don’t wear yerself out.’
    Evie scowled at Babs and unenthusiastically picked up the front panel and the facing of a blouse. She stuck one on top of the other then wearily plonked them under the foot of her machine. ‘I dunno what’s the matter with you, Babs. I got in late and overslept, that’s all.’
    ‘That’s all?’ Babs whispered fiercely. She felt like hollering, but wouldn’t give Ginny the satisfaction of hearing that she and Evie were rowing. ‘That’s
every
single night yer’ve been in late – if yer’ve bothered to come home at all. Every single night since Sunday.’
    ‘Since Saturday, don’t yer mean?’ Evie corrected her with a saucy grin.
    ‘Watch it, you two.’ Lou tapped Babs urgently on the arm. ‘Get yer machines going. It’s Silver.’
    Babs and Evie immediately stopped their row and became pictures of industry, furiously working away at their machines. But young Joan wasn’t quite so quick on the uptake. ‘Silver? So what’s he want then?’ she called along to Lou. ‘Here, you sure? He hardly ever comes up here to the workshop.’
    ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ hissed Lou through clenched teeth. ‘Now pipe down.’
    ‘Well, what’s his game then? Why’s the four eyed old …’ Joan’s words faded away and she sat there, open-mouthed as though she was at the dentist’s. The bespectacled object of her abuse was standing listening to her from the doorway.
    Mr Silver removed his glasses and slowly polished them on his pocket handkerchief. ‘My “game”, Joan, for your information,’ he said as he walked into the workshop and replaced his spectacles on the end of his nose, ‘is to keep you lot in employment, so perhaps you could manage a bit of courtesy’. He was addressing Joan but his eyes were fixed on the astonishing sight of the Bell twins with their contrasting hair colours. With an approving nod in their direction, he strolled up and down the line of workers, peering over their shoulders at the piles of work by their chairs.
    ‘Sorry, Mr Silver,’ mumbled the red-faced Joan. ‘I didn’t mean nothing.’
    Ginny gave Joan a crafty nudge and whispered hurriedly in her ear. Innocent as ever, Joan did as she was told. ‘So what
are
yer doing up here in the workshop then?’ she asked, looking puzzled when the girls – all except Ginny – started laughing.
    Ginny merely looked out of the corner of her eye, along the row to where Maria sat at the far end of the bench surrounded by a heap of blouses ready for finishing.
    ‘If you could possibly do me the honour of waiting a moment, Joan,’ Mr Silver said with an exaggerated politeness that had all the girls laughing again, ‘until the chaps from the warehouse join us, then your curiosity will be satisfied.’
    The thought of the warehouse workers coming upstairs had the girls giggling and whispering to one another; even Ginny patted her hair to make sure it was tidy.
    ‘That’s enough,’ said Silver wearily. ‘They’re coming up to listen to what I’ve got to say, not to ask you lot to a dance.’
    ‘Here they are, Mr Silver.’ Joan pointed excitedly at the door. ‘Look, they’re here.’
    Silver turned to