Reach for Tomorrow (15 page)
It seemed Shane had come round to that idea too. ‘I’m not wastin’ time bandyin’ words with a runt like you.’ And then, his gaze shifting to Rosie, ‘I’ll be seein’ you, lass.’
‘No you won’t, lad.’ The words had been in the nature of a threat and Zachariah’s voice was grim as he answered it.
‘No? You her minder, then?’ Shane’s eyes sneered up and down the little figure standing in front of Rosie before he turned, wincing slightly as he did so, and opened the front door. He stepped out into the dark street without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him.
‘I’m sorry, Zachariah.’ As the door closed Rosie let herself fall limply against the side of the stairs and she swallowed, moving her head a little before she said, ‘He’s mad, he’s got to be.’
‘Maybe.’ No, this big brute of a man wasn’t mad, likely it would be better if he was. You could lock the lunatics away. They remained quiet for a moment and then Zachariah said, ‘Look, lass, I think we’d better have a little talk, you an’ me. Come an’ have a cup of tea an’ get warm.’
Rosie hadn’t realized she was shivering but now Zachariah had drawn attention to it she felt her teeth chattering, and she hugged herself as she followed him into the bright, glowing sitting room that always seemed to her like paradise on earth. It wasn’t until she was seated in front of the roaring fire, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a shortbread biscuit in the other, that Rosie asked the question that had been burning in her mind since the confrontation. ‘Did you really have a fight with that man, that Charlie Cullen?’ She found it difficult to reconcile the Zachariah she knew with the sort of man who was capable of hurting another human being so badly.
Zachariah’s clear blue eyes searched her face and he took his time before he answered. ‘Aye, I did, lass, but it wasn’t so much a fight, it was all over in a minute or two. He’s a bully, Charlie Cullen, one of the worst kind, an’ he’d got a grievance agen me.’
‘Couldn’t you have reasoned with him? Talked him round?’
Zachariah thought of the veteran whoremaster who controlled umpteen brothels around the docks and beyond, and who had little girls as young as eight or nine working for him, and shook his head slowly. ‘No, Rosie, I couldn’t have reasoned with him,’ he said gently. ‘He thought I’d stuck me nose in somethin’ that didn’t concern me an’ he was out to teach me a lesson.’
‘And had you?’
He pictured Tommy Bailey’s kid sister and the beating the girl had received when she had tried to get out of what Charlie had tricked her into, and shook his head again. ‘No, lass, it concerned me all right.’ He’d taken Jinny in until Tommy had been able to get her away down south, and he had paid for the little lass’s lodging and food and such for three months until she was well enough to find work as a laundry assistant and make a new life for herself.
‘I see.’
She didn’t, and he could see that she didn’t, and now Zachariah leant forward and gripped her finely boned fingers in his big hands for a moment as he said, ‘Look, lass, that’s a big world out there an’ there’s good an’ bad in it, but some of the bad is plain evil, you understand me? Now, I’m no angel an’ I’ve bin mixed up in some right goin’s on in me time, but I’ve never willingly hurt someone if I didn’t have to. Do you believe that?’
Rosie stared at him in silence. Did she? Yes, she did. She moistened her lips and inhaled deeply, nodding her head before she said, ‘Yes, I believe you, Zachariah.’
‘An’ do you trust me, lass?’
She nodded again. ‘Yes. Yes, I trust you.’
‘Then I take it we’re pals, an’ pals tell each other when they’re in trouble.’
‘I told you, I’m not in trouble,’ Rosie protested quickly.
Well, if she wasn’t now she soon would be with that one hanging around. Zachariah brought one lip over the other and cleared his throat before he said, ‘Lass, I might not be much but there’s no one else as far as I can see, so why don’t you tell me what this Shane McLinnie has bin up to, eh? Even if it’s not much?’ Shane McLinnie. He knew that name, but he wasn’t quite sure where he had heard it or from whom. It could have been from one of his old pals who was still in the business. Aye, if he wasn’t mistaken that was it. It wouldn’t take long to find out anyway.
Rosie told him it all. She started with her initial unease of some years ago before relating Sam’s warning and the most recent events, although she stuttered and stammered a bit over the incident in the snow. It helped that Zachariah was lying back in the chair with his eyes shut and his face expressionless, but her skin was still burning by the time she finished speaking and silence descended.
Some time later, when Rosie had gone back upstairs and Zachariah was alone, he found himself pacing the floor as he considered what to do. The lad meant to have her with or without her consent, that much was obvious, but exactly how dangerous Shane was he still had to find out. And he would do it quickly. There were enough of his mother’s old contacts still around for it not to be a problem. And then . . . He stopped in front of the fire, staring deep into the glowing flames as he let his breath out in a soft hiss between his teeth. Then he would decide how to tackle this.
‘You’re sure about this?’
‘Oh aye, I’m sure, man. You’d be lucky to get away with a fifteen-year stretch from what I can make out.’
Shane McLinnie stared at the landlord of the Lord and Lady - an incongruous name for a public house which was mainly the haunt of sailors, thieves and vagabonds - with a mixture of rage and bewilderment darkening his countenance. ‘Who told you to tip me the wink?’
‘One of the Danes, but don’t ask me his name, they all look the same to me. Seems they’ve got one of the excise officers in their pocket an’ he let ’em know so’s they could make themselves scarce.’ The other man’s voice was philosophical.
‘An’ my name was mentioned?’
‘Aye, man, I’ve told you, haven’t I. Seems they’ve bin bidin’ their time, you know how they work, watchin’ an’ waitin’ until they’re ready to haul in the net an’ catch the little fish along with the big ’uns. But they’re comin’, if not tonight then the morrer.’
Shane swore, just once but very explicitly, before saying, ‘What else was said?’
‘Nowt else, but that’s enough, ain’t it?’
Aye it was enough, it was more than enough. Shane stood staring into his foaming beer as another customer claimed the landlord’s attention. Where had he slipped up? He searched his mind quickly but could come to no satisfactory conclusion. He’d been careful, he was always careful; this had to be an inside job. Some of the scum he dealt with would sell their own grandmothers for a bob or two. He took a long gulp from his glass as panic churned his insides to water. Depending on how much they knew it could be a damn sight longer than fifteen years.
He turned, pressing his buttocks into the hard wood of the bar as he glanced round the smoke-filled room. There wasn’t one pair of eyes that would meet his, but that wasn’t unusual in this place where it was prudent to keep yourself to yourself and no questions asked. For this to happen now when everything was going his way. He ground his teeth together, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to his beer.
‘Well? What you gunna do, man?’ The landlord was back, wiping the rim of a glass on a none-too-clean piece of rag.
‘Nothin’ I can do, is there, ’cept disappear for a time.’
‘Aye.’ The other man nodded, his sallow face sombre. ‘Them blighters are like me ferrets once they catch on to somethin’, they never let go. Now meself I’d give America a go in your shoes, lad. I reckon Prohibition has opened the door to a good trade for them that’s got their heads screwed on right, an’ it’ll be them that get in early that make the killin’, you mark my words.’
Shane didn’t bother to reply. He didn’t want to put an ocean between himself and Rosie despite America’s ban on booze the month before and the opportunities it offered. No, he’d disappear, but only so far and for only so long. A few years should do it. In the meantime he knew people who would keep tabs on Rosie for a price, and he’d pay for something else while he was about it. And now his face became ugly. He’d find out who’d done the dirty on him, and when he had a name . . . His hand unconsciously tightened on the glass in his fingers until it shattered beneath his grip, the jagged pieces cutting into his flesh and causing him to glance down at the red stain spreading out from his fingers.
When he did, blood would flow.
Part Two
All That Glitters . . .
Chapter Seven
The last three years had seen some changes at Benton Street, not least in Rosie. At seventeen, her figure now had the ripe softness of womanly curves - her full high breasts, small waist and long long legs beautifully proportioned - and her creamy pale skin, heavily lashed dark eyes and thick shining hair, which she wore in a silky, chin-length bob, gave her the appearance of maturity. But it was in Rosie’s mind that the paramount transformation had taken place, and this was due in most part to Zachariah’s friendship.
He was a surprisingly intelligent and informed man in spite of never having ventured further afield than Gateshead, and, recognizing Rosie’s desire to learn and attain knowledge, he had been only too pleased to become her tutor. He had encouraged her to devour his considerable collection of books in the process of which, and without conscious effort on her part, her grammar and articulacy had improved in leaps and bounds. He introduced her to the thought-provoking realm of mythology, and increased her knowledge of history and geography at the same time as giving her her first taste of the classics and Shakespeare. And Rosie drank it in.
Wednesday evenings were devoted to current topics, and 1920 saw Rosie debating the escalating violence in the north of Ireland as Sinn Fein vowed to make the British government of Ireland impossible through an arson campaign culminating in street battles in Belfast, and discussing the fact that in October, as every mine in Britain became idle due to the coal miners’ strike, one hundred women were admitted to Oxford for the first time to study for degrees.
Through 1921 and 1922 Rosie and Zachariah considered - and argued about as often as not - topics as wide-ranging as the first six women being allowed into a divorce court as jurors (here Rosie took exception to the fact that only the men on the jury were allowed to see some ‘abominable and beastly’ letters and pictures because the judge feared they would terrify an unmarried woman), the swift rise of unemployment along with the upsurge of pay disputes and strikes, the first birth control clinic being opened in London and the government’s concern that the increasing decline in morals was a direct result of the skirt-length being raised.
By January 1923, when the Nazi Party held its first rally in Munich led by a fiery little orator named Adolf Hitler, Rosie was able to argue intelligently and rationally against what she considered Zachariah’s unreasonable distrust of the new German National Socialist Party, and she thoroughly enjoyed doing so. Indeed she sometimes felt she only came fully alive in Zachariah’s Aladdin’s cave, even though she gained great satisfaction from her job at the Co-op, where she had recently been promoted to supervisor when Agnes’s failing health had forced her to leave. But her discussions with Zachariah provided an escape route from the narrow confines of northern community thinking and of caring for the family; and here Rosie felt she had three children in her charge rather than two, the oldest - her mother - causing the most concern of all.
Like tonight for example. Rosie had just got home after her weekly excursion to the cinema with Flora and Sally to find her mother sitting huddled in her shawl with a blanket over her knees, although the April night was not a cold one, and with Molly out goodness knows where. ‘
Mam.
’ Rosie made an impatient movement with her head. ‘How many times have we agreed that any nights I’m out you keep the girls in so that we both know exactly where they are?’
Mam.
’ Rosie made an impatient movement with her head. ‘How many times have we agreed that any nights I’m out you keep the girls in so that we both know exactly where they are?’
‘Oh, go on with you.’ Jessie flapped her hand dismissively. ‘There’s nowt wrong in lettin’ her play out, she’s nowt but a bit bairn.’
‘That’s just it, she
isn’t
a child any more.’
isn’t
a child any more.’
‘Not a bairn? Aw, stop your blatherin’, lass. You don’t know what you’re on about.’
Jessie’s puffy face was red but Rosie suspected it was less to do with the heat radiating from the open fire than the fact that her mother had consumed the contents of the grey hen while she had been out. Apparently the large stone waterbottle had been half full of beer when she had left the house earlier, although Rosie hadn’t been aware of it. Hannah had just told her, after she had popped her head into the bedroom to check the girls on her return, that their mother had sent herself and Molly to the Dog and Rabbit when they’d returned home from school that day. And now the grey hen was lying on its side by Jessie’s chair.
‘Mam, listen to me.’ Rosie knelt down and attempted to hold the fuddled gaze with her own. ‘It’s half past ten and that’s much too late for Molly to be out on her own. Did she say where she was going?’
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