The Fight for Lizzie Flowers (26 page)

Suddenly heavy drops lashed against them. ‘Sod it,’ cursed Bert as they paused. ‘Rain is all we need.’

‘Yes, but it’s driven away the fog. We’ll make good time into the middle of the river.’ Danny saw they were balanced perilously on the last boards. The rope attached to
the boat trailed downwards and the tiny craft bobbed at the pier legs, high now as the tide rushed in.

The jetty gave one last rattle and Danny shouted to Bert.

‘You go first. He’s next.’

There were no rails here, nothing to steady a man. Danny saw Bert reach out. For a moment Bert looked as though he was about to topple forward, but he grasped the slats and slipped with ease
into the boat.

Danny pushed the legs over. They dangled stiffly. He saw Bert take the weight and pull, trying to balance himself as he did so.

Fear rose in Danny. The body stretched and swayed. Danny tightened his arms under the lifeless armpits.

The wind took them then and he knew there was no return. ‘Now!’ he shouted and thrust forward, releasing his grip. Suddenly the weight slithered from his arms. There was a soft thump
below and the crunch of wood against wood.

‘Have you got him?’ he yelled to Bert as he went down on all fours. Sticking out a leg, he tried to find his footing on the slippery stakes of the jetty.

‘Yeah, he’s in.’

Danny sighed with relief but in the next moment felt his boot slip. He tried to break his fall, but with a dreadful certainty knew that unless he was lucky his leg was still in mid-air. Unable
to stop his momentum, he braced himself for the fall. His hands reached out, clawing at the soaked, slimy struts. But he could find no purchase at all. And before he could cry out, the water was
gulping him up; freezing-cold water, even in July. The shock made him gasp and he tasted the river, his arms flailing in the space between the boat and the jetty.

‘Christ, Danny, where are you?’ he heard Bert yell frantically. But he was too busy swallowing the stinking water to reply. Worse, his boots were filling up and he was being dragged
down. There was nothing to hold on to. He’d lost his bearings. He tried to strike out. He was a good swimmer. He’d swum the river to Greenwich many times as a boy. Just for a dare. And
he’d survived, though many who’d tried had failed. But now, the inky depths were hauling him downwards. Into the same grave for which the body on the boat was intended.

But it was him that was drowning, not the corpse. Danny cried out in terror. A terror he’d never known before. His panic worsened his plight. His lungs were filling with the flotsam; the
putrid waste of the river. He lashed out, reaching for the jetty, but it was gone. He heard Bert calling. But now his voice seemed a long way away.

Where was the river washing him? But the answer to that filled him with dread. In his heavy clothes and boots, it was not out to mid-stream. But under to the bottom. Another deep gulp of the
water and he choked, coughing up debris. He fought hard to resist the pull, just keeping his head above the surface. But it was only for seconds. Then he was pulled down again.

His strength was fading, his arms and legs exhausted from the fight. His chest felt like a leaden weight. The cold ate into him, freezing him from the inside. He was going down, sucked into the
belly of the river.

Then, as he took one last gasp of air, his hand hit something. The blow was agony. But in that moment, his mind cleared. Hope replaced despair. He’d found an object to touch, perhaps large
enough to hold on to. If he acted quickly, he might find it again. He swam in what he thought was the same direction as the lifeline. But the darkness was deceiving. Was it this way or that? With
his last reserves of energy, he struck wildly towards the lights on the shore. A few seconds later, his heart gave a leap. He touched the object once more. Large and splintery, it must be wood, new
wood, he thought elatedly. With a final burst of energy, he grabbed it.

‘Danny, Danny, where are you?’

‘Here! Here!’ Danny yelled, his arms now stretched across the raft.

‘Where? It’s too pitch to see.’

‘This way. Follow my voice.’

But the sloshing of the oars and Bert’s cries slowly faded. Danny knew Bert was rowing in the opposite direction. He clung to his newly found buoy, grateful for the sharp edges and
sweet-smelling timber that roused him back into hope. Beneath him, his boots were full, his trousers like lead weights. But he dared not try to remove them for fear of losing his grip.

The rain began again, softly at first, but then hard enough to rattle on the water. His eyes smarted painfully and the hand he had injured was numb. Even though he was floating now, Danny knew
his chances of survival were limited. The cold was penetrating his skin. The waves beginning to toss him and the wood into a faster-flowing current. He would arrive in mid-stream very soon.

There was tiredness too. A slow, but insistent lethargy. His mind and body were paralysed. This, not the water, was the real killer. Giving up to the exhaustion, slipping slowly away into
unconsciousness.

He tried to yell out for Bert again. But he realized his voice wasn’t carrying. It wasn’t flying across the surface, but was lost in a mixture of chokes and gasps. He rested his head
on the raft’s surface, lured by the relief it gave him. If he let go just a little, relaxed his arms . . . the water crept up to his neck, lapped at his chin and gradually entered his
mouth.

The next thing Danny knew he was being pulled up fiercely by his collar and out of his slumber. When he found himself fully awake, he was shivering uncontrollably, his teeth were chattering like
skittles. But he was no longer in the water.

‘Honest to God, Danny, I thought you was a goner.’ Bert was slapping his cheeks. In the darkness Danny groaned, then coughed. ‘Over you go, mate.’ Bert propelled him onto
his stomach and landed him a blow between his ribs. ‘You’ve drunk half the Thames, by the sounds of it.’

Danny nodded, spewing up the poisons. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled, coughing and spitting again.

‘What happened?’

‘I . . . missed my footing on the jetty.’

‘And you was warning me to be careful!’ Bert roared with laughter.

Danny nodded as his body came back to life. But the cold was setting in as the rain continued. He eased himself up onto the wooden seat. He blinked his eyes at the dead man wedged in the boat,
startled by the grin of death stretched over his teeth.

‘Can Tom come home with us, Auntie Lizzie?’ Polly gulped the last of her doorstep of bread liberally spread with jam. ‘Me mates will be out
playing.’

Lizzie cleared the breakfast plates from Lil’s kitchen table. ‘I don’t see why not. Would you like that, Tom?’

Tom jumped up, a big grin on his face. ‘Are we going in the wedding car?’

‘Yes. I expect so.’

‘I ain’t never seen a lady drive a posh car like that.’ He rubbed his freckled nose. ‘I bet I could drive it for you.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Yes, but we’d better ask your dad first.’

Just then, Lil walked into the kitchen. ‘Blimey, you lot are early birds.’

‘We was hungry,’ said Polly, as Lil picked up her packet of cigarettes.

‘What, after all you scoffed yesterday? If it was up to me I’d starve you for a week.’

They all laughed and Lizzie handed Lil a mug of tea.

‘You ain’t going, are you?’ Lil said, adjusting her floral turban. ‘We’ve got all day yet.’

‘I thought we’d get an early start,’ Lizzie said, hoping Lil wouldn’t take offence. ‘That is, if there’s nothing I can help you with here.’

‘Please yourself.’ Lil shrugged. ‘Is that daughter of mine still asleep?’

‘Yes, so are Timothy and Rosie next door.’

‘What happened to Danny last night?’

It was a question Lizzie had been fearing. ‘He must have gone back to the garage to finish some work.’

‘He works late on Saturdays,’ Tom said before Lizzie could answer. Grateful that Tom had spoken up, Lizzie quickly cleared away the dishes.

‘I was hoping you’d all stay to dinner,’ Lil said, as with a cigarette dangling from her lips she attempted to push a metal curler back into place. ‘I’ve got a nice
piece of beef in the larder.’

‘You must have had your fill of visitors,’ Lizzie replied casually. ‘And me and Bert have to get the shop ready for Monday.’

‘Talking of which, where did Bert disappear to yesterday?’ Lil asked, unwilling to let the subject drop.

‘He’d had a few too many.’

‘That’s not like Bert.’

‘No, but it was a special occasion and he let his hair down.’

Lil turned to the two children. ‘Go and play in the yard, my loves, till Auntie Lizzie is ready to leave.’ Lil watched Polly and Tom bolt out into the fresh air, then, wrapping her
dressing gown over her bare knees, she sat down. ‘Well, did you ask?’

Lizzie dried her hands on the cloth. ‘Ask what?’ She knew Lil wanted to know about the baby.

‘Is the girl expecting?’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘Ethel was asleep when I went to bed.’

‘So she didn’t tell you anything?’ Lil screwed up her eyes in her usual suspicious manner. ‘Not even a hint?’

Lizzie pulled on her jacket. ‘I only know as much as you, Lil.’ It was a white lie, but it had to be Ethel who broke the news.

‘As soon as Rosie and Timothy surface, I’ll quiz them,’ Lil threatened, watching Lizzie’s face.

‘I wouldn’t do that. You might let the cat out of the bag.’

Lil sat up on the edge of her seat. ‘So you do think she’s pregnant?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

Lil ground her cigarette into the saucer in the middle of the table. ‘Well, you’d better be on your way.’

‘Thanks for a lovely time.’

Lil grinned and folded her arms. ‘Them Millers are a right handful.’

‘Yes. But you and Doug gave Flo a wonderful send-off. Ma couldn’t have done better.’

At this, Lil’s eyes grew sad. ‘I still miss our Kate, you know. And your dad too. But it was your mum who was me best pal. And it was for her, really, that I put me back into giving
her youngest a right-royal do. Flo is like family to me, as you all are.’

For all Lil’s faults, Lizzie reflected, she had been like a second mother to them after Kate had died. Despite her cutting tongue, she had their best interests at heart. She only hoped Lil
would give her daughter enough space this morning to get her thoughts in order. Ethel had to decide what she wanted to do without Lil’s interference, as well-meaning as Lil intended to
be.

‘I’ll be off then.’ Lizzie slipped her bag over her shoulder and kissed Lil on the cheek. ‘Give Doug my love.’

‘He’s out cold, the lazy date.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘I think he’s earned his sleep.’

‘At least he’s not under me feet.’ Lil walked with her into the yard where Polly and Tom were playing by the wall.

‘Look how many dog-ends we’ve collected,’ Polly called, nudging Tom who held out his pocket for them to see. ‘At least over an ’undred. Some of them ain’t
even much smoked.’

‘What are you gonna do with them filthy things?’ Lil enquired.

‘Give them to Uncle Frank,’ Polly said brightly.

‘Yeah,’ Tom agreed, ‘as he can’t go out to buy any fags.’

Lizzie saw that even Lil chuckled at this.

Danny was only just beginning to feel warmer. He’d enjoyed the heat of the Primus stove as Cal had cooked them all breakfast. The garage reeked of eggs, bacon and fried
bread, supplies that Cal had brought in.

‘Grub up.’ Cal put the three tin plates and mugs, together with forks, on the old card table in the office. He divided the sizzling fry-up between them.

The vaulted ceiling of the old warehouse trapped the smells as the hot sun baked the metal roofing.

‘I ain’t sure I can do justice to that, Cal.’

‘Come on, mate, it’ll put hairs on your chest.’

Danny laughed. ‘It’s me stomach I’m worried about.’ He was still feeling queasy. But he knew he had to get something on board.

‘You’ve got to eat,’ Cal urged as he settled himself on the stool, ‘or else you’ll be farting seaweed.’

They all laughed, though Danny was still chilled to the bone. He’d changed into his overalls, but the stink of sewage was still on his skin.

‘Yeah, and you’ll have to watch out for webbed feet,’ agreed Bert, stuffing his mouth full and swallowing down the hot coffee.

Danny took his fork and toyed with his grub. He was still in the river thrashing the water, his boots dragging him down. The certainty he was about to be sucked under. If that piece of wood
hadn’t appeared he wouldn’t be sitting here now. He’d be alongside the corpse in its silent grave, where finally he and Bert had managed to sink it. Danny saw again that last
gruesome act in the murky darkness.

‘We’re in the clear now.’ Cal’s cheerful voice startled Danny out of his thoughts. ‘There’s nothing to tie us in with a floater. Did you get rid of the
evidence?’

‘You bet,’ Bert replied hastily. ‘Them shooters sunk like a stone. No one is ever gonna turn them up again.’

With an effort, Danny finished the eggs and returned his plate to the makeshift table. ‘We’ll have to hope the tide takes him well out.’

‘Cheers to that,’ Cal agreed as he lifted his mug. ‘Anyway, if he washes up, it will take them a month of Sundays to identify him. Even his old lady won’t know him.
He’ll blow up like a balloon within hours. Then the fish’ll have their way with him. Just like the John Doe you thought was Frank.’

Danny thought of the day he’d gone to the morgue and identified Duncan King as his brother. Had he wanted it to be Frank? This was the thought that tormented him. He looked hard at Cal.
‘You’re sure he was Savage’s man?’

But Cal only shrugged. ‘As sure as I can be.’

‘Then Savage will be looking for him.’

‘Well, he won’t find him, will he?’ Bert smacked his greasy lips and, taking Danny’s plate, he shovelled the remains into his mouth.

‘There is another angle to this.’ Cal thrust back his mop of tangled black hair and arched an eyebrow. ‘The geezer could have been working on his own.’

‘How do you mean?’ Danny asked.

‘He clocked the till, saw it first time around. And chanced making a return journey. But on his own.’