The Fight for Lizzie Flowers (36 page)

‘Don’t like it,’ Bill said, shaking his head.

‘Neither do I, Dad. But I like the thought even less of Savage taking my property, even if he says he’ll pay for it. Where’s it all going to end? Next thing we know he’ll
own every man Jack of us.’

‘He’s right, Bill,’ agreed Lizzie, ‘it could be the shop next. Me and Bert are going with Danny too.’

‘No way,’ said Danny at once, shaking his head fiercely. ‘I’m going on my own.’

‘Savage would like that, wouldn’t he?’ said Lizzie, refusing to take no for an answer. ‘United we stand and united we fall.’ She smiled. ‘But we ain’t
going to fall, are we?’

Danny hurried up the creaking iron staircase to Cal’s lodgings. The smell of fried food from the café beneath was strong. He paused, staring at the open door in
front of him. Shoving it cautiously with the tip of his boot, he peered inside. The room was dark and, though Danny had visited once or twice before, he felt wary of entering. There was no noise
and he called out Cal’s name.

‘He ain’t been home, mate,’ a voice yelled and Danny took a sharp step back. Looking down, a man stood beneath staring up at him. The cook wore a dirty white apron and was
wiping his hands on a towel, one foot wedged in the café door in order to keep it open.

‘How do you know that?’ Danny asked.

‘Cos I always save him a pie and chips. Even on Sunday he gives me a knock.’

‘So he didn’t come back last night?’

‘No and he wouldn’t miss his grub. Are you the geezer with the garage?’

Danny nodded. ‘Any idea where he might be?’

‘Dunno. He ain’t a drinker, so he won’t be down the boozer. Quiet sort, but I’ve took to him. Pays me the rent every Friday on the dot. And regularity ain’t
something a landlord favours these days.’

Danny raised his hand. ‘Thanks, anyway.’

The café door slammed shut and Danny walked into Cal’s rooms. He looked around, adjusting his eyes to the gloom, smelling the absence of his friend. From previous visits he’d
seen that Cal had never put much effort into making the place comfortable. He had a sneaking suspicion that Cal would have lived just as well in an open field, or on one of the river barges, gazing
up into the night sky. His friend had never settled in Aussie and it was down to the garage that he had stayed put for almost a year. The man loved motors as much as he did. Many an early morning
Danny had walked in to find the big doors open, the motors out on the forecourt and Cal down in the workshop smoking a fag, up to his eyes in grease and oil and relishing it.

Now as he stared around, it was evident that Cal had rarely spent time in the old armchair by the unlit grate. Or eaten from a plate at the worn table, or even bothered to sweep the dried and
cracked linoleum.

Slowly Danny walked over to the door that led to the bedroom. Curiously it felt a little less abandoned here. The faded net curtain at the window blew softly in the breeze. The bed was made,
though it looked as though it hadn’t been slept in for a while. His eyes caught the chipped mirror on the dressing table. A dog-eared photograph was tucked into a rusting clip securing the
glass.

He went over to look closer. The photograph was of Lil and Doug Sharpe, with three young kids. Must be Ethel with the plaits, he thought, and Greg and Neil, not yet grown into teenagers. All
tousled fair hair, smiling, unaware of the tragedy that lay ahead when both boys would embark on their fatal journey.

Ethel must have given this to Cal, Danny reflected as he thought of Cal and Ethel, as unlikely a couple as you could wish to find. Ethel, as straight as a die, a traditional housewife and
mother, kids she worshipped and a nine-to-five husband. Who’d have put her down as the type to go off with a wild Aussie loner?

But as Danny considered the photograph, he knew that Cal would have seen in Ethel the things he had never had himself. The close-knit family, parents like Doug and Lil who raised their children
in love, not war.

But when his gaze lifted to the faded wallpaper above the mirror, his heart sank. He saw a pale indentation in the shape of a long stick. Cal’s grandfather’s club was gone.

The hair prickled on the back of Danny’s neck as he remembered the only story Cal had ever told him about his past. A drunken youth creeping into his grandfather’s house one night
had stolen without shame. The old man woke and in trying to stop him had perished in the effort. After burying the old man, Cal, at barely fourteen, sought out the thief. He’d taken a life
for a life, and never returned to his grandfather’s home again.

Danny stared at the vacant space on the wall. Then he gazed back at the photograph. Cal had taken the club and gone to seek justice, just as he had for his grandfather.

After Danny had gone, Lizzie looked at her brother. ‘Do you know where Chancel Lane is?’

‘The back of Aldgate. Use to be liveries up there in the old days.’

‘Bill, will you and Gertie stay the night, give an eye to Polly?’

‘Course,’ Bill said slowly, ‘but you know I don’t like it.’

‘Let’s hope his mate is all in one piece,’ said Frank, lifting the hair and staring at it.

Lizzie didn’t want to think of the alternative. ‘Cal is all Savage has to bargain with.’

‘Yer, but like Bill said, they wouldn’t have taken him easy.’

‘And they’ve got more than a broom,’ said Frank, looking accusingly at Lizzie. ‘We should have kept Dad’s gun.’

‘What’s that?’ Bill asked, sitting up. ‘Where’ve you put it?’

‘Didn’t put it anywhere.’ Frank lowered his eyes.

‘I got rid of it, Bill,’ Lizzie said with a shrug. ‘I don’t hold with guns, as you know.’

‘I’ve had it years,’ Bill said indignantly. ‘It was a life-saver in the trenches.’

‘About time it went, then,’ said Gertie, nudging Bill in the arm.

‘Don’t you start.’ Bill looked offended. ‘The way villains like Savage are taking over the East End, every bent Tom, Dick and Harry will carry them. What’s an
ordinary man like Danny got left to defend himself with?’

‘It certainly ain’t brooms,’ Bert nodded, looking at Lizzie.

‘If only I was a few years younger,’ Bill began, but Gertie waved her hand in his face.

‘And what would you do, Bill Flowers? Go off half-cocked, no doubt, and shoot yourself in the foot.’

Bill looked up sharply. ‘I’m a coster, Gertie. Not a ruddy criminal. But I wouldn’t let a thug like Savage carve me up. I tell you, I’d—’

‘You’d what?’ Gertie challenged, raising her eyebrows.

‘Steady on there,’ Bert said, holding out his arms to separate them. ‘We’ve got enough trouble without fighting each other.’

Lizzie saw Bill’s lips tighten and she knew he was angry over his lost revolver. But how could she disclose the fact that Frank had killed a man with it? Bill and Gertie had worry enough
to contend with.

Lizzie looked at the people sitting in her kitchen; her family, her kith and kin, who were at their wits’ end to try to resolve an impossible situation. They were all well aware that Danny
was walking into danger, even if it hadn’t been said in so many words. Was she wrong in objecting so fiercely to firearms?

‘Even if we had a weapon,’ she said reluctantly, ‘we wouldn’t know how to use it.’

‘I would,’ said Frank and drew everyone’s attention.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been practising.’ He looked around, his tone boastful as he added, ‘Well, I’ve had a lot of time on me hands. And it was only on the sacks of rotted spuds in
the yard.’

‘You’ve got another gun?’ Lizzie demanded. ‘After what I told you?’

Frank shook his head quickly. ‘No, gel, I wouldn’t do that. But it’s—’ He paused, chewing on his lip. ‘Well, it’s Fowler’s.’

‘What!’

‘It’s only a small one, a Smith & Wesson derringer.’

Lizzie walked over to him and pointed a finger at his chest. ‘After all that’s gone on, you didn’t tell me?’

‘Cos I knew you wouldn’t like it,’ he replied truculently. ‘And you’d probably get rid of him.’

‘Too right I would,’ Lizzie said angrily.

‘See, you’re wrong there, gel,’ Frank replied. ‘Fowler is all the muscle we’ve got. If you get rid of him, Bert would be on his jacksie.’

‘Yes, and so would you.’

‘I’ve still got me bad back. How can I help anyone, like this? Else I’d be right alongside Danny tonight.’

‘Well, now you’ve got your chance.’ Lizzie stared into her husband’s face and nodded slowly. ‘Since you’re such a good shot, you can bring the gun and come
with us.’

Frank jerked his head up. A look of fear spread across his face. ‘But what about my back?’

‘Your back don’t pull the trigger, does it?’

‘No, b-but . . .’ Frank stammered, his eyes moving fast in their sockets. ‘It’s Fowler’s. Take him.’

Lizzie shook her head in disgust. ‘Not on your Nelly. Fowler stays here to do the job I pay him for. Look after my property.’

Four faces gazed silently up at her. She couldn’t believe that Frank had gone against her wishes again. Even after the escapade with Albert and the risk it had posed to Bert and Danny in
disposing of the body he hadn’t learned his lesson.

‘You should have kept your mouth shut, Frank.’ She stepped back and swept her hand in front of her. ‘You’d better go downstairs and find yourself another sack of potatoes
to practise on.’

‘Goodnight and God bless, monkey.’ Lizzie pulled the sheet up to Polly’s chin as she sat on the bed. ‘I love you all the tables and chairs in the
world.’

‘That ain’t much,’ answered the sleepy voice. Two blue eyes flickered tiredly.

‘Add all the beds and pillows, then.’ This was what they always said at night. Lizzie looked over to where her bed stood. Sleeping in the same room as Polly was not an encumbrance
but a joy. Polly was good company, a ray of sunshine every morning when she woke. But Polly was growing fast. She would need somewhere soon to put all her clothes, books and treasures that were now
packed away in a box.

‘You ain’t going away, are you?’

‘No, whatever made you think that?’

‘Cos you’re all dressed up. You’ve got your new coat on.’

‘Come here, silly.’ She hugged the tiny little figure and stroked Polly’s hair. ‘I’m driving Uncle Frank and Uncle Bert to see some people on business.’

‘You’re all staying up late, ain’t you?’

Lizzie laughed, settling Polly down again. ‘Yes, but I’ll be here when you wake in the morning.’

‘Will Granda and Gertie look after me?’

‘Yes, course they will.’

‘I ain’t tired yet.’

‘You should be.’ Lizzie tucked Polly’s hair over her ear. ‘You’ve been out playing all day.’

‘I wish Tom could come and stay.’

‘He’s probably with Mrs Williams.’ Lizzie thought of Danny, preparing to set out tonight, leaving Tom to be cared for by his faithful landlady. She knew she was jealous and she
hated herself for it. If she’d taken steps to free herself of Frank, which, it seemed, she had not been able to bring herself to do, perhaps she wouldn’t be in fear of another woman
catching Danny’s eye. Frank was still in her life and it was as much of a puzzle and regret to her as it was to Danny. Perhaps it was pity that kept Frank under her roof. But she was slowly
hardening her heart.

Polly forced her eyes to stay open. ‘They was nice sweets Gertie brought me. Georgie says he don’t have a Granda or an auntie. Why not?’

‘Some children don’t.’

Polly grinned. ‘I’m lucky ain’t I? Even though my mum don’t come round, I’ve got you.’

Tears were suddenly close. Polly was such a beautiful child, as sweet on the inside as she was on the outside. How Babs could ever stay away from her daughter, Lizzie didn’t understand.
She kissed Polly’s forehead and whispered, ‘Your mum will come back to see you one day.’

The next moment, Polly fell asleep.

As Lizzie left the room, she gazed back at her niece. Her heart tightened as she thought of the little baby she’d held in her arms over six years ago, staring up at her with sea-blue eyes.
Babs had rejected her child from the off. But Polly didn’t know that. She just accepted that Babs had gone away. As time had gone on, Polly had even stopped asking about her. But Lizzie still
prayed for Babs to return. Frank was now a reformed character. Or so he claimed. So why not hold out hope for Babs? Even though Lizzie loved Polly as her own, she knew the bond between mother and
daughter was unbreakable.

‘This ain’t my idea of comfort,’ Frank complained from the rear of the van where he sat shoulder to shoulder with Bert. ‘It’s killing me
back.’

‘For goodness’ sake, give it a rest, Frank,’ said Lizzie from her seat at the front next to Danny who was driving.

‘Dunno why we couldn’t go in Danny’s motor,’ he continued to complain.

‘Because the van is bigger,’ Bert explained patiently, ‘even though it’s an old bone-shaker. You’d be surprised at the speed it kicks up.’

‘Yeah, I would be,’ said Frank miserably. ‘It reminds me of the day you brought me over from Dad’s. I thought you was taking me up the crem before my time.’

‘There’s still a chance of that,’ Danny threatened as they drove along the Commercial Road towards Aldgate. ‘Remember you are the only one with a gun.’

Lizzie knew that none of them had any sympathy for Frank. Even though he had saved Cal and Ethel’s lives by a fluke, cowardice was natural to Frank’s character.

Trying to remain calm, Lizzie stared out of the window at the passing shops and darkened buildings of the East End. At this time of night, only the street vendors and taverns were still trading.
With the pub cellar doors shut at pavement level, their windows above were enticingly lit, drawing in thirsty customers. The trams sailed by like ships in the night, running towards Aldgate and
Bloomsbury. Buses made their way east to Wanstead and Dagenham, west to Paddington and Marylebone, and to Brixton and Blackheath, where Ethel lived, south of the river.

She sighed, bringing her thoughts back to the present and the narrow, twisting streets Danny was driving them through. Who was to say what would happen at Chancel Street? Would Danny’s
plan succeed?