The Street (18 page)

‘Sounds like it’s dreadful over there, don’t it?’ Sophy said, biting her lower lip. ‘He looks really tired and much older, don’t he?’

Alice nodded and blinked her eyes. They’d been reading in the newspapers for months about the terrible carnage in France. Having their dad back, and looking whole and healthy, if a bit grizzled, was a huge relief. The dreadful battles on the Western Front had killed and wounded so many. Their dad’s leave was less than a week this time so Alice knew they must squeeze every last drop of enjoyment from his visit.

‘Let’s hurry up ‘n’ get the cake and pop and go home,’ Alice blurted, suddenly unwilling to waste a precious minute more than was necessary that could be spent with her father. Her sisters nodded and linking arms the three of them huddled together in affection before breaking apart and trotting on.

‘Want to go for a walk round and about?’

Alice raised her eyes to Geoff’s face. They were standing out in the street, getting a breath of fresh air. It was summer and still light and warm despite the lateness of the hour. The atmosphere upstairs in the Keivers’ front room was stifling due to the crush. Sophy and Danny were having a fine old time regaling pop-eyed people with the wonderful life they enjoyed in Essex.

‘I’ll get me coat,’ Alice said and darted back inside. A moment later she was back at Geoff’s side. ‘Little Lucy’s had the best day,’ she told him as they strolled. ‘Dad got her a present from France; a doll with yellow hair and a red dress. Pretty little thing, it is. Can’t imagine how she’s sleeping through all that din!’ She chuckled. ‘Out like a light she is with her dolly in her arms . . .’

‘Did she like her party?’

Alice nodded vigorously.

‘You were right about Sophy and Dan,’ Alice said.

Geoff gave her a quizzical look.

‘They’ve both turned into a right couple of fatsos,’ Alice said on an impish chuckle.

‘He’s got four chins,’ Geoff said with a guffaw. ‘Glad now I didn’t go,’ he said self-mockingly. ‘Sooner stop here ’n keep me figure.’

Alice gave him a playful punch. ‘Well, I’m glad you stopped here ’n all . . .’

Suddenly they both started to attention and chorused, ‘Oh, no!’

They’d hardly got to Blackstock Road when the air-raid siren had started, prompting Geoff to grab Alice’s hand and jerk her around. They began to run back towards Campbell Road.

Breathlessly they hared up the stairs and hollered over the racket, ‘Air raid!’

Music and singing died away and a score or more faces stared at them. Jack’s fingers had stilled on the piano keys; now he lifted them to hover just above, and everybody tensed and listened. The whine was audible, and so was the much fainter drone of engines.

‘Lights out,’ Jack bawled and quickly candles and lamps were extinguished. An unspoken consensus of opinion seemed to have been reached by all: stay put and hope for the best, for nobody moved.

By touch alone Jack started to play the piano in the dark and then he started to sing too. He broke off to bellow, ‘Well them Hun buggers can’t hear us, can they?’

Laughter rippled through the room, getting more raucous as Jack continued to play with great zeal. After a moment everybody had joined in singing ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’
.

Alice was in front of Geoff and as she felt his arms come about her in the dark, she sensed the reverberation of his singing voice through her coat. She leaned back against him, closing her hands over his, clasped together on her waist. She felt suddenly warm and unafraid and glad that her dad and Sophy were here with them. If the worst happened, and a bomb was dropped on them, at least she’d be with the people she loved and they’d all go together. When the droning was at its loudest, so was the choir, rising in a defiant crescendo of sound that seemed to shake the house. When danger was past, and the lights were eventually relit, the company seemed rather subdued. Within half an hour the party had finished and the neighbours had dispersed.

‘’Ere, Til! Wait up!’

Tilly swung about to see Beattie Evans pounding the pavement behind her. She halted at once for her neighbour looked flustered and that indicated she had something import ant to tell her.

Beattie wobbled to a stop and wheezed in air. ‘Never guess who I just seen. Strutting bold as yer like up the top end . . .’

Tilly raised her eyebrows in enquiry.

The exertion of catching Tilly up and delivering that little speech seemed to have taken all Beattie’s breath and for a moment she simply fanned her face.

Impatient to be on her way Tilly made a guess. ‘If you’ve caught sight of Jimmy ‘n’ his tart out walking you don’t need to tell me nuthin’ about them. I know they’re still carryin’ on, and I don’t need nobody telling me my sister’s a fool.’

Despite Jimmy’s promises that he’d soon escape Nellie’s clutches and be back home with his wife and kids, Fran still tolerated him spending most of his time with his fancy piece. Tilly reckoned that it was Nellie who was keen to be rid of Jimmy. She’d glimpsed her recently in Holloway Road with heavy powder clogged on a puffy eye. Tilly could put two and two together. Jimmy would cling onto Nellie while she was earning and he could take a cut of the money. He was obviously employing his fists if necessary to ensure he got as much as he wanted.

‘Ain’t him!’ Beattie blasted out a cackle. ‘Nah! This is a
real
sight fer sore eyes. Jeannie Robertson. Didn’t reckernise her straight off. All dolled up to the nines, she is. Just saw her up the other end. Saw me right back, she did, and didn’t look too concerned about getting spotted neither. That’s a brass-faced baggage to turn up after what she did!’ Beattie exclaimed.

Tilly’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t forgotten the Robertson family. How could she? They’d done a bunk with the blouse she’d loaned Jeannie for pawning, and with Mr Keane’s rent and furniture. But what really niggled Tilly was that she could have lost her job over it all.

‘Up there, is she?’ Tilly echoed and her mouth set in a grim line. ‘I’ll have her . . . the thieving cow.’

‘Hang on,’ Beattie whispered in shock. ‘Bleeding hell. Look! Here she comes. She’s heading straight for us.’

Tilly turned to see that indeed Jeannie Robertson was marching purposefully in her direction. Tilly eyed her from head to toe. She didn’t appear to be in need of anything now.
Dolled up
hardly did justice to her elegant attire. She’d always been an attractive woman for her years – Tilly guessed Jeannie was about her own age, thirty-seven. It was the first time Tilly had seen her spruced up and she realised Jeannie Robertson wouldn’t have looked out of place sauntering along Bond Street. She certainly looked to be a misfit in Campbell Road, yet a few years ago she’d been glad to take a room in one of the worst houses to be had in this slum. A blue velvet hat was perched on Jeannie’s head and she was garbed in a smart dark outfit with a leather bag dangling from an elbow.

‘Got somethin’ fer yer,’ Jeannie stated as soon as she stopped. Her voice hadn’t undergone the same transformation and was as coarse as ever it had been.

Tilly elevated her chin. ‘Well . . . let’s know quick what it is, ’cos I got something for you too.’ One of Tilly’s clenched fists was raised to hover by her waist.

A small smile writhed over Jeannie’s lips then disappeared. ‘Can’t blame you for how you feel,’ she said simply. ‘Let’s go in there.’ She nodded to an open doorway close by. ‘Nobody else’s business anyhow what went on,’ she said, slinging a significant glance at Beattie who was listening to proceedings with slack-jawed avidity.

A shrug confirmed Tilly’s willingness to speak with Jeannie in private. In the shelter of the doorway she swung about immediately to confront her.

‘Got a few things to say and this to do.’ Jeannie pulled out of her stylish handbag some bank notes. ‘Should be more’n enough there to cover what I took. Furniture were crap anyhow but it served a purpose. Blouse you let me have to pawn kept us fed when we had nothing. So I’m saying I’m obliged to you. I’m saying too that it’s up to you what you do with old man Keane’s share of that there cash.’

Tilly continued staring at the fifteen pounds she held as though she couldn’t quite believe it was hers. A hint of floral perfume wafted from her fingers and Tilly was tempted to move her fist to her face to acquaint herself with the scent of plenty.

‘You want to pay Keane for his back rent and that pile o’ shit I carted off, that’s yer own business.’ Jeannie turned and walked away a few paces. ‘Another thing . . . you done me a good turn and I pay back favours.’ It seemed Tilly was intent on ignoring the offer so Jeannie turned away.

‘You done alright for yourself, then?’ Tilly rasped.

‘Doing better than I was,’ Jeannie answered wryly over a shoulder. She swung about. ‘Got hooked up again with a bloke I used to know out of Lorenco Road. He’s done alright. He’s got a few clubs now up west and he’s right generous. That’s enough for me for the time being.’

A dry chuckle rolled in Tilly’s throat. ‘That’s enough for any of us, I reckon.’

‘I heard your husband’s gone to fight.’

‘Yeah . . . he’s in France. But he was back a few months ago.’ A smile tipped Tilly’s lips as she remembered the wonderful time they’d had on Lucy’s fifth birthday.

‘Well, as I said, you done me a good turn ‘n’ I won’t forget it. Both me sons joined up,’ Jeannie added as an afterthought. ‘One navy . . . one army, neither of ’em old enough ter go.’

‘’Spect you miss ’em,’ Tilly said, her fists finally relaxing at her sides.

‘Yeah . . . but not as much as they miss each other, I reckon.’ With that Jeannie turned and set off up Campbell Road.

She’d got a few yards when Tilly hissed after her. ‘You mean it? You’ll not let on if I keep all o’ this?’ She discreetly wagged the cash, half-hidden in her skirt. ‘What if Mr Keane goes after you for it? He don’t forget nuthin’. If he sees you about he’ll have yer.’

‘He won’t . . . not when he finds out who my bloke is.’ Jeannie retraced her steps. ‘Keane might think he’s something round this poxy hole but he ain’t in the same league as Johnny Blake.’ Her top lip curled lightly. ‘I won’t have no trouble off him so you won’t have no trouble. I’ll make sure of it.’ Jeannie paused. Her shrewd eyes flitted over Tilly’s rough, faded clothing. ‘Might have a bit of business for you. I know you ‘n’ your husband used to do a bit of street selling from time to time. As I said, Johnny’s generous; buys me stuff I don’t pertickerly like. So, I got a few nice bits I got no use for . . . coats and boots ‘n’ so on. I’m looking to shift ’em so . . .’

‘Don’t want no charity off yer,’ Tilly butted in brusquely.

‘Ain’t giving yer no charity,’ Jeannie retorted. ‘I was going to offer to sell ’em to you. If you flog it on at a profit . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I ain’t bothered. I just want shot of it so’s I got room in me wardrobe for stuff that suits me.’

Another discreet squint at Jeannie’s attire told Tilly that if the
stuff
were as good as what she had on it would be a payday. ‘I’ll take a look at it, if you like,’ she said with gruff nonchalance. ‘I don’t mind doing a bit of hawkin’ so I’ll have the lot off you if the price is right.’

‘Right,’ Jeannie said briskly. ‘I’ll be back one evening next week with it. Just so’s you know in advance, I’ll be wanting a guinea for the lot.’

Tilly’s eyes slew to the velvet hat perched on top of Jeannie’s head. It looked to have cost all of that and more. Jeannie Robertson was doing her a good turn in the only way she could . . . by making out it wasn’t much good at all.

This time when Jeannie set off Tilly watched her go then emerged from the doorway and walked in the opposite direction. Beattie hove immediately into view to trot after her. When Tilly continued to smile, but remained uncommunicative, curiosity got the better of Beattie’s usual caution with this woman.

‘What’s she want?’ she demanded.

‘To pay her dues.’ Tilly’s good mood remained unspoiled by her neighbour’s crude inquisitiveness. So she didn’t advise Beattie to keep her snout out.

‘Bleedin’ hell, Fran! Knock next time, will you?’ Tilly snatched up from the table the money that Jeannie had given her earlier in the week and thrust it into a pocket. But her sister had seen it and her eyes darted to the place into which the notes had just disappeared.

‘You done alright for yourself, then. Where d’you get that sort of cash?’ Fran came further into the room and closed the door that lead onto the landing.

‘Jeannie Robertson’s been by to pay back what she owed.’

Fran’s eyes opened in wonderment. ‘She’s come back after all this time to pay you what she owed?’ she echoed.

‘Yeah; surprised me ‘n’ all. She’s doing alright now. Got a rich fancy man, she has.’

‘Lend us ten bob, will you?’

Tilly stood up and said curtly, ‘Already lent yer, Fran, and you said Jimmy was going to pay you something last Friday so’s you could give it me back this week.’ Tilly looked at her sister. ‘Take it you ain’t seen him, and you’ve got nothing for me, then.’

‘Don’t look like you need it,’ Fran remarked sullenly.

‘This here’s gotta last. Jack ain’t here helpin’ out now, Fran. It’s just me ‘n’ the girls. Ain’t got a man’s wages coming in.’

‘Neither have I.’

Tilly sensed that Fran had a complaint to make and was waiting for the right moment to slip it into the conversation. ‘Jimmy’s done the dirty on you again.’ She wearily stabbed a guess.

‘I’m done with him.’ Fran curled her lip. ‘He ain’t never going to leave that cow and come home for good. Ain’t seen him or his wages in weeks. Done with him for good, I am.’

Tilly grunted a laugh. ‘Well now, I ain’t even going to ask if you mean it. But if I really believed that he
was
gone for good I’d say keep the money wot I lent you and take this ‘n’ all as a thank-you present.’ She drew the fifteen pounds out of her pocket and slapped it down on the table. ‘It’d be worth all of that to see the back of the bastard once ‘n’ fer all. Trouble is, I know you don’t mean it this time any more than you did the last. So you can leave that cash where it is.’

Jimmy Wild yanked up his coat collar as he emerged from the King’s Head pub and sloped off towards Seven Sisters Road. He kept his head down. By hiding what he could of his face he hoped nobody closer to home would spot the beating he’d taken. He’d been a figure of fun in the pub because of it. But he’d needed a few drinks so he’d taken the stares and whispers while he knocked back a couple of pints and whisky chasers and mentally licked his wounds. Rage and resentment made him grind his back teeth. In turn that made him flinch and curse as his skin tightened on bruises that were constantly throbbing.

Earlier that evening he’d been to see Nellie to collect what he liked to call his commission from her. He’d known for a while that the bitch was keen to ditch him. She wasn’t as docile as Fran who’d take a painful lesson in obedience then open her legs for him an hour later without too much complaint in case the boys got a taste of his temper. Nellie, he’d learned to his irritation, was a brooder. She’d carry on sulking and moaning for days at a time. But her resistance to accepting a bit of discipline, or to handing over the thick end of her earnings, wasn’t the reason she wanted rid of him. Nellie liked a man around to warn the other working girls and their pimps she’d got someone looking after her interests. The reason she no longer wanted Jimmy was that she’d found someone to take his place.

Saul Bateman had taken care of Jimmy too when he’d showed up unannounced and caught the two of them in bed. Jimmy had unwisely thought he’d got the fellow at a disadvantage seeing as how he was stark bollock naked, pumping away on top of Nellie and breathing heavily. So he’d confidently left the knife in his pocket and landed the first punch. But in a leap his younger rival was on his feet and impressing on Jimmy he was the better man in every way. Nellie, the silly tart, had started shrieking and grabbing the sheet to cover herself as though she’d revealed something he’d never seen before.

It hadn’t taken long – a few to the face and a couple of body blows – for Jimmy to realise he was outmatched. He’d fled with Saul’s bellowed threat to kill him following him down the stairs and out into the dusk. Now, as he ambled on, instinctively towards The Bunk, Jimmy brooded on when and where he might be able to again catch the bastard by surprise, and on that occasion use his blade rather than his fists on him.

His plans for revenge brought little consolation. Unendurable humiliation still savaged his mind and Jimmy’s instinct was to find a whipping dog to buck him up a bit. As he turned in to Campbell Road he saw just what he needed.

Fran saw him right back. She’d been out in the street looking for Stevie and Bobbie to order them indoors as it was late. She’d had a bad day too and was in no mood for any nonsense from her sons or from the useless git she’d married. Jimmy had given her no wages for over three weeks. Adding to her money troubles was the tight-fisted client who had promised to pay her today for last week’s washing, but hadn’t. Nevertheless if she’d known what sort of mood Jimmy was in, or that he’d been in a fight, she might have proceeded with caution. As it was Fran just gave him a scowl, two raised fingers and a contemptuous, ‘Fuck off.’

Her attitude was like a red rag to a bull. But Jimmy used his soppy smile as he approached. He was still looking pleased when he landed a short jab to the side of her face. Taken by surprise Fran reeled back with little more than a grunt. Deftly he caught her and dragged her out of sight into the hallway before any neighbour started taking an interest in what was happening. With grim determination pursing his mouth Jimmy started up the stairs dragging Fran, dazed and groaning, with him. He quickly shoved her inside the room and used a boot on her buttocks to propel her towards the bed. She hit the edge and collapsed, neatly avoiding the fist he’d swung at her. Annoyed at that, he yanked her up by the hair and deliberately aimed to split her nose and lip.

Fran stayed sprawled where she was, eyes closed, bleeding mouth agape. Even when Jimmy drew the belt from around his waist, slowly, as though savouring the slither of leather on his hips, Fran remained unresponsive.