by Sam Michaels
‘Tell you what, if you’re keen to earn a few extra bob I’ve got an idea,’ Jack said.
‘Really, like what? I ain’t doing nothing dodgy.’
‘This ain’t dodgy. Well, maybe just a bit, but nothing you’d get nicked for,’ Jack answered with a wink.
‘Tell me more, I’m all ears,’ Alfred said.
‘I’ve got some tins of Cope’s. Somehow, they got lost in transit from their factory in Liverpool and I happened to find them. I’m up to my eyes with other commitments at the moment, so I’d be happy for you to knock ’em out on the cheap and take a cut, say ten per cent?’
Jack could see Alfred was mulling over his offer.
‘Make it twenty per cent and you’ve got a deal?’
‘Deal,’ Jack said, and spat in the palm of his hand before shaking Alfred’s. ‘I’ll drop off a dozen tins tomorrow, see how you go with that first.’
‘Great, I’ll see you tomorrow then, mate.’
Jack walked off feeling lighter and as if a burden had been lifted from his broad shoulders. At least he’d have a steady income stream coming in for a few weeks, and now he could concentrate on a bit of shoplifting to fill the cupboards.
*
Billy Wilcox sauntered along his street with his two best friends, Malcolm and Sid, following behind. He had just turned six, yet he had the menacing confidence and presence of a boy three times his age. Maybe children feared him because of who his father was, or maybe it was because Billy was spiteful.
As he approached a small group of children playing marbles against a wall, he smiled and enjoyed the sight as they fled in all directions away from him. In the scuffle to escape him, one unfortunate lad missed his footing and tripped, leaving him sprawled on the damp cobbles. Billy drew closer and looked down his nose at the boy. Patrick was a few years older than him, but that didn’t perturb Billy. His dad had always told him that the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
‘Irish scum,’ he sneered as he kicked the boy in the ribs.
Patrick yelped so Billy kicked him again. He relished the boy’s cries. They gave him pleasure and made him feel powerful. Patrick tried to climb to his feet and run, but Billy blocked his path and pushed him against the wall. ‘You ain’t scared of me, are you?’ he asked, looking up at the boy.
‘No… erm… yes, I dunno.’
‘Yeah, you are, you big poofter… Hold him, don’t let him run away.’ He had no idea what a poofter was, but he’d heard his dad say it.
The boys sprang to the sides of Patrick and each took a firm grip on his skinny arms.
Billy’s ominous eyes roamed Patrick from toe to head, then he asked, ‘Playing marbles, eh? Did you win?’
‘No, Billy,’ Patrick answered, profusely shaking his head.
Billy leaned in closer. ‘You’re a liar,’ he said and reached into Patrick’s trouser pocket. He pulled out three marbles, which he rolled in his small hand. ‘Did you win these?’
‘No, they’re mine.’
‘You’d better have ’em back then,’ Billy said, adding, ‘Kneel down and open your mouth, then I’ll give them back.’
‘What?’
‘You heard, you can have your marbles when you open your mouth.’
‘No, Billy, please… you can have ’em.’
‘I don’t want your stinking stuff.’
Patrick began to whimper as Billy’s friends dragged him down to his knees and Sid pulled on his chin. As the boy’s mouth opened, Billy found himself smiling again, this time at Patrick trembling.
‘Hold his head,’ he told Sid.
Sid grabbed a handful of hair on the back of Patrick’s head and yanked it.
‘Here you go, I said I’d give you your marbles back,’ Billy said and dropped one into Patrick’s mouth. ‘If you want it, swallow it,’ he said, giggling childishly.
Patrick tried to shake his head, but Sid had a firm grip.
‘Go on, swallow it!’ Billy repeated, still laughing. ‘Or I’ll shove it down your neck meself.’
Patrick struggled in vain, so Billy tried to grab the boy’s tongue. As he did, the marble slipped down, and Billy roared. ‘There, you’ve got your marble back now. Sid can have these two,’ he said, then told his friends, ‘Come on, we don’t want to be near him much longer, we might catch fleas.’
Malcolm and Sid released the boy’s arms and sniggered as they walked alongside Billy, leaving Patrick crying behind them. He wasn’t the first boy to be terrorised by Billy Wilcox and his young gang and he wouldn’t be the last.
9
‘I’m glad Jack’s finally getting rid of that baccy,’ Dulcie said as Ruby pulled her coat on. ‘Are you off out, love?’
‘Yes, I thought I’d pop up the junction to get some balls of wool. It won’t be long ’til Christmas so now that Georgina’s better, I’m gonna try my hand at knitting.’
‘Good on you. I’ve got some needles somewhere. I’ll have a look for ’em while you’re out.’
‘That would be great, thanks, Dul,’ Ruby said. She felt lighter than she had in ages. There seemed to be an easy, relaxed atmosphere in the house now that Percy was gone. Jack had searched high and low for the man, and asked around, but his efforts had been in vain. He’d resigned himself to assuming the old man had fallen in the Thames or some other ill-begotten fate had been bestowed upon him. He didn’t seem to be too devastated by his loss, though Ruby had tried not to laugh at the crocodile tears Dulcie had shed in front of him.
A while later, Ruby felt like a proud mother as she pushed the pram through the bustling streets of Clapham Junction. Georgina was sat up, gawping at the sights round her and her large violet eyes twinkled with innocent mischief. It wasn’t unusual for women to stop, look, and comment on the beautiful child in the pram. Ruby would revel in it, politely thanking them for their compliments, though her stomach would flip if she ever saw a man look at the girl. She didn’t even trust the men in soldier uniforms; after all, they may be fighting for her liberty but they were still men.
There was a bite in the air, a sign that winter was on its way, so Ruby was pleased with the wool she’d purchased. She was given a small weekly allowance, funds permitting, but she rarely spent the money. She’d managed to save enough to buy eight large balls, all in different colours, and smiled at the picture in her head of Georgina wearing a jumper in soft pink.
Ruby headed up the hill towards the train station on her way back home. She had a spring in her step and was eager to get back indoors in the warm, then she heard a woman’s voice.
‘That’s a beautiful little ’un you’ve got there.’
Ruby turned sideways to see a bedraggled-looking woman sat on the steps of the station. She stopped to thank her and noticed her clothes were little more than rags and she had a small child huddled close to her.
‘Yes, she is, thank you.’
She would have liked to return the compliment, but the woman’s child had sores on her face and sunken eyes. Her hair hung in matted rat’s tails, and her nose was caked with yellow and green mucus.
‘Can you spare any change, miss? I’d be grateful for anything,’ the woman said.
The pitiful sight pulled on Ruby’s heartstrings. If things had worked out differently, that half-starved woman and her poorly child could have been her. She searched her purse and handed the woman all that she had. It wasn’t much, and she now regretted spending so much on the wool.
‘Thank you, I’m truly obliged, I really am,’ the woman said as she took the money.
Ruby looked again at the waif of a child and asked, ‘What’s her name?’
‘It’s Molly,’ the woman answered, ‘and I’m Fanny. Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.’
‘My name’s Ruby, and this is Georgina. How old is Molly?’
‘She’s nearly eighteen months now. I’ve got four more at home. All girls, Gawd bless ’em.’
Ruby was flabbergasted. Molly was four months older than Georgina but half her size. She was cl
early the runt of the litter. She could guess that this woman lived in dire poverty, but there was no sound of bitterness in her voice, just a friendly smile when she spoke. ‘Are you here often?’ Ruby asked, deciding that her weekly allowance would better benefit this poor woman and her family. If it hadn’t been for Dulcie she would still be living in poverty too.
‘Most days,’ Fanny replied.
‘I’ll probably see you again then,’ Ruby said, thinking that she had turned soft as she marched off before the woman could see the tears in her eyes.
Ruby’s mood was sombre. She’d never forget what she did to her son, but seeing Fanny and Molly made her think that maybe she’d done the best thing for him. Taking his life had tortured her dreams and blackened her days, but if she’d allowed him to live, his life would have been a daily struggle for survival. She knew she couldn’t have coped with seeing him suffer.
Georgina squealed and pointed as a trolley bus passed them. She was such a happy baby, and though she’d never know her mother, she’d never know hunger either.
*
Norman lived in a street in Battersea that housed a mixture of poor families crammed into single rooms, and slightly better off folk who could afford to rent a whole house. He was the wealthiest on the street, and the most feared. He’d have moved out years ago if it wasn’t for his wife. The bloody woman insisted on staying close to her friends and family and refused to budge. He may have the locals abiding by his reign of terror, but the same couldn’t be said for his wife. She ruled the roost, and what she said, went.
‘I’m off out, Jane,’ Norman said, and pecked his wife on the cheek.
‘Hang on a minute, where you off to? You promised to take Billy to football tonight,’ Jane said, and placed her hands on her slim hips.
‘Yes, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be back in a few hours.’
‘All right, but if you let that boy down again, you’ll be on the sofa for the next two weeks,’ Jane warned but with a teasing smile.
Norman patted his wife’s bottom, and whispered roughly in her ear, ‘I won’t. You’re fucking getting it later.’
He pulled the collar of his coat up but ensured his questionably acquired ‘King and Country’ lapel badge was prominently on display. He didn’t suppose any woman would dare to present him with a white feather, but his government-issued badge showed he was a state employee and was needed at home instead of on the front line.
There was talk of conscription coming in soon. All men under the age of forty-one would be called up to fight the Germans. He’d be all right, he had enough friends in high-up places to make sure his name wasn’t on any lists, but he couldn’t be sure about some of the blokes who worked for him. Oh well, that was their lookout. Norman wasn’t going to use his power and waste favours on a low-life money collector or bit of muscle. He’d just have to replace his workers and there were plenty of blokes wanting to jump on his bandwagon. War or no war, men still wanted whores, high-rate loans, a flutter on the horses and protection. In fact, business had never been better.
Norman left his house and walked confidently along the street, thinking to himself that it was about time he bought himself a car. Mike Mipple stepped aside for Norman to pass. He didn’t bother to acknowledge the man. He was a layabout, yet his wife kept pushing out babies. He had no sympathy for people like that – the sort who refused to help themselves. It was bad enough that Jane insisted on ‘treating’ the Mipple family at Christmas, but that didn’t mean he had to be civil to them.
Norman checked his pocket watch. Hefty should be in the pub waiting for him. It was their regular meeting place, and no-one else dared sit on Norman’s table. He never paid for his drinks or queued at the bar.
The pub was smoky when he walked in, but he could see Hefty through the haze. ‘All right, guv,’ the big man said.
Norman took a seat and clicked his fingers in the air. The landlord’s wife fetched him his usual tipple of neat whisky. He savoured three sips before answering Hefty. ‘Did you get rid of that shooter as I instructed?’
‘Yeah, I wrapped it in a sack with a brick and…’
Norman interrupted, ‘I don’t need to hear all the details, Hefty. Suffice to say it’s gone. I don’t want that bank job in Westminster coming back to me.’
‘But you didn’t do it, the Maynards did,’ Hefty commented, looking as confused as ever.
‘No, but I took a cut to dispose of the guns and cleaned their stash through my loan business. Do I have to spell everything out to you? For fuck’s sake, Hefty, you really get on my wick at times.’ Norman liked Hefty, but his stupidity often irritated him.
‘Sorry, guv.’
He looked over Hefty’s shoulder, and his jaw clenched at the sight of Joan walking towards him. ‘Oh no, what the fuck does she want?’
Hefty turned round and saw the woman too. He looked back at Norman like a frightened child, and Norman noticed the man’s face had turned beetroot red.
‘Don’t worry, Hefty, I’ll deal with the slag, but if she starts getting lippy, get her by the scrap of her scrawny neck and sling her out.’
Joan sashayed her way across the pub, then stood next to Hefty as bold as brass.
‘Joan,’ Norman growled, ‘whatever it is, the answer’s no.’
‘Buy me a drink and I bet I can change your mind,’ Joan purred.
‘Don’t try that with me, I ain’t one of your customers.’
‘I’m dead serious, Mr Wilcox, you’ll want to hear what I’ve got to tell you.’
‘Get her a drink, Hefty, but I’m warning you, Joan, if you’re wasting my time, you’ll be sorry.’
Hefty went to the bar, and Joan took a seat, leaning towards him as she said, ‘That tobacco of yours that went missing… did you ever find out who pinched it?’
‘How the fuck do you know about that? Let me guess… Hefty?’ Norman asked, not surprised. Hefty never meant to do him any harm, he was just thick, and Joan wasn’t a stupid woman. He could guess that Hefty had told Joan about it on the day he threw her out of the brothel.
Hefty appeared with a gin and placed it in front of Joan.
‘I think I may have stumbled on some information,’ Joan said.
‘Oh yeah, what sort of information?’
‘The sort that I can tell you: not only who is selling knocked-off baccy but also where he lives,’ Joan answered with a smug smile that showed her yellowed teeth.
Norman sprang from his seat. ‘Get outside with me, NOW,’ he barked, then stomped to the door with Joan tottering behind and Hefty following in their wake.
It had been over a month since he’d been robbed, but it still grated on him to the point where his anger would keep him awake at night. Joan came out of the pub, and Norman flew for her. He pushed her up against the wall and clamped his hand round her throat. His face was just inches away from hers as he spat, ‘Tell me what you know.’
‘Get off. You’re hurting me.’
Norman squeezed harder. ‘I’ll hurt you a fucking lot more if you don’t start talking.’
‘It’s a bloke called Alfred Linehan,’ Joan croaked. ‘I was outside the Falcon, touting for a bit of business, and I see him selling the tins to a punter. I knew you’d want to know so I followed him home.’
Norman released his grip as he demanded, ‘Where is he?’
Joan gasped for breath and moaned as she rubbed her bruised neck, but then had the audacity to say, ‘I’m happy to tell you, Mr Wilcox, but I thought you might offer me something in return; after all, I’ve known you for a long time, and you know I’ve always been loyal to you.’
‘What do you want, Joan?’ Norman asked. He could have beaten the information out of her, but he was willing to do her a favour in return for the one she was doing him.
‘I want my old room back. I’ll work hard, and I’ve cleaned up my act. I’ll even keep an eye on the other girls. Hefty’s good at sorting out any of the blokes who don’t want to pay up, but he ain’t much cop at dealing
with the women. You know you can trust me, Mr Wilcox.’
Norman smirked. The old tart did have a point. ‘All right, Joan. But if you step out of line or cause me any trouble, you’ll be out on your ear. Now, where does this Alfred bloke live?’
10
Jack carried a pigskin bag stuffed with tins but with some of Percy’s tools poking out the top. The bag was heavier than he’d anticipated, so he couldn’t wait to meet up with Alfred and unload the contraband.
As Jack approached the factory gates, he saw Alfred and smiled, but the man didn’t return the gesture. Alarm bells went off in Jack’s head. Alfred was always cheery, but today he looked perplexed. Something wasn’t right.
Jack slowed his pace. He was just yards away from Alfred now, and he saw the man’s eyes dart to the wall housing the open gates. It was a signal. Someone was there. Jack spun round and walked back in the direction he’d been coming from. He hadn’t taken more than ten or eleven steps when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
He turned around, expecting to see the Old Bill, but there were no coppers, only a huge man built like the Titanic. Judging by the mean line of the man’s lips, Jack could tell he wasn’t happy, and this was not going to be a friendly encounter.
‘Jack Garrett?’ the man asked in a deep, growling voice.
Jack thought there was no point in denying it. The bloke obviously knew who he was. ‘Yes. Can I help you?’
‘Come with me,’ the man replied, and gripped Jack’s upper arm firmly.
Jack had no choice as he felt himself being pulled back along the street towards Alfred. Another man appeared, not as large as the one who had his arm, but equally unfriendly-looking. This man was dressed in expensive clothes, and his shoes were shiny. Jack guessed he must be the boss.
‘Is this him?’ the smaller man asked Alfred.
Alfred nodded, but his head was lowered. ‘I’m sorry, mate. They were gonna hurt my Lillian if I didn’t give you up.’
‘It’s all right,’ Jack said. He could see these blokes meant business, and he would have done the same to protect his Sissy.
