by Sam Michaels
‘It’s closed, Dad, pass me the crowbar.’
Jack stood on tiptoe with his arm extended as he handed his daughter the tool. She was well accomplished, and within minutes, she’d jemmied the window and was inside the house.
Jack waited nervously for George to open the back door. It was handy having her as his partner in crime as she could fit into the smallest of gaps and windows.
‘I did it,’ George said proudly when she opened the back door, ‘and you wait ’til you see what they’ve got in here!’
Jack stepped into the house, delighted as he surveyed the array of polished silver on display, as well as several art-deco bronze ornaments that seemed to be all the fashion with ‘the bright young things’. He couldn’t get his head around these wealthy youngsters nowadays. He’d seen plenty of rough women in his time, drinking, smoking, swearing and fighting, but this middle-class lot were supposed to be ladies, yet here they were, all over the papers, driving cars and wearing dresses above their knees. He was all for progression but it seemed to him that a lady of a certain class should be just that – a lady. Not out gallivanting in jazz clubs and acting like a man.
Jack quickly dismissed his thoughts. It was all right for the rich to lead a lifestyle of debauchery but in the meantime, his family were still living amongst the slums and there were no luxuries afforded to them if he didn’t acquire them. He wasted no time, and quickly flew around the house stuffing any item of value into a sack. He thought the bronze works would be too heavy, so gave them a miss. In the meantime, George had gone upstairs, and he knew she’d be looking for the jewellery.
Once Jack had filled his sack and George had come back downstairs with her pockets bulging with gold, they made a run for the back door, out of the garden, along an alley then into a small field. There, they both paused for breath and fell about laughing.
‘That was a doddle,’ Jack said.
‘Too right. Wait ’til Ezzy sees what we’ve got!’
Ezekiel was Falk’s son and had taken over his father’s jewellery shop, but George could never pronounce his name when she was younger and now affectionately called him Ezzy.
‘Come on, let’s get home and sort through it all. Ezzy won’t touch the silver, but I know a man who will.’
George trotted along happily next to her dad, humming a cheerful tune. She was herself around him, talkative and funny. She seemed to be fine with Ezzy too and Oppo was like a big brother to her. But most other men appeared to frighten her, and she’d sink into her shell. Even Norman scared her, yet he’d helped to save her life.
Jack hoped that teaching her to box would give her more confidence. She could certainly pack a punch and had winded Hefty last week, narrowly missing his crotch. It had given them all a good laugh, except Billy. Jack had noticed the teenager watching from a distance, with an eerie smouldering expression and his steely eyes fixed on George. Billy Wilcox was trouble, Jack could feel it, but if he came near his daughter, the boy would live to regret it.
*
Later that day, George wanted to skip back from the sweetshop, but her father had warned her about skipping. Only girls acted like that, not tough boys, he’d told her, so instead, she walked while filling her mouth with a black jack. She enjoyed going to the corner shop alone. It was a rare treat her dad had only allowed her since he’d taught her how to fight. ‘Stay out of trouble,’ he’d warned, ‘and make sure if any strange men talk to you, you punch ’em in the nuts and run back home as fast as you can.’ She’d agreed, but she didn’t know what nuts he was talking about.
As she rounded a corner, she saw Billy Wilcox towering over what she first thought was a pile of old clothes against a garden wall and wondered what he was up to. She didn’t like Billy. He always pinched her when nobody was looking and said if she told, he’d set her house on fire and burn her gran to a crisp.
She drew closer and went to cross the road to avoid Billy but to her horror, she noticed the pile of clothes was a girl about her own age. She was hunkered down, and whimpering with Billy sniggering at her. George instantly stuffed her bag of sweets into her trouser pocket and ran towards them. ‘What do you think you’re doing, Billy?’ she asked, as she grabbed his arm.
‘She smells like shit. She must be a toilet so I’m going to use her like one.’
George stood horrified as Billy began to unbutton his trousers. ‘Come on, George, piss on her,’ he sneered.
‘Leave her alone!’
‘What’s the matter, George? Too chicken?’
‘No, I ain’t chicken, but you can’t do that!’
‘I can do whatever I want,’ Billy answered as he pulled his penis from his trousers.
George peered at the strange-looking thing in Billy’s hands, then quickly stepped round him and yanked the girl to her feet.
‘Ha, I bet you ain’t got a John Thomas,’ Billy sniggered. ‘That’s it, ain’t it? You don’t piss out of a dick… fucking weirdo.’
No, she didn’t piss out of a dick and felt strangely confused, but ignoring Billy’s remarks, she said to the girl, ‘Come on,’ and dragged her along the street.
‘I hate Billy Wilcox,’ the girl cried as she ran to keep up with George.
‘I can’t say I like him either. My dad and his dad are friends. I’m George, what’s your name?’
‘Molly, Molly Mipple. I live on the same street as him, but he’s always mean to me. Thank you for sticking up for me. You’re lucky Billy didn’t punch your lights out!’
‘He could try but I ain’t scared of him,’ George answered, full of bravado.
‘I am and so are all the other kids on my street.’
‘Well, you ain’t got to be no more, I’ll look after you,’ George said and smiled down at her new friend. ‘Billy’s right though, you do whiff a bit.’
‘I know, but that’s his blinkin’ fault. He pinched me shovel last week.’
‘What do you need a shovel for?’
‘Me mum gets me to follow the coal man and pick up the horse’s shit. I can get a sack-load sometimes,’ Molly answered proudly. ‘Then me and me sister take it down to the allotments. They like it; they say it makes their veg grow bigger. I give them the manure and they give me some veg. At least we know we’re gonna get a good meal once a week.’
George got the impression that Molly’s family were very poor and felt sorry for the girl.
‘’Cos Billy took me shovel, I was trying to scoop up the manure with a tin plate, but then he came along and pushed me into it and threw me sack over a wall. That’s why I smell like something that’s come out of an ’orse’s backside.’
If it hadn’t been so horrendous for Molly, George would have giggled, but instead she asked, ‘Do you want to come to my house? You can share my sweets, if you like.’
Molly nodded, ‘Yes, all right, I’ve got to stay out of my dad’s way, so I can’t go home yet anyway.’
As they walked along chatting, George noticed Molly’s skirt was ripped in several places. No wonder she’d thought the girl was a pile of rags. Even though the skirt was faded, she admired the pretty flowery design and wished her dad would allow her to wear clothes like it. He seemed to become angry with her whenever she asked, so she’d given up trying and accepted the short trousers and shirts. At least she could climb well in them, which as her dad had said, was handy in their line of work.
15
On Sunday morning, Mike Mipple rolled over in his bed to be confronted with his wife’s massive stomach. The bloody woman was pregnant again, and judging by the size of her, she’d drop it any day soon. Feeling repulsed at the sight of her, he climbed out of the bed and stomped over to an old rocking chair where she’d thrown her clothes the night before. It was Sunday, her one day off from the flower stall, so she’d be hanging around the house all day. He couldn’t stand the thought of having to look at her belly heavy with child.
He heard his wife groan as she stirred, then she asked, ‘What are you doing?’
‘
Where’s your purse?’
‘No, Mike, please. You’ve already had all my earnings this week. I’ve only got a few pennies left and I need that to feed the kids.’
Fanny’s squeaky voice grated on him. She was always mithering about feeding the bloody children or putting clothes on their backs. This wasn’t what he signed up for when he’d married her. She’d been fun and carefree in those days, but now she’d become nothing but an old nag. ‘Fuck the kids, just tell me where your purse is, woman!’ he yelled, irritated and desperate to get away from her.
‘It’s in my shoe, under the chair,’ Fanny answered quietly.
‘Oh, I see, trying to hide it again. What ’ave I told you about being sly with me?’
Fanny lowered her eyes, ‘I’m sorry, Mike.’
‘Yeah, well, you try that again and you will be.’
He found the purse and quickly emptied the contents, stuffing the coins into the pocket of his wrinkled trousers, then he threw on the shirt he’d worn for nearly two weeks, a waistcoat, and flat cap, then stomped towards the door.
As the door closed behind him, he heard Fanny call out, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Out,’ he mumbled under his breath. It was none of her fucking business, but he was off to visit a pretty new girl who Joan had recently taken on in the brothel on Livingstone Street.
*
Norman had cleared his plate of a hearty breakfast served up by his wife, and was now sat in his comfortable lounge, bored, but thankful it was Sunday. It had been a busy week. The Portland Pounders had delivered five dozen cases of counterfeit whisky, along with nearly a thousand pounds for cleaning. He’d sampled the whisky, and though it was labelled as a high-quality Scottish single malt, Norman could taste it was anything but. In fact, he was sure the bloody stuff was lethal. He hadn’t wanted to touch the booze, but the Pounders weren’t the sort of blokes to say ‘no’ to. His biggest problem now would be unloading the stuff. He didn’t want his reputation ruined by selling it on to his local pubs, or risk repercussions from passing it on to any rivals up West. He was stuck with it for now and would have to take the small loss on the chin.
‘You’ve got to have a word with that son of yours,’ Jane said as she walked into the lounge with her blue eyes blaring and carrying his baby daughter.
Norman looked his wife up and down. She’d kept a trim figure even after birthing him three children. Her blonde hair was cut short to her neck, emphasising her high cheekbones and small, upturned nose. She was an attractive woman, but he’d rip the eyes out of any men who dared to look at her. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘He’s picking on Sally again. She’s locked herself in the bathroom to get away from him, but he’s rummaging through your tools looking for a screwdriver to undo the lock. I’ve told him to leave her alone, but he won’t take any notice of me.’
‘Tell him I want to see him,’ Norman answered, and sighed. That was the end of his peace and quiet.
A few minutes later Billy ambled into the lounge and slumped onto the sofa.
‘Your mother said you’re bullying your sister again?’
‘She asked for it, Dad! She barged in my room and stuck her tongue out at me.’
‘Did she, I see. So, you’re thirteen years old, but you’re going to bash your five-year-old sister because she teased you?’
‘I’ve warned her before, she needs a slap,’ Billy answered coldly.
Norman sucked in a deep breath as his anger instantly rose. ‘I’m the only man who will ever lay a hand on that child! You never, never hit the girls in this family, is that clear?’
Billy didn’t answer.
‘I said, is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ he finally replied, but Norman heard the bitterness in his son’s voice.
‘Now you get yourself out of this house. Go round to Tommy Marston’s, ask for his Kenny then you kick the shit out of the boy.’
‘But, Dad, Kenny Marston is older than me and twice the size.’
‘So am I, so do as you’re told. Go on, fuck off, and don’t come back here ’til you’ve bashed the Marston boy good and proper. And a word of warning, if you let him get the better of you, I’ll take my belt to you.’
Norman saw a look of fear flash through his son’s eyes. It was the only emotion Billy ever showed, and even that was rare. But the threat of the belt was sure to provoke a reaction, as Billy knew how much damage the sharpened buckle could do. Granted, Norman had never whipped his son with it, but Billy had witnessed many men feel its force.
Billy slowly got up and headed for the door. Norman could see his son was reluctant to follow his instructions, but he had to teach the boy a lesson in bullying. If he didn’t, he’d never hear the last of it from Jane.
*
George answered the front door and was pleased to see her new friend on the step.
‘Hello, are you coming out to play?’ Molly asked.
George would have really liked to, but though she was allowed to walk to the shop and back, her father had never granted her permission to play outside on the street. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘Hang on and I’ll ask my dad.’
George left the door open and called up the stairs. ‘Dad, can I go out and play with Molly, please?’
‘No, not today, we’re going round to Norman’s later for Sunday dinner.’
George’s shoulders slumped. It was the last thing she wanted to do, especially as Oppo was bringing a new catapult with him today.
‘Please, Dad? Just for a while… I’ll be back soon,’ George pleaded, and as she saw her dad coming down the stairs, she stuck out her bottom lip and made her face look sulky.
‘What’s all this fuss about?’ her gran asked as she hobbled into the hallway.
‘I want to go out and play with Molly but me dad says I can’t ’cos we’re having dinner at Norman’s.’
‘No wonder you’ve got a face like a smacked arse, I wouldn’t want to go to Norman’s for dinner either,’ her gran answered, then looked over George’s shoulder and said, ‘Hello, love,’ to Molly.
‘Good job you weren’t invited then,’ her dad snapped at her gran as he squeezed past her in the narrow hallway.
‘Can’t you let the girl go out for a while? What harm would it do?’
Her father stood still, with his back to them, and George looked at his broad shoulders. She saw him inhale a deep breath and crossed her fingers in the desperate hope that he’d agree. Then before he walked into the kitchen, he turned to her and said, ‘Go on then, but I want you back here by one, do you understand?’
George gasped, and feeling excited, answered, ‘Yes, yes, Dad, I will be… thanks,’ and quickly dashed out of the door before he could change his mind.
She grabbed Molly’s hand and ran as she pulled her along the street. Once at the end and round the corner, George stopped and released the girl’s hand. ‘He can’t call me back indoors now,’ she laughed.
‘George, did I hear your gran call you a girl?’ Molly asked with her brow knitted.
‘Yeah, that’s because I am a girl but me dad likes me to be a boy.’
‘Oh!’ Molly exclaimed looking surprised.
‘Did you think I was a boy?’
‘Yes, you’ve got short hair and your clothes…’
‘I can fight like one and all; in fact, I could beat up all the boys round here. My dad taught me how to box.’
‘You’re so lucky. I wish I had a dad like yours. Why does he want you to be a boy?’
‘I dunno, I suppose ’cos he wanted one but got me instead.’
‘Ain’t you bothered that you look like a boy?’
‘No, not really. Me dad says girls are weaklings and he’s right.’
‘I don’t care if you’re a boy or a girl, you’re still my best friend,’ Molly smiled, and linked her arm through George’s. ‘Let’s go to my house and get Ethel. She’s my sister – you’ll like her. She’s a bit backward but she’s fun to play with.’
George nodded and happily walked along the street with her pal. Molly was the first friend of her own age that she’d ever had. It felt special, she liked it and felt comfortable confiding in the girl. ‘I’ll tell you a secret, but you’ve got to promise not to tell,’ she said with a proud grin.
‘I promise, George, cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘I go out nicking with me dad. We break into posh houses and everything!’
‘Blimey, don’t you get scared?’
‘Nah, it’s easy. Now you tell me a secret…’
Molly’s expression changed. She looked sad and now George wished she hadn’t asked.
‘My dad hits my mum,’ she said and dashed away a tear.
‘That’s horrible. Does he hit you too?’
‘No, but I reckon he would if my mum didn’t stick up for us.’
‘If he ever does, I’ll beat him up, Molly, I swear,’ George said, and in her heart, she meant it.
A short time later, they turned onto Billy’s street, and Molly stopped at a house that looked derelict. ‘This is home,’ she said quietly, looking slightly embarrassed.
George noticed the windows were boarded up, and the front door had seen better days.
‘Let me check if my dad’s home, I won’t be a minute,’ Molly whispered.
George waited outside, but Molly was quick to open the door again.
‘It’s all right, he’s out. Come in.’
She was reluctant to go inside, but she didn’t want to hurt Molly’s feelings. As soon as she walked in, the musty smell of damp overwhelmed her. Faded wallpaper hung from the hallway walls, and George spotted rat droppings on the floor. She’d seen them in their own backyard before, and her gran had been livid, calling them filthy vermin. She’d never expected to see droppings inside someone’s house!
Molly opened a door to the right. ‘This is where we live. Me, Mum, Dad, and Ethel. Mum’s got another one on the way, but I hope it’s a boy this time.’
George couldn’t believe how cold and dark the room was. A tattered curtain separated two double beds, but apart from a cot, a chair, and a rickety-looking cupboard, the room was bare. She’d already felt sorry for Molly, dressed in tatty clothes, but now her heart went out to her.
