by Sam Michaels
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Molly said quietly, ‘it ain’t a patch on your house.’
‘Molly!’ a voice shouted, and George turned to see a girl running down the stairs. She looked older than Molly and George could tell there was something odd about her.
‘Slow down, Ethel, and mind the third step, you know it ain’t there,’ Molly called, then when her sister reached the bottom, she added, ‘This is my friend George.’
‘Hello, George, I is Ethel and I’m a big girl, ain’t I, Molly?’
‘Yes, you are,’ Molly said, her eyes full of affection for her older sister. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘She said she was going up the fields outside town to see if she could find some rhubarb. She told me to stay here ’cos I slow her down but to hide at the top of the stairs in case Dad comes home.’
‘If she’s out looking for rhubarb again, it means we ain’t got no dinner tonight,’ Molly said to George and rolled her eyes.
‘I thought you told me your mum works on a flower stall?’ George asked, curious to know why there was no food in the house.
‘She does, but it’s me dad. He takes all the money and Mum says he pisses it up the wall.’
George wasn’t sure what Molly meant, but she was sure not to lean against any of the walls in case Molly’s dad had peed on them. Now she understood why the house smelt so bad.
‘Do you want to play hopscotch?’ Molly asked Ethel.
Ethel nodded enthusiastically and grabbed a coat off the bed. When she put it on, George noticed it was short in the arms and the material was stretched across her back. Her legs were bare, and the sole of her shoe flapped when she walked. George wished she could have given Ethel her clothes, but she knew if she did, her gran would do her nut. Anyway, at least the girl had shoes. George had seen plenty who didn’t.
‘I need to use the privy, Molly, will you wait for me?’ Ethel asked, as she jigged from one foot to the other.
‘Yes, go on then, but be quick and make sure you wash your hands with the carbolic soap,’ she answered and as Ethel ran off, Molly turned to George. ‘We have to use the privy out the back two doors down. With them upstairs, and three families crammed into next door, there’s about eighteen of us sharing it. Me mum worries it’ll make us ill and has a right go at us if we don’t wash our hands after.’
‘What do you do if you want to go in the middle of the night?’
‘Hold it or be dead quiet. Me dad has a bucket, but he won’t let us do our business indoors. Bleedin’ thing stinks sometimes and me mum has to empty it. Mind you, it don’t smell as rotten as the privy.’
The thought of it made George feel queasy so she was pleased when Ethel came running back in. Then she heard a man’s voice from next door. He was shouting loudly, ‘Up and over.’
‘What’s all that about?’
‘Me mum says he’s shell-shocked from the war. He’s always shouting it out, something to do with the trenches, I think. I saw him the other day, he looks really scary, like a madman!’
The girls left the house, and once outside, George breathed in the fresh air, glad to be away from Molly’s smelly room, though she was a bit worried about bumping into the man next door.
She’d been shocked at what she’d seen and hadn’t realised people lived that way. How awful for Molly, she thought, and promised herself that no matter what it took, she would never, ever, be poor.
*
Later that day, Billy Wilcox looked over the bannister, and through the crack of the lounge door he could see George sat at the dinner table next to her dad. His own father would be at the head, and his mother the other end. Sally would be opposite Jack, so that meant he’d have to sit and face George. He cringed at the thought. He’d rather kick her head in than have to sit and eat with her, or him, whatever you wanted to call it.
It was a shame his father had ordered him to kick in Kenny Marston’s head instead of George’s – he’d have gleaned much more pleasure from seeing its blood smeared on his knuckles rather than Kenny’s. As it happened, Kenny hadn’t put up a fight. Tommy Marston had offered up his son like a lamb to the slaughter. He’d stood by and done nothing as Billy had pummelled Kenny’s head, then the man had even asked Billy to send his regards to his father. It had been too easy; there was no challenge from either son or father. They were weak, not like the Wilcox men.
He slowly walked into the room where dinner was being served, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on George.
‘Ah, Billy, there you are. Come on, sit down, dinner’s getting cold,’ his mother urged.
His voice had broken, and was now a deep growl, which still surprised him whenever he spoke. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he said, sounding more unfriendly than he’d intended.
‘Don’t be daft, of course you are. A growing lad like you needs a good meal,’ his mother said, her voice a bit shaky.
Billy saw that his dad had the carving knife in his hands and was stood ready to slice the joint of meat. A sudden image flashed through his mind of him grabbing the knife and dragging the blade across George’s throat. He imagined his mother screaming as George’s blood spurted up the walls and across the pristine white tablecloth.
Billy’s father’s voice broke into his sadistic thoughts when he heard him order, ‘Billy, sit down.’
Billy abruptly took his seat and stared at the thing in front of him. Was it a boy or a girl? He was pretty sure it didn’t have a dick, but it looked like a boy, and acted like one too. Sometimes his parents referred to George as a girl, but always as a boy in front of George’s dad.
‘Mr Garrett’s just been telling us how George is coming on well with his boxing lessons. You used to like doing a bit of boxing when you were his age, didn’t you, Billy?’
His mother was obviously trying to make light conversation, but Billy couldn’t bring himself to respond. Instead, he glared at George, and barely audibly, hissed, ‘Weirdo.’
‘What did you say?’ his father asked, sounding irate.
‘I said, well done,’ Billy answered, with a charming smile that concealed what was really going on in his mind.
He turned his gaze to Jack, and the look of contempt in the man’s eyes – well, one of his eyes – told Billy that Jack hadn’t been fooled. Billy wasn’t bothered. His father had already ripped out Jack’s left eye, and if he didn’t stop staring at him, Billy decided he would rip out the other one too and shove it down George’s throat. He smiled at the thought of George gagging as it was forced to swallow its father’s eyeball.
Once the roast had been eaten, and apple pie demolished, Billy felt it was a polite time to retire back to his room. He’d detested every minute of sitting with the Garretts and couldn’t wait to get away from them. Especially George. There was something unnerving about a girl who looked and acted like a boy, and he couldn’t understand why his parents played along with the game by referring to it as him.
As he walked upstairs, the sound of Jack chuckling carried from the lounge, and for a moment, Billy thought the man was laughing at him. He wanted to run back into the room and envisaged George’s horrified face as he slaughtered her dad in front of her. Instead, he returned to his room where he could sit and polish his already immaculate shoes and allow his twisted imagination to run riot.
As he rubbed black polish into his Oxfords, in his mind’s eye he visualised the panic in Jack Garrett’s eye as he slit his throat and watched the warm, crimson blood ooze from the man’s body. He could almost hear the screams for mercy from George as he slowly and deliberately cut off parts of its body. First its ear, then a finger or two. Just like he’d done to Rusty, the neighbour’s cat. Not enough to kill, just enough to cause excruciating pain.
George would beg, cry for him to stop, but in Billy’s head, that showed weakness, something he couldn’t respect but enjoyed hearing. He knew his dad had quietly knocked off blokes who’d tried to get one over on him, but for Billy, the thought of killing was more than business… it was pleasure.
16
Joan heard Mr Wilcox’s car pull up, and quickly checked her reflection in the mirror. Her dyed brown hair was neatly styled in short curls, and her thin lips were moistened with red lipstick. Pleased with herself, she emerged from her room, keen to tell her boss some information she’d gleaned about the Portland Pounders.
Norman and Hefty walked in, while Beth came trotting down the stairs.
‘Good morning, Mr Wilcox.’ Joan smiled, then turned and scowled at Beth, annoyed at her uninvited presence.
‘Hello, Joan, I hear business has been profitable this week. Well done, ladies.’
‘Yes, come through and I’ll show you the books.’
Joan followed them into the lounge, which was normally used as a waiting room or for Norman’s wild parties. Norman rarely attended the parties, but he always ensured his special guests enjoyed themselves. Alcohol and drugs would be readily available, and the parties would inevitably turn into orgies.
The room was opulently dressed, with deep burgundy velvet curtains, and large brown leather, studded-back sofas. There was a walnut bar in one corner, which housed the finest spirits and champagne, only ever used for Norman’s valued business associates. Few local men had ever been in this room, but it was often frequented by wealthier gentlemen, many of whom held influential roles within the local authorities.
Joan walked behind the bar. There was a safe hidden behind a painting of King George the Fifth, but she noticed Beth had followed them in. She had to get the girl out of the room so she could warn Mr Wilcox of what was coming. Carol had told her that she’d overheard Beth talking to Davey, one of the Pounders. She was supposed to be fucking him, but Carol got the impression they were planning the downfall of the Pounders gang, which Davey belonged to, and of Mr Wilcox. She’d never trusted Beth and now it seemed her instincts had been correct. ‘Yes, Beth, what do you want?’ she asked, irritated.
Mr Wilcox, Hefty and Joan glared at the girl, waiting for an answer. Beth looked nervous as she said, ‘I’d like a word with Mr Wilcox, please.’
‘Bugger off, Beth. Mr Wilcox is a busy man and doesn’t have time to waste with you,’ Joan answered with a shooing motion of her hand.
‘But… it’s important.’
‘I don’t care how important you think it is,’ Joan snapped, but was swiftly interrupted by Norman.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I needs to speak to you, but it has to be in private.’
‘This is private. I trust the people in this room.’
Beth looked around at the three sets of eyes on her. She gulped. ‘It’s the Portland Pounders, Mr Wilcox. They’re gonna have you done in.’
‘Are they, indeed? And you know this how?’
‘Davey told me. He works for Mr Kelly, and he said Mr Kelly is going to kill you and take over all your businesses.’
‘I see. Anything else?’
‘No, sir, that’s all I know, except he did say it would be soon… very soon.’
‘She’s telling the truth, Mr Wilcox. One of the other girls overheard Davey talking about you copping it,’ Joan added, surprised that Beth had turned out to be trustworthy after all.
‘Thank you, Beth. Joan will see to it that you’re paid extra for your loyalty. Leave us.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Beth said and, looking relieved, she dashed from the room.
Joan surveyed Norman’s face. He didn’t look fazed by the news imparted to him, but Joan knew the man was deep and would be planning something. Unbeknown to her, Beth’s small lie had put a nail in the girl’s coffin, and that of Davey, her lover’s, too.
*
Norman had given Jack a tip-off about a new shop on the High Street selling watches, but the owners had refused to sign up for his insurance. Normally, Hefty would be sent in and would persuade them it was in their best interest, but he had held Hefty back, knowing that the family had connections with Scotland Yard. However, if the shop was subject to a random robbery, the owners might be more inclined to reconsider Norman’s offer.
It was lunchtime, and the shop was closed. The street was busy, but Norman had said he’d seen a back door with a small window to the side, and on two visits to the premises, the window had been ajar. Jack hoped it would be now.
Once they were at the back of the shop, Jack was pleased to find the window was again slightly open. It was small, not large enough for a man to fit through, but he had George with him, and though she was a tremendous size for her age, she was still able to squeeze through the tiniest of gaps.
‘I’ll get through that, Dad, no problem.’
‘I knew you would, but instead of opening the back door, just grab all you can and pass it out to me through the window. I don’t know if the place is belled up or not.’
Jack helped his daughter through the small gap, and just a few nail-biting minutes passed until he saw her small hand pop back out of the window with a full bag.
‘Here you go, Dad,’ she whispered.
Jack took the bag. His eyes nearly popped when he glanced inside and saw it was stuffed with expensive watches. ‘Well done,’ he said in hushed tones.
George looked for a chair to climb on to access her getaway from the inside, and once she’d clambered back through the window, they headed towards the Junction and Falk’s jewellery shop.
‘Ezzy’s gonna bloody love us,’ George squealed.
‘What have I told you about your language?’
‘Sorry, Dad, but it’s true, ain’t it?’
‘Oh yes, very true. He’ll have me on a train to Manchester tomorrow morning with this lot.’
Less than half an hour later, they were walking up the hill towards the train station and Falk’s shop. They passed Fanny’s flower stall, and Jack noticed the woman looked tired. Mind you, he wasn’t surprised; after all, she looked huge with child.
‘You’re looking pleased with yourself, Jack,’ Fanny called.
‘Always, Fanny, always. When’s the baby due?’
‘Any day now. The sooner, the better – my blinkin’ back is killing me.’
‘Good luck, and give my regards to Mike,’ Jack said, though truth be known, he couldn’t stand her lazy and slovenly husband.
‘That’s Molly’s mum,’ George said quietly.
‘You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.’
‘Yes, she’s my best friend,’ George piped up, though Jack wasn’t pleased to hear his daughter speak this way. It made her sound too girly.
They were soon inside Falk’s, and Ezzy’s face lit up as he studied the gold and silver watches. ‘Beautiful, Jack,’ he enthused.
‘You’re gonna have to shift them pretty sharpish, mate,’ Jack warned.
‘I think I can guess where these came from, and if I’m right the sooner they’re moved, the better. I’ve got to say, Jack, I admire your spunk. Do you know the brother works at Scotland Yard?’
‘Yes, so you’d think they would have better security. Silly buggers left a window open.’
‘Can you run these tomorrow?’ Ezzy asked.
‘Yep, I’ll see you first thing. Come on, George, say goodbye to Ezzy.’
‘Can I show him something first?’ George asked as she jigged up and down on the spot looking excited.
‘All right,’ Jack agreed.
‘Ezzy, come round here and walk towards the door,’ George demanded.
The man’s eyebrows rose, but with a good-natured smile he did as she asked. Jack knew what his daughter was going to do. He’d been teaching her to dip by hanging a small bell on a jacket. Now, after several weeks of practice, she could slip her hand inside the coat and the bell wouldn’t sound. He’d been impressed at how quickly she’d learnt the skill and as Ezzy walked across the shop floor, George pretended to accidently bump into him.
‘Whoops. Careful, George,’ Ezzy warned.
‘I’m fine, but you should check your left inside pocket.’
The man felt inside his jacket. �
�Very good! Can I have my wallet back please?’
With an accomplished smile on her face, George handed it to him.
‘You can have a job with me as one of my dippers,’ Ezzy teased.
‘No, he can’t,’ Jack said sternly, and ruffled George’s short hair. ‘I couldn’t do without him. See you tomorrow.’
They left Falk’s shop in good spirits. Their haul had been plentiful, and Jack was pleased with the price he’d negotiated with Ezzy. ‘Tonight, we shall eat like kings,’ he said as he jangled the coins in his pocket and patted the notes on the inside of his coat.
‘Good, ’cos I’m bleedin’ starving!’
Jack smiled down at his daughter, and when he looked at her eyes, he was once again reminded of Sissy. ‘When we get home, I’ve got something very special to give to you,’ he said, thinking of his wife’s wedding ring. ‘I think you’re old enough to have it now.’
‘What is it, Dad?’
‘You’ll see,’ Jack answered, holding back the sorrow he still felt, then added, ‘Come on, hurry up, I reckon it’s gonna chuck it down.’
*
By the time they arrived home, the sky had turned dark grey and it was raining heavily. George was wet through to her skin, and as she squelched up the hallway, she laughed heartily at her dad shaking his head like a wet dog.
‘It’s raining, Gran,’ she exclaimed when she saw her in the kitchen.
‘Heaven’s above, look at the state of you! You’re soaked through and dripping all over my clean floor.’
George saw her dad roll his eyes and knew what he was thinking. Her gran was fanatical about her kitchen floor, and even though the woman had bad hips, every day she’d get down on her hands and knees and scrub it so hard that the linoleum was almost worn through.
‘Get them wet clothes off then put yourself in front of the fire and I’ll get you a nice bowl of vegetable soup.’
George swapped a look with her dad and they wrinkled their noses.
