by Sam Michaels
‘Round the dosshouses, mister. Me mum puts me out to the tavern on Green Lane and I flog this lot to the down ’n’ outs. Do you wanna buy one? I can do you a deal.’
‘No, thanks, but give this to your mum,’ George answered and gave the skinny lad a coin.
‘Cor, thanks, mister!’
‘Why are you up this end of town? You’re a long way from Green Lane.’
‘Me little sister turned up to help me out but me mum don’t like her working round there ’cos she says the blokes are bad ’uns. I took her back to me mum – she hawks peg dolls up near the station. Now I’ve gotta lug all this bleedin’ lot back. I couldn’t leave it, could I? It’d be empty if I did and then me guv would have given me a right good hiding.’
George’s heart melted for the poor lad. He reminded her a lot of Oppo when he’d been younger. She gave him another coin and smiled as his grimy face lit up. ‘Tell your mum to come and see me. The Maids of Battersea, in St Mary’s church hall. Do you think you can remember that?’
‘Yeah, course, mister. You gonna give me mum a job in service?’
‘Something like that,’ George answered, ‘just be sure to tell her.’
She said goodbye to the lad and hurried until she arrived at the flower stall to find the three Mipple women gathered together and talking closely. George had a good idea what they would be discussing!
‘George, hello. You’ll never guess what’s happened!’ Ethel blurted.
‘No, go on, tell me.’
Molly reached across and patted Ethel’s arm, a signal to tell her to be quiet. Then she looked at George and said, ‘Me dad’s dead.’
George could see there was no sadness in her eyes when she spoke, but there was something wrong, a hardness in her features. She wondered if Molly knew the truth about how her father had been killed. ‘What happened to him?’ she asked, testing the water.
‘We’re not sure. Perhaps his body just packed up.’
Thankfully, George couldn’t detect any hint of accusation in Molly’s answer, so whatever it was that was bothering her, it wasn’t anything to do with Mike’s death.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ George said, though everyone knew she didn’t mean it. No-one was sorry for the loss of Mike Mipple! ‘There must be something in the water. My dad’s ill too. He’s in hospital in Manchester, and from what I know, he’s in a bad way. I’ve got to go to him, but I can’t leave my gran.’
‘Don’t you worry about that. Ethel will stay with her and sleep at your place until you come home, won’t you, love?’ Fanny said.
‘Yes, I like cooking things with Dulcie,’ Ethel answered, her face beaming with delight.
‘And don’t worry about the club either or the stall. I’ll make sure things tick over smoothly, though there won’t be any boxing lessons,’ Molly said.
‘Thanks. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away, and I’ll have to work whilst I’m in Manchester.’
‘What do you mean? What work?’ Molly asked.
‘You know, go back to my old ways and do a bit of dipping and lifting. There’ll be accommodation to fork out for, not to mention me dad’s hospital bills.’
‘Oh, Christ, George. You be careful!’ Fanny said.
‘Yeah, I will. Can Ethel come round first thing in the morning?’
‘Yes, of course she can.’
‘Thanks. I’d best be off, I’ve got to pack a case, and sorry I won’t be around for your husband’s funeral,’ George offered.
‘To tell you the truth, George, as far as I’m concerned he can go in a pauper’s grave. It’s no more than he deserved.’
Fanny certainly wasn’t grieving; in fact she looked as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. George had felt a bit guilty for killing Mike Mipple at first, but she wasn’t sorry now. However, when she looked at Molly, there was something in her friend’s demeanour that worried her. ‘Are you all right, Molly?’
‘Yeah, and I’m not sorry that my dad’s dead.’
George frowned. Molly was trying to act as if nothing was wrong, yet she knew her well enough to recognise that something clearly was. Unfortunately, there was nothing George could do about it… for now.
34
It had been three weeks since Molly had visited Billy, and in that time, Billy had only demanded sex from Hilda the once. Even then, he hadn’t climaxed and complained that she was loose because she’d had too many dicks. It suited Hilda. She much preferred it when he left her alone. Yet still, she felt she was his prisoner.
It was too early for Billy to be in the office, and Knuckles was still upstairs sleeping in one of the Russian girl’s beds. He alternated between the two so could have been in either room.
Hilda took advantage of the solitude, and cautiously opened Billy’s ‘private’ drawer in his desk. Ever so carefully, and with her heart pounding, she lifted his handgun out of the way and began to search. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Anything. Something that could bring him down.
‘Stupid cow, stupid cow, stupid cow! You’re not as clever as Billy Wilcox.’ It was her mother’s voice goading her again. She tried to ignore it and listened for sounds of movement from upstairs.
‘You’re dumb, Hilda Murdin, just like your father. And you’re a wicked tart! You thought I didn’t see you throwing yourself at your dad? Sitting on his lap, flirting with him, being Daddy’s girl… You tempted him. You asked for it.’
‘No I didn’t!’ Hilda whispered. ‘I was only six years old. I didn’t know anything about what men and women do. How could it have been my fault?’
Before her mother could answer, Hilda heard the stairs creak. Her head shot up and she held her breath. This was risky. If Billy found out she’d been snooping, she’d end up in the cellar with his dad. Then she heard Knuckles clear his throat.
‘Shit,’ she cursed quietly, then quickly, though gently, closed the drawer and locked it, returning the key to its hiding place under a cactus pot on the desk. She darted across the office and sat, trying to look innocent at her own desk. She was disappointed that she hadn’t found anything to use against Billy, and her mother’s voice filled her mind again.
‘Told you,’ she said. ‘Stupid cow, stupid cow, stupid cow.’
Hilda’s throat felt as if it was constricting. All hope had diminished and been replaced with a depressing realisation – there was no escape from Billy Wilcox, or her mother.
*
‘I’m a bloody miracle, I am,’ Jack chirped. He was sitting up in bed, and clearly feeling much better. Against all the odds, Jack had defied the doctor’s prognosis and was on the mend.
‘Yeah, well, maybe so, but you’ve still got to take it easy,’ George said as she poured him a glass of water.
‘Thanks, love. There I was, on death’s door, and now look at me. Three weeks later and I’m like a new man! There’s no need for you to hang about now so you may as well get yourself back home to London. I’ll be out meself in a day or two. Cor, I can’t wait. This bloody place is nearly as bad as prison.’
‘Oh really? I don’t think so, Dad! I’ve seen the way you muck about with the nurses.’ George laughed. She wouldn’t call it flirting, but her father’s easy charm had won them over.
‘Not all of them. There’s one who’s got a face like a smacked arse. I call her the sergeant major, but not to her face, mind.’
George pulled up a seat and sat next to her dad’s bed. She’d been worried sick she was going to lose him. When she’d first arrived in Manchester, her father looked to be on death’s door, and now it was so nice to see him almost glowing with health. ‘If you’re only going to be a couple of days, I may as well wait for you.’
‘Don’t be daft. What’s the point in paying out for that B and B? I thought you’d be in a hurry to see your gran?’
‘She’s all right,’ George said. ‘Ethel is with her, and Ezzy has made sure she ain’t been going without.’
‘So much for them Jews having a reputation for being tight! Seth
has been more than generous in what he pays you, and it’s been good of him to send some of the money to Ezzy for your gran. I don’t know what we would have done without them.’
‘Yeah, you’re right there, Dad. He’s been telephoning Ezzy too and giving him updates on your condition. I know it’s helped to ease me gran’s mind.’ George felt a pang. She had missed Dulcie. ‘I suppose it would make sense to go home. I ain’t got nothing for Seth to buy unless I do another job.’
Jack leaned forward, closer to George, and lowered his voice. ‘There you go. It ain’t worth the risk of getting caught up here, not for the sake of staying with me. I’d hate to see you banged up in a Northern prison. Go on, sling your hook. If you get the train now, you’ll be home by dinnertime. Anyway, I can’t think why you’d wanna stay up here. The place is even more bleedin’ dismal than London.’
George decided that her father was right, and she felt assured that he wouldn’t be long behind her. She’d been away for most of May, and had a lot of catching up to do, along with a few people to thank. She’d be eternally grateful to Ezzy and his family, and of course to Oppo who had been regularly popping in to check on her gran. Not all men are bad, George decided, just most of them.
It wasn’t long before George was heading home. Secrets, secrets, secrets. The sound of the Manchester to London train reverberating on the tracks seemed to ring out the words in George’s head. Secrets, secrets, secrets. The sexual assault on her by the policemen, blowing up the station, the dead coppers, murdering Mike Mipple, and her gran being a killer too!
George had so many secrets to keep, but one troubled her more than most – her gran burying her husband in a barrel in the backyard. The thought of it unnerved her. Her bedroom window looked directly over his final resting place, and as a child she’d played on that patch of ground, unaware that a dead body was just a couple of feet below her.
She could understand why her gran had killed Percy. She’d never known the man herself, but from what Dulcie had told her, he’d been a complete waste of space. But she couldn’t get her head around the fact she was living in a graveyard! Something would have to be done about it, though at this moment in time, she didn’t know what.
And now there was Molly to worry about too. She had a secret that was obviously distressing her. She was being unusually stubborn, and no matter how hard George pushed her, she refused to share it. George had seen the strain on Molly’s face. Her heart went out to her friend, but there was nothing she could do to help unless Molly was willing to disclose what was upsetting her.
Yes, Molly had it in her to be stubborn, but George was more dogged, and she would keep on at Molly until the girl gave in and opened up. Whatever was bothering her, George thought it must be bad; after all, they’d shared each other’s secrets for most of their lives.
35
Jane had heard a rumour. Apparently George Garrett was running some sort of club that taught women how to defend themselves. Had the gossip been about anyone else, then she wouldn’t have believed it, but she wouldn’t put something like this past George. After all, the girl was tough and had been fighting from a very young age.
Jane thought it was a fantastic idea, and something she’d be keen to support. However, she’d like to check things out for herself first, and was on her way to the church hall.
When she arrived, she was greeted by a beautifully hand-painted sign above the door, which read, ‘The Maids of Battersea.’ She wondered if she was in the correct place. The Maids of Battersea didn’t sound much like a self-defence group. If anything, it put her in mind of service women. She could easily envisage George boxing, but she couldn’t imagine the girl as a servant to anyone. Undeterred, and more curious than ever, she entered the hall and was surprised to find Molly Mipple holding an audience of at least a dozen women, seemingly showing them how to make lace.
The door caught the wind and slammed shut behind her. It caused a large whooshing noise and one hell of a bang. The class fell silent, and Molly’s head flew round, but when she spotted Jane, instead of appearing pleased to see her, Jane noticed she looked mortified.
‘Hello, Molly. I’m sorry to disturb you, but can I have a word please?’
Jane noticed that Molly’s eyes were like saucers, and she was sheet-white. As she slowly pushed her seat back, Jane was sure she saw Molly wobble unsteadily as she walked up to her.
‘I’ve heard some talk, rumours of a women-only club being run by George. Is this it?’
Molly nodded.
‘Good, I’m in the right place then. So where is George?’
Molly remained mute and pointed to a screen near the back wall.
‘Thank you,’ Jane said, and walked to the other end of the long hall, wondering what was wrong with Molly. The girl’s behaviour was most peculiar.
George suddenly appeared from behind the screen. She was dressed in her usual attire, looking more like a man than a woman and asked abruptly, ‘What do you want?’
‘Hello, George. I hope you don’t mind me calling in like this?’
‘That depends on why you’re here.’
‘I’ve come to see what you’re doing.’
‘It’s none of your business,’ George said.
Jane realised she’d made George suspicious. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I’ve heard you’re holding some sort of class to teach women how to defend themselves. I think it’s a smashing notion and I’d love to know more about it.’
George eyed her doubtfully, but asked, ‘Did you want to join the class?’
Jane nearly laughed. She couldn’t punch her way out of a paper bag and had no desire to learn. God forbid, she’d break a nail! And she had no need to fight. Norman had always looked after her, and now she had Billy. ‘No, but thank you all the same,’ she answered humbly. ‘However, I would like to offer you my support.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Wilcox, but we’re doing all right,’ George said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.’
She turned to walk away, but Jane called to her, ‘Wait, George. I’ve got an idea I’d like to run by you.’
George looked impatient but stood with her hands on her hips and waited for Jane to continue.
‘I’ve heard that some of the men don’t like the idea of what you’re doing, and to be honest, it’s got a few of the women talking rather unfavourably too. If people’s perceptions could be changed, I believe you’d have the ladies in these parts hammering down your door to join your club.’
‘Probably,’ George said, ‘but I don’t see how I can change their minds.’
‘Well, I was thinking… I have quite a bit of influence in the area, and one of my late husband’s trusted colleagues runs the local newspaper. I’d be happy to write an article to promote the club. You’d have the final say, of course, but if I put my name to The Maids of Battersea, I’m sure people would be less scathing, and you wouldn’t have to operate so guardedly.’
‘What’s in it for you?’ George asked.
‘Nothing, really. I’m just an advocate of promoting power for women. Too many wives and daughters are abused. It must stop, and this is a step in the right direction. By the way, why call it The Maids of Battersea?’
George snorted, and said, ‘It was inspired by Joan of Arc.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Jane fibbed, not grasping the connection. ‘So what do you think? Would you like me to get involved?’
‘I’m not sure. If we go public with this, I would lose the use of this hall. I can’t see the vicar allowing me to teach boxing to women.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. But where there’s a will, there’s a way. Who knows, maybe a quiet word from me would change the vicar’s mind. After all, he’ll be wanting another donation for the church roof again soon, not that I’ve ever seen that roof re-leaded.’
The women smiled at each other, and Jane was pleased to see George had dropped her guard.
‘I know you’re busy now,’ she sai
d, ‘so let’s meet for tea later and we can discuss it further. Say half past four at Pinkie’s?’
‘Pinkie’s?’ George baulked.
It flashed through Jane’s mind that George might feel out of place in Pinkie’s teahouse, especially as the prices were just as extravagant as the art deco interior. ‘Or you could come to mine if you’d prefer?’ she quickly offered.
‘No, Pinkie’s is fine.’
‘Great, I’ll see you later then,’ Jane said, and trotted off.
She waved goodbye to Molly, and as she made her way home her mind went into overdrive. She was so pleased that George had agreed to allow her to be a part of her club. Since Norman had been killed her life had felt empty, and her days endlessly boring. This was just what she needed to get her teeth into. It was exciting, and fresh, but most of all, a challenge.
*
Now that George was back, and word had spread, Molly had been chuffed to see the participant numbers of The Maids of Battersea increase again. Some of the women had slumped off whilst George had been away, not that Molly could blame them. She was sure they found boxing far more exciting than rag-rug or lace making!
She was halfway through her craft class but finding it difficult to concentrate. Seeing Mrs Wilcox had sent her into a panic. She was the last woman Molly expected to walk through the door. Thankfully, she hadn’t stayed long or spoken much to her, but all sorts of crazy thoughts had passed through Molly’s mind. The encounter had left her speculating about the possibility of Mrs Wilcox knowing what she was trying to desperately hide.
It was bad enough that she knew to expect another interrogation from George later. Her friend wouldn’t let the matter drop. George seemed to instinctively know that something had upset her, and it was clear she was determined to get to the bottom of it. Molly kept assuring her that everything was fine and dandy, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d crack and tell her the terrible truth.
She’d allowed Billy Wilcox to have sex with her. The act had been violent and humiliating, but she only had herself to blame. She could feel herself shrinking in her chair at the recollection of that awful day. The memory would never go away, and to make matters worse, she had a constant reminder – a bastard child growing in her belly.
