by Sheila Riley
‘I take it you didn’t get the job?’ Jack asked when he went into the kitchen, and for a moment Evie couldn’t think straight. She had made the excuse of going to see about the non-existent job, so she could go to the police station without worrying Jack or Lucy.
However, she had thought no more of the excuse when she was told there was still no news of her mother. Nevertheless, she would have to start thinking seriously about looking for work. Her savings had all but disappeared, and she had no intentions of going cap-in-hand and living off the parish.
‘Hello Evie, long time no see.’ Leo Darnel’s voice came from behind her as she walked back from the shop on the top road later that day, stopping Evie dead in her tracks. Every nerve in her body froze, and the cold that had seeped into her bones after queuing at the grocers for so long, turned to fear. But she dared not show it even though she was experiencing that dreadful, sickening sensation that turned her insides to jelly. That feeling, which had been an everyday part of her life just two years ago.
Hunched inside a camel coat, Leo Darnel peered at her from under a grey fedora hat. His beady eyes undressed her, making her skin crawl, as he snaked his tongue around the ever-present matchstick, rolling it around his mouth. His hands were dug deep into his pockets while one foot lay flat against the sooty jigger wall at the side of the bridge, out of sight of passers-by. It looked like he was holding up the whole bloody tavern.
Evie imagined him losing his footing on the ice, and landing in a heap on the cold alley slab. The image cheered her somewhat, halting her sign of distress. She had to stay calm. Show no fear. He would expect his sudden appearance to terrify her and it did. But she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing. He was the kind of man who would revel in his ability to scare the living daylights out of defenceless women. Well, not today, Buster, she thought defiantly.
‘Do you have to jump out on people?’ She squeezed the words through her teeth, not knowing where she found the courage to rebuke him, although glad she did, as her fear turned to anger. Taking in a deep breath, she studied him for a moment, taking in the sharp features any fox would be proud of. The slim moustache that defined so many spivs. And those piggy little eyes that followed every woman. What did her mother ever see in him?
‘The blackjacks ’ad me in the Bridewell all bleeding night because of your mother,’ he said, his tone terse, and Evie suspected it wasn’t blood that ran through his veins, it was molten anger.
‘Why would the police lock you in the cells because of my mother?’ Evie asked as a niggling worry grew into full-blown alarm. Darnel didn’t like lippy women. ‘You’d better not have hurt her,’ she warned, knowing her mother could be infuriating, but she was her mother.
‘Why would I wanna do that?’ he said, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I loved the bones of that woman.’
‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ Evie scoffed, ‘stripping the house of your furniture.’ And because Evie knew he could change his nature on a whim, she was wary. Her mother was not a weak-willed woman, nevertheless he had manipulated her from the moment he stepped foot in Reckoner’s Row. But he was not going to do the same thing to her.
‘Can’t we go inside and have a nice hot cup of tea? I’m bloody freezing out here.’ Darnel moved from one foot to the other, blowing warm air into his hands
‘I’d rather pull my eyelashes out. One. At. A. Time,’ she said emphasising each of the last four words as she hurried passed the alleyway. Buoyed by the number of people on the busy top road, she said, ‘our Jack is at home, he’ll be waiting for his dinner.’ Her brother was taller and, now his leg was on the mend, much faster than the spiv. However, Evie didn’t want Jack getting involved with Darnel, and she would do her utmost to make sure he didn’t.
‘The coppers said I must know something about your mother’s disappearance.’ The words stopped Evie in her tracks, and she spun around glaring at him, careful not to slip.
‘And do you?’ Darnel’s expression reminded Evie of a wronged kid, blamed for smashing a window when he wasn’t even in the street. But she knew better than to be taken in by his feigned innocence. She had witnessed his deceit first-hand.
‘I told ’em straight,’ he continued, ‘I ’aven’t seen her since she threw me out last Christmas.’
Evie shot him a venomous look, knowing corruption and lies came as easy as breathing to Darnel and she didn’t believe a word he said.
‘I’ve got to get on.’ Evie’s head was tilted against the keen north-westerly wind as his hand shot out and grabbed the sleeve of her coat.
‘Don’t think you can put one over on me,’ Darnel spat through gritted teeth, and Evie knew she had to be careful. ‘If I wanted to get inside your house I would. Like that.’ He snapped his fingers.
‘There’s nothing in that house for you.’ Evie jerked her arm from his grip, and even though her heart was hammering, she managed to keep her voice level.
‘See… I think I might’ve left something behind.’
‘You’ll get in over my dead body!’ Evie said, thankful her voice held no evidence of the chilling fear invading her body. ‘There’s nothing there for you.’ Every grain of pluck she seized, helped her lift her chin as she headed next door, towards number two.
‘Make sure you bolt all your doors at night, won’t ya, Evie?’
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Fear had rendered her speechless.
‘Evie can I go skating on the Cut with Bobby Harris?’ Lucy asked as she came hurtling through the back door. Red-faced and breathless, she had been sliding on the ice all morning and bickering with Bobby about who could slide the furthest.
‘Ahh, go on, please Evie, let her. Go on, please…’ Bobby pleaded. Lucy was his new companion who played a mean game of footie. But she had challenged him to a skating race on the icy canal. He couldn’t wait… but his hopes were soon dashed.
‘No, it’s too dangerous,’ Evie answered, peeling potatoes for tea and wondering if the minced meat was too fatty. She wouldn’t go so far as to identify what kind of meat it was exactly, and the contents didn’t bear thinking about, but she was lucky enough to get it after such a long wait. That particular butcher was what her mother used to call, ‘a queer ’eel of an old boot,’ which she took to mean he needed watching – otherwise he would charge fillet steak prices for scrag-ends.
It had been a month since her mother had walked out. The police had searched the area and all that could be done had been. But given her history of doing a flit whenever the mood took her, the authorities said she would be back when she got fed up gallivanting. But Evie’s concern was growing.
‘But the ice is dead thick,’ Lucy wailed, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Everybody is skating. I’m the only one who can’t do anything that’s fun.’ She liked being home and she loved their Evie, but she could be a right old misery-guts sometimes.
‘Don’t you go skating on that canal, Lucy. D’you hear me?’ Evie called to her sister who was making her way down the yard.
‘So, still no sign of Rene, then?’ Mim asked her daughter over the tea table and Connie shook her head, still not prepared to share the contents of her life in front of Mr call-me-Angus McCrae. He had been here three weeks and his rent money came in very handy, but she refused to divulge every minute detail of Rene’s life in front of him. She had been talked about enough in this street. Nevertheless, Mim spoke freely.
‘That husband of hers was no saint when he was alive,’ Mim said. ‘He bashed her about a few times – I saw the bruises.’
‘Mim, that’s not our concern.’ Connie’s words disguised a plea to desist from discussing their neighbour’s private business. ‘He’s not in a position to knock her about anymore… and you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead – they might come back and haunt you!’ Connie wanted to stop the conversation in its tracks and judging by her mother’s pursed lips and stony silence, she seemed to have got her way, at last.
‘Evie’s doing he
r best,’ Connie said, when she could stand her mother’s hard-done-by silence no longer. ‘She asks nobody for help or support. I admire her fortitude.’ But surely, she wanted to say, they have a right to some privacy and not be every teatime conversation, as they had in the past. However, she kept those thoughts to herself.
‘It’s not normal walking out and leaving two kids to fend for themselves though, is it, Angus?’ Mim asked their lodger, who seemed at a loss as to how he should answer.
‘This pie is delicious, did you make it, Mrs Sharp?’ Angus said, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. He liked lodging here. Mim, and her cleaner friend, Ada Harris, were a mine of information when they got together.
‘Connie made it,’ Mim said curtly. She felt he asked too many questions for her liking.
There was a lull in the conversation and Angus wondered if he had put his great size tens in it again. Noticing a lovely scarlet flush colour Connie’s creamy complexion, Angus gave her a warm smile and, not for the first time, wondered why such a handsome woman was still not spoken for.
Trying to ignore his direct gaze, Connie concentrated on cutting up her pie. ‘Mim bought the steak and kidney, she has a good eye for meat,’ Connie answered, sure the compliment would give Mim cause to bristle with pride. And she did, when Angus addressed her.
‘You chose well, Mrs Sharp, and the pastry is the best I’ve tasted in a long time.’ Angus relaxed when he saw the older woman give a satisfied smile, and harmony resumed.
However, there was something else he noticed about the delicious homemade steak and kidney pie. It did not contain the usual boot-leather cheap-cuts that were the usual fare in these austere times. Some meat being sold these days could be braised in a slow oven for a week, and still not be as tender and succulent as this. Kidney, being offal, was not on ration. But beef of this quality was rare in a backstreet butchers and if it was available, he knew, it would be prohibitively expensive to the wives of dockworkers.
‘More pie, Angus?’ Mim said, cutting another huge slice.
‘You’re spoiling me, Mrs Sharp,’ Angus said, nudging creamy mashed potato onto the back of his fork knowing the black market thrived around the dockyards – but he wasn’t after the men who pinched a bit of beef to supplement their meagre wages. He was after the ones who gave the orders.
‘Connie, you are a cook of the highest calibre.’ It surprised him to realise that Connie-behind-the-bar was a different woman to Connie-in-the-kitchen, and he raised a quiet smile when Mim, obviously feeling left out, revisited her earlier conversation…
‘Rene Kilgaren always picked the wrong man,’ Mim said, distracting Angus from his obvious approval of her daughter’s cooking. Warming to her theme, she ignored a warning look from Connie. ‘Rene became the femme fatale of Reckoner’s Row when her beloved husband lost his life fighting for his country.’
‘Beloved, Mim?’ Connie said, her fork stalled between plate and lips. ‘She was like a bird in a cage. The poor woman couldn’t go to the shops without being interrogated when she got back.’
‘She made her bed, so she had to lie in it,’ Mim answered tucking into her meal with relish, ‘but there’s one thing I will say in Rene’s favour, she always knew where she could get a decent piece of meat, or a nice bit of fruit – not to mention—’
‘Yes, Mim!’ Connie said leaning towards her mother. ‘Not to mention! You know what they say about loose lips – it still applies. Even though the war’s over – rationing isn’t!’ Connie’s voice held a warning note and her mother seemed peeved that she couldn’t finish her story about Rene Kilgaren.
Angus, tucking into his tea, appeared not to notice. He was glad of the older woman’s indiscretion. Mim was a mine of useful information he would never be privy to under normal circumstances, but as yet she hadn’t mentioned where the black-market merchandise was being sold to the hard-working women of Reckoner’s Row. But he would bide his time. He was a patient man and would get to the heart of the warehouse robberies soon enough. In the meantime, he was enjoying the hospitality of the tavern’s generous landlady.
After tea, Angus went out to buy an evening paper, as usual. The evening sojourn gave him the opportunity to relay any information he had garnered. His conversation inside the red telephone box outside the tavern was brief. He would have more information tomorrow.
Replacing the black Bakelite receiver, he had a good view of the street and the frozen canal. Connie was shovelling snow from the path leading to the door of the tavern. A truly beautiful woman, both inside and out, he mused.
Friendly. Successful. She could hold an intelligent conversation on many subjects. But she liked to keep private things to herself. Although not here to admire the locals, he couldn’t help but be drawn to Connie’s womanly charms… It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the love of a good woman. There were two reasons he needed lodgings close to the docks. One was so he did not arouse suspicion, and two – Liza was just a few miles down the coast.
‘Here, let me do that for you,’ Angus said, taking the spade from Connie’s freezing hands. For a moment their eyes locked, and he caught the glimpse of a storm in her blue-eyed gaze that caused a pleasant hum to warm his blood.
‘Go on in,’ he said while every hair on his scalp stood to attention, every skin cell tingled, every neuron fired. ‘I’ll do that.’ His penetrating gaze lingered, and she lowered her eyes.
‘Thank you, Angus,’ Connie answered, ‘it’s good to have a man about the place.’
‘I have my uses, Ma’am,’ he said cheerfully, raising his hat and Connie raised her eyes to the sky.
‘Where do you stand on leaking roofs?’ she asked with a cheeky grin that made his heart flip.
‘In this weather, I’d position myself very carefully.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Connie said, making her way back to the tavern, aware his eyes were still on her – and liking it.
17
Evie dropped the rope that steered the cart holding bundles of kindling and precious coke, which she had queued for all morning. The bag of coke would have to be enough to tide them over until the coalman came on Friday morning, and she was eager to get indoors.
Holding on to her precious purchase was not easy when her fingers were frozen to the bone but somehow, she struggled to drag the cart across the frozen bombsite towards the back of Reckoner’s Row, eager to get a good blaze going before Lucy got in from school at half past three. Jack would be half an hour later, having started at Saint Patrick’s senior school the previous Monday.
‘Hold your horses, lassie,’ Angus said, closing the back gate of the tavern and sure-footedly sprinting across the frozen wasteland. ‘That looks heavy.’ He took the frayed rope from her frozen hands.
‘That’s good of you.’ Evie recognised him. Mr McCrea had been a regular face around the row for the last month and was friendly with everybody. He pulled that heavy cart like it weighed nothing, but she was glad of his help.
‘I could have sworn I locked the back gate.’ Evie said when she saw the gate swinging open. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Leo Darnel had put a double lock on when he lived here. For security, he had said, but Evie suspected it was his own security he was thinking of.
‘Wait here,’ Angus said, dropping the rope, but Evie stopped him. She was making a fuss over nothing, she said. Perhaps her mother had returned! Either way, she did not want to involve outsiders.
‘That lock’s always been dodgy,’ Evie said with a skilful nonchalance that had hidden many a family secret. ‘You have to make sure the catch sits just right. The lock needs coaxing… Knowing me, I haven’t caught it, in my rush to get to the chandlers.’
Angus did not want to frighten the wee girl, but those large footprints leading to the back door belonged to a man. He had seen her brother many times, up and down the street, and Jack did not own a pair of boots, let alone ones that would leave a deep imprint.
Evie was glad when Connie’s lodger accepte
d her explanation, even though she knew the gate was secure before she set off. It was a ritual she had set for herself, to stop her mother sneaking back and upsetting the apple cart with her boozy ways and her iffy men-friends.
Her mother would have a key too. So on her first night back, Evie made it quite clear they must lock the back gate at all times. She made Jack and Lucy promise they must never, ever leave it open, giving their mother easy access. She was so deep in thought she did not even notice the footprints.
‘Ta, Mr McCrea,’ Evie said taking the rope when they reached the back door. ‘I’ll be fine from here.’ Ashamed of the meagre contents of her family home after seeing the lavish accommodation above the tavern, Evie was reluctant to let the Scotsman into number two.
‘Aye, if you’re sure,’ Angus said, his brow creasing. The girl was hiding something, but he would have to give her the benefit of the doubt. He could not arouse her suspicions at this point in the enquiries.
‘Yes… Yes, I appreciate your help, but I must get on,’ Evie said, knowing this wasn’t the first time someone had opened the gate. Yesterday morning, when Jack put the dustbin out in the entry ready for emptying, the gate was closed but not locked.
‘Do you want me to wait while you check the house is empty?’ Angus asked, knowing Darnel had threatened the girl because he’d overheard Connie telling her mother two weeks back.
‘I’m fine.’ Evie’s calm tones belied her accelerated heartbeat. ‘We’re made of tough stuff around the dockside.’ Lucy had said she’d heard noises in the night, but Evie put it down to her sister’s imagination. Now she wasn’t so sure. The worry of her mother – or worse, Leo Darnel – getting inside the house kept her awake at night.
