The Bermondsey Bookshop

by Mary Gibson

  She opened her mouth to scream and then the shadow that was Dad was yanked away. There were shouts and clatters and thuds that hurt her ears – she could see it all. The one whose kisses she remembered had come back. His name was Johnny. She opened her eyes. She was awake, but he was too busy bashing the living daylights out of Dad to realize it, and, try as she might, she had no words to call him. It seemed easier simply to close her eyes and to drift back into the calm twilight world where there were no names, no words and no questions at all.

  *

  Johnny hadn’t taken his train. He wouldn’t leave Kate unprotected now – not even for a day. Martin must come and relieve him straight away. He rang the number of the cottage in Sussex and after several rings Nora answered. Her voice sounded strained and Johnny wondered how she’d react to her bodyguard being removed. But when he told her about Archie’s appearance at the hospital, she made the suggestion first.

  ‘But of course you mustn’t leave her! Martin was very good to come, but I’ve told him all along it isn’t right. His place is with Kate!’

  He heard the sound of her hand muffling the receiver and then Martin came on the line. ‘John? What’s happened, what’s he done to her?’

  After Johnny had explained, Martin said, ‘My God, he’ll stop at nothing. But I’m not happy about leaving Nora alone. It was different when I knew you’d be coming to look after her.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘I feel terribly torn.’

  And Johnny heard Nora’s exhausted voice, faint in the room. ‘For God’s sake, Martin, go! Your fiancée needs you.’

  And Johnny was glad it wasn’t he who’d had to point out the obvious.

  His plan was to stand guard outside the hospital gates for as long as was necessary. And it was there that Martin found him later that evening, as a fine rain smudged the sky above the hospital. It had been falling for most of the day and the streets around London Bridge were slick.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get here today.’

  ‘You were quite right to call me back, John,’ Martin said, shaking his hand. ‘Thank you for keeping watch over her.’

  ‘I couldn’t take the risk of leaving – he might have come back. I’ve looked into his eyes, Martin, and he’ll do anything to protect himself.’ Johnny shuddered at the memory. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry you had to leave Nora, but I don’t think Goss will come looking for her right now. He’ll want to keep his head down for the next few days. He certainly got the wind up when I mentioned involving the police.’

  ‘I’ve left Nora in good hands. Aunt Violet’s friend, the one she’s renting the cottage from, is a retired army officer. Still fit as a fiddle, and he’s kept his service pistol. He’s agreed to go over and keep an eye on Nora while I’m away.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Johnny said, and shivered. He had stood sentinel by the ornate gates, checking everyone who went in or came out. Oblivious to the rain showers, he was now wet through.

  ‘You poor chap, you’re soaked! You’ll catch your death. Get yourself home. Unless… do you want to come in and see Kate with me now?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t do that. Sister won’t let me back in!’ Johnny said. ‘You just go and try to get her to wake up. I’m going to the police.’

  ‘But I thought you said it was useless. There’s no proof.’

  ‘No. But if the police are poking around, asking questions, it might make Archie think twice about going anywhere near Kate – or Nora.’

  ‘All right, then. But change into some dry clothes first!’

  Johnny nodded and walked away, hands digging deep into his pockets, longing to be the one going in to see Kate.

  He took Martin’s advice and went home, changing into dry clothes, before paying a visit to Tower Bridge police station, where the desk sergeant painstakingly took all the details and then seized, depressingly, on the most obvious explanation.

  ‘So, you’re saying your young lady was working in a garret full of flux fumes, fainted and hit her head on a tin bath?’

  ‘No! I think she was attacked by her father, who’s a violent, vindictive man!’

  The sergeant carefully copied down Archie’s address, but when he heard that the sole witness was the alleged victim herself, who had regained consciousness only to ask for her father, he pointed out, not unreasonably, that this didn’t count as an accusation.

  Johnny left feeling less than hopeful. He walked out of the police station, intending to go to the bookshop. Kate’s friends there had asked for updates on her progress, and besides, he couldn’t face sitting alone in his tiny house, with all its memories of Kate and the happy days before he’d ruined everything between them. He headed for Tower Bridge Road and had reached the railway viaduct when he heard his name being called. Softly at first, then louder. He turned to see Stan stepping out of a shadowed recess.

  ‘You been to the old bill about Uncle Archie?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with you?’ Johnny carried on walking, ignoring Stan, who hurried to keep up.

  ‘Don’t be nasty, I’ve come to do you a favour.’

  Johnny slowed his pace and glanced at Stan. He had a new boil on his neck and he reeked of the same sweet cologne as Mr Smith. No doubt Stan thought it would improve his chances with the girls. Nothing would do that. Johnny stopped. ‘What’s the catch?’

  Stan grinned. ‘I’ve always been fond of Noss Goss, ain’t I?’

  They stood beneath the arches as trains rumbled overhead, three and four at a time, making it hard to hear each other. Stan beckoned and Johnny followed him around the corner into Tanner Street. The stink of brewing vinegar from Sarson’s factory mixed with Stan’s cologne immediately forced bile into Johnny’s mouth. He’d eaten nothing all day and his anxiety was making him nauseous enough as it was.

  ‘Look, I seen you standing outside Guy’s all day – Mummy’s little soldier boy guarding your girl. But what I’m saying is, I’ve been keeping an eye on Archie for my boss anyway, so I could do the same job for you… if you like.’ And Stan rubbed his fingers and thumb together.

  ‘Why would I trust you?’

  Stan gave an uncomfortable shrug of the shoulders. ‘Me mum told me to help you out.’

  Johnny laughed. ‘Who’s Mummy’s little soldier boy now? What’s changed her tune, anyway?’

  ‘It ain’t that she’s got much love for Noss Goss, it’s just she hates Uncle Archie’s guts now.’

  ‘So, should I go back to the nick and tell them Sylvie wants to report her brother for murder?’

  ‘She ain’t that stupid. He’d have her next. But you and that posh git Kate’s picked up with – you’re amateurs. All I’m saying is, leave it to the professionals.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Stan. Grow up. You wouldn’t last five minutes against Archie Goss.’

  Stan was leaning against the high brick wall that stretched the length of Sarson’s. The street was deserted and, without warning, he pulled open his jacket to reveal a handgun.

  ‘I can look after meself. All I’m saying is, my boss is interested in Uncle Archie, so I might as well kill two birds with one stone.’ He pushed off from the wall. ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘All right. But just watch him – and let me know if he goes anywhere near Kate.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Stan said, pocketing the notes Johnny handed him and patting the gun in his jacket pocket.

  ‘And Stan. For Chrissake don’t shoot him.’

  ‘Oh, no. I won’t do that,’ Stan answered, with a brown-toothed grin.

  *

  Of course, it was Tuesday night. As soon as he entered the bookshop, Johnny realized with a jolt that elocution lessons were going on in the reading room upstairs. He could hear Mrs Cliffe’s well-modulated tones, followed by her pupils repeating the exercises. It was one of the things he’d always found so comforting in the bookshop, its civilized routines. In his home there had been no set times for anything, so these dependable rituals touched a deep need in him. But now the sounds of improved locu
tion drifting down to the shop brought sudden tears to his eyes. He’d mocked her. Told her she didn’t need them. He’d pretended not to be interested, flicking through that stupid periodical, acting as if he had a life without her, as if he were serious about poor Pamela, who’d finished with him when she finally realized where his heart truly lay. His chest heaved in a shuddering sigh. He was exhausted.

  The place always looked cosy, but tonight it felt like the home he’d always longed for, with its bright walls, its warm-coloured shelves of books, its fresh flowers and painted friezes. And there was Ethel, looking tired from her own bout of ill health but her eyes undimmed, greeting him with the warmth and brightness of a tropical bird amidst the grey and dun bricks of Bermondsey. She held out her arms and he fell into them.

  Ethel handed the shop over to Lucy and led Johnny into the back room, where she made him tea and gave him the cake that the bookshop never seemed to be without. She sat him down, gently coaxing out the details of Kate’s progress and the depth of his own regret at losing her.

  ‘It’s obvious you still love Kate, and fond as I am of Martin, I believe you should tell her so.’

  Johnny drained down the last of his tea. ‘But she loves Martin now, and why would she want me when I ruin everything with this…’ He contemplated the crumbs of his cake. ‘…this bloody rage of mine? I’m scared I’ve made things so much worse.’

  ‘But you haven’t. You did exactly the right thing by going to the police. Chibby will be questioned, Kate has Martin with her and though you’ve been excluded from the hospital, you can carry on keeping watch over her – a faithful knight and true!’ He smiled at the image and left feeling better for her comradeship and her cake.

  *

  Kate struggled to open her eyes. It seemed such hard work she wished she could give up. But it was important not to. For the moment she couldn’t understand why it was so important, but she thought it was to do with the one who’d kissed her. Each eyelash had its own weight, each needle of light piercing her lids its sting. An hour or a day seemed to pass before she could open her eyes, and when she did, her first sensation was surprise.

  ‘Oh, it’s you! I thought the other one was here…’

  ‘Of course it’s me, my darling.’ And Martin put soft lips to her own.

  She felt embarrassed to ask his name, but she had expected it to be the other one – yes, Johnny.

  ‘Is this a hospital?’ she croaked, smelling the disconcerting mixture of ethanol and stale bodies and feeling the stiffness of her bed linen.

  ‘Yes, you’re in Guy’s. I’ll get you some water.’ He lifted her and helped her drink, and then a nurse came to shoo him away. There was too much she couldn’t remember, but as he left, certain things came back in such a nauseating rush that she wished for forgetfulness again.

  The doctor stood beside her bed. Mr North could stay, he said, for a short while. Of course, his name was North, Martin North. How could she have forgotten? Martin. Dear, devoted, annoying Martin, who’d refused to let her go. Unlike Johnny, who had done – too easily. She was half listening, half furiously trying to keep awake when she heard the doctor addressing her in a clear, slow voice.

  ‘And can you tell us now, Miss Goss, how you sustained your injuries?’

  Martin squeezed her hand and nodded his encouragement. He looked ill himself and the lines of his face were tight with worry. She wanted to make it easier for him, for herself. Archie was her dad’s name. She knew him now, better than she ever had in her whole life. She knew what he’d done.

  ‘I’m sorry, Doctor, but I can’t remember,’ she said, seeing a flicker of disbelief cross Martin’s face.

  ‘Well, not to worry. You’ve had a severe head injury. It’s common to lose some memory temporarily. It’ll come back. Meanwhile, you’re to rest,’ the doctor emphasized, giving Martin a warning look. ‘Five minutes, no more!’

  When they were alone, Martin leaned close. ‘Is it true that you don’t remember? When you came around before, you mentioned your dad, and your great-aunt Rosina is convinced Chibby attacked you… Have we got it all wrong?’

  She leaned back again, wincing as pain throbbing in her temple reminded her of where the hammer had hit. She put a hand to the place where it hurt.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate, I’m tiring you out.’ He got up, but she put a hand over his.

  ‘I just want to let sleeping dogs lie, Martin. He got away with doing it to Mum and he’ll see me underground and get away with that too. Just let me forget him…’

  She felt her eyelids drooping and as much as she wanted to keep them open, they closed, letting her sink back into the world of forgetting, where his second kiss was entirely lost on her.

  *

  Johnny was waiting outside. Martin’s broad smile told the news before he’d spoken the words. ‘She’s awake!’

  Johnny’s bursting relief could only express itself in one way and he found himself embracing his former rival, who laughed and patted Johnny on the back in return.

  ‘She was a bit confused, thought I was you at one stage!’ Martin said, giving Johnny an unexpected pang of jealousy, which he was determined not to let spoil this moment.

  When Martin told him about Kate’s decision, he was incredulous. ‘What do you mean, she wants to let it go? She can’t!’

  ‘It’s what she wants,’ Martin said firmly. ‘You go home and sleep, John. There only needs to be one of us here tonight.’

  But Johnny couldn’t rest. Every part of him was trembling now, partly from the tension that had been released once he knew Kate was all right, partly from the cold he’d caught standing in the rain, but mostly with a fierce desire to end Archie’s ability to ever hurt Kate again. Even now he was pacing up and down in front of the hospital gates.

  ‘Just calm down and listen. We’ve got to respect Kate’s wishes, and if she prefers to pretend she can’t remember a thing, then that’s what we have to allow!’

  ‘Didn’t you manage to get any details from her? I can’t believe you’ve just accepted it!’

  Martin put an arm around Johnny, leading him to the nearby late-night tea stall. ‘Come on, you need something inside you.’

  ‘I’ve had enough tea for one night,’ Johnny replied, shrugging Martin off, and then, remembering that Kate loved the man, added, ‘Sorry, thanks for the offer to stand guard. I’ll be more use tomorrow if I get some kip. Besides, I’ve got someone else keeping an eye out for Goss.’ And he explained who the unlikely helper was, still unsure he hadn’t signed a pact with the devil.

  Finally, Johnny dragged himself home, stumbled up to his small, cell-like room and fell into bed. He shivered with cold and then burned, throwing off the blanket, before falling into a fevered sleep. He dreamt of hellfires and woke to a lurid light, the red lantern from the nearby pub reflecting off his window. Tears wet his cheeks as he remembered Archie’s cruel words about his mother, selling herself for a gin. He hadn’t been able to save her, nor Kate. He groaned, hating the worthless tears and half knowing they weren’t just caused by guilt. He’d made himself ill, weak, useless. Stubbornly standing out in the rain, going back tonight, even when he knew Martin was there to look after her. God, she really was better off with North.

  *

  When he woke the sheet felt damp against his body and he couldn’t lift his head. He could tell, from the light coming through his small window, that it wasn’t early morning. He looked at his alarm clock. He’d slept well into the afternoon! So much for him being the faithful knight, keeping watch at the gates. The noise that had woken him, a loud knocking, resumed. He rolled his whole body over and fell out of the bed. It seemed the easiest way to get up.

  ‘All right, I’m coming!’ he croaked, and throwing on his shirt and trousers, he staggered downstairs.

  ‘Gawd, you look rough, you been on a bender?’

  ‘Why are you here, Stan?’

  ‘Cos that posh git sent me to see if you was all right. You was meant to turn up this mornin
g. I offered to stay meself, but he don’t seem to trust me for some reason. What you been telling him, Rasher?’ And Stan wagged a nicotine-stained finger at him.

  ‘Well… thanks, you’ve delivered the message.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know what I found out?’ Stan put a foot in the door and Johnny felt too weak to argue. Stan followed him into the scullery, watching as Johnny began to shave with an unsteady hand.

  ‘Need some help, mate?’ Stan asked. ‘You might slit your throat like that!’

  Johnny shot him a look, which shut him up. He lathered the brush again.

  ‘Archie’s had a visit from the old bill this morning!’

  Johnny paused with the cut-throat razor halfway down his soapy cheek. ‘Stay long?’

  Stan shook his head. ‘Goss went running to see his solicitor afterwards, though. I followed him.’ Stan seemed to want praise.

  ‘Stay long?’

  ‘Is that all you can ask? Seems the old bill checked his ferry ticket, even rung the French fur business he was meant to have gone to… Alibi’s solid as a rock. Him and Mordant had a bit of a drink, celebrating.’

  ‘Are you making this up?’ Johnny wouldn’t put it past him, if he thought he could get another bung out of it.

  ‘See what I mean? Amateurs!’ Stan said with a superior smirk. ‘I got Mordant’s secretary wrapped around my little finger. Do anything for me, she will.’ He sniffed and Johnny wondered how much he had to pay her.

  ‘So, he’ll get away with it.’ He finished shaving and threw the towel across the room, spattering Stan’s suit with soapy water.

  Stan hopped back. ‘Oi, mind the new whistle! Anyway…’ He turned to leave. ‘Don’t you worry about Goss.’ He nodded slowly and the overpowering whiff of Mr Smith’s favourite cologne caught in Johnny’s throat.

  *

  A week had passed before she was able to formulate a question about Johnny. And then Martin told her why he’d been barred from the ward and how he stood at the hospital gates every hour Martin couldn’t be here with her. Her memories began to return and on the day she was able to get up and walk unaided, she went to the window. There he was. Hands shoved in his pockets, alert, restless. Just like himself, except he looked thinner, paler. Occasionally he shot a look up at her ward. Oh, Johnny… if only you could have been different. And it was then that she realized how foolishly certain she’d been that he was to blame for everything going wrong between them. It had been so easy to blame his uncontrolled rage and his jealousy for breaking them up. But what about her? When he was ready to come back, to be different, she’d chosen another man over him – she’d chosen to go to her father and leave Johnny behind. The fault had been hers.