Tanner Trilogy 03 - Backstreet Child

by Harry Bowling

  Brenda pulled out the remainder of the blackout material and laid it down on the table. ‘It’s very skimpy,’ she said.

  ‘But there’s no piano here,’ he remarked, removing his bowler and scratching his bald head.

  ‘Well, it’s not surprising, is it?’ Brenda said, feeling as though she’d made the bad mistake of letting a lunatic into the house.

  ‘Could I see the piano?’ Mr Forbes asked meekly.

  ‘’Ow did yer know we ’ad a piano?’ Brenda asked him.

  ‘Mr Salter invited me to come and look at it,’ he replied, flushing slightly.

  Brenda suddenly turned to her two sisters who had sauntered into the scullery. ‘We’ve bin at two purposes, me an’ Mr Forbes,’ she told them, ‘but that’s nuffink ter what us an’ dear Farvver’s gonna be when ’e gets ’ome. Jus’ wait till ’e does show ’is face in ’ere. Our mum would turn in ’er grave if she knew. Fancy tryin’ ter get rid of our pianer.’ She turned to Mr Forbes. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not fer sale. ’Ere, there’s a consolation prize though.’

  A very disappointed Mr Forbes walked away along Page Street with the roll of blackout material tucked under his arm, only to be accosted by the dapper Bert Jolly.

  ‘That’s not Chunking silk,’ he said. ‘It’s jus’ second-quality blackout material.’

  Mr Forbes hurried on, thinking that he had stumbled into a street of idiots and the quicker he got out of the turning the better.

  Back at the Salter household the three young women were having a serious talk. Brenda and Barbara were fuming while Lily felt a little sad for her father. ‘Don’t go on to ’im when ’e comes in,’ she pleaded. ‘Yer know ’ow ’e gets melancholy when’e’s ’ad a drink.’

  Barbara scowled at her sister. ‘’E’ll be the ruin of us one day,’ she said bitterly.

  Brenda was equally irate. ‘I jus’ can’t understand what possessed ’im,’ she moaned. ‘Fancy tryin’ ter sell our pianer.’E’ll be sellin’ the mats from under our feet next.’

  Lily usually managed to cool the atmosphere at such times but tonight she realised she was going to be hard put to it to save her father from the others’ wrath. ‘Look, we all know that Dad’s a bloody idiot an’ ’e don’t fink before ’e does these fings, but be fair, ’e’s not all bad,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Well, ’e’s overstepped the mark ternight,’ Barbara retorted, her dark eyes flashing.

  Lily got on with rolling her hair into pipe cleaners. ‘I don’t fink ’e’s well,’ she remarked.

  ‘’Course ’e’s well,’ Brenda said quickly. ‘’E’s well enough ter go around sellin’ the ’ome up, an’ knockin’ out that bloody blackout stuff. The trouble is, ’e finks ’e’s gotta be the provider all the time. We all know ’e works ’ard at the gasworks. We don’t want ’im ter drive ’imself inter the ground wiv all this duckin’ an’ divin’.’

  ‘That’s my point,’ Lily rejoined. ‘Let’s jus’ give ’im the time to explain before we jump on ’im.’

  ‘I reckon the best fing that could ’appen ter Farvver is fer ’im ter get ’imself a lady friend,’ Barbara cut in. ‘ ’E must be lonely.’

  ‘’E’s got us lot,’ Brenda said quickly.

  ‘Yeah, an’ ’alf the time we’re takin’ the piss out of ’im or bawlin’ at ’im fer the fings ’e does,’ Lily reminded her.

  ‘We could sort of let ’im know that ’e’s got our blessin’ ter go out wiv some nice lady, providin’ she is nice,’ Barbara said.

  ‘So we ’ave ter vet ’er first,’ Lily said sarcastically.

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ Barbara replied. ‘We all want fer ’im ter be ’appy. That’s all we want.’

  The sound of Maurice coming in the house halted the conversation and when he appeared in the doorway he looked a little shamefaced as well as being slightly the worse for drink. ‘Any visitors?’ he asked casually.

  ‘Only one, Dad,’ Brenda replied archly. ‘Some feller who wanted ter look at the pianer.’

  ‘Oh, that silly sod,’ Maurice slurred, making a meal of taking his coat off. ‘ ’E got the wrong end o’ the stick. I was only jokin’ wiv ’im about the fact that I’ve got three talented kids an’ none of ’em ’ave the time ter play their ole dad a tune or two. I told’im I might as well sell the bloody fing, not that I would, of course.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Barbara replied, glancing at her two sisters.

  ‘Anyway, sit down, Dad, an’ we’ll make yer a nice cheese an’ onion sandwich,’ Lily said with a sweet smile.

  Maurice was feeling much happier now. It looked to him as though he had weathered the latest storm, and now it was time for the good news. ‘By the way, I’ve sold the rest o’ that blackout stuff,’ he announced.

  ‘Who to?’ the girls chorused.

  ‘Josiah Dawson’s bought the lot fer chickens,’ he said triumpantly.

  ‘Chickens?’ his daughters repeated.

  ‘’S’right,’ Maurice told them. ‘It seems that a bit o’ curtainin’ over the cages makes the chickens fink it’s time ter sleep. This double British summertime is knockin’ ’ell out o’ their layin’. A bit o’ blackout over the cage also stops ’em cluckin’ inter the early hours, accordin’ ter Josiah.’

  The three young women went suddenly quiet, and after supper they slipped off to bed earlier than usual, with the exception of Lily, who had been given the task of explaining about the blackout material.

  ‘ ’Ere, Dad, yer won’t be angry, will yer? But . . .’

  Chapter Seventeen

  After his visit to see Annie and the children, Billy Sullivan took the first opportunity to call in at the Kings Arms. Monday evening was his night off but he sometimes went down to the pub for a pint. When he walked into the public bar Terry greeted him. ‘’Ow was Annie an’ the kids, Billy?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re all fine,’ Billy replied, leaning on the counter while the landlord filled his glass.

  ‘I bet that country air is doin’ ’em good,’ Terry remarked, and he noticed that his barman looked preoccupied. ‘Is everyfing all right?’ he added as he put the frothing glass of ale down on the polished counter.

  Billy took a swig of his drink and then put the glass back down. ‘I gotta talk ter yer, Terry,’ he said.

  Terry gave him a questioning look then put his head round the corner and motioned to Patricia who was chatting to a customer in the saloon bar. ‘Keep yer eye on the public bar fer a few minutes, will yer, luv,’ he told her. ‘I’m goin’ in the back room to ’ave a chat wiv Billy.’

  Once they were seated in the small back room, Billy came straight to the point. ‘Terry, I’m gonna ’ave ter give me notice in,’ he said.

  Terry looked surprised. ‘Is there any particular reason why?’ he asked.

  Billy shrugged his shoulders and stared down at his clasped hands. ‘There’s a lot o’ work goin’ on at the buildin’ site an’ I’m feelin’ a bit tired in the evenin’s, Terry,’ he replied.

  The landlord looked hard at him. ‘No ovver reason?’

  ‘No, like I say. I’m feelin’ like I need the rest in the evenin’s,’ Billy answered.

  Terry leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Yer not worried about us gettin’ a visit, are yer?’ he asked.

  ‘If yer mean from that Elephant an’ Castle mob, the answer’s no,’ Billy replied, returning the stare. ‘I would ’ave bin away before now if that ’ad worried me, Terry.’

  The landlord leaned forward in his chair and glanced quickly at the door to make sure Patricia was not within earshot. ‘Listen, Billy,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I appreciate yer lookin’ after fings while I’m away from the pub in the evenin’s an’ it’s a comfortin’ feelin’ ter know you’re be’ind the counter. Trouble is, I’ve got meself in deep wiv certain people. It was over somefing that’appened a long time ago, which I won’t concern you wiv. Suffice it ter say, I’m bein’ ’eld over a barrel, but I’m sortin’ it out. I need more time though, an’
ter be honest I need yer ter back me fer a little while longer.’

  ‘’Ow much longer, Terry?’ Billy asked sharply.

  ‘A few more weeks, just a few more weeks.’

  Billy shook his head. ‘I dunno,’ he replied. ‘A few weeks might stretch inter months.’

  Terry had an appealing look in his eyes as he went on, ‘Look, Billy. This fing is big, very big. I’m up ter me ears in it an’ I’m gonna spell it out ter yer. I’m bein’ used as a go-between for a black market set-up an’ two bent coppers. I gotta tread very carefully or I’m done for. A few more weeks is all I ask.’

  Billy recalled what Patricia had told him in confidence not so long ago, and he realised that Terry was not overstating his position. He was obviously in real danger. ‘All right, Terry,’ he replied. ‘I’ll stay on fer a few more weeks, but only a few weeks, understood?’

  The landlord sagged down in his chair. ‘That’s wonderful, Billy,’ he said, sighing deeply with relief. ‘That’s all I ask, an’ I’ll feel better if I know yer be’ind the bar while I’m out durin’ the evenin’s. Yer won’t need ter wait fer me ter come in, jus’ do the usual clearin’ up an’ then ’ave it away. I’ll tell Patricia ter put the bolts on as soon yer gone an’ I can knock on the door. Yer won’t lose by it, I promise yer.’

  The Page Street women got on with their daily lives complaining about the rationing, the cold weather and the shortage of money, and whenever they gathered together they complained about each other. Maudie Mycroft moaned about the foul-mouthed Mrs Gorman whom she occasionally met at the market and who had been expelled from the mothers’ meetings because of her verbal abuse of other women, and Sadie Sullivan complained about Maudie’s constant griping. Maisie complained about her husband Fred getting under her feet since he retired, and Dolly Dawson complained about the people who complained about her Wallace.

  ‘The boy don’t mean any ’arm,’ she grumbled to Sadie. ‘’E jus’ don’t seem to realise what’s what.’

  Sadie was going through a rough patch caring for her husband Daniel who was laid up in bed with a bad bout of shingles and her temper was short. ‘Wallace ’as ter learn, same as anybody else,’ she replied. ‘Look at the ovver day. Maisie told’im orf fer chuckin’ milk bottles at the trams as they went past the street, an’ then ’e chucked one at ’er as she walked away.’

  ‘I know,’ Dolly sighed. ‘I really told ’im orf about that, but ’e told me ’e didn’t actually chuck the milk bottle at ’er, only near’er jus’ ter scare ’er.’

  ‘Well, it scared the bleedin’ life out of ’er,’ Sadie retorted. ‘An’ what about that day Wallace walked be’ind ole Mrs Passmore pullin’ faces? Frightened ’er too, ’e did. I tell yer straight, Dolly, your Wallace wouldn’t ’ave got away wiv it if it’d bin me.’

  ‘I know, Sadie, but the boy don’t mean no ’arm,’ Dolly pleaded.

  ‘Anyway, p’raps ’e’ll be’ave ’imself now ’e’s got that job wiv young Carrie Tanner,’ Sadie remarked, suddenly beginning to feel a little sorry for Dolly.

  The harried woman pulled the collar of her coat up round her ears against the wind. ‘I don’t know so much. Nellie Tanner called in yesterday to ask if I’d pop round ter see ’er Carrie. I don’t know what Wallace ’as bin up to but I ’ope it’s nuffink bad.’

  Maisie Dougal was doing her share of complaining too. ‘I went up ter Lockwood’s this mornin’ fer Fred’s Woodbines an’’e told me ’e was right out of ’em,’ she told Violet Passmore. ‘Strike me if I don’t see ole Bert Jolly comin’ out o’ there ten minutes later wiv a packet in ’is ’and. ’E took one out o’ the packet an’ lit it up right in front o’ me eyes.’

  Violet stared at Maisie through her thick-lensed spectacles and touched her newly permed hair as though to reassure herself it was still in place. ‘Yeah, but that don’t mean ’e bought ’em in there,’ she remarked.

  ‘I bet ’e did,’ Maisie insisted. ‘There’s too much o’ this under-the-counter business goin’ on, an’ the prices they’re askin’ is bleedin’ scandalous. Talkin’ about under-the-counter stuff, did yer ’ear about ole Bradshaw’s?’

  Violet had heard the story but she knew she was going to hear it again, despite nodding vigorously.

  ‘This ole lady walked in Bradshaw’s the ovver day an’ asked’im fer a tin o’ corned beef,’ Maisie began. ‘’E told ’er ’e was out of it but ’e ’ad some special offers under the counter. Twice the price it was. Anyway, this ole gel told ’im what ’e could do wiv it an’ Bradshaw give ’er a load of abuse.’

  ‘Yeah, I ’eard about it,’ Violet sighed impatiently.

  Maisie was too keen on finishing her tale to get the hint. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘this ole gel walked out really upset an’ when she got ’ome she told ’er ole man. Up ’e goes an’ calls ole Bradshaw everyfing from a pig to a dog. Bradshaw picks up a carvin’ knife an’ wiv that the bloke crowns ’im wiv a great big brass weight ’e picked up orf the counter. There was blood everywhere, accordin’ ter Mrs Groombridge.’

  Violet had heard three different versions of the story but not the outcome. ‘What ’appened ter the bloke who done it?’ she asked.

  ‘’E comes up at Tower Bridge Court next week, by all accounts. ’E’ll get six months at least, what wiv the beaks they’ve got there,’ Maisie informed her.

  Violet got home a little later than planned and complained about Maisie’s inane chattering to Mr Passmore, who being a very perceptive person told her that for most people chattering and complaining were outlets for their anxiety. ‘The war is gonna get very nasty soon an’ everybody knows it,’ he said. ‘Everybody’s scared an’ comin’ tergevver fer support. Once yer realise that, yer get more tolerant o’ people.’

  Violet felt comforted after her husband’s explanation. He was so calm and self-assured, she thought. His few words made her feel a little more well disposed towards Maisie Dougal. Meanwhile, Fergus went off to the pub and complained to his cronies about Mrs Passmore.

  Carrie showed Dolly Dawson into her tidy parlour and offered her a cup of tea, hoping that what she had to say would not upset the woman too much.

  ‘I’ve tried, Dolly, we both ’ave, but it don’t seem ter be workin’ out,’ she said kindly. ‘Wallace was fine the first mornin’. Joe told ’im what ter do an’ there was no complaints.’E swept the yard up really well. Then Joe got ’im to ’elp wiv puttin’ up the new shed fer the lorries. It was only fetchin’ an’ carryin’ an’ Wallace seemed ter be gettin’ on fine. We let ’im go early, too, the first day, an’ the next day ’e came in on time an’ wivout bein’ told ’e swept the yard a treat. Trouble was, when Joe went ter get ’im ter give ’im an ’and, the lad ’ad disappeared.’E’s not bin in since.’

  Dolly looked puzzled. ‘But I bin makin’ sure ’e goes out on time. ’E’s always back fer ’is tea in the evenin’. Mind you, I can never get much out of ’im at the best o’ times.’

  ‘Well, I thought yer should know,’ Carrie said with concern.

  Dolly finished her tea and stood up. ‘I’m grateful that yer gave ’im a chance, Carrie, many wouldn’t ’ave,’ she said with a brief smile. ‘I wouldn’t worry about ’im, I fink I know where’e’ll be.’

  Dolly left the transport yard in Salmon Lane with a heavy heart and walked towards the river wall. The day was bright and cold, with little cloud to bar the winter sun. She could see the tall cranes swinging to and fro and dipping down into the barges and grimy freighters’ holds, tugs puffing up and down the river and the sound of traffic trundling over the white-stone Tower Bridge. The tide was high and beginning to ebb, with patches of oil caught in the middle of spinning eddies. The heart of London was beating strongly, but it held no attraction for Dolly. She was frightened of the river, terrified that one day it would take Wallace to its bosom, close over him and bear him away.

  She could see him now, his feet dangling over the river wall and his back arched. He was staring ahead, as though mesmerised by the sw
ishing sound of the muddy water against the old stanchions. He wore a cap which was pulled down on his ears, the peak unbuttoned and covering the whole of his forehead. Dolly drew breath and moved back. It was not the time to go to him, to remonstrate or scold him. He was there, alone with his thoughts, happy and unaffected by the hustle and bustle beneath him and all around him. Wallace was at home.

  Dolly turned and walked away, back to Page Street, to Josiah and the children. Wallace would come home later, tired and hungry, and he would eat his fill and then sleep when sleep took him, borne away by the sound of the swishing, swirling waters of the River Thames flowing through his child’s mind.

  Dougal McKenzie stepped down from the tram in Jamaica Road and pulled his trilby further down on his head. The night was dark with the moon obscured by cloud and the still air felt cold. Dougal was in no hurry. His informants had done their work well and he knew all he needed to about the layout of the Kings Arms and the habits of its tenants and customers. Last to leave usually were a couple of pensioners who always stood talking for a few minutes before making their way home. Tuesday was always a quiet night, one of the two nights when Terry Gordon was absent. Usually Terry came home around eleven thirty, mostly by tram, but if he was late he invariably arrived in a taxi.