by Dani Oakley
Mary decided when she went home she would have a word with Linda and encourage the girl to see a bit more of Kathleen. In Mary’s opinion, Linda was a very good influence.
A pink dress fluttering on a hanger caught Kathleen’s eye, and she wandered across, reaching up for the material and rubbing it between her fingers. It was a heavy crêpe and Mary thought it would look good on her daughter.
“How much?” Mary asked the man on the stall.
The man gave his price and Mary balked.
“Not on your Nelly,” Mary said, folding her arms under her bust and giving the man a stern look.
Kathleen smiled. Her mother loved the pantomime of the market. She loved haggling and getting a bargain.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught Kathleen’s attention.
She gasped and shrank back, trying to hide behind the stall.
It was Babs Morton, striding along the street as if she owned it and behind her were her two children, Ruby and Derek. Derek looked around five years old, and Ruby was scarcely more than a toddler.
As Babs turned around to hurry the children along, she caught sight of Kathleen and scowled. Her belly looked full to bursting now, and Kathleen guessed it wouldn’t be long before another little Morton was in the world.
Kathleen let out the breath she’d been holding when Babs simply turned away and carried on walking. She felt her shoulders slump as she realised Babs didn’t think she was worth worrying about anymore. Babs had been right all along. Martin hadn’t cared about her at all. She’d just been one more notch on his bedpost.
She turned back to her mother, who was still haggling happily with the stall owner. She hadn’t noticed Babs, and Kathleen was glad.
She was sick of being the victim. Sick of feeling sorry for herself. Sick of going to the same boring job every day, and sick to the back teeth of not being able to afford the nice things she believed she deserved. It was time to make a change. Kathleen was determined to do something with her life, and she wouldn’t let the Mortons, or anyone like them, tread all over her again.
One day, Kathleen would get her revenge. She would pass Babs on the street, decked out in diamonds and furs and look down her nose at Babs Morton and her horrible family.
Chapter 11
Dave Carter sat in the little office at his warehouse surrounded by his men. Everyone was tense.
Dave Carter and Martin Morton had been rivals for a long time, but the tension had been ratcheting up over the past few weeks, and today it had shot up to the highest level yet.
Martin Morton was being a difficult bastard, and Dave Carter had decided it was time to make a stand. He had his men gathered here today to go over their plan to raid a pub that was on Morton’s patch. The raid was an act of revenge. Just last week, one of Martin Morton’s men had waltzed into a car workshop that was under Carter’s protection and stolen a car. The whole thing had caused Dave no end of headaches. It was just one car, but the lack of respect had far-reaching consequences. It was a deliberate act that Dave knew had been intended to rile him.
Dave wasn’t one to act on the spur of the moment. He liked to bide his time and weigh up his options, but when he did act, it was decisive and often deadly.
The last thing he wanted was a turf war. He was sure Martin Morton, like him, first and foremost, wanted to make a living. If they were distracted by violence, it meant they weren’t concentrating on their money-making ventures and risked other gangs muscling in while they were otherwise occupied.
“I don’t want any violence,” Dave said. “This is just a warning, all right?” He looked around the office at his men. Charlie Williams was there, and in the last few months, he’d really proven himself an asset. Dave was sure he could rely on him.
Frank the Face wouldn’t meet his eye and kept his gaze on the ground. He was called Frank the Face because the left-hand side of his face drooped downwards. It looked like he’d had a stroke, but he hadn’t. The rest of his body was unaffected, and Frank’s disability had never caused any problems with his job, until recently. Dave had noticed that Frank’s hands had a tendency to tremble, particularly when he was stressed or angry. He knew him well enough to know he wasn’t a coward, so the trembling had to be caused by something else.
“No problem, boss,” Brian Moore said. He was a short man, but wide, with the biggest shoulders Dave Carter had ever seen.
Dave nodded. “We need to show our strength, pass the message on that we are no pushovers, but there won’t be any protection at the pub tonight, only civilians, so don’t get trigger-happy.” Dave looked pointedly at Charlie, who nodded.
“Okay,” Dave said, satisfied. “It will go down tomorrow night. Martin Morton won’t know what’s hit him.”
Everyone turned and made their way to the door except Charlie Williams. He hesitated beside Dave’s desk.
“What is it, Charlie?” Dave asked when the other two men had left the room.
“I’m worried about Frank,” Charlie said and looked over his shoulder to make sure that the other men had gone.
Dave nodded. If he had noticed Frank trembling, then it was no surprise that Charlie had too.
“He’s not safe, Boss. He gets the shakes. I don’t know what’s causing it, but my old man had the same tremors. Alcoholic, he was.”
Dave shook his head. He knew Frank’s problem wasn’t alcohol withdrawal. It went deeper than that.
“Frank has always been loyal to me, Charlie. He’s a good worker.”
“I’m not saying he’s not a good bloke, but it’s getting to the point where he is a liability. When we collected the booze last night, he only went and dropped his bleeding gun, didn’t he?”
Dave frowned. This was the first he’d heard of it. “Last night?”
Charlie nodded. They’d gone to their usual pickup last night to collect the bottles of black-market spirits that Dave distributed to the pubs under his protection. It was a routine job and very unlikely to go wrong. The boys only carried guns for show. But the fact that Frank had dropped his gun was very worrying indeed. If it had happened during a different job, it could have had a very different outcome.
Charlie began, “I’ve talked to Gary about it-”
Dave Carter cut him off. “And why would you do that?” he asked coldly.
Charlie’s eyes widened. “Um, I thought… I mean, he is your brother.”
“Exactly. He’s my brother. He’s not in charge, is he?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, of course not,” he stammered, looking uneasy.
Dave loved his brother, but he wasn’t as cool and level-headed as Dave. Gary could be hot-headed, and armed with this information, could do something stupid.
“It’s me you deal with, not Gary. Understand?”
“Yes, boss,” Charlie said, hanging his head in shame.
Satisfied that Charlie was sufficiently sorry, he said, “Send Frank in to see me.”
* * *
A moment after Charlie had left the room, Frank the Face entered.
The left side of his face hung slackly down, but the right-hand side of his mouth turned up into a smile. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
“That’s right, Frank. Have a seat.” He nodded to the chair on the other side of the desk, and Frank sat down.
“This sounds serious.” Frank gave a little chuckle, but Dave could tell he was nervous.
Dave didn’t skirt around the issue. He didn’t want to prolong Frank’s misery. It was better to confront things head-on. “I heard you dropped the gun last night.”
Frank leaned back in the chair and looked away in disgust. “Bloody Charlie Williams, that rat.”
“No, Charlie did the right thing by telling me. I’m worried about you Frank. The shaking is getting worse, isn’t it?”
Frank’s whole body tensed up. “No, it isn’t. I’m fine. It was just a stupid mistake. It could have happened to anyone.”
Dave folded his arms and leaned forward on the desk. Frank
was a good man and a proud one. The last thing Dave wanted to do was take his livelihood away from him, but he just couldn’t be trusted with the front-line jobs anymore.
“I’ve been thinking it might be time to transfer you. I thought about getting you involved with the car business. I am planning on expanding, and I need someone I can trust to keep an eye on everything. What do you say?”
Dave kept his voice level and tried to keep his tone light. He didn’t want to hurt Frank’s feelings, and he didn’t want him to think this job offer was some kind of charity, although of course, that’s what it really was.
“Give me another chance, boss. It was a stupid mistake. It won’t happen again.”
Dave noticed that Frank’s fists were clenched in his lap. “You’ve always been a good and loyal worker, Frank. I appreciate that.”
Dave paused and studied the man’s face. The droop had even reached his eyebrow now. The left one hung down lower than the right. “Have you been to the doctors? If money is a problem, then–“
“I’m fine,” Frank burst out.
“Watch yourself, Frank. Remember who you’re talking to.”
Frank bowed his head. “I’m sorry, boss, but don’t do this to me. Don’t take away my job.”
“I’m not taking anything away from you, Frank, I’m just giving you a new opportunity, and I strongly suggest you take it.”
“I don’t have any other choice, do I?” Frank mumbled. He sounded defeated.
“Look at it this way, it’s a kind of retirement plan. I’ll see you and your family are all right for money. Come and work on the cars for me, Frank. I don’t want to lose you.”
Frank nodded. “All right,” he murmured. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter 12
Frank the Face left the warehouse after talking to Dave Carter and headed for the canal. He needed the fresh air and a walk to try and cool off. Sodding Dave Carter. He wanted to scrape Frank off like shit from his shoe.
The trembling had started again in his left arm, and he clutched it, pulling it tight against his body to keep it still. It was rage, he told himself. He was only trembling because he was so angry.
He looked down at his reflection in the canal water and studied his face. The ripples on the surface made it look worse than usual.
Why did this have to happen to him?
He couldn’t go back to the warehouse now. He was far too worked up. He decided to go home and talk to his wife, Maisie.
If he was honest, he wanted some sympathy. He wanted to moan about the treatment he’d received from Dave Carter without any comeback. It had to be Maisie because he couldn’t trust anyone else not to go back to Dave and tell tales.
He realised his mistake as soon as he got home and hung his coat on the peg by the front door.
“What are you doing back at this time, Frank? What’s wrong? Have you been getting the shakes again?” Maisie asked after she rushed up to him.
Frank closed his eyes and sighed. Twenty bleeding questions was not what he needed right now.
Maisie reached up, trying to stroke his face, but he pushed her away.
“Stop bothering me, woman,” he said. “I’ve had a real bastard of a day. I’ve lost my job, and the last thing I need is your nagging.”
Maisie gasped and put her hands over her mouth. “What are we going to do, Frank? The rent is due at the end of the week.”
Frank didn’t tell her that Dave Carter had offered him another job and promised him he wouldn’t be out of pocket. He knew it was cruel of him to let Maisie worry, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He wanted her to be as upset as he was.
“Oh God, Frank, what are we going to do? The kids will be home from school soon.”
Frank felt defeated. Going home had been a mistake. What he really needed was a drink.
He reached for his jacket. “I’m going out.”
“But you’ve only just got home. I hope you’re not going to the pub, Frank. We can’t afford it if you’ve lost your job.”
Frank ignored his wife and opened the front door. He stepped out onto the street. He raised his head as he felt the first gentle drops of rain begin to fall. Bloody typical. Just his luck.
“Wait, Frank!” Maisie shouted from the doorway as he was walking down the garden path. “Promise me you’ll go to the doctor.”
“Get inside,” Frank snarled. The last thing he wanted was the neighbours knowing his private business.
Frank hunched up his shoulders against the rain and started to walk down the street in the direction of the Queen Victoria pub.
It was no use Maisie asking him what they were going to do because Frank didn’t know himself yet.
All he knew was he would make Dave Carter pay for his disrespect if it was the last thing he did.
* * *
Babs Morton walked into the parlour of her house in Poplar. She loved everything about the four-bedroom house. They’d moved there soon after getting married. Derek had been born there, followed by Ruby. It was the first place she and Martin had lived in together. When they’d moved in, Babs thought the place was like a palace. It was twice the size of her parents’ place, and it even had a large backyard.
Over the years, she’d had a new kitchen installed and luxurious new carpets. It might be sentimental of her, but she’d developed a real attachment to the house.
Last night, Martin started talking about moving to the country. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned it.
Babs wasn’t daft. She knew what he really meant was that Babs and the kids would move to the country while Martin would stay in London and be able to entertain his fancy ladies without getting caught.
That wasn’t going to happen if Babs had anything to do with it.
Babs lit a cigarette and leaned back on the sofa. She’d done her jobs for the morning, and now it was her time to relax.
“Mummy, can I have a biscuit?” Ruby said, tottering into the front room.
“No, you can’t,” Babs snapped. “You’ll get fat.”
Babs felt a twinge of guilt as Ruby’s lower lip wobbled.
She got to her feet. “Oh, all right. Just one, though.”
She walked to the kitchen, pulled the biscuit tin down from the shelf, opened it up and handed a custard cream to little Ruby.
Martin was hardly ever at home these days. He spent most of the time in that flat of his, and he hardly ever saw the children.
His visits lasted for five minutes at a time. He didn’t like dealing with the everyday things. Martin liked it when they looked pretty and kept quiet.
Babs rubbed her stomach and wondered if the new baby would be a boy or a girl. She’d been lucky enough to have one of each, so perhaps she shouldn’t have a preference. She thought Martin would want another boy to follow in his footsteps. She knew he already had plans for Derek. For that reason alone, Babs hoped she’d have another girl, that way she wouldn’t be dragged into all the gangland nonsense.
Martin had seemed so glamorous when she’d first met him, and he’d swept her off her feet. Now, the gloss had worn thin, and she saw the danger and the cruelty of it all.
As far as Babs knew, Martin hadn’t seen that silly tart, Kathleen, again. Babs had always tried to make it her business to ensure that Martin behaved himself, which was a full-time job in itself.
She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop all of them. Martin had always liked the ladies, but Kathleen had Babs worried. She’d lasted longer than Martin’s normal tarts. It wasn’t just that, though. When she’d looked into Kathleen’s eyes, she saw something that reminded Babs of herself at that age: ambition.
* * *
On the other side of London, Kathleen sat in a doctor’s surgery with Linda by her side.
“Why are we in Kennington?” Kathleen asked Linda in a whisper. “It’s miles away.”
“Exactly,” Linda said. “That’s the point. No one’s going to know you over here, are they? Dr Morrison’s clinic is known for its privacy, so we w
on’t have to worry about your mum finding out.”
Kathleen nodded. That did make her feel a little better. She knew nosy Alice from next door had a friend working in the local doctor’s surgery, so Kathleen definitely couldn’t have gone there.
When the nurse called Kathleen’s name, she jumped and squeezed Linda’s hand tightly. “I can’t do it. It’s all been a mistake.”
Linda pulled her friend to her feet. “You can do it. I’ll come in with you if you like.”
Kathleen shook her head. “It’s all right. But you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”
“Of course, I will.”
Kathleen left Linda in the waiting area and followed the nurse through to Dr Morrison’s consulting room.
The nurse closed the door on them, and Kathleen stared at the doctor. He wasn’t as old as she’d expected. Kathleen guessed he couldn’t have been older than thirty. It didn’t feel right, seeing such a young doctor. Her usual doctor was an old, white-haired man.
“What seems to be the problem, Kathleen?” Dr Morrison asked, smiling at her pleasantly.
Kathleen’s stomach was in knots. He was going to ask if she was married, and then he was going to look at her disapprovingly and send a letter to her mother, she just knew it.
Kathleen shot a glance at the door.
“It’s all right, Kathleen,” Dr Morrison said. “I’m a doctor. You can trust me.”
Kathleen took a deep breath and clutched her hands together in her lap. In a quiet voice, she said, “I think I’m pregnant.”
“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?”
Kathleen felt close to tears. No, it wasn’t good news. It was the worst news in the world.
After Dr Morrison had examined her and taken a urine sample, Kathleen wandered out into the waiting room in a daze.
Linda had been flicking through a magazine and looked up as her friend approached. “Well,” she whispered. “What did the doctor say?”
