‘Hello, Joe.’
‘Oh. Oh, it’s you, Mr Connor?’
‘Aye, Joe. I wanted a word with you.’
‘Oh well, Mr Connor, I’m off on a message you see.’ He brought his two unusually long and fine-shaped hands in a sweeping movement down the front of his short coat, and Rory, nodding, smiled and said, ‘Aye, you’ve got your best toggery on, must be some special message.’
He had never before seen little Joe dressed like this. He had never imagined he had any other clothes but the greasy little moleskin trousers and the old broadcloth coat he usually wore. Not that he couldn’t afford to buy a new suit because he must do pretty well on the side; besides being a bookie’s runner, little Joe could be called upon to negotiate odd jobs, very odd jobs, along the waterfront. Last year it was said he almost went along the line when two lasses went missing. They couldn’t prove anything against him for he was a wily little beggar. But the case recalled the outcry of a few years earlier when some lasses were shipped off. Afterwards of course this line of business had of necessity quietened down for a time, but nature being what it is a demand for young lasses, especially young white lasses, was always there, and so was Joe.
He said to him now, ‘I want you to get me in some place the night, Joe, like you promised. But no back-yard dos.’
‘Aw, it’ll take time, Mr Connor, an’ I told you.’ He came out into the lane now and pulled the door closed, and as he walked away Rory suited his steps to the shorter ones.
‘Now you can if you like, Joe. You said . . .’
‘I told you, Mr Connor, it takes time that kind of thing. And they’re on to us . . . coppers; they’re hot all round the place.’
‘You have ways and means, you know you have, Joe. An’ I’d make it worth your while, you know that.’
‘Oh, I know that, Mr Connor. You’re not tight when it comes to payin’ up. Oh, I know that. And if I could, I would . . . There’s Riley’s.’
‘I don’t like that lot, I told you last time.’
‘Well, I’ll admit it, they’re a bit rough.’
‘And twisted.’
‘Aw well, you see, I don’t play meself, Mr Connor, so I wouldn’t know.’
‘There’s other places, Joe.’
‘But you’ve got to be known, Mr Connor, an’ . . . an’ it’s me livelihood you know.’
‘You could do it, Joe.’
And so the conversation went on, flattery pressing against caution; but by the time they parted caution had won.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Connor, but . . . but I’ll let you know. I’ll take a walk around your office as soon as I can manage anything for you. That’s a promise; it is.’
Rory nodded, and as he stood and watched the small shambling figure hurry away and disappear around the bottom of the street he repeated bitterly, ‘That’s a promise.’ Then he asked himself the question, ‘Where’s he off to, rigged out like that?’ He wouldn’t need to dress up to go round his usual haunts. He was going some place special?
As if he had been pushed from behind he sprang forward, but when he came out into the main street he slowed to a walk. Little Joe was well ahead, but he kept him in sight until he turned into Fowler Street.
There he was impeded in his walking by a number of people who had stepped hastily up on to the pavement from the road to allow a private coach and a dray-cart to pass each other. There were angry shouts and strong language among those who had their clothes bespattered with mud, and as he didn’t want his own mucked up, he kept as near as he could to the wall, and because of the press he was only just in time to see little Joe turn off into Ogle Terrace.
Ogle Terrace, apart from Westoe, was in the best end of the town. Who was he going to see up there? On the small figure hurried until at the top of Plynlimmon Way he disappeared from view.
Rory, now about to set off at a run towards the end of the terrace, was impeded for a second time by a party of ladies coming through an iron gateway and making for a carriage standing at the kerb.
When he eventually reached the top corner of Plynlimmon Way there was no sight of little Joe.
He stood breathing deeply, working things out. Joe wouldn’t have had access to a front door, not around here he wouldn’t, yet it was into one of these houses he had disappeared. So the place to wait was the back lane.
The back lane was cleaner than many front streets. It was servant territory this, at least two or three maids to a house, hired coaches from the livery stables for the owners and trips abroad in the fashionable months. And little Joe was in one of these houses delivering a message. He was on to something here.
When a back door opened and a man wearing a leather-fronted waistcoat swept some dust into the back lane, he did a brisk walk past the end of the lane and as briskly returned. The man was no longer in sight, all the back gates were closed. He moved up slowly now, past the first one, and the second, then stood between it and the third. It was as he paused that the third door opened and out stepped little Joe.
The small man stood perfectly still and gazed at Rory with a pained expression before he said, ‘You shouldn’ve, Mr Connor. Now you shouldn’ve. You don’t know what you’re at.’ He cast a glance back to the door he had just closed, then hurried on down the lane. And Rory hurried with him.
They were in the main street before the little man slowed his pace, and then Rory said, ‘Well now, Joe, what about it?’
And again Joe said, his tone surly now, ‘You don’t know what you’re at, you don’t.’
‘I know what I’m at, Joe.’ Rory’s voice was grim. ‘The buggers that live along there are like those in their mansions up Westoe, they run this town; they control the polis, the shippin’, they own the breweries, an’ have fingers in the glassworks, chemical works . . . Aye, the chemical works on the Jarrow road. There’s one in Ogle Terrace who’s on the board. You forget I’m a rent collector, Joe. There’s no rent collected in this area. No, they’re all owned. But I know about them. Who doesn’t? By the morrow I’ll find out who’s in that particular number and that’s all I’ll need to know because now I know he’s on the fiddle. What is it, Joe? Gamin’ or girls . . . lasses?’
‘Mr Connor, you’d better mind yourself, aye you’d better.’ Little Joe’s voice held a note of awe now. ‘You want to be careful what you say, he’s . . .’
‘Aye, aye, I’ve got the message, Joe, he’s powerful. Well now, let’s sort this thing out, eh? He’s one of two things: he’s a man who likes a game or he’s a man who runs a game. We’ll leave the lasses out of it for the time being, eh? Now havin’ the kind of mind I have, Joe, I would say he’s a man who runs a game, and likely in that house, ’cos if he wanted to go some place else for a game he wouldn’t need you as a runner. A man in his position would have a key to open any door, even the ones in Newcastle. And there’s some big games there, aren’t there, Joe? No pitch an’ toss, Joe, it’s Twenty-Ones, or Black Jack, whatever name they care to call it; isn’t it, Joe?’
He looked down on the little man, and although the twilight was bringing with it an icy blast Joe was sweating. He now said in some agitation, ‘Let’s get out of this crush.’
‘Anything you say, Joe. Where you makin’ for now?’
‘I’ve got to go up Mile End Road.’
‘Another message?’
‘No, no.’ The little man now turned on him and, his tone for the first time really nasty, he said, ‘An’ there’s one thing I’m gona tell you. Whatever comes of this you’d better not let on ’cos . . . an’ I’m not funnin’, Mr Connor, with what I’m about to say, but things could happen, aye, things could happen.’
‘I’ve no doubt of it, Joe.’
‘Don’t be funny, Mr Connor.’
‘I’m not being funny, Joe, believe you me. Things are happenin’ all the time along the waterfront an’ I should imagine in Plynlimmon Way an’ all. Now, you know me, Joe, I’m as good as me word. If I’ve owed you a couple of bob in the past you’ve got it, haven’t you,
with a bit tacked on? And I’ve never had a win on a race but I’ve seen you all right, haven’t I? And I haven’t got a loose tongue either. So look, Joe.’ He stopped and bent down to the little man. ‘All I want from you is to get me set on in a decent school.’
‘They go in for big stakes, Mr Connor.’ The little fellow’s voice was quiet again.
‘That’s what I want, Joe.’
‘But you haven’t got that kind of ready. You couldn’t start in some of them under ten quid, an’ that’s so much hen grit.’
‘You say some of them, there must be a few who start on less. I’ll come to t’others later on. Aye, Joe, the big ones, I’ll come to them later on, but in the meantime . . .’
The little man blinked, gnawed at his lip, looked down to the cobbles on which they were standing, as if considering. Then his eyes narrowing, he squinted up into Rory’s face, saying conspiratorially, ‘There’s one in Corstorphine Town I might manage; it’s not all that cop but they can rise to five quid a night.’
‘It’ll do to start with, Joe.’
‘An’ you’ll say nowt about?’ He jerked his head backwards.
‘No, Joe, I’ll say nowt about . . .’ Now Rory imitated Joe’s gesture, then added, ‘Until you take me in there.’
‘That’ll be the day, Mr Connor.’
‘Aye, that’ll be the day, Joe. An’ it mightn’t be far ahead.’
‘You worry me, Mr Connor.’
‘I won’t get you into any trouble, Joe, don’t you worry.’ Rory’s tone was kindly now.
‘Oh, it isn’t that that worries me, it’s what’ll happen to you, if you take a wrong step. You don’t know this game, Mr Connor.’
‘I can play cards, Joe.’
‘Aye, I’ve heard tell you can. But there’s rules, Mr Connor, rules.’
‘I’ll stick to the rules, Joe.’
‘But what if you come up against those who don’t stick to them, Mr Connor?’
‘I’ll deal with them when I come to them, Joe. Now this place in Corstorphine Town.’
‘What time is it now?’ Joe looked up into the darkening sky, then stated, ‘On four I should say.’
‘Aye, on four, Joe.’
‘Well on seven, meet me at the dock gates.’
‘Seven, Joe, at the dock gates. Ill be there. And thanks.’ He bent down to him. ‘You won’t regret it. I’ll see to you, you won’t regret it.’
Once again Rory watched the little man hurry away, his feet, like those of a child, almost tripping over each other. Then almost on the point of a run himself he made for home.
When he entered the kitchen Jimmy stared at him, exclaiming almost on a stutter, ‘I told them—’ he indicated both his mother and Lizzie with a wave of his hand—’I told them you met a fellow an’ you were going to . . . to see the turns.’
‘So I am, but it was so bloomin’ cold walkin’ around waiting, he’s gone home for his tea. I was going to ask him up but thought the better of it. But I wouldn’t mind something.’ He looked towards Ruth. ‘I’m froze inside and out. I’m meeting him at seven again.’
‘Aw—’ Jimmy smiled broadly now—’you’re meeting him at seven? And you’re going to see the turns?’
‘Aye, we’re going to see the turns.’
As Lizzie, walking into the scullery, repeated as if to herself, ‘Going to see the turns,’ Rory cast a hard glance towards her. She knew what turns he was going to see; you couldn’t hoodwink her, blast her. But Ruth believed him. She came to him now, smiling and saying, ‘Give me your coat and come to the fire; I’ll have something on the table for you in a minute or so.’
He grinned at Ruth. He liked her, aye, you could say he loved her. Why couldn’t she have been his mother? Blast the other one. And blast his da. They were a couple of whoring nowts. Aw, what did it matter? He had got his foot in, and Jimmy would get his yard, and he and Janie would be married and they would live in that house overlooking the water. And Jimmy would build up a business and he would help him. Aye, with every spare minute he had he’d help him. He knew nowt about boats but he’d learn, he was quick to learn anything, and he’d have his game and he’d have Janie. Aye, he’d have Janie.
It did not occur to him that he had placed her after the game.
3
All the while she kept looking from one to the other of them, but they remained smilingly silent. Then she burst out, ‘But the money! You’ve got the money to buy this?’ Flinging both arms wide as with joy she gazed about the long room.
‘Well—’ Rory pursed his lips—’enough, enough to put down as a deposit.’
‘He didn’t get in till six this mornin’.’ Jimmy was nodding up at her, and she turned to Rory and said, ‘Gamin’?’
‘Yes. Yes, Miss Waggett, that’s what they call it, gamin’.’
‘And you won?’
‘I wouldn’t be here showing you this else.’
‘How much?’
‘Aw well’—he looked away to the side—’almost eleven pounds at the beginning, but’—he gnawed on his lip for a moment—’I couldn’t manage to get away then, I had to stay on and play. But I was six up anyway when I left.’
‘Six pounds?’
‘Aye, six pounds.’
‘And this place is costin’ thirty-five?’
‘Aye. But five pounds’ll act as a starter. Jimmy’s goin’ to get the address of the son and I’ll write to him the morrow.’
There was silence between them for a moment until Rory, looking at Janie’s profile, said, ‘What is it?’
‘The waterfront, it’s . . . it’s mostly scum down here.’
‘Not this end.’
She turned to Jimmy, ‘No?’
‘No, they’re respectable businesses. You know, woodyards, repair shops, an’ things like that. An’ there’s very few live above the shops. There’s nobody on yon side of us, an’ just that bit of rough land on the other. Eeh!’ he laughed, ‘I’m sayin’ us, as if we had it already . . .’
‘What do you think?’ Rory was gazing at her.
‘Eeh!’ She walked the length of the room, put her hand out and touched the chest of drawers, then the brass hinges on the oak chest, then the table, and lastly the rocking chair, and her eyes bright, she looked from one to the other and said, ‘Eeh! it’s amazing. You would never think from the outside it could be like this ’cos it looks ramshackle. But it’s lovely, homely.’
‘Look in t’other room.’
She went into the bedroom, then laughed and said, ‘That’ll come down for a start.’
She was pointing to the hammock, and Rory answered teasingly, ‘No. Why, no. Our Jimmy’s going to swing in that and we’ll lie underneath.’
‘Aw you!’ Jimmy pushed at the air with his flat hand, then said, ‘I’ll be upstairs, I’ll make that grand. Come on, come on up and have a look. Can you manage the ladder?’
Janie managed the ladder, and then she was standing under the sloping roof looking from one end of the attic to the other and she exclaimed again, ‘Eeh! my! did you ever see so many bits of paper and maps and books and things? There’s more books here than there are in the master’s cases in his study.’
‘Aye.’ Jimmy now walked up and down the room as if he were already in possession of the place, saying, ‘By the time I get this lot sorted out I’ll be able to read all right.’
‘Talkin’ of reading.’ Janie turned to Rory. The mistress is having a teacher come in for the children, sort of part time daily governess. She said I could sit in with them. What do you think of that?’
‘You won’t be sittin’ in with them long enough to learn the alphabet. And anyway, I’ll teach you all you want to know once I get you here, an’ you won’t have any spare time for reading.’
‘Rory!’ She glanced in mock indignation from him to Jimmy, and Jimmy, his head slightly bowed and his lids lowered, made for the ladder, muttering, ‘I’m goin’ to see if there’s any wood drifted up.’
Alone together, they looked at e
ach other; then with a swift movement he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He kissed her long and hard and, her eyes closed tightly, she responded to him, that was until his hand slid to her buttocks, and then with an effort she slowly but firmly withdrew from him, and they stood, their faces red and hot, staring at each other.
‘I want you, Janie.’ His voice was thick. Her eyes were closed again and her head was nodding in small jerks and her fingers were moving round her lips wiping the moisture from them as she muttered softly through them, ‘I know, I know, but . . . but not until . . . no, no, not until. I’d . . . I’d be frightened.’
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. You know me, you’re the only one for me, always have been, an’ ever will be. There’s nothing to be frightened . . .’
‘I know, I know, Rory, but I can’t, I daren’t.’ She was flapping both hands at him now. ‘There’s me da, an’ me grannie, and all the others.’
He was making to hold her again. ‘Nothing’ll happen, just once.’
‘Aw—’ she now actually laughed in his face—’me grannie’s always told me, she fell the first night. An’ you can, you can . . . Eeh!’ She now pressed her fingers tightly across her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t be talkin’ like this. You shouldn’t make me talk like this. It isn’t proper, we’re . . . we’re not married.’
The Gambling Man Page 7
