by Martina Cole
‘I’ll kill you, Frances, I take oath on that.’
Frances was crying now. She stood in the garden and cried like a baby, big fat tears that ran down her cheeks and made her make up run. Yet still she stood there, unable to leave until she had divulged all the news she had to tell the woman before her.
‘I ain’t pregnant, I wish I was. Anything would be better than this, Sue, anything.’
Susan heard the pleading note in her voice and relaxed, made her body calm down as she waited to hear something even worse than she’d imagined.
‘Well, what is it then? Is he leaving me, is that it, and ain’t got the guts to tell me himself?’
Her world was broken in two. She felt as if someone had taken a meat cleaver and sliced through her breastbone then straight to her heart. The pain could not be worse than this hatred inside her, this feeling of inadequacy, of being nothing once more.
Doreen held her as a mother might hold her child, in an embrace that was loving and caring. Being more streetwise, more worldly, she had already guessed the worst.
Frances looked into her cousin’s eyes. Shaking her head, she whispered, ‘He gave me a dose, Susan, a dose of the clap.’
At first she thought she had not heard Frances correctly, that she had somehow misunderstood the simple statement.
‘You what? He gave you a what?’
She realised she was screaming the words now. That the neighbours would hear if she wasn’t careful. She knew they all liked her, thought she was a respectable girl whatever they might think of her husband. Yes, she was a good girl, a clean girl, a decent person.
Now her cousin Frances was standing in her little garden, the garden she had carefully swept not two hours before, and telling her that she was diseased, that she had VD. That she was tainted, dirty, full of some dreadful illness.
‘You treacherous slut. How could you do this to me, Fran? How could you do this to your own?’
Frances was sobbing now.
‘I’m sorry, Sue. Honest to God if I could turn the clock back . . . I was drunk and you know what he’s like. He could talk the drawers off a French dresser. Please try and understand . . .’
Doreen laughed then, a booming sound that seemed to be amplified by the tiny kitchen.
‘You’re fucking unbelievable! You stand there and tell a heavily pregnant woman her husband has given you a round of applause - and you expect sympathy? Jesus, girl, what are you? Some kind of fucking nut?’
Frances was still crying.
Picking up her bag and throwing it out into the garden, Doreen shut the door on her, all the while shouting at her to go away in language that left no one in any doubt what would happen to her if she disobeyed.
She grabbed Susan by the arms and looked into her face.
‘Listen to me, Susan. Calm down, love. I’ll take you up the hospital meself, all right? No one will know about this, I swear. I can keep a secret, love, you know that. Now listen to me - everything is confidential at the VD clinic, no one will ever know, all right? But you have to see what they say because of the baby.’
Susan was nodding now, like a child, grateful that Doreen was taking over.
‘Will it be born blind? I know it can make people blind . . .’
Doreen pulled Susan towards her once more. Whispering gently, she tried to calm her again.
‘Listen, this only happened a month ago. There hasn’t been much time for it to affect the baby. Also, that little whore could have got it anywhere for all we know and Barry might not have it at all. That means you might not have it, so let’s only start worrying when we know the score, okay?’
Susan nodded, grateful for something to hold on to.
‘Yeah, you’re right, she’s probably trying to cause trouble.’
The hope in Susan’s voice made Doreen want to cry.
‘She always liked him. All the girls do, see? I feel sorry for him at times, it must be hard . . .’
Doreen nodded, wisely keeping her own counsel.
‘Come on, mate, let’s get you up Whitechapel Hospital and see what they have to say, eh?’
Susan was in shock and Doreen guessed as much. She helped her put on a cardigan and locked up the house for her. Then, warning her own children that if they started anything she would murder them in cold blood in their beds, she walked Susan to the bus stop.
All the time her mind was working over and over, trying to remember what happened when you caught VD while heavily pregnant. But it was something no one knew about unless it had happened to them personally.
Barry and Joey were the best of friends again, working together to collect debts and strong arming for whoever needed a ‘touch’, the term for paid-in-the-hand threats. Sometimes a debt might be owed by a friend who, taking advantage of that friendship, might then tell the lender they could wait a while, etc, etc. The lender then became upset, seeing their money thrown down the drain, and would employ the likes of Joey and Barry to make sure the debtor understood the correct procedure for returning monies borrowed in good faith.
Joey turning up also protected the lender, because he would collect a percentage and that percentage guaranteed that if the person owing got upset, the lender had the added protection of Joey sorting it all out once more.
All in all a very lucrative and interesting business, as Barry was finding out.
On this bright August afternoon they were collecting a debt for a woman from Barking. She had lent her estranged husband two thousand pounds which she had been left as a legacy. When she had given him the money to open his new café on the Barking Road, she had believed they were happily married and that the café was going to make them a fortune.
Two years later he was living with her friend and she was not only without a husband but also without the couple of grand she had been left. She needed the money because her errant husband was also being difficult about giving her money for their six children. Consequently, through Ivy, she was introduced to Joey and Barry who assured her there would be no comebacks from her husband as they would make sure he knew the score from the outset.
The husband, a large man of Greek origins, was well known in Barking for his size and his temper. He was just the type of face Joey loved humiliating. Plus they were doing the deserted family a service - six kids unfed and unclothed!
Joey and Barry’s hypocrisy knew no bounds.
As Stefano Skarpelis was cooking his all day English breakfasts he did not feel any fear as the two well-known breakers came into his café. It was two in the afternoon and a beautiful day. The café was hot and the door stood wide open. Two heavy electric fans were working overtime. The place was nearly full, as Joey had known it would be. The two men sauntered in and found a seat.
Stefano came to their table. He knew they would not want to queue up like everyone else and wanted to show the respect due to them.
‘What can I get you, gentlemen?’
His voice was jovial. He was pleased to see them. Everyone was watching, as they’d known would be the case.
‘Nice place here, Skarpelis, I like the décor.’
Stefano nearly burst. His pride and joy were the murals of Greek village life painted on the walls.
‘Thank you, Mr McNamara, it’s a pleasure to have you here in my café. The weather today is like my homeland - hot and exciting.’
He laughed and Joey and Barry laughed with him.
‘Where’d you get the money from to open this place?’
Barry’s voice held just the tiniest hint of menace and the big man was unsure how to answer.
‘I borrowed it, of course, like everyone does.’
‘Must have cost a couple of grand at least, eh?’
Stefano nodded, suddenly unsure where this conversation was going and aware that there was a hidden agenda he would rather not think about.
‘How’s that lovely wife of yours? A great favourite of me mum’s, she is,’ Joey cut in. ‘And them kids of yours? Imagine, six fucking kids all by the
one bird. Don’t bear thinking about. My mum reckons you never fired a blank in your life, mate.’
Their conversation was being listened to by everyone now and Stefano’s new woman, a thirty-year-old blonde with heavy make up and an even heavier chest, stood watching warily from behind the counter.
Joey started talking in a sing-song voice, as if he was telling a story to a bunch of little children.
‘Funnily enough, Stefano, my mum had to give your old woman some dosh the other week, to help pay the rent and get some grub in for that bunch of daughters and sons of yours. “Funny,” I says to me mum, “ain’t he just opened a café in Barking? I heard he was raking it in.” But she informed me that you had had it on your toes and left the old woman, the kids and your own mother in fucking stook. “So,” me mother says to me, “you go and see him and find out what he’s doing, because poor old Angela is boracic lint.” That being due to the fact that you robbed your old woman of the two grand she’d been left by her grandfather.’
Barry shook his head solemnly.
‘What a ponce, eh? I can’t believe I just heard that, can you?’
He looked towards the five workmen at a nearby table for confirmation.
‘Don’t you think he’s a ponce, leaving his kids in the fucking lurch and his old woman potless while he reaps the benefit of her couple of grand?’
The men nodded vigorously. They knew exactly what was expected of them. If the Greek was going to get a hiding they wanted to make sure they were on the winning side. He might make a blinding sausage sandwich, but that was as far as their loyalty went.
‘Fucking terrible, ain’t it? Unbelievable. I was shocked, shocked and appalled by my mother’s tale of woe. “Get your arse down there,” she said, “and sort that foreign ponce out.”
Joey held out his arms inviting general acclaim.
‘So, Stefano, here I am, and I want your old woman’s dosh, plus my expenses, and your word you will pay your old woman a regular amount.’
Stefano looked into Joey’s eyes and saw how much he was enjoying this.
‘I understand what you’re saying, Mr McNamara, but let me assure you . . .’
Barry interrupted him.
‘Shut your trap and bring the food. Once we’ve eaten we’ll explain it all to you in simple terms in your flat above this lovely café. Unless, of course, you want to discuss it here right now? In which case, that suits us down to the ground.’
Stefano Skarpelis knew what was going on, and he knew he was defeated. News of this visit would be all over by late afternoon. He was worried about it affecting his business.
East End people were strange. They would hide a murderer yet string up the same man for leaving his wife and children without support. Yes, they were weird, and he knew when he was cornered.
‘I’ll make you both a full English breakfast then we’ll sort this out.’
He walked away with as much dignity as he could muster, face pale and wearing a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
‘See, Barry, sometimes you don’t have to raise a hand. A right slagging off in public does the job better than a firearm or a cosh.’
Barry laughed.
He had a twinkle in his eye because in the corner sat two little birds who looked right up his street. They were smiling and simpering at him. One was short with fat legs and breasts but the other was better: red-haired, with full lips and shapely legs that she crossed and uncrossed at an alarming rate.
‘You ain’t winking at the two dogs over there, surely? Fucking hell, I’m going to buy you a lead for Christmas so you can take them out in public.’
Even Barry laughed. One good thing about Joey, he did have a sense of humour. Five minutes later the food was still not on the table and, leaning back in his chair, Joey shouted across the café to a workman and his friend by the door.
‘Oi, mate, how much for a bite of your sandwich? I’m fucking dying of starvation here. Hitler invaded Poland faster than it takes this Greek ponce to make breakfast!’
Everyone cracked up laughing and Stefano Skarpelis closed his eyes and asked God what the fuck he had done to deserve this?
Susan had been examined by a doctor and now he was helping her to get off the high table. She was so ungainly she could not get up without help. The doctor was young with wide brown eyes and a broad nose, but was saved from ugliness by his curly black hair and the merry twinkle in his eyes.
‘Did you know you were in labour, Mrs Dalston?’
Susan shook her head in amazement.
‘No. I have had a bit of a back ache for the last couple of days but everyone said it was all the weight I’d put on. Fuck me, I’d better get home quick smart.’
She tried to stand and he kept her seated with a wave of his hand.
‘You are not going anywhere, Mrs Dalston, except up to the labour ward. I think if you have contracted gonorrhoea you should be okay, but we need to keep an eye on you and the baby just to be on the safe side. You say you contracted it nearly a month ago, yes?’
Susan nodded, humiliated.
‘I might have got it sooner but he certainly gave it to my cousin on my wedding day. Mind you, that Frances is such a dog the chances are she gave it to him.’
Daniel Cole looked at the woman before him with sadness and resignation. During his time at the Whitechapel he had met many women in her position and it always amazed him how resilient they were. How they took all life threw at them and managed to rise above it.
‘Will the kid be blind and deformed, doctor? That’s me biggest worry.’
Dr Cole smiled.
‘I’m sure everything will be okay. Now, the worry of today has probably brought on labour - a fright or a shock can do that. So let’s just concentrate on getting your baby into the world, shall we? Then we can worry about anything else if it proves necessary. Okay?’
Susan nodded, unsure what exactly he was saying to her.
‘But it’s a month early. Is that because of the disease like? Has the VD made it come out too quick because there’s something wrong with it?’
Dr Cole sighed heavily and made himself smile.
‘Like I said, let’s just wait and see. Mrs Dalston, no one knows anything at the moment except that you are in labour and the child will be delivered within the next twenty-four hours. It’s pointless worrying yourself and risking making things worse. Now, let me get a nurse to take you up to the ward and we can proceed from there.’
Susan nodded.
His voice was low and reassuring, exactly what she needed at this moment. Someone to take over, take the pressure, take the strain.
Doreen accompanied her up to the ward with the nurse. Susan held her friend’s hand like a life-line. She felt that if she let it go she would fall into some great abyss and that would be the end of her life, her child’s, and her sanity.
The redhead’s name was Sonia. She had a flat near the Heathway in Dagenham, and a little boy called Luke. He was living with her mother apparently because she found it hard to cope with him. Luke, it turned out, was five. She had given birth to him when she was fourteen. Not that that bothered Barry Dalston. He didn’t want a virgin, he wanted a good time.
Sonia’s friend’s name was Abigail but she liked to be called Abby. After tearing up Stefano’s flat and giving him a good hiding, the two men took the girls to the Bull for a drink and a bit of a crack.
‘In fairness, he does do a blinding breakfast,’ observed Joey.
The two girls laughed.
‘Not for a while, though, by the sounds coming from the flat. Everyone could hear it going on, it was great.’
Sonia, it turned out, liked a man who was a bit of a face. Like most of her ilk it would never occur to her that she was in the predicament she was because of her taste in men. One little boy and three abortions along the way had taught her nothing. Sonia was an accident waiting to happen.
She’d been unsure at first whether she wanted young Barry as he had laughed at his friend�
��s crude joke about them, but being a girl who never held a grudge she’d decided to go along to the pub and see what developed.
The way his hand was sliding up her thigh now told her things were developing very well.
‘Another rum and Coke, girls?’
Joey’s voice was loud in the confines of the pub garden.
The two girls nodded.
‘Fuck me, Bal, the way these two put it away we’d better go and knock over the fucking local Post Office in case they want something to eat as well.’
He grinned at Abby.
‘You could do with missing a couple of meals, darlin’. I ain’t seen thighs like that since I caught my old woman in bed with the window cleaner.’
Abigail laughed delightedly, happy with the attention.
Joey went into the pub and up to the bar.
‘Two treble rum and Cokes and a couple of pints, mate.’
The barman laughed.
‘What time’s Cinderella turning up then? I see you got lumbered with the Ugly Sisters. Be careful, mate, the little fat one lives with a black bloke off the market and he is handy.’ He tapped his nose. ‘Just a word to the wise like. No offence, but I don’t want me pub torn up.’
Joey was grateful for the nod.
‘What are they, a couple of wog lovers then?’
The man nodded. ‘In a word, yeah. So long as they’re worth a few bob, of course. They’re dogs, mate, and if that’s what you want for an afternoon, good luck to you. But just keep out a beady, they ain’t worth fighting over.’
‘Too fucking right! Have one yourself and give us a couple of brandy chasers, large ones. I need a drink after a shock like that. I was gonna give it fucking plenty and all. Now, though, I might have to have a rethink.’
The man laughed with Joey.
‘Fucking daughters! Who’d have them, eh? I remember my old mother used to say: “Be careful where you plant it, boy. Always remember that the biggest dogs in the world are someone’s daughter, mother or sister.”
Joey laughed at that. It had never occurred to him before and he liked the way it rolled off the man’s tongue. He would nick that little homily and use it himself.
