by Janet Tanner
He escaped from Fred Brock and went down the garden path to the shed. The door was latched – he’d made sure of that for he did not want anyone poking inside. He went in, pulling the door behind him, and the sunlight streaming in through the spiders’ webs on the small window showed him that the boxes were, of course, still there where he had left them.
Still there – but even covered by the sacks, so blooming obvious! If the police should come looking that pile would be the first thing they would investigate. A fine sweat broke out on Eddie’s forehead and he dashed it away.
Why should they come here, for goodness sake?
Unless Jiggles Johnson talked. And he wouldn’t. He’d have more sense – wouldn’t he?
Eddie crossed the shed, moved some of the waste paper and rags and turned back the corner of the sack. Inside the box he could see the corner of a packet of Players – just one packet, but there were plenty more. Four hundred packets of ten, Jiggles had said. Four thousand cigarettes in all. And a hundred bars of chocolate, razor blades, shoelaces and shaving soap. Stolen goods obviously. And here they were in his shed. The knowledge made Eddie feel sick all over again and he stood rubbing the sore place on his chin where his razor had slipped while he was shaving this morning and wondering what the hell he was going to do about it.
He knew now what he should have done, of course. When Jiggles had telephoned him two nights ago and said he had some nice ‘stuff’ which might interest Eddie, he should have hung up and had nothing more to do with it. But he had not. He had been curious and unable to resist the chance of what he knew must be black market goods. The result was he was now in a fine mess.
Why the hell did I ever get mixed up with Jiggles in the first place? Eddie asked himself. Jiggles was a rogue and he’d always known it. But Eddie was not above doing business with rogues if they had something to offer and what Jiggles had offered him was something Eddie wanted very badly – petrol.
The subject had first arisen one afternoon when Eddie had called to collect Jiggles’s mother’s insurance money. Unlike her son, Mrs Johnson was an honest and upright soul who had spoiled the weaselly-faced lad in every conceivable way from the moment she had brought him into the world rather late in life. Throughout his childhood, Jiggles (so nicknamed because of his rather jerky manner, though his mother always referred to him as Raymond) had wanted for nothing and the unexpected departure of his father with a lady from Tiledown had only left his mother even freer to indulge his every whim. He was not strong, she was fond of telling people – he had a weak chest and a heart murmur, the legacy of a bout of scarlet fever as a child – and if he was not taken care of goodness only knew what would happen to him. That Jiggles did indeed have some weakness was apparent from the fact that he failed to pass a medical when conscripted for the army, but this weakness did not seem to stop him from involving himself in various dubious activities. In his youth he was brought before the Juvenile Courts several times for petty larcenies, on one occasion he was caught defacing the War Memorial and on another, after indulging himself with a great deal of cider, swinging from a bus stop. Whenever trouble threatened Mrs Johnson defended him fiercely with a string of excuses and she kept up small but regular payments on a succession of endowment policies on his life because, as she said, you never knew what might happen with a boy as delicate as Jiggles.
On the afternoon in question Eddie had made his regular twice-monthly visit to the Johnson home in ‘Twelve Houses’, a rank on the main South Compton road. Mrs Johnson had paid him with the exact money as she always did from a cup on the dresser where she kept it in readiness for him, but when he bade her ‘Good afternoon’Jiggles, who had been sitting in a corner of the kitchen reading the ‘Beano’, got up and followed him outside.
‘Must be hard going for you these days,’ he said to Eddie, indicating the pedal cycle Eddie had propped against the garden wall.
‘It is a bit,’ Eddie admitted. ‘Still, I suppose it keeps me healthy.’
‘If you had a bit of extra petrol you’d be able to drive your car,’ Jiggles said meaningfully. Eddie looked at him sharply.
‘And where would I be able to get that?’ he asked. ‘I might be able to do something for you. If you’re interested.’
‘Oh, I’m interested,’ Eddie said. He was thinking not so much of his insurance round, hard though it might be to make it on a pedal cycle with winter approaching, as the fact that the shortage of petrol had meant he had been able to make far fewer trips to Bath than he wanted to. Eddie had a friend, a ‘young lady’as he called her, who lived in Oldfield Park and whose husband was in the Merchant Navy. She was a very accommodating young lady and lately it had seemed a terrible waste that on so many evenings she should be lonely in Bath while he was lonely in Hillsbridge and unable to do anything about it because he had no petrol for his car.
‘What’s it worth, then?’ Jiggles asked slyly.
Eddie did a quick calculation, estimating the black market price for petrol and subtracting as much as he thought he could get away with. Jiggles wasn’t clever enough to be greedy, he reckoned.
As he had expected Jiggles accepted his offer. The arrangements were made and two nights later Jiggles delivered the petrol to Eddie in an old oil can. Eddie paid him in cash and asked no questions as to where the petrol had come from. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. As he drove into Bath that evening to pay a visit to Doris, his ‘young lady’, he felt ridiculously elated. Doing himself a bit of good in small underhand ways had always pleased Eddie. Like the ‘backhanders’he had managed to elicit from local firms for putting contracts their way – a nice little earner until Harry Hall had put a stop to it. In the weeks that followed Jiggles kept Eddie supplied with petrol and before long there were other things too. Packets of cigarettes and chocolates and on one occasion several bottles of Scotch. Eddie had his doubts about those, but Jiggles was prepared to accept such a ridiculously small amount in payment it seemed a crime to let the opportunity pass and in any case Eddie had had an idea for making himself a little money on the side.
Whilst doing his rounds people frequently complained to him about shortages and Eddie, with his infallible instinct, knew who would be prepared to do a deal with him and ask no questions and who would be outraged enough to go straight to the police. Soon he had established a profitable little sideline in black market goods, buying from Jiggles and reselling at a profit. At first he was nervous about it but he could not resist the chance to make something for nothing, especially as his ladyfriend was proving a great deal more expensive than he had expected, and as time went by he gained in confidence. It was easy! And he got a kick out of knowing he was flouting the authorities and taking risks.
When Jiggles had phoned him on that Thursday morning, however, warning bells had rung in his head. To begin with it was unusual for Jiggles to telephone at all. To do so he had to walk up the road to a call box and he had a deep dislike of speaking into an inanimate instrument to a person he could not see.
Then again, his request was peculiar to say the least – that Eddie should meet him with his car after dark underneath the railway arch on the New Road that could be reached by driving across a piece of waste ground. Lastly, Eddie was alerted by the fact that Jiggles was obviously not alone in the telephone box. He could hear another voice prompting him.
‘Who have you got with you?’ Eddie asked.
‘Just a mate,’ Jiggles replied. ‘Nobody you’d know. Are you going to come? It’ll be worth your while.’
Eddie’s curiosity was aroused but still he hesitated.
‘I don’t know that I can make it tonight.’
He heard the whispered prompting, then Jiggles said: ‘I hope you will. I wouldn’t like to have to tell anybody how I’ve been letting you have stuff when I shouldn’t have.’
Eddie had begun to sweat. His mind raced furiously over his association with Jiggles. Surely nobody would take the word of a little no-good against his own? But he could not afford
to take any chances.
‘All right, I’ll be there,’ he said.
That night he took his car and drove to the railway arch, taking care that there was no one to see him turn in across the waste ground. Once off the road he switched his lights off and bumped softly forward over the thistles and stones. There was little chance now of being seen. As he came to a halt he saw two figures emerge from the deep shadow of the bridge. One was Jiggles, the other a lad wearing the uniform of a soldier.
‘What’s all this about then?’ Eddie asked, speaking in a hushed tone although there was no one else about. Everyone knew that the railway arches set up an echo which carried around the valley.
‘We’ve got some stuff for you,’ Jiggles said.
‘What sort of stuff? Why did you get me down here about it?’
Jiggles had a pocket torch. He snapped it on and the thin beam picked up the boxes stacked beneath the arch and half hidden by broken branches.
‘Crikey!’ Eddie said.
‘It’s fags,’ Jiggles informed him. ‘Oh – and a bit of chocolate too. But mostly fags.’
‘How many?’
‘Four thousand we reckon, and six dozen bars of chocolate.’
‘Where did they come from?’
‘Never you mind.’ The soldier spoke for the first time. ‘Do you want’em?’
Eddie’s mind was boggling. The odd gallon of petrol and hundred cigarettes here and there, no questions asked, was one thing. Goods on this scale which must have been stolen were quite another. Good God, if he got caught with this little lot it would be the end of him in politics, the end of his career. He’d probably go down for a spell.
‘Not bloody likely!’ he said.
‘I’ll let you have’em cheap,’ Jiggles offered.
‘No. I’ve got nowhere to put a lot like that anyway.’
‘That’s your problem,’ the soldier said. He had what sounded like a London accent. It added an edge of insolence to his voice. ‘Twenty-five quid the lot – or like Ray said, he’ll start talking about his little business deals with you.’
Eddie went cold. He had been surprised when Jiggles had made his attempt at blackmail on the telephone. It didn’t seem his style. Now he understood. This soldier lad, whoever he was, was putting him up to it.
‘Now wait a minute …’ he blustered.
‘No, you wait,’ the soldier said. ‘Twenty-five quid is nothing for this lot. You’ve got yourself a good deal. Better take it or we might decide to ask more.’
‘We could get double and treble elsewhere,’ Jiggles put in.
‘Then why don’t you?’
‘’Cos we want to get rid of it quick.’
‘And’cos you’re in it with us.’
‘Oh no I’m not!’ Eddie protested. ‘This is stolen. Got to be.’
‘And where do you think I’ve been getting the stuff I’ve been letting you have?’ Jiggles jeered. ‘Hillsbridge Market? Come on, twenty-five quid, Eddie. It’s dirt cheap at the price.’
Eddie hesitated. He did not like being blackmailed but it seemed he did not have a lot of choice. And besides … He did a quick calculation. Twenty-five pounds for this lot was a bargain. He could get rid of the cigarettes and chocolate to the customers he’d built up over the months at a good profit that would keep him in clover. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad deal after all…
In that moment Eddie was possessed of a mad greed. He forgot the blackmail threat, forgot even that the cigarettes were stolen, and saw himself as a business entrepreneur presented with a deal he could not refuse.
‘All right. Twenty-five pounds. But that’s it. I don’t want anymore. This is a one-off, understand?’
Jiggles grinned. ‘I knew you’d see it our way. Got the dough?’
Eddie nodded. The wallet he carried his insurance collections in was in his inside pocket. He pulled it out and counted out the notes.
‘Couldn’t you make it thirty?’ the soldier asked, seeing the wad of money.
‘No, I couldn’t,’ Eddie snapped.
He gave the money to Jiggles and the two lads helped him load the boxes into the boot of his car. As he cranked the engine he saw them dividing up the money. There was a bicycle coming along the road as he reached the edge of the waste ground. Sweat broke out on his neck again. Should he wait until it had gone by and hope it didn’t see him? Better not take the chance. The driver would be less likely to recognise the car if it was moving. For the first time Eddie realised what a criminal feels like. For all his dubious dealings he had never felt like that before. He drove home, overawed by the enormity of what he had done, terrified there might be something wrong with his lights which would mean he would be stopped by a special constable, or that he might be involved in some kind of accident. Such a thing had never occurred to him before. Now, with his boot full of stolen cigarettes, it seemed a very real danger.
He drove around to the rear of his house and humped the boxes into the shed where he kept his bicycle, hiding them beneath the waste paper and rags they had been saving for the war effort. Then he went indoors, glad his mother was out at a whist drive. He felt flushed and nervous but also exhilarated. Oh, he was going to do all right out of this and no mistake! He poured himself a glass of whisky from a bottle Jiggles had obtained for him a few weeks ago and sat down to do a few sums and work out how quickly he could dispose of the first lot of his loot to enable him to make up the £25 he had borrowed from his insurance collections. He was still feeling pleased with himself when his mother returned from the whist drive with the news that she had won five shillings for the ‘travelling prize’and he almost laughed at her. Five shillings indeed! His evening had been a great deal more profitable than that!
His elation lasted until next morning when on his rounds someone told him that the Catholic Hut, which served as a NAAFI canteen, had been broken into two nights ago and over four thousand cigarettes stolen. The theft had not been discovered for twenty-four hours but when it was someone had remembered seeing two men pushing a pair of trucks up the New Road in the small hours and they thought it had looked like that little rogue, Jiggles Johnson. When he went back to his bicycle Eddie was shaking so much he did not dare attempt to ride it. He pushed it along the road, his mind working furiously.
The Catholic Hut! He had never dreamed the stuff had come from so close to home! And what atrocious luck someone recognising Jiggles with a pair of trucks! He must have known he’d been seen and that was why he had been so keen to dispose of the loot. The police would search any likely places in the vicinity of the New Road and the evidence would have been discovered. Now it was safely out of the way as far as Jiggles and his pal were concerned – in Eddie’s garden shed! In his agitation Eddie walked into the pedal of his cycle and almost fell. If the police picked up Jiggles, would they worm the truth out of him? They might. Jiggles was not the world’s brightest. But surely even he would have the sense to know that if he indicated where the goods were, now he would also be incriminating himself?
Eddie hardly knew how he got through his rounds that day. He did so quite mechanically and when one woman asked if he was feeling unwell he made the excuse that he thought he might be coming down with the’flu. It was hardly a lie. His head ached and his knees felt shaky. Added to the knowledge of guilty possession was the realisation that with talk of the theft rife in Hillsbridge it would be some time before he could dispose of his assets through his usual channels and from somewhere he had to find the twenty-five pounds to make up his insurance collections. What the hell was he going to do? Eddie Roberts, blustering fast talker and sly bully that he was, had gone completely to pieces now that he was faced with the possible consequences of his dishonesty and greed.
Saturday morning and he still felt as if he was living in a nightmare. He was half afraid of a knock on the door that would herald his downfall, alert enough to realise his frequent trips to the shed were drawing attention to it, panic-stricken enough to be quite unable to stop checking on the has
tily arranged camouflage.
By the time he made the fourth visit to the shed in two hours he had come to a decision. He had to get rid of the stuff, dump it if necessary, and cut his losses. The thought of throwing it away and losing the chance of retrieving his twenty-five pounds made him feel sick but anything was preferable to the risk of being caught with it in his possession.
Staring at the boxes Eddie decided on his best course of action. He had arranged to see Doris that evening so he had every excuse to take his car out again. When it was dark he would load the stuff into the boot and take it with him to Bath. He would spend the evening with Doris and then on the way home he would make a detour around Wearley Pond. It was only a few miles out of his way, a deep natural pool surrounded by plenty of bushes. He would put the stuff in a sack with a few good-sized stones to weigh in down and throw it in. It would sink without trace. Just as long as he left it late enough to be sure there weren’t any courting couples or potential suicides about. Wearley Pond was a favourite spot for both.
His decision made Eddie feel a little better, but as the day wore on his nerves began to get the better of him again. How the hell was he going to load the car without being seen?
Luck was on his side. When he left the house after dark the Rank was deserted and all the blinds drawn for blackout. He reached Doris’s house without incident and parked the car outside, making certain the boot was locked.
Doris, Eddie’s ladyfriend, was what he might have described as a ‘good type’. By this he did not mean virtuous – quite the opposite. But she was that rare thing – a woman who was easily pleased. She enjoyed Eddie’s company, enjoyed the little presents he brought her, enjoyed frolicking with him in the bed which had become very large, cold and lonely since her husband had sailed away on the convoys. And she certainly knew how to please him in return. Since he had been visiting her Eddie had dropped every one of his other ladyfriends; he simply could not be bothered with them and their demanding ways any more. Doris, with her well-endowed bosom and generous hips, gave him everything he could wish for and more. If she had not already had a husband Eddie thought he might have considered marrying her. But the fact that she did have a husband and he had no decision to make in the matter he considered could only be an advantage. In the cold light of day Eddie did not see himself as the marrying kind.
