Don’t do this, he told himself. Don’t. He pushed her away and struggled to stand on his wobbly legs. She smiled at him, eyes glittering like a cat who’s released a mouse it means to kill just to watch it run one last time. “I’m yours, Joe,” she whispered. “I want you. And I know you want me. I can see it. I’ve seen it in your eyes from the beginning. You can have me. You can have anything you want…”
He had to leave. Now. This instant. But he wanted her. He wanted to fuck her so badly he could hardly breathe. It was easier to give in, wasn’t it? It was a lot easier here on Easy Street. Everything else was hard. It was easy here, in Peterson’s house, where maids and waiters brought you things to eat and lots of whiskey. It was easy in Millie’s big bed, with her sweet lips and her big, lovely tits. It was all right. He could have her. He could have anything. Isn’t that what she’d said?
Millie stood up, unbuttoned her petticoat and let it drop to the floor. She was now completely naked. In the darkness, he could see the curve of her small waist, her thighs, the tuft of blond hair between them. She pressed herself against him and kissed him again, snaking her hand between his legs, unbuttoning his trousers. His hands sought her breasts. He had to have her. Now. He pushed her down on the bed, parted her legs, and entered her roughly. And then he was inside of her, plunging into the deep, soft velvet of her again and again. She was his. The buyer’s job was his. Peterson’s was his. Everything was his. He came hard and quick, biting her shoulder as he did.
When it was over, he lay still, breathing heavily. The whiskey was playing tricks again. Where was he? He wasn’t quite sure. Oh, yes, he was with Fiona, of course. In their big house. In their big bed. They had their shop, scores of shops, in fact. They were rich and everything was lovely. He felt calm, contented, his face buried in Fee’s soft neck.
But something was wrong. He felt so dizzy, so sick. There was that smell again – something cloying. Lilacs. He raised his head and looked through bleary eyes at the woman beneath him. This isn’t Fiona, his mind screamed. My God, what have I done? He rolled off her and backed away from the bed. He knew he was going to be violently sick. Holding his pants up with one hand he unlocked the door with the other and ran from the room.
On the bed, Millie massaged the bite mark on her shoulder. There was a wetness between her legs from what they’d done, she could feel it. Good thing she’d covered her bedspread with an old sheet earlier. She raised her knees, her feet flat on the bed, then tilted her hips up, just as she’d read in the book she’d got from her married friend, Sarah. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of him on her tongue, and smiled.
Chapter 16
“Don’t you want some, Fee? They’re nice and salty,” Charlie said, holding a paper cone of chips out to his sister. “Come on, ’ave one … ”
“No, thanks.”
Something was wrong. She hadn’t told him so, but he could see it in her face. Something was making her sad. He’d hoped a Sunday afternoon walk to the river would lift her spirits, but the things that usually made her smile – a chantey carried on the wind, gulls pestering for chips – seemed to have no effect. If anything, she looked lower now than when they’d left Adams Court.
He followed her gaze out over the whitecapped water. A pair of barges were crossing midstream. Two ships passing in the shite, he thought. For the life of him, he could not understand what she saw in this poxy river. He finished his chips, then looked to see where Seamie had got to. He was chasing seagulls by Oliver’s. “Oi! You! Don’t go too close to the water,” he shouted. Seamie paid him no attention. He followed a bird into the waves, soaked his boots, and laughed. Charlie swore. He couldn’t even make a four-year-old mind.
It wasn’t easy being the man of the family. He worked all day at the brewery, fought like a tiger at the Taj, and still didn’t make enough money to pay all the bills. And though he needed every penny he could earn, work kept him out of the house too much. This afternoon, at dinner, was the first time he’d talked to his mother in days. He’d looked at her face, really looked at it, as she poured him a cup of tea, and he’d been shocked to see how pale she was. And then he’d looked at his sister, who seemed to be constantly fighting tears. His brother was sulky and whiny, having been cooped up for too long. Even the baby was ailing.
How had his da done it? he wondered. How had he kept them all fed and clothed? How had he made them feel cared for and safe? And all on a docker’s wages? He’d promised his father he’d look after them and he was trying his best, but no matter how hard he tried, he failed. If only he could put away a few pounds. Then he could move his family out of Adams Court, into a decent room, or maybe even a whole floor in a better house. The other day, Denny Quinn had offered him the chance to make a few extra bob. There was a man who owed him a considerable amount of money, he’d said. He wanted Charlie and Sid Malone to collect it for him. Charlie had turned him down. He had no desire to knock on some stranger’s door in the middle of the night and beat him senseless over an unpaid gambling debt. But that was before his mother had grown so pale. Before the baby had taken ill. Now, he wondered if he’d been daft to say no.
Fiona sighed, taking his thoughts away from Quinn. Looking at her, he decided to take another tack. Maybe if he could get her to talk about something – anything at all – he could eventually get her to tell him what was bothering her.
“ ’Ow’s it going at the Bull?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“ ’Ard work, is it?”
“Aye.”
A long silence followed. He tried again. “Saw Uncle Roddy yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“We talked about the murders. ’E said the latest one – the Kelly woman from Dorset Street – was the worst yet. ’E said what was left didn’t even resemble a woman.”
“Really?”
“Aye. And they’re no closer to catching the bloke, either.”
“Hmm.”
So much for that idea. Well, there was no help for it. He’d have to take the direct route. Get all blabbery and emotional, just like a lass. He dreaded it.
“All right, Fiona … what’s up?”
She didn’t look at him. “Nothing,” she said.
“Look, something is. You’re not yourself. You’d tell da if ’e were ’ere, so you better tell me. I’m the man of the ’ouse, remember? ’E left me in charge.”
Fiona laughed at that, which he did not appreciate. Then, even worse, she started to cry. Flustered, he gave her his handkerchief, then awkwardly put an arm around her, hoping that none of his mates was around to see him.
“It’s over between us … me and Joe,” she sobbed.
“Did ’e break it off?”
“No, but ’e will. I’m sure of it.”
She told him all about Joe’s letter. “It’s been ages since ’e sent it,” she said. “I want to see ’im, but every time I get two pennies together something ’appens or somebody’s ’ungry and they’re gone. I know ’e doesn’t care for me anymore … ’e’d come see me if ’e did …” She pressed his handkerchief to her face as fresh tears overtook her.
“Aw, Fiona, is that all it is?” he said, relieved. He was worried she might be up the pole. “Joe cares for you. ’E always ’as. Just go see ’im and make it up, will you?”
“Charlie, I ’aven’t got the money. Did you listen to anything I said?”
“I’ll give you the money. I’ve got a bit of a sideline going … a way of making some extra brass. I can’t tell you what it is, but…”
“Oh, I know all about it.”
He looked at her, surprised. “What do you know?”
She touched the scar under his eye. “I know ’ow you got that.”
“I got it from the rim of a beer barrel I was lifting. It slipped and ’it me in the face.”
Fiona smirked. She pulled his collar open and peered at the love bite on his neck. “Beer barrel give you that, too?”
He slapped her hand away, scowling. “All ri
ght, so I’m fighting. Just don’t tell Mam. I’ve got a match next Saturday. If I win, you’ll ’ave bus fare to Covent Garden.”
“Oh, Charlie … really?”
“Aye.”
She hugged him tightly. “Thank you … oh, thank you!”
“That’ll do, Fee,” he said, extricating himself.
She blew her nose in his handkerchief then handed it back to him.
“Um … that’s all right. You keep it,” he said.
“Where’s Seamie?” she asked, suddenly worried.
He nodded at the riverbank. “ ’Alfway to Lime’ouse, the little bugger. Let’s go get ’im. And then we’ll go ’ave a pint at the Black Dog.”
“With what for money?”
He gave her a superior smile. “Unlike yourself, Fiona, a person as ’andsome as I am needs no coin. The barmaid’s sweet on me. She’ll give us a couple of pints for free.”
“Is that who put those marks on your neck? Is she a girl or a flipping vampire?”
“No, that was another lady friend.”
“You better watch yourself, Charlie.”
He rolled his eyes. He did not need a lecture on this topic from his sister.
“I mean it! All we need now is some lass showing up on the doorstep with an ugly red-’aired baby in ’er arms.”
He shook his head. “It’ll never ’appen.”
“Because you’re …” She blushed slightly at the words. “… you’re being careful, right?”
Charlie snorted. “Aye, careful not to tell ’er where I live!”
“Turn,” Ada Parker, Millie’s dressmaker, commanded through a mouthful of pins.
Millie did and Ada deftly hemmed the last few inches of the mauve satin skirt she was fitting. When she was done, she sat back on her heels to appraise her work and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Millie asked.
“I don’t know. The skirt’s loose around your waist. I can’t understand it. Everything looked fine at the last fitting. I know I cut it properly. I know your measurements by heart.”
She unhooked the skirt and made Millie step out of it. Then she took a tape measure from her pocket and wound it around her waist. “There’s the answer,” she said, batting her on the rump. “You’ve lost weight! What’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Ada. My … my appetite’s a little off, that’s all.”
“You should see a doctor. You don’t want to get too thin or you’ll ruin your beautiful figure. And then how will you find a husband?”
Millie smiled. “I’ve already found one. I’m expecting a proposal of marriage any day.”
“That’s wonderful! Congratulations, my darling,” Ada said, hugging her. Then she shook a finger at her. “But you won’t keep him if you lose more weight!”
Millie skimmed her hands over her belly. “Oh, I think I will,” she said. “In fact, Ada, let me see your taffetas before I leave. An ivory, maybe. Or possibly a cream. White doesn’t suit me. Not at all.”
Chapter 17
Fiona mopped up the last bit of gravy on her plate with a crust of bread and washed it down with a swig of weak beer.
“Like that, did you?” Ralph Jackson asked her.
“It was delicious. Mrs. Jackson makes a smashing steak pie.”
“Don’t I know it!” he exclaimed, patting his impressive belly. “I’m glad you liked it, lass. You could use a little building up.”
Fiona smiled. Any girl under two hundred pounds was in need of building up in Mr. Jackson’s eyes. She washed her dishes, grabbed her shawl, and bade him ta-ra. It was chilly outside, but the supper had filled her up and she felt a warmth throughout her body that only came from a good hot meal. It was Saturday, just after six, and she started down the sidewalk toward her home with a spring in her step. Her spirits were improved, she was hopeful. If Charlie won tonight, and she had prayed so hard that he would, she’d be on her way to Covent Garden tomorrow afternoon, right after she finished at the pub, to see Joe. She hated that her fare would be earned from his cuts and bruises, but she was desperate. She would make it up to him somehow. As soon as she and Joe had their shop, she would start putting aside money for his passage to New York.
She had only gone a few yards down the sidewalk when she heard someone call her name. She turned. It was Joe. He was standing about ten yards behind her. He looked at her, then looked away again. She called to him. Her heart filled with love and happiness at the sight of him. Joe, her Joe! He was here, oh, thank God, he was here! He didn’t hate her; he’d come to see her. He still loved her. He did! She ran to him, beaming. But as she got closer, her steps slowed. Her smile faded. Something wasn’t right. He looked thin and haggard. He was unshaven.
“Joe?” He raised his eyes to hers. The look she saw in them terrified her. “What is it? What’s ’appened?”
“Come on, Fee. Come to the river,” he said, in a voice so hopeless, so dead-sounding, she barely recognized it. He turned in the direction of the Thames and started to walk.
She grabbed his arm. “What’s going on? Why are you ’ere and not at work?”
He wouldn’t look at her or answer her questions. “Just come for a walk,” he said and she had no choice but to follow.
When they got to the Old Stairs, they sat in their usual place, halfway down. Joe took her hand and squeezed it so tightly, it hurt. He tried to speak, but no words came. He lowered his head and wept. Fiona was so frightened, she could hardly find her own voice. She’d only seen him cry once, when his grandmother died. Was that it? Had someone died?
“Luv, what is it?” she said, her voice trembling. She put her arms around him. “What’s wrong? Is it your mam? Is your father all right?”
He looked at her through his tears. “Fiona … I’ve done a terrible thing …”
“What? What ’ave you done? ’Ow bad can it be? Whatever it is, I’ll ’elp you. We’ll fix it.” She tried for a smile. “You didn’t kill anyone, did you?”
“I’ve made Millie Peterson pregnant and now I’ve got to marry ’er.”
Fiona would later remember that the seconds that followed his words were without sound. She heard nothing of his voice, nothing of the river traffic or the noise from the nearby pub. It was as if her ears had been seared by those words, permitted to hear no more. She sat upright, arms wrapped around her legs, rocking slightly. Hearing nothing. Nothing. Part of her knew Joe had just said something, something bad, but if she didn’t think about it, she’d be all right. She knew he was still speaking, but she wouldn’t listen, because if she did he would tell her about… he would say that he’d … Millie … that they’d …
A low cry escaped her throat, an animal sound of deep, crushing pain. She doubled over as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She heard him now, crying her name, felt his arms around her, pulling her to him. He’d made love to Millie Peterson. What they had done because they loved each other, he had done with her. Seconds ago, her mind would not accept it, now it tortured her with images of them together – his lips on her, his hands on her. She pushed him away, staggered to the water’s edge, and vomited.
When her stomach stopped heaving, she dipped her hem in the water and wiped her face. She tried to straighten, to walk back to the stairs, but then her mind seized on the rest of what he’d said. Millie was pregnant. He was going to marry her. Be her husband. Go to bed with her, wake up with her. Spend the rest of his life with her. Like a glass vase dropped on a hard stone floor, her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She covered her face with her hands and sank to the ground.
Joe jumped down from the steps, lifted her up, and held her. “I’m sorry, Fiona, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Please, please forgive me …” he said brokenly. She struggled against him, kicking him, pummeling him. She broke away, stumbling backward. A murderous rage filled her. “You bastard!” she screamed. “All those times you told me I was jealous, told me I ’ad no reason to be! Looks like I ’ad a bloody good reason! ’Ow l
ong ’as this been going on, Joe? ’Ow many times did you fuck ’er?”
“Once. I was drunk.”
“Oh, just once? And you were drunk … well, that’s all right then, isn’t it? That excuses it completely …” Her voice cracked, she had to swallow before she could continue. “And did you kiss ’er like you kissed me? On ’er lips? ’Er ’eart? Between ’er legs?”
“Fiona, don’t. Please. It was nothing like that.”
She walked up to him, her whole body twitching with fury. She wanted to slap his face, kick him in the balls, do something to him that would make him feel one tiny fraction of the pain, the humiliation, she felt. Instead she burst into tears. “Why did you do it? Why, Joe, why?” she wailed piteously, her beautiful blue eyes red and swollen.
“I don’t know, Fiona,” he cried. “I go over and over it in my ’ead and I still don’t know.” He told her everything in a gush of words. About being at the party and missing her and worrying that she hated him. He told her about wanting his promotion so badly and feeling like a king when he got it. About drinking too much and Millie showing him around and his head spinning and ending up in her room. And then realizing what he’d done and being so violently ill that he’d retched up blood. “I was so drunk … and it felt like everything I wanted was right there before me … all the attention, the money, the ease of everything, but it wasn’t. Everything I want is right ’ere in front of me. I thought I’d lost you, Fiona. I waited and waited for you at the bus stop and you didn’t come. I thought it was over, thought you ’ated me. Why didn’t you come?”
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