Her Missing Husband

by Diney Costeloe

  For several days Jimmy lived rough, sleeping in doorways. The first night it was bitterly cold and he relieved an elderly tramp of his blanket, snatching it from the sleeping old man, too old and too weak to stop him.

  Jimmy spent those days in the shadows while his beard, always dark and quick to grow, covered his chin and crept up his cheeks to meet his hairline. He lost himself among the narrow East End streets as he kept on moving, never in one place for more than a few hours. Despite the vicar’s additional one pound five shillings, he’d been eking out his dwindling cash, but he needed to eat and he needed some different clothes. On Saturday morning he found himself in a busy street market and he wandered among the stalls and barrows, watching for a chance of free food. He snatched a loaf from one stall and further on an apple from another. On each occasion he was followed by a roar from the barrow boy, but he dodged away, melting into the milling Saturday crowds. After due consideration he lashed out and spent five shillings on a set of second-hand clothes, which included a blue shirt with a slightly frayed collar, a navy donkey jacket with a button missing and a pair of black trousers, rather short in the leg. He spent another two shillings of his carefully hoarded cash in the public bath-house and when he finally emerged dressed in his new clothes, the grime of a week sleeping rough had been scrubbed off and sluiced away. He inspected himself in the mirror and decided that with his full beard and shaggy hair he was unrecognisable as the flash, clean-shaven bloke in a wedding suit whose photo had been splashed across the papers and he could risk going into a pub. What he needed, he decided, was a drink. Just one.

  The pub he found was the Black Dog. With its paint peeling and windows yellowed with smoke, it sat on the corner of two streets, with doors opening onto both of them. Always good to have two ways out, Jimmy thought as he pushed through the door and loped over to the bar.

  ‘Hallo, ducks, what can I get you?’ The barmaid was small, but what she lacked in height she made up for with everything else. Her blonde hair, only slightly dark at the roots, was piled up in some confusion onto the top of her head and added almost six inches to her nearly five-foot height. Her bright blue eyes sized him up from under thick dark lashes and she must have approved of what she saw as she gave him a wide and welcoming smile.

  ‘Half of bitter,’ growled Jimmy.

  As she pulled the beer, she said conversationally, ‘Ain’t seen you around before. Just come in, ’ave yer?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jimmy replied as he counted out coins and received his beer.

  ‘Thought so.’ She nodded. ‘Didn’t think I’d forgotten such a good-looking bloke.’ She treated him to a 100-watt smile. ‘I’m Vera,’ she went on. ‘You want to know anything around here, just ask me.’ She tapped the side of her nose with a scarlet-nailed finger before turning away to serve another customer.

  Jimmy sat on the bar stool and sipped his beer. He might be able to afford one more half, but they would both have to last. He allowed his gaze to wander round the public bar. It was warm and fuggy with both tobacco smoke and the smoke from a small coal fire smouldering on a hearth on the opposite side of the room. The bar was busy with Saturday lunchtime drinkers, some having stopped for a pint on their way home from the docks, some in overalls, others dressed much as he was. Jimmy blended in with the Black Dog’s customers and no one gave him a second glance.

  Vera, having no one to serve for a couple of moments, and intrigued by the big bloke with the black beard and dark eyes, returned to his end of the bar and leaning towards him so that the buttons of her shiny gold blouse gaped to show an ample cleavage, said, ‘You a sailor, then, are yer?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jimmy did not miss the invitation to admire what might be on offer. ‘Yeah, just got back.’ He hoped she wouldn’t ask him which ship. If she did he’d have to wing it and invent a name.

  ‘Thought you must be,’ Vera said, and ran her tongue round her lips. If he’s just off a ship, she thought, he’ll be flush. Just right for the plucking. She beamed at him once again before saying, ‘Want another?’

  When Jimmy hesitated she added, with a sly glance over her shoulder at the landlord working at the other end of the bar. ‘On the house!’ Jimmy knocked back the three inches left in his glass and pushed it across to her. She set it aside and picking up a clean one, drew him a full pint; then with a wink she turned her back and moved along the bar and spoke softly to the other man.

  ‘Sailor just in, Matt. Could be good.’

  Matt nodded. ‘Take him this afternoon, soon as we close. I’ll follow you up.’

  Vera pulled a couple of pints for two waiting customers and then edged her way back to Jimmy.

  ‘Where you stayin’, then, darlin’?’ she asked, presenting the cleavage for his further inspection.

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘Got nowhere yet. Seaman’s mission maybe?’

  ‘Ooh, no! Poor you! That’s a dreadful place.’

  ‘Not much option really,’ Jimmy replied. ‘My first time in London. Normally come into Liverpool, but ship’s orders changed and I got dumped here.’

  ‘Been at sea long, have you?’ Vera asked

  ‘Yeah, three months,’ he answered. ‘Got to find another ship now.’ His mind was racing. If he could find somewhere to hide out for a couple of days, perhaps he could indeed ship out as a hand on a coaster or coaler or some such. Maybe he’d hear of something in this pub. It was clearly the haunt of dockers and wherrymen.

  ‘What?’ Vera feigned outrage. ‘You mean they just paid you off the three months and then dumped you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jimmy nodded. ‘Last in, first out.’

  ‘Well, I’ll keep my ear to the ground for yer. Hear a lot of things in here, we do. I know this bloke – Arch, he’s called – what might know of something. You stick around and if he comes in the pub I’ll tip you the wink.’ She looked him up and down. ‘What job?’

  ‘Stoker,’ replied Jimmy. His mate, Charlie, back in Belcaster had been a stoker during the war.

  ‘Might have guessed,’ Vera said. ‘Big bloke like you! I bet you’re ever so strong!’

  There was a shout from further down the bar ‘Hey! Vera! There’s other customers, you know!’

  Vera called, ‘All right, all right, I’m coming. Keep yer ’air on!’

  She smoothed her skirt over her hips and with a small pout of her lips murmured, ‘Don’t go away!’

  Jimmy didn’t go away. He watched appreciatively as her tight-skirted bottom wriggled its way down the bar to serve the next customer and sat back to enjoy his pint. The day outside had closed in and rain now drummed on the windows. He needed somewhere to doss down for a day or two, and if he hadn’t misread the signs, he could be in here. He reckoned he was onto a good thing with Vera. It was clear she fancied him.

  The landlord called time and Vera came back to find Jimmy downing the last of his beer.

  ‘Arch didn’t come in this lunchtime,’ she said, ‘but Matt...’ she nodded towards the landlord ‘...says he’ll probably be in this evening.’ She gave Jimmy a quick wink. ‘I ain’t working no more today,’ she said. ‘We could wait for him at my place. Save you coming back here later. Matt says he’ll send him over if he comes in later on.’ She looked at Jimmy, speculation in her eyes, adding, ‘Cosier over there!’ Then she gave a throaty laugh. ‘What’s yer name, then? I don’t even know what to call yer.’

  ‘John,’ replied Jimmy with only the slightest hesitation. He looked at the landlord cleaning glasses. Most customers were leaving and Jimmy didn’t want to hang about in an empty pub. ‘Now?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ answered Vera. ‘I’ll get my coat, John. Won’t be a sec.’

  Moments later she appeared his side of the bar and with a breezy wave to the landlord took Jimmy’s arm and led him out into the street. It was still raining and she drew her coat tightly round her, saying, ‘This way, John. Not far.’

  They scurried along the damp street at the end of which Vera led them along an alley and into a yard. Jimmy glanced aroun
d anxiously, looking for another way out, and was relieved to see a large wooden gate at the end of the yard. Vera, not seeming to notice his hesitation, kept her arm tightly through his and led him up a short flight of steps to a door at the top. She unlocked it and Jimmy followed her into her flat. Vera took off her coat and tossed it onto a chair, then turned back to Jimmy. ‘Here,’ she said, I’ll take your coat.’ She reached up from behind him and ran her hands over his shoulders, pulling the donkey jacket down over his arms with practised ease.

  ‘Want a proper drink?’ she asked as she laid his coat onto the chair. Without waiting for a reply, she opened a corner cupboard and with her back to him took out two glasses and a bottle of Scotch. ‘Whisky OK?’

  It certainly was. Jimmy hadn’t had a glass of whisky since the night he’d... since the night he’d left Belcaster. While Vera busied about, slurping a couple of fingers of Scotch into each glass, Jimmy looked round the room. Not much of a place, just a settee, a table and a couple of chairs, a cold stone hearth and a tiny kitchen area in one corner where Vera was pouring the drinks. Two doors led off it, one standing open showing a toilet and the other, Jimmy presumed, leading to the bedroom. He crossed to the window and looked down into the yard below. From here he could see both its entrances, the one they’d come in by and the other, the wooden gate he’d spotted earlier. Knowing for sure that there were two ways out gave him a feeling of security. If he could persuade this Vera to let him doss here for a week or so while he made his escape arrangements, he’d feel safe enough.

  ‘Well, big boy,’ Vera murmured, suddenly beside him, so close that he could feel her breath on his face. ‘Don’t you want your drink, then?’

  Jimmy almost snatched the proffered glass and took a long swallow, quickly followed by a second. Vera watched him for a moment and then took a sip from her own. ‘I thought we might take our drinks through there.’ She pointed to the bedroom door now standing ajar. She looked at him over the rim of her glass and said, ‘What do you think, John? Like that idea, do yer?’ Jimmy drank a third mouthful and reaching down, ran his hand over her backside, pinching the curve of her bottom.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ he hissed.

  Vera grinned at him, leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth while at the same time her hand strayed to his now-bulging crotch. ‘Ooh!’ she cooed, ‘you are a big boy.’

  Jimmy, already struggling with his flies, stumbled toward the bedroom where Vera’s expert hands soon divested him of both trousers and shirt. These she tossed aside, kicking them out through the door before she pulled it shut and turned the key.

  Jimmy lay naked on the bed and watched, his excitement growing, as she began, languidly, to strip off her own clothes. Careful to stay out of his reach, she moved round the bed, displaying herself to him and watching him with a provocative smile that was driving him wild with frustrated expectation.

  His need for her about to explode, he tried to sit up, to grab her and pull her down onto the bed... to get what had been promised... but somehow he couldn’t move; his arms and legs felt like lead and his head was too heavy to lift from the pillow.

  ‘Come here, you bitch.’ His words began to slur. ‘What yer waiting for? I’ll show yer something! Bitch! Same as every other bitch.’

  ‘Will yer?’ she teased, as she waited for him to succumb to the sleeping draught she’d slipped into his whisky. ‘’Fraid not, big boy. You got to sleep it off on yer own.’

  He stared up at her for a moment before he realised the meaning of what she was saying. With a roar and a mighty effort he pushed himself up off the bed, lunging towards her, but she stepped aside quickly and he collapsed back onto the bed with a groan and his eyes closed. Vera watched him for several minutes, listening to his stentorian breathing, before she gathered up her clothes and went back to the living room. There she dressed quickly before picking up Jimmy’s discarded clothes. She found his wallet, emptying its meagre contents onto the table, before methodically working her way through his pockets, fingering the linings and the seams for any sign of a hidden money pocket. As she finished, the front door opened and Matt came in.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s out cold,’ she said by way of greeting.

  ‘Any trouble with him?’

  ‘No, he took the drink. Took a bit till he passed out, but he’s gone now.’

  ‘What’s he got on him?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Not a lot,’ Vera replied with a sniff. ‘Hardly worth the effort really, just a couple of quid and a few coins. Reckon he was lying about being a paid-off sailor. He’s just an out-of-work navvy.’

  ‘Still has to pay for his pleasure,’ said Matt.

  ‘Even if he didn’t get it.’ Vera grinned. ‘But I tell yer something, he’s a big bloke and he’s going to be mad as hell when he does come round. Then he’ll be your problem.’

  ‘Always is,’ said Matt casually, as he picked up the cash that lay on the table and counted it.

  ‘Hey!’ cried Vera. ‘Half that’s mine.’

  ‘So it is,’ agreed Matt as he pocketed it. ‘You’ll get it, same as always.’

  At that moment there was a crash and the bedroom door burst open. They spun round to see Jimmy, still stark naked, exploding into the room. Seemingly unaware of Matt, he launched himself at Vera, who let out a shriek and tried to scramble away from him.

  ‘Bitch! Fucking, thieving bitch!’ Jimmy bellowed. ‘I’ll kill yer.’ He lunged at her, catching hold of her mass of hair and yanking her towards him as she screamed in terror and pain.

  ‘Get off, get off, you bastard. Let go!’ She fought furiously, but she had no chance against his strength as he flung one arm round her neck and squeezed with all the power of his pent-up rage. Vera knew she was going to die as, despite her desperate struggles, Jimmy’s grip tightened round her throat.

  Then suddenly she was released as, with an explosion of glass and whisky, Matt slammed the bottle of Scotch into the back of Jimmy’s head. Still fuddled from the drug, Jimmy crashed to the floor, hitting his head on the corner of the hearth. Gasping for breath and shaking with fear, Vera crawled out from underneath him, breaking into sobs as Matt pulled her to her feet and pushed her down onto the sofa where she sat, shaking.

  ‘Thought you said he was out cold!’ Matt hissed, bending down over the prostrate figure on the floor. ‘How much did you give him, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘The usual,’ sobbed Vera, ‘but he’s such a big bloke it can’t have been enough.’ She looked at the crumpled Jimmy and shuddered. ‘What we going to do with him now? What you going to do when he comes round?’

  ‘He ain’t going to come round, Vera,’ Matt said, a chill in his voice. ‘I think he’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ squeaked Vera. ‘Dead! He can’t be.’

  ‘Hit his head on the fireplace.’

  ‘Dead!’ Vera stared at him in horror. ‘What’re we going to do, Matt? We can’t leave him here!’

  ‘No, ’course we can’t,’ said Matt, shaken but beginning to regain control. ‘We’ll wait until it’s dark and move him then.’

  ‘Move him? Where to?’ Vera was still shaking and she turned terrified eyes on Matt. ‘Where’ll we take him? Suppose someone sees us!’

  ‘They won’t. We’ll take him out of the back gate and put him in the river.’

  ‘The river? Matt, suppose they pull him out!’

  ‘What if they do? They won’t know who he is and they won’t know how he got there.’

  It was another three quarters of an hour before the winter evening closed in and Matt felt it was safe to risk moving Jimmy out of the flat. Lit only by the light of a fitful moon, they carried him across the yard and out through the gate. It opened onto a narrow street lined with warehouses, beyond which ran the dark waters of the Thames. They had dressed him in his jacket and trousers and hung the dead weight of his body between them, his arms draped round their shoulders as if they were supporting a drunkard home. The only dangerous moment was cr
ossing the road through a pool of pale green light from a street lamp. Once they’d regained the darkness, they dragged him down an alley and onto a wooden wharf that stood out into the water. As they manoeuvred him towards the water, the moon sailed out from behind a cloud, bathing them in cold, silver light. And then, just as they reached the edge, the body between them gave a groan. Vera gave a scream, dropping her side of the burden, and Jimmy crashed onto the wooden deck. His eyes flew open and for a moment terror filled them as he saw Matt’s boot the second before it pounded into his head and he knew no more. Vera watched in horror as Matt delivered a second kick and then rolled the unconscious man unceremoniously into the water. There was a splash, a gurgling, a dark shape on the silvered river and then nothing as, weighed down by his heavy donkey jacket, Jimmy Randall sank beneath the eddying water and disappeared.

  For a moment they stood listening, but heard nothing.

  ‘Matt!’ whispered Vera, her voice shaking with terror. ‘Matt, he wasn’t dead!’

  ‘Well, he is now,’ replied Matt. ‘Come on, Vera, we got a pub to open.’

  We hope you enjoyed this short story

  Diney Costeloe’s next book is coming in spring 2017

  For an exclusive preview of her bestselling The Throwaway Children, read on or click the following link

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  Read on for a preview of The Throwaway Children

  Gritty, heartrending and unputdownable – the story of two sisters sent first to an English, then an Australian orphanage in the aftermath of World War 2.

  Rita and Rosie Stevens are only nine and five years old when their widowed mother marries a violent bully called Jimmy Randall and has a baby boy by him. Under pressure from her new husband, she is persuaded to send the girls to an orphanage – not knowing that the papers she has signed will entitle them to do what they like with the children.