Fur Coat, No Knickers

by Anna King

  ‘Just a minute, Phil.’ Pete was glowering at his brother, his eyes narrowing in anger. ‘Me and George never said nothing about not being interested. It just seems too easy ter me. I mean, how about this Arthur bloke? Can yer trust him not ter go to one of the other gangs with the same information?’

  Feeling more confident now, Phil sat back in his chair.

  ‘Not Arthur, no way. He knows what’d happen ter him if he double-crossed me.’

  George Davidson, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, now spoke.

  ‘So what are these lorries carrying that’s worth nearly half a million then – gold bullion?’

  Phil glanced at his cousin, his face grimacing in disgust.

  ‘Fer gawd’s sake, put that knife away, George. Can’t yer clean yer nails like the rest of us without using that thing?’

  George shrugged and put the penknife back into his pocket.

  ‘Yer ain’t answered me question, Phil. What’s in these lorries? And if they’re so valuable, they ain’t gonna be that easy ter knock over. There’ll be more than just the driver fer a start, and maybe a couple of guards an’ all. And you’re talking about doing two lorries at the same time. Like Pete says,’ he jerked his head at his cousin, ‘we’re gonna need more than just the three of us if we’re gonna pull it off. And one other thing.’ He pulled a cigarette out of a packet and stuck it into the side of his mouth. ‘If there are guards, they might be carrying shooters; did yer think of that?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought of that, smart arse. That’s why we’ll be carrying shooters an’ all – just ter be on the safe side.’ At the sudden gleam that lit up George’s eyes, Phil growled softly, ‘An’ yer can get that look off yer face, yer vicious bastard. The guns will only be used as frightners, so don’t go thinking you’re Al Capone when the time comes, or you’ll have me ter deal with, understand?’

  Pete, seeing the savage look that sprang into George’s pale eyes, intervened quickly.

  ‘All right, so you’ve got it all planned, except fer one small detail. Like I said earlier, we’re gonna need more men, men who’ll keep their mouths shut and not lose their nerve on the day. Got anybody in mind?’

  Phil signalled to the barman for more drinks, confident now that he had them hooked.

  When the drinks were deposited on the table, Phil sat forward and grinned.

  ‘As a matter of fact I have.’ He reeled off four names, all known to the men at the table, who nodded in agreement at Phil’s choice of manpower.

  ‘That still makes only seven of us, Phil.’ Pete flicked his cigarette into the flowing ashtray. ‘I’d feel better if we had another bloke. That way we’d have four men ter each lorry – and yer still haven’t told us what the lorries’ll be carrying. I mean, we’ll have ter know, so we can sort out what kind of transport we’ll need to load it on to.’

  Well pleased with how the conversation was going, Phil smirked. Then, taking a quick look round the pub, he lowered his vice and said, ‘Over a million fags in one lorry, and half a million quid’s worth of booze in the other one. There! That satisfy you’re curiosity?’

  Now all three men were on the edge of their seats, their hearts beating fast at the thought of the enormous wealth that could be theirs if things went according to plan.

  Then Pete said quietly, ‘We’ll still be a man short, Phil, an’…’

  Phil raised his hand and winked.

  ‘Don’t yer worry about that, Pete,’ he smirked evilly. ‘I’ve got just the man in mind.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  As Aggie came through the front door, her face sullen at not being able to get a decent piece of meat for the Sunday dinner, and having to settle for mutton yet again, she cried out in pain as her shin collided with the large pram stuck in the hallway.

  ‘Damn and blast that lazy, fat cow!’ she stormed as her shin began to throb. Standing at the bottom of the stairs she shouted, ‘Oy, Beryl, you up there?’ Without waiting for an answer she yelled angrily, ‘I ain’t telling yer again about leaving that pram in the hall. If it ain’t out in the garden by teatime, I’m gonna get rid of it meself.’ The threat was an idle one, but nevertheless Aggie was sick to death of the cumbersome vehicle being left wherever Beryl chose to park it.

  There was still no sound from upstairs, not even the blaring of the gramophone, which was constantly on day and night. Well, if Beryl wasn’t home, and the pram was stuck in the hall, then where the bleeding hell was the baby? Raising her eyes upwards, her mouth formed a thin line of anger. Surely she hadn’t gone out and left the poor little mite on its own? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done it, despite Aggie’s threats to inform the welfare people – as if Beryl would worry about that. In fact it would suit her to have the baby taken away, because in the three months since its birth, Beryl had hardly bothered with it.

  Sighing heavily, Aggie made her way up to the attic rooms, and sure enough, there, in the far corner of the sitting room, lay the baby in its second-hand cot, his poor little face red from crying itself into an exhausted sleep. And the smell! Lord, it was enough to knock you over.

  Her features set into lines of grim rage, Aggie left the room, returning a few minutes later with a warm bottle of milk and a change of clothing for the baby. She lifted the small child from the cot and deftly changed its soiled nappy, wincing at the sores and bright redness covering the entire lower half of the little body. Gently, Aggie applied a good layer of Fuller’s Earth to the infected area, then, leaving the baby’s sore lower body exposed, she laid a towel over her lap and placed the teat of the bottle into the baby’s mouth. Instantly two tiny hands grabbed at the bottle, and the poor little mite sucked for all his worth as the warm milk coursed its way down to his stomach. So hungry was the child that Aggie didn’t even have time to wind him, the milk disappearing almost in one go. Wrapping the towel around the lower half of his body, Aggie lifted the baby to her shoulder and almost instantly a loud burst of wind came rumbling out of the small mouth.

  ‘Well, that was quick, me laddo. I bet you were waiting for that, weren’t yer, yer poor little sod. Oh, I’ll have something ter say ter that mother of yours when I get hold of her. Mother! Huh! That’s a good one…’ She stopped mid-sentence as the baby looked up at her trustingly and smiled – a sight that melted Aggie’s heart, bringing her close to tears.

  Cuddling the warm body close, she began to sing a lullaby while stroking the downy hair. She hadn’t wanted to become attached to the child, in fact she had gone out of her way to try and ignore it. If it had been her Danny’s, that would have been different. Still! It was a good-natured baby, when he was fed and clean, always a smile for everyone, and would lie in his cot happily for hours gurgling to himself.

  Aggie had been surprised when Beryl had announced her intention of calling the baby Patrick, before realising that naming the child after Danny’s father was simply a ploy on her part, thinking probably that by naming the child after Patrick Donnelly, the thoughtful act might make the rest of the family feel more kindly disposed towards her. Well, it hadn’t worked.

  Giving the baby’s tummy a tickle, and being rewarded by a wide smile, Aggie said, ‘I don’t know who yer daddy is, little man, but you must take after him fer yer temperament, ’cos yer sure as hell don’t get yer good nature from yer mother… Oh, oh, speak of the devil.’ The smile slipped from Aggie’s face as Beryl bounded into the room, only to come to an abrupt halt at the sight that met her eyes.

  The accusing stare etched on Aggie’s features needed no interpreting, and Beryl, a rare stab of guilt attacking her conscience, stammered, ‘I got held up. I’d’ve been back ages ago, but one of those bleeding doodlebugs landed right in front of the bus. We was lucky not ter be killed, but it made a right mess of the roads. I’ve had ter practically walk all the way back from Whitechapel.’

  Aggie stood up, gathering the towel around the tiny form. ‘He’s been fed and changed, but I’d leave his nappy off for a few hours if I was you.
His poor little arse is red raw from being left in a stinking mess fer Gawd knows how long. In fact, don’t bother, I’ll take him down with me ter the kitchen; he can lie on the floor and get some air to his skin while I get on with the dinner – that’s if you’ve no objections!’

  Whether Beryl had any objections or not was irrelevant. Aggie, holding the baby tight in the crook of her arm, swept past the shame-faced woman, the look of disgust on the elderly woman’s lined face saying it all.

  Flopping down on the bed, Beryl stared at the ceiling, her eyes bleak. She hadn’t had a letter from Donald since before the baby had been born, three months previously. She kept telling herself that what with all that was happening overseas, he probably hadn’t the time to write. But the nagging fact was that, at fifty-five, Donald was no longer in active duty. Because of his age and high rank he was stationed at Headquarters behind a desk; yet Chuck, who was in the thick of it, had managed to get two letters to Vi since the Normandy landings. And Beryl was getting desperate. Not out of any fear of Danny twigging the baby wasn’t his, because by the time he returned home, there’d be no evidence of any premature baby. She had written and told him the baby had come early, but not to worry as he was coming along nicely. No! It wasn’t Danny that was worrying her, but that blasted Nobby Clark. No matter how hard she tried to keep out of his way she was always bumping into him, and always he would look at her in puzzlement, as if trying to place her face. At such times she would make a quick departure before he had time to start asking awkward questions, but she couldn’t dodge him for ever.

  Beryl closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she was far too restless. Sighing, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and made her way downstairs. As much as she hated the old bat, at least Aggie was a bit of company, and with Vi giving her the cold shoulder lately, and the other two barely giving her the time of day, Beryl couldn’t afford to be choosy if she wanted someone to talk to.

  She entered the kitchen, ready to try and make peace with the old girl, then came to a dead halt. For there, sitting at the table as if he belonged in the house, sat the very man she had been thinking of. For a moment she froze, then with a resigned shrug she came in and sat down by the baby lying on the floor on a thick blanket.

  ‘Hello, it’s Beryl, isn’t it? We always seem to be passing each other, but we’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Nobby Clark, but I suppose you already know that, don’t you?’

  The grey eyes twinkled at her in merriment, but behind the laughter Beryl could sense he was giving her the once over.

  Leaning over to pick up the baby, she said off-handedly, ‘Well, it’s a busy house, ain’t it? Anyway, I’m not stopping. I’m gonna take Patrick out fer a walk in the pram. It’d be good for him ter get some fresh air.’

  Aggie went to make a remark but abruptly clamped her lips shut. She didn’t want any unpleasantness in front of Nobby.

  It was as Beryl was at the kitchen door that Nobby, twisting round on his chair, asked casually, ‘You know, I’m sure we’ve met before. Didn’t you used to work in a pub down the Old Kent Road?’

  Without turning, Beryl said sharply, ‘No, I didn’t, yer must be thinking of someone else. Now, if yer’ll excuse me, I want ter get out before it turns too cold.’

  But Nobby wasn’t going to be put off so easily. Drumming his fingers on the table he murmured, ‘Yeah, I suppose I must be. The woman I’m thinking of had red hair. Lovely it was, right down ter her waist. The blokes used to swarm round her like flies. Lucky for her, her husband ran the place, and kept them in order. Big bloke he was, not the type you’d mess with. Handy with his fists by all accounts. Trouble was, he was a bit too handy with them, especially when he caught his wife flirting with the customers. Last I heard she’d left him. Done a runner with some bloke. I wonder where she is now?’

  Her body shaking, Beryl tried to answer nonchalantly, but when she spoke she was horrified at the tremor in her voice.

  ‘Life’s full of mysteries, ain’t it? See ya.’

  Almost stumbling in her haste to get away from the prying eyes, Beryl dumped the baby in the pram, covered him up and, negotiating the heavy pram down the stone steps, almost ran to the top of the street. Out of sight of the house, she stopped and lit a cigarette, her whole body trembling from head to foot. He knew! The nosy bastard knew. What the hell was she going to do now? Six years it had been since she’d left that pig of a husband, and the bloke she’d run off with had got cold feet and dumped her a month later, fearing the landlord of the pub in the Old Kent Road would come after them. Left on her own, the first thing Beryl did was cut her hair short and dye it blond. Then she had changed her name and found work in different pubs, never staying too long in any one place – until she’d landed the job in the Hare and Hounds three years later. For the first time in years she had felt safe. Then she’d latched on to Danny Donnelly and thought all her troubles were over. She should have known she wouldn’t be that lucky. Though maybe that Clark fellow wouldn’t say anything! Her head drooped in despair. Of course he would. He was thick with the family, wasn’t he? She couldn’t see him keeping quiet about her marrying Danny when she was already married. Her body sagged wearily. This was it then. As soon as Aggie found out, she’d be out on her ear, and the baby with her.

  Hardly knowing where she was going, Beryl pushed the pram forward, the collar of her coat turned up against the October wind. And as she walked she prayed. ‘Please, Donald, please write. You’re my only hope now. Please, God, let him write to me soon, or I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m too tired ter start all over again on me own.’ The image of the big white house in America burnt into her brain. If only he would write and send for her. Even with the war on, there must be a way for her to get to America, there must be. Especially with Donald’s considerable clout. After all, he was a general, so there must be something he could do to get her over to the States.

  In the pram, the baby had fallen asleep, completely unaware of his mother’s distress.

  * * *

  Back at the house, Nobby was trying to fend off Aggie’s persistent questions without much success.

  ‘Look, Aggie, I only said she reminded me of the woman I was speaking of. It don’t mean ter say it is her.’

  Bridling angrily, Aggie stormed up and down the kitchen, her face stretched this way and that in agitation.

  ‘Don’t give me that old cobblers, Nobby Clark. You know fine well it’s her. And it’d explain why she did a runner whenever yer was around. ’Cos an old slapper like her wouldn’t ignore a good-looking chap like you. She’d have been all over yer. Nah! She recognised yer, probably fancied yer from when yer used to visit that pub she worked in. Then with yer picture in the papers an’ all, well, it must have put the wind up her—’

  As a new realisation dawned. Aggie grabbed at the table for support, and in a voice little more than a whisper she said, ‘That means she ain’t really married ter my Danny. Oh, my Gawd!’ Her legs turning to jelly she sank down on a chair. ‘I thought it was bad enough her trying to palm some other bloke’s bastard off on the poor sod, but this takes the cake.’ Then, a determined look creeping across her face, she said in a stronger voice, ‘Well, that’s it then. She’s out on her ear.’ Pushing back the chair, she was about to get to her feet when Nobby’s hand came out to stop her.

  ‘Listen, Aggie… All right, it is her, I never forget a face, and yer was right, she was after me, but I didn’t fancy getting me face bashed in by her old man. Mind you, she was a looker, and I can’t say I wasn’t tempted, but not to that extent. But for all we know her husband might be dead, or she could have divorced him, yer never know.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, then why did she look about ready to pass out when yer started asking her questions? If she had nothing ter hide she’d have come clean.’ Shaking her head furiously, Aggie said, ‘Nah, she’s had our Danny fer a mug, and I ain’t gonna let her get away with it. It’d have been different if she’d been faithful ter him while he was a
way, but she’s been round the track more times than a greyhound.’

  Slipping a DE Reszke cigarette from a crumpled packet, Nobby lit up, his eyes squinting against the spiral of smoke, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. But, like Aggie, he didn’t like to see any man taken for a ride, especially when that man was away risking his life for his country. Still, he could have kept quiet a bit longer. But the damage was done now. Not that he felt sorry for Sandra, or Beryl as she now called herself. Women like that always found some mug to take care of them. No, it was Danny he was worried about, and the baby of course. Out of all of them, that little innocent was the one most likely to suffer, because he couldn’t see a woman like Beryl keeping a baby with no man to support them. She’d probably dump the poor little sod as soon as possible.

  The phone rang in the hall, making Aggie jump as it always did. In the kitchen Nobby smiled as he heard her bellowing down the instrument as if talking to someone miles away, then she was calling him.