East End Retribution

by Dani Oakley

  “Why aren’t you eating?” Trevor’s father demanded.

  Trevor was about to give a sulky reply and tell him he wasn’t hungry, but then he thought better of it. He really did need some money, and surely the great Dave Carter could spare a couple of bob for his oldest son.

  “Oh, I am.” He pulled his plate back towards him and picked up his knife and fork. “I couldn’t help noticing we’re getting low on tinned peaches. Do you want me to pick some up from the shops later?”

  Georgie loved his peaches and would eat them for pudding after every meal if he could.

  Trevor was hoping his father would give him some cash to do the shopping and then he could use the change for himself. That would be better than nothing.

  He shot a glance at his father.

  “Georgie can do the shopping at lunchtime,” he said. “You’d be better off spending your time looking for a job.”

  Trevor dropped his knife and fork down with a clatter. “I’ve tried. There’s no work going at the moment!”

  It was an outright lie, but Trevor didn’t feel bad about it. He didn’t want to work his fingers to the bone all day for pennies.

  He was better than that.

  Dave’s eyes narrowed. “I offered to give you a job at the workshop so you could earn your own money and learn a trade.”

  “I don’t want to work at the bloody workshop. I want something with a bit of responsibility. I don’t want the job just because you’re my old man.”

  Trevor had raised his voice and glanced guiltily at his mother. But she hadn’t even noticed the heated exchange. She was staring vacantly at her plate as her eggs congealed and became cold.

  Beneath the table, Trevor clenched his fists so that his fingernails dug into his palm. Sometimes he hated her, but most of the time he missed her. He could still vaguely remember how his mother used to be before Trevor’s sister, Lillian, had died and Georgie had been born. She had kept their home sparkling. She’d smelt of her favourite Lily of The Valley scent and always had a smile for Trevor. But those days were long gone. Now, it was like living with a woman who’d had all the life sucked out of her.

  His father was still talking, droning on, starting another lecture, and Trevor tried to tune him out, but it wasn’t possible. Dave Carter didn’t have the type of voice people could ignore.

  “You don’t want to work in the workshop because that would be sponging off your old man, but you don’t mind asking me for handouts.”

  “Just forget it,” Trevor snapped.

  Looking at Trevor with his steely gaze, his father stood up and took his plate towards the sink.

  Georgie put his cup down and leant over to Trevor. “I can lend you a quid tomorrow,” he said. “It’s payday.”

  Trevor opened his mouth to tell Georgie he could stuff his quid, but one look at his brother’s innocent face, full of concern, made his anger melt away. He wasn’t a bad lad, and he was trying to help.

  Trevor patted him on the shoulder. “You’re all right Georgie. I’ll sort something out. Don’t you worry.”

  After their father had left for work with Georgie trotting along behind him, Trevor waited for his mother to go back upstairs to bed as she did most days. She wouldn’t even bother coming down for breakfast if they hadn’t insisted.

  As soon as he was alone downstairs, he slipped into the front room and opened the cupboard, which was where he knew his mother kept her purse.

  He opened the clasp, intending to help himself, but inside, there were only pennies.

  Trevor swore under his breath. He couldn’t even steal from his mother’s purse because the old girl never went out, which meant she didn’t need money.

  He tipped the coins into his hand and then shoved them into his pocket. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Chapter 17

  Trevor spent the rest of the morning fuming. There was nothing he could do without money, and he was sick and tired of staying in the house. The place was depressing. The only reason his mother got out of bed every morning was that his father coerced her. As soon as Dave and Georgie went to work, Trevor’s mother went straight back to bed again and took another couple of pills to knock her out.

  Trevor sniffed, stuck his hands in his pockets and told himself he didn’t care. He could barely remember a time when their family was happy and normal.

  Without money, he couldn’t even go and spend the morning in the cafe, flirting with the good-looking girl behind the counter. What would she think of him if she knew he didn’t have two coins to rub together?

  It was all his father’s fault. He was being completely unreasonable. He expected Trevor to work at the workshop and get his hands dirty like the rest of those grease monkeys. It was all right for Georgie, he couldn’t really be expected to do anything else, but Trevor was clever. He should be learning to take over his father’s empire one day because that’s what everybody around here expected. Everybody except Trevor’s father, of course.

  The pubs didn’t open for another couple of hours. So he couldn’t even hang around the bar in the vain hope that someone would buy him a drink. It had worked in the past, but his scheme hadn’t been as successful lately. When he’d first started doing it, plenty of people had been lining up to buy him a drink, hoping to gain the favour of Dave Carter’s son. Of course, that was before they’d realised that Trevor had no sway over his father. Now, people were starting to cotton on to the fact Dave Carter wasn’t impressed by them buying pints of beer for his son, and the free drinks had started to dry up.

  Trevor kicked out at a stone on the pavement and continued his way round to the market at Chrisp Street.

  Even if he’d had some money, there wasn’t anything he’d want to buy from the market. Trevor turned his nose up at the clothes available here. If he’d had a say in it, his clothes would come from the West End, but apart from a fancy suit his father had bought him for a family wedding a year ago, his clothes were purchased from Harry Neaves, the small department store in Chrisp Street. They were serviceable and sensible, but not what Trevor would call stylish. Trevor never had the cash to buy anything really smart like he wanted.

  He wanted to go to Carnaby Street, or at the very least the Roman, but his father wouldn’t hear of it and spouted some rubbish about supporting local businesses whenever Trevor brought the subject up.

  The sounds of the market filled his ears as he continued to wind his way between the stalls. Old Bob was on his fruit and veg stall, calling out in his distinctive way. Trevor thought he was saying something about the price of half a pound of apples, but he couldn’t be sure. He never understood why the market traders spoke like that. But he had been to many markets, and all the fruit and veg men seemed to love shouting in the same peculiar voice.

  Old Bob called out a greeting to Trevor, and Trevor nodded regally. Under normal circumstances, he would be too busy to bother himself with the likes of Bob, but today he was at a loss for things to do and bored.

  “How’s business?” Trevor asked.

  “Mustn’t grumble,” Bob replied with a grin.

  Bob was a short man in his mid-sixties. He was wrapped up in his customary sheepskin coat, and his cheeks were ruddy as usual. But his red cheeks weren’t down to the cold. They owed their ruddiness to Bob’s fondness for whisky.

  Trevor was about to move on, but he hesitated, looking at the heavy piles of fruit and veg. Bob was getting on a bit… He probably could do with a hand to lift all this lot every morning. Of course, it wasn’t quite the calibre of job Trevor should get by rights, but he could really do with some extra cash and was prepared to lower himself just this once.

  “Do you need any help on the stall?” Trevor asked. “I could spare you a couple of hours a day if the pay is right.”

  Bob’s forehead puckered in a frown. “Oh, well, that’s very nice of you to offer, of course… But I don’t really have the money to pay for an extra pair of hands. I employ Rita’s boy to help me set up in the morning, and then he
helps on her stall for the rest of the day and does odd jobs for me here and there.”

  Bob nodded in the direction of Rita’s stall. Rita Murphy sold tablecloths, tea towels and bed linens.

  As he realised Bob was turning him down, a slow, steady flush of heat spread across Trevor’s face. This really took the biscuit. Now he was being turned down for a job on a bleeding market stall. A job he could do with his hands tied behind his back, theoretically speaking, of course.

  The humiliation of being Dave Carter’s son and yet not even being able to get a job lifting a few boxes of fruit and veg was too much for Trevor.

  He had an overwhelming desire to reach out and knock the apples that Bob had spent so much time artfully arranging into a pyramid to the floor.

  Trevor shoved his hands further into his pockets and shrugged, trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered.

  “Right, it’s probably just as well. I’ve got a couple of other things on the go at the moment, and I’d probably be too busy to help you anyway.”

  The nervous expression left Bob’s face, and he smiled. “Of course, you do. It just shows what a good, kind soul you are, offering to help me because you thought I needed it.”

  There was an awkward pause, and then Trevor nodded. “I’d better get on. I’ve got a lot on at the moment. Don’t work too hard.”

  “Have a good day,” Bob called after him, but Trevor was already walking away from him, towards the shops on the side of the market.

  He rifled through his pockets pulling out the few coins he had managed to nick from his mother and decided he had just about enough money to pay for a dog roll and a drink.

  He walked up to the counter. “I’ll get a dog roll with extra onions and a cup of tea.”

  From behind the serving counter, Christine smiled brightly at him and began to prepare the sausage roll, heaping fried onions on top.

  She handed it to Trevor with a smile and began making his tea, but Trevor didn’t smile back. He wasn’t in the mood for social niceties. Although he’d managed to control his temper with Bob, the resentment still burned within him.

  He didn’t blame Bob. What the man said was true enough. He probably didn’t have the money to pay Trevor. No, it wasn’t Bob’s fault. The person he blamed was his father. Trevor was being humiliated like this because of his father’s attitude.

  He took a large bite of his dog roll and chewed angrily.

  He didn’t bother sitting down on one of the plastic seats Christine had set out. Instead, he remained standing as he polished off his dog roll in a few bites and then walked away sipping his tea.

  The only person who understood how it felt to be badly treated like this was Uncle Gary.

  Trevor swore as the hot, steaming tea slopped over the side of the cup and onto his hand. He threw it on the floor.

  He glanced up at the clock on the market tower. Gary was typically home during the day, and it wasn’t far to walk.

  Trevor nodded to himself. Yes, his Uncle Gary would understand. He would know how unreasonable his father was being and offer some sympathy. He might even see his way clear to lending Trevor some money.

  Trevor quickened his step as he headed towards Gary’s flat just round the back of Chrisp Street.

  When Gary opened the door, Trevor guessed he hadn’t been awake for very long. His hair was scruffy and uncombed, and he hadn’t shaved.

  Trevor didn’t pay attention to any of that. All he saw was the wide smile on his uncle’s face as he welcomed him inside.

  “Good to see you, boy. How have you been?”

  Trevor stepped inside the flat and felt himself relax. He’d been growing closer to his uncle. He had no idea why Dave hadn’t wanted them to see quite that much of him when they were younger, but Trevor suspected it could be because his father treated Gary the same way he treated Trevor.

  “Not bad,” Trevor said. “Although I’m still suffering on the money front. My dad ain’t come to his senses yet.”

  Gary shook his head sadly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he said as he led Trevor into the kitchen. “Cup of tea?”

  Trevor said he was all right and he’d only just had one at the market and so Gary carried his half-full cup of tea into the front room, and they both sat down on the armchairs.

  “Go on then, boy. Tell me all about it.”

  And so Trevor did. He told his uncle how unfair his father had been. How awful it was with his unresponsive mother, who spent most of her time in bed. He told him how his father had always favoured Georgie, and no matter what Trevor did, it was never good enough.

  As Trevor talked, Gary stayed silent just nodding now and again and sipping his tea.

  Trevor leant back in the armchair and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe I should do what he wants and take the job working for him in the workshop. I can’t see how I can show him I’m worth more than that.”

  Gary spoke up, “I think it’s quite obvious to anyone with two eyes in their head that you are definitely worth more than an entrance level job at the workshop. I’m not sure why he’s making your life so difficult. I’ll tell you this in confidence, but Dave’s always done the same to me. He feels better when he’s the successful one. He doesn’t like any competition.”

  Trevor frowned. “But I’m his son. I’m not competition. He should want me to do well.”

  Gary nodded. “That’s how most people would think and look at the situation, but not Dave. Dave wants it all for himself. He favours Georgie because he knows the boy is no threat at all, but he’s worried that if he gives you a chance then perhaps you will show everybody that you’re even better than he is.”

  Trevor paused to think. He’d never really considered it like that before. Could what Gary said be true?

  “Of course, that’s why Dave never wanted to give me a job with any power,” Gary continued, warming up to his theme now. “If only I were given a chance, I could have been just as successful as Dave.”

  Trevor blinked. He’d really underestimated his Uncle Gary. He’d believed his father’s lies when he told him that Gary had a drink and drug problem and that was why he couldn’t be trusted with important jobs. Even then, Dave didn’t come out and say it, it was all just hinted at and alluded to. It was only through their arguments that Trevor had overheard Dave accusing Gary of being a waster.

  Trevor wanted to believe Gary. He wanted to believe that he had good within him and that he was worth bigger and better things, but there was still a small niggle at the back of his mind.

  But Gary seemed less troubled by hesitations and doubts.

  Gary put his tea down on the table and folded his arms across his chest. “If you ask me, your father needs to be brought down a peg or two until he learns the lesson.”

  Despite his doubts, Trevor smiled. It was good to know that someone was on his side.

  Chapter 18

  For Babs Morton, the morning had dragged endlessly on. She’d had no news at all. She didn’t know whether Mean Maud had croaked or whether she merely had a bruised head and was plotting her revenge. They had dragged poor Gertie off to solitary and remembering her friend’s distraught face made tears prick at the corner of Babs’s eyes.

  “Gertie, you daft cow. Why did you have to tell them it was your fault?” Babs muttered quietly.

  She hadn’t even realised she had spoken aloud until Liz’s head poked up. Jane stood up and then leant on Babs’s bunk.

  “All right, this has gone on long enough. Spit it out.”

  “Yes,” Jane agreed. “A problem shared, is a problem halved. We’ve got your back Babs, you know that.”

  Babs took a deep breath and regarded the two women who had been her cellmates for the last year. Although she wasn’t as close to either of them as she was to Gertie. She knew they were good, trustworthy women, but that didn’t mean Babs could trust them with everything, not when so much depended on it.

  Her freedom was at risk.

  Even thinking about getting o
ut of prison when Gertie was locked up in solitary for something she hadn’t done made Babs cringe with guilt.

  She shook her head and said, “I told you. There was an accident in the kitchen, and Mean Maud hit her head. For some reason, Gertie told everyone she’d hit her.”

  Babs’s voice sounded tense to her own ears, and she knew she didn’t sound terribly convincing.

  If Mean Maud did wake up, Babs could only hope she couldn’t remember what had happened. If they were lucky, that clunk with the heavy pan could have given her amnesia. Although Babs was trying to keep her spirits up, she could feel her freedom slipping away. She’d been so close, but if Mean Maud woke up and told everyone Babs had hit her over the head and assaulted her, there was no way she was getting out of prison next week.

  She curled her fists into tight balls, her fingernails digging into the tender flesh. Why did she always have to ruin everything? She’d been so close… So close to seeing her children again and getting revenge on that evil bastard husband of hers.

  Jane pushed away from Babs’s bunk and went and sat on her own bed. “Fine. You obviously don’t want to tell us the whole story.”

  She was wrong. Babs desperately wanted someone to confide in, but she didn’t know who she could trust. Liz and Jane had been good friends, but something this serious… She wouldn’t put it past one of the screws to get Liz or Jane to turn on her and then she’d be shafted.

  If only Gertie were here… Babs would be able to talk to her.

  She heard footsteps approaching their cell.

  The cell door was open because it was recreation time, but neither Babs nor Liz or Jane had wanted to mix with the other inmates this morning.

  She appreciated the effort Liz and Jane were putting in, trying to support her. But she would have preferred to be on her own to think things through.

  The footsteps were from one of the prison guards. Samuels. Babs approached the door. She wanted to reach out and grab her and demand to know what had happened to Gertie, but instead she folded her arms across her chest and tried to act disinterested as she enquired after her friend.