‘Ere, wanna hear the latest?’ Cathy asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Lairy Mary popped round yesterday. She reckons that the old slapper’s daughter is pregnant by some Indian fella who’s inside for possessing heroin. He comes out next week, so Mary reckons.’
Pam put her hand over her mouth in shock. ‘What a scumbag family they are! That young boy we saw moving his stuff in last week is the old slapper’s son, apparently. Edna next-door-but-one reckons he’s started at Priory. I hope they don’t put him in either of my girls’ classes. He looks more Steph’s age than my Angie’s.’
‘Yous two talking about us?’ Angela shouted as she galloped down the stairs, followed by her sister.
For the second time in minutes, Pam stood with her jaw wide open. Both her daughters had lipstick and mascara on and Angela had gone one step further by plastering her eyelids with bright green eyeshadow.
‘Where’re yous two off to, all done up to the nines?’
‘Just out,’ Angela replied, stroppily.
‘Out where? Yous pair got boyfriends or something?’ Pam replied, knowingly.
‘No! We’re just meeting some friends over the park,’ Stephanie lied.
Knowing that turning the tables was always the best way out of a difficult situation, Angela immediately turned them. ‘Me and Steph wanna know why you were talking about us? What we done wrong now?’ she asked, accusingly.
‘We weren’t saying anything detrimental against you girls, were we, Cath?’
‘No. We was talking about the old slapper’s son across the road. He’s started your school by all accounts, and your mother said she hoped he weren’t in any of your classes.’
Unable to stop herself, Angie started to giggle.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ Stephanie said, grabbing her sister roughly by the arm.
‘I weren’t born yesterday, you know. In your opinion I might be past me sell-by date, but I ain’t bleedin’ simple. I know you’ve got boyfriends and I shall find out who they are,’ Pam shouted angrily as the front door slammed.
Cathy raised her eyebrows. ‘Girls, eh! Who’d have ’em?’
Bill Jackman was quite pleased that his grandson was stuffing a bit of fluff, but his wife had her concerns about the situation and had insisted on hanging around to meet the girl.
Wayne agreed to the introduction. As long as his grandparents didn’t cramp his style, he didn’t care what they did. He knew he was lucky to be allowed to have the house to himself to bed a girl, none of his friends were, and he couldn’t wait to have sex with Angela again. He had seen her every evening this week, but she’d flatly refused to let him have his wicked way with her over the park, even though he’d begged her. When the doorbell rang, Wayne bolted into the hallway. ‘All right, babe? Come and say hello to me nan and grandad,’ he said, dragging Angela into the lounge.
‘Hello,’ Angela said, awkwardly staring at her feet. If they sussed her real age, she was dead meat.
‘Nice to meet you, love. Our Wayne says you live with your mum and dad near the Heathway. Is that right?’ Doris probed, nosily.
‘Yeah,’ Angela replied.
‘What’s your mum and dad’s names? I’m always up that Heathway.’
‘Pam and David Marshall,’ Angela lied.
‘Come on, Doll. Let’s leave the kids to play records and stuff,’ Bill urged, gently shoving his wife out of the room.
‘Well? Pretty little thing, wasn’t she?’ Bill asked as he shut the front door.
‘Horrible little cunt! Couldn’t even look me in the eye – and if she’s fifteen like our Wayne says she is, then I’m fucking Doris Day.’
Barry and Stephanie took the District Line train to Bow Road Station and then had a ten-minute walk to get to the market. ‘Have you been up ’ere before?’ Barry asked.
‘Yeah. My mum comes from Bow and my grandad still lives here. We ain’t been to visit him for ages though. I was only about twelve last time I came to the market, I think.’
‘Do you wanna pop in and see your grandad while we’re up this way? I’ll wait for you outside if you like,’ Barry asked, thoughtfully.
‘Nah. He’ll probably be in the pub anyway,’ Stephanie replied, truthfully.
Stephanie felt her heart flip as Barry held her hand. Her nerves hadn’t embarrassed her so far today, but the feel of Barry’s warm hand pressing against her own felt like an electric shock entering her system. ‘Let’s have a fag,’ she said, snatching her hand away and riffling through her small silver shoulder bag.
‘What time you gotta be back later?’
‘Ten. Are we hanging about up here all day or going back to the Heathway later?’
‘Firstly, I’m gonna introduce you to the geezer I work for. Then, I’ll treat you to lunch. We can have a mooch up and down the market, then I’m gonna take you up to Bethnal Green to show you where I come from. Our last stop will be the Bishop Bonner pub. It’s where my dad drinks and I really want you to meet him.’
‘I can’t meet your dad, Bal. Say he tells your mum and then my mum finds out?’ Stephanie replied, horrified.
Tilting Stephanie’s chin upwards so that she made eye contact with him, Barry treated her to his killer smile. ‘Look, babe, I know you don’t want your mum to know that we’ve been out together and I can understand why. No one wants their daughter associated with a muvver like mine, but my dad’s a good geezer. He’s gotta go away for a while next week and, seeing as you’re the first girl I’ve ever really liked, I’d be well chuffed if you’d meet him. He’ll adore you, I know he will.’
Stephanie’s heart was pounding at twice its normal rate. Did Barry just say that she was the first girl he had ever really liked, or had her ears deceived her? ‘OK, I’ll meet him then,’ she croaked.
Wayne and Angela spent the whole afternoon at it like rabbits. After her initial painful experience, Angela had taken to sex like a duck takes to water and had even learnt the art of giving a blow job.
‘Suck it again for me, Ange. It’s your fault it keeps getting hard,’ Wayne said, bluntly.
Angela smiled. Wayne had told her earlier that she gave him the best sex he’d ever had and Angie liked to feel indispensable.
‘Do you love me, Jacko?’ she asked him coyly.
Desperate to feel her plump warm lips around his penis again, Wayne nodded. ‘Yeah, of course I love you, babe.’
Stephanie Crouch shook hands with Barry’s boss, Steve. Most Indian people Steph had met before, including the two boys in her class at school, were very reserved, kept themselves to themselves and spoke in weird accents, but Steve was entirely different. He was loud, funny and sounded more cockney than she did. When Barry had first told her he was a fly pitcher, Steph hadn’t quite understood the occupation. She hadn’t wanted to ask in case she made herself look silly, but now she knew exactly what Barry did. A fly pitcher was someone who hadn’t been given a pitch by the council so stood on a street corner selling their wares. Steve and Barry sold kingsize bath towels, and Barry would act as a look-out for the police and market inspectors while Steve used his witty sales patter to charm the public.
‘Do you ever get caught?’ Steph asked, as they said goodbye to Steve.
‘Nah, and even if we do we only get a slap on the wrists. Got eyes in the back of me head, me,’ Barry replied, laughing.
Stephanie smiled broadly as Barry held her hand again. Everybody knew him down Roman Road market and she could sense how popular he was with the other traders. ‘That’s a nice top, ain’t it?’ she said, pointing at an off-the-shoulder baggy red sweatshirt.
Barry dragged her over to the stall she was pointing at. ‘Bag me up one of them red sweatshirts please, Joanie,’ he ordered the lady who was serving.
‘I can’t let you buy that for me,’ Stephanie said, amazed by Barry’s generosity.
Handing Steph the sweatshirt in a carrier bag, Barry turned towards her. ‘I really do like you, Steph. Please say you’ll be my girl?’
Barely able to believe her luck, a completely besotted Stephanie nodded her head with glee.
Marlene Franklin was sitting opposite her friend Marge in the Albion pub in Woolwich. Marge’s real name was Karen, but she had earned her nickname because her legs tended to spread quicker then Stork margarine. The name didn’t bother Marge at all. She loved sex, always had done, and if people were jealous of her success rate with the male gender, then that was their bloody problem.
‘Does this dress look all right? You can’t see me knickers when I walk, can you?’ Marlene asked her pal as she returned from the Ladies.
‘No, you look stunning, mate, and them blokes in the corner can’t take their eyes off you,’ Marge replied, truthfully.
Pouting her lips just like the models did, Marlene sat down and crossed one leg seductively over the other. At thirty years old, Marlene still looked rather youthful for her age, and with her bright red lipstick, false black eyelashes, and thick blonde hair that she curled herself with heated rollers, Marlene considered herself to be the spitting image of Marilyn Monroe. Today, she had made a special effort and had worn the short, leopard-skin dress that she had stolen from a designer boutique in Hornchurch. Marlene was an expert at shoplifting. She would always wear bulky clothes to go out shopping, would try lots of items on in the fitting room, then would walk out with her favourite underneath her own outfit.
Marlene smiled coyly as an elderly man in a tan Crombie-style coat winked at her. She knew he couldn’t take his eyes off her fishnet stockings and high-heeled black suede shoes, and who could blame him?
‘So have you finished with that Winston now?’ Marge asked her friend.
Marlene took a sip of her gin and tonic. If the men didn’t start buying them drinks soon, they would have to start ordering halves of lager just to make their money last out. ‘Yep. I made him buy me a load of shopping at Sainsbury’s last weekend, then told him I couldn’t see him no more as I felt guilty he had a wife. Gutted he was, even rang me up on Monday crying, but I warned him if he contacts me again I was gonna go round his house and tell his wife everything.’
‘I thought he was quite handsome. He had a fit body,’ Marge said. She had a thing about black men and had been quite jealous when she had first laid eyes on Winston.
‘He had a big black cock, I know that much. Made my bleedin’ eyes water, it did,’ Marlene said, laughing.
‘You must be mad finishing with him.’
‘Didn’t have enough money for me, mate. A Ford worker is hardly gonna keep me in a life of luxury, is he? Especially a married one with three poxy brats.’
‘Don’t look now, but I think that old bloke’s coming over,’ Marge said, nudging her pal.
‘Good afternoon, ladies. I was wondering if you’d allow me the honour of buying you both a drink,’ the man asked, resting his gaze firmly on Marlene.
Marlene smiled. The man was old, short and was certainly no looker, but he reeked of money from his Rolex watch to his shiny leather shoes. Marge had never been backwards in coming forwards. ‘Yes please, mate, we’ll have two large gin and tonics.’
When the man pulled an enormous wad of fifty-pound notes out of his pocket, Marlene’s eyes lit up like beacons. She waited until he walked up to the bar and then turned to her friend. ‘I’m gonna snare this cunt, Marge. Watch and learn, girl.’
Stephanie Crouch was enjoying one of the best days out she had ever had in her life. After Barry had bought her the red sweatshirt, he had insisted on buying her pie and mash for lunch. He’d then bought her a red rose off the flower stall, two drinks in the Needle Gun pub, and UB40’s new single ‘Red Red Wine’, which Stephanie absolutely adored.
‘I’ve had such a fab day, Barry, thanks ever so much,’ she said, joyfully. She had never had a proper boyfriend before, and walking along Roman Road holding Barry’s arm felt that good, she thought she might burst with happiness.
‘The day ain’t over yet, babe. We’re going to meet me old man now.’
‘Is his real name Smasher?’ Stephanie asked, seriously.
Barry laughed. Steph’s naivety was one of the things that endeared her to him so much. ‘Nah. His real name is Barry. I was obviously named after him, but everyone calls him Smasher as he used to be a fighter years ago. He used to smash everyone’s lights out, he did – hence his nickname.’
‘Really?’ Steph exclaimed.
‘Yeah, back in the day he used to fight for money. They were illegal bouts, but he’s proper hard my dad. Only ever lost twice in his life, he did.’
‘So, where’s he going on holiday then?’
‘What you on about?’ Barry asked, bemused.
‘You said he was going away next week,’ Stephanie reminded him.
‘He’s going to prison, Steph, not Butlins. He got caught with a lorry-load of knocked-off TVs,’ Barry said, chuckling.
Feeling a bit stupid, Steph quickly changed the subject. ‘Whaddya wanna do when you leave school, Bal?’
‘I wanna be just like me dad. He’s always wheeled and dealed and he’s loaded. I don’t mind the markets, but I ain’t never gonna work nine to five for some mug who orders me about. I’m clued up enough to get by without all that. What do you wanna do, girl?’
‘I want to get a good job in a bank or an office up town. My typing teacher, Mrs Belson, reckons I’d make a brilliant secretary. I think one day I’d like to run my own business, but not until I’m much older.’
‘A girl with ambition, eh? That’s what I love about you, Steph.’
At the mention of the word love, Stephanie felt her face turn beetroot red and she quickly changed the subject once again. ‘I bet it’s horrible for you starting at a school where you don’t know no one, ain’t it? Have you made friends with any of the boys yet?’
‘Don’t you worry about me. Get on with most people, I do. Anyway, I’ve got a good pal in the year above us. He used to live across the road from me in Bethnal Green and we used to hang around together as kids. Saved me life once, he did, when I was a nipper. I couldn’t swim and I fell into a river. He jumped in and dragged me out.
‘Aah, that’s nice. What’s his name? I might know him.’
‘His name’s Wayne, babe. Wayne Jackman.’
CHAPTER FIVE
Cath had just unscrewed the lid on her and Pam’s Saturday treat, when there was a tap-tap at the front door. Busy cutting up a giant-sized pork and egg pie, Pam turned to her friend. ‘Answer that for me, Cath.’
Cath did as she was told and ran back into the kitchen. ‘It’s the police, Pam. They wanna speak to you, mate.’
Pam immediately thought that one of her girls had had an accident and, ashen-faced, ran to the door with the big knife still in her hand.
‘Whatever’s wrong? Is it my daughter?’ she gabbled, near to tears. The police had turned up on her doorstep like this on the day that her wonderful husband had been killed, and just the sight of the PC brought back terrible memories for her.
‘Do you mind putting that knife down, Mrs Crouch?’ the officer said in a jovial tone.
‘Is it my Steph? Or is it my Angie?’ Pam cried, handing the knife to Cathy who was now standing by her side.
Realizing that Mrs Crouch was becoming very distraught, the young PC held his hands up, palms facing her. ‘Calm down. It’s nothing too serious. Can you just confirm that you have a sister called Linda Tate? And if so, we need confirmation that she lives here with you.’
‘Yeah, Linda lives here. She’s my younger sister. Is she OK? What’s wrong with her?’ Pam asked, in a panic-stricken tone.
The young PC smirked. ‘Nothing, unless you count being extremely drunk. There was a minor incident earlier in the Trades Hall Social Club, Mrs Crouch, and when our officers arrived at the scene, your sister tried to attack the female PC. We had to arrest her, and she will receive a caution for being drunk and disorderly. No charges will be brought against her for the attack on the policewoman, as there was no real harm done.’
> Pam gasped. She was mortified. ‘I am so sorry, officer, and I can assure you nothing like this will ever happen again. As you are probably aware, Linda suffers from dwarfism, and because of this she gets drunk very quickly. I shall be having a serious chat with her later, don’t you worry about that. Is she on her way home now?’
‘No. We thought it best to let her sober up a bit first, and then we’ll either get an officer to drive her home or call her a cab. I wouldn’t be too hard on her. Linda has been rather amusing back at the station. She originally gave us her name and address as the Queen Mother who lived at Buckingham Palace.’
Pam was fuming. ‘I’ll give her the Queen Mother when she gets home here, officer. Thank you for being so understanding. Linda’s condition makes life difficult for her at times, if you know what I mean?’
When the officer nodded understandingly and walked back to his colleague who was waiting in the car, Cathy burst out laughing.
‘Don’t laugh, it ain’t funny,’ Pam said, cursing her younger sister under her breath.
‘I’m sorry, mate, but she is a fucking case, your Linda. The Queen Mother, Buckingham Palace. What must the Old Bill have thought of her? And she’s tried to beat up one of ’em.’
Unable to see the humorous side of her sister’s outrageous behaviour, Pam shook her head in despair.
Stephanie Crouch was as quiet as a mouse as she sat down at a table in the Bishop Bonner pub. The knowledge that Barry and Wayne Jackman were pals had left her with a feeling of uneasiness and she didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. She was positive that if Barry found out that she had recently asked Wayne out, he would then finish with her himself.
‘You all right, babe? You’ve gone ever so quiet on me. What’s up?’ Barry asked, handing Angie half a cider and sitting down next to her.
‘Nothing. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,’ Stephanie fibbed.
Barry could smell a lie a mile off. ‘Is it me dad? I know he comes across as a bit intimidating, but he’s such a top geezer when you get to know him, Steph. He was only winding you up when he took the piss out of your ripped jeans. He didn’t mean it nastily.’
Schemer Page 5
