‘I shall call them myself in that event,’ Annie firmly stated.
Patsy smiled at her. What a trouper she was. ‘Give me a bit of leeway, Annie. It’s a fair walk there and back.’
Clara quietly asked, ‘What makes you think you are the right person for this task, Patsy? You say Big Molly has interfered in her two daughters’ lives, what gives you the right to do the same? Why do you imagine you are the one to help?’
Patsy looked at her for a moment, unspeaking. It was a question she’d already asked herself many times. ‘I don’t honestly know. Maybe I can’t help. But I feel I have to try, perhaps because I’ve made mistakes too. And I know what it feels like to be stuck in an impossible situation and have no one to turn to. I always thought that having a mother must be the answer to all of life’s problems. Now I see that it isn’t. We make our own luck here, and whether we have a blood tie with a person or not, we are still responsible for them. We’re all part of one big family, in a way, here on Champion Street Market. I – I’m not sure if any of that makes sense, if I’m explaining myself correctly.’
Clara smiled. ‘No, you’re explaining yourself perfectly, very clearly indeed. We are each responsible for our neighbours, our friends, the people we love. I hope, when this is all over, you and I can sit down and talk again, Patsy. Carry on where we left off the other day.’
Patsy nodded. ‘I’d like that.’
Annie said, ‘And we’ll hear no more talk of you leaving, not until everything that is worrying you has been thoroughly discussed and aired. Is that clear, girl?’
She smiled, although Annie’s face was glimmering rather oddly, almost as if Patsy were looking at her through a veil of tears.
‘As for this business tonight, don’t worry,’ Patsy assured them. ‘I’m quite neutral in this and acting only as intermediary, nothing more. Quinn has nothing against me personally. I mean simply to ask him what he wants to settle the matter, and be out of there in double quick time.’
Clara, however, remained adamant that proper provision be made for Patsy’s protection. ‘I can see that Chris might be the wrong person to go inside the place with you, being far too closely involved, but nor should you go in on your own. You need someone with you, someone at your side who is not directly involved but a steadying influence, to show Quinn that you are not alone but have friends too. I shan’t allow you to go otherwise,’ Clara cried in desperation. ‘Someone has to look after you, and since you don’t have a mother, who else is there but me? Anyway, I feel I’d like to apply for the role, if it’s vacant?’
Patsy blinked, could find no response to this startling remark. Clara merely smiled, then instructed her to stay right where she was and not move an inch until she got back. ‘I believe I have the answer, the very person.’
The person she had in mind was none other than Marc Bertalone. He came willingly, ready to help even before he’d heard the whole story, agreeing with Clara that Patsy should not tackle Quinn alone.
As he walked through the door of the little house, the blood rushed to Patsy’s cheeks, her whole being glowing that he should come so quickly in answer to her need. Even so she pretended to object, not wishing him to see how pleased she was. And she refused point blank to allow him to accompany her.
‘Oh, yeah, this will look good, me going to speak to Billy Quinn with a protector in tow. Though what you would hope to do if he did turn nasty, I really can’t think.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ Marc folded his arms, standing before her, legs astride, making it abundantly clear he had no intention of leaving.
Patsy frowned. ‘Go on, go home. If I ever do need help, I’ll be sure not to call on you.’
He merely smiled at her droll wit, but Clara had turned awkward for once. ‘Please humour me on this one, Patsy. You would be far too vulnerable on your own. I doubt my nerves could stand it.’
Patsy stared at the older woman in bemusement, saw tears standing proud in the grey eyes. Even Annie had taken out her handkerchief and was busily blowing her nose. Could Patsy’s safety possibly matter so much to them? The thought caught her off balance, made her uncertain how to proceed.
‘Well . . .’ she began, somewhat at a loss for words, then fixing Marc with a fierce glare, briskly rallied. ‘Don’t think this means you’re forgiven, because you’re not. Or that I care a jot about your stupid friendship with Fran Poulson. I’m doing this for Amy, and for Big Molly, and . . . oh, I don’t know why. Because I’m a bloody fool.’
‘No profane language,’ Annie put in, quick as a flash.
‘Right, Annie. I’ll make sure I remember that when Quinn is hanging me up by my thumbs.’
A small silence fell before each of them realised this was Patsy’s attempt at a joke. Whether she’d still be laughing when she came face to face with the man himself in the house they called Quinn’s Pleasure Palace, was another matter entirely.
The walk from Champion Street to the least salubrious part of the docks was scary. Patsy was used to her own company, to walking out of an evening, and watching other people stepping out for a night on the town, but not round these parts. With the fog rolling in off the Manchester Ship Canal, the squeaking of rats in the drains and under the bridges, and the inevitable darkness of the narrow streets and alleyways around the canal basin, she was glad enough of Marc’s company.
They walked quickly and in silence between smoke-blackened warehouses and tumble-down sheds, stepping over the criss-crossing railway lines that linked the various wharfs, anxious to get the job done. As they paused by a stack of timber to catch their breath, Marc asked in his soft, gentle tones, ‘Are we still speaking?’
‘I certainly haven’t lost my voice, have you?’
‘You know what I mean, Patsy.’
There was an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there before. But then she’d made it very clear, during that last conversation they’d had in Alec Hall’s music booth, that she’d have nothing to do with a man who two-timed her, a man she couldn’t trust. Patsy was perfectly certain that there was something going on between Marc and Fran. Why else would he even be here? Didn’t this prove it? She said as much now. ‘I know why you’ve come, because you want to help Fran.’
‘Of course I want to help her. I told you, Fran is an old friend, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything more to it than that, or that I’m not here for another reason entirely. Because I care about you.’
She saw the glimmer of moonlight on the wide black expanse of water, could smell the damp of it on the night air, and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘No more lies, Marc. I don’t want to hear them.’
‘They’re not lies. I’ve missed you. I rather hoped you’d missed me.’
There was urgency in his tone now as he pulled her to a halt, and although she couldn’t quite see the expression in his eyes in the half light, she sensed he wasn’t smiling. Anger pulsated from him, as if he were exasperated with her. ‘Well, haven’t you?’
A slight hesitation before she answered, time enough for Patsy to recall the times she had missed him, ached for him, longed to feel his mouth on hers, to smell the intoxicating warmth of his skin. ‘Why would I? I’ve been too busy with my hat making.’
He drew an angry intake of breath. ‘You’ve looked out for me though, every morning. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I understand your reluctance to get involved with me, until you feel more secure about staying here, but it’s been nearly twelve months now. The sisters would have asked you to leave long since if they’d wanted to. Besides, isn’t it rather up to you? There are others jobs you could do here, even if they did sack you. And I’ve got a good job too now, the one in Lewis’s that I went for, remember? I’ve more money in my pocket, a good future before me. Couldn’t we start again? Won’t you give me another chance? I swear I’ll never so much as glance in Fran Poulson’s direction, let alone share an ice cream with her, however innocently.’
Patsy found herself swaying towards him, wan
ting desperately to believe him as her heart raced with renewed hope. And then Chris emerged from the shadows, and grim reality struck anew.
She said, ‘This isn’t the time. Let’s concentrate on the job in hand shall we? Getting a stupid girl out of a fix.’
Chapter Forty-Two
Fran was seriously frightened, her usual cocky self assurance slipping away fast. Some palace this was! Although it was certainly big, with God knows how many rooms leading off its endless corridors, and high ceilings and plaster cornices reminiscent of a grander past, if somewhat neglected in recent years. It smelled of cheap scent, bad drains and fear, and made her wonder what the former Victorian shipping magnate or mill owner who’d once owned this place, no doubt a stern Methodist, would think of its current role.
Fran didn’t quite know whether she approved of it herself.
Amy, huddled beside her and weeping silently, frightened as she was, didn’t have the first idea what sort of place this was or what fate awaited them.
Fran did.
If only she hadn’t met up with Daft Elsie. The old slag had threatened to take her face off if she didn’t move off her patch. Fran had denied wanting her patch. It was cold and wet, a freezing wind blowing a gale under the arches and she’d almost made up her mind to jack it in and go home. Eating a bit of humble pie with her mam would surely be preferable to life out on the streets, if this was representative of it. Before she could move, the old cow had gone for her, screaming and wailing like a banshee. Then Quinn had appeared out of nowhere, like magic.
Fran realised now that he must have been following her to appear so suddenly. Elsie had been taken away by one of his henchmen, poor cow, while Quinn had spelled out the facts of life to Fran.
Oh, they were in a terrible mess all right, and Fran knew who to blame for that: their mother. Quinn had taken great pleasure in explaining how he’d beaten Eddie Davidson to a bloody pulp, at Big Molly’s request, and blackmailed her into paying hush money. And later, when he’d picked up Amy too in lieu of those same debts, he’d laughed like a drain as he revealed how he’d been asked to break all the windows in the Georges’ house, as well as putting out the word not to employ Chris George, in a vain attempt to persuade Amy to leave him and go home.
Not that any of this came as any great surprise to either of them, but hearing it spelled out that their own mother had deliberately set out to harm the men in their lives filled them with cold fear because, as always, Big Molly had made a mess of it by not having the money to pay Quinn off.
Therefore he’d collared her two daughters instead.
‘Don’t I deserve some compensation?’ he said, pinching Fran’s chubby cheeks with nicotine stained fingers. ‘You’re not quite to my taste, sweetheart. I prefer my girls skinny, like your little sister here, but I know plenty who relish a handful of female flesh, to be sure.’
Fran had felt sick, longing to slap his hand away but unable to summon the courage. She was evidently to be handed round among his mates like some sort of apple dumpling after the main course, and these were not handsome young sailors, these were hard faced villains, men with twisted minds and no soul. Meanwhile, Quinn himself would slake his lust on Amy as and when he chose.
They’d spent most of the day locked in an upper room with three other girls in a similar situation. Fran couldn’t believe this was happening. It was one thing to decide to seek out a bit of excitement on her own account, quite another to be used by Billy Quinn and his cronies for theirs. And Fran knew she wouldn’t see a penny for the work she’d be asked to do for them.
As for Amy, Fran could see that she wasn’t really taking it in. Her eyes were glazed with shock. Far better if she didn’t. Reality would kick in soon enough. But she might never recover from this. Fran found herself unexpectedly overcome with a rare compassion for her sister, and putting an arm about her, pulled her close.
‘Don’t worry, chuck. I’ll get you out of this, see if I don’t. I’ll not let the bastards touch you.’
‘How, Fran love? How will we get out?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to give that a bit of thought.’
Oh, God, why hadn’t she listened to Maureen and gone back home? Why hadn’t she listened to Amy and not got herself involved with Eddie Davidson in the first place? She’d kill him with her own bare hands when she got out of here.
‘When do you reckon he’ll come for us?’ one young girl sobbed. She couldn’t be a day over fifteen but her da owed Quinn a bundle, and until he paid up, in full, the poor lass would be his plaything. And she too was skinny, just like Amy.
Fran tried to reassure her. ‘Happen not tonight. But by tomorrow I’m sure your da will have settled up, eh, and you can go home. Our mam will have too, then we all can.’
The sound of weeping came from the corner of the room where two other girls sat, obviously less comforted by her words. ‘You don’t reckon he’ll sell us to the white slave market, do you?’
‘Naw, that don’t exist no more,’ Fran scoffed, doing her best to sound confident, though the idea brought a fresh chill to her heart. She made a private vow to kill Quinn first, if she got half a chance, before she started on Eddie Davidson. After those two, she’d start on the rest of mankind.
The girls suddenly became aware of a commotion downstairs, a loud hammering on the front door. They heard someone curse and trundle along the hall to answer the knock. Fran pressed her ear against the locked door, hoping to hear what was going on.
‘It might be my da,’ said the skinny girl.
‘Or Mam?’ Amy suggested, eyes bright.
Fran could only hope so.
So here she was, in the lion’s den, face to face with the man himself. Marc’s parting words that she should approach Quinn with caution were still ringing in Patsy’s ears.
Chris was stationed just outside at the corner of the building with a view to front and side. Patsy had persuaded Marc to stay round the back, on the grounds that he’d be more use to her there, to call to for help. Hed break in the back door to rescue them if something went wrong. The two young men were to be her cavalry. They’d come riding to her rescue if things turned nasty, although she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to call on them. Patsy was keenly aware that even the three of them together possessed precious little power set against Quinn’s bully boys.
But Marc certainly hadn’t recommended that she march right in, casually duck under the arm of the heavy set character who’d opened the door to her, and push past two others who were far too surprised to stop her.
Quinn was regarding her sudden appearance with a startled expression on his face, as well he might. It was almost as if a house mouse had leaped up through a crack in the floorboards and bitten him.
‘And who might you be, to come knocking on my door at his hour? Wasn’t I just on me way out for a jar and a bit of supper?’
‘I’ll not take more than a minute of your time.’ Patsy cleared her throat and tried to smile, hoping and praying Quinn couldn’t hear the way her heart hammered in her chest. And that Marc and Chris were well within calling distance. Squaring her shoulders, she stoutly continued, ‘I’ve come to ask you one question, that’s all. It’s from Big Molly, as you might have guessed. She wants to know what it’ll cost to get her girls out of this place and back home?’
Quinn regarded her from beneath dark, lowering brows for one long, frightening moment, blue eyes glinting like chips of ice, then he put back his head and roared with laughter. He laughed so much, he had to hold his sides, which were apparently aching from the effort. His heavies also relaxed and began to laugh with him, as if he’d made some sort of joke, although Patsy guessed it was because they were privately every bit as scared of their boss as she was.
‘And why would you care what happens to them?’
Patsy was still wondering very much the same thing. Had she completely lost control of her common sense, to put herself in this seriously risky situation? One big family indeed! She might f
eel sorry for Amy, but she didn’t owe Fran a thing. ‘You do have them both, right?’
‘I do.’
‘It’s Amy I’m concerned about, if not . . . at least . . . and I’m friendly with their mam, sort of. Big Molly did me a favour once, let me off after I nicked one of her pies.’ Damnation, now her tongue was running away with her. Pure nerves! Why the hell had she mentioned that?
Quinn’s expression sharpened. ‘So you’re not quite the young innocent you appear?’
‘Leave the Poulson girls alone. Let me take them home, that’s all I ask.’
‘I’d advise you not to interfere.’
‘If I see something wrong I try to put it right, so don’t think you can bully me.’ Patsy set a bundle of dirty notes on a small round polished table. ‘Molly says she’s lost track of what she owes you, and guesses there’ll be a bit extra to pay anyway, for a recent favour you’ve done her apparently, but this is the best she can manage right now. You’ve only to name your price, if more is required, and she’ll find it.’
‘Will she indeed? And will she go on finding it, month after month, to save her little darlings?’
Patsy paled, startled by the prospect of long-term blackmail, the possibility of which had never occurred to her. ‘I - I wouldn’t know about that. I expect she was thinking more of a fixed sum than a regular payment.’
‘Indeed. Yet it’s my neck on the line, I’m thinking, should the rozzers come round asking awkward questions. Doesn’t that cost a deal of money, if a body wants to be safe?’
Quinn picked up the dirty, crumpled notes and began to count them. When he was done, he folded the wad in half and shoved it into an already bulging waistcoat pocket. There were three other pockets in the dandified checked waistcoat, Patsy couldn’t help noticing, equally well stuffed with cash. ‘I make that thirty quid, which just about covers what she owed me from our first bit o’ business, not counting interest for the extra three months she’s taken to pay it. Fetch me the same again tomorrow, and the two wee colleens can go home to their mammy.’
Fools Fall in Love Page 35
