Patsy gasped. ‘Thirty pounds is a lot of money! How could Molly find that all over again within twenty-four hours? She’s not bleeding Rockefeller.’
‘That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.’ Quinn’s smile had turned cold as he ran an assessing eye over her, from the top of her silver-fair hair tied up in a pony tail, lingering over the pert line of her breasts in the red Soppy Joe sweater, and down the slender line of her black toreadors to the tips of her toes in their flat ballerina pumps. ‘Unless you were thinking of changing places with the wee lass yourself? I could offer a discount if that’s the case.’
Patsy’s temper fired up. Nobody looked at her as if she were a piece of meat on a slab. ‘I’ll tell you what the deal is, mister. You take the thirty pounds, and here’s ten more for that extra favour you did Molly, including any interest she might owe. An over-inflated price for breaking a few windows, I’d say.’ Patsy had been holding the last few notes back, just in case she needed a bit more bargaining power. Now she slapped them down, one at a time on the table.
‘Make it twenty and they’re yours.’
She counted out five more one pound notes. ‘That makes fifteen, on top of the original thirty. My final offer. I take Fran and Amy home with me this minute, and there’s an end of the matter. You’ve had your pound of flesh. This comes to an end, right now, or it’ll be the police coming knocking on your door next time.’
The silence that followed this rash remark was terrifying. Patsy wondered what on earth had possessed her to speak so forcibly. She must have run mad after all. She’d lost her marbles, gone completely doo-lally to be issuing such dangerous threats to the likes of Billy Quinn.
She could hear the heavy breathing of his bouncers as they drew closer, almost feel the brutality emanating from them. They could squash her like a fly with one tap of their weighty fists, the merest pressure of the heel of one thumb. Should she call out for Marc? He’d come running fast enough, but could he get here in time? Could Chris? Would they arrive before she was mincemeat on the floor?
The silence dragged on, giving her ample time to notice how those chilling blue eyes glinted menacingly at her from beneath beetled brows. Quinn was known as a man short on patience, and as he stood before her, thumbs hooked in his bulging waistcoat pockets, rocking slightly on his booted heels like a tightly coiled spring, Patsy prayed she hadn’t stretched it too far.
‘Did nobody warn you not to cross me?’
Patsy nodded.
‘Did they tell you how dangerous I was when roused?’
‘They did, but I didn’t come alone,’ she said. ‘I have friends outside.’
The words were barely out of her mouth when the door creaked open and there stood Marc, arms folded over his broad chest, an expression on his face which surely meant business. Chris was right beside him.
Quinn regarded them both in silence for a moment, then slid his amused gaze back to Patsy, as if saying, Is this the best you can do?
Patsy didn’t flinch. She kept her own gaze steady, a directness to it that many found appealing, others somewhat disquieting.
Quinn began to laugh. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but I like you. Have we ever seen spunk like this, lads? Not in a mere slip of a girl like you. I wouldn’t mind having you on my team . . . on the administrative side, that is, not the chalk face,’ he said, indicating the rooms above with a lift of his fine brows. ‘Though you’d be a powerful attraction there too, if’n you ever change your mind, girl. Make a small fortune you could, at the top of them apples and pears.’
Patsy swallowed, silently resolving to hold her nerve, no matter how he might try to goad her. ‘You’ve got the money Molly owed you, with interest. If you’re a man of your word, as I’ve I heard that you are, then you’ll have her girls brought down, right now.’
Quinn jerked his chin in Marc’s direction, his eyes cold again. ‘Those two go back outside first.’
‘No!’ Marc said. ‘We stay right here.’
Patsy intervened. ‘It’s all right, Marc. I’ll be fine. We’ve made our point. I think Mr Quinn is aware that I’ve not come unprepared.’
The two young men reluctantly withdrew. Quinn made some sort of gesture to one of the heavies who slipped quietly out of a side door. Patsy heard the man’s weighty tread on the stairs, held her breath until a lighter one came running down, and there Fran was, standing in the doorway, looking around with wide, frightened eyes. She ran into Patsy’s arms on a gasp of relief, just as if they were bosom pals.
Seconds later, Amy appeared behind her.
‘Fran? Amy? Are you all right?’
It was as they were heading towards the door, relief making Patsy almost run those last few yards to freedom, that Amy spoke up. ‘What about the others? We weren’t the only girls in that room upstairs.’
Patsy stopped. ‘Is that so?’
‘They’re nothing to do with us,’ Fran countered, desperate to get out while the going was good.
Amy protested. ‘But they shouldn’t be held against their will, just because of something their parents have done wrong.’
Patsy swallowed. She’d come here, under pressure, to free the Poulson sisters, not the whole bleeding universe. ‘That’s a fair point,’ she said, sounding more brave than she felt. ‘Maybe Quinn will consider allowing them to come home with us too, if he doesn’t want visits from the local constabulary in the morning.’
She heard Fran’s gasp, felt a desperate tug at her elbow, but Amy was standing firm by her side, not a tear in sight.
‘I do think that would be sensible, Mr Quinn,’ Amy said, her hazel eyes lovely enough to melt the hardest heart.
Their three companions were indeed released, and Patsy stood watching with relief as they all crept, disbelieving, out of the door.
Patsy was shaking by the time she got outside, with the uncomfortable feeling that she’d only postponed trouble and not solved anything. She’d thought it had all seemed too easy, and Quinn certainly wasn’t acting like a defeated man.
She’d been about to follow the girls out into the street when he had caught her by the elbow, to whisper in her ear, ‘Let’s hope you don’t regret tonight’s bit of business. You may think you’ve wrapped Big Molly’s little matter up nicely, but I’ll leave it to you to talk to these other young ladies’ parents. I’m sure they’ll see fit to speedily settle their own debts, or else we’re back at square one, are we not?
Now what in damnation had he meant by that? Surely he wouldn’t hold her responsible for their debts too? The three unknown girls had taken to their heels and run. Patsy felt a strong urge to do likewise.
The sight of Fran in Marc’s arms distracted her. He was patting her back, soothing her near hysterical sobs, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he held Patsy’s gaze over Fran’s shoulder.
‘Why didn’t you call out for us? And why did you make us leave?’
‘A third party would only have made things worse at that delicate stage in the proceedings. There really was no need for you to come in at all. Anyway, he didn’t lay a finger on me. I handed over the money, and he agreed to let them all go. It’s over. They’re safe.’
Chris said, ‘You’re shaking.’
‘I’m not surprised. Mice and lions don’t generally make good housemates.’
But Chris was getting agitated, looking frantically about him. ‘So where is she? Where’s Amy?’
That was the moment they realised they hadn’t won at all.
Chapter Forty-Three
They heard the scream, spotted a group of figures running away across the docks: Quinn, his two bully boys, and Amy. The scream was cut off in mid-cry, as if someone had stifled it. Then Chris was running after them, and Patsy wasn’t far behind. Marc shouted at Fran to stay exactly where she was and set off in hot pursuit too.
Patsy jumped over railway lines, tripped over fallen masonry, raced in and out of stacks of timber, bags of grain, crates and containers, ran till her sides split with pa
in and her chest felt as if it might explode. Yet still she kept on going, desperately trying to keep up with the two boys’ more powerful legs. They all three came to a halt, breathing heavily.
‘Where the hell are they?’
‘Over here!’ Marc yelled. ‘I think they went this way.’
They stepped cautiously through deserted warehouses, eased open creakily swinging doors. No sign of them.
‘My God, no, look up. That’s where they are!’ Just the sound of the fear in Chris’s voice chilled her, even before Patsy looked skyward at the mesh of girders that formed the sixty ton floating crane. This huge monstrosity could lift a railway carriage as easily as a pack of butter. But climbing up its frame of metal slats were Quinn and Amy. The outline of their two figures stood out black and stark against the moonlit sky.
Quinn was laughing as he called down to them. ‘What is this little colleen’s life worth now, would you say, my friends? Surely another thirty quid? Fifty? A hundred? Cheap at the price, wouldn’t you say?’ He was holding her by the neck and gave her a little shake. Amy screamed again, clearly terrified he would let her fall on to the docks below.
Chris shouted back, ‘Hold tight, Amy! I’m coming to get you.’
‘No!’ Patsy grabbed Chris, struggling to hold on to him. ‘Let me. I’m lighter, can climb like a monkey. And we need to talk Quinn round, not fight him. We can’t fight him, not up there.’
‘You’ve already tried talking, Patsy, and it didn’t work. You can’t reason with a monster like that.’
Patsy glanced up, her mind frantic, knowing he made a valid point yet undecided over what was the right thing to do. Then she heard a great roar. It came from Marc as he charged at one of Quinn’s heavies. He ran into him head first, catching him off guard, and shoved him backwards into the canal, only just saving himself from falling in with him. Chris didn’t hesitate. He instantly flung himself on the second man, and between them Marc and Chris punched, kicked and chucked him in too, right after the first. The two bully boys were much less agile in the water than on land, screaming about not being good swimmers, not able to climb the smooth sheer wall of the dockside.
Marc and Chris left them to struggle, and turned back to the problem of Quinn. Chris shouted up to him, ‘You’re on your own now, Quinn. Let her go. Send her back down, nice and easy, or we’ll come up and fetch her and you’ll be coming down head first to join your two mates here.’
Patsy ran to stand beneath the towering crane, her head spinning dizzily just from looking up. Heaven knows what poor Amy was going through. ‘We should call the police, Marc. Find the dock office and ring them.’ Then she shinned up the cab of the crane and began to climb.
Within seconds she seemed to be half a mile off the ground, though it was probably no more than a few feet. Amy was screaming at her to get down, the wind whistling through the metal spars, whipping her hair across her face.
‘Don’t look down!’ Marc called. But of course she did, and came over all giddy. Patsy had never felt so afraid, almost too petrified to move as her knees began to shake and she became paralysed by fear, certain she was about to fall. Hands grabbed her.
‘You stupid girl! What the blazes do you think you’re doing? You think I’d let you do such a daft thing? I’d rather die than see you hurt.’
Patsy stared into Marc’s eyes, shock and something she couldn’t quite name, pulsing through her. Nobody had ever said such a thing to her before. Who else would wish to die for her? Nobody. He must care. He really must. She swallowed, tried to concentrate her mind on what was happening. This wasn’t the moment for any show of weakness. ‘I have to save Amy. I have to.’
‘I know, I know. But this isn’t the way. Maybe you’re right and we do need help.’
‘No, we can’t wait for that. Let me go to her. Let me try.’
‘Then Quinn will have two hostages, instead of just one.’
Marc was trying to make her go down but Patsy struggled in his arms, attempting to free herself, slapping his hands away and shouting at him to let her go. Even as they hung perilously above the ground, they felt the crane quiver a little and became aware of Chris climbing the girders at the opposite side. He was talking to Quinn in a calming voice as he did so, begging him to let Amy go free.
They saw Quinn lean over one of the lower spars and say something to Chris, laugh mockingly at him, taunting him, and then as they watched, saw Amy balance herself by holding tight to a metal spar, lift one foot and kick Quinn right in the middle of his back with her booted foot. There was a loud cry as he lost his footing and slithered down between the slats.
‘Oh, my God, he’s falling! He’ll be killed.’
He fell awkwardly on to a lower girder, catching hold of it and wrapping his legs around it, hanging on tight, just above their heads. He was clearly winded, possibly even injured. Nobody moved. Except for Amy. She was frantically edging herself closer to a main spar. Grabbing hold of it, she half slid, half climbed down it to where Chris was waiting to capture her in his arms.
Marc and Patsy carefully climbed down too and ran to hug her. They were jubilant, hugging and laughing together in a joyous bunch. Then Chris said, ‘What about Quinn?’
Marc gave a harsher sounding laugh. ‘He’s good at hanging around. Leave him to it.’
Patsy said, ‘His mates are out of the water, see, further down the docks there. I reckon this is the moment we should make ourselves scarce.’
As they ran back across the docks, out of nowhere Fran appeared. She flung herself at Marc, fastening her arms tightly around his neck as tears flowed and hysteria threatened yet again. Anyone would think it had been her at the top of that sixty ton crane.
‘I thought you’d left me, Marc! I thought you were never coming back. Take me home, please. I’d’ve been done for in that place if it weren’t for you. Thank you so much for saving me. What would I have done without you?’
Patsy gasped. No mention of her own gallant efforts, nor even a word about poor Amy who had suffered far more. It was all me, me, me! Patsy rather suspected that Fran had been hovering around, hiding behind one of the containers perhaps, watching their efforts to rescue Amy but not wanting to risk getting involved herself. What kind of a sister, or friend for that matter, was she?
And as Fran clung ever tighter to Marc, sobbing hysterically, Patsy lost patience. ‘Oh, take her home, Sir Galahad, why don’t you?’
‘We’ll all go home together,’ he snapped. ‘Do stop your whining, Fran, for God’s sake. It’s Patsy you have to thank, not me.’
But it was too late for him to scold her now, the damage was done. They all walked hom, shocked and distressed by what they’d been through, in complete silence save for the sound of Fran’s self-pitying sobs as she clung tenaciously to Marc’s arm.
After Chris’s brave intervention, Molly was forced to conclude that the lad couldn’t be all bad, despite his family name. Maybe he wasn’t quite the black sheep his Uncle Howard had been.
‘Will you accept then,’ Amy asked, gazing into his eyes, ‘that Chris is not responsible for his family’s past misdeeds, and is in fact a good man? Not only that, but has proved beyond doubt his love for me?’
After a beat Molly said, ‘Aye, I will say that for him. I can see he loves you, petal, and he helped to get us all out of a big hole. Though it’s not too comfortable eating my hat.’
‘Right then,’ Amy said, grinning with pleasure over this concession on her mother’s part, ‘I think this deserves a celebration, don’t you? We’ve seen off Quinn, and we’re all safe home. You’ve admitted that my husband is a decent chap, and even accepted help from your worst enemy, Mr George.’
Big Molly wagged a finger furiously. ‘That’s only temporary. I’ll pay him back soon as maybe, if I have to sell every stick of furniture I possess.’
She fully intended prising the money out of her greedy son, and in future would keep the market-stall takings separate from the kitchens, even if she was no longer allowed
actually to bake the pies. Didn’t she deserve it for building up this fine business? She saw no reason why she should simply hand it over, free and gratis, without some benefit to herself.
Amy was excitedly making plans. ‘We’ll have a bit of a knees up, this Friday night after the market closes. You can knock up a few buns and biscuits, Mam. Dad can go down the Dog and Duck for a jug or two of ale while Fran and me will make a few sandwiches and things on sticks, just like Fanny Craddock on the telly. How about it, Fran?’
Fran shrugged, feeling strangely detached from all of this celebrating lark. All right, so she’d escaped Quinn and his mob, but where did that leave her? Back in her mother’s clutches, and back on the stall by morning no doubt. Where was the excitement in that?
She was filled with resentment for her sister’s wedded bliss; hated the fact that Amy was getting all the glory and attention, just because Quinn saw her as a weak link and ran off with her. Why did everything turn out right for her sister, and wrong for her?
Amy was too thrilled with this surprising turn of events to notice Fran’s sulks; too busy organising her belated wedding reception, believing that if she could only gather their respective families together under one roof, for a bit of a do, then all their troubles would be over. And with Quinn off their backs, Chris would easily find himself a job now. They could both relax and, hey presto, sex on demand would be the order of the day.
She beamed around at them all. ‘Chris and I never have celebrated our wedding with you. It’s long past time we did.’
Chapter Forty-Four
Many believed it to be the best party Champion Street had seen in a long while. All the neighbours and stallholders came round to join in the fun and everyone got very drunk. There were far too many people to fit into Big Molly’s little house, so they all spilled out into the street. Alec Hall’s son provided the music by playing his guitar, stalls were cleared out of the way, and in no time all the lads and young girls were dancing. The oldies sat sipping their Guinness or milk stout, joining in with a bit of rowdy singing now and then. Buster the dog howled along with gusto and made everyone laugh.
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