Dumbfounded, Rose could only stare at him, her heart beginning to beat wildly. Tugging to release herself, she cried, ‘Let go, Frank, it’s nothing to do with you. Go away, I don’t want you here.’
‘Well, that’s just too fucking bad, girl. ’Cos I’m here and I’m taking you home.’
The bar had fallen silent, all eyes and ears on the couple struggling across the bar.
Holding Rose’s wrists in a vice-like grip, Frankie snarled at the publican, ‘This is your doing, Dixon.
I warned you what would happen if you took any liberties with her. I’ll be back to deal with you later. As for you, you stupid little cow, get yourself from behind that bar and no fucking arguments. I ain’t in the mood.’
Rose felt as if she was being suffocated. As well as the pain Frankie was inflicting on her wrists, she felt overwhelming humiliation and struggled even harder to free herself.
Then, an unexpected ally came to her rescue. Sally, her face troubled, stepped forward. ‘’Ere, come on, Frankie, let the girl go. She ain’t doing any harm – just trying to earn a few extra bob like the rest of us. She—’
Frankie lifted his free arm and brought the back of his hand down viciously across the barmaid’s face, sending her reeling back against the bottle-lined shelves.
A united gasp went up from the crowd, but none dared interfere; not when Frankie Buchannon was involved.
Rose watched in horror as Sally crashed to the ground. Then, all the pent-up anger, fear and frustration that had been building for weeks were suddenly let loose. She snatched up an empty bottle from the bar and waved it in Frankie’s face, screaming hysterically, ‘You bastard! There was no need for that. She was only trying to help me. And take your hands off me, or I swear I’ll brain you with this. I mean it, Frankie. I’ve had enough of people telling me what to do. I’ve had enough. Do you hear me, Frankie? I’ve had enough, I can’t take any more.’
Slowly Frankie released her, the anger dying from his face. Looking behind Rose to where Sally was stumbling to her feet, and then to the strained face of Henry Dixon, he snarled, ‘You ain’t heard the last of this, Dixon.’ Then he was gone, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. In the hushed bar, Henry Dixon shook himself into action. He was badly shaken, but he’d never admit it. In his position to show any sign of weakness would be fatal. He’d stood up to Buchannon, and others like him, for years. He wasn’t going to start crumbling now. He cast a scornful eye over the crowded bar as he roared, ‘What’s the matter with you lot? Seen enough, have you? Well, the show’s over so you can all stop gawping and get on with what you were doing. And you, Bill,’ he shouted down the bar, to where the frail potman was attempting to comfort the weeping Rose, ‘get your arse down here and sweep up these bleeding glasses before I fall over ’em and cut me throat.’
The white-haired old man gave Rose an awkward pat on the arm and shambled off to do as he was bidden.
Dixon poured himself a large whisky. Both of his barmaids looked as if they were about to keel over. His eyes swept over Rose and a sense of outrage filled him at the thought of the way in which Frankie had treated her. Poor little cow. Something was bothering her – else she wouldn’t have offered to pull in the punters by showing her wares.
Frankie’s parting words reverberated in his mind, and he poured himself another drink. He must have been mad to take Rose up on her offer: he’d known there would be hell to pay once Frankie found out. But this was his livelihood, this pub. It was up to him to decide who served behind the bar, not Frankie Buchannon or anyone else. Besides, once Rose had made the offer, what could he have done? Admit he was afraid of upsetting Frankie and turn her down? Never!
The whisky had settled in his bloodstream, giving him courage and helping to blot out the threat hanging over him. He strode down the bar, replenished his glass and poured one extra which he held out to Sally. ‘’Ere, you look like you could do with it. What about you, Rosie, love? D’yer want me to pour you one an’ all?’
Weakly, Rose shook her head. She was trembling all over and felt as if she was going to be sick. In all her life she had never seen Frankie behave like that – and the language he’d used! She shivered, hugging herself for comfort. He had been like a stranger and it had frightened her badly. If he could behave like that at seeing her in a low-cut blouse, what would he do if he found out she was pregnant? Dear God! It didn’t bear thinking about. She had to get out of here and do what she’d planned. Rose clenched her sweating palms and appealed to Henry, ‘Can – can I leave early, Mr Dixon? My shift’s nearly over and…’
Fortified by the amber spirit, Dixon nodded, his voice strong and decisive for the benefit of his customers. ‘Yeah, you get off, Rosie. Me and Sally will manage till Reet gets in, won’t we, Sal?’
Rose looked at the woman who had always had it in for her, bewildered at why she should risk Frankie’s wrath for someone she didn’t like.
Sally’s face still bore the imprint of Frankie’s hand, but she shrugged indifferently. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
Mumbling her thanks, Rose went into the back to get her bag, her legs wobbly. On her way out she stopped by Sally and said shyly, ‘Thanks, Sally. It was good of you to try to help me like that. I’m very grateful, and I’m truly sorry for what Frank did to you. I feel ashamed for having brought it on you. I’m sorry.’
Embarrassed by the fulsome speech, Sally muttered self-consciously, ‘Yeah, well, I’d’ve done the same for any woman ’cos no other bugger will.’
Rose gave a tremulous smile, understanding the other woman’s brusqueness. Just because Sally had tried to help her didn’t mean that they had suddenly become good friends. The bickering would probably start all over again, once this episode was forgotten, but she was grateful, and she wouldn’t forget how Sally had put herself at risk to help her while others had stood by and done nothing. She checked the clock over the bar: her appointment with the doctor Rita had found was in an hour’s time.
A rush of bile rose in her throat, sending her stomach into a lurching wave of renewed fear. But there was no turning back now. Any idea she might have had about changing her mind had been washed out by Frankie’s murderous rage.
Head held high, Rose passed the curious men and women who had witnessed the altercation between herself and the proclaimed Lord of the Manor, and let herself out of the pub.
It was a lovely August evening. Warm, clear and sunny. An evening when it felt good to be alive. And she was on her way to murder her unborn child.
Trying to calm the nervous fluttering in her stomach she walked grimly away from the pub. With each step she took she murmured to herself, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I don’t have any choice. I’m sorry, little one. You’re never going to see the beauty of this world, nor the cruelty and pain. I’m sorry, love… Please, please forgive me… please…’
Chapter Fourteen
When Rose arrived at the address Rita had given her, instead of going straight in, as she had planned, she hurried by, her head hanging low as if her intention was clear to everyone who saw her. She was in turmoil as she tried to drag up the courage to return to the innocuous-looking end-of-terrace house on the corner of Graham Road. Now that the time had arrived, she wasn’t sure she could go through with it. Wandering aimlessly, Rose tried again to think of other ways out of her predicament, but there were none.
‘Come on, girl. Don’t lose your nerve now. This time tomorrow it’ll all be over and then you can get on with your life,’ she said to herself, as if she were talking to another person. ‘Just take a deep breath and get on with it. The longer you hang around out here, the harder it’s going to be.’
She turned round and retraced her steps. As she drew nearer to the house, a steel curtain seemed to drop over her eyes, blocking out all further thoughts. Then she was knocking on the green-painted door and being ushered inside by an elderly, nervous-looking woman, who glanced quickly up and down the road as if making sure no one was watching. She showed Rose i
nto a shabby but clean parlour, talking all the while. ‘Now don’t you worry about nothing, darlin’. You’re in safe hands here. Me husband’s a doctor, so he knows what he’s doing.’
Rose stared numbly at the sparrow-like woman, who was now looking at her impatiently. ‘Well, come along, dear. Haven’t you got something to give me?’ As Rose continued to stare blankly, the woman added, ‘The money, dear. You have brought the money, I hope? Only my husband takes a great risk helping you young girls out of trouble and he can’t afford to do it for nothing.’
Rose fumbled at the clasp of her handbag and her nerveless fingers extracted the agreed sum. On seeing the folded notes, the woman became more amenable, clucking over Rose as if she were a dear family friend. The money disappeared into the palm of one hand, and with the other she steered the silent girl into another room off the parlour, talking cheerfully as if Rose had just popped in for tea. ‘This is me husband’s surgery. You just slip your things off, love, and I’ll get you ready. There’s no need to look so frightened, dear. He knows what he’s doing. Not like some of these back-street butchers you could’ve ended up with.’ As she talked, she was deftly helping Rose take off her skirt and undergarments. Rose let herself be led to a long, high leather couch, too traumatised to offer any resistance, wanting only to have the whole sordid business over and done with.
The room reeked of disinfectant and bleaching agents, but it was the trolley, bearing a row of unfamiliar and wicked-looking instruments, that struck fresh terror into Rose’s heart. Closing her eyes she lay back, trying to erase the sight from her mind. ‘Will… will he give me something to knock me out? I… I don’t want to be awake while he… he… Oh, dear… I’m sor– sorry.’
‘Now don’t you worry your pretty little head about nothing, love.’ The woman darted around Rose, making motherly sounds. ‘You’ll get the same sort of treatment here as you’d get in any fancy hospital. You wait and see… Oh, here he is.’ A large, shambling man had entered the tiny room. Rose felt a rush of air as he whipped the bleached sheet unceremoniously off her quivering body. Then rough hands were forcing her legs apart and she felt cold steel touch the inside of her thigh. With a startled gasp she tried to sit up but was roughly pushed down again.
‘Now, now, we’ll have none of that, dear. Me husband ain’t got all day. So the sooner we get this dealt with the better for all of us.’
Rose looked wildly at the bearded man looming over her. A strong odour of whisky wafted over her face and she retched. Hitting out blindly at the hands prising her legs apart, she tried to sit up again. ‘Bleeding hell! What you playing at, girl?’ The woman was breathing heavily as she tried to stop Rose from clamping her legs together. ‘If you’d kept your legs shut in the first place, you wouldn’t be here now. Look, the doctor’s gonna give you something to make you sleep. When you wake up it’ll all be over. Come on, girl, breathe deeply, that’s it…’
Rose felt a damp cloth being pressed over her nose and mouth, and her struggles became fainter. A great darkness descended and behind her eyelids tiny red spots danced erratically. Yet the chloroform didn’t work quickly enough. Rose went into shock as a razor-sharp pain ripped through her body, tearing her insides apart, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth between her legs. Then the bird-like woman started screaming – the shrill sounds of panic becoming fainter and fainter until they faded away completely.
* * *
‘You expecting someone, Rita? Only that’s the fourth time you’ve looked at the clock in the last five minutes.’
The dark-haired barmaid jumped guiltily as her companion, a livid dark bruise already forming down the left side of her face, eyed her quizzically. ‘No, no, I ain’t expecting anyone.’
Sally remained unconvinced. Sidling up to her workmate she nudged Rita and winked. ‘Go on, tell us. Who’s the lucky feller, then? Is it someone you’ve met in here?’
Rita turned away irritably. ‘I ain’t waiting for anybody, Sal. I was just seeing what time it was, that’s all.’
Sally shrugged. ‘Please yourself, Reet, It ain’t no skin off my nose – oy, watch what you’re doing, mate. You nearly had me fingers off then. What’s up with you tonight?’
Sally pulled her hand away quickly from the cash drawer and looked at her friend in annoyance. ‘I’ll be glad to get home tonight. First I get clobbered for trying to help out Rose, an’ now you try and chop me bleeding hand off.’
‘I said sorry, didn’t I? Don’t go on at me, Sal. I ain’t in the mood for your larking about tonight.’
A frown knotted Sally’s forehead. In all the years she’d worked with Rita, she’d never known her friend to be offhand or touchy. She was normally a laugh a minute, was Rita. Shoving a pint of beer across the counter to a waiting customer, Sally moved to where Henry Dixon was chatting to some of his regulars. ‘’Ere, d’yer know what’s up with Rita, Henry? She’s been like a cat on hot bricks since she came in.’
Dixon broke off his conversation to glare at his senior barmaid. ‘How the bleeding hell should I know what’s wrong with her? Why don’t you ask if you’re so worried? It ain’t – Aw, shit! What the bleeding hell’s she done now?’ he roared as the sound of breaking glass rang out for the second time that day.
Quickly Sally diverted her governor’s attention. ‘It’s all right, Henry. I’ll see to it. You carry on having a natter.’
She moved swiftly to where Rita was crouching on the floor over a smashed glass and hissed, ‘Look, Reet, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or not? I might be able to help if you’ll let me know what’s up.’
Rita’s eyes were shimmering. ‘It’s Rosie, Sal. I should never have let her go on her own but she said she wanted it that way. Oh, Sal… if anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive meself.’
Sally’s eyes narrowed as a glimmer of suspicion sprang to her mind. She grabbed Rita’s arm and said roughly, ‘What you talking about, Reet? Where’s Rose gone? An’ what’s it got to do with you?’
When Rita didn’t reply, Sally let out a loud exclamation of fury. ‘She’s gone to get rid of the baby, ain’t she? The stupid little bitch. And you helped her, didn’t you? Well, didn’t you?’
A small group of men were clamouring for service, and without stopping her tirade Sally deftly pulled the pints, slopping the contents over the counter, and took the money from outstretched hands.
Beside her, Rita moaned softly and moved over to the doorway behind the bar. ‘Don’t you go at me, Sal. I was only trying to help the poor little cow. I did me best to talk her out of it, but she wasn’t having any of it. If I hadn’t found her someone, she might have ended up with some old witch and a pair of knitting needles.’
‘Yeah, yeah, all right, Reet.’ Sally stood still for a minute, lost in thought, then asked, ‘Where’s she gone, then?’
Rita looked round to make sure no one was listening, then whispered, ‘Old Dr Lewis, you know. The one in Graham Road, opposite the Hackney Infirmary.’
Sally let out a mirthless laugh. ‘That’s a bit of luck then, ain’t it? If anything goes wrong, she won’t have far to crawl for help.’
Sally’s thoughts raced as she deliberated whether or not to ignore the piece of news that Rita had dropped in her lap. Ten minutes passed, then, uttering an angry oath directed at herself, Sally marched up to Dixon and declared, ‘I’m off, Henry. Something important’s come up. You can dock me wages later.’
Dixon choked on his drink and spluttered, ‘Oh, no you don’t, madam. I’ve had enough of you women pissing me about for one day. Now, get yourself back serving or don’t bother coming back at all.’
Sally laughed harshly. ‘All right, Henry. You know you can’t replace me. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.’
As she pulled up the bar flap to leave, Rita caught at her dress, demanding, ‘Why are you so bothered about what happens to Rose all of a sudden? You can’t stand the sight of her, so why should you care if she’s in trouble?’
Sally shook her off. �
��I don’t! But if anything happens to her, who d’yer think Frankie’s gonna blame? Eh?’
As Rita blanched, Sally added, ‘Anyway, she’s only a kid. Look, I’ll come back later and tell you what happened.’ Then she was gone, leaving Rita to fret alone.
Chapter Fifteen
When Sally arrived outside the address Rita had given her, she was wondering if she was doing the right thing by interfering. After all, if Rose had made up her mind to get rid of the kid, who was she to stick her nose in? Besides, it would all be over by now. Rose’s appointment had been for six o ‘clock and it was gone seven now. People like the ones who lived behind this door didn’t hang about: they did what was asked of them, took their money and got rid of the unfortunate woman. Some of the better ones, and there were a few, let their clients rest for a few hours afterwards, but most bundled them straight out of the door.
For Gawd’s sake, woman, Sally urged herself, if you’re gonna knock then get on with it. She rapped on the peeling front door, waited a few minutes, then knocked harder. The house remained quiet. Puzzled, Sally chewed her bottom lip while she thought what to do next. It was obvious no one was in – or if they were, they weren’t going to answer. Still she hesitated. There was something not right here. The house seemed too quiet, unnaturally so. It had the air of desertion.
Oh, stop it, she chastened herself. A house was a house. Maybe she’d got the wrong address – Rita wasn’t the brightest woman Sally had ever met. Even so… Bending down Sally lifted the flap of the letterbox and peered through it. The tiny hall was empty, the two doors leading off it closed. Feeling rather silly she called, ‘Hello! Hello? Is anyone in?’ There was no reply. She hadn’t really been expecting one: if she’d had any sense she would have tried Rose’s house first. After all, she lived just ten minutes’ walk from the pub. Instead, though, she’d walked all this way on what now seemed to have been a fool’s errand. She straightened up and shrugged. Well, she’d tried. There wasn’t much more she could do here. Rose was probably tucked up at home with some aspirins and a hot-water bottle, while she, Sally, had wasted time and lost a couple of hours’ wages into the bargain.
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