After Hours

by Jenny Oldfield

  October winds tore the leaves from the trees. Yellow chrysanthemums appeared on the flower stalls in the street markets. The government awaited the commission’s report on the miners. Trade was slow in the docks as winter crept in.

  Perhaps it was general gloom in the country and scant business for the taxi firm that put Rob’s temper on a short fuse throughout October. Contented with family life, he tried not to present a worried face to Amy, and he doted on his son, Bobby, now six months old and thriving.

  But at work it was a different story. He and Walter fought to keep trade buoyant by fixing their fares low. But it meant they had to be on call when sensible men were at home with their families, and Richie’s wage, which they’d been spared throughout the summer, was hard to find.

  Walter worked through thick and thin. Decent to the core, he didn’t resent Richie’s return. Seeing Sadie recover her old sparkling eye was enough, knowing that he, Walter, had played some part in bringing her back together with the man she loved. Every baby should have a father, he reasoned. God knew, too many didn’t these days. He thought of the families torn apart by war, and the millions who never returned. When he looked at things on this big scale, he saw his own sacrifice as small.

  But he worried about the grating, tense relationship between Rob and Richie. Rob’s worry about business translated into a bullying attitude: he was always picking on Richie for slow or shoddy work, expecting him to put in unreasonable hours for what, after all, was a poor wage for a trained mechanic. Walter knew that it was only Sadie’s continued part-time work as a typist that kept the wolf from their door. ‘Leave him be,’ Walter advised. ‘He’s a good mechanic, when all’s said and done.’

  But Rob was irritated by Richie’s very presence. There was something about his look: the eyes, the slightly slouching posture that seemed to challenge, a take-it-or-leave-it attitude that was insulting, once picked up and taken personally. Whenever he came out of the office into the workshop, Rob would have to hold back what amounted to a loathing of Richie. Instead, he would niggle and argue over the best way of carrying out a repair, nit-picking over Richie’s slapdash timekeeping, making it plain who was the boss.

  For his part, Richie enjoyed getting under Rob’s skin without making the slightest effort. He’d taken up the job again under sufferance, as part of the deal for getting back with Sadie. He had no regrets there: Sadie was loving, and seemingly contented with the way things had worked out. They both cared for Meggie with blind devotion. Only, Richie could not swallow his resentment against Rob, who had always held something against him and had sacked him for no good cause. He’d taken to drinking at the Prince of Wales, knowing that Rob would find out and hate him more bitterly. He admitted as much to Sadie, when, hurt and tearful, she had objected to his use of the place.

  ‘Ain’t there nowhere eke you can go for your pint?’ she cried.

  He’d shrugged.

  ‘Yes, and even if you’re doing it to get back at Rob, can’t you see what it’s doing to me?’

  ‘It’s only a bleeding pub, for God’s sake.’

  ‘So why does it have to be that pub, then? Don’t it make no difference what Hill tried to do to me?’

  He felt low and sneaking, but he wouldn’t back down. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’m with you now, ain’t I? If Hill tried something again, I’d kill him with my bare hands. But it ain’t gonna stop me drinking where I want.’

  Sadie had to admit defeat, and accept that Richie was set on a course that didn’t include finer feelings such as family loyalty.

  They got through most of October, on tenterhooks for news from the brewery, sitting on the keg of gunpowder that was the relationship between the taxi boss and his mechanic.

  After school on Hallowe’en, Jess brought Grace and Mo to Paradise Court with turnip lanterns, to meet up in the street with the O’Hagans. Jess herself planned a chat with Annie and Duke. Frances was to come over, with homemade toffee for the children. Hettie, Sadie and Amy were all due for tea; it was to be a great gathering of the women. By six o’clock Annie’s little house was bursting at the seams, while down the next court, Richie was still hard at work fixing the brake rods on Rob’s Morris.

  ‘Ain’t you finished yet?’ Rob looked at his watch. He had to pick up a fare in ten minutes.

  Richie, stretched full-length under the car, said it was a job that couldn’t be rushed. ‘These rods are rusted pretty bad,’ he advised. ‘And the split pin through this one is snapped clean in two, see.’ He flung two pieces of metal sideways. They landed at Rob’s feet.

  Rob bent to pick them up. ‘How long will you be?’ Walter was out on another fare, ‘Can’t you get a move on?’

  Richie eased himself clear of the car and hauled himself to his feet. ‘I need the right size pin to fit back in,’ he muttered. He went to search in a metal box sitting on the oily workbench.

  ‘And a lot you bleeding care, by the look of things.’ Rob was beginning to fume. ‘I suppose you think tomorrow morning’s soon enough?’

  Richie found a pin that would do, and slid back under the car. He worked silently, watching Rob’s legs and feet stalk the length of the workshop with their characteristic, heavy limp.

  ‘Bleeding hell!’ Rob threw a cigarette butt to the ground. After five more minutes, his patience was exhausted. He watched as Richie slid out from under the car for a second time. ‘What now?’

  Richie wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing oil on to his face. ‘I gotta test the brakes, don’t I?’ He reached for the door-handle, as if to climb in.

  Exasperated, Rob caught hold of his arm. ‘No time for that!’

  Richie reacted as if he’d been burnt. He jerked his arm free and rounded on Rob.

  Rob stepped quickly back. ‘Touchy all of a sudden, ain’t we?’

  ‘Look who’s talking.’ Deliberately, with his face set in a sneer, Richie brushed off his sleeve where Rob had caught it.

  The action felt like a slap in the face. ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head,’ he warned, stabbing his finger at the mechanic. ‘Or you’ll find yourself short of a job again.’

  Richie drew air through his nostrils. ‘And what’ll you tell Sadie this time? That you gave me the sack ’cos I wanted to check the brakes?’

  The comment rubbed salt in Rob’s wound. He knew all too well that Sadie and Meggie’s future rested on Richie keeping his job at the depot. He was trapped good and proper, and his reaction was to get deeper into the argument. ‘You’re too big for your bleeding boots!’ he accused, forgetting the waiting passenger, forgetting his promises to Amy to stay calm when Richie riled him.

  ‘And what’ll you tell your lovely missus, eh?’ Richie eyed him with contempt. ‘Ain’t many men tied to two sets of apron strings, like you, Mister Parsons.’

  Rob launched himself at Richie and grabbed his open shirt collar. His face came within inches of Richie’s, saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth. ‘You take that back, you hear?’

  Richie would rather have died. ‘I expect you think you’ve got it all worked out,’ he sneered. ‘Nice little business, nice wife, nice kid.’ He outstared his opponent, gripping his wrists and wrenching Rob’s hands from his collar. He pushed him back and turned away.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Rob felt his blood run cold. Richie meant something by that remark; something that Rob knew nothing about, that was going to make him look a fool in the eyes of the world.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes, bleeding something!’ He ran at Richie. Richie shoved him to one side, overbalancing Rob and sending the metal box clattering from the bench.

  ‘You don’t want to hear.’

  ‘I’ll break your bleeding neck.’ Rob gasped with rage.

  ‘I’m telling you, you don’t want to hear.’ Richie was so confident that he stuck his hands in his pockets. His desire to damage Rob went deep, but he didn’t intend to do it with his fists. ‘Why don’t you ask your wife what I’m on about?’


  Rob shook his head. ‘What’s Amy got to do with this?’

  ‘Ain’t she put you up to giving me my job back?’ Richie’s grin was insolent. He watched Rob’s outrage swell and explode.

  ‘So bleeding what?’

  ‘So, she thought she’d better keep me sweet. She knew I knew. Stupid cow, she thought if she made up to me, I’d keep my mouth shut!’

  ‘Knew what, for God’s sake?’ Beside himself, Rob grabbed a heavy spanner from the workbench and lunged again at Richie. He pinned him against the wall. ‘You spit it out,’ he demanded, like a man who knows he’s just signed his own death warrant. He levered the spanner against Richie’s throat, as if to throttle him.

  Eye to eye, in bare hatred, Richie delivered the sentence. ‘Amy ain’t been a very good girl before she married you, Rob. She tells you you’re the kid’s pa, but you ain’t. It’s Eddie Bishop. We all enjoyed the laugh being on you. Bishop made himself scarce over the water, see. He weren’t keen on being a pa, it seems. So Amy comes to you, and you fall for it!’ He laughed.

  Rob felt the strength drain from his body. He dropped the spanner and bent forward, leaning one hand against the wall. All the colour left his face. The pain was in his chest, his guts, from head to toe. With a yell he launched himself from the wall, pounding at Richie, feeling his fists make contact with muscles, skin and bone.

  Richie defended himself. He ducked and grabbed Rob’s waist, dragged him to the floor. The two men rolled and kicked. Rob lashed out with his fists: nothing mattered except to grind Richie’s face to a pulp. He saw the blood, felt his own mouth begin to bleed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  As Walter drove down Meredith Court towards the depot, he was in time to see the two men on the ground, still struggling. He ran in to separate them. Not caring who got in the way, Rob hit out in all directions, but at last Walter forced them apart and dragged them to their feet.

  Rob’s breath came in short, harsh gasps. Richie wiped his nose and mouth, head down, refusing to meet Walter’s gaze.

  ‘Get him out of here!’ Rob yelled. ‘Get him out before I do him in!’ He seized a heavy pair of pliers from the bench and aimed them, ready to throw in Richie’s face. ‘And don’t never set foot in here again, or I’ll fix your dirty mouth for good I’ll swing for you, Richie Palmer, I mean it! Get him out,’ he gasped at Walter.

  But there was no need. Wiping the blood from his face, Richie looked at them from under hooded eyes. ‘Stick your bleeding job,’ he told them. He left without his coat and cap, limping up Meredith Court towards the Flag.

  Once he was gone, Rob collapsed forward, bent double, holding his arms tight around his stomach.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Walter grabbed hold of him to stop him from falling.

  Rob struggled for breath. ‘No.’ With an effort, he straightened up. ‘Collect this next fare for me, will you, Walt? I gotta go up home and have a word with Amy.’

  He didn’t wait for a reply, but set off, running as best he could up on to Duke Street, to catch her before she set off for tea at Annie’s.

  Amy had just wiped Bobby’s face clean and put him into the perambulator in the downstairs hallway. She stepped out on to Duke Street, tucking the blankets well up under the baby’s chin and heading briskly across the street to Paradise Court. She was already late, having waited for Bobby to finish his nap before she got him ready to go out. She was passing her mother’s house when Rob headed her off.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ He swerved the pram in towards the doorstep and hammered on the door. They heard someone come running.

  ‘What is it, Rob? Oh my God, you look terrible.’ She saw that his eyes were cut and puffy, his nose bleeding.

  Charlie flung open the door and called straight away for Dolly, who ran to investigate. Rob thrust the pram handle towards her. ‘Look after the kid. Amy’s coming home with me!’

  Amy felt herself dragged by the arm, back up the street. She ran to keep up, losing her hat, as Rob took her blindly through the traffic and back up their own stairs. He slammed the door behind them and stood facing her.

  ‘You hurt my wrist,’ she cried, sobbing from fear and frustration. ‘What the bleeding hell got into you?’

  ‘You tell me, Amy. You tell me God’s honest truth. Have you lied to me about Bobby? Is Eddie Bishop his real pa? Is he?’

  Amy backed off against the far wall. For a moment she struggled to make sense of what he was saying. The name, Eddie Bishop, flew at her from nowhere. She put a hand to her mouth and sobbed.

  ‘Tell me. Cry all you like, it don’t make no difference. You gotta tell me the truth.’ He stood in agony, as if his life depended on it. If it turned out to be true, that he wasn’t Bobby’s father after all, and that Amy had tricked him into marriage, he felt he would wreak a terrible revenge.

  Amy saw what it meant. She knew in a flash what this would do to her and Rob, and quelled a rising panic. She must stay calm. As a great force swept through her, threatening to blow her apart, she held fast to the one fact that he wanted to hear. Holding her hurt wrist in the palm of her other hand, she stopped sobbing and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I ain’t lied to you, Rob. I don’t know who’s put you up to this, but there ain’t a grain of truth in it.’ She spoke calmly, willing him to believe.

  ‘Sure?’ Rob closed his eyes. He was shaking. ‘You sure Bobby’s mine?’ Flesh of his flesh. His own son.

  ‘I’m sure.’ By her own calculations, it had been the night of Wiggin’s disappearance. She explained it now to Rob, pinning down the time and place. ‘What more can I say?’ She bit her lip, waiting for him to open his eyes.

  His head went down, he took a huge sigh. ‘I’m his pa?’ he repeated.

  Amy went and took him in her arms. ‘As sure as I’m standing here, Rob.’ She rocked him to and fro. ‘It’s Richie what done this, ain’t it? He’s got his knife into you again. Well, don’t take no notice. Bobby’s your baby.’

  They cried together, until Rob came round and swore to knock Richie’s block off for trying to ruin Amy’s name. She grinned. ‘Looks like you already done that.’ She went for warm water and cotton-wool to bathe his face.

  A few minutes later, they recognized Dolly’s knock. She entered in full war cry, demanding to know what Rob had done to her girl, swearing that if he so much as laid a finger on her she’d see him sent down for good. She’d rushed out of the house in her carpet-slippers and apron, armed with a poker; a formidable sight.

  Amy dried her eyes. She explained the whole thing: ‘Ain’t no real harm done,’ she finished. ‘Rob believes me, don’t you, Rob? And he stuck up for me, see, Ma. Now put that poker down and don’t take on.’

  ‘No harm done! Don’t take on!’ Dolly spluttered. ‘He only set out to ruin a girl’s good name, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, Rob’s given him the sack.’ Amy led her mother to a chair. ‘Wait till I tell your pa!’ She was unstoppable now.

  ‘Wait till I tell Charlie and Annie and Duke! Richie Palmer ain’t gonna get away with this.’ She was up and out of the room and down the stairs before they could stop her.

  ‘Me and my big mouth.’ Amy sighed. ‘Now the whole bleeding street will know.’ Her ma didn’t recognize the word discretion.

  Rob, still recovering from the battering around his heart, found it was his turn to comfort her. Amy began sobbing for the loss of her reputation. ‘Mud sticks,’ she cried. ‘Sling it in my direction, and there’s plenty round here that’ll believe it.’

  ‘And they’ll answer to me if they do,’ he promised. He felt strong again. Amy couldn’t be lying now. The worm of doubt lay still.

  By the time they went down to collect Bobby from Dolly’s, the street was already awash with rumour. Liz and Nora got it straight from the horse’s mouth: Dolly, told them that Richie Palmer had tried to drag her girl’s name into the mud, but Rob stuck up for her and gave him a good hiding. Richie was a nasty piece of work. Charlie confirmed to Tommy that Rob had a pai
r of black eyes, but he’d heard Richie Palmer was in an even worse state. Arthur joined the fray. If anyone dragged down the Ogden name, he said, standing at the bar of the Flag with his fist around the handle of a pint glass later that evening, they’d have him to answer to.

  The episode had broken up the Hallowe’en gathering at Annie’s house. When they heard, via Grace and Rosie, that the street was in uproar, Frances straight away volunteered to go up to Powells’ to see if Rob’s injuries needed any further attention. Hettie promised to take Sadie and Meggie home.

  ‘She’s had a shock,’ Annie whispered. ‘Not that we couldn’t see it coming a mile off.’ They’d all known how unhealthy it was for Rob and Richie to be working together, but they’d hoped it would work out, for Sadie’s sake. ‘Look after her. God knows when Richie will show up. I can’t see no light in Edith’s house, can you?’ She went up and hugged an unresponsive Sadie. ‘You’re sure you won’t stay here?’

  Sadie shook her head. ‘No, I’d best get back home with Meggie.’ Her voice was hollow and flat. She wanted to talk to Richie before she jumped to any conclusions, but the shock of what he’d just done cut deep.

  It dug beneath the false gloss she’d tried to put on her present situation, to those layers of uncertainty over Richie’s treatment of her and her family. If he truly loved her, how could he carry on the feud with Rob, for a start? If he wanted to give Meggie a home and family, how could he spend so much of what he earned at the Prince of Wales? This latest row over Amy was scarcely a surprise, even to her. It seemed that Richie had a mission to destroy Rob in whatever way he could, and it didn’t matter that in the process he would destroy her love for him.

  Sadie stood outside Edith’s house and insisted to Hettie that she would go in by herself. ‘It looks like he’s gone and done it this time,’ she said with an empty smile. ‘But don’t you worry about me; Ett. I can manage.’