‘Has anyone noticed that?’ asked Freddy.
‘Not much,’ said Danny.
‘I was talkin’ to Alice on Saturday,’ said Cassie, ‘and we both agreed supporters ought to ’ave their just rewards, like the team payin’ our tram fares and treatin’ us to bars of chocolate at every match. We don’t mind just tuppenny bars. Would you put that in the minutes, Chrissie?’
‘Well, no, I can’t, Cassie, Nick wouldn’t let me,’ said Dumpling. ‘It ain’t been proposed, nor seconded.’
‘Oh, I’m proposin’ it, and Freddy’s seconding it,’ said Cassie.
‘Yes, but yer see, Cassie, it’s got to be proposed by a committee member,’ said Dumpling.
‘All right, Freddy can propose it,’ said Cassie, ‘and you can second it.’
‘If Freddy proposes it, I’ll boot him through the window,’ said Nick.
‘Can’t someone let Cassie know that tram fares and chocolate bars cost money?’ said Freddy.
‘Let’s get this out of the way,’ said Nick. ‘I propose we treat the supporters to a bar of chocolate each and that Danny tans their bottoms if they ask for more.’
‘Seconded,’ said Freddy.
‘’Ere, I ain’t acceptin’ that,’ protested Dumpling.
‘You’ve got to,’ said Nick, ‘it’s in the rules. Those in favour?’ He and Freddy raised their hands. ‘Those against?’ Cassie and Dumpling raised their hands. ‘Not you, Cassie,’ said Nick, ‘you’re ineligible.’
‘Here, d’you mind?’ said Cassie. ‘Me and my dad both agree I’m eligible enough for the Prince of Wales ’imself, especially as Dad’s Aunt Mildred ’ad blue blood, due to her mum bein’ found in bed with a royal duke one Bank Holiday.’
‘Chuck her out, Freddy,’ said Nick. ‘What about you, Danny, you in favour of the proposal or not?’
‘Well, I’m in favour of buyin’ the chocolate bars out of the kitty,’ said Danny, ‘but I ain’t in favour of tanning any bottoms, specially not Dumpling’s. I ain’t ashamed to say Dumpling’s is sort of precious to me.’
‘’Ere, leave off,’ said Dumpling. ‘What I’m sittin’ on is me own, and it ain’t precious to anyone except me meself.’
‘Danny’s abstaining,’ said Nick, ‘so the proposal’s passed by two to one. Put it in the minutes, Dumpling.’
‘What, about Danny ’aving to – ’ere, I ain’t goin’ to write that down in any minutes,’ said Dumpling indignantly, ‘it wouldn’t be fit to be read.’
‘Well, I’ve got to tell you you’ll ’ave to force yerself, Dumpling,’ said Freddy, ‘it’s all been passed. Tuppenny bars of chocolate for you supporters and Danny to tan yer bottoms if you ask for more.’
‘’Old on,’ said Danny, ‘I ain’t tanning Dumpling’s bottom, I just said so. Nor Cassie’s.’ Cassie smiled sweetly. ‘I was brought up to respect girls.’
‘I can’t remember if I was,’ said Freddy, ‘so I’ll do it for yer, Danny.’
‘I ain’t writin’ that down in Nick’s minutes, d’you ’ear?’ said Dumpling. ‘It ain’t decent.’
‘I second that,’ said Cassie. ‘Some hopes Freddy’s got of smackin’ my bottom, and I don’t know what the supporters are goin’ to say about not ’aving their tram fares paid. I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t all go on strike.’
‘Do it now, Freddy,’ said Nick.
‘Do what now?’ asked Freddy.
‘Smack Cassie’s bottom.’
‘’Ere, that ain’t allowed, nor ain’t it in the rules,’ protested Dumpling, ‘not at a committee meetin’.’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Freddy. ‘Sorry, Nick, can’t be done, not ’ere.’
‘Somewhere else, then, and before the evening has got as far as Cassie’s bedtime cocoa,’ said Nick.
‘Well, yes, all right, Nick,’ said Freddy, ‘even if it ’urts me more than Cassie.’
‘It will,’ said Cassie.
‘Let’s pick the team,’ said Danny. That was hardly a headache, just a question of deciding whether or not to give the standing reserve another game now that the Rovers were back to full strength. They agreed they would. Dumpling asked if they wanted her to play in goal again. Only a blank silence was heard. Dumpling sighed audibly but resignedly, then accepted the silence like a man. After all, there was still the bliss of having been made a permanent member of the committee until her dying day.
Freddy accompanied Cassie to her home in Blackwood Street, off the East Street market. Cassie, of course, gave him what for in respect of it not being good manners to talk about smacking girls’ bottoms. Freddy decided not to listen. He interrupted her.
‘Cassie, I’ve been thinkin’,’ he said.
‘Oh, it can ’appen to anybody,’ said Cassie.
‘Yes, I’ve been thinkin’ about your idea of us gettin’ married later on,’ said Freddy, ‘and it’s just come to me that as me brother Will is married to your sister Annie, that makes you me sister-in-law.’
‘Course it doesn’t,’ said Cassie, warm breath escaping into the cold night. Winter was lying in wait off places like Clacton and Margate, girding itself to sneak into Walworth and freeze a few chilblains. ‘It’s Annie that’s your sister-in-law.’
‘Yes, and you as well, Cassie. We’ve got to face it, I can’t marry me sister-in-law. It’s not legal. Still, we can always be best friends.’
He shouldn’t have said that, because Cassie let out a little yell of rage, and it behoved Freddy then to hop it. She flew after him, up through King and Queen Street. She caught him outside her home. Freddy took a wallop. What a life, he thought, who’d have a friend like this? However, it was only a playful wallop, although it was followed by Cassie’s declaration that if he didn’t stop calling her his best friend, she’d put her dad on to him. She made her dad sound like a fearsome Alsatian. Freddy said he was only pointing out what he thought he ought to.
‘All right, I forgive you,’ said Cassie, and then let him know that if he had enough money saved up by the time she was nineteen, he could buy her a diamond engagement ring.
‘That sounds like I’ve got to propose to you on yer nineteenth birthday,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, and I second it,’ said Cassie.
‘Cassie, you sure you know what you’re sayin’?’ asked Freddy.
‘Yes, and after we’re engaged, you can start makin’ your fortune so as to keep me in the manner to which I want to get accustomed,’ said Cassie.
‘Anything else?’ grinned Freddy.
‘Yes,’ said Cassie, ‘don’t forget to put it in the minutes.’
On his way home on Friday evening, Nick called in at the paper shop. Gran said hello, and Ivy said would you like to meet me in the moonlight? Nick said he would, but wasn’t keen on having Wally, her husband, knock his head off. His head was something he needed, he said. Gran said stop your teasing, Ivy.
‘What can we do for yer, Nick?’ she asked.
‘Six tuppenny bars of Nestles milk chocolate,’ said Nick.
‘Six?’ said Ivy.
‘One each for six girls,’ said Nick.
‘Well, you’re a dark one, you are,’ said Ivy, ‘six girls all at once. It’s yer fatal charm. You and me won’t get a look-in now, Gran.’
‘Nick’s a joker,’ said Gran.
‘Like ’is smile, don’t we?’ said Ivy, putting the six chocolate bars into a paper bag, and taking a shilling from Nick. ‘Listen, Nick, why don’t you ’ave a steady young lady?’
‘I’m just taking my time,’ said Nick.
‘Well, don’t take too long,’ said Ivy, ‘or you might get left in the lurch.’
‘If I do, I’ll come and help you behind your counter.’
‘Under it, more like,’ said Ivy.
‘Not if I can ’elp it,’ said Gran. ‘Oh, I saw yer mum today, Nick, and was sorry to ’ear yer dad’s not got any chance of comin’ ’ome yet. I asked ’er about ’is ship, and she said the Iron Duke, so Wally’s goin’ to try and find out from ’is Nav
y friend if it’s got any chance of at least bringin’ yer dad back by next Easter.’
‘Good of Wally,’ said Nick.
‘Well,’ said Gran, ‘what I say is that seein’ that Parliament ain’t much use to anyone except itself, we’ve all got to do what we can to ’elp each other. When me old man was alive, ’e went up to Parliament once to complain about what wasn’t bein’ done that should of been, and one of them MPs with a bald ’ead came out and told ’im everything was bein’ done that ’ad to be done. Bert, me old man, said he ’adn’t come there to listen to bleedin’ lies, and ’e bounced a paperweight on the bloke’s bald ’ead. The bloke fell over, and as the copper wasn’t there at the time, me old man picked the bloke up, sat ’im on a bench and then came ’ome to ’is dinner. I asked ’im what he did that for, and Bert said it was natural for ’im to give anyone an ’elping ’and, even a baldheaded MP.’
‘Sorry I never met your old man, Gran,’ said Nick.
‘So am I,’ said Gran.
On arriving home, Nick spoke to Ma.
‘That’s it, then, Ma, you’ve put Pa aboard the Iron Duke, according to Gran Emerson.’
‘Well, I ’ad to put ’im on some ship,’ said Ma.
‘Then let’s hope the Iron Duke isn’t floating about up in Scapa Flow,’ said Nick.
‘Scarper where?’ said Ma.
‘Scapa Flow, northern naval anchorage,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, well,’ said Ma, ‘as long as that’s somewhere near the China Seas, it won’t matter.’
Ma’s perkiness was as constant as Pa’s optimism.
As for Annabelle’s uncle, he had made no attempt to summon Nick up to the fourth floor to put him through some kind of holy inquisition before having him burned at the stake. The episode over, God obviously preferred to let the matter rest.
Chapter Seven
AFTER HIS SATURDAY morning office stint, Nick reached the front gate of his house just before one o’clock. A voice accosted his ears from behind as he opened the gate and walked through.
‘Well, if it ain’t young Nick, a chip orf the old block. ’Ow yer doin’, matey?’
Nick turned. Where the bloke had come from was a mystery. He hadn’t been aware of anyone on his heels, but there the bloke was. He was the kind of character who could do just that, pop up in front of one’s eyes out of thin air. A lean whippet of a man, he had shiny black hair and a grinning look, and seemed as if he was just about to spring away in pursuit of a rabbit. Actually, he was always instinctively poised for a quick getaway from the cops. He wore an old black bowler and an old black mackintosh, summer and winter. Everyone in Hackney reckoned he was Mister Horsemouth’s errand boy. Nick thought he was a bit more than an errand boy. He was known as Tosh Fingers.
‘What’re you doing on our doorstep?’ asked Nick, who was looking forward to the afternoon’s match against East Street Albion. If the Rovers didn’t beat them by four clear goals, Nick would knock a few heads together.
‘I’ve come to see yer, Nick, you and yer Ma,’ said Tosh. ‘Swelp me, ain’t yer got an ’andsome mansion ’ere? I’m standin’ ’ere admirin’ of it. ’Ow is yer Ma, still perky?’
‘What’s your business?’ asked Nick.
‘Something to yer Ma’s advantage, bless ’er,’ said Tosh.
‘I’m against something to her advantage,’ said Nick, and Tosh winked.
‘Course you are, Nick, course you are,’ he said, his grin perpetual. ‘You bein’ in insurance, as I hear, you naturally feel something to yer Ma’s advantage ain’t in the small print. Well, I can tell yer it’s straight up and no bent corners. She’ll like it. I’ll step in and ’ave a word with the two of yer, shall I?’
‘All right, we’ll give you ten minutes,’ said Nick.
He and Ma entertained their caller in the parlour, while Alice took over the responsibility of getting the midday meal ready. Tosh Fingers vowed he was overcome at making Ma’s acquaintance again, and Ma responded by telling him she hoped her neighbours didn’t know he was in her house. Kindly get on with what you’ve come to say, she said.
‘I’m wantin’ to, Mabel,’ he said.
‘Mrs ’Arrison, if you don’t mind,’ said Ma, fairly certain, as Nick was, that Tosh had been in on the job that landed Pa with five years hard labour. ‘I’m partic’lar about who calls me Mabel.’
‘Course you are, missus, course you are,’ said Tosh, ‘which is why I’m proud to count meself an old friend.’
‘Don’t come it, just get on with it,’ said Ma. ‘No, wait a minute, I read in me paper last Monday that there’d been a jewel robbery in ’Ampstead. Was that something to do with you and them fingers of yours?’
‘’Ere, leave orf, Mabel,’ protested Tosh, ‘would I come ’ere with me pockets full of illegal sparklers and the rozzers on me tail? Course I wouldn’t. What I’ve come for is to bring you good tidings.’
‘Good what?’ asked Ma.
‘You got it,’ said Tosh, bowler hat tipped forward to give his face a chance to hide itself, as was customary with his kind. ‘First, me guv’nor that’s been an ’elpful friend to yer unfortunate Albert asked me to let yer know yer lodger’s movin’ in tomorrer.’
‘Oh, he’s comin’, is ’e?’ said Ma. ‘But on a Sunday? I never ’eard of any lodger movin’ in on a Sunday.’
‘No worries,’ said Tosh, ‘he ain’t bringing a pantechnicon with ’im, just ’is bits and pieces.’
‘I’ll ’ave to get everything aired,’ said Ma, looking bucked on account of the rent she’d be gathering in.
‘I know yer will, Mabel,’ said Tosh, ‘but the guv’nor don’t want yer to put yerself out. Albert’s better ’alf is a lady, he said, so tell ’er she ain’t expected to do any skivvying.’
‘I’m obliged, I’m sure,’ said Ma tartly.
‘What’s the bloke’s name?’ asked Nick.
‘Toby Lukavitch,’ said Tosh.
‘Toby what?’ asked Ma.
Tosh spelled it for her, then said, ‘’Is monicker ain’t ’is own fault, yer know, it come from ’is parents.’
‘Still, I never ’eard of any Loovakish before,’ said Ma, ‘’ave you, Nick?’
‘Not till now,’ said Nick.
‘Well, ’e’s a Polish gent, yer see,’ said Tosh. ‘Missus, might I ask if you ’appen to ’ave a bottle of beer that I could wet me whistle with?’
‘No, I ’aven’t,’ said Ma. ‘It’s been me life’s work so far, makin’ sure me son and daughters don’t take to drink, like some I’ve seen in Hackney.’
‘Only asked, missus,’ said Tosh, ‘no ’ard feelings, eh?’
‘I must say I didn’t expect a Polish lodger,’ said Ma.
‘Course yer didn’t, Mabel, course yer didn’t. No worries. Toby’s a quiet-livin’ gent that won’t give no trouble. ’E’ll rent all yer upstairs top at ten bob a week, and pay yer monthly, like, at two quid a time. Now, with me ’and on me jam tart, ’ere’s the second bit of good tidings. It’ll warm yer cockles. The guv’nor’s got a kind eye for Nick ’ere and is willin’ to give ’im a chance to learn the profession.’
‘What profession?’ asked Ma sharply.
‘The earning one, Mabel, the earning one,’ said Tosh, tapping the side of his nose. ‘It grieves the guv’nor, yer know, that Albert’s only son is only scrapin’ a livin’ as a pen-pusher, which won’t get ’im nowhere. Anyone can see ’e looks as much of a gent as ’is Pa does, and that he ought to be in the same profession. He only needs a bit of smart coachin’, and the guv’nor, whose name I won’t mention—’
‘Well, I will,’ said Nick, ‘you’re talking about Monty Cooper, known as Mister Horsemouth.’
‘Well, course I am, Nick, but not out loud,’ said Tosh. ‘It ain’t done in the profession to talk out loud. Any rate, the guv’nor likes the way you’ve grown up a gent, ’aving ’ad the pleasure of sometimes seein’ you on ’is ’elpful calls, and ’e’ll look after yer expenses while yer bein’ polished up.’
‘I can’t believe what I’m listenin’ to,’ said Ma.
‘I grant yer that what the guv’nor is willin’ to do for partic’lar friends can bring a lump to yer throat,’ said Tosh.
‘Who’s going to teach me the profession and polish me up?’ asked Nick.
‘The guv’nor’s give me the honour,’ said Tosh. ‘I’ll take yer to the races first—’
‘Excuse me a minute,’ said Ma, and made a brisk exit.
‘Where’s she gorn?’ asked Tosh.
‘We’ll find out in a moment,’ said Nick.
Back came Ma, carrying her broom. With it, she set about Tosh. She bashed his bowler with it, thumped his breadbasket with it, and pushed it into his hooter. Spring-heeled Tosh, caught napping for once, took a hiding before he came to and vanished. He disappeared with one bound, his fixed grin racked with disbelief.
‘If he comes back, knock ’is head off, d’you ’ear me?’ said Ma.
‘Pleasure, Ma.’
‘I’m not ’aving a common criminal like ’im learn you ’is kind of profession,’ said Ma.
‘I’m not having it myself,’ said Nick.
‘You’d better not,’ said Ma, ‘or you’ll get worse than me broom, you’ll get me puddin’ saucepan. Still,’ she said, perking up, ‘there’s a silver lining. We’re goin’ to get ten bob a week from a lodger. I’ll do me best to put a bit aside every week to buy the girls Sunday frocks and p’raps a bowler hat and umbrella for you.’
‘I’ll leave home if you do,’ said Nick.
Browning Street Rovers entered Brockwell Park at a quarter to three for the game against East Street Albion. There were six supporters with them, Dumpling, Cassie, Alice, Fanny, Julie Hurst and Meg Miles. The latter two were the girlfriends of Ronnie Smith and Charlie Cope respectively. Dumpling’s hearty dad, Mr Evans, was also there. It was the Rovers’ turn to supply a referee, and Mr Evans had volunteered, as he often did. Dumpling herself was to be a linesman. She was always willing to perform any kind of service for the Rovers, as long as it didn’t mean entertaining Danny in her mum’s parlour with the light out. Dumpling was dead against that kind of thing. She considered it a waste of time compared to football, anyway.
Pride of Walworth Page 9
