Annabelle smiled.
‘Who’s fencing the stuff?’ asked Inspector Clark of Scotland Yard.
‘That’s it, guv’nor, who is?’ asked Detective-Sergeant Plunkett. ‘Not the usual villains.’
‘I don’t like hot sparklers vanishing overnight,’ said the Inspector, ‘it gives me heartburn. Harrison’s loot has never come to light, either.’
‘Harrison?’
‘Knocker Harrison of Hackney.’
‘Yes, I remember now. Didn’t he say he dropped the swag when he did a runner out of the hotel?’
‘Hackney advised me he specializes in fairy stories. His loot didn’t get fenced, either. Start working on the usual sources and find out if any of them know anything about a Continental carrier, some Clever Dick who’s taking sparklers directly out of the country.’
‘Right, guv’nor.’
Over supper that evening, Alice said a feller at Galloway’s had been giving her the eye lately. Ma asked what sort of feller. One with a lot of cheek, said Alice. Amy said she liked that kind best herself. Ma said you’re not old enough to like any kind, so just keep your mind on your schooling and grow up a lady, like your Pa wants you to. Oh, said Amy, one that sells gold watches down Petticoat Lane? I’ll put you over my knees you say something like that again, said Ma, and as for you, Alice, you can’t stop young men looking at you, but you and Nick, well, like I’ve said before, it’s best not to think about relationships till Pa’s out of the Navy and doing hospital work. Hospital work, said young Fanny, what’s that, Ma? Caring for the sick and wounded, said Ma, to make up for all the grief he’s caused his family.
Nick said what wounded? People that’s fallen down the stairs, or been knocked down by one of them beer carts that go galloping about all over London, said Ma. There’s not many horse-drawn ones left, Ma, said Alice. I don’t want to be contradicted, said Ma. Amy said Pa had got to be a doctor before he could care for the sick and wounded. Ma said no-one could look more like a gentleman doctor than Pa, but as he wasn’t one he could clean the wards and read books to the patients. That’s caring work, she said, and I expect Nick knows how much the hospital might pay him for that. About ten bob a week, said Nick.
Ma gave that only a second’s thought before deciding driving a coal cart would be best for Pa, after all. He’d earn a bit more than ten bob. Then she asked Nick if anyone had been making eyes at him, like someone had at Alice. Nick said no. Alice glanced at him, thinking it would be a surprise if he didn’t get eyed by some girls. He was a bit like Pa in his looks, except he had grey eyes, not blue. But he did have Pa’s smile. Fatal to some girls. Ma said well, you’re still young, Nick, you don’t have to think about a girl yet.
‘Well,’ said Amy, ‘Freddy Brown’s thinkin’ about Cassie Ford, and Danny Thompson is thinkin’ about Chrissie Evans, and they’re not as old as Nick.’
‘Yes,’ said Fanny, ‘but Freddy and Danny don’t ’ave dads that are in the Navy.’
‘Bless us,’ said Ma, ‘imagine you talkin’ sense like that, Fanny.’ And she went all perky at knowing her youngest knew how many beans made five.
Cassie turned up again at that evening’s committee meeting. She’d come, she said, to support Dumpling in a certain matter. If you’re not careful, Cassie, said Nick, it’ll go down in the rules that every time you turn up Danny has to open the parlour window and Jimmy has to chuck you out of it. Oh, what a kind thought, opening the window first, said Cassie, but I’m not seconding it, all the same. Freddy, she’s your headache, said Nick, do something about her. Well, I ask you man to man, Nick, said Freddy, haven’t I been trying to do something about her nearly all me life? And where’s it got me? Up a ruddy gum tree.
I want to say something about the particular matter, said Dumpling. Read the minutes of the last meeting, said Nick. Yes, all right, Nick, said Dumpling, and read them. When they’d been passed, she said the committee ought to make a new rule about how the team should behave on foggy Saturday afternoons when matches had to be cancelled. Cassie said she seconded that. Nick said shut up, then asked Dumpling if she was feeling all right.
‘No, I ain’t,’ said Dumpling, ‘and nor’s Cassie. I was ’aving a talk with ’er when I met ’er off the tram yesterday, and I found out that ’er and me both suffered ’orribly that Saturday afternoon when there was no match because of fog. What Freddy done to ’er and what Danny done to me don’t ’ardly bear mentioning.’
‘All right, keep it dark, then,’ said Nick, ‘and let’s get on.’
Dumpling said she had to mention it for the sake of her honour as a footballer and a permanent member of the committee, and also to protect Cassie’s honour as a respectable girl. Nick said if he knew Cassie at all, it was Freddy who needed protecting.
‘But what about my blushes?’ asked Cassie.
Danny looked at Freddy, Freddy looked at Nick, and they all looked as if they were hearing things.
‘Who said that?’ asked Nick.
‘Some voice out of the fog, I reckon,’ said Freddy.
Dumpling said that wasn’t very funny, that she and Cassie were still suffering horrible. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and when I told me dad what Danny done to me, ’e was so upset for me ’e nearly coughed ’imself into ’is grave.’
‘I couldn’t say a word to my dad,’ said Cassie, ‘I was too blushin’.’
‘Someone give me strength,’ said Nick.
Danny cleared his throat and said, ‘There’s been a sort of misunderstandin’.’
‘No, there ain’t,’ said Dumpling, ‘and I feel it’s me duty to report to our captain and ask ’im what ’e’s goin’ to do about it. It’s a shockin’ slur on the reputation of me beloved Rovers.’
‘Are you going to tell me something that’s highly private and personal, Dumpling?’ asked Nick.
‘Criminal, more like,’ said Dumpling. She was helping her mum with some baking in the kitchen on that particular Saturday afternoon, she said, and Danny was playing games with her brothers and sisters in the parlour. Anyway, her mum made the kids go up to their bedrooms on account of creating bedlam. So she went to keep Danny company in the parlour. She thought they could have a blokes’ talk about football. Instead of which she had to put up with a lot of daft kisses and saucy cuddling, and what’s more, Danny also took liberties with her best Saturday jumper. She had to yell several times for her mum, but her mum didn’t seem to hear her, which she should have, as she was only doing some baking.
‘I’m innocent,’ said Danny, ‘I wouldn’t take liberties with Dumpling’s jumper, I got too much respect for her person. I appeal to yer, Dumpling.’
‘I ain’t talkin’ to you,’ said Dumpling. ‘As for Cassie and what Freddy done to ’er, well, she told me he behaved like he was married to her, and when she realized ’e wasn’t, she fainted.’
‘And I don’t ’ave any recollection of what happened next,’ said Cassie.
‘Nor me,’ said Freddy, ‘I was unconscious.’
‘Anyway, I second it,’ said Cassie.
‘Second what?’ asked Nick.
‘Everything Dumpling said.’
‘Is this a football committee meeting or what?’ asked Nick.
‘Or what, that’s what,’ said Dumpling. ‘I mean it’s both. I want to propose that on foggy Saturdays when there’s no match, the committee forbids any bloke to ’orribly aggravate girl supporters by doin’ to them what shouldn’t be allowed, and which is soppy as well. That’s what upsets me most, Nick, footballin’ blokes goin’ in for all that daft stuff. Me and Cassie suffered a lot of it, and it’s got to stop.’
‘All right, seconded,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, bless yer, Nick, I knew me and Cassie could rely on our captain to respect our honour,’ said Dumpling.
‘All in favour?’ said Nick.
They all raised their hands, Cassie as well.
‘I’m naturally in favour of payin’ respect to Dumpling’s jumpers,’ said Danny.
‘All right, ent
er it in the minutes, Dumpling,’ said Nick.
‘What shall I put, Nick?’ asked Dumpling.
‘Oh, put down that on foggy Saturday afternoons the committee hereby forbids Danny Thompson from taking liberties with your jumpers, and Freddy Brown from doing things to Cassie that make her feel he’s married to her.’
‘Nick, can’t I just put the committee ’ereby forbids any Rover to take advantage of us girls?’
‘No, be more specific,’ said Nick.
‘What’s specific?’
‘More exact.’
‘Well, you ought to say more exact, Nick,’ said Dumpling. ‘No-one minds you chuckin’ yer weight about, but I don’t like you showin’ off. What d’you want me to write down that’s more exact?’
‘Well, to begin with you can put down what you suggested, that the committee hereby forbids any Rover taking advantage of any of our lady supporters. Then add that if Danny mucks about with your jumpers and Freddy makes Cassie faint, they’ve got to marry you.’
‘Eh?’ gasped Dumpling.
‘I second that,’ said Cassie.
‘Oh, me gawd,’ said Dumpling, ‘you ain’t serious, Nick, are yer?’
‘Well, course ’e is, Dumpling,’ said Danny. ‘As captain, it’s ’is duty to be serious. You get it entered, and I’ll come round and see yer next time it’s too foggy for football.’
‘I’ll break yer legs,’ gasped Dumpling. ‘Nick, I ain’t—’
‘Add further,’ said Nick, ‘that the committee lays down this rule for the honour of the Rovers.’
‘No, I ain’t goin’ to,’ said Dumpling. ‘Blow that for a lark, I won’t be able to call me footballin’ legs me own, nor me jumpers.’
‘Mind you, Chrissie,’ said Cassie, ‘we’ve got to do something on foggy Saturday afternoons.’
‘I think I’ll go to the flicks meself and put me person and me honour out of harm’s way,’ said Freddy.
‘Some hopes,’ said Cassie.
‘Anyway, I’m just goin’ to enter the bit about the team bein’ forbidden to take advantage of us girls,’ said Dumpling.
‘Dumpling,’ said Danny, ‘might I implore yer to believe I ’old yer jumpers sacred? It was all that fog, yer know. I couldn’t see what I was doin’.’
‘Well, it’s all officially forbidden now,’ said Dumpling.
‘Only on foggy Saturdays,’ murmured Cassie, ‘not on foggy Sundays.’
‘’Ere, Cassie, whose side you on?’ demanded Dumpling.
‘Freddy’s,’ said Cassie.
‘Cassie, you’re confusin’ me,’ protested Dumpling.
‘It’s her clockwork brainbox,’ said Nick, ‘it’s not the same as ours, Dumpling.’
‘Can we get on?’ said Freddy. ‘Then I can treat Cassie to some fish and chips.’
‘Crikey, he loves me,’ said Cassie.
There were no items of great note, and the meeting came to a finish twenty minutes later, Saturday’s team having been selected, and Dumpling having said a prayer that it wouldn’t be foggy.
Freddy treated Cassie to plaice and chips, a penny more than cod and chips, and Cassie said she’d tell her dad what it meant.
‘What’ll yer tell him, then?’ asked Freddy, as they sauntered along eating the meal out of newspaper.
‘That you love me,’ said Cassie. ‘Is it a sort of mad love, Freddy?’
‘It makes me feel I might get certified,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, help, that’s mad love all right,’ said Cassie.
Freddy and Cassie, with their cross-talk, understood each other perfectly. Freddy knew there was no other girl for him but Cassie, and Cassie knew he knew.
Annabelle was out at a dance with a group of friends, and Lizzy and Ned were at home, seated beside the living-room fire like a long-established married couple who didn’t need anything more than that. Bobby, Emma and Edward, their other children, had just gone up to bed.
‘I think that girl’s up to something,’ said Lizzy, pausing in her needlework.
‘Which one,’ said Ned, ‘Emma or Annabelle?’
‘I’m surprised you have to ask,’ said Lizzy, ‘it’s only Annabelle who gets up to things.’
‘Just enthusiasms,’ said Ned. ‘They usually only last five minutes and they’re always harmless.’
‘Well, I think this one’s lasting longer than five minutes,’ said Lizzy. ‘She’s got a secret behind those smiles of hers, and I just wonder if it’s anything to do with that young man I told you she’d met at her great-uncle’s offices.’
‘Well, if it is, I think she might have an interest in him,’ said Ned. ‘She’s grown out of all the boys she knows, she’s just of the age when a girl looks for someone older than boys.’
‘She ought to tell us if she’s up to something with this one,’ said Lizzy.
‘I don’t think Annabelle would get up to something that would shock you, Eliza,’ said Ned.
‘She’s very impulsive,’ said Lizzy. ‘And she likes havin’ her own way.’
‘Don’t we all? But if there is a young man in the picture, he won’t be a weed. Annabelle would never go for a drip. In which case, our young madam might have met her match.’
‘Here, what d’you mean by callin’ your own daughter a young madam?’ said Lizzy.
‘Well, she’s a lot like you,’ said Ned.
‘Are you saying I was a young madam when I was her age?’ demanded Lizzy.
‘Not half,’ said Ned.
‘Well, I like that.’
‘Yes, I liked it myself,’ said Ned. ‘Part of your young charm, Eliza.’
‘Blessed cheek,’ said Lizzy, sounding just like Annabelle.
‘So, you see, Boots, it’s inevitable that Germany under Hitler will go to war,’ said General Sir Henry Simms, a spruce man not yet sixty and as fit as a fiddle. He and Boots were in the study of Sir Henry’s handsome Dulwich mansion, and had just come to the end of an hour’s discussion on Germany over coffee and brandy. The friendship that existed between Boots, eldest son of a cockney mother, and the aristocratic military-minded Sir Henry, was as unconventional as the relationship Polly had with Boots. Sir Henry’s liking for Boots, and his daughter’s love for the man, had been born of the fact that neither was prejudiced by the distinctions of class. If Polly had ever had any feelings of being different from the lower classes, they had been swept away early on during her years as an ambulance driver, when she found herself identifying with the earthy and bitter humour of the men of the trenches. The moment she met Boots and found out he was an ex-Tommy, he had immediate appeal for her. And if Boots had been free, Sir Henry would have had no objection whatever to Polly marrying him.
Boots, on the Officers Reserve list, said, ‘This country will never be ready to take Germany on again.’
‘Hitler has no plans to engage with us again, Boots, but as in the Great War, we may be forced into a new conflict.’
‘Well, damn that,’ said Boots, ‘I’ll be in it.’
‘Yes, you and hundreds of other men like you, because of your Great War records,’ said Sir Henry. ‘You’ll all be needed, and in positions of command.’
Polly entered the study then. She looked classically elegant in a black costume and dazzling white blouse.
‘Have you finished with Boots, Papa?’ she said. ‘Only I’d like to show him something.’
‘Have you time to be turned over to Polly, Boots?’ smiled Sir Henry.
‘Five minutes,’ said Boots.
‘God, what a miser the man is with his time,’ said Polly. ‘This way, if you please, Mr Adams.’
Boots, looking amused, followed her out of the study and up the handsome staircase, Polly showing stocking seams immaculate and straight. She took him into her bedroom. The lights were on, the bedroom a rosy pink. She closed the door.
‘Is it the Crown Jewels you’re going to show me, then?’ asked Boots, his guard up.
‘No, me,’ said Polly. ‘Look.’ She took from a wardrobe a hanger,
from which depended a semi-transparent black silk nightdress. ‘There, wouldn’t you like to see me in this? It won’t take me more than a jiffy to slip into it. How about it, old darling?’
‘And then what?’ asked Boots.
‘Sometimes, old thing, I can’t believe the kind of questions you ask,’ said Polly, holding the nightie up against her body.
‘I fancy your father and stepmother know I’m up here with you,’ said Boots.
‘Darling, I’m over twenty-one,’ said Polly, ‘so let’s make giddy love.’
‘Here, with your parents down below?’ said Boots. ‘Polly, you’re bluffing.’
‘I’m not, I’m just reckless,’ said Polly. ‘I sometimes have crazy images of you doing it with me on top of an open bus.’
‘With the rain coming down?’ said Boots.
Polly laughed and threw the nightie on to the pink overlay of the bed.
‘Do you know who I’d most like to be?’ she asked.
‘Cleopatra?’ said Boots.
‘No, Mrs Robert Adams. Divorce Emily. Marry me.’
‘Time’s up,’ said Boots, ‘I must get home to my family.’
‘Hope you break your leg on the way,’ said Polly.
‘Bless you, Polly,’ said Boots, ‘you’re a lovable woman, and a favourite friend of mine.’
‘A friend? You stinker,’ said Polly, but she was laughing when she saw him out.
Chapter Eleven
ON SATURDAY, NICK arrived home just before one. Alice was already in, Galloway’s being within easy walking distance. Five minutes later, Amy and Fanny came in. They’d been down the East Street market, shopping for Ma, as they often did on Saturday mornings.
‘Here we are, Ma,’ said Amy, putting the laden shopping-bag on the kitchen table. Ma was in the scullery, getting the midday meal ready on the gas cooker. She came into the kitchen.
‘Yes, Ma, and look what I found,’ piped up young Fanny. She produced a leather wallet. ‘Mind, I dunno what’s in it, I ’aven’t looked yet.’
‘Fanny!’ Ma clapped a shocked hand to her bosom and nearly fell down.
‘Oh, you little ’orror!’ gasped Amy.
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