by Carol Rivers
'On Fridays Ray and Percy always nip down to the pub for a pint,' Dolly added shyly. 'Have a quick game of darts together.'
'Yeah, I look forward to my Friday nights,' Percy acknowledged as the car jerked forward and Dolly giggled.
'Tell you what, you can have a nice hot dip whilst I help Mum with the dinner and then you can borrow some of my clothes whilst yours are drying by the fire. Come on Percy. Get a move on. Or this girl will die of pneumonia.'
Bella didn't have the heart to argue. A bath sounded like heaven but she would have to pay the penalty of meeting the Taylors again. Still, as she gazed at the back of Percy's square, dependable head, she had to admit that the cosy interior of Chapel House Street was a far better prospect to the freezing cottage.
Percy landed his palm on the car horn and shook his fist. 'You blooming great idiot,' he shouted at a man on a bicycle inadvertently being blown in their path. 'You're not safe on that contraption.'
Dolly elbowed him fiercely in the ribs. ' 'Scuse the language, Bella. Ladies present, Percy Shine.'
'Oops, sorry girls. Forgot my manners I'm ashamed to say.'
Bella smiled at the picture they made together in the front seats. Some things didn't change after all. Dolly was the spit of her mother and it looked like Percy was following in Mr Taylor's footsteps. Dolly's startlingly awful taste in clothes, a bright red beret and a rust coloured raincoat, resembled a young Mrs T right down to the lace up boots on her size seven feet.
Yet Bella was envious of her friend. Dolly looked happy, even pretty in a sort of disorganized way and Percy wasn't bad looking either. He did have a nice smile as Dolly had said and it was lovely to be chauffeured.
'This is a nice car, Percy.' Bella leaned forward, her wet clothes making her shiver all the more.
'Yes,' he nodded proudly turning to wink at her. 'Second only in looks to the girl sitting next to me.'
Dolly giggled loudly giving Percy another shunt in the ribs. Bella reclined on the seat trying not to inhale the strong odour of fish. Apart from this small disadvantage, she was impressed with Dolly's catch. His suit, apart from the cap, looked reasonably modern and he had a nice straight back and broad shoulders.
'On Christmas Day Percy took us out to the country,' Dolly elaborated. 'It was really lovely, even though Mum and Dad and Ray was all a bit cramped in the back. We went over Bromley way, the posh part, you know. All them lovely houses and gardens.' Turning to Bella she grabbed the back of the seat. 'I'll bet Micky took you up West again to one of them revue clubs.'
Bella was trying to forget the terrible time she had had since Christmas. Micky didn't call round until New Year's Eve. He said he and Ronnie had been busy working all hours known to man. Bella hadn't told him how disappointed she had been on Christmas Eve. How every day had seemed like weeks with no word from him. And how finally she'd been forced to accept the fact that she was a long way down the list of his priorities. 'Sorry I didn't send a card,' she improvised to Dolly. 'But the time just flew by.'
'That's all right.' Dolly nodded wistfully.
'Hold tight girls, we're nearly there.' Percy tooted the horn with familiar ease as he steered the car into Chapel House Street where all the neat terraced houses were illuminated by the lights of their cosy front rooms. A far cry, Bella thought heavily, to the black coldness of Bow Street.
She couldn't wait to see the expression on Mrs Taylor's face.
Chapter 9
Battered cod had replaced the spam sandwiches though the five diners sitting at the table appeared to be savouring every bite. That was how it seemed to Bella, who was trying her best to swallow the fish that had been fried to within an inch of its life. Dorothy Taylor had served up the meal with as much aplomb as she served afternoon tea whilst Neville Taylor dutifully complimented his wife on her culinary triumph. Though on this occasion, Bella noted, the vegetables were not given credit as Mr Taylor's allotment was enjoying a "fallow" period.
Bella, though grateful for the hurriedly drawn bath and fresh change of clothing from Dolly's eclectic wardrobe – a woollen navy blue wool skirt and sunflower yellow blouse – was now wondering how she could politely refuse Mrs Taylor's margarine lashed white bread.
'No thank you, Mrs Taylor, I'm full.'
'Are you sure? You don't have much appetite for a growing girl.' Dorothy Taylor pushed the plate under her son's nose. 'Come on Raymond, eat up, there's a good boy.'
'Smashing dinner, Mum.' Glancing at Bella, Raymond Taylor flexed his muscles. He grabbed two slices, dropping them on his plate and smacking his lips.
Bella experienced a strong sense of déjà vu as she sat at the Taylor's dining table listening to the conversation; nothing had changed in their happy routine and if either Mr or Mrs Taylor or Raymond had felt upset about Bella's abrupt departure at her last visit, none of them referred to it.
'So how is office life suiting you, my dear?' Mr Taylor enquired as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
'Very nicely, Mr Taylor.'
'The staff seem all right do they?'
Bella nodded as she surreptitiously tried to divide up her crusty fish from the stalks of over cooked cabbage, hiding as much as she could beneath the mashed potato.
'You'll never go wrong with a good team behind you,' Mr Taylor continued as he gazed up at the ceiling for inspiration. 'I can honestly say if it wasn't for the support of my colleagues I wouldn't be where I am today. A good rapport with your subordinates is worth its weight in gold. Twenty years I've worked hard to establish my position at work, but it's all been worth it.' His gaze slowly lowered to the food-laden table. 'As the old saying goes, we live like kings and sup like lords!'
Every head at the table nodded and Bella took the opportunity to guide the last fragment of lordly fish under the lumpy mash. She was smiling as she thought to herself that if Neville Taylor had sold his soul to Poplar town hall for the last twenty years then he was welcome. It had taken her only twenty days if that, to recognize the fact she would never fit at Dixons no matter how long she worked there. She was the odd man out and always would be. Lately she had even wondered if she wouldn't be better off bottling onions in the pickle factory and having a laugh with the girls in the canteen than stuck with the boredom of office life.
'Bella deserves her success, Dad,' Dolly broke in earnestly. 'She was always top in English and arithmetic. Dunno how she added up so quick and always got the right answer. Left us all standing she did.'
'You weren't so bad yourself, Dolly.' Bella placed her knife and fork together, hoping she had disguised the leftovers sufficiently to fool Mrs Taylor. If she offered to clear the plates, she could throw them away in the bin. 'You always got high marks.'
Dolly giggled. 'Yeah, but only 'cos I sat next to you.'
Silence suddenly descended and Mr Taylor's satisfied smile disappeared. 'What do you mean by that Dolly?'
Dolly went scarlet. 'Well, I mean, I – '
'She means that we always practised our tables together,' Bella provided swiftly, glancing at her friend. 'It was a good way of learning them by testing each other. Isn't that right, Dolly?'
Still blushing, Dolly nodded. 'Oh yes, it is!'
'An exceedingly good idea,' her father nodded, a look of relief on his face. 'And a perfect example of working as a team.'
Bella glanced at Dolly. They smiled conspiratorially and Bella remembered how it really was at school with Dolly being totally ignorant of what she was supposed to learn and Bella being streets ahead, passing notes or writing the answers on her arm or fingers. Even on her dirty knees if the case warranted it. It was a perfect arrangement and the girls milked it for all it was worth. In return, Bella had Dolly's undivided loyalty. And considering the wide berth everyone else gave Bella at school, it was fair.
'I'll help Dolly clear the table.' Bella stood up.
'You're both such good girls,' Mrs Taylor beamed.
Bella glanced at Dolly as they took the plates to the kitchen.
'We are such
good girls,' Dolly mimicked and they burst into laughter.
'Right little angels in fact.'
'Dad's still upset about me not getting the council job,' Dolly confided softly as they stood at the sink. 'He thinks Burlingtons is nothing more than a dead end.'
'Well, it is for the fish.'
The two girls shrieked. Dolly's eyes were watering. 'Oh, Bella, you're a real tonic you are.'
Bella nudged her friend's arm. 'Where shall I throw the left-overs?'
'Chuck it in the bin under the sink. Mr Attwell collects it every Saturday for his pigs.' As Bella was scraping the remains from the plate, Dolly said enquiringly, 'It's your birthday soon. I expect you'll be seeing Micky … going out somewhere nice…?'
Bella tried not to look into Dolly's searching gaze. The chances of Micky remembering her birthday were probably zero. 'Well, I'm not sure exactly, what I'll be doing.'
' 'Cos if you had some free time, Percy and me was wondering if you'd come out with us. Have tea at Lyons and see a film afterwards.'
'That's nice,' Bella murmured distractedly, still thinking about Micky.
'You aren't being very enthusiastic.' Dolly scrubbed the plate fiercely. 'We wouldn't want you to put yourself out for us.'
'Don't be daft, Dol. I was just thinking.'
'About what? If money's the problem, stop worrying. The treat is on us. And your precious Micky could come too.'
'Oh, for goodness sake!' Bella exclaimed, as Dolly's sarcasm finally got under her skin. 'I keep telling you he's not my Micky. And in fact, I probably won't be seeing him anyway.'
Dolly dropped the plate with a splash. 'Pardon me?'
'Don't make a big thing of it,' Bella shrugged, one half of her wanting to tell Dolly the truth, the other half insistent that she keep up a pretence that everything was just as normal.
'What's going on?' Dolly probed, frowning into Bella's pale face.
'Nothing. Nothing at all. As I said, I've been busy at work and made new friends.'
To her surprise Dolly nodded encouragingly. 'At last the penny's dropped, has it? I wondered when you'd realize that lots of boys would give their right arm to go out with you. But you'd never stand a chance of meeting anyone with the likes of him around.' As Bella glared at her friend, Dolly's full mouth tightened. 'I'm only saying what's obvious.'
'Well, you've said it, but don't forget the fact that the Bryants were the only ones who stepped forward to help me and Terry when we was kids. And the only living souls who set foot inside our four walls and painted them. If it wasn't for them the cottage would have fallen down around our ears long ago.'
Dolly dropped her gaze and resumed the washing of the dishes. The two girls worked in silence, Bella's last remark still crackling in the air. Dolly hated going anywhere near Bow Street, a road condemned in more ways than one.
'Thanks anyway,' conceded Bella, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 'It was a nice thought.'
'What if you brought Terry?' Dolly said, suddenly hopeful at Bella's softening tone. 'He'd love it wouldn't he? Our treat! Something special.'
'I wouldn't expect that.'
'No more argument, we're going, ok?'
Bella hesitated. 'All right. You're on.'
Dolly threw her wet hands around her shoulders. 'Oh, it's going to be wonderful, just like the old days.'
'Here, what's going on?' Ray strolled into the kitchen, a frown on his face as he heard the last few words.
'Nothing, big ears.' Dolly looked impatient. 'We was just talking about Bella's birthday, that's all.'
'When's the occasion?'
'The last day of January,' Bella said with a flourish of the towel.
'You celebrating, then?'
'Why?' Bella furrowed her brow. 'What's it to you?'
'I was only wondering.'
'About what?'
He stepped from foot to the other. 'I'd have bought you something if I'd known.'
'Well you know now, don't you?' said Dolly. 'And this is a private conversation by the way.'
He turned, his shoulders drooping. 'All right, all right. I can see I'm not wanted round here.'
Dolly glanced at Bella and rolled her eyes.
Bella knew they'd hurt his feelings, but he was such an easy target. 'We are going out, but if you want to come you'll have to ask your sister,' she relented.
His face brightened. 'Can I, Dol?'
Dolly looked shocked but pleased at the same time. 'Actually if Ray was there you wouldn't have to worry about your Terry being the odd man out.'
Bella didn't much fancy the prospect of Raymond tagging along but it was a celebration after all and she supposed, the more the merrier.
Micky slapped the glue on the label engraved with the name of a leading distillers and pressed it firmly into place on the bottle. Passing it to Lenny he lifted another from the shelf. It was just one of the two dozen that Lenny had earmarked for delivery that afternoon. Chewing the end of his cigarette as the smoke streamed into his eyes, Micky grinned at his friend.
'At two quid a bottle, this scotch is a gift.'
'It should be. I was up half the night, nursing it. One awkward sodding batch this lot was.'
'You'd never know. Looks perfect.'
'Which is more than I can say for me sex-life at the moment.'
Micky knew by the tone of Lenny's voice he was in one of his black moods. He'd probably rowed with Gina, and Gina being Gina, Lenny had no doubt lost the argument. Gina ran a cafe in Limehouse and claimed to be of Spanish extraction despite the name of Smith. She had a paddy to match her big black eyes and fierce cockney tongue. Micky had quite fancied her himself. Until the day she opened her mouth a bit too much and he'd witnessed her slating Lenny until his big friend had walked out of the house and slammed the door behind him.
'Who've we got on the van?' Micky enquired solicitously, hoping to change the subject.
'Sean and Ashley,' Lenny barked. 'That is, if those two fairies can leave each other alone long enough to drive the thing.'
'South of the river or up West?' Micky asked aware Lenny's mood wasn't improving.
' 'Struth Micky, what am I? A bloody encyclopaedia?'
'I was just asking, that's all.'
Lenny was dressed in shirtsleeves and a dirty apron. He wiped his sticky hands irritably down his backside. 'They're dropping in the City first. St James's Street, Dover Street and Piccadilly, all bottle parties.'
'And none of it can be traced back to us, right?' Micky ventured. 'I mean, we're just delivering orders, yeah?'
'You tell me, you're the gaffer.' Lenny shrugged his massive shoulders. As friends they had run the distillery together since '44, but when he met Gina, Micky had seen a change in Lenny. Namely that he was less inclined to put in the hours and spend them in the comfort of Gina's bed. Exercising discipline was something that Micky had trouble with himself, he admitted that. But after all, as Lenny said, Micky was the gaffer and as such, had certain perks.
Lenny lifted a chaser glass to the light and examined it closely. The amber nectar inside glittered. He threw it to the back of his throat, causing his eyes to water. 'Not bad. Not bad at all.'
Micky grinned. 'You've got guts of steel, Len.'
'Fancy a slug?'
'No thanks.'
Lenny gave a wounded growl, like a bear, Micky thought, a big brown bear with buckshot in his arse. 'My plonk not good enough for you now?'
'Course it is,' Micky lied, having sworn himself off the poison since his last little "taster" which had resulted in him losing his memory for a week.
'Belly ache don't bother me,' Lenny bragged. 'This is good stuff. You going soft or something?'
Micky smiled broadly and tapped his stomach. 'It's only eleven o'clock in the morning, mate. I've not had me breakfast yet. I'm going down the cafe in a minute for a fry-up.' Micky dusted invisible dust from the lapels of his close fitting jacket. He wore a dark suit that enhanced his smouldering looks. He'd read books about the Mafia and seen all th
e films. He liked to look dangerous as well as handsome, his aim in life to attract female attention wherever and whenever possible.
Lenny shrugged once more then bent to lift the huge glass tank filled with liquid to one side. Carefully he inserted a tube and threaded the end into a large opaque jar. A sound of bubbling and boiling could be heard from the far side of the still. The air was filled with foul smelling fumes and the stone walls began to shine with steam.
'You just make sure Ronnie don't rumble we're still in business,' Lenny warned as he worked amongst the apparatus. 'I'll make you thirty six bottles of fine Scotch malt from nothing more than a bag of prunes and raisins, a dollop of water and a pinch of me own special brew. But the thought of Ronnie turning up here does me head in.'
Micky ascended the stack of crates piled neatly by the door. He sat down on top of one of them, examining the tips of his polished black shoes. 'You leave Ron to me, Lenny old son. He's too busy with his new love interest Joyce and that poxy club they just bought. He's not bothered with Dad's old lock up now. And anyway, even if he was, what would he find? A filthy old room under the railway arches with nothing in it. We've moved location. We're in the lock-up now, safer than ever. To all intents and purposes, it's just a bombed-out pit. So stop worrying or you'll get yourself an ulcer.'
'It's the stink that I'm worried about not the ulcer. People will sniff it sooner or later.'
'This place smells as sweet as roses.'
'Yeah, they're growing everywhere, just look at 'em.'
Micky jumped off the crates and sauntered over to his friend. 'You worry too mu- ' A loud hissing noise made him jump. Lenny strode forward and smashed the palm of his hand on the top of the jar. The liquid inside bubbled as Lenny swore loudly.
'Yeah? And you was saying?' Lenny looked murderously into Micky's anxious face.
'Nothing important.' Micky grinned nervously as he edged his way to the door. 'I can see you're busy, so I'll leave you to it. Get out from under your feet.'
'That's right, do your usual disappearing act,' Lenny shouted after him. 'Why should I expect any different?'
