East End Angel Part 21

Gladys swung her stout legs off the bed and pattered over to the window, peering into the dark. She spotted the tiny red dot visible through the shed window and gawped at her husband. She'd thought he was imagining things but she'd definitely seen a light too. She gripped his elbow, shaking it punitively. 'Why didn't you lock the b.l.o.o.d.y thing?'

'I'm sure I did. I always check it now in case the new mower gets nicked. Someone must've broken in.'

'Better call the police,' Gladys urged. The s.h.i.+ny Qualcast was Tony's pride and joy, and she'd never hear the end of it if it went missing.

'Ain't calling no rozzers.' Tony, in common with most of his ilk, didn't have any truck with the law. He'd sort things out in his own way. He started pulling on his trousers.

'You're not going down there after him?' Gladys squeaked. 'He might be half yer age and crown you.'

'Well, he ain't having me mower, that's fer sure.'

'Might be a tramp just sheltering for the night, Tony,' she wheedled. 'Just leave him be, eh?' Gladys had visions of calling an ambulance as well as the police if her husband insisted on tackling the intruder.

'Ain't leaving him be,' Tony announced, shrugging into his s.h.i.+rt. 'When he's had his forty-winks he might just wheel me mower off down the road with him.' He put a finger to his lips, shus.h.i.+ng Gladys because her voice had started getting shrill. 'You'll wake Blanche up, then there's no chance of taking him by surprise. If she finds out we've got a burglar, she'll have bleedin' hysterics.'

'Ain't heard her come in yet.' Gladys was too worried about her husband's planned heroics to give her daughter's whereabouts much thought. She gripped Tony's forearm with two hands and hung on.

'Give it a rest!' Tony finally shook his wife off and pelted down the stairs.

Once out in the garden, he stealthily approached the shed with a wrench in one hand and a heavy torch in the other. He got into position and took a deep breath.

'Right, out yer come! Police are on their way so I'm giving you a chance to get going 'fore they get here.' He took two quick steps forward, then leaped one pace back as he heard scuffling inside the wooden panels.

'Dad?'

Tony's jaw sagged at the sound of his daughter's quavering voice. On instinct, he reached for the door and yanked it wide. The sight that met him caused a grunt of horror to erupt. Blanche had her naked backside in the air while bending over, scrabbling on the floor for her clothes. Charlie Potter was trying to stuff his erection in his trousers and b.u.t.ton up over it.

'What the ...?' Tony could feel his cheeks ballooning in rage and revulsion. 'Get indoors, you filthy little s.l.u.t!' he roared at his daughter.

Blanche grabbed her clothes to her chest and, whimpering, rushed past her father into the cool night air.

Tony shook his torch at the man sizing him up with a vicious stare while shoving his arms into s.h.i.+rtsleeves. 'You ... get out of me garden and get going,' Tony uttered hoa.r.s.ely. He stumbled backwards as Potter strutted towards him, boots swinging in a fist.

'Get in the house, you f.u.c.king little wh.o.r.e,' Tony ejected through his teeth as his daughter stood in the garden, transfixed, watching them.

Gladys entered the kitchen to be met by a woman's bare back view silhouetted against the open doorway. She flicked the light switch. 'Blanche?' she whispered, clapping a hand to her mouth when her naked daughter swung around, tears streaming down her face.

Tony burst in from the garden, nearly knocking Blanche over. Nervously, he locked the door as though fearing Charlie might try to barge in and create havoc.

Blanche backed against the wall, still guarding her trembling body with her bundle of clothes.

'What's been going on?' Gladys demanded in a faint screech.

Tony seemed momentarily lost for words. 'Tell yer mother what you've been up to with Charlie Potter out in me shed.' He dropped the torch he'd been pointing at his daughter. The wrench followed it onto the floor with a crash. 'I'm going to bed. We'll sort this out in the morning.' He flung himself past the two women and was soon stomping up the stairs.

When he'd set out for work at first light, Charlie had had no intention of going home again that day. Following a late night romp with Blanche, when feeling nice and relaxed, he'd usually be ready for a couple of whiskies and a game of cards before settling down for a few hours' kip on a pal's sofa. Then he'd be up and off to work down the docks just after dawn. Sometimes several days might pa.s.s before he again saw his family. Charlie was proud of the fact he could get by on little sleep and still be, in his opinion, an all-round performer at work and play.

But tonight hadn't gone to plan after all. He had an irritating throb in his groin and needed a woman to scratch it for him. It was too late to knock up Wes Silver for a sub on his wages so he could pay for a tart like Beverly, who worked out of the dockside pubs. He'd spent most of his cash on Blanche and she'd been a dead loss so he'd have to go home after all to his wife's bed.

Charlie wasn't bothered about Ruby smelling another woman on him. She knew better than to question him about what he'd been up to. But it was the middle of the week, and the landlord was soon due to do his rounds. For a change his wife hadn't whined about the rent arrears that morning when he'd climbed out of bed but had turned her back on him. Charlie knew they were over a month behind and he was in no mood for a bull and cow with Ruby tonight because she was after money he'd spent. Following the run-in with Tony Scott, Charlie felt ready to swing for somebody and if she started acting up it would be her.

His wife had lashed out last time he hit her and Charlie knew if she did so again he'd really pay her, and smash the place up before he left. He'd remain master in his own home, or there wouldn't be a home. Simple as that.

Charlie slouched round the corner and, with his house in sight, felt annoyed rather than relieved at the prospect of soon entering it. He d.a.m.ned Blanche's father to h.e.l.l for being a nosy interfering b.a.s.t.a.r.d and spoiling his fun. He regretted now not having given Tony a smack but the man had caught him on the hop, then scarpered indoors.

Charlie stuck his key in the lock and booted the door open, feeling too lazy to remove his other hand from his pocket. It was completely dark inside, which was odd because the silly cow usually left a candle stub burning by the baby's pram so she could see to him in the night when he woke up bawling.

It seemed eerily quiet to Charlie and there was a different atmosphere, or rather a lack of one. Usually, some smell of cooking hung in the air, even if it was just burned toast greeting him. He stopped and listened, then felt for the light switch.

Charlie blinked, his expression gormless with amazement. Then his lips drew back against his teeth in a savage snarl. 'You f.u.c.king c.u.n.t,' he bawled, noticing there was nothing left in the room but the landlord's manky old furniture. 'So that's why you didn't want no rent off me, is it, gel?' He picked up the poker propped against the grate and hurled it against the wall, starting up some hollering and hammering from next door. Charlie flung himself down in the mouldy armchair, sitting legs akimbo and head jutting. 'Told you, Ruby, you go when I say, and not a second before,' he whispered into the silence.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

'Fer Chrissake, leave him alone! He's only a kid.'

Davy Wright shrugged off his friend's restraining hand. His eyes had pounced on his prey and were narrowing in excitement. Just a stare had been enough to frighten the boy. But it wasn't enough for Davy. He watched the lad hesitating before swinging around to flee. Immediately, Davy loped after him. Davy was at least five years older and far bigger physically than Mr Butler's son. He slowed down, not wanting to outrun his quarry too soon, spoiling the chase. In under a minute, he was alongside, taunting the child with abuse before swiping out with a foot.

Having crashed into the gutter the boy immediately pushed onto his hands and knees, cowering in expectation of a kick. But Davy stepped back, standing over him while he staggered to his feet. Rather than attempt to barge past his tormentor and make for home, the lad darted in the opposite direction just as a van turned the corner, cras.h.i.+ng gears.

Tom had turned away in disgust, not wanting to observe Davy's bullying, but a screeching of brakes made him swivel about in time to see the boy bouncing off the chrome b.u.mper of the vehicle. The white-faced driver jumped out and began shouting his version of events to a little crowd gathering about the unconscious boy.

Tom raced towards Davy, grabbing him by the arm. 'That was your fault, you bleedin' idiot!' he hissed, careful to keep his voice low. 'I told you to leave the kid alone.' Tom blinked at the people crouching over the motionless boy. One man quickly stood up, then ran towards a shop, shouting over a shoulder that he'd call for an ambulance.

'What if you've killed him?' Tom looked shocked. 'D'you reckon he's dead?' He took a tentative step towards the kerb, angling his head to get a view past the group and see if the casualty was moving.

'He ain't dead, the van weren't going fast enough for that,' Davy bl.u.s.tered. 'Anyhow, it's his own fault fer not lookin' where he was going. Stupid git.' Davy shrugged. 'Ain't nuthin' to do with me. I was just standing here, minding me own business.'

'You were right by him, I saw you ...' The van driver was pointing at Davy as he broke free of the knot of people to find witnesses to his innocence. 'Why did he hare out in front of me like that?'

'Search me, mate.' Davy sorrowfully shook his head, playing the part of concerned bystander. 'Just seen the kid scoot into the road, that's all I can say. Gonna be all right is he? Silly sod ...'

'Hope so ... reckon he's gonna have concussion and his leg looks broken. You see anything, son?' The driver had turned to Tom.

Tom shook his head, swallowing audibly. 'Was up the road ... never saw nuthin'.'

'His parents need to learn the kid some road sense, letting him run out in front of folk like that.' The agitated driver turned away to find more helpful witnesses.

'I ain't coming over here and doing this no more.' Tom muttered as soon as the fellow was out of earshot.

'You givin' up yer wages then?' Davy jeered.

'Yeah, I am. Tell your uncle he don't need to pay me next week. You can come over on yer own.'

'Charlie ain't me uncle, he's me stepbrother.'

Tom shrugged his lack of interest.

'You turned yeller?'

Tom stuck up two fingers in response to the taunt and started off up the road to catch the bus back to Islington. It wasn't the first time Davy had set about one or other of the Butler boys and both of them were far younger than he was. Nausea was rolling in Tom's stomach and a feeling of dread because the lad didn't just have a bruise or a scratch this time; he might die or be seriously injured, and Tom knew he'd have that on his conscience for ever.

Davy might have been the main culprit in the boy's accident but Tom knew he couldn't get off scot-free. If he'd really tried, he could have stopped Davy chasing him. For weeks he'd been paid to wear a black s.h.i.+rt and hang about outside these shops so the traders would be intimidated and think something bad was going to happen. Well, now it had happened, and shame was making his guts squirm. If that made him yellow, he didn't care. He'd had enough and wished he'd brought a jacket with him so he could put it on to hide the black s.h.i.+rt he was wearing. In Tom's mind, this was far worse than when Davy had poked lighted rags through letter boxes. He'd been anxious then that things were getting out of control but it had been the dreadful incident minutes ago that finally made him determined to go home and take off the s.h.i.+rt so he could burn it.

'You listening to me?' Davy had swaggered up behind to jab Tom's arm. 'Woss up? Lost yer backbone?'

Tom pivoted about, confronting his friend. 'Think you're brave, do you, causing a road accident? Big man, ain't yer, doin' that? Well, I reckon you're a prat. Now p.i.s.s off and leave me alone.'

'Suit yerself, Finchie.' Davy backed away, sneering. 'But don't come round mine expecting me to lend you when yer skint.'

Tom trudged on, knowing his mum wouldn't like the fact that he'd no money to give her this week. He hung back at the end of the bus queue. He'd noticed Davy's dad in front of him but pretended he'd not. He knew Mr Wright was acting likewise and making out he'd not recognised him either. It suited Tom; he didn't want to speak to anybody right now. He realised that he and Davy wouldn't be pals for much longer. Instead of feeling upset Tom was relieved at the prospect of it. He'd got enough on his plate at the moment: he was leaving school at Christmas and his mother had found out that he'd secretly agreed to start work with his father. Winnie had gone mental, insisting he had to get decent employment. So now he felt responsible for the fact his parents were going at it hammer and tongs most of the time. For a quiet life, Tom reckoned he'd just go down the Labour Exchange and find himself an errand boy job till the war indoors died down. In any case, he wasn't sure now that he wanted to duck and dive for a living like his father.

Stan Wright settled on a seat at the front of the bus. He'd seen his son's mate join the queue and had guessed from the expression on Tom's face that he and Davy had had a bust-up. Stan was cute enough to have seen that coming a mile off. Davy was a loud-mouthed tyke from the Bunk and Tom Finch had seemed a nice polite lad in comparison.

Since Charlie had roped the two youths in on his shenanigans, Stan never saw as much of his son at the weekends. Davy was more interested in collecting his wages than seeing his old dad. Stan was glad his son was earning but he was canny enough to worry about the consequences of what Davy was doing, messing around with Fascist thugs.

Charlie Potter was an all round wrong 'un but Violet wouldn't hear a word against her son. In fact, the more Stan pointed out the pitfalls in Charlie's a.s.sociation with Wes Silver, and how it might bring the coppers nosing around, the more unbearable Violet became. She'd hit him once in front of Davy, and Stan knew his son had been shocked that his father would allow himself to be humiliated. Davy had been embarra.s.sed and he'd made an excuse to catch the bus back home early that day.

Stan understood why Violet was always irate lately: n.o.body wanted a foreigner's b.a.s.t.a.r.d as a grandkid, but he didn't see why he should take all the stick because neighbours were gossiping.

Last week, Charlie had turned up to visit his mother, beside himself with fury, because Ruby had done a bunk and taken the kids with her. Stan would have expected Charlie to be hanging out the flags in celebration. He knew for a fact that his stepson spent more time with tarts than he did with his family. But no ... because Ruby had gone behind his back, rather than waiting to get kicked out, the big man's ego had been wounded. Violet had been as enraged as her son about the worm turning. Any snub to her kids was taken personally by Violet, so despite never having a good word to say about her daughter-in-law or the brats, as she called her grandchildren, she was with Charlie in hunting them down and forcing them back where they belonged.

Stan had come to realise he'd had enough of living with a woman who was a violent nag. So this afternoon he was on his way to visit his ex-wife and put feelers out about moving back to Islington. He was hoping Polly would be grateful that he'd taken the trouble to come over and put her in the picture about their son's antics in the East End. Stan reckoned it was a starting point for rebuilding a bit of trust between them. Then if he managed to get his boots back under the bed for a night, he wouldn't be leaving again in a hurry.

'What you starin' at, yer bleedin' nosy cow?' Charlie spat on the cobbles, glaring at the woman cleaning her windows while sending him dirty looks.

Peggy Mason tutted her disgust and turned back to scrub newspaper over the gla.s.s of her front sash.

Charlie was about to storm inside his empty cottage when he hesitated, gave the woman a crafty glance. None of the neighbours had said anything about Ruby leaving him, but they all knew she'd upped sticks. He'd seen a gaggle of women having a gossip at his expense earlier in the week. Now it suddenly occurred to him that Peggy might just know a bit about it all. Ruby had kept to herself because Charlie had made sure of it. But amongst the local women she'd been friendliest with Peggy. He strode over, chest puffed out.

'I'm after finding Ruby 'n' bringin' her back. You have anything to do with helping her run out?' Charlie jutted his chin belligerently.

'Don't you go accusin' me of nuthin'.' Peggy threw down her newspaper and stuck chapped hands on her hips. 'I mind me own business, but I'll tell you this, she done the right thing ...'

Charlie whipped up a thick finger, pushed it against the woman's blunt nose. 'That don't sound like somebody minding their own business to me. You know something, and if you ain't sayin' perhaps I'll have a word with yer old man.' Charlie glanced at the house. 'Bert in, is he?'

'No, he ain't.' Peggy s.h.i.+fted to bar the door. It was only six weeks ago that Charlie Potter had knocked her husband down because their eldest had booted a ball against his front window. No damage had been done, but Charlie had relished the chance to act top dog.

'I'll make sure I catch Bert when he gets back,' Charlie said menacingly.

Peggy watched him swaggering off, wis.h.i.+ng she'd kept her mouth shut. She despised Potter, like most people, but she was wary of him too ... like most people. Charlie Potter had influential friends and wasn't a man to cross; Peggy didn't want her and Bert getting dragged into a neighbour's domestics.

'Oi ...' Peggy called, halting Charlie by his front step. 'I do know Nurse Finch was helping Ruby load up the car.'

'Car?' Charlie had visualised Ruby and the kids wheeling off all the stuff in the pram. But he'd suspected that Nurse Finch d.a.m.n the interfering b.i.t.c.h might have had a hand in it all. 'The nurse ain't got a car.'

'Belonged to the feller she was with ... same one what turned up here the night the little 'un was born.'

Charlie's jaw dropped and he retraced a few steps. 'Nick Raven?' He sounded astonished.

'Don't know who he was,' Peggy muttered, hoping she'd not caused problems for the sweet nurse. But she reckoned Nurse Finch had enough support in Dr Worth, and that policeman boyfriend of hers. Potter wouldn't want to tangle with either of them; nevertheless Peggy reckoned she'd said enough. 'Anyhow, that's all I know about it.' Grabbing up her bucket, she went in and slammed her door.

'What d'you say?' Ruby whispered in her daughter's ear, reminding her of her manners.

They had come out of the corner shop in Campbell Road where Matilda had bought a bag of liquorice. She'd dangled a black string in front of Pansy's face and the girl had gladly accepted the treat but not yet said thank you for it.

Pansy nodded wordlessly, her wide eyes fixed on Matilda's face.

'I know what yer mean, dearie.' Matilda ruffled the child's hair. 'Them big eyes of yourn speak for you, don't they? I can hear 'em clear as a bell ...' Matilda lilted in a childish squeak, 'Thank you, Auntie Matilda, for me liquorice ... ain't that right, Pansy?'

Pansy laughed, bashfully poking her tongue into a cheek before tipping back her head and winding the black bootlace into her mouth.

'Here, you take this and make sure you give yer brother some 'n' all.' Matilda handed the child the paper bag filled with liquorice.

'You don't have to buy the kids sweets,' Ruby began gruffly, absently rocking the pram.

'Know I don't have to ... just like doing it.' Matilda raised a hand in greeting to a woman across the street. She nudged Ruby's arm as they started a slow stroll back towards home. 'That's me neighbour Margaret Lovat. She's the one does a bit of cleaning for a lady in Tufnell Park. Her lady's neighbour's after a char. Margaret said she can't fit no more clients in or she'd nab the extra work herself 'cos they're all good payers round that way. I'd go for it, but me knees ain't up to it. Think me days scrubbing floors are over ...'

'I'll take it,' Ruby blurted, her eyes springing to Margaret Lovat. 'Shall we catch up with her and tell her?'

'Bleedin' h.e.l.l, you're keen,' Matilda chuckled.

Ruby bit her lip. 'Sorry ... didn't mean to take liberties. Should've checked first that you meant what you said about doing a bit of child minding if I take on a few hours' work.'

'Wouldn't have offered otherwise, would I?'

Ruby was coming to understand, and to like, Mrs Keiver's blunt ways. They'd been living with her and Reg for over a week now and things were turning out better than Ruby had dared hope. Reg had taken to the kids straight away and enjoyed teaching Peter his card tricks in the evening around the table. The food they ate was simple and consisted mainly of bread and jam and biscuits, bought out of Matilda's housekeeping. Ruby was keeping a tally of what she felt she owed and had vowed to repay Matilda as soon as she got herself some work.

Even before she'd asked about employment prospects in the area, Matilda had mentioned knowing of somebody who might put a bit of domestic work her way, if she was up for it. Ruby had been eagerly waiting to hear more about such opportunities but hadn't wanted to pester Matilda for information.

Her husband had never wanted her to work and earn cash to call her own. Mean as Charlie was with his money, he'd sooner give his wife a little bit of it than let her have some independence.

'They're good kids; you won't find them no trouble,' Ruby praised her children. 'Peter can run errands when he ain't at school and Pansy likes to lend a hand, little as she is. She's good with Paul and washes his dirty nappies, bless her heart.'

'Can tell she's bright as a b.u.t.ton,' Matilda said, watching the little girl skipping a few paces in front.

'She can talk when she wants to.' Ruby c.o.c.ked her head, watching for Matilda's reaction.

'Reckon she's got a tale to tell and's waiting fer the right time to open up with it,' Matilda said. 'Don't you worry. They'll all be safe and snug with me while you're out earning.'

'Paul's cutting his teeth so he can be a bit grizzly.' Ruby tucked the pram blanket about her little son, sleeping soundly.