by Sam Michaels
4
1915. One year later.
Norman Wilcox sat in the Cedars supping his neat single malt whisky as he perused the newspaper that had been left behind by another punter. Britain had been at war for a year now and was suffering heavy casualties. It wasn’t unusual to see a young man on crutches having lost a limb on the front line. Today he was reading about a passenger liner, the Arabic, torpedoed off the coast of Ireland by a German U-boat. The government and papers were calling out for men to volunteer to sign up and do their bit for King and country, but Norman wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t have any passion for patriotism, nor any desire to put his life on the line for a cause. No, Norman Wilcox was all about himself and how to make the most money with the least effort.
He looked up from his newspaper as Hefty Howard took a seat opposite him. The man was at least six and a half feet tall, and almost as wide across. With his bald head, missing teeth and cauliflower ears, he was hardly an oil painting, but he instilled fear in all who crossed him, and that was the reason Norman had him on his payroll.
‘All right, boss,’ Hefty grunted. He was a man of few words and little intelligence.
‘You’re late.’ Norman’s answer was steely. As Hefty’s governor, he had no reason to be afraid of the giant, and Hefty always showed him the greatest respect.
‘Yeah, sorry. I got caught up with Carol and Joan having a bit of a set-to.’
‘Them fucking whores at it again? I hope you gave ’em a slap this time. Any more from them two and they’re out. There’s plenty more where they came from. I’ve got girls queuing round the block to get off the streets and under my protection.’
Hefty lowered his head, and Norman shook his. He knew the man hadn’t hit the girls; he never bloody did. He wouldn’t think twice about bashing a bloke, and had snapped the neck of one or two, but he never laid a hand on a woman, even the old tarts. ‘All right, don’t worry about it for now. I’ve got something much bigger going down. Listen carefully, Hefty, you’ve got to get this right.’
Hefty leaned forward and rested his huge arms on the sticky table.
‘I’ve got a fucking huge shipment of knocked-off baccy coming in next week. I need you and your cart to be at the delivery point and then stash it in my lock-up. It’s coming in at night, on a boat. You’re to meet under Kew Bridge.’
Hefty screwed up his large, ugly face and looked confused. ‘Kew Bridge. Why ’ave I gotta take the cart all the way out there?’
‘’Cos it’s a lot quieter than it is round here, so you’ve got less chance of being seen. Stop asking stupid fucking questions and just do as I tell ya!’
‘Sorry, boss,’ Hefty answered, sounding like a sulking child.
Norman relayed the rest of the plan to Hefty and then made the big man repeat it back to him. ‘Good, you’ve got it. Now don’t fuck this up for me, Hefty, there’s a lot riding on it,’ he warned. He’d cut a deal with a mate of his cousin who had close connections with a Liverpool gang, the Portland Pounders. They were notorious in the Portland Road area, working around the docks and known for their savage and indiscriminate killings.
Norman had been reluctant to get involved with them. Just the mention of their name was enough to scare even the hardest of blokes off. But the tobacco the gang was sitting on was hot and the local police were actively searching for it. The Pounders knew if it was discovered, it would lead the gavvers back to them. They had to get it out of Liverpool and fast, so were willing to sell it on cheap. Norman couldn’t resist the enticement of easy money.
His cousin had introduced him to his mate, and the deal had been arranged. Cash on delivery. It had been emphasised that no connection to the Portland Pounders must ever be disclosed, not if Norman valued his life, or that of his wife and five-year-old son, Billy.
He hadn’t liked the threat – nobody from round here dared to take that sort of liberty – but this was too good a deal to lose so he’d swallow it for now.
*
‘Ah, Ruby, look at her toddling around. It won’t be long before she’s talking,’ Dulcie said as Georgina ran on wobbly legs towards her.
‘I know, she’s like a little whippet now.’
Georgina held up outstretched arms, and Dulcie painfully leaned down to scoop up the child. ‘Yes, she most definitely is. Look at the state of this place. She’s only been up half an hour and it looks like a bomb has hit it!’
‘Oh, Dulcie. You shouldn’t joke about things like that. Them blinkin’ Zeppelin things frighten the life out of me! Apparently, ’cos they drop their bombs at night, you can’t see ’em or hear ’em coming or nothing. Gawd, it don’t bear thinking about,’ Ruby said.
‘Then don’t bloody think about it. I shouldn’t worry yourself about all that, love. I mean, the Germans ain’t gonna bother bombing round here. There’s nothing here for them – they’ll have much bigger targets in mind. The nearest munitions factory is in Fulham, or that big one in Croydon… Nah, like I said, nothing to worry about. Just be thankful we don’t live near the docks.’ Dulcie sat back in her armchair and bobbed Georgina up and down on her knee.
‘Yeah, I suppose. Talking of which, that’s something I wanted to have a word with you about,’ Ruby said, looking sheepish.
‘Go on then, girl, spit it out.’
‘Well… them munitions factories, I hear they’re taking on hundreds of women, you know, on account of all the men going off to war. And I was thinking, now that Georgina don’t need my milk no more, it’s probably about time I got meself a job. I’m told they pay up to three quid a week!’
Dulcie chewed the side of her mouth, deep in thought. If Ruby went to work, it would follow that she’d find her own place to live too. If she was honest, she’d come to rely on the girl more than she cared to admit. ‘Ruby, what do you want to go and do something like that for? Yes, three quid a week sounds good, but you’ll be working bloody long shifts. It won’t be much fun. And before you say anything, don’t start spouting off about doing your bit for King and country. What’s your King ever done for you, eh?’
Ruby smiled and rolled her eyes. ‘Honest, Dul, I wasn’t going to mention the war effort. It just seems I’ve done my job here now, so there’s no reason for you to house me or Jack to graft for me.’
‘Don’t talk daft, you’re like a mother to this child. Go if you want to go, but I don’t want you to leave, and neither does Georgina. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’
Of course, the baby didn’t answer but Ruby laughed.
‘Seriously, love,’ Dulcie continued, ‘you’re part of the family and this is your home. My bones ain’t getting any younger, and, well, I’m struggling, but don’t you go telling tales on me. I don’t want that son of mine to think I ain’t strong enough to give him a clip round his earhole.’
‘If you’re sure, Dulcie, I’d love to stay. I’ve never been a part of a proper family before.’
Dulcie could see tears brimming in the girl’s eyes. ‘Pack it in, you soppy mare,’ she said warmly, ‘though how you can call this a proper family is beyond me. You’ve got him upstairs, snoring, farting and belching, and Jack out nicking anything he can lay his hands on. Me, well, we both know what I did. We’re hardly upstanding citizens of the law.’
‘We’ve got love, and that’s all that matters.’
Dulcie handed Georgina over to Ruby. Her hips were really playing up today and bouncing her granddaughter on her knee hadn’t helped. But Ruby was right. They did have love. She wasn’t one for sharing sentiments, but she’d grown to love Ruby as if she was her own daughter.
*
It was late afternoon, which meant it wouldn’t be long before the shops closed. The streets were quieter than usual, but there were still plenty of people about, and Jack had become accustomed to receiving disapproving looks from some. He’d even received a white feather from a woman, probably one of those women’s rights feminists. Jack didn’t mind the Suffragettes, he admired them if anything, but he’d been pis
sed off with the snooty bird who’d suggested he was a coward by giving him the feather.
Most folk believed a man should be fighting the Germans, but Jack held his head high. He was a lone parent; the army wouldn’t want him. In fact, there were many local men who’d volunteered but had been turned down as their health did not match the exacting standards of the British army. What a joke, Jack thought. These blokes had wanted to fight for England, a country that had ignored their needs and had left them to rot in the filth of the slums. Years of malnutrition and a lack of proper medical attention had irreparably broken their bodies, and now they were left feeling further demoralised by the rejection of their own country. Stuff ’em, thought Jack. Stuff them all.
As he turned in to Battersea Rise, a number forty-nine motorised double-decker bus passed by him, and on the other side of the road, a horse pulling a cart jolted at the noise from the engine. But then Jack noticed it wasn’t the bus that had unnerved the horse, but an angry-looking mob of men. About a dozen of them. They were leaning into their furious stomp and carrying heavy sticks. Jack thought they were looking for trouble and slouched against the wall of the Bucks Head opposite. He lit a cigarette whilst he surreptitiously studied the gang.
Most of the men wore flat caps, and Jack couldn’t see their faces clearly, but he did spot his mate, Clyde, towards the back of the crowd. Jack threw his cigarette to the ground and darted across the road. ‘Clyde,’ he called. ‘Wait up, what ya doing?’
Clyde spun around but continued to walk in haste to keep up with the rest of the men. ‘Are you coming, Jack? We’re going to get that dirty German.’
‘Where?’ Jack asked as he quickened his pace.
‘Kovar – the baker’s. Come on.’
Jack frowned. ‘He ain’t a bleedin’ Jerry… he’s Russian.’
Clyde didn’t appear to hear Jack’s protest and was caught up in the mounting fury of the gang. Attacks against German businesses and their families weren’t uncommon. Since the sinking of the Lusitania and the use of gas on Allied troops, riots had broken out across Liverpool, Manchester and the East End of London. Now, someone here in the south-west must have got it in their head that Mr Kovar was a German.
Jack tagged along behind the crowd. He had no intention of joining the witch-hunt, but he was sure Mr Kovar’s business was about to be smashed to smithereens, and that could mean there would be an opportunity for him to get his hands on something.
Just minutes later, and they were outside the bakery. Frightened customers fled the shop as the bullying men began chanting and swearing for the blood of the man they thought to be the enemy. Then Jack heard smashing glass, and saw bricks being thrown through the shopfront. If he was to acquire anything of value before the looters got on the scene, he’d have to push his way forward.
He elbowed one fellow out of the way, then grabbed the jacket of another and pulled him backwards. Jack had managed to get to the front, but then he saw Mr Kovar being dragged from the shop. Blood was spilling from the back of his head, and he was screaming for the men to spare his wife and children. Several of the gang had run inside and up some stairs that led to Mr Kovar’s flat. Jack hoped the man’s family had hidden themselves well.
As the men used their makeshift clubs to rain down heavy blows on Mr Kovar’s shop and baking equipment, Jack spotted the till. He may as well help himself before someone else did, and there was nothing he could do to help Mr Kovar, not unless he wanted a beating himself.
The till opened easily, so Jack hastily grabbed what he could, then made a run for the door. The crowd blocked it, and though he couldn’t see Mr Kovar, he knew the poor bloke was in the middle of the throng and would be lucky if he was still alive.
Jagged shards of glass protruded round the shopfront window frame, but Jack managed to get through unharmed. He legged it up the street in the nick of time as he heard police whistles piercing the sound above the cries of Mr Kovar’s family.
*
Half an hour later, Jack passed Clapham Junction railway station, overjoyed with the jingling coins in his pockets, though he did feel guilty about how he had obtained the money. There was nothing he could have done to prevent what had happened to Mr Kovar, but he was an opportunist and had taken advantage of the unfortunate situation.
He wasn’t far from home and was looking forward to seeing Georgina. His daughter was always so pleased to see him, and with each day she was growing to look more and more like her beautiful mother. He still missed Sissy, and thought he would until the day he died, but Georgina had brought much joy to his life.
He noticed a woman in worn clothes sat on a wall. She had a small child with her, and Jack thought the little girl was probably about Georgina’s age, though she wasn’t as well fed and chubby as his daughter. As he passed, the woman looked up at him from under her dark lashes, so he offered a small smile.
‘Got any spare change, sir? It’s for me girl – she’s starving.’
Jack had grown up accustomed to seeing beggars, and he was aware that women would sometimes go as far as to steal a child to take begging with them. Pulling on the heartstrings was a proven tactic for better donations. There was something different about this woman, however, and Jack fished a couple of shillings from his pocket. ‘There you go, love, get yourselves a hot meal.’
‘Thank you, sir. God bless you and yours,’ the woman said.
Jack’s gaze passed from the woman’s and he found himself looking into the child’s sunken eyes. He unexpectedly felt compelled to ask, ‘How old is she?’
‘She’s seventeen months, but small for her age. Say hello to the kind man, Molly.’
Molly shyly buried her head in her mother’s armpit. Her mother hadn’t been kidding – the poor child was starving. She was a bit older than his daughter but a fraction of the size.
Jack got on his way and tried to dismiss the image of the begging woman and her child. Falling on hard times could happen to anyone. His mother was a typical example. She didn’t have a working husband to take care of her, and when he’d arrived at her house, her cupboards had been bare. But she still had the house, and once again, Jack wondered how she’d managed to pay the rent.
5
A week had passed since Mr Kovar’s tragic death, and no-one had yet been held accountable for his senseless murder. Ruby wondered if Jack had been involved. It was a bit of a coincidence that he’d arrived home that same evening and given Dulcie enough housekeeping to last a month. She’d never know the truth, as Jack never spoke about his dealings, at least not to her.
She sat up in her bed and pounded her pillow. Georgina was sleeping soundly in the crib Jack had acquired, the house was quiet, but Ruby was restless. She was no longer haunted by the nightmares of her son’s death, but she couldn’t shake the fear of war. Of all the things that scared her, fire was the worst, and she’d heard horrific stories of people being burnt to death when bombs had dropped on their houses.
Suddenly, Dulcie’s loud shrill voice broke the silence. ‘Percy! Percy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Ruby heard a bit of a mumble from the old man, then Dulcie again.
‘You dirty, filthy, fucking useless bastard! I promise you, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll stick a fucking knife in you one of these days!’
Next, she heard Dulcie’s bedroom door open and footsteps going down the stairs. She listened to the sound of running water, then footsteps coming back up. She was curious to know what was going on and was tempted to stick her head out of her bedroom door, but then thought better of it. She hadn’t been on the receiving end of Dulcie’s wrath, but had seen the woman’s explosive temper on a few occasions.
It was probably best to keep out of her way, just as most of their neighbours did. Mary next door would pop in occasionally, but the woman seemed to be up to her eyes in kids. Ruby had often heard her through the thin walls, screaming at her children, and even yelling at her husband too. But when Mary did call in, she was always very poli
te to Dulcie.
The night dragged on, but eventually, Ruby drifted off to sleep.
*
The next morning, Ruby yawned as she stood over the butler sink bathing Georgina. The girl loved the water and playfully splashed her hands.
‘Morning, love,’ Dulcie said as she came into the room. ‘You’re up early.’
‘Yes, you can thank your granddaughter for that.’
‘Did you hear all that commotion in the night?’ Dulcie asked.
Ruby didn’t know whether to admit she had or keep quiet. ‘Er… yes,’ she answered, but didn’t ask what it was about, though she would have liked to know.
‘You won’t believe what that dirty sod did,’ Dulcie said as she poured herself a cup of tea. ‘I woke up ’cos I felt him get out of bed and wondered what he was up to. He only went and opened up my wardrobe and stood there and pissed in it.’
Ruby raised her eyebrows.
‘Yes, I know, that’s what I thought,’ Dulcie said, obviously seeing the look of surprise on Ruby’s face. ‘He must have thought he was in the khazi. Honestly, I’ll have his guts for garters one of these days.’
Ruby tried her best not to laugh, but the thought of Percy having the audacity to urinate in Dulcie’s closet, well, it was too much, and a giggle slipped past her lips.
Dulcie looked mortified at Ruby laughing, but soon her shocked expression broke, and she joined in with Ruby.
‘It’s not funny – I’ll skin him alive, I will,’ Dulcie said.
Tears were streaming down Ruby’s face now, and their laughter must have been contagious because Georgina began to belly laugh too.
‘There’s no better sound than hearing a baby laugh,’ Dulcie said as her giggling subsided to be replaced with a warm smile.
‘She’s such a happy little girl,’ Ruby commented, and hoped the precious child in her care would never experience anything like the horrors she’d endured herself as a youngster.
Jack walked into the kitchen to be chastised by his mother, the woman ordering him to put some clothes on. Ruby sneaked a glance under her lashes. He had his trousers and boots on with his braces hanging at his sides, but his top was bare. As he went to take a clean shirt from the washing on the line, Ruby pulled Georgina from the sink and wrapped her in a luxury towel embroidered with Regent Hotel. The girl became fidgety and reached out for her father, but Jack was busy buttoning his shirt cuffs. Then, to Ruby’s surprise, she heard Georgina’s sweet voice gurgle, ‘Da, da, da, da.’