by Sam Michaels
Then she heard his chair scrape back and all thoughts of Fanny’s awful impending fate were forgotten as Billy walked towards her. Hilda closed her eyes and fought back tears. It would be her who would suffer for now.
*
Once the club had finished and the hall had been tidied, Molly gathered the goods the women had made.
‘I’ll leave you to lock up, George,’ she called.
Jack had acquired a punchbag for George, which she’d been practising on earlier and was now hiding in a cupboard that housed a water tank. ‘OK. I’ll see you Friday. Say hello to your mum and Ethel.’
‘Will do,’ Molly answered, then with her arms full, she headed for Clapham Junction. This was now her regular routine, and every evening, she’d help Ethel to pack up. The stall came with a large wooden barrow and a small storage lock-up adjacent to the railway arches.
Light rain fell, and by the time she arrived at the Junction fifteen minutes later, she was damp right through. Ethel was having a joke with a customer, and once Molly had unloaded the new stock, she went over to her mother’s stall.
‘Hi ya. How’s Ethel been today?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ her mum answered, but avoided eye contact.
Molly’s brow knitted. Her mother was acting out of sorts.
‘Is everything all right, Mum?’
‘Yes, fine,’ Fanny said sharply.
It was obvious to Molly that something was wrong, and she pushed further. ‘No it isn’t. I can tell. What’s going on, Mum?’
Fanny slumped onto one of two small wooden stools and looked at her daughter. Molly could see her mum’s eyes were full of despair. ‘I’m in trouble. It’s bad. Really bad.’
‘Tell me,’ Molly said gravely.
‘I’ve had a visit and been summoned to see Billy Wilcox tomorrow. I don’t know exactly what for, but I’ve got a pretty good idea it’s about me pinching a few pennies.’
Molly hated seeing her mother in this state. Fanny’s hands were shaking, and she looked deathly pale. She had the same wild look of fear in her eyes that she always had before a beating from her father. ‘I doubt Billy would know about that. I’m sure it must be something else.’
‘Nah. That Knuckles bloke was here. He said Billy wants to talk to me about his mother’s losses. It’s got to be that. What else could it be?’
Molly gasped, though she tried to hide it from her mother. This wasn’t good. Billy talked with his fists, or worse.
‘It’s bad, ain’t it?’
Molly could see her mother was on the verge of crying.
‘Don’t upset yourself, Mum. I’ll sort this out. Leave it to me, everything will be all right.’ She tried to sound reassuring and was putting on a brave face.
‘How? How are you going to sort it out? I’m not having you going anywhere near that nutter!’
‘Don’t worry. Let me go and see him and find out what this is all about. It may not be as bad as you think.’
‘No! Absolutely not. This is my problem, Molly, and I won’t have you fighting my battles. You stay away from him, you hear?’
Molly could see her mum was adamant and nodded her head. She knew it would be a waste of time to try and change her mind, and though she didn’t like to defy her mother, she felt there was no choice. If she was to see Billy Wilcox, it would have to be behind her mother’s back.
*
Jack had fallen asleep on the train and almost missed his stop at Manchester. Luckily, he had woken just before the train had pulled away from the platform and he’d managed to get off. He didn’t know what was wrong with him lately. He was always so tired, and the Manchester runs were really taking it out of him.
Once outside the station, he found a bench to rest on. Rest, he thought. He’d just spent six blinkin’ hours sat on his arse on a train. Why on earth did he feel the need for more rest? But his feet were aching, and his shoes pinching. He stretched his legs out in front and saw that his ankles had blown up to twice their normal size. No bloody wonder his shoes were hurting him! He leaned forward, and loosened the laces, grimacing at the pain in his ribs. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to be at home, with a good cuppa and a slice of his mum’s cake.
Unfortunately, home was a long way off and there was work to be done. The rent was due, and the gas meter was almost empty. He’d promised George his support whilst she got her ‘club’ going, and though she seemed to be doing well, she wasn’t yet able to contribute to the bills.
Heaving himself up from the bench, Jack slowly made his way to Ezzy’s cousin’s jewellery shop, but every step felt as if he had dead weights at the ends of his legs, and he noticed he was struggling for breath.
‘Come on, man,’ he mumbled to himself, ‘pull yourself together.’
A wave of nausea washed over him again. He’d been feeling sick for days now but had put it down to a bit of dodgy fish. However, he was beginning to think that this was more than food poisoning, and it began to dawn on him that he was seriously ill.
He’d seen it happen to the Baron in Wandsworth nick. The bloke had run D wing but was getting too big for his boots. He’d started showing less and less regard for the screws, so had received a mattress job from the batter squad. The thin mattress had muffled his screams as the guards had attacked him mob-handed, though everyone knew the mattress was really used to protect the wardens’ uniforms from blood.
A few months later, the Baron had dropped dead. There was no official connection to his untimely death and the attack by the screws, but everyone knew his kidneys had packed it in. Several blows to the organs had irreparably damaged them. Now Jack feared that his kidneys were letting him down, and he would suffer the same outcome as the Baron. He just hoped he would make it back home to Battersea.
32
George yawned as she walked into the kitchen to see her gran filling up her bucket again, probably to wash the already clean kitchen floor. The sun shone through the back window, and as her gran turned away from the sink, she jumped when she saw George stood in the kitchen doorway.
‘Sorry, Gran, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ George said, stifling a giggle.
‘My giddy aunt, you nearly gave me a bleedin’ heart attack. And it ain’t funny, you wicked cow!’
‘I ain’t laughing,’ George protested.
Her gran smiled affectionately, then said, ‘Put the kettle on if you want a cuppa but keep the noise down. If your dad got back last night, he’s still sleeping.’
George walked across the room and went to take the bucket from her gran. ‘He isn’t here so must have stayed in Manchester overnight. ’Ere, give me that bucket. I’ll do the floor,’ she offered.
‘No, no thanks. I like to do it,’ Dulcie protested. She placed the bucket on the floor and dipped the mop into the steaming water. George thought about telling her that the floor didn’t need cleaning again, but she knew it would make no difference. Whether it needed scrubbing or not, her gran would do it, and would clean it again in a few hours.
‘Why’s there a pile of veg peelings on the side?’ George asked as she spooned tealeaves into the pot.
‘I’ve saved ’em for Mary. Her old man is only doing a couple of days a week labouring and can’t find any more work. She said she asked for dole money, but some bloke came round and means tested her. They failed her, on account of that stupid bloody polished table she’s got. The silly woman refused to sell it, said it had been in her family for years and they all ate their dinner round it. I told her what I thought: they wouldn’t be having any dinner if she couldn’t afford to feed her brood and that table will end up being used as firewood. Anyway, she asked me to keep me peelings so she can make a broth. I’ll throw in a cabbage or what I can and Oppo is gonna save any veg that’s on the turn.’
‘Can’t Aileen help out? She must earn a packet in that salon.’
‘Mary’s a proud woman, love. I don’t think she wants her kids to know how much they’re struggling.’
George felt sorry fo
r her hard-up neighbours, but most people in the area were barely surviving in similar circumstances. She was more concerned about people closer to home. ‘I’m worried about my dad.’
‘Oh, why’s that?’
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her dad to stay overnight in Manchester. He rarely got there and back in the same day, but he hadn’t seemed himself when he’d left. ‘He didn’t look very well. I think he’s hiding something from us. Have you noticed anything?’
Her gran wiped a section of the floor, and then plopped her mop back into the bucket. She arched her back and leaned on the handle. ‘Now you come to mention it, he does seem to be spending a lot of time on the sofa. It ain’t like him – he’s normally dashing about like a blue-arsed fly.’
‘Perhaps you should have a word with him, Gran? If there is something wrong with him, he won’t tell me.’
‘I doubt he’d tell me either, but I’ll have a go.’
George kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m gonna get washed and dressed. I’ve got a busy day today.’
‘But it’s Thursday. The club ain’t open.’
‘I know, but I’ve got to see a man about a dog,’ George called over her shoulder as she left the kitchen, hoping her gran wouldn’t question her plans.
‘Just a minute, young lady. Get yourself back in here.’
George turned and walked back in the kitchen. Her gran was like a dog with a bone when she got something between her teeth.
‘What exactly are you up to?’
‘It’s a long story, Gran.’
‘Good job I’ve got plenty of time then. Come on, out with it.’
With a resigned sigh, George pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down at the table. ‘It’s Molly’s dad, that Mike Mipple.’
‘What about him? From what I’ve heard, he’s a right piece of work.’
‘Yes, he is, and that’s just it. He went for Ethel the other day. Fanny got it instead, but to think of him hitting Ethel… I can’t stand the man!’
‘Oh, George, that’s awful!’
‘I know. I’ve kept out of it, but he’s stepping on my toes now. He’s overheard Molly and her mum talking about the boxing lessons. He doesn’t like Molly working in the club ’cos he takes all her earnings, but she ain’t getting paid what she was at the factory. Anyway, he wants me shut down, and he’s going round the pubs telling all the blokes that their wives are learning how to fight. A few of the women have mentioned that their old men don’t want them coming no more.’
‘Can’t your women just say you’re all doing a bit of keeping-fit exercising?’
‘They have been, but I don’t want him stirring up problems. And I don’t want Molly or Fanny to know that he’s being a pain in the ar… backside.’
‘What are you going to do about it then?’
‘I’m going to make sure he shuts up… and for good,’ George answered with a steely coldness in her violet eyes.
Her gran gasped. ‘George Garrett, you are not getting up from this kitchen table until you’ve told me exactly how you intend on shutting him up.’ She pulled out the chair opposite, and slowly eased herself onto it.
George relayed her intentions. As she spoke, she thought it sounded sickening, but it was no more than the man deserved. What surprised her the most was how her gran didn’t look shocked and didn’t try to talk her out of it.
*
‘Are you helping your sister on the stall today?’ Fanny whispered to Molly. ‘Only if you are, I’ll need you to keep an eye on my stall when I go to see Billy Wilcox.’
They were in the shared scullery, both washing from the same bucket of cold water. It was the only place in the house where, if alone with the door closed, they could talk in private.
‘I’ll be there later, but I’ve got a few things to do first. And I’ve already told you, you’re not to go and see Billy,’ Molly said firmly.
Fanny was taken aback at her daughter’s commanding tone, but she was the parent and it was her duty to protect her child, not the other way around. ‘And I’ve already told you I don’t want you getting involved. The man killed his own father, for Christ’s sake! You’re to stay away from him. I’ve got something in mind so leave him to me,’ Fanny insisted, trying not to let her daughter see how worried she was. She just hoped Molly couldn’t see through her act of bravery.
‘Mum, please. You can’t go and see Billy either.’
‘I’m not. I’m going to have a word with Jane. I thought if I own up, tell her how sorry I am and offer to pay every penny back… well, she’s a charitable woman and might forgive me.’
‘Do you think she will?’ Molly asked doubtfully.
‘I’ll beg on my knees if I have to, and it wouldn’t be the first time. How do you think I fed you kids before Mrs Wilcox gave me the job on the stall? Oh, Molly, I wish I hadn’t been so stupid! I’ve gawn and mucked up everything now,’ Fanny said, fighting tears. She’d done enough crying during the night. Not that her husband had noticed. And now, looking at the dark rings circling Molly’s eyes, she knew her daughter hadn’t slept much either.
‘It might not be that bad, Mum. Like you say, Mrs Wilcox is a good woman. I’m sure if you explain the circumstances, she’d understand. But do me a favour? Don’t go and see her until later?’
‘I can’t, not ’til you come and look after the stall for me. But please promise me you’re not going to see Billy.’
‘I promise,’ Molly said, though Fanny felt sure her daughter was lying.
*
Jane had seen Sally off to school and was now preparing Billy’s breakfast as Penny played happily with her rag-doll. Her son rarely put in an appearance when Sally was home, but she knew the minute he heard the front door close, he’d be down the stairs.
She was an only child herself but had heard about sibling rivalry so assumed the contempt her children had for each other was perfectly normal. Of course, she wasn’t aware that Billy often fantasised about watching all the blood seep from his sister’s body, while she begged for her life, her voice no more than a gargle. If she’d known the butchering thoughts Billy harboured, she’d have taken her daughters and they would have run for their lives.
Billy always had a deliberate walk. There was never anything light and breezy about him, and this morning was no exception. He came into the kitchen, and though Jane loved her son, his presence always left her feeling sombre.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted, and smiled intently.
‘Morning, Billy. Scrambled eggs?’
‘Smashing, thanks, Mum.’
Jane took two eggs and cracked them into a pan before whisking them. She could feel her son watching her. When she’d first heard the rumours about him murdering his father, she’d dismissed the malicious gossip. After all, she knew the truth, but it wasn’t something she could ever repeat. She’d have liked to scream from the rooftops that the Portland Pounders had shot her husband in the back of his head, but through fear for her daughters’ safety, she kept her knowledge to herself.
‘Any plans for today?’ Billy asked.
‘Nothing special. I thought I might pop over to see Alma later. Her Ronald got mugged last week. Two blokes jumped him on his way home from the Dukes Head. I hear he’s in a pretty bad way.’
Billy reached into his inside pocket and pulled a wad of notes from his jacket. He skimmed off the top two five pounds and threw them onto the table. ‘Give that to Alma, with my regards.’
Jane picked up the money, folded it and then pressed it into her apron pocket. She’d been hoping Billy would cough up some cash. It was the right thing to do, seeing as it was his boys who’d jumped Ronald. The man had been silly, trying to cheat the poker game and thinking he could get away with it, but Billy was no fool and Ronald had learnt his lesson.
Unknown to her son, Jane knew all about Billy’s business, or at least she thought she did. Every man could be bought for the right price, and Knuckles came cheaper than most. But Knuckles was selective in what h
e told her, and he’d never mentioned what happened to Norman, or what Billy did to Hilda. There are some things a mother is best off not knowing.
*
Billy had taken to wearing glasses lately, though the lenses were clear glass. He thought the specs gave him more of an air of sophistication and made him look clever. He also practised speaking well, and eloquently, unlike most of the riff-raff in the area. When his office door opened, he looked over the top of his frames and refrained from smirking as Molly Mipple nervously approached his desk.
‘Take a seat,’ he offered, not surprised to see her.
Molly looked uncomfortable but sat opposite him.
Billy dismissed Hilda and waited for the door to close behind her before speaking again. ‘I suppose you’ve come on behalf of your mother?’
Molly nodded and squirmed in her chair.
This pleased Billy. ‘Are you aware that your mother has been stealing from mine?’
Molly nodded again and opened her mouth to speak, but Billy quickly jumped in. ‘After everything my mother has done for your scummy family, out of the goodness of her heart she extends the gracious hand of charity, and this is how she’s repaid?’
‘I… I… I’m sorry, Billy… but…’
‘Mr Wilcox,’ Billy said calmly.
‘Sorry, Mr Wilcox…’
‘You understand my position, Molly? You see, I can’t have the poor folk round here thinking that it’s acceptable to help themselves to my family’s good fortune. As much as it hurts me, I’m afraid your mother will have to be punished.’
‘Please… Mr Wilcox… let me explain.’
‘There’s no explaining required. Your mother stole from my mother, end of story. It’s now just a matter of deciding what punishment is suitable. You are welcome to offer any suggestions.’
Billy could see tears pricking Molly’s eyes, and she was wringing her hands on her lap. He hoped she would beg for her mother’s forgiveness. The thought of her on her knees and pleading to him caused a stirring in his groin.
‘I’ll pay back all the money. It isn’t much, but I’ll pay back double,’ Molly offered, her voice cracking.