by June Tate
Conor soon reached the lad and pulled him to the bank, talking as he did so. ‘It’s alright, Tommy. I’ve got you, you’re safe now.’
The boy was pale, coughing and spluttering, and obviously suffering from shock.
‘Come on, Jessie, let’s get him home. Hopefully the doctor will still be there. He needs to look at the lad, and if he’s gone, we’ll just have to get him back.’ They started running, each carrying a child.
Passers-by looked at them in astonishment. Conor was soaked to the skin, Jessie’s skirt was wet and clinging to her legs as she ran, and the boys too were wet through.
Fortunately, as they reached Union Street, the doctor emerged from the Williamses’ house and, on hearing his name called, stopped. He then saw Jessie and Conor with the boys. When Conor quickly explained, they rushed into the house so he could examine Tommy.
Maisie jumped to her feet when she saw her sons, crying and calling their names, taking Jack from Jessie. She held him tightly to her after wrapping a blanket round him, as the doctor began his examination of the other child.
After what seemed an age, he declared that, apart from having a fright and being cold, he would be alright. He then examined Jack and suggested Percy put the boys in a bath to warm them, and then to bed. He’d call in the next day to see that they were alright.
Conor helped Percy warm some water on the stove and fill the tin bath, while Jessie and Maisie undressed the boys, peeling off their wet clothes, then they placed Tommy and his brother in the warm water, his father talking continuously to them, trying to keep the children calm as he and Conor washed them. Then wrapping them in towels, Percy dried one as his wife dried the other.
Conor saw the tears in the man’s eyes as he looked at him.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Conor.’
Brushing this aside, Conor said, ‘I think you should give them a hot drink, then get them into bed. Stay with them until they fall asleep. They’ve had a bad scare and they’ll feel secure if you’re there. I’ll let the police know they’re safe.’
Jessie made a pot of tea to calm Maisie, who was still weeping. Putting an arm around her, Jessie said, ‘It’s alright, Maisie, they are safe now. Try not to let the boys see you upset, it’ll only frighten them even more.’
Eventually, everyone settled down. The boys, now exhausted and back with their parents, soon fell asleep.
Conor returned with four glasses of brandy, sent over by the landlord of the Builders Arms. They sat down and drank it slowly. It was just what they needed. Conor told them about finding the boys after remembering a conversation with the children.
Maisie spluttered. ‘If you hadn’t remembered …’
Jessie interrupted. ‘But he did! So, put those thoughts away, Maisie. They’re two boys on an adventure, but after today, they won’t ever do it again; they’ll be too scared. Thinking about what might have been is a waste of time and what’s more it’ll drive you crazy – so bury it!’
The sharpness of her voice seemed to get through, and Maisie nodded. ‘You’re right, of course. I must stop being silly. I can’t thank you both enough.’
‘You can stop that, too,’ said Jessie. ‘We’re neighbours. You would do the same for us.’ She stood up. ‘Now, I must get a bath ready for Conor because a dip at the pier certainly wasn’t enough to clean him, as you can see!’
They all looked at Conor and laughed. The daily dirt was somewhat streaked, but still very evident. It was enough to break the tenseness of the atmosphere and they were all able to relax a little.
After Jessie had changed out of her wet clothes, she boiled the water for Conor’s bath as he sat wrapped in a towel and glanced over at him. ‘I don’t know about you, darlin’, but I feel as if I’ve been run over by a tram.’
He let out a deep sigh. ‘I know what you mean. What a day! But thank God it all worked out alright.’
‘Talking of work, how did your first day go as gang boss?’
He sat and told her about it until at last he was able to lower himself into the warm water and feel the tension leave his body. What a day it had been, but thank God he was able to get to Tommy in time. The look of terror in that boy’s eyes would stay with him for a long time.
The incident was reported in the Southern Daily Echo, naming Conor and Jessie as the saviours of the boys, which was an embarrassment to them both. The boys, however, were thrilled to read their names in the paper until their father spoke sharply to them, explaining how they had caused the police to spend time searching for them and the worry they had caused.
Jessie was overcome by the plaudits handed to her by her customers and soon stopped it by telling the men they would have done the same and brushing their compliments aside, as did Conor in the docks when his gang read the report. But there was one man who was not pleased when he read the paper.
Dave Jennings read about the incident. There was no sympathy for the boys’ near catastrophe, only outrage that Conor had been named as a hero, and his wife. All it did was fire his anger for the man who was responsible for his downfall and he vowed to get his revenge.
Chapter Fourteen
Things slowly got back to normal in Union Street. Jack and Tommy were a couple of subdued boys for a while, but children are resilient and before long they were outside playing as usual. However, now they didn’t stray from the street.
Watching them play as he stared out of the window, Conor turned to his wife. ‘Those boys should be taught how to swim.’
Jessie looked at him in surprise. ‘I doubt you’d ever get them back in the water.’
‘That’s the point, don’t you see? They’ll always fear the water until they are able to swim. I’d be happy to teach them when the weather gets warmer. We could all go to Leap Beach, take a picnic, make a day of it. Me and Percy could take a dip and encourage the boys to do so too.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to wait until then, the water’s too cold now.’
‘You’re right, of course, but I’ll mention it to Percy when I see him. I don’t fancy another dip meself at the moment. I remember how cold it was. Fair took my breath away as I dived in, so it did.’
Conor was well settled as the gang boss and looked forward to going to work now that he was in a position of authority. Giving the orders instead of taking them, earning a living which, to him, was so important in not having to live on Jessie’s money alone. It had restored his manhood, in his mind.
Dave Jennings had managed to get work as a labourer on a building site. He wasn’t a happy man. This world was alien to him. The docks had been his life; he didn’t know anything else … until now. Every night he’d return home feeling belligerent and it was eating away at him.
That night he went to the Horse and Groom in The Ditches to drown his sorrows and towards the end of the evening, well into his cups, he walked out of the pub. Looking around at the girls waiting for a punter, he walked up to Maggie, who was standing with her friend Doris, and took her by the arm.
She looked to see who it was and paled as she saw it was Jennings. She pushed his arm away and glared at him. ‘I’m not interested, thanks!’
‘What do you mean, you’re not interested? Who do you think you’re talking to?’
‘You, you bastard! You hit me the last time I took you home. I don’t want your custom, so push off!’
Hearing the argument and having been warned about this man by Maggie, the other girls who were waiting gathered round her.
‘Leave her alone or we’ll call the Old Bill,’ said one.
Jennings gave a derisory laugh. ‘The police? Don’t be so bloody silly! The coppers will take you in for soliciting.’ He made to grab hold of Maggie again, but she pulled a long hatpin from her hat and pointed it at him.
‘You touch me again and I’ll stick you with this!’
He stepped back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
She laughed at him. ‘Go on, then, try me. I’d love to get my own back on you, you wicked bastard. Call yourse
lf a man; you’re just a bully.’ And she made to jab him.
He leant away from her and, in his drunken state, he staggered.
The women jeered at him, calling insults, loudly demeaning him as a man until he was humiliated and slouched away. All the way home, he cursed to himself. There was only one person who was responsible for his state and he muttered his name constantly all the way home.
The following morning, Jennings was asked to drive a van loaded with building materials to a shed in the docks. He’d driven trucks before and, of course, knew every nook and cranny of the area. He delivered the goods and, as he climbed into the driver’s seat, he saw Conor in the distance, walking towards some crates waiting to be loaded. He turned on the engine, put the van into gear and moved off.
Conor, intent on his mission, didn’t see the van approaching him at speed and it was only someone yelling at him to look out that made him turn round. He just had time to dive out of the way, but he saw the face of the driver as the vehicle passed by.
A couple of the dockers rushed over and helped him to his feet. ‘Christ, that was a close call!’ said one. ‘You alright, mate?’
Conor brushed away the dust from his clothes. ‘Yes, thanks for the warning.’
‘Bloody idiot driver! There’s a speed limit in the docks and he was driving like a maniac. Did you see who it was?’
Shaking his head, Conor lied. ‘No, no I didn’t.’
‘Well I saw the company name on the van. It was Kennedy’s. You should report him; he could have killed you!’
As he walked away, he thought, That was the general idea, but if Jennings was that intent on causing him damage, and failing, would he try again and if so, when and how? Well he wasn’t just going to sit around and wait.
The next day, the gang only worked a morning shift and Conor went home, washed and changed, then made his way to Kennedy’s site. He found a spot where he could watch the comings and goings without being seen and settled himself.
In the late afternoon, a lorry drove into the yard. It was full of workers whom Conor assumed had returned from a job. The men all alighted and, saying their goodbyes, took off in different directions on their way home for the day. Conor spotted Jennings and followed him at a distance to see where he lived. Eventually, they arrived at a shabby house in the Chapel area, where the surrounding houses looked decrepit with dirty net curtains at the windows that hadn’t been cleaned for an age.
Conor waited until Jennings had closed the front door behind him, then after a while he walked to the gate, which was hanging off its hinges. Empty beer bottles were piled up in a box against the front wall. He knocked on the door and waited.
Inside the house, Jennings had just opened a bottle of beer when he heard the sound of someone at the door and frowned. Who the hell was that? The milkman had left a pint on the doorstep and wasn’t due to be paid until Friday. It was too late for the postman and, not having any friends, no one else ever came to call. He ambled along the passageway with its worn carpet and opened the door. Before he knew what had happened he’d been sent flying backwards and Conor McGonigall was kneeling over him.
‘I saw you driving that van, Jennings. You tried to kill me, you bastard!’ He caught the man by the front of his jacket and lifted his head, then he punched him in the face several times.
Jennings, taken by surprise, was in no position to fight back, although he tried, but Conor was fit and strong and he gave the man a severe beating. Getting to his feet, he looked at the bruised shape on the floor. ‘Let that be the end or one of us will die and I can assure you it won’t be me!’ He kicked him viciously in the side, then left.
Jennings staggered to his feet and groaned. His face felt as if it was on fire and he was in pain on his side where he’d been kicked. He limped to the kitchen and, running the tap, soaked a cloth in cold water and held it to his face. After a while, he did it again and lowered himself gingerly into a chair. He’d been taken completely by surprise. He’d hardly registered who was at the door before he was on his back. He removed the cloth and saw there was blood on it. Heaving himself to his feet, he looked at his refection in the wall mirror. His eyes were swelling, his nose was bleeding and he was sure it was broken. He knew that he’d not be able to work for days and what’s more he probably needed to go to the hospital, but there was no way he could get there today. He took a slug of his beer, soaked the cloth once again and, sitting back in the chair, covered his face.
Conor rubbed his bruised knuckles as he made his way home. He knew that he’d damaged his adversary, but would this be enough to teach the man a lesson? Was his hatred even stronger than his common sense? He had no way of knowing, so he’d have to keep his eyes open for a while. He would, however, keep what happened today to himself. If Jessie thought he’d been in a fight she’d be livid, and he certainly didn’t want her to know about the incident at the docks.
Weeks passed and nothing was seen or heard of Dave Jennings. Conor began to believe that he had at last got through to the man. He was certain he’d broken Jennings’ nose and hopefully that would have taught him his final lesson. His gang were working well and were busy most days depending on the shipping that docked with cargo to unload and reload.
It was now June, and Jessie was wondering what would happen when her contract was to be renewed next month. Larry Forbes hadn’t been near and her young cashier, Henry Marshall, had been called away to do another job for his boss. When he told Jessie, it was with regret in his voice.
‘I have to leave after this afternoon, Mrs McGonigall. Mr Forbes needs me on another job.’
‘Oh, Henry, I’ll be sorry to see you go,’ She was sincere in this. It had been an education for the young man who had arrived with ideas above his station. He had been arrogant and condescending to begin with, but soon had been taught a lesson in understanding that people from all walks of life have to earn a living, and that here, there was no discrimination in her cafe. It had been a lesson in life for young Henry and one he would never forget.
The customers heard this was his last day and all had a kind word as they left, many teasing him, but now he could understand it wasn’t malicious, just good fun.
After he’d finally cashed up, Jessie asked him if he had any idea what would happen when her contract ran out, but he couldn’t tell her anything
‘I’m not in a position to know such things, Mrs McGonigall, I’m afraid, or I would willingly tell you.’
She thanked him for his time there. ‘Call in any time, Henry. You’ll always be welcome,’ she told him as she let him out of the cafe.
She and Nancy sat and shared a pot of tea at the end of the day, when they’d cleared away. Jessie looked around the place. She was so happy here. Since she’d taken over, business had increased with some sidelines she’d introduced, like home-made cakes and sandwiches to take away; these had done well. Yes, she was content with her lot.
Sitting at the desk in his office, Larry Forbes was deep in thought. In front of him lay the contract for the workman’s cafe, due for renewal in a month’s time. He was in a dilemma. Jessie McGonigall was like a thorn in his side. Her attitude towards him was an irritation, yet she intrigued him and what’s more, he found, to his chagrin, that she was devilishly attractive, something he’d tried to ignore.
All his business life, he’d been the one to call the shots. She was the first person to stand up to him, which both irritated him, yet earned his reluctant admiration. She had a good business brain and was fiercely independent, which in these times was unusual. Most women knew their place and were content, but not Jessie McGonigall. She was a suffragette without even knowing it! A feisty woman like that would make life very interesting, not only in business but in a more personal sense. He had to admit that he desired her and if he were really truthful, had done so from the moment he first met her. Together they could make a great team. But … it would have to be on his terms. He sat back and considered his position: he wasn’t bad-looking; he was wealt
hy. He’d had women in the past – he was a man with needs after all – but none of them had interested him enough to make their relationship permanent. But Jessie – now that could be different. Of course, there was a problem: she was a married woman. Maybe if he offered her enough …? It was an intriguing thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Jessie was walking around the dining room of the cafe at the end of the day, making sure all was ready for the morning, when the door opened. She turned, about to say that she was closed, when she found herself staring into the eyes of her landlord.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs McGonigall.’
She just stood and looked at him for a moment, then she noticed he was carrying a bottle of wine. ‘Mr Forbes. What brings you here?’
‘Do you have any glasses on the premises?’ he asked.
‘I do.’
‘Then would you mind bringing two to this table?’ He pointed to one nearby and, pulling out a chair, he sat and looked at her unflinchingly.
Somewhat intrigued, she walked into the kitchen and returned, putting the glasses on the table. He took them and motioned for her to sit down. Then from his pocket he took a corkscrew and opened the bottle. Pouring the wine into both glasses, he handed one to her.
‘What are we drinking to, or is that a secret?’
He gave a laconic smile. ‘That all depends.’ He took a sip and swallowed. ‘Try it, it’s a very good wine. I prefer red; I think you will approve.’
Jessie did so. It was smooth and rich with the aroma and taste of dark fruit, but with a flavour she’d never experienced before and she thought it must be expensive. But what else would it be? She eyed his suit, its fine material – obviously handmade. His expensive watch, pristine white shirt and silk tie. It was the first time she’d studied anything but his face. She had to admit he wore his wealth with style.