The Girl from the Docklands Café

by June Tate

  ‘No, thank you. I think it best if I go alone. A uniformed policeman is the last thing she’ll want to see. She and Conor are our neighbours so we know each other.’

  ‘Then you are the best man for the job.’ He patted Bill on the shoulder.

  Bill made his way slowly to the hotel trying to find the words to break the news, but his heart was heavy and he couldn’t think. Apart from which, he was still shocked from the discovery of his friend’s demise. He felt the tears brim in his eyes as he walked and tried to pull himself together. He had to be strong for Jessie now; his own grieving could come later.

  Taking a deep breath, he walked into the hotel and up to the reception desk. Jessie was behind it, talking to the receptionist. She took one look at Bill’s face, opened the flap to the counter and ushered him into her office, closing the door. She tensed, her whole body rigid as she leant against the door and waited.

  Bill took both of her hands in his. ‘Jessie, love, I have some very bad news.’

  She let out a cry of anguish and gripped his hands tighter. ‘It’s Conor, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Conor is dead, Jessie.’

  She collapsed in his arms, sobbing and crying out Conor’s name.

  Bill just held her tightly until she’d stopped the wracking sobs and was now crying quietly. He led her to a chair and sat her down, kneeling beside her until she was able to talk.

  ‘What happened, Bill?’

  ‘We don’t yet know, love, but Conor’s body was found in the water at the dockside with another man, Jennings.’

  ‘I’ve heard about Jennings in the past. A nasty piece of work by all accounts. But why was he there?’

  Bill then told her the whole story and of the animosity between them. ‘We don’t know what happened last night, Jessie. We can only guess that Jennings went looking for Conor and they had a fight, but that’s only supposition at this point.’

  ‘Where is Conor now?’

  ‘His body was taken to the morgue where the coroner will examine him to try and find the cause of his death.’

  ‘When can I see him?’

  ‘They’ll let you know. I’ll come with you, if you like.’

  She looked at him gratefully through tear-filled eyes. ‘Thanks, Bill, I would like that.’

  ‘Let me get you a brandy, love. You’ve had such a shock.’

  ‘So have you; we’ll both have one. Ask the receptionist, will you?’

  Bill closed the door behind him and softly explained to Frances Gates what had happened, but asked her to keep it to herself for now, then he asked for the drinks.

  ‘Of course, sir. I’m so very sorry, what dreadful news. I won’t be long.’

  When he returned to the office, Jessie was sat in her chair smoking and staring into space. ‘Come and sit down, Bill. It was only two nights ago that I was at home with Conor. We spent the night together. We were so happy, Bill, at least I’ll have that to remember.’ Then the tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I won’t see him, hold him ever again. I can’t bear it!’ Putting her hands to her face, she started sobbing.

  Bill went over to her and held her, fighting back his own tears unsuccessfully.

  There was a tap on the door, and Bill went and took the tray of drinks from the receptionist, with a nod of thanks. Then he handed one to Jessie.

  ‘Here love, sip this.’ As she took it he held his up. ‘To Conor!’

  ‘To Conor,’ she whispered, ‘the love of my life!’ She sipped her drink. ‘What am I going to do without him?’

  Bill groped for the right words. ‘You have to be brave, love. Conor was so proud of you, of your determination, your strength. You have to be strong for him now. Life has to go on, Jessie. You have to carry on, too. It won’t be easy, you know that, but you don’t have a choice.’

  At that moment there was a tap on the door.

  ‘Go and see who that is for me, Bill.’

  Frances stood outside and beckoned him. He shut the door behind him. Standing there was Larry Forbes.

  ‘I’m the owner and I’ve called to see Mrs McGonigall, but Mrs Gates has just explained what’s happened.’

  She looked at Bill. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I had to explain.’

  ‘It’s alright, I understand.’ He looked at Forbes. ‘You’d best come in, then, but as you can imagine, Mrs McGonigall is still in shock.’

  ‘Of course. She needs to go home; this is no place for her at this moment.’

  Bill opened the door and the two men entered. ‘Jessie, Mr Forbes wants to see you.’

  Forbes walked over to her. ‘I am so sorry for your loss, Jessie. I can’t begin to know how you feel, but I think you should go home and be with your friends. We can manage; after all, you’ve trained your staff well. Is there anything I can do?’

  She looked at him and saw that he was being sincere. ‘Thank you, but there isn’t anything you can do. We have to wait for things to take their course, and at the moment I honestly can’t hold two thoughts together!’

  ‘Of course you can’t. I suggest you go to your rooms, collect anything you need. I’m sure your friend here will help you, then go home. Call me when you know what’s happening and I’m here if you need anything, anything at all.’

  Jessie rose to her feet ‘Thank you for your understanding. I’ll let you know what’s going on. Come on, Bill, you can help me pack a few things.’

  He followed her to the lift and when they entered her rooms, he looked around. ‘My word, Jessie, this isn’t like Union Street, is it?’

  She smiled when she saw the expression of awe on his face. ‘No, Bill. Here, take a look,’ and she showed him the bathroom with the inside toilet and bath, flushing the toilet with a grin. ‘This is living, Bill!’

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘If my Daisy could only see this! Wait until I tell her.’

  Jessie pulled out a small suitcase and put some clothes and toiletries in it, shut it up and, turning to her friend, said, ‘Let’s go home.’

  Picking up her case, he said, ‘Fine, but first we’ll go to mine and get something to eat.’ He saw her about to argue. ‘Now you listen to me, my girl. You need to keep up your strength for the days ahead. Daisy and me will look after you. You won’t have to face anything alone. Understand?’

  She hugged him. ‘Thanks, Bill, I’ll never forget your kindness.’

  ‘Conor was my mate and I discovered it was him that got me the job on the gang. We look after each other.’ He looked at her. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready.’

  As they walked down Union Street, Jessie was relieved to see the street was empty; she couldn’t have coped with any questions at this moment, knowing how quickly news spread. Bill opened the door and they stepped into the living room. He glanced at his wife, who just nodded to him, letting him know that she’d heard about Conor. She walked to Jessie and embraced her.

  ‘Come and sit down by the fire, you’re frozen. I’ve made some soup. We’ll have a bowl soon to warm us up.’ She sat beside Jessie. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Conor. But you don’t have to pretend with us, love. You want a good cry, then have one.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it, Daisy. Two nights ago, I was curled up in bed with him at home.’

  ‘I can’t believe it either. Now, when you’ve thawed out, we’ll sit at the table and eat some soup. It’ll do us all good; we’re all suffering from shock.’

  After their meal, Bill took the keys to Jessie’s place and lit the fire so the house would be warm when she went there later. While he was doing so, the two women curled up together on the small settee, Daisy with her arms around her friend, trying to bring her a modicum of comfort. Eventually, Jessie took her leave.

  ‘Do you want one of us to come with you, Jessie?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘No, thanks, love, I need to do this alone.’

  She hugged them both goodnight, walked next door and put her key into the lock. Taking a deep breath
, she stepped into her living room. The fire was blazing away and the room was warm. Bill had brought her case in with him, closed the curtains and left the light on so it was cosy and welcoming. Jessie looked around the room. On the mantelpiece, among a few small ornaments, was a picture of her and Conor taken last summer on a Sunday when they’d taken the train to Bournemouth for the day. She stared at his smiling face and kissed the picture. Clasping it to her chest, she went into the kitchen. Hanging up behind the door was one of his working jackets. She took it down and buried her head into the material and breathed in the essence of the man.

  There was the smell of the docks buried in the cloth. The dust, the dirt, the tang of oil, the scent of a man’s sweat as he worked. Her man’s sweat. She put it on and, walking back into the living room, sat in a chair by the fire. Conor’s chair. She pulled the jacket around her, turning up the collar and, clasping the photo, sat staring into the flames of the fire.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jessie woke with a start. The fire was almost out, the room had chilled and she’d been asleep for several hours. Slowly she got to her feet and threw a small log on the fire and when it caught, she added some lumps of coal. She placed the picture back on the mantelpiece and the kettle on the top of the stove to make some tea. The clock on the mantelpiece said four-thirty. She stretched her aching limbs, moved her head from side to side as her neck had a crick in it from sleeping awkwardly in the chair. Then she removed the jacket, hanging it back in its place, made a pot of tea, placed a shawl round her shoulders, sat down, lit a cigarette and wondered what the hell was she going to do now.

  There would be a funeral to arrange once the coroner released the body. Her stomach tightened when she thought of that. The body was her husband, although she didn’t believe he still inhabited it. No, now it was a carcass. Her Conor’s spirit was free to roam wherever it had been sent. There were hymns to choose. ‘Fight the Good Fight’ would have been appropriate, she thought bitterly.

  As she was trying to plan, she thought of Larry Forbes. How kind he was and his kindness was genuine, she could tell. ‘Well, thank God I have a job; I won’t have to worry about money,’ she muttered to herself. Then she laughed. ‘Christ, Jessie, you’re talking to yourself now. Well maybe that’s what you do when you’re alone!’

  Finishing her tea, she washed up the cup and teapot, then walked wearily upstairs to the bedroom. Here she undressed and, climbing into bed, gazed at the empty place beside her. Taking Conor’s pillow, she buried her head in it for a moment, then; clutching it to her, fell asleep.

  When Jessie woke later that morning, for a moment she was disorientated, then the realisation crept in. She lay still, looking at the ceiling. So this hadn’t been a bad dream after all. Conor was dead! Throwing back the covers, she hurriedly dressed in warm clothes, then walked over to the window and looked out. It was cold and crisp. She could see folk going about their business. In one or two windows of the houses across the street were Christmas trees all decorated, ready for the holiday. Looking across at the pub, she thought of last Christmas Day when she, Conor, Daisy and Bill had been in the pub and old Ivy had staggered out drunk … then how later the next day, she’d discovered the old lady dead in her chair. Yesterday she became a widow! ‘Merry bloody Christmas!’ she cried and walked downstairs.

  Picking up a poker, Jessie raked the ashes and disposed of them, then laid a fire. She blew into her hands to warm them it was so cold, before putting a lit match to the paper. While it was catching, she swilled her face in cold water to freshen up, filled the kettle and stood it on the top of the stove to boil once the fire had warmed it. At that moment there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Morning, Jessie,’ said Daisy, and she stepped inside with a fresh pot of tea and a jug of milk. ‘I thought you could do with one of these,’ she said as she went to the cupboard for two cups. ‘Sit down, love. This’ll warm us until the fire catches. ‘How are you, or is that a stupid question?’

  Jessie gazed at her friend. ‘To be honest, Daisy, I’ve no idea. I didn’t know where I was when I woke, then it hit me. I still can’t believe it’s happened, I don’t want to believe it’s happened, but I have to face up to it and I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do, love, until the coroner releases the body. Then there will be the funeral. After that, the best thing you can do is work! Sitting around is not the answer. You need to keep busy, so, in the meantime, let’s clean the house. You will have to sort Conor’s clothes, for a start. I’ll come and help you with it all, Jessie. We’ll do it together. When we’ve had a cup of tea, we’ll go to my place for a bite of breakfast and we’ll start at the top of the house and work down.’

  Jessie gazed at her friend and, with a slow smile, she said, ‘What happened to that quiet little thing that moved in next door who wouldn’t say boo to a goose?’

  ‘She met Jessie McGonigall, who stood up for her and encouraged her to start her own business. I owe you, Jessie, and now I have the chance to return the favour. Drink up, we have lots to do!’

  At lunchtime, the two of them sat down for a rest. The kettle had boiled and it was Jessie who made the tea. The two women sat drinking the welcome brew.

  ‘I don’t know about you, Daisy, but I’m knackered!’

  ‘Me too, but that’s healthy. We’ll go home after this, have a sandwich and do downstairs. Then we’ll sort out the clothes.’ She knew this would be the hardest task of the day, but felt it would be best for her friend to do it and get it done and out of the way. And that’s what they did.

  After the downstairs had been scrubbed and cleaned to within an inch of its life, the women started on the clothes. It didn’t take long. The underwear and working clothes were put in a bag to throw away. Conor’s one good suit was folded with a few decent shirts and wrapped in brown paper to take to the Salvation Army, at Daisy’s suggestion.

  ‘Some poor chap would be delighted to have these to wear. It would be a pity to throw it all away. I’m sure Conor wouldn’t mind – what do you think?’

  Jessie agreed, remembering when they were short of money in the early days. But she insisted on keeping his working jacket hanging in the kitchen. Daisy didn’t argue. But she took all the bags to her house for Bill to see to, so that Jessie wouldn’t have to look at them knowing their contents.

  During the following days while Jessie was waiting for the coroner’s report, Daisy insisted they wrap up and go for a walk. Sometimes they went to a cinema, where they could watch the silent film and shut out their thoughts, or they went shopping for food. They bought some material for a dress to be made for a customer of Daisy’s in the new year and some for a gown for Jessie. She had resisted this at first, but Daisy insisted.

  ‘You have to return to work. There will be no widow’s weeds there, Jessie. It’s a business and you have to look the part. Besides, it’s my gift to you for Christmas.’

  Christmas was a week away and Jessie knew the hotel would be busy. She’d heard that the coroner’s report wouldn’t be until after the holiday and she decided to go back to work instead of waiting around with time on her hands. The next morning, she walked into the hotel with a small suitcase and walked up to the front desk.

  Frances Gates looked at her in surprise. ‘Mrs McGonigall, how good to see you. I am so very sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you, Frances, but I’m back to work until I know when I can arrange the funeral. So, what’s the latest and are we booked up for Christmas?’

  They moved into her office and went through the bookings, Jessie catching up on the days she had missed. When she had a moment, she rang Larry Forbes.

  ‘Mr Forbes, it’s Jessie McGonigall. Just to let you know I’m back at work.’

  ‘I’m coming right over,’ he said. She went to argue, but he’d hung up the telephone. Ten minutes later he walked into the hotel and to her office.

  Jessie looked up as her boss walked in. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘
Good morning to you. I didn’t expect you back so soon. Not that it isn’t good to see you here. How are things?’

  ‘I can’t do anything until after Christmas, it appears, so I might as well work rather than sit around feeling sorry for myself.’

  He gave an enigmatic smile. ‘No, that’s not your style. Well, no doubt you’ve caught up with what’s going on. The dining room is fully booked for our Christmas special. Have you seen the menu?’

  ‘I have and it’s excellent. The chef has worked hard to produce it. I haven’t yet had time to go to the kitchen and see him. I see that most of the rooms are booked.’ She looked up and grinned broadly. ‘I’m so pleased for you, Mr Forbes. After all, this was a mighty investment on your part.’

  He looked pleased. ‘Mrs McGonigall, would you give me the greatest pleasure and dine with me here at lunchtime to celebrate?’

  She was completely taken aback at his suggestion. ‘But I’ve still got some catching up to do.’

  ‘Not really. Everything has been running like clockwork. I’ve been here off and on most days. I can assure you, having lunch won’t cause any disruptions to the business. Besides, it will do you good to relax. I won’t take no for an answer. I’ll book a table for one o’clock and I’ll be back then.’

  Before she could answer, he’d left.

  The waiter took them to a table near the window and handed them the menu. The staff were all nervously on their toes with the boss and manageress dining together, which caused both the diners to smile.

  ‘We should do this more often,’ Larry said. ‘It is good for the staff. It scares them to death!’ He chuckled softly.

  ‘That’s so cruel of you,’ she chided. Then looked up in surprise as the waiter brought over a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket.