by Carol Rivers
But today, a day of celebration, had left her wide awake, the questions going round and round in her head. Why hadn’t Danny written? Where was he? Why had he broken his promise? Did he ever think of her? Could he imagine the depth of sadness in her heart? Did he know that she was still waiting for him?
Lizzie sighed as she stared into the flickering shadows of the kitchen. Suddenly there were shapes and figures filling the chairs and reflected on the walls. Ma was sitting in the rocking chair talking to Granny Watts and Granny Allen, who were perched on the hard wooden seats in their long skirts and shawls. They were all laughing and gossiping about their men and families, every now and then lowering their voices for the best bit of gossip. Other figures crowded round them, ones Lizzie didn’t recognize but knew were family too, men, women and children who made up the generations of the Allens and the Wattses.
She felt a deep, tranquil sense of love and security. Her ancestors were there to remind her that life was a drop in a vast ocean.
The figures began to fade, leaving the kitchen quiet and still again. But the feeling of love and peace remained. Lizzie knew that help had come at the time in her life when she most needed it.
She stood up and extinguished the lamp.
As she went quietly up the stairs, she squared her shoulders. She had to forget about Danny and move on, making the best of everything she had.
Book Three
Chapter Eighteen
1924
‘That lets me out,’ grunted Frank Flowers. He threw down his cards and raised his arms above his head in a long stretch. The room was filled with smoke; the gambling, drinking and philandering that had gone on in the airey over the Friday night and into the early hours of Saturday had made the air pungent. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and collar removed, Frank scratched the top of his chest. The blond, bristly stubble on his chin had formed into a light beard, unlike that of the man sitting next to him.
The gypsy’s dark hair was greased and combed away from his narrow face. Yawning loudly, Mik Ferreter grinned slowly through uneven teeth. ‘Well, Frankie boy, I’m gonna have to clean you out. No wonder your old man don’t trust you with the takings. You’ve given it all to me.’
‘You ain’t kidding, Mik.’ Frank laughed nervously. ‘It’d pay me to stick to Lena – a whole night with her is a damn sight cheaper than a round of poker with you.’
‘Yeah, well, no one comes cheaper than Lena,’ muttered Vinnie, who sat on Frank’s other side, his elbows resting on the table. His braces hung loosely round his hips as he leaned forward on his chair. A dark blue Homburg was tilted over his forehead and a cigarette dangled from his lips.
Vinnie was getting on Frank’s nerves. In fact, Ferreter was too. The luck that had won the bookie the pot on the table was highly suspect, but Frank kept his mouth shut. Ferreter didn’t play by the rules. He made them up as he went along.
‘Lena ain’t a bad looker,’ Frank said in mild defence of the woman who had spent the night in his bed.
Vinnie laughed. ‘Yeah, but only if you’re desperate.’
If that little toerag pushes his luck much further . . . thought Frank angrily, then told himself to calm down. Vinnie was baiting him. He wanted a reaction. Well he wasn’t going to get one.
Vinnie nodded to the bedroom, which had not long been vacated. ‘Gave her a right good seeing to, did you, Frankie? Let her know who was boss?’
Frank swigged his beer. ‘Yeah, well, why not? Might as well enjoy me last days of being single.’
The bookie threw his head back and laughed. ‘Now that takes the biscuit, that does.’
‘What do you mean?’ Frank bristled.
‘You ain’t gonna be any different when you’re hitched, you randy old sod,’ said Mik Ferreter gruffly. ‘You ain’t stopped taking your Johnny out since I’ve known you. Hardly likely to keep it in there just ’cos you’ve got a ring on yer finger.’
Frank regarded this as flattery. He grinned. ‘Nah, I’m gonna turn over a new leaf. You see if I don’t. Anyway, I got me girl’s big brother over there to keep an eye out for me.’
The bookie sneered. ‘He can’t keep an eye out for himself, let alone you.’
Vinnie’s close-set eyes slid towards Ferreter. Frank felt a wave of satisfaction. Vinnie had sold his soul to the devil years ago, but Ferreter treated him with no greater respect.
‘Dunno about that,’ Vinnie objected in a surly voice. ‘I ain’t done so badly for meself.’
Ferreter’s eyes flashed. ‘Oh yeah? Is that a fact, now?’
‘I mean, I ain’t in a lot of shit,’ Vinnie corrected himself quickly, ‘not like I used to be.’
‘And who got you out of the shit?’ The black-eyed gypsy tilted his head, his dark eyes menacing.
‘Well, course . . . you did, boss.’ A hush fell on the room. Frank was glad he wasn’t in Vinnie’s shoes. ‘It’s all down to you, boss, all me luck, everything what you done for me,’ Vinnie spluttered.
‘Say it again, Vincent. Louder this time.’
Vinnie licked his dry lips. ‘I owe it all to you, boss. Everything. I owe it all to you.’
‘Put money in yer pocket and clothes on yer back, did I?’
Vinnie was sweating, the beads of fearful moisture standing out on his brow. ‘You’ve always seen me right, Mik.’
‘And kept the law off yer back. And paid all yer fines.’
‘That too . . . that too.’ Vinnie nodded hard.
Frank smiled to himself. Vinnie had got too big for his boots, ever since he took over the house in Poplar. Not that a whore house was much of a feather in anyone’s cap. All Vinnie had to do was set up a few girls and half a dozen games of poker each week. Poker and tarts – well, even Vinnie couldn’t go far wrong with that.
Ferreter narrowed his eyes. He paused, his tongue flicking out to curve slowly round his thin lips. ‘And o’ course, there was that job a few years back. I hear the Old Bill is still looking for the bloke who done over that poor sod – night watchman, wasn’t it? A jeweller’s up West?’
Frank turned to stare at Vinnie. Now this was interesting.
‘I dunno nothing about a jeweller’s,’ Vinnie blurted, going white. ‘I . . . I . . . never went near the place.’
‘You and me know that, don’t we, old son? But does the law?’
‘Y . . . you said you told them . . .’
Ferreter grinned. ‘Oh yeah, I told them you was with me.’
‘Well then . . .’
‘But me memory ain’t so good – sometimes. See what I mean? It varies according to me mood.’
Frank felt a pulse throbbing in his temple. His eyes were riveted on Vinnie, whose face had drained of colour.
The bookie nodded slowly. ‘Memory’s a funny thing, ain’t it? Now sometimes I recall that night clear as a bell. You were round my place at Poplar and so were you, Frank. Yeah . . .’ Ferreter gave a chuckle, turning his gaze on Frank. ‘You was all dolled up to the nines in one of them flash new suits.’
Frank swallowed. He didn’t remember that. And hinting at a flash suit – did Ferreter know about the deals with Vinnie?
The bookie’s smile widened. He stroked his cards lightly with the tip of his finger. ‘There now, Vincent. Ain’t you the lucky one? You got real mates sitting at this table. Mates that’ll look out for you whenever the law pays a call. And you, Frank, out the goodness of yer heart, you’d remember that evening ’cos you was wearing that new suit of yours.’
Frank remained silent. A cold sensation was creeping down his spine. Mik Ferreter leaned forward. He laid down three aces. His gaze met Frank’s stare then drifted towards Vinnie. ‘Reckon I just hit the jackpot.’ He counted the notes piled in the middle of the table and stuffed them in his pocket before rising to his feet. Steadily he surveyed the two men watching him. ‘We’ll have to do this more often. Nice place you got here, Frankie boy.’ He swung his jacket from the back of the chair. Pushing the wad of notes into the breast pocket, he playfully p
unched Vinnie on the jaw. ‘Gotta see a man about a dog. Don’t bother seeing me out. I know me way.’
The airey door closed. A gust of March wind blew into the room, freshening the foul air. Vinnie slumped over the table, dropping his head in his hands. ‘Bastard,’ he muttered.
Frank stared at him. ‘What was all that about?’
Vinnie didn’t reply. It wasn’t until Frank poured him another drink and pushed it against his arm that he looked up.
‘What’s he mean about the jeweller’s up West?’ Frank was oblivious to the melting pot of anger sitting next to him.
Vinnie downed the beer with a vengeance. ‘Use your head, you idiot! What do you think he means?’
Frank half laughed, a nervous, light laugh. ‘You were in on that job?’
The younger man closed his eyes. ‘At last he susses it.’ When he opened them, a look of disdain spread across his face. ‘It’s all about alibis. He’s knitted us together like a bloody jumper.’
Frank’s mind had gone blank. ‘That job was years ago, anyway.’
‘Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. Mik hoards things. Keeps it all up here.’ Vinnie jabbed a finger at his forehead. ‘Like that bloody fire at Chalk Wharf.’
Frank looked at Vinnie blankly. ‘Yeah, but that was an accident. You said so yerself.’
Vinnie looked exasperated. ‘Mik sent me on that little job because them blokes from over the water were a bit suspect. I was expendable if things went wrong. And they did, didn’t they?’
A chill went down Frank’s spine as the truth began to dawn. ‘Christ almighty, Vinnie, why didn’t you get the hell out of it after that?’
Vinnie laughed mirthlessly. ‘When are you gonna wake up, you silly sod? No one walks out on Mik Ferreter, not unless they’re tired of breathin’ and fancy a swim at the bottom of the river. Mik’s in the information business. He collects it, puts it on the back burner till he needs it. Then when he’s ready, he’ll give you a nice little reminder. Like he did tonight.’
‘But I . . . I ain’t in his pay!’
‘You don’t have to be. You’re in it up to your neck without a bloody penny in yer palm.’ Vinnie half snarled, half laughed. ‘For instance, your future old lady ain’t gonna be too impressed with your track record, if someone was to tell her. She’d drop you like a hot brick.’
‘But I ain’t married her yet. I ain’t even asked her. I’m a free man still.’
Vinnie arched an eyebrow. ‘Married or not, do you fancy that straight-arsed sister of mine will give you a pat on the back for bedding Lena and them other whores?’
Frank felt his neck shrinking down in his shirt. Lizzie wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole if she were to find out.
Vinnie chuckled. ‘And what about that little deal you cooked up with our Babs? Conveniently forgotten, have you?’ He dragged the air noisily through his teeth, his eyes challenging. ‘How you got her to pinch Danny’s letter from Australia and give it to you? And when she’d done that how you got her to keep a lookout for anything more that might turn up in the post?’
‘I did it for Lizzie’s own good,’ Frank pleaded desperately. ‘It turned out that me brother was seeing someone himself, had a kid by her an’ all.’
‘Yeah, but you weren’t to know that then, were you? You don’t know when he hitched up with his missus.’
‘But that was three years back. Who’s to remember it now?’
Vinnie muttered, ‘I’ll bet you a pony Mik does.’
‘But I ain’t never told him.’
Vinnie stood up. He pulled on his coat and straightened his hat. ‘You really are a stupid sod. Ferreter knows everything about everyone. He goes for your soft spots. What you’re most afraid of losing. Your freedom, your money – or your woman. Whatever it is that hurts most. Don’t you know that our Babs has been kipping with him these last two years? Or did you think you was laying her all on your own?’
Frank’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. ‘You mean to say you’d let your sister – no more than a kid – sleep with a piece of shite like Ferreter?’
Vinnie shrugged. ‘She’s been sleeping with you, ain’t she? And anyway, I told you, he’s got me by the balls. Whatever Ferreter wants, he takes. The only thing he ain’t been able to talk between the sheets is your intended. God help you if you think she’s gonna let you anywhere near her just ’cos you’ve put a ring on her finger. All she’s after is the shop. She’ll have you worn out with all that carrying and lugging and you’ll be too knackered to get it up at all.’
Frank jumped to his feet. ‘ ’Ere, you watch it, Vin. That’s my girl you’re talking about!’
Vinnie laughed. ‘Yeah, right. Pull the other one. She’d drop you like a ton of bricks if yer brother come back.’
The mention of Danny was too much for Frank. He lunged at the departing figure and they toppled together against the wall, falling on the sideboard and sending the china crashing. Suddenly a blade flashed in the light. Cold steel pricked Frank’s throat as the tip of the knife licked his gullet.
‘Don’t you ever lay a finger on me again,’ Vinnie rasped furiously as he held him down, ‘’cos if you do, I ain’t gonna think twice about giving them ugly tonsils of yours a tweak.’
‘T . . . Take it easy,’ Frank spluttered, going red in the face. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry, mate.’
Vinnie relaxed his grip slowly and slid the knife back into his pocket. ‘You keep yer paws to yerself, understand?’
Frank nodded. Vinnie had boasted that he carried a knife, but he hadn’t thought anything of it, fancied it was just a bit of bull. But tonight his eyes had been opened.
Vinnie paused at the door. ‘Give me sister me best,’ he drawled contemptuously. ‘Ain’t been home much lately – due to the pressure of work.’ He patted the pocket of his jacket, his fingers lying briefly on the hard shape beneath the cloth. ‘Oh yeah, before I forget. All those deals you’re doing on the side . . . we’ll have a chat about them soon. Mik wants a piece of the action, thinks you might need a helping hand shifting all them fags and bottles of booze.’
Frank stared incredulously after him. How did Ferreter know about his fag and booze sideline? Vinnie departed and Frank felt sick to his stomach. He slumped down at the table and drank a beer. He felt no better when he’d drunk it so he poured himself another. Then he turned his attention to the bottle of Scotch in the sideboard. Crunching over the broken china, he swore under his breath.
There was only one alternative as far as he could see. Wed Lizzie and go kosher. What if she did want the shop? That was fine by him. Perfect in fact. He no more wanted to work in a greengrocer’s than fly to the moon. What he did want was a wife he could trust to run the business, cook his meals and be there in his bed. And, by God, that’s what he was going to have.
Chapter Nineteen
Lizzie closed the shop door and shivered as the bell tinkled. She pulled her coat tightly round her. She hadn’t noticed the cold until now. Serving the customers kept her warm, but at six trade had dropped off.
Christmas was just two weeks away. She was pleased with the new lines she had added for the festive season. The cakes, sweets and home-made bread were selling well, thanks to the bakery that supplied fresh goods for the shelves. It was as Lizzie was bundling up the last of the fairy cakes into bags for late customers, that Frank appeared. He was wearing his cap, thick jacket and hard-wearing trousers, a scarf tucked warmly round his neck. ‘Just put the horse in the stable,’ he told her, his breath fanning out in the freezing air. ‘Given him a few oats to keep out the cold.’
Lizzie smiled. ‘All the deliveries done, Frank?’
‘Every last one of them.’
‘Well, I think I’ll close up now. Bert’s just gone and your dad’s upstairs. He was feeling the cold today, you know. I wish he would take it a bit easy.’
‘Yeah, I know. He worries me an’ all.’
‘I’ve told him I can manage in
the shop. With Bert in the storeroom and you out on the cart, there’s really no need—’ Lizzie stopped as she realized he wasn’t listening. ‘Are you all right, Frank?’
‘Oh, er, yeah.’ He nodded, removing his cap and folding it up in his mittened hands. ‘Except that. . . well,’ he looked at her and lifted his shoulders. ‘Lizzie, could you and me have a word, d’you think?’
‘What, now?’
Frank nodded. ‘I’d prefer it if we went downstairs. It’s a bit cold in here to talk.’
Lizzie felt her heart sink. She knew by Frank’s expression there was something wrong.
‘The books are up to date,’ she said quickly, resting the broom against the counter. She had already recorded the week’s takings. Sometimes on a Saturday she worked on the books down in the airey. Frank always made her a cup of tea, watching in silence as she spread out the books on the big oak table in the front room. With the increase in turnover, she had paid off the shop debts. She hadn’t found the bookkeeping difficult. It gave her a thrill to see the rows of figures written down neatly and to know there was nothing owing.
‘It’s not the books,’ Frank told her edgily. ‘It’s something else.’
Lizzie couldn’t think what it could be. Her secret fear was always that now she had accomplished so much at the shop it would all end. She knew Frank was content for her to run the business. He had told her so many times. But she always wondered if Bill might do something unexpected, like selling up.
‘All right,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’ll lock up.’
But Frank moved towards her, restraining her gently. ‘You go on down and put the kettle on. I’ll see to everything up here.’
Lizzie handed him the keys. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers. She had a sinking feeling. Was Frank going to tell her she wasn’t wanted anymore? What would she do if she had to leave the shop? She loved the work now and relied on the regular wage. Would Bert have to leave too? Where would he get another job? Disturbed thoughts hurtled through her mind as she left the shop and walked into the cold December air.