by Roberta Kray
‘I haven’t really got a plan.’
‘Well, you haven’t come back just to put the cat among the pigeons.’
‘That Nell needs to know what he’s really like, what he did to me. I’m not going to let him get away with it.’
‘Good for you. He deserves it. Give him a taste of his own medicine. I take it you’re going to see him soon?’
‘Tomorrow, I think. I don’t suppose he’ll be best pleased.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Judith shook her head. ‘Thanks, but this is something I have to deal with on my own.’
‘Moral support, then. Everyone needs that.’
Judith nodded. ‘First I have to find somewhere to stay. The waitress in Connolly’s suggested Silverstone Road. What do you think? Should I give it a try?’
‘Yes, there’s a couple down there, but … You know, I don’t think you should be on your own right now. Why don’t you stay here for a while? I’ve got a spare room. Well, it’s more of a cupboard really, but there’s a bed in there. It’s got to be better than some overpriced bed and breakfast with a witch of a landlady watching your every move.’
‘But you’ve things to do. I don’t want to be in the way.’
‘You won’t be, I promise. To be honest, I’d be glad of the company. It gets kind of lonely being on my own all the time. Anyway, we should stick together, us girls, take care of each other. What do you say?’
Judith couldn’t think of a reason to say no, and so she didn’t.
25
Alf Tombs was leaning against the bar in the Fox. It was only six o’clock, but already the place was heaving. It was Friday, payday for the workers, and people were out to enjoy themselves. The pub was lively and attracted a varied clientele. You could find yourself rubbing shoulders with anyone from the neighbourhood butcher to the local MP. There was healthy representation from the criminal classes – thieves, fences, the occasional armed robber – and there were cops from Cowan Road police station too. Even the odd tart slipped in for a quick gin when business was slack.
He was studying his own reflection in the mirror that ran along the rear of the bar, thinking he wasn’t wearing too badly all things considered, when a familiar face appeared beside him.
‘Evening, Mr Tombs. Can I buy you a drink?’
It seemed to Alf that every time he turned around recently, Jimmy Taylor was there. The kid was like one of those stray dogs – eyes pleading, tail wagging – that attached itself to you and refused to let go. ‘I’m all right, son. But thanks for asking.’
Jimmy continued to hover by his shoulder. ‘It’s just …’
Alf waited, but the kid didn’t finish. ‘Just?’
‘It’s about the girl, the redhead, you know the one who was looking for Ivor Doyle.’
‘What about her?’
‘Only she’s back. I saw her, clear as day, walking out of the station this afternoon with a suitcase. I just thought you might want to know. Well, you and Mr Doyle.’
Alf, although he was interested, pretended that he wasn’t. He glanced around the pub in a casual fashion before his eyes came back to rest on Jimmy. ‘I suppose she’s staying at Sycamore House again?’
Jimmy shook his head. ‘Nah, she didn’t book in there. I mean, she wouldn’t, would she, not after …’ He paused, somehow managing to look both smug and shifty at the same time. ‘The thing is, Mr Tombs, I had a quiet word with the landlady; told her Judith Jonson wasn’t what you’d call the respectable sort. Did I do right? Seemed to me she was out to cause trouble, and no one wants that.’
Alf raised his eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when she finds out.’
‘Well, she ain’t going to find out.’ But suddenly Jimmy didn’t sound too confident. ‘Is she?’
‘You’d better hope not. In my experience, women don’t take kindly to being called whores. They tend to get a touch upset about it.’
Jimmy shrugged, saying with bravado, ‘She should have thought on, then, shouldn’t she? She’s the one who started all this.’
Alf didn’t quite get his line of reasoning, but then reasoning probably didn’t figure that highly in the kid’s thought process. ‘Do you know where she’s staying now?’
‘She went up the high street. I haven’t seen her since.’
‘All right, I’ll take care of things from now on.’
Despite the dismissal, Jimmy didn’t move away. He wiped a hand down the side of his trouser leg. ‘Er, Mr Tombs, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but if you’ve ever got any jobs going … I’m a hard worker, loyal. I’ll never let you down.’
Alf tried to keep a straight face. It seemed like every kid in London wanted to be a gangster these days. ‘Sure, son, I’ll let you know.’
The exchange was terminated by the arrival of Ivor Doyle. Jimmy nodded and went back to his mates at the rear of the pub.
‘Who was that?’ Doyle asked.
‘Name’s Jimmy Taylor. I told you about him. He’s the one who tipped me the wink about your lady friend turning up out of the blue.’
‘What did he want?’
Alf grinned. ‘He’s after a job. Did I tell you he’s a locksmith? You’d better watch out. I reckon he’s looking to step into your shoes.’
Doyle made a mock grimace. ‘I’ll try not to lose too much sleep over it.’
‘Oh, and there was something else too. It appears your lady friend is back in Kellston.’
Doyle flinched and stared at him hard. ‘What? Judith? No, she can’t be.’
‘Young Jimmy saw her come out of the station this afternoon, suitcase and all. I thought you’d got it sorted.’
‘I did. I have. He must be wrong.’
Alf shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Doyle raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Shit.’
‘Maybe you weren’t quite as persuasive as you thought. Anyway, least you know now. If she turns up on your doorstep—’
‘She doesn’t know where I live.’
‘Are you sure of that? Look, if she’s making a nuisance of herself, I can help you out. Maybe have a word, huh? Make it clear she’s not welcome in Kellston.’
‘No, I’ll deal with it myself.’
Alf could have said he hadn’t made much of a job of that to date, but he resisted the temptation. ‘The offer’s open if you need it.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’
Alf shook his head. ‘Not at Sycamore House. Jimmy saw her turn onto the high street, but that was it.’ He decided not to mention what the kid had said to the landlady, unsure as to how Doyle would take it. Ivor Doyle was the sort who didn’t like other people interfering in his business, whatever their intentions. ‘She can’t be far away.’
Doyle’s face had grown tight and angry. Two bright stripes of red appeared along the sharp angles of his cheekbones. ‘What the hell is she playing at?’
‘The same game all women play when they feel hard done by. It’s called getting their own back. You want a pint?’
Doyle shook his head. ‘Things to do. Have you got my wedge?’
Alf glanced around before producing an envelope. It was in Doyle’s hand in a fraction of a second, and in his pocket moments after. The money was a share of the proceeds from a haul of spirits they’d liberated from a warehouse a week ago. ‘Don’t go getting into trouble,’ he said. ‘She ain’t worth it, mate, none of them are.’ What he really meant was that he didn’t want Doyle getting into a row and ending up in a cell at Cowan Road. ‘You’ve got Nell to think about.’
‘It’s Nell I am thinking about. She doesn’t need this any more than I do.’
Alf thanked his lucky stars that he had a wife like Renee. She might not be perfect, far from it, but at least she wasn’t crazy. Nell McAllister had a screw loose and everyone knew it. The girl wasn’t all there – Lennie Hull had seen to that – and it wouldn’t take much to tip her over the edge again.
Doyle left, and Alf
returned to his pint. He had the feeling the redhead was about to stir up a hornets’ nest. He looked over at Jimmy Taylor, frowned and wondered if he could find some use for him after all.
26
Judith waited until she heard Elsa leave for work – she was on the early shift today – before getting up and using the bathroom. She didn’t want to get in the way or do anything that might make the other girl regret having asked her to stay. The spare bedroom was tiny, more like a cell than anything else, but it sufficed. She’d slept pretty well, all things considered, and although she wasn’t exactly prepared for what lay ahead, it was a help that she didn’t feel exhausted.
For breakfast she cut a thin slice off the coarse brown loaf and smeared it with butter and jam. She ate standing up in the kitchen area in the corner of the living room. The flat was small but stylish. Elsa had made the best of the available space. She studied the Gauguin print on the wall, drawn to its colours and sense of vibrancy. Her aunt, although keen on art, had disapproved of Gauguin, not so much for his paintings as for what she described as his ‘depraved lifestyle’. He had, after his marriage fell apart, gone to Tahiti and taken a thirteen-year-old wife.
Judith nibbled on the bread. She wondered if, fundamentally, all men were the same – selfish and predatory and driven by lust. She had been naive when she married Dan Jonson, innocent and inexperienced. He’d exploited her weakness and betrayed her trust. That was what she had to keep in mind whenever her resolve wavered.
Elsa’s opinion of the male sex wasn’t that high either. They’d had a long conversation last night, and although Elsa hadn’t been specific, she’d made her feelings clear: wherever men were involved, you had to watch your back. Judith had asked about Saul.
‘Saul Hannah’s all right. You can trust him. Well, so far as you can trust any bloke. But he won’t go back on his word, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘I don’t really understand him. I mean, he knows Ivor Doyle’s broken the law, in more ways than one, but he’s prepared to ignore it. I didn’t think the police did that kind of thing.’
Elsa had laughed. ‘They play by their own rules, love, just like the villains. He’s not interested in Doyle. London’s full of deserters, thousands of them. The prisons would be bursting if they rounded them all up. And marrying you under a false name – well, I doubt he’s bothered about that either. He’s got bigger fish to fry.’
‘Like Alfred Tombs?’
‘Exactly. It’s the bosses the law are trying to bring down, the men at the top. They’re the ones with the nous and the contacts. You topple them off their perch and the rest soon come tumbling after.’
Judith thought about this as she finished her breakfast, wondering about Saul’s motives in offering to help her. Not that it mattered any more. Now that she’d found who she’d been looking for, there was no reason for her to ever see Saul Hannah again. He had a streak of sadness in him that she recognised, his past coloured by tragedy and loss. Which wasn’t to say that she liked him. There was something cold about the man; something odd and distant.
She went back to her room, where she dressed carefully, choosing one of her best summer frocks. She applied make-up and brushed her hair until it shone. She told herself that none of this was for his benefit; just so she didn’t feel at a disadvantage. It was protection against his judgement. It was armour.
Judith got off the bus at Old Street roundabout and took a moment to get her bearings. Once she’d worked out where City Road was, she was fine. She’d mapped out the route on the A–Z and knew which way to go. As she wound through the streets, she hoped that Ivor Doyle would be in. It was ten thirty, and as he didn’t have what could be called a regular job, she was counting on him being at home. And if he wasn’t? Maybe it would be Nell who answered the door. And then she’d have to make a decision as to whether she told her the truth. She could justify this course of action by claiming the girl had a right to know, but she was aware that this was disingenuous. There was only one thing that could follow such a revelation, and that was devastation.
Judith didn’t want to dwell too much on this. None of it was her fault so why should she feel guilty? It was Doyle who’d created an evil mess. If there was fallout, it was all down to him. But what if there were kids? The thought hadn’t even entered her mind before. Now that it had, she felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach.
She slowed her pace when she reached Ironmonger Row. The first building she noticed was a large red-brick construction, the public baths. There were people going in and out, and as she passed the doors, a warm, steamy smell floated into her face. Further on, to the right, was a row of small two-up, two-down houses. She checked the numbers and then crossed the road.
When she reached number 24, she stopped by the gate. What she was about to do was final, irreversible. She stared at the house with its neat little porch and gleaming windows. In another life, at another time, this could have been the home she’d shared with Dan. She took a deep breath. Before such reflections could get under her skin, she marched up to the door and knocked.
It was Ivor Doyle who answered. He seemed more angry than surprised when he saw her standing in front of him. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘We need to talk,’ she said.
‘I’ve said all I’ve got to say.’
‘Well, it’s not all about you. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’
As if to bar her path, he stepped over the threshold and half closed the door behind him. ‘Go away, Judith. Go home. Why are you making this so bloody difficult?’
‘Difficult?’ she echoed with incredulity. ‘Is that what you call it? Well, I’ve been home, thought about it all and now I’m back. You can’t order me around. I’m not leaving again until I get a proper explanation from you.’
‘You’ve already had it.’
‘No, all I’ve had is half a story. It’s not good enough. You owe me more than that.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve got nothing more to say.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘You do what you like. I’m going back inside now.’
Seeing him start to retreat, Judith quickly blurted out the threat. ‘Then I’ll talk to Nell instead. Don’t you think she deserves to know the truth?’
That stopped him in his tracks. His reply was low but fierce. ‘Don’t you dare bring Nell into this.’
‘But she’s already in it. Does she know you’re actually married to someone else? Well, I say married, but I don’t suppose it’s actually legal in the eyes of the law. Let me put it another way: does she know you went through a wedding ceremony with someone else?’
Ivor Doyle’s face was white. He glared at her and there was venom in the look. ‘Would you really do that to a sick woman?’
‘What do you mean, sick?’
‘Just that. She’s ill, very ill. This is the last thing she needs.’
Judith, caught on the back foot, wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’
‘You don’t,’ he said.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
His gaze slid away. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means I don’t want to discuss it standing out here on the street.’
Judith suspected this was all a tall tale, just something to deflect her. When it came to telling the truth, he simply couldn’t do it. His whole life, every part of it, was a tissue of lies. ‘So let me come in and we can discuss it in private.’
‘No,’ he said sharply, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure they weren’t being overheard. He gestured along the road. ‘Look, there’s a café just up there. Keep on going and you’ll come to a square. It’s on the left. I’ll meet you there in five minutes.’
Before she even had time to reply, he went back inside and closed the door. She stood for a moment, unsure as to what to do next, and then turned around a
nd began to walk. It was probable, she thought, that she was wasting her time. In reality, there was nothing Ivor Doyle could say to make things better, and yet she couldn’t let it go. She needed answers, explanations, even if those things hurt her. She needed some kind of closure.
She found the café without any trouble. It was quiet, in that lull between breakfast and lunch, but a few of the front tables by the window were occupied. She went to the back, away from other customers, and ordered a pot of tea for two. While she waited, she nervously played with the wedding ring on her left hand. Why was she still wearing it? She hadn’t wanted to remove it in Westport in case Annie noticed, but there was no reason to keep it on in London. She twisted the ring, moved it up and down her finger, but couldn’t quite bring herself to take that final step.
It was closer to ten minutes than five before he finally showed up. She watched as he strode through the café, his jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder. He was wearing dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He saw her, nodded and slid into the chair opposite hers.
‘There’s tea,’ she said, gesturing towards the pot, ‘if you want it.’
He gave a small, impatient shake of his head. ‘Why have you come back to London, Judith? What’s the point of all this?’
‘The point is I need answers. I’ve already told you that.’
‘I’ve given you answers. Just accept them and move on.’
She ignored the instruction. ‘Tell me about Nell.’
‘You have to leave her alone. What I did … well, none of it’s her fault. Don’t make her pay for my mistakes.’
Judith flinched. ‘Is that what I was, a mistake?’
‘I didn’t mean that. You were never …’ He stopped, as though he feared saying too much. ‘It’s complicated, like I said.’ He sighed, glanced around the café and looked back at her. ‘Nell isn’t what you’d call stable. She has problems, mental problems. She had some sort of a breakdown and …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s tough for her, just dealing with everyday stuff. I don’t want her involved in this.’