‘It was long enough for me to remember you, Charlie.’ Aled left the table and beckoned to Freddie and Aiden.
They crossed the dining room and joined him.
‘I’ll be seeing you, Aled.’ Charlie looked Aled squarely in the eye.
‘I don’t doubt it, Charlie.’ Aled took the hat Freddie handed him. ‘You picked up the car earlier, Freddie?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Get it, we’re going for a drive.’
* * *
‘You don’t want to tangle with Charlie Moore, Aled; he’s a nasty piece of work.’ Anna Hughes reached for the brandy and soda siphon at her elbow and topped up Aled’s glass and her own. They were sitting companionably side by side on the large sofa that faced the cold hearth in the front parlour of her house.
‘The man is thick as two short planks,’ Aled said, reverting to one of his childhood expressions.
‘Or, to be crude, thick as dog shit and twice as nasty, as the saying goes, but he has henchmen who are even thicker and they outdo one another to get a pat on the head from him.’
‘How rich is he?’
‘His family have enough money to pave their lavatories with gold, or so people say. But his grandfather died last month and from what I’ve heard, neither Charlie nor his father has the sense to hang on to what the old man made.’
‘And the bottom is falling out of the shipping trade, so the Moores won’t be making a new fortune.’ Aled sipped his brandy thoughtfully.
‘Charlie has extravagant tastes. A couple of months ago he started “insuring” local businesses.’
‘Yours?’ Aled asked astutely.
‘He takes one of the girls whenever he wants to. He used to pay but,’ she shrugged her shoulders, ‘he hasn’t for the last six months. I made it clear that the concession only applies to him, not his henchmen and I pay the girl – usually Gertie, as it happens – a couple of bob whenever he comes. It’s only fair that the house bear the expense.’
‘You’re a fool, once that sort of thing starts –’
‘A Tunisian who owned one of the cafes on Bute Street and the opium den above it refused to pay Charlie’s insurance,’ she interrupted. ‘The next day the police raided it. There’d been a tip-off that he was serving meths in teacups. That resulted in an article in the Western Mail, along the usual lines of Tiger Bay – full of dens of iniquity, loose diseased women, drunks, thieves, robbers, drug addicts, criminal half-caste children.’
‘I remember reading similar articles around chip wrappings fifteen years ago. The powers-that-be’s attitude to Tiger Bay hasn’t changed since I was a kid. But I gathered that much when I talked to the city councillors.’
‘The reporter argued that a relaxation of the licensing laws in the regulated pubs was needed to combat the problem, although the police raid hadn’t come up with a single scrap of evidence that the man was serving anything other than tea and coffee – in the I, that is. The following week the I was burgled. But not by thieves. Nothing was taken but all the furniture and fittings were smashed.’
‘The I’s out of business now?’
‘Not as result of that night. The other traders in Bute Street knew what was going on so they rallied round and helped the owner replace everything. The night after it reopened it was broken into again and set on fire. The owner got the message. He shut up shop for good.’
‘Do the other businesses on Bute Street pay Charlie’s insurance?’
‘Not all of them. Charlie may be thick, but he knows which way his bread is buttered and where to get the jam. He leaves the small-profit places alone. The grocers, greengrocers, bakers, butchers, and ironmongers don’t interest him. He targets the ones that flout the law: the pubs that stay open beyond licensing hours, the cafes that serve the illegal booze the sailors bring in, the opium dens, and the knocking shops run by pimps. Rumour has it half the police force are in his pocket. It doesn’t pay to cross him, Aled.’
‘He warned me to stay away from his turf.’
‘Every bookie’s runner on the Bay works for Charlie.’
‘I’ve met Charlies before. He may be the front man but he’s not the brains. Is his father behind him?’
‘I doubt it. He drinks, but not as much as Charlie and he’s an outwardly respectable local politician. You won’t catch him getting his hands dirty. But there are a couple of men who’ve worked for the Moore family for years. They’re brothers – John and Tom Smith.’
‘And what were they called when they were born?’ Aled set his glass on the table next to him.
‘No one knows. Rumour has it they suggest most of the enterprises to Charlie and hire the thugs they need to run them.’
‘So, Charlie’s just a front for the Smiths? The employer fronting the hired men doesn’t sound right to me.’
‘If there’s anyone else behind Charlie Moore I don’t know who it is. What I do know is that Charlie hasn’t anything better to do than come down to Bute Street every day, pretend to work in his office, get drunk and pick up the money from his little enterprises.’
‘As I said, I’ve met the sort before. There are hundreds of them in the slums of New York.’ Aled finished his drink, rose to his feet and put his glass on the mantelpiece.
‘Gertie might be free and if she isn’t you could always see one of the other girls.’
‘No thanks, Anna. I have plans to make.’
‘Tiger Bay doesn’t need a war,’ she said seriously.
‘I have no intention of starting one.’
‘But you won’t pay Charlie insurance for your club?’
‘No, Anna, I won’t.’ He reached for his hat and angled it on his head. ‘See you around.’
‘The next time you want information?’
‘If you’re feeling neglected have dinner with me tomorrow evening in my suite?’
She smiled. ‘I’d like that.’
‘You’re a good friend, Anna. Goodnight.’
Anna watched Aled leave the house. One of ‘Aled’s boys’ had already opened the door of a new, leatherupholstered, luxurious Bentley. Anna closed the curtains, switched out the light and went into the kitchen. As always a fresh pot of tea stood on the table. She poured herself a cup, lit a cigarette and reflected just how far she – and Aled Cooper – had come in the last fifteen years or so.
Two weeks after Judy’s debut, Micah walked past the mid-morning queue that snaked out of Edyth’s bakery and down the pavement of Bute Street. He tipped his hat to the waiting women.
‘Good morning, ladies.’
‘It was a lovely morning before you jumped the queue, Micah Holsten. That’s not very Christian, and you a pastor,’ Doris, who lived in the same street as Helga and the King brothers, shouted when he stepped inside the shop.
He leaned out of the door. ‘I’m not here to buy anything, just to deliver a message to Mrs Slater.’
‘We’ll search you when you come out, to make sure, Micah,’ Doris threatened.
‘And check inside your mouth for crumbs,’ a wag added.
‘You’ll find nothing.’
‘It’ll be fun looking. It’s been a long time since I laid hands on a strapping virile young man like you.’ Doris puckered her lips and blew Micah a kiss.
‘Keep it clean, Doris,’ a woman with young children at the back of the queue admonished.
The shop was crowded and it was as much as Micah could do to squeeze through to the counter. Two of Judy’s aunts were serving customers as quickly as they could while Judy’s eldest cousin, Kristina, was busy arranging rows of bread rolls filled with ham and cheese on trays.
Edyth was packing cardboard boxes with sausage rolls, pies and pasties that she was lifting from the display plates with tongs. She saw Micah, nodded, and carried on counting the pasties. ‘Six … seven … eight … nine … ten –’
‘He’s back,’ Micah interrupted, on the premise that ten was an easy number to remember.
‘Who’s back?’ She dropped the tenth pastie i
nto the box, closed it and made a note in a book next to the box. ‘David.’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘Not yet, the captain sent a note to tell me the Vidda had berthed and David was sick.’
‘Sick?’ She looked up in concern.
‘Seasick,’ he explained. ‘Apparently all the way to Norway and all the way back. Some people aren’t cut out to be sailors.’
‘Poor David,’ Edyth murmured sympathetically. ‘He was so set on seeing the world.’
‘He was more set on something else,’ Micah whispered before raising his voice. ‘I thought I’d better check with Moody that it’s still all right for David to move into his room in Helga’s.’
‘Moody’s in the kitchen.’ Edyth turned to the waiting women. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can,’ she apologised before opening the flap in the counter for Micah. He followed her through to the back where Moody was brushing the crusts of a tray of unbaked meat pies with a mixture of milk and beaten egg.
‘Is business this good, or are the boys just practising their baking?’ Micah cast his eye over the vast amount of stock that was either on its way into the ovens or on its way out of them.
‘It’s boomed since George Powell’s men moved into the Sea Breeze.’ Edyth shifted a tray of Welsh cakes to the table nearest to the door. ‘We’re selling six times as much as we did before they started work on the place. And before you tell me, I know it can’t last.’
‘Are you running to the bank with the profits or distributing them among the poor?’ Micah asked.
‘Running to the bank. If I can pay off a chunk of my overdraft it will give me a buffer for when the nightclub opens and trade drops off.’
‘You’ll burn your mouth, Micah,’ Moody warned when he filched a sausage roll from a tray that had just come out of the oven.
‘David’s back, is it all right if he moves into your room with you?’ Micah blew on the roll to cool it.
‘Only until he finds another berth. And you can tell him from me that he’d better start looking right away.’ Moody turned to one of his apprentices who dropped an empty tray. ‘They’ll hear that in Cardiff Castle never mind out front. You trying to scare the customers away?’ ‘David won’t be going back to sea, he was seasick on both voyages.’ Micah gingerly nibbled at the edge of the roll.
Moody grinned. ‘Some men just aren’t cut out to be sailors.’
‘That’s exactly what I said to Edyth. See you later at the mission? We’re short of a waffle cook tonight.’
‘I’ll be there.’ Moody went to the small oven to check a batch of fruit cakes.
Micah pressed his hand on the door to prevent Edyth from opening it. ‘I need to finish this roll before Dons sees me. I told her I was only delivering a message,’ he explained.
‘Isn’t lying a mortal sin?’
‘Possibly for Catholics. We Lutherans are allowed to tell as many white lies as we like.’
‘And stealing sausage rolls comes under the category of “white lies”?’
‘I’ll pay for it later,’ he winked at her, ‘in kind.’
‘I can’t wait to see what that might be,’ she said with a smile.
‘Perhaps when David’s had time to recuperate he’ll go back to the farm.’
‘I doubt it. Harry and Mary didn’t want him to leave and after the trouble he had arguing with them to gain his independence I don’t think his pride will allow him to admit defeat and go back.’
‘Either way, I think you should talk to him, Edyth,’ Micah said seriously. ‘Unless, that is, you’d prefer me to talk to him for you.’
She shook head. ‘No, David’s part of my family. We won’t be able to avoid seeing one another. The sooner this problem is sorted between us, the better it will be for everyone’s sake.’
‘Including mine. Are you going to visit him this evening after you’ve shut up shop?’
‘Yes,’ she said decisively.
‘I’ll meet you at Helga’s and walk you back.’
‘Thank you.’ Apart from the opening night of Peter Pan when they had both been in the theatre, Micah had made the most of Judy’s absence by spending every evening except Sundays with her in the rooms above her shop. But he was always careful to leave before Judy arrived, walked home by one of her uncles.
‘Save me a pastie for supper?’ Micah pushed the last chunk of sausage roll into his mouth.
‘If you’re good, two.’
‘I’ll be good, miss.’ He looked up, saw Moody and the boys watching them and decided against kissing her.
‘Time to fetch the wandering boy and take him to Helga’s.’
‘Be kind to him, Micah.’
‘I can afford to be, I got the girl,’ he whispered. He winked at her again and fought his way out of the shop. ‘Micah, I warned you that I was going to search you.’ Doris had worked her way up the queue to the doorway.
‘Another time.’
‘Promises, promises, that’s all I ever get,’ she complained to his retreating back.
‘And service, Doris. It’s your turn, when you’ve finished flirting with Micah. The usual? One Welsh bap and half a dozen Welsh cakes?’ Edyth asked.
Micah strolled down Bute Street to where he’d parked the mission’s van. The fine weather hadn’t abated since the carnival and it was a beautiful warm summer’s day. The sky was a pale washed blue, the sun was shining and he was tempted to forget the mission and all the errands he had to run on behalf of his parishioners, fetch his saxophone and take it down to his boat so he could play it on deck. He imagined sitting with his back to the cabin, the sea glinting with reflected sunlight all around him and the fishy smell of the salt-laden dock air. It would certainly be more peaceful than where he was.
Bute Street teemed with life. Sober-suited, bowlerhatted clerks and businessmen walked briskly and purposefully in and out of the imposing doorways of the Victorian-built banks and down towards the magnificent façade of the Exchange. A group of women stood gossiping on the corner of Custom House Street outside Thomas the tobacconist’s. Delivery boys steered bicycles plastered with the logos of Patterson’s the butcher’s and Reese and Gwillim’s the grocer, in between horse-drawn carts and the sleek black motor cars of the wealthy.
Half a dozen Chinese seamen were playing Sic Bo, the Chinese dice game the locals had adopted and rechristened Dice Bowl, on the doorstep of the Chinese Seamen’s home. Somali seamen had spilled out of the cafes and were sitting on window sills, teacups in hand, taking the air. And everywhere, gangs of children roamed, making the most of the fine weather and the school holidays. Some were headed across the street in the direction of the canal, others towards the sea front, or the railway line behind him, but a fair number lingered outside the shops, looking to make a penny or two by carrying messages, or holding the horses of the delivery carts.
His spirits fell when he saw a crowd of elderly seamen outside the Corys Buildings at Penniless Point. There were fewer than usual because most of the younger, fitter men were working on the conversion of the Sea Breeze. There was little chance of any of them picking up work this late in the day because the shipping and docker agents and captains looked to take on crew before dawn. But having nowhere else to go and nothing better to do, they had obviously decided to wait simply because a slim hope was better than none.
Micah loved Tiger Bay, the diversity of the population, the friendliness of the natives, their wit, intelligence and willingness to help their neighbours. After only six years of living on the dockside he couldn’t imagine moving anywhere else. But he was also aware that although Edyth was happy in Bute Street for the moment, she might not always be. The question of their future – that’s if they had one together – hung over their relationship, tainting every private moment they spent together.
If she should decide to sell the baker’s and move away from the Bay he had no way of staying close to her unless she married him. And while she continued to refuse even to consider the idea, he was left in
limbo, unable to make plans that included the both of them and unwilling to make any that excluded her.
Turning his back on the crowd of unemployed men, he climbed into his van, drove slowly down the street and turned at the dock, continuing along the quayside. He looked along the rows of berthed ships, finally spotting the Vidda in prime position close to the railway sidings. Dockers were hard at work, unloading the logs she’d brought in and piling them on to the empty wagons that waited to be pulled back up to the pitheads.
Lars Nordheim was on deck. When he saw Micah leaving his van he walked down the gangplank to meet him. ‘Micah, old friend.’ He lifted him off his feet in a bear hug. ‘I hope that sister of yours has been baking for our return.’
‘I don’t doubt she’s killed a few eels and a goose or two. How is David?’ Micah asked.
The captain looked grim, held out his hand and waved it from side to side. ‘I’ve seen some cases of seasickness in my time but he has to be the worst. He couldn’t even keep water down. You gave me a healthy young man. I’m returning a skeleton.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offload dead-weight cargo on to you. He must have been worse than useless, because the crew had to look after him.’
The captain slapped his hand across Micah’s shoulders. ‘He didn’t cost us any food. And one good thing has come out of it. Your young man has discovered that a sailor’s life is not for him. He’s vowed never to go to sea again.’ He beckoned Micah forward. ‘He’s still below deck.’
David was lying white and still on the bunk that he hadn’t left on the outward or return journey. His eyes were closed and the captain had to shake him twice before he opened them. He looked up, wide eyed and startled, at Micah.
‘Micah’s here to take you on to dry land,’ the captain said heartily. ‘A day or two to find your land legs and you’ll be as right as rain.’
‘Thank you,’ David murmured; all trace of hostility and sarcasm gone.
‘Can you walk?’ Micah asked.
‘I’ll try.’ David tried to move but from the way he swayed it was obvious he was suffering from vertigo.
‘You take the right arm, I’ll take the left, we’ll prop him up on our shoulders,’ the captain suggested. ‘Terje, bring his kitbag.’
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