by Carol Rivers
Bert thumped his hands on his knees. ‘Frank should know better than to give the old man such a fright.’
Gertie fixed Bert with a sharp stare. ‘What else was the boy supposed to do?’ she asked. ‘I ain’t defending Frank, no. But when all is said and done, he is Daisy’s boy. And when he was said to have drowned, Bill grieved more than his pride would allow him to show. Why do you think Bill gave in to moving here from the shop? It was the memories of his sons and the life they had shared, for better or worse, that tore him apart.’
‘But he wants to live with you, Gertie,’ Bert said innocently. ‘All them years slogging at the shop. Now this is your time together.’
‘Don’t you believe it!’ Gertie waved her hand dismissively. ‘And don’t look at me like that, my lad. Me and Bill are good friends, but living under the same roof ain’t paradise.’
Lizzie stared at this tiny, frail-looking lady who had been the backbone of the Flowers family, yet had never taken the name. She was Gertie Spooner, always had been and probably always would be. She equalled Bill in his efforts to raise two motherless boys and run a business. The shop had seen them all through the lean and hungry years of the depression. They had always planned to end their days together. But was she was telling them that Bill wasn’t happy?
‘So where is our Danny?’ Gertie said in a hard voice.
‘The law came for him last night,’ Bert told her. ‘We was standing in the road having a smoke and they just drove up. Said something about him helping them with their enquiries.’
‘What enquiries?’ Gertie frowned.
‘Dunno. But we reckon it’s to do with Frank turning up.’
‘They’ve taken him to Limehouse where Danny identified the corpse,’ Lizzie explained. ‘Me and Bert are driving over there now. But I wanted to call here first. Can we go up and see Bill?’
‘Course.’ Gertie stood up. ‘You know I am sorry, love, don’t you? About the wedding.’
‘Yes, I know, Gertie. Did Frank say what he was going to do now?’
‘You know the score there, girl. More than I do.’
Lizzie knew she wouldn’t get more out of Gertie. Though Frank didn’t have any friends on the island and certainly had more than enough enemies, he did have Gertie to turn to.
Lizzie guessed, as she and Bert climbed the stairs, that for all the unhappiness Frank had caused in the family, he knew that he’d be forgiven here.
‘Shh. Granda’s asleep,’ Polly whispered as Lizzie walked into the bedroom.
Lizzie sat down on the wicker chair beside the large double bed where the two children stood. She took hold of Polly’s cold hand. Bill seemed to be sleeping peacefully under the eiderdown. Two thin pillows supported his white head and Lizzie thought of the man who had worked tirelessly all his years as a costermonger. Bill had supported her throughout her turbulent marriage to Frank. And now as she looked at him, she saw the toll that the worry had taken.
She couldn’t help wondering if things would have turned out differently if Danny had followed his dad into the business. Frank would never have had the chance to bully Bill, not while Danny was around. And the shop would have thrived under Danny’s care and become the expanding business Bill had worked so hard for it to be.
Lizzie leaned forward, touching Bill’s cheek. He took a breath and she let her hand drop away. She didn’t recognize this man. He seemed to have shrunk in the few weeks since she’d last seen him. Was it Frank’s bombing of his beloved shop that had broken Bill’s spirit? Or was the discovery of that Limehouse corpse to blame? Or perhaps, Lizzie wondered, it was as Gertie suggested: Bill was just getting old.
‘Is Granda going to wake up soon?’ Polly asked.
‘I hope so.’
‘Yer, he’ll be back on his feet in no time,’ Bert agreed, turning his cap in his hands.
A movement from the doorway caused them all to turn round. Gertie motioned to the children. ‘Go downstairs, you kids, and we’ll get out the cards.’
‘Can we play patience, Grandma?’ Polly asked excitedly.
‘We’ll play whatever you like, ducks. You two know where the cards are. Then later, after we’ve had tea, your Granda will be awake.’
When Tom and Polly had gone, Gertie looked at Lizzie. ‘The doctor gave Bill something to make him rest. Looks like it’s doing the job.’
Lizzie sniffed. ‘He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?’
‘As right as rain.’ Gertie patted her shoulder.
‘We’d better go. You sure you want the kids to stay?’
Lizzie gazed down at her father-in-law. She bent to kiss him. The skin of his cheek felt very thin.
‘Off you go now,’ Gertie told her. ‘And tell the bobbies from me, they’ll have Gertie Spooner to answer to if they don’t send Danny back to his father.’
Lizzie smiled. She knew Gertie loved Daisy’s boys as her own and meant every word she said.
Chapter Nine
‘Take a closer look, Mrs Flowers,’ said the policeman as he placed the dog-eared black-and-white photograph in front of her. He bore a faint resemblance to Frank as he stood in the sleazy type of clothes that Frank liked to wear. ‘Have you ever seen him before?’
Lizzie knew he was studying her closely. The same plain-clothes copper who had arrived at the house last night and bundled Danny in the car now wanted her help. She raised her eyes slowly and shook her head. ‘I told you. The answer is no.’
‘Would you like to know who he is?’
‘No. Why should I? Where’s Danny?’ She pushed the photograph away, towards the filthy ashtray.
‘This is the late Duncan King,’ Bray continued, drawing the photograph back with nicotine-stained fingers. ‘He’s a South London crook and the man your brother-in-law identified as your husband at the morgue in May.’ He looked at Bert. ‘And you, Mr Allen. Do you recognize this man?’
Lizzie glanced at Bert who had refused to cooperate from the moment they had walked into the station. After a scuffle with two of the policemen who had intended to lead Lizzie away from him and into an interview room, the senior policeman had called off his watchdogs. Lizzie had taken Bert’s arm and they had been led along the sour-smelling corridor to a dim, windowless room. It was no bigger than the storeroom at home. From that moment on, Bert had glared belligerently ahead and refused to speak.
‘I advise you to answer,’ the policeman threatened. ‘Unless you have no objection to occupying that chair for the foreseeable future. I am sure Mrs Flowers has better things to do with her time.’
‘Don’t know him,’ Bert grunted. ‘Never seen him before in my life.’
Detective Inspector Bray smoothed his thumbs together. ‘The burning question in my mind is how come your husband walked large as life into Poplar registry office yesterday morning, when he was supposed to be six foot under?’
Lizzie’s jaw dropped. How did he know about that?
‘Yes, I can see you’re wondering how we got the information.’ He smiled, showing uneven brown teeth. ‘We had a telephone call from the registrar. Not often he finds himself compromised, having almost aided and abetted bigamy.’
‘It wasn’t bigamy.’ Lizzie stared into the sunken eyes of the man questioning her. ‘I believed I was a widow.’
‘A widow?’
‘Yes. I thought Frank was dead.’
‘Because the man you wanted to marry told you so?’
She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘True, isn’t it?’
‘Danny thought it was Frank in the morgue.’
‘So he led us all to believe. But you see my problem, don’t you?’ The policeman’s foul breath on her face made her wince. ‘I am left with Duncan King’s missus giving me grief over the disappearance of her dear departed who was identified as none other than Frank Flowers before he was sunk down six feet and buried.’
Lizzie studied the image that the policeman refused to take away. ‘I don’t have any idea who Duncan Ki
ng is. But this man does look a bit like Frank, and I expect it was an easy mistake to make.’
‘So you’re saying your brother-in-law genuinely made a cock-up?’
‘Yes, of course it was a mistake.’
‘But a man must know his own brother.’
‘He was in the water a long time.’ Lizzie refused to be browbeaten even though she knew the policeman, for some reason, was trying to get her to admit that Danny had deliberately misidentified Frank.
Bray smiled without humour. ‘The body wasn’t a pleasant sight, that’s true. Although you didn’t see it, did you? Why not, Mrs Flowers?’
‘I . . . I didn’t want to.’
‘I’ll ask again, why not?’
‘Because it would be upsetting, of course.’
‘A puzzling sentiment . . .’ The policeman crooked an eyebrow. ‘Since you hated the sight of him.’
Lizzie sat up. ‘Who told you that?’
He tapped the side of his nose. ‘It’s my job to know these things.’
‘Well, you’re wrong. I didn’t hate Frank. I was frightened of him. Of what he might do.’
‘If he found out you were carrying on with another man?’
‘No!’ Lizzie was about to jump to her feet. But Bert was there before her.
‘You ain’t talking to my sister like that—’
‘Sit down, or else I’ll have you removed,’ the detective growled as Bert loomed over him.
‘Do as he says, Bert.’ Lizzie tugged her brother’s arm.
‘My version is,’ continued Bray as Bert slumped back to the chair, ‘you and your boyfriend cooked up a scheme to get rid of him. With your husband out of the way, there was nothing to stop you tying the knot.’
‘That’s not true.’ Lizzie tried to respond calmly. ‘As you know Frank isn’t dead.’
‘So your plan went adrift.’ Bray shrugged. ‘And when a body conveniently washed up, you hit on plan B.’
Lizzie felt her stomach turn. ‘That’s ridiculous. Danny and me weren’t doing anything wrong when we decided to get married.’
‘Well, it now seems you were.’ Bray gazed at her with hard eyes. ‘Let’s go over this again. There’s you and there’s your – estranged – husband. Then there’s you and Danny Flowers, his brother and your intended. I have a floater from the other side of the river, with no clue as to why he met his end. If we’d looked into his demise a few months earlier you might not be sitting here now.’ He paused, scratching the side of his unshaven jaw. ‘I have more questions than I have answers. Though Duncan King won’t be much lamented, his end is still unaccounted for.’
Lizzie felt the sweat on her top lip as the policeman stared accusingly at her. ‘I’m telling you everything I know.’
‘And you were not aware your husband was alive until yesterday morning?’
‘No, of course not.’
The detective narrowed his eyes and, in silence, slipped an arm over the back of his chair. He lit a cigarette and crossed one leg over the other. He nodded to the papers on the table, a file of well-worn documents. ‘Me being a recent addition to this constabulary, I’ve done a little research. Your family has enjoyed a chequered history, Mrs Flowers. One brother, Vincent, doing time for aggravated assault. One sister, Barbara, arrested and cautioned on a number of occasions for soliciting. And your business premises infiltrated not long ago by Commie agitators.’
‘Commies didn’t wreck my shop. It was Frank, as you well know.’
Bray tilted his head. ‘There’s no report of that.’
‘I told the police at the time.’
‘Did you give statements to that effect?’
‘Yes. So did my sister Flo and Danny, of course.’
The policeman blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘Then I appear to be missing some information.’
‘Why don’t you ask Mik Ferreter about the dead man?’ Lizzie said angrily. ‘He was the last person to see Frank before he disappeared. Or is it safer for you to go along with what villains want and label me and Danny as liars?’
Unruffled, the detective pushed back his greasy brown hair. He slewed round on the chair and folded his arms. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me your side of the story then? Since the villain you’re naming is holidaying in Wandsworth.’
Lizzie felt the sting of frustrated tears in her eyes. Like many of the police who were in the pay of the underworld, Bray preferred to take the easy way out rather than investigate Frank’s involvement with his one-time boss, Mik Ferreter.
‘I’ve nothing to say,’ Lizzie said stubbornly. ‘You can’t keep me and Bert or Danny here. We’ve done nothing wrong.’
Bray looked at her coldly. In the silence that followed, Lizzie’s heart pounded. Bray stared at her, sizing her up. She looked at Bert, telling him with her eyes not to say anything.
‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Flowers,’ Bray said suddenly, folding the papers and standing up. ‘Mr Flowers is outside, waiting for you. Tell him he’d better stay local. I might need to pull him back in again. And it’s highly likely that I will.’
Shocked at their dismissal, Lizzie took Bert’s arm and pulled him past the detective. Outside the door a uniformed officer stood on guard. He made no move to stop them as they walked to the desk.
‘Danny!’ She hurried to where he stood.
He held her gently. ‘What did they want with you and Bert?’
‘We came to find you. Why didn’t they let you go last night?’ Lizzie asked as they walked into the bright light of the day. She lifted her fingers to touch the black and blue skin around his eye.
‘Bray’s sidekicks were a bit handy.’
‘They wanted me to say we had a plan to get rid of Frank,’ Lizzie said as they walked across the road to the van.
Danny nodded. ‘Me too.’
‘They’re after a collar,’ Bert grumbled. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
‘Is Tom all right?’ Danny asked when they were squashed safely in the van’s front seats and Bert was driving.
‘The kids are over at your dad’s. Danny, Frank’s been round there.’
‘What?’
‘That’s why they didn’t come to Lil’s yesterday. Bill had a turn and Frank went for the doctor.’
Danny’s unshaven face was grey. ‘Is Dad all right?’
‘The doctor gave him something to make him rest.’
Danny drew his hand over his forehead and rubbed his temple. ‘Seeing Frank back from the grave must have done it.’
‘Gertie said he had a shock, but Frank didn’t cause no trouble.’
Danny laughed mirthlessly. ‘As if he hasn’t caused enough already.’
For a few seconds Danny closed his eyes. Then, shaking his head, he turned to stare out of the window, trying to hide the fury that filled his face.
Lizzie sat silently as Bert drove them towards Poplar. She hoped Bill would be awake and able to talk to Danny. Bill had looked so old and frail in that bed. It was a fact Danny was sure to put down to Frank’s visit yesterday.
Chapter Ten
Danny sat at his father’s bed, saddened by the sight of the sick man. Sitting propped by the pillows, Bill looked pale and gaunt. The collar of his striped pyjamas hung loosely around his scrawny neck. His dad had always been his hero. A man who was the business, literally. He had been a coster all his life. Great-grandfather Flowers had sold fruit and veg from his barrow and invested his profits in bricks and mortar. The result of which was Ebondale Street. Danny was proud of his heritage; pioneers of business since the days when the East End was all marshy land and windmills. Great-grandfather Flowers had been a wise Jew. He’d listened to the Rabbi’s advice. And as the island had flourished, so too had the Flowerses. That was, until Danny’s two uncles had absconded. He couldn’t help smiling at the story he’d been told of the two men, leaving the country with pockets full of gold sovereigns. Bill and his father had been left penniless. But that hadn’t stopped them building up the business again.
> Staring at his dad, Danny thought of the young man his father had been. Slightly built but strong, agile. He’d met and married Daisy Owen when they were both sixteen. Danny didn’t know if they had wed for love, or if it was just the comfortable arrangement of tough, hard-working islanders, with enough nous to get themselves known as honest, decent folk who sold from shelves marked at bargain prices. Danny had seen the family album many times. He’d recognized in himself the young, hardy-looking coster who could balance a crate of cauliflowers on his head and heave it with gusto onto the back of a horse-drawn wagon.
That was how tough his dad was. Yet Bill was a man of soul. He didn’t attend the synagogue, but he’d never forgotten what his father had taught him. Look after your customers and the customers will look after you. And Danny knew that Bill had followed this to the letter.
Bill’s lips parted in a wan smile. But the smile was slow to reach his rheumy eyes. ‘You all right, son?’ Bill put a hand to his ear. ‘Speak up, you know I’m a bit mutton.’
‘Never been better, Dad.’ Danny grinned. ‘It’s you I’m worried about.’
‘I’m as fit as a flea, Gawd help us.’ He made a face. ‘What rubbish has Gertie been telling you?’
‘Gertie’s all right. She says you had a turn.’ Danny didn’t want to speak of Frank – not yet. He felt it was up to his father to say. As much as Danny had convinced himself that his brother was to blame for the old man’s condition, instinct told him to keep quiet.
‘A dizzy spell, that’s all. You don’t want to listen to Gertie. Women takes things to heart. The doctor says I’ll be as right as rain in a couple of days. But I can’t lie here all that time, done up like a kipper. Help me put my slippers on, son.’ He took hold of the sheet and threw it back.
‘No way, Dad.’ Danny replaced the sheet. ‘No use you arguing. You gave us all a fright. And now you have to take your medicine, or else.’
Bill looked his son in the eye and chuckled. ‘You’re throwing your weight around, young Daniel.’
Danny’s heart contracted; the familiar term that he hadn’t heard in years, perhaps even back to his childhood, rendered him silent for a moment. He loved his father but had never known how much until this moment.