The Fight for Lizzie Flowers

by Carol Rivers

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Robert said flatly. ‘Sorry about your friend. Real sorry.’

  ‘Time for us to go,’ Danny said, getting to his feet suddenly. ‘Thanks for the tea.’

  ‘Remember, no cops,’ Robert shouted after them.

  Out in the warm evening air, the grey ash skittered around their feet. ‘We can’t do nothing more tonight,’ Cal said, looking at Danny. ‘See you here in the morning and we’ll start the clearing up.’

  Danny nodded but, as Cal went to walk away, Danny took his arm. ‘Listen, mate, there’s nothing here for you now. No wage and no work.’

  Cal grinned. ‘Reckon we’ll manage somehow. Till we get our lean-to set up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bert agreed. ‘You ain’t finished yet.’

  Danny made an effort to smile. ‘See you in the morning then.’

  ‘Do you think the river men are telling the truth about Richard?’ Lizzie asked as they walked to Danny’s car.

  ‘Why would they make it up?’ Danny said.

  ‘Don’t seem like it was intended,’ Bert muttered.

  Lizzie climbed into the rear. As they drove away, she could see the river men sitting on the wall. She didn’t blame them for not wanting to be witnesses. They were as afraid of the law as they were of the underworld.

  She could taste the smoke on her lips and feel the dirt on her face. Like Danny, she wanted to vent her anger. Her best friend had been made a widow because of Savage. Danny had lost his garage because of Savage. The villain had threatened her and her business. What would come next?

  ‘Are we going to tell Ethel?’ Bert said quietly.

  ‘Not yet. What good would the knowledge do her, if the man who killed her husband can’t be brought to justice?’

  ‘Perhaps not in a court of law,’ Danny said, his voice low.

  Lizzie waited for him to say more. But he just drove on through the streets, his face set in hard lines as he stared ahead.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  ‘She knows,’ Syd said, looking at his brother who was counting out the day’s takings. ‘I’m telling you, the watch gave us away. I didn’t even know you’d nicked it!’

  ‘Fell off in my hand,’ said Walter, wetting his thumb as he flicked through the notes. ‘Have it, if that makes you happy.’

  ‘It’s too late now.’ Syd was so frustrated that he wanted to shake Walter. ‘She’s sussed out that we trounced her old man. I’ve no liking for him, but you knifed the geezer. He could have died.’

  ‘So? Good riddance to bad rubbish.’ Walter sat back in his chair and raised his hands behind his head, locking his fingers together. Putting his feet up on the desk he said with forced patience, ‘Do you know, Syd, you’re getting on me bleeding wick. All I hear is moans. I ask you to drive my motor, plain and simple. Thanks to Clifford you can now operate four wheels without driving into the back of a bus. But then, all of a sudden, you’re on my case, moaning it’s nicked.’

  ‘Well, it is,’ Syd retorted indignantly. He scraped back his chair and stood up. Striding up and down the floor of the wooden hut that acted as the scrapyard office, he loosened his tie and stretched his short neck. He hated cheap suits. He hated vulgar ties. And Clifford insisted he wore them every day to impress the clients. Syd was going hot around the collar as he reflected on the duties he performed daily. Most of which were to drive villains from the East End to Soho and back. Not that Walter had ever admitted they were hard men, doing deals that Syd overheard from the back seat and which were having the effect of turning his hair prematurely grey. They weren’t your average punter and Syd had recognized the fact from the start. What had possessed him to give up his job as a fish porter? How had it happened that he’d got himself entangled with the escapades of his two brothers? Why had he listened to the Missus when she told him he’d never regret his decision to join the firm? Why had he persuaded Flo that his family might be rough around the edges, but they were legit? If the blagging going on in the back of the motor as he drove Walter’s clients up to the city was true, then he was in trouble.

  ‘Your motor’s got new plates and a paint job,’ Walter was saying as he clipped one end off a cigar and stared innocently at Syd. ‘No one knows it was used on a job.’

  ‘But I do,’ said Syd, beginning to feel the same hopeless dismay that he’d had each day for weeks now. When he woke up in the morning he tried to convince himself he was looking forward to the day ahead. ‘I keep checking over my shoulder, wondering if the coppers are following me.’

  At this, Walter lowered his feet and leaned his elbows on the desk in front of him. His smiling round face, benign, now began to turn ugly and Syd recognized that look. In fact he was afraid of it. And he was ashamed of himself for the way he was kowtowing to Walter. ‘Syd, you’ve got all you could ever want in life. A pretty little missus, a kid on the way, a house full of new furniture, a motor and, basically, everything you could want to make your family happy. Yet every day you come in here and chew off me ear. Only six months ago you stank like a bag of shit. And now look at you. All tonsed up to the eyeballs and earning a generous wedge. I tell you, after all the family’s done for you, I’m beginning to think you’re an ungrateful sod.’

  Syd stared into the red-veined eyes that bore down on him, and the fat finger that wagged in his face. He knew in his water that this was a message he wasn’t meant to forget. His eyes had been well and truly opened since coming to the scrapyard. There were things he’d seen going on here that made his stomach curl. He tried to turn a blind eye to the violence, blagging and half-inching that went on, but he couldn’t any longer. Lizzie had woken him up to the fact that he had a conscience. And conscience didn’t mix with the firm’s business.

  ‘Look, take the day off,’ Walter said easily, his tone immediately softening. He thumbed three large notes from the pile and threw them across at Syd. ‘Go home, take the little lady out. Buy her something nice up West. You deserve it.’

  Syd stared at the money. He didn’t want it, but he was afraid to refuse it. There was threat hidden in Walter’s voice, despite the bribe. Or, perhaps, because of it.

  ‘Go on, get out of here.’ Walter laughed easily. ‘And tomorrow come in with a smile on your face.’

  Syd knew he had his family to think of. Every time Walter reminded him of that, he felt the same sick twist in his guts. He was holding a candle to the devil. And the devil was staring right back at him.

  It was Rosie who opened the door to greet Lizzie and Polly. ‘Hello, Auntie Lizzie. Come in.’

  Lizzie kissed Rosie’s pale cheek as she entered the house to the smell of a Sunday roast cooking. ‘How are you, Rosie?’

  ‘All right, I suppose.’

  ‘Is Mum there?’

  ‘Yes, she’s in the kitchen. Hello, Pol.’ Rosie smiled. ‘Come and see Mum, Pol, then we can go up to my room.’

  Lizzie saw Polly nod eagerly as she grabbed Rosie’s hand. Last week, when they had called round briefly to tell Ethel about Danny’s misfortune, Polly had brought a drawing she’d made of Rosie. It was a very good drawing and Rosie had stuck it on her wall.

  As they walked through to the kitchen, Lizzie thought how once Timothy would have been down those stairs in a flash. But Richard’s death had affected him. Ethel complained he was going out a lot whereas once he was a home bird. Rosie was reluctant to go out, even giving up her evenings at the local youth club to stay with Ethel.

  Ethel shut the stove door quickly. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two here on a Sunday.’

  ‘We’ve left Frank to cook the dinner.’

  ‘Uncle Frank said he won’t burn it, like last time,’ Polly said with a shy grin.

  ‘He’d better not,’ Ethel replied. ‘Or we’ll have the Yorkshire batter him.’ It was an old joke and Lizzie was pleased to see a faint smile back on Ethel’s face. Last week she had been very down. But it was still early days.

  ‘We’re going upstairs, Mum,’ said Rosie. ‘I’m gonna show
Polly me new dress for my job.’

  ‘Your job?’ Lizzie asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes. I’m starting work at a dress shop in Greenwich.’

  ‘But you’re still only fourteen,’ Lizzie said, glancing quickly at Ethel. ‘I thought you was staying on at school for your exams?’

  ‘I’m fifteen next month,’ Rosie said with a half-hearted smile. ‘And I like fashion. I was getting bored at school, anyway.’ She looked down at Polly. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs.’

  ‘Tell your brother to come and see Lizzie,’ Ethel called after them as they ran through the hall and up the stairs.

  ‘How’s Timothy?’ Lizzie asked as Ethel took the kettle off the stove and poured hot water into the china teapot.

  ‘Distant,’ Ethel murmured as she placed two cups and saucers on the table. ‘I can’t get a word out of him.’

  ‘He misses Richard.’

  ‘Yes, although they were never close.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s the shock.’

  Ethel glanced up, her blue eyes moistening. ‘Richard was too young to die.’ She picked up the full cups. ‘Let’s go and sit in the garden. It’s such a lovely day.’

  Lizzie followed Ethel out through the open kitchen door and into the bright sunshine. Compared to the yards of the island houses, this was paradise. A green lawn, flowers, a little wooden shed and a proper path. Richard had been very proud of his garden, but it was very much his domain. Now it seemed almost forgotten. The grass was growing high, there were a few weeds in between the paving which Richard would have pulled up immediately. The kids had left their bikes by the coal bunker, the tyres making ridges in the lawn. Richard would have hated that, Lizzie thought, as they made themselves comfortable on the garden bench by the fence.

  ‘Tell me how you really are,’ Lizzie said as Ethel sat staring into space.

  ‘Not good, if you want to know the truth.’

  ‘You’ve got a bit thin, Ethel. You should be eating for two.’

  ‘Yes, but without . . .’ She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘Even though we’d drifted apart, the house don’t feel normal.’

  ‘How are you managing for money?’

  ‘We had some in the Post Office. I’ve been drawing on that. Richard would have a fit if he knew—’ She stopped, shaking her head. ‘I keep thinking he’s here.’

  ‘It’ll take time to get used to things.’

  Ethel played with her cup. ‘Somehow I’ve got to make ends meet. Once Mrs Ryde puts the house up for sale—’

  ‘When is that?’ Lizzie asked. Ethel had said last week that the house was to be sold but she had been hoping Mrs Ryde would change her mind.

  ‘She wrote and said she has a mortgage to pay. If I can’t find the rent then she has to sell it.’

  ‘But can she do that?’

  ‘It’s her house, not mine.’

  ‘Can’t she wait until you find a job?’

  ‘Where am I going to get a job with a salary to match Richard’s? He was earning good money. She’s given us a month before she puts the house up for sale. She wants me and the kids to move in with her.’

  By the expression on Ethel’s face, Lizzie could see that Ethel hated the idea. ‘Perhaps this is the right time to buy the leasehold of Mr James’s shop,’ Lizzie said eagerly.

  But Ethel bit her lip. ‘I’ve lost me confidence. I can’t seem to think straight. I’d be no good to you right now.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine but I don’t want to rush you.’

  ‘We’ve got to have a home. The kids need security. There’s so much to think of.’

  ‘Does that mean you’ll accept Mrs Ryde’s offer?’

  Ethel paused, trying to compose herself. ‘It seems the sensible thing to do. She’s got a very big house. Four bedrooms of which three are empty, two downstairs rooms, a large parlour and a dining room. There’s a sizeable kitchen and scullery and a vast garden, as she reminded me in her letter.’

  ‘Sensible perhaps, but will you be happy?’

  Ethel shrugged. ‘She is their gran after all.’

  ‘Lil and Doug would have you.’

  ‘How can I, when Mrs Ryde has got such a big house?’

  ‘Does your mother-in-law know about the baby?’

  ‘No. And I’m not telling her, not until I have to.’

  Lizzie looked sadly at her miserable friend. ‘It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.’

  ‘What can I expect of life after what I did?’

  Lizzie touched her friend’s shoulder. ‘You’ve got to stop thinking like that.’

  ‘Richard’s death was my fault.’

  ‘It wasn’t.’

  ‘I was a married woman and went with another man. If I hadn’t, Richard would be here today. We could have got on with our lives as a family.’

  ‘Ethel, you’re forgetting how unhappy you were with Richard and why you went with Cal.’

  ‘I wish I’d never laid eyes on him.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘You took a chance to be happy. In your eyes it was a mistake, but people make lots of mistakes. You can’t spend your life punishing yourself at Mrs Ryde’s.’

  Ethel turned sharply and said, ‘If I have a black baby, what will everyone think? All its life it will be considered not only a bastard but a second-class citizen as well. How am I going to live with that?’

  ‘Ethel, stop this! You’ll love your baby and so will everyone else.’

  A tear stole its way down Ethel’s gaunt cheek. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to cope.’

  ‘You’ve got your children to help you.’

  ‘But will they? What will they think of their mother?’

  ‘They love you and will stick by you, no matter what. So will I. So will your mum and dad. And all your friends. You won’t be on your own.’ Lizzie put her cup down on the grass, along with Ethel’s. ‘Come here. Give me a hug.’

  They embraced and Lizzie said softy, ‘Cal is very worried about you.’

  ‘When did you see him?’ Ethel pushed her fingers over her wet face.

  ‘The day before yesterday. Though there’s no garage now, Danny and Cal have cleaned up all the mess and unearthed the tools. Luckily the fire didn’t get to them. All the traders from Cox Street have been taking stuff over. Wood, tarpaulins, and sheet metal to form a temporary shelter. They won’t get buses or lorries underneath, but the cellar can still be used as a workshop. And when they have a tall vehicle to mend, they can roll back the tarpaulin.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Ethel nodded slowly.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to see Cal? He asked me when I saw you to tell you he’s thinking of you.’

  ‘Is that what you’ve come here for, to run his messages?’ Ethel asked, hot colour flooding her cheeks.

  ‘No, course not.’

  ‘Then please don’t mention his name again.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s no business of mine.’

  Ethel didn’t reply. Instead, she sat with her hands clasped, her fingers fidgeting again. Just then a tall figure walked from the back door and gave Lizzie a start. It was Timothy, but she had thought for a moment it was Richard. He looked very much like his father.

  ‘Hello, Auntie Lizzie.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you, Timothy. How are you?’ She wanted to give him a hug, but knew he felt too old for that now.

  ‘Okay, thanks. I’m off out now, Mum.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Ethel asked anxiously. ‘Dinner will be ready soon.’

  ‘I’m going out on my bike.’

  ‘Please don’t be long.’

  Timothy took hold of his bicycle and, wheeling it out through the side gate, he didn’t turn round to say goodbye.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Ethel said heavily. ‘He just won’t talk and it’s getting on my nerves.’

  ‘He’s a teenager,’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s understandable.’

  ‘He wasn’t like that once. He was a
mummy’s boy.’ Ethel stared after him. ‘He just goes out and I don’t see him for hours on end.’

  ‘Grief takes us all in different ways.’

  ‘On top of losing Richard,’ Ethel said wearily, ‘I’ll have to break the news I’m expecting.’

  On the drive home from Blackheath, Lizzie thought about what Ethel had said. Timothy had always been close; both mother and son were suffering from the burden of guilt that Richard’s death had left them with. But what would happen when the new baby arrived?

  It had been over an hour later by the time Lizzie could prise Polly away from Rosie’s company. ‘I want to be like Rosie when I grow up,’ Polly said now as she sat in the van. ‘A . . . a mi – minokin.’

  ‘A what?’ Lizzie asked with a frown.

  ‘A lady what walks up and down in shops wearing posh clothes.’

  ‘A mannequin, you mean.’

  Polly nodded. ‘Rosie’s pretty, ain’t she?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  Polly sat on the edge of her seat. ‘Can we go to Uncle Danny’s and see the new garage?’

  ‘It won’t be finished yet.’

  ‘But Tom will be there. Mrs Williams couldn’t look after him today. She had to go and put flowers on the grave.’

  ‘Mrs Williams?’ Lizzie repeated with a curious smile.

  ‘The lady that looks after Uncle Danny and Tom.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  ‘She’s got to catch the train to go there as it’s a long way away. Tom asked if he could go on a train as he ain’t been on one much. And she said next time she went he could go too.’

  ‘That’s very kind of her.’

  ‘Tom says Mr Williams is with Jesus, like Mr Ryde.’

  ‘So Mrs Williams travels by train to visit her husband’s grave,’ Lizzie repeated, realizing that Tom seemed to have told Polly quite a lot about this lady.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Polly with a firm nod. ‘He used to play football. But he got sick and couldn’t run about any more. Tom told her he’d like to be in a team too. So Mrs Williams went up to his school and asked the teacher if he could be.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘They said he could be next term.’ Polly sucked in a quick breath. ‘So can we go to the garage?’