Comet

by Andie J Fessey

  “Is that right?” O’Leary asked.

  “Purely a chivalrous gesture, I can assure you,” Tobias replied.

  “So, where did you drop this young lady off, sorry ‘escorted her’ to then Mr Anderson?”

  Uncertain whether to divulge any more information to O’Leary, Tobias decided as he was here for only a few more days, he would not have to face this foul, vulgar man, with his ridiculous arm-garters much longer.

  “I do believe, it was called Harrowby Street, road, avenue, something along those lines.”

  “Harrowby Street?” O’Leary asked, before turning to where Henry stood, talking to a couple of his other men.

  “Oi! Henry! Get over here a minute.”

  Looked across to him, Henry stubbed out his cigarette on the ground under his hobnailed boot, before walking slowly to them.

  “Can I help you, Mr O’Leary?” He asked.

  “Don’t you live in Harrowby Street?” O’Leary asked.

  Eying the man in the expensive suit, Henry felt anxious and nervous, wondering what reason he wanted to know where he lived for.

  “Well? Do you live there or not?” O’Leary said, Henry’s hesitation, a moment too long for his taste.

  “Err,” Henry muttered.

  “He probably thinks you’re the tally man, or some army bloke after him for going AWOL or something,” O’Leary said, smirking at Henry.

  Henrys eyes, flashed at O’Leary.

  What’s he on about? I didn’t get called up, because I wasn’t well!

  O’Leary stared at him intently.

  “Err, yes Mr O’Leary,” Henry replied, “I live in Harrowby Street, have done for several years now since I married and moved…”

  “Alright, alright, I don’t want your bloody life story,” O’Leary said, turning his gaze to Tobias, stood with a bemused look upon his face, “now, Mr Anderson, what was the name of that there, young lady?”

  Though feeling slightly uneasy, Tobias felt intrigued and certainly amused, by the actions of the short, balding man, with the ridiculously short arms standing in front of him.

  “I do believe, her name is Iris,” he said, placing his hand inside of his jacket and, after retrieving a silver cigarette case, lighting a cigarette before leaning back against his car.

  “Is there an Iris, living in your street?” O’Leary demanded, turning to Henry.

  At ease, knowing he was not in any form of trouble with O’Leary, Henry relaxed, pulling a cigarette from one of his pockets.

  “Yes, Mr O’Leary,” he replied, before taking a drag on his cigarette, “there’s three I know of, off the top of my head.”

  “Well,” O’Leary said, “who are they then?”

  “Iris Scrivens, she’s married to Jacko up the road,” he replied, “Iris something or other is one of the kids at the top of the street and Iris Bennett, she lives opposite us.”

  “Does she work?” O’Leary asked.

  “Err, yes,” Henry replied, “her and her Ma, work over at Jacobs.”

  One of Tobias’s eyebrows raised, a gesture not unnoticed by O’Leary.

  “So, Mr Anderson,” he said, “do any of them sound like your, how did you put it, flower?”

  Tobias cast O’Leary a glance, before dropping his cigarette to the floor, treading it into the ground with his expensive brogues.

  “The young lady in question, does indeed work at Jacobs so yes, I believe that may well be her.”

  “What do you know of her?” O’Leary asked, directing the question at Henry.

  “Well, she works at Jacobs as I said, and she lives at home, with her Ma and some sprogs.”

  “Sprogs?” Tobias asked.

  “You know, little ones, children. Three or four them I think, her brothers.”

  “And is that all you know?” O’Leary asked.

  “Oh, there is something,” Henry replied.

  “Well what is it?” O’Leary demanded, “we’ve got work to do here and don’t have all day. Mr Anderson here’s a busy man.”

  “She’s always been a quiet type you know? Not like that Maureen she’s mates with, from up the road,” Henry replied, smirking, “now that’s a looker, if you know what I mean?”

  Tobias sighed.

  This does seem to be going somewhat nowhere.

  “Well, I heard my missus talking to her Ma and by all accounts, she went out courting for the first time.”

  Tobias cast a glance at the Seaforth rooftops.

  Ah well, the best laid plans of mice and men.

  “Did you say, the first time? So, she’s like only been out with this bloke once?” O’Leary asked.

  Henry merely nodded, by way of reply.

  “So,” O’Leary continued, “it’s probably nothing serious then. Young girl just getting to know what’s out there, if you know what I mean?”

  Tobias glanced at him, quizzically.

  O’Leary merely smiled.

  “Do you know who this bloke is?” He asked.

  “Well, I don’t know him personally,” Henry replied, “but I did overhear her ma saying something about him working at a blacksmith, up at Woolton.”

  “Overhear a lot of things, do you?” O’Leary asked.

  “Well,” Henry replied, slightly sheepishly, “the bedroom window was open and I was having a lie in, after a good session the night before you know?”

  “Just taking the piss,” O’Leary said, “so, there can’t be that many blacksmiths up at Woolton. In fact, there’s only one as far as I’m aware. I’m certain that’s where I had me front gates made.”

  Pausing, he glanced around, before a dark idea revealed itself to him.

  “Tony! Bren! Get your backsides over here!” He called.

  Turning to Tobias, he smiled.

  “I think, I may have a way to make the way open for you and that flower of yours,” he said quietly.

  Smiling in return, Tobias cast another glance at the rooftops.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Walking around the yard, David ensured everything was locked secure, especially ensuring there was nothing hot left around liable to cause a fire.

  It was part of his daily routine and one he did not mind performing.

  Bob lived in the large detached house adjoining the yard and David knew he would be in the kitchen right now, with his beloved wife Flo, settling down for their evening meal.

  Most days after they finished work, David joined them at the table. Even with the rationing in place throughout the country, Flo produced dishes his Mother back home would be proud of.

  He was grateful for the meals and their welcome company, knowing full well they would have felt offended it he had refused.

  Then he would bid them good night, taking the bus ride or the long walk, back to his meagre lodgings in Lime Street.

  But, not this evening.

  He made his excuses to Bob, who asked him several times throughout the course of their working day, if he was alright.

  On each occasion, David gave him a smile, saying he was, adding he felt a bit off colour.

  Bob joked in his usual jovial manner, citing about a lad from the valleys, not being able to put up with the air of the city.

  David politely laughed, at his attempts at humour.

  How can I tell Bob what’s really going on, what’s going through my mind, how I really feel?

  He felt somebody placed a knife deep within him, continuing to twist it, since he last saw Iris. His insides felt bereft of substance, empty and hollow.

  He tried to shake these feelings, but his mind became filled with the image of Iris getting into the man’s car, the way he smiled at her, casting a long glance at her backside, whilst she bent to climb into the car.

  I could never in my life, afford a car like that.

  Now, he felt lost.

  Now, he felt confused.

  He was certain Iris was perfectly sincere, that she did not lead him on in, but now…

  Now, he felt he knew nothing at all
, the world becoming meaningless.

  If Iris lied to him, maybe the words people spoke to him throughout his life, may have been lies as well.

  How could I think she’d have been interested in me?

  He busied himself, to keep his overactive mind occupied until, once certain all was in order within the yard, he pulled the large gates together.

  He placed the large lock and chain upon them, securing the yard against any unwelcome visitors throughout the night.

  Turning his back to the gates, he glanced at the few buildings stood in the Woolton lane.

  He found the buildings here quaint and full of character, but, tonight they appeared only mortar and brick to him.

  Casting a glance to Bob’s house, he noticed the curtains were pulled together in the upstairs windows.

  Moving his gaze from the sight of his friends large, welcoming house, he looked along the length of the lane, cobbled and tree lined, with no other people, save for a large van parked at the far end.

  Taking in one more glance at the gates he rattled the chain, ensuring it was secure, knowing full well it would be, but it was a habit he was unable to break.

  Sighing, he began his long walk homewards.

  Walking past the cab of the van, he noticed the large hulking, figure of a man through the window.

  Even from outside, he saw the huge, over weight bulk as the man leant forward, his face obscured from sight, appearing to be searching around the dash.

  He considered knocking on the cab door to see if he needed directions or assistance, but this evening, his heart was not in the right place for helping anybody out.

  He wanted to be left alone.

  Passing the rear end of the van, his head held low watching his feet, he failed to notice the two men leaning with their backs tightly pushed against it.

  Barely a couple of yards passed the van, he felt a hard tap on his shoulder.

  “Eh, Taffy,” a voice said menacingly, “you need a lesson, good and proper like.”

  Before he could turn, a pain erupted from his shoulder blade, radiating rapidly into his chest.

  Amidst his blurred vision, he saw a large chain flash through the air, as its wielder brought it back towards him.

  His hand reached to his shoulder as the chain struck again, this time catching his raised hand, in addition to his burning shoulder.

  Calling out in pain, his hand felt it was going to explode.

  He brought it to his face, its knuckles already reddened, torn and bloody.

  “A good and proper lesson like,” the voice repeated, as the chain caught him on his side.

  The air was knocked from his lungs, as he keeled over, falling to the floor.

  He instinctively brought his knees up to his chest, covering his head with his hands, his arms squeezed tightly against his body to protect it from another blow from the chain.

  It did not arrive.

  Instead, it was replaced by hard, solid, agonising kicks from a hobnailed boot.

  In addition to the harsh, determined blows, he felt slaps, connecting with his head.

  The impacts hardly affected him and he was more concerned, with protecting the blows to his torso.

  “You, keep yer filthy, dirty Welsh hands off English women in future,” a voice said close to his ear, whilst he received another kick to his side.

  “You get, what we’re saying boyo?”

  “C’mon, he’s had enough now,” another voice said, “let’s go, before somebody calls the Rozzers or something.”

  The blows stopped, before he received one more agonising kick connecting with his hip, sending shards of sheer pain throughout his tortured body.

  “Yeah, I think you’ve learnt your lesson good and proper.”

  Hearing a loud hawk from a throat, he felt the warm wetness of spittle, as somebody spat a large wad of phlegm into the parts of his face left exposed, catching him on the back of his hands.

  “C’mon,” a squeaky voice called, “hurry up!”

  Though his ears rang with peals of bells, he heard a door slamming shut, then the roar of an engine and the sound of the van driving away.

  Laid in his foetal position in abject agony, his ribs and shoulder aching, the pain emitting from his hand and hip felt indescribable.

  He was unable to establish how long he lay there, his pain disorienting his sense of time.

  He thought he heard a car passing him by, but if it did, its driver did not stop to offer him assistance.

  Struggling to his knees, he knelt over the kerb and vomited into the gutter, his throat burning with hot bile.

  Looking down, he saw in addition to the contents of his stomach, the unmistakable sight of crimson blood.

  Slowly he raised himself up, until he stood unsteadily on his feet.

  Staggering into the lane leading to the yard, he leant against each wall to keep his balance, until finally arriving at the gate to Bob’s house.

  Pushing open the beautiful wrought iron gate Bob had crafted, he staggered up the gravel path to the large, green door.

  He knocked with the knuckles of his uninjured hand, but the rap was only light and there came no answer from within.

  Raising his fist, he slowly pounded on the door.

  Inside the house, Flo stood inside the kitchen doorway at the end of the hallway.

  “Bob, there’s somebody banging at the door,” she called to her husband.

  He stood in the back yard, feeding their two large Alsatians, running in circles, their large tails wagging.

  “Is there now?” He said, returning inside.

  Striding along the long hallway to the front door, he picked up the short, wooden cosh hidden within a wrought umbrella stand.

  The thumping on the door, sounded weaker now.

  Bob opened the door, uncertain of what to expect.

  It was a respectable neighbourhood, with no trouble from any of the few children living around there.

  As the door opened, he discovered the stooping figure of his apprentice.

  Dropping the cosh onto the floor, he rushed forward to grab him before he collapsed.

  “Jesus!” He cried, as David’s beaten body fell into his arms.

  “Flo! Come quickly!”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Searching through the shed in their back yard, Robert located the various large jars of nails his Father left there.

  All manner of various lengths and thicknesses lay contained within them, but he could not locate the large bundles of cloth used as black out sheets, anywhere.

  Exiting the shed, he walked to the kitchen door.

  Opening it, he found Frank, Jack and Daniel sat at the kitchen table, eating their breakfasts.

  “Any luck our Rob?” Jack asked him, in-between mouthfuls of warm porridge.

  “No Jack, I’ve no idea where they are,” he replied, returning to his seat at the table.

  “Where what are?” Iris asked, walking into the kitchen from the hallway, “and why haven’t you had your breakfast Robert?”

  “Nothing Iris, just looking for something.”

  Catching his eye, she cast a suspicious look at him, though her siblings never gave her cause to worry, or be suspicious of their activities before.

  “Looking for what Robert?”

  “Nothing, just the old cloth which was in the shed, that’s all.”

  “And what’d you be needing that for?”

  “What’s with all the questions Iris?”

  “Don’t be giving me backchat Robert!” She shouted.

  The kitchen fell into a sudden and uneasy silence.

  Both Jack and Franks spoons of porridge were held mid-air to their mouths in shock, Iris not once shouting at any of them in anger.

  “I can tell you’re up to something and I’d better not find out, you are up to no good!”

  Sitting slowly into his seat at the table, Robert looked shocked.

  “I, I’m sorry our Iris,” he answered her, the trace of a quive
r in his voice, “we’re only going to make something out of it.”

  Standing in the doorway, Iris shook like a leaf captured helplessly, within the clutches of a strong breeze.

  What’s gotten into me?

  She turned at the sound of Daniel, trying to stop himself from crying, his chest heaving, attempting to remain quiet.

  She noticed the tears, trickling onto his cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry!” She said, placing her hands up to her face and holding onto her cheeks.

  Glancing at each of her brothers shocked faces, she rushed to Robert, embracing him close to her.

  “Boys, I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s alright our Iris,” Robert said, returning her hug, before walking to Daniel, closely followed by his sister.

  “I’m so sorry Danny, I didn’t mean to shout,” she apologised, kneeling next to his seat.

  Daniel clambered slowly from his seat, before throwing his arms over her shoulders, giving her a hug and pressing his face against her hair.

  “It’s alright,” he said, holding her tightly to him, his voice mumbling, pressing his face closer to her, “I love you, Iris.”

  They were joined by Jack and Frank, giving Iris hugs of their own.

  She made her way into the front parlour, closely followed by Robert, who closed the door after them.

  “What is it Iris? Are you alright?” He asked from the doorway.

  She stood in front of the mirror.

  Realising rivulets of tears fell on her cheeks, she wiped them away with the cuff of her blouse.

  She was always close to Robert, even though they were separated by a few years.

  She reasoned, it was because Robert and her still remembered their Father vividly and shared the same happy memories of him.

  “I’m just upset a bit, that’s all Robert, nothing serious, I’m only being silly.”

  “Is it over that man?” Robert asked, now seated on the arm of the sofa.

  Iris wanted to blurt it all out, but did not dare burden her younger brother, with the worries and concerns of a spurned girl.

  “No, no,” she lied, feeling guilty as the words came quickly from her mouth, “it’s just err, work and stuff. It’s just making me tired, that’s all.”