by Mary Gibson
‘Matty Gilbie?’ The accent was American. ‘Mr Rossi asked me to look you up. Open your eyes, honey. He wants you to see this.’
Feeling cool air brush her cheeks, she forced her eyes open. The man was fanning her face with a heavy cream envelope. ‘It’s a message from Frank, and he says it won’t be the last.’ Then he pulled open his jacket to reveal the gun.
She could have fled to anywhere in the world – Canada, Australia, Timbuktoo... what on earth had made her risk coming back here? However vague Frank’s geography might be, even he would expect the Cockney Canary to come home to London.
The man grabbed her hand and pulled her close. The lop-sided smile never leaving his face, he slapped the envelope into her hand.
‘Oh, and Frank says he’ll be seeing ya – soon.’ He flicked his hat and turned on his heel, calling back over his shoulder. ‘I think he really misses you!’ And he disappeared into Charing Cross Road, laughing.
*
Esme Golding was unable to speak. Smoke from her black cigarette caught in her throat and escaped slowly through her nose. She choked, waving her hands, while Matty banged her on the back.
‘Are you completely mad, darling?’ Esme eventually coughed out. ‘You’re not actually thinking of paying?’ Esme threw the letter that she’d been reading back across the desk in disgust.
Matty went to the sideboard and poured Esme a glass of water.
‘I need something stronger than that,’ Esme said, indicating the tray of drinks on the sideboard. Matty poured whisky for them both. ‘And I’ll need more than a finger full.’ She gave a sour look at the single Matty had poured.
‘Come to think of it, so do I.’ Matty topped up their whiskies and took a gulp of her own. It didn’t calm her. In fact her heart beat faster and her hand trembled as she handed Esme her drink.
‘I knew he’d come after me.’ She sat down, a wave of nausea catching her. She took a deep breath. ‘But I’d started to hope... Still, it’s just like him to let me think I’d got away. I should’ve known better.’
‘Why would he need to come after you?’ Esme looked at her suspiciously. ‘I thought you were here raising money for the new talkie. What’s really been going on, Matty?’
Matty lit a cigarette and took a long draw before she answered. ‘I saw a man throw himself off a skyscraper once,’ she said, recalling the flyer who’d smashed on to the sidewalk on the same day as the Wall Street Crash. ‘It was horrible, Esme, seeing that, but do you know, Frank thought it was funny. He said I just needed a stiff drink and took me to a speakeasy. Turned out he owned it and I never knew.’ She paused, blowing out a long plume of smoke. ‘There was a lot I didn’t know about Frank. After the Crash I found out he wasn’t much of a film producer, you were right about that, Esme. Seems he’d made most of his money providing bodyguards for film stars. Once our backers started pulling out he went back to doing that... and other things... which he didn’t bother hiding from me any more.’ Matty gave a bitter laugh. ‘There’s me, thinking he was my Rudolph Valentino and he turned out to be a bloody croo. Might as well have stayed home and got myself tied up with a good old Bermondsey villain!’
She fingered the scar on her wrist. It felt as if he’d reached out to burn her all over again.
‘Oh, Matty, I’m so sorry. I should have known it was something more serious, when you went to Mrs Melior’s and not straight home. Have you even told your family?’
‘I told Eliza some of it. She knows I’m not just here for a short visit. She’s offered to help me out.’
Esme nodded. ‘That’s good, but look, Matty, you can’t give in to him. Besides, how do you propose raising that amount when I can’t even get you the provinces?’
The letter detailing how much Matty owed Frank for their failed film enterprise had been drawn up by a lawyer, but its civilized legalese meant nothing. He was just playing with her. Matty knew Frank always collected debts personally, and though he hadn’t come himself, it was obviously the messenger and not the letter he wanted her to worry about.
‘I need to pay it, Esme, otherwise I’ll never be free of him.’
‘Oh, you’ve got such a stubborn streak, Matty Gilbie.’ Esme scrubbed at her untamed salt-and-pepper frizz. ‘I’m just worried about you, sweetheart. You owe him nothing!’
‘In his eyes, I do. I walked out on him. And if paying him off keeps him out of my life it’ll be money well spent.’
Matty screwed up the letter and, stuffing it into her bag, hesitated briefly. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but could you deal with the lawyer? I don’t want Frank to know where I’m living.’
‘Of course I will, darling. But if he’s sending thugs to watch this place, you’d better not come back here for a while.’
She was moved by Esme’s protectiveness; the older woman had taken her on as a fifteen-year-old and could never quite accept she was now grown up. And though Matty had told her about the messenger, she’d said nothing about the gun. It seemed pointless to terrify her.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll wire him the money and you can repay me when you’re back on your feet,’ Esme went on. ‘I just hope Mr Rossi never takes it into his head to come a’hunting you himself. He seems the type who doesn’t like to waste an investment!’
And, with Esme’s words ringing in her ears, Matty decided to walk through the back streets, just in case Frank’s associate was following her. Something made her doubt he would. He’d simply been Frank’s opening gambit. She hurried on towards the river, intending to cross Waterloo Bridge on foot. The bold summer was continuing unabated but, today, as she turned down to the Embankment, huge white clouds rolled up the Thames. She needed to think and stopped at the river parapet. Looking westward, she was forced to hold on to her hat as a welcome breeze lifted it and, staring into the river’s choppy waters, she shivered in spite of the heat. The letter had brought back memories of her terrified flight home. What did Frank want? She’d known that there would be consequences for walking out on him, but if it was only money he was interested in, then she’d got off lightly. Standing now in the shadow of Hungerford Bridge, the thunder of steam trains above her, purple smoke snaking down to where she stood, her attention was caught by a playbill on the side of the Playhouse theatre advertising a production of The Dishonoured Lady. It seemed that even the billboards were accusing her, but not as much as she had accused herself.
***
‘Rent? I wouldn’t hear of it! In fact I should be paying you! I’d be so lonely rattling around here on my own when Will goes to Cambridge – I’ll need your company!’
Eliza had suggested to Matty that their temporary arrangement should be permanent and that she should make her home at Reverdy Road. ‘I promise you, Matty,’ Eliza insisted, ‘you’ll be nothing but an unpaid companion and I’ll be exploiting you worse than a pickle girl at Crosse & Blackwell’s!’
‘But you’re never home long enough to be lonely! What with Labour Institute meetings every other night and all the trade union work... I know you’re only trying to spare my pride, Liza...’
They were sitting either side of the fire, enjoying the novelty of silence that had fallen over the house while Will was out. His presence dominated the household; his conversations and his opinions were always paramount. Matty was surprised at how much Eliza still pandered to him, but he was, after all, her only child, and she’d had to battle hard with Ernest James to keep him and then to bring him up as a single mother. Matty was comfortable in her sister’s company, surprised at how companionable a silence could feel. Now Eliza leaned forward, hands clasped as earnestly as though she were explaining the finer points of employment law to a factory girl. Flickering flames lit her face from below and Matty saw a flash of the firebrand she’d been in her youth.
‘You’re my sister, Matty. And if I can’t help my family, then what use is all my campaigning against dole cuts or unemployment?’
Matty knew this hadn’t always been Eliza’s line; there had been desert years when
she’d never come near her family. Their father had blamed Ernest James’s influence, and it certainly seemed that Eliza had remade herself after leaving him and taking their child with her. She’d been trying to remake herself ever since.
‘Eliza, you’re going beyond what most sisters would do... you’re supporting me. Is it because of what happened to you?’
‘What happened to me?’
‘Well, when you left Ernest – supporting yourself and a baby. It must have been hard – doing it all on your own.’
Eliza nodded. ‘It’s just because I had to do it alone, Matty, that I’d never want the same for you.’ Her sister searched her face, and seemed about to say more, but Matty turned her gaze back to the fire, her silence about her lost child weighing on her heart heavy as lead.
‘But at least I had savings for a house and I had regular work...’ Eliza said finally.
And Matty gave a wry smile. ‘When you put it that way, things don’t look too bright for me, do they?’
Matty knew there was no point in pretending she could afford much more than a room anywhere else.
‘Let me help?’ Eliza grasped her hand. ‘It would really make me very happy.’
And when Matty agreed, her sister squeezed all the tighter and nodded her head. ‘Good! It’s settled,’ she said.
*
In the end Will had given in gracelessly to his dead father’s wishes, saying he could help organize the struggle just as effectively from Cambridge as he could from Bermondsey, and he’d already begun to act the part. One morning later that week he came down to breakfast wearing what she thought of as his student costume: a dark button-down collared shirt with a knitted tie and pale baggy trousers.
‘So, Matty, still swelling the numbers of the unemployed?’ he asked provocatively, taking a large bite of the toast she’d made him for breakfast. ‘What do you say to joining me at the NUWM tomorrow?’ he jibed. Will had informed Eliza that he’d be spending the time before going up to Cambridge working with the National Unemployed Workers’ Movement.
‘Only if you promise to come dressed as a docker,’ Matty said, passing him his tea.
She had always known the best way to deflect Will’s acerbic humour was to sprinkle a little vinegar on his own wounds. Sometimes it worked, but this time he was obviously in a critical mood. Matty had discovered he had a vein of resentful anger, which she sometimes found wearing, suspecting his political opinions were merely the posturing of a young show-off.
‘So, have you signed on?’ he probed.
‘No.’
‘Ah well, you don’t need to. You’ve got Ma, haven’t you?’
Eliza paused, a slice of toast halfway to her mouth. ‘Will!’ she said in a shocked voice, and Matty felt her sister’s foot seeking out Will’s so she could no doubt kick him under the table. Instead she only succeeded in cracking Matty’s ankle.
‘What?’ the boy said in mock innocence. ‘I’m not saying anything against it. I’m a communist – I believe in the redistribution of wealth. Besides, you’ve always had your lame ducks, Ma, haven’t you.’
Matty wasn’t quite sure which of them Will was attacking, but she was gripping the teacup handle so tightly she was endangering Eliza’s bone china.
Her sister stood up, her face red and her fists clenched so that the knuckles were white. Matty had never seen her look quite so angry, not even when decrying the latest unemployment figures.
‘I won’t have you speaking to your Aunt Matty like that. You’re a spoiled brat and I blame your father for it. Now get out!’ she shouted at Will. ‘And don’t come back until you can apologize to your aunt. She doesn’t deserve such rudeness from you of all people.’
Will’s normally florid complexion deepened to a livid plum and he slammed away from the table. ‘This house never could take too much truth... could it?’
Matty had never felt so awkward with her own family. Will had made her feel like a stranger in the house, but she would not reveal her hurt to Eliza. Her sister couldn’t be held responsible for the outbursts of her volatile son, who was old enough now to know the power of his own words to hurt.
***
Will had apologized before leaving for Cambridge in late summer. But the incident had soured her new easiness with Eliza and burdened Matty with even more guilt at relying on her sister’s generosity. She was relieved to get a phone call from Esme one evening but it left her with a dilemma, which she spent all night puzzling over until Eliza returned from giving a talk to the local TUC Women’s Committee.
‘What are you looking so worried for?’ Eliza asked as she dumped her briefcase on the floor and hung up her coat.
‘Esme’s got me some bookings,’ she said. ‘Do you want some tea to warm you up?’
When Matty came back with tea, Eliza was seated by the fire, holding her side as a coughing fit took hold of her. Seeing Matty’s worried look, she banged her chest. ‘It’s chilly out, the cold always makes it worse.’
‘Your hands are white, here,’ Matty kneeled by the fire and took hold of Eliza’s long tapering fingers, rubbing some warmth back into them.
‘Ouch, they sting, bad circulation... But bookings, Matty! Tell me all about it. Surely that’s a good thing?’
‘Well, they’re only one-nighters at the Regent and the Lyceum in East Anglia, but I could have a week in Hull afterwards.’
The shows were being staged at the new hybrid cine-variety theatres – half cinemas, half show theatres – and she desperately needed an extra injection of cash to pay Esme back the money she’d wired to Frank. It would mean leaving the relative sanctuary of Bermondsey, but she judged that these provincial theatres were every bit as low-profile as the Star.
‘So why aren’t you happy about it?’ Eliza asked. ‘It’s not what you’ve been used to, but...’
Matty shook her head. ‘No, no, it’s not that.’ She blushed, and went on quickly. ‘To be honest, I haven’t got the train fare.’
Eliza looked shocked. ‘Matty, have you no savings left at all?’
Matty gave a dry smile. ‘Would I be living off you if I did?’
‘What went wrong out there, Matty? And don’t tell me it’s all down to the Crash. You’ve not really been yourself since you got back. You’re jumpy and nervy and sometimes it feels to me like you’re not here at all... even Sam’s noticed it.’
Matty groaned and, resting her head in Eliza’s lap, she stared into the fire. She didn’t want Eliza to see her face, which was already burning with shame.
‘It’s Frank... I suppose he realized I’m not such a good business prospect after all. And now his lawyer’s sent a letter to Esme, says I owe him money!’
‘Matty, look at me.’ Eliza drew her round to face her. ‘You’re not to blame yourself. He should have been protecting your interests, blame him!’ Her eyes flashed and her expression sharpened. Matty thought she looked as she must have done in the days when she sat opposite factory owners, assessing their offers. Eliza picked up her tea, drained it and put the cup and saucer down with finality. ‘We’ll see about Frank Rossi. I can get you a lawyer from the TUC – we’ll give him a dose of his own medicine.’
Matty knew her sister would want a fight.
‘You don’t know him, Eliza. When I say his lawyer, I don’t mean some cosy old cove in a wig. Believe me, the best thing I can do is pay Frank off and pray to God he never crosses my path again.’
‘You’re frightened of him. Is he a criminal, Matty?’
‘Oh yes, Liza.’ Matty gave the answer to both questions without hesitation. How many stage-door Johnnies had fallen in love with her over the years, and she had let them come and go like the tide? But Frank had been different. His impossibly handsome face; the confidence he exuded, an innate power which enabled him to bend others to his will... and then there was his passion for her, which had been as dangerously addictive as the cocaine which dusted his parties so liberally.
Only gradually had she discovered that all his silv
ered words were worthless. And like the soft pads of a big cat’s paws, they could be withdrawn in a moment, ready for sharp claws to strike. When those claws had come out, she’d seen him then for what he was, a sleek, stealthy predator and she, little more than prey to him, a cockney canary in a panther’s grip.
‘It took me a while before I realized he’d just been feeding off me, Liza. I really thought he loved me. Perhaps he did for a while. But I think he loved the money I brought in more. Let’s just say that when I saw his true colours – I didn’t like them.’
‘All right, Matty, if you think paying him off is the safest thing to do. I can’t bear the thought of you frightened of anything.’ Eliza took her hands and Matty was surprised to feel her trembling.
‘Oh, you know me, I’m tougher than I look! I’m not proud. I’ll work till I drop to pay him what he says I owe him, just so long as it keeps him away from me... and the people I love. But I think I’ll need to get a day job. They say Peek’s are hiring!’ Matty grinned.
‘No, you can’t go there!’ Eliza said quickly, alarm on her face.
‘Why not? Too good for factory work? If I hadn’t had the voice, it’s what I would have done anyway.’
‘I’m not saying you’re too good. I just mean... you can’t go back, Matty, not once you’ve seen a different life. I should know. You at Peek’s? It would be like letting a caged bird loose in the woods, my dear. No. You’re going on tour and I’m paying the train fare!’
***
She played to a full house at the Ipswich Regent, which wasn’t many people, she had to admit, but what had once been a joy was now almost an agony. Her singing had always been an abundant source of comfort, but now she was singing to keep the wolf Frank from her door that comfort had turned into a torment. She didn’t know how she would get through the following week in Hull. The last time Matty had been in Hull was to attend her old Auntie Annie’s funeral with Eliza and Sam. But the Hull she saw now was a very different place. Eliza had told her that unemployment was higher up here, but she was shocked to see the boarded-up shops, and even the old seed mill where her father had worked was closed, its gates padlocked.