Fallen Angels

by Tara Hyland

  Seeing him, Cara straightened up a little, her hand instinctively reaching up to smooth down her hair, suddenly conscious that she was wearing the same dirty, sweaty clothes that she’d been travelling in for three days.

  Looking at Cara, he said, ‘Who’s this, then?’

  Cara wanted to speak up, but found she couldn’t. It was up to Annie to explain for her.

  ‘It’s your old playmate, Cara. You remember – Franny’s kid? Just turned up on the doorstep now.’

  Recognition appeared in Danny’s eyes. Cara felt unexpectedly pleased, but if she’d been hoping for a grand reunion, she was to be disappointed.

  ‘Long time no see,’ he acknowledged, before turning back to his mum. He seemed to have no curiosity about the reason behind Cara’s sudden reappearance after all these years – he was a typical eighteen-year-old guy: completely self-absorbed, with little interest beyond his own small world. ‘So if the filth come round, you know what to say.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Annie waved him away. ‘You were here all evening, playing cards with Big Jim and Denton. I know. You’ve told me a million times already. Must think I’m thick or something.’ She winked at Cara. ‘Look, with young Cara turning up, I haven’t had time to make you a bite, but if you give me a minute—’

  ‘No time. I’ve gotta head off.’

  ‘Where?’

  He tapped his nose. ‘Never you mind.’

  Annie shook her head, in mock exasperation. ‘You’ll be the death of me,’ she clucked affectionately.

  Grinning, Danny dropped a kiss on his mother’s forehead and then he was gone, slamming the front door shut behind him.

  Still smiling from the exchange, Annie looked over at Cara. ‘So where shall we put you, then?’ she said, half to herself. Cara had already suggested earlier that she find other digs, but Annie wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘What about . . .’ Annie began, and then stopped, biting her lip, as though she’d said the wrong thing.

  But Cara was beyond being sensitive. ‘About what?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘Go on. Tell me what you were going to say.’

  Annie looked a little uncomfortable. ‘I was going to say – what about staying in your old room, up in the attic, where you used to live with your mother? But maybe that’d be weird for you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Cara smiled gently, surprised to feel her eyes moistening. ‘Actually, it sounds perfect.’

  It had been a long day for Cara, and by then she was flagging. Upstairs, Annie gave her one of Bronagh’s old nightdresses that she’d left at the house, and set about finding clean sheets. Once Cara was tucked into bed, Annie couldn’t bring herself to leave. Instead, she pulled up a chair, so she could watch over the girl until she went off to sleep. The poor mite had obviously been through so much. As if to prove her point, Cara began to twist and moan, clearly in the grip of a nightmare. Annie reached out to stroke the girl’s dark hair.

  ‘There, there, pet,’ she murmured. ‘You’re safe now.’

  The reassuring words seemed to settle Cara, and she quietened down after that, falling into a peaceful slumber.

  Annie had led a difficult life, and seen a great deal of misery in her time, but Cara’s story had unsettled her more than she’d thought possible. Imagine, Franny abandoning her own child like that! If she hadn’t already been dead, Annie would have cheerfully wrung her neck. What kind of a mother behaved that way? The girl was clearly a tough little thing – she’d had to be, after everything she’d been through. But it was sad to think that, after all these years, she and Danny were the only ones that the child could call on when she was in trouble.

  Not wanting to leave Cara alone, Annie went over to the cupboard, took out another blanket, and headed back to the armchair to settle down to sleep herself. She stayed by Cara’s side for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  ‘I’ve found her.’

  Pete Grove wasn’t the type to get excited. In fact, most people who knew him would say he was usually a downright miserable chap. But even he felt a thrill run through him as he said those three magic words.

  It was two years since he’d first been hired to monitor the house. One of the neighbours had agreed to tip him off about any comings or goings, in exchange for a small fee. Month after month, there had been no activity. And now, out of the blue, his contact had called to say that the girl had turned up. It felt as if something big was about to happen.

  He rocked back in his chair, putting his feet up on his tiny desk, enjoying this rare moment of importance.

  ‘She surfaced,’ he consulted his spiral notebook, ‘a couple of days ago now. And it looks like she’s staying put.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  The voice that answered him was crisp and well-spoken. It belonged to Charles Hamilton, head Partner in the law firm founded by his father, Hamilton & Sons. It was Charles who had first approached Pete; Charles who he always dealt with. Pete had no contact with the client, nor did he have any idea who that client was.

  This wasn’t Pete’s usual type of work. He’d been in the police force for twenty-five years, walking the Whitechapel beat, until he’d finally retired five years earlier. After a month, he’d realised that the retirement he’d spent years longing for wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Bored at home, and unable to stand his wife’s constant nagging, he’d decided to become a private investigator. He’d always loved Raymond Chandler novels, and fancied that it would be exciting work. So he’d set himself up in a poky room above a bookie’s in Bethnal Green, and waited for good-looking dames to come through the door.

  But, as with most things in Pete’s life, working as a PI had turned out to be a disappointment. Mostly, he spent his time tailing cheating spouses. That’s why this particular case had stood out for him. He’d always remember when Charles Hamilton had first walked into his grubby little office, wearing a Savile Row suit and a look of disdain. Pete had wondered if the posh chap had wandered into the wrong place until he’d heard what Mr Hamilton wanted him to do. After all his years on the beat, there was no one who had better contacts in the East End. It would be easy for him to keep an eye out for the girl without anyone noticing.

  For the first few months, it had been interesting, and he’d enjoyed snooping around, finding out if the girl had turned up at the Connollys’. But as time went on, and nothing happened, he’d grown bored. He’d kept on delivering his monthly report, and receiving the fat little retainer paid to him through Charles Hamilton. And, if he was honest, he’d expected the client to have given up by now.

  But today that had all changed. The subject had finally appeared.

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’ Pete asked, eager to find out where this was going.

  The solicitor, usually so sure of himself, hesitated for the briefest second. ‘I’ll have to consult with my client and get back to you.’

  There was a click as he rang off.

  Charles Hamilton called back an hour later. He delivered his instructions with brusque efficiency. For now, Pete wasn’t to approach the subject. Instead, he was to step up his surveillance, and continue to send back a monthly report on how the girl was doing.

  Pete was secretly a little disappointed to learn that despite locating the subject, little was going to change in his duties. But once a new figure had been agreed, he began to feel happier. It was a generous amount for his time and discretion, and even though it might be a strange set-up, this was by far the easiest and most lucrative job he’d ever had. He just wondered what was so special about the girl that made someone want to keep tabs on her.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  ‘Are you serious?’ Finnbar gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘I may be a lot of things, but I’m not about to start using child labour.’ He shook his head as though the whole idea was too preposterous for him to even contemplate. ‘Come on, what is the girl – all of twelve?’

  Annie just looked at the stocky man sat oppos
ite her. She was one of the few people who weren’t intimated by the gang leader. They were in the Blind Beggar, the pub on Whitechapel Road where Finnbar often held court. It was April 1962, two months since Cara had turned up on Annie’s doorstep, and she seemed to be settling in nicely. But now the girl had started saying that she wanted to get a job. Annie had tried to convince her to go back to school, but she wasn’t keen, saying that she’d had enough of institutions to last her three lifetimes. Instead, she wanted her own money and independence. Unfortunately her lack of qualifications limited her employment options, so Annie had offered to have a word with Finnbar for her, sure that he’d be able to sort something out. She hadn’t expected him to be so reluctant to help.

  ‘She’s nearly fifteen,’ Annie said quietly. ‘She may look young, but she’s mature for her age, I can vouch for that.’

  ‘Fifteen!’ Finnbar snorted. ‘Ah, now, you’re messing with me, aren’t you? I’m not employing no fifteen-year-old kid. Not in my line of work.’

  At this, Annie bristled. ‘Yeah? Well, you’ve got a short memory then, ’cos that’s the same age my Danny was when he started grafting for you.’

  That silenced him. Usually Finnbar wouldn’t let anyone speak to him that way, but he’d always had a thing for Annie, long before Liam had even come onto the scene. After her husband died, he’d offered to set her up somewhere, but she’d turned him down. A good Catholic girl at heart, she’d never wanted to take up with a married man. Plus, she knew and liked his wife, Alice. Finn had understood her position and never held it against her, and even now, after the years had taken their toll on her looks, he still had a soft spot for her, and everyone knew it. Especially Annie – which was why she felt comfortable asking him this favour.

  ‘Come on,’ she said now. ‘The girl just needs a chance.’

  ‘All right.’ Finnbar reluctantly gave in. He wasn’t keen to take on the dark-haired waif that he’d seen knocking around at Annie’s, but it seemed he had no choice. ‘I’ll sort something out.’

  ‘Something legit, mind,’ Annie warned. ‘Nothing that’s going to get her in any trouble.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Jaysus, you ask a lot, woman. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.’ He held up his hand, as though he was swearing on the Bible. ‘You have my word on it.’

  The following week, Cara started working at a grocery store in Bethnal Green, which was under the protection of Finnbar’s gang.

  Mr Grafton, the store owner, wasn’t happy about having a new employee forced upon him, who was going to eat into more of his profits.

  ‘Don’t expect this to be no picnic,’ he warned her on the first day. ‘You’ll have to pull your weight, or you’ll be out on your ear.’

  In fact, after slaving away in the orphanage, serving in the shop turned out to be a doddle. Cara was so happy to be there rather than back at St Mary’s that she didn’t mind the hard work. Mr Grafton quickly figured out that Cara was trustworthy, smart and a fast learner. Once he saw how efficiently she restocked the shelves, swept up the storage-room floor and served the customers, never getting their change wrong, he upgraded her responsibilities. Soon he set her to work doing stock-taking and checking the early-morning deliveries, so he didn’t have to get up in the cold with his arthritis. It might not be her dream job, but it was a start.

  Cara found it surprisingly easy to settle back into life at Annie’s. Of course the East End wasn’t quite like she remembered it. There was violence on the streets now, talk in the papers of turf wars between the Krays and the Richardsons. But it was still a lively, vibrant place. Annie was also much the same – still warm and down-to-earth. She’d aged, of course, lost a lot of weight and seemed stooped, not as robust as she’d once been, but she was genuinely welcoming, and seemed to love having Cara around. Danny was out so much that it was company for her.

  By the end of 1962, nearly a year since she’d returned to Whitechapel, Cara could say that, for the most part, she was happy. She had a little job that she loved and was good at, and a place to call home. But the one thing she didn’t have was Danny.

  He was nice enough to her, of course; teasing her, asking her how it was going on the rare occasions when he was around the house. But it was the way he would treat a kid sister.

  It didn’t help that he paraded an array of beautiful but vacuous girlfriends through the house. At the moment he was seeing a girl called Linda. She looked like a typical dolly bird: the type of woman that a man felt proud to have on his arm, but wouldn’t provide much in the way of conversation. She did her best to copy Diana Dors, with her tight little sweaters and big, fake blonde hair. Cara hated her – mostly because it showed her exactly what Danny wanted, and reminded her that she didn’t measure up.

  So far, since turning fifteen, Cara had stayed worryingly flat-chested. How was she ever supposed to get Danny to notice her when he had his eyes firmly glued to the two bumps in Linda’s tight sweater?

  One afternoon, during the first week of January 1963, Linda turned up early at the house for her date with Danny. Cara had the misfortune of opening the door to her.

  ‘Is he back?’ the older girl demanded, with no preamble. She never wasted her charm on anyone who wasn’t male.

  ‘No.’ Cara was just as short with her.

  ‘Well, I’ll come in and wait.’

  Linda pushed past her, and went into the sitting room. Cara could have gone upstairs to her room, but she refused to be chased away by that cow, so instead she followed her through. Before Danny’s girlfriend had arrived, Cara had been watching The Avengers on the new television set. Without asking if Cara minded, the other girl switched the channel to Coronation Street and then plonked herself down on the settee, putting her dirty shoes up on Annie’s clean coffee table.

  ‘Do make yourself at home,’ Cara muttered sarcastically under her breath as she walked by, deliberately knocking the blonde’s feet down as she went.

  Linda glared at her. ‘What’s up with you?’

  But it had the desired effect, and she took her slingbacks off, curling her legs up under her instead. They both settled down to watch the show. After a while, Linda got a packet of humbugs out of her bag. Instead of offering any to Cara, she started to eat one after the other herself, balling up the empty sweet wrappers and throwing them across the room at the ashtray on the table. She wasn’t a very good shot, so most of them ended up on the floor. Seeing the mess she was making, Cara tutted.

  ‘Can’t you put those in the bin? Annie just hoovered this morning.’

  But Linda made no move to pick the wrappers up or apologise – she just gave Cara a withering stare. The Irish girl couldn’t help wondering what Danny would make of his girlfriend’s lack of respect for his mother.

  The girls sat watching the television in uncomfortable silence until Danny finally turned up. As he came through the living-room door, he beamed at Cara.

  ‘All right, sweetheart?’ He ruffled her hair. She was momentarily pleased that he’d acknowledged her first, but then he turned to Linda and bent his head to plant a kiss right on her lips.

  ‘Hey, princess.’ Pulling away a little, he ran his eyes appreciatively over her. ‘Who’s looking gorgeous tonight?’

  Over Danny’s broad shoulder, Linda shot Cara a triumphant look. Then, turning her attention to her boyfriend, the older girl lowered her false lashes, made extra thick and long by layers of blue mascara.

  ‘Hello, Danny.’ Her voice was a breathy imitation of Marilyn Monroe. It set Cara’s teeth on edge, especially since whenever Danny wasn’t around she screeched like an old fishwife. All these feminine charms were just an act for his benefit.

  But he didn’t seem to care that everything about Linda was fake – from her lashes to her dyed hair. Dropping down on the settee next to her, he ran his hand through her hair, coming to rest on the back of her neck.

  ‘So, what do you fancy doing tonight, darling?’

  As she nuzzled against his palm, like a kitten a
gainst its owner’s legs, Cara pretended to concentrate on the television. ‘Why don’t we go up the Palais? Gina, Rob and the others will be there.’

  ‘OK.’ He sounded almost absent-minded, as he rubbed his nose against her cheek. ‘But why don’t we stay in instead?’

  Linda giggled girlishly. ‘Danny!’ She flashed another look at Cara, as if she was embarrassed by what he was implying. ‘You know I’m not like that.’

  Cara rolled her eyes. From what the neighbourhood gossips said, Linda had been ‘like that’ with quite a few blokes already.

  Danny stretched lazily. ‘Whatever you say.’ Getting up, he pulled Linda to her feet. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He looked over at Cara. ‘See you later.’

  He didn’t even bother waiting for her reply.

  Cara had a miserable evening. Half an hour after they’d gone, Annie got back. As usual, they cooked dinner together, but Cara’s hearty appetite had deserted her tonight, and she couldn’t concentrate on making conversation.

  Annie watched her toying with her food. ‘What’s up with you?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Nothing. Just a bit tired.’ Cara dropped her fork onto the plate, giving in. ‘I’ll wash up, and then go to my room.’

  It was after midnight, and Cara was just dozing off when she heard the front door bang shut. It was Danny arriving home, and he had Linda with him. His bedroom was directly below Cara’s, and through the floorboards she could hear the two of them laughing together. After a while, the sounds softened, and music from Radio Luxembourg came on, but still it didn’t drown out the telltale noises. Cara covered her ears with her hands, and then buried her head under a pillow, but nothing made any difference. However hard she tried, she couldn’t get the image of Danny and Linda out of her mind.

  In the privacy of her room, Cara sneaked the magazine out of her bag. Today, when she was in the newsagent’s, one headline had caught her eye: Do You Want To Go Up Three Bra Sizes? Well, Here’s How! So she’d spent a precious sixpence on a copy of Woman’s Own, hoping it would solve all her problems.