Rough Justice

by Gilda O'Neill

‘I’m sorry, yeah. I just thought I’d pop round and see you. But I can tell you’re busy. I’ll come back later on.’

  Nell tried to pull away, but Sylvia was having none of it.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. You sit yourself down there and I’ll make you a cup of tea with a little something extra in it to warm up your insides for you.’ Sylvia pushed her none too gently onto a chair by the fireside. ‘You had your breakfast yet?’

  Nell shook her head.

  ‘Somehow I thought that’s what you’d say.’

  Bernie poked his head around the door beside the bar. ‘I thought I heard voices.’ He didn’t look impressed to see Nell there. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes thank you, Bernie,’ said Sylvia pointedly.

  ‘There is work to be done, you know, Sylv.’

  ‘I do know, thank you, Bernie.’

  ‘Just so long as you do.’ He looked at Nell. ‘Give my regards to Stephen.’

  ‘Why would she bother to do that?’ snapped Sylvia. ‘He’s in here every bloody night yakking away to you, I’m surprised you’ve not offered him a sodding room.’

  Sylvia and Bernie were too busy glaring at one another to notice the deflated look on Nell’s face as she took in Sylvia’s words – Stephen was in the Hope every night. Now Nell knew she really did have nowhere to go.

  ‘So, you say you’ve missed me.’ Sylvia was looking at Nell with her head cocked on one side, trying to figure out what was going on as she watched her friend hardly touch the thickly buttered hot toast that she used to scoff down almost as fast as Sylvia could churn it out for her. ‘And that’s why you came out in the freezing cold with no hat and coat on, with your apron flapping and your hair all over the place?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, like I said, Nell, it’s always lovely to see you, sweetheart, but if there’s anything wrong, anything you want to tell me – say, how things are indoors maybe – well, you know me, I’m a good listener.’ She laughed without any hint of humour. ‘And why wouldn’t I be? I’ve had enough practice running this place. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve heard in here.’

  There was a long moment of silence, then Nell said quietly, ‘Things are fine indoors, thanks.’

  Sylvia patted her knee. ‘Good. I’m glad.’ So that approach wasn’t going to work. ‘I’m very glad to hear it, but if you ever do have anything you want to talk about, you know I’ll always be here, ready to listen, don’t you, Nell?’

  Nell said nothing.

  ‘All right? Nell?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ Her voice was lifeless, crushed.

  As she sipped her tea, Sylvia watched Nell over the edge of her cup. Whatever it was that was wrong with the poor kid, she knew she wasn’t going to get it out of her by going on and on about it. It really wasn’t easy for someone of Sylvia’s temperament, but she’d just have to let Nell take her own good time. But whatever the details were, it didn’t need a genius to figure out the gist of it.

  Sylvia could have cheerfully skinned that bloody Stephen Flanagan, and his two horrible kids, no matter what Bernie would have to say about her getting involved. She couldn’t stand seeing her lovely little Nell looking like this. She’d have to come up with something or other to sort this mess out, even if it did mean that Bernie had to stop being bloody mates with Stephen Flanagan.

  While Sylvia sat across from the still determinedly uncommunicative Nell – vainly trying to tempt her with soft-boiled eggs, a crispy bacon sandwich or anything else she fancied for that matter – Mary Lovell was hanging up her hat and coat, ready to start helping Sarah Meckel set up the corner shop for the day’s trading.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, Sarah.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Mary,’ Sarah said, arranging big stoneware jars of jam, treacle and mustard pickles at one end of the scrubbed wooden counter; she untied the muslin covers, and stuck a long-handled serving spoon into each one. ‘What’s a couple of minutes between friends? I was just worried that there was something wrong.’

  ‘Well, there was a bit of a turnout across the landing,’ Mary said, dragging a sackful of bundles of kindling wood from the store room. She began stacking the bundles in a tidy pile close to the door, where customers could collect them on their way out. ‘A right old business it was.’

  ‘Don’t tell me – Ada was giving her poor old Albert a hard time again.’

  ‘Funnily enough, it wasn’t them two at it for once, but she made sure she was in the audience, and she loved every minute of it.’

  ‘Typical,’ Sarah said, from somewhere under the counter.

  ‘This time,’ said Mary, squinting with concentration as she opened a fresh sack of poultry meal using an old bone-handled knife, ‘it was that waster George Flanagan causing all the trouble.’

  ‘Having the Flanagans and the Tanners on your landing – you won the first prize there, Mary. Must have been your lucky day when they moved you out of the terrace.’

  Mary laughed. ‘I think I must have done something bad when I was a kid, something that I’ve wiped from my mind, but that I’m still being punished for.’

  Now Sarah was laughing too.

  ‘It’s not funny really though, Sarah. He was upsetting that young Nell; he had hold of her, according to my Martin, and he was being right rough with the girl. And I don’t suppose it’s the last we’ve heard of it either, because Martin wasn’t having that. He wound up punching the cocky so-and-so right on the nose.’ Mary put down the sack and rolled her eyes at Sarah. ‘Between George’s old man and Ada Tanner I reckon this one’s going to run and run. And I’m not saying I think it’s right, Martin interfering like that, but George is twice that young girl’s size. She was so scared she took off somewhere. No coat or anything. We looked for her for a bit – that’s why I was late – but we didn’t find her.’

  ‘If you ask me, Mary, it’s only a pity someone’s not punched that one a bit sooner. He’s a nasty piece of work is that George, there’s been something strange about him ever since he was a little kid.’ Sarah shook her head as she unwrapped the greaseproof paper from a big block of cheese, set it on the marble slab at the other end of the counter from the jams and pickles and covered it with a dome-shaped food net.

  ‘How did a nice young girl like that Nell ever get caught up with the Flanagans, eh Mary? I could understand some of the ones that he’s had living up there with him in the past, the types who saw he had a few shillings in his pocket – and wherever he got that from before he started down the market I don’t know – and were out for what they could get, but she seems different, innocent. A really sweet girl.’

  ‘I think that’s the problem, Sarah. That’s what she is – sweet and innocent. I don’t suppose she had the first idea what she was letting herself in for when she moved in with that lot. I reckon she just thought she was getting herself somewhere steady, you know coming from the kiddies’ home and that, having no family. It must be hard being all by yourself with no one to love or to love you.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Don’t know, Sarah, but I’d put money on her being younger than them twins.’

  ‘A girl of that age should be the one being looked after. She shouldn’t be spending her time running around after them three.’

  ‘There is a pleasant young woman – a few years older than Nell – Sylvia I think she said her name is, who comes to see her once a week, but apart from that there’s no one, not a single soul to stick up for her. Just imagine, being orphaned and then getting hiked up with the likes of the Flanagans. Life’s not fair sometimes, is it, Sarah? That girl deserves better.’

  ‘From your lips to God’s ears, Mary.’

  Sarah went through to the back room of the shop and reappeared with a blackened metal baking tray packed with spice-fragrant bread pudding hot and fresh from the oven, just as the bell over the door rang to announce the first customer of the morning.

  ‘Hello, Ada,’ said Mary, turning to wink over her sh
oulder at Sarah. ‘Thought you might be popping in.’

  Nell ran the clothes brush over the coat that Sylvia had made her wear for her journey home – despite it being far too small – and hung it in the back of the wardrobe. She didn’t intend to wait to find out whether it would infuriate Stephen if he saw it, she just knew it would; most things Nell did now seemed to drive him into a fury for some reason. It was all so different from the first few weeks that they had been together, everything had seemed possible then – even, she had secretly believed, that they might somehow get married one day. But now all that seemed like so much nonsense; this was to be her lot from now on, and she’d just have to make the best of it. It wasn’t something she wanted to admit even to herself, or even think about, but she knew it was true – this was her life. After all, who else would ever be interested in her now, someone who’d been living in sin with a man? This was her punishment.

  She closed the wardrobe door, stroking the walnut veneer she polished so carefully, and then went through to the kitchen to clear up what mess George and Lily had left, and to see what food there was that she could stretch to the meal that they and Stephen would be expecting later.

  There was no sign of George; maybe he’d gone back to bed or gone out somewhere – she doubted very much that he’d actually gone to the market – but Lily was sitting at the table, flicking through a magazine. Her hair was in curlers and she was wearing her dressing gown, even though it was now past noon.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Lily said, without looking up. ‘Dad’ll want to know what you’ve been up to. Especially after what happened with him,’ she jerked her head towards the door. ‘That one across the landing. I saw the way that that Martin was looking at you. Dirty little sod. He’s never looked at me that way, and I’m not even living over the brush with someone – not like you.’

  Nell felt dizzy with fear – Lily was so spiteful, she was capable of anything. At least with the matron there had been rules that everyone had understood, even if they hadn’t always liked them. She steadied her breathing and went over to the dresser, opened one of the drawers and took out a clean apron. She put it on and then shook out her wet apron from the paper carrier bag that Sylvia had given her, and hooked it onto the nail on the back of the kitchen door to dry.

  Nell jumped when Lily shouted at her. ‘Have you gone deaf? I asked you where you’ve bloody well been.’

  She jumped again as Lily slapped her magazine down on the table.

  ‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘Nowhere. I’ve been nowhere. Where would I have to go?’

  ‘You wait. You just wait till Dad gets home. He’ll give you nowhere.’

  Chapter 15

  Nell stood at the sink scouring the pots while Stephen sat at the table noisily scoffing down the neck of lamb stew she had had waiting ready for him. George had come home with his father, and had sat next to him at the kitchen table, glaring at Nell’s back, but refusing to touch the food she’d kept warm for him because his face was ‘too painful to be able to eat’. Lily had had no such qualms when, earlier, Nell had given her her food, and she had even eaten another plateful when Nell’s appetite had deserted her as she waited – so nervously – to see what would happen when Stephen came home.

  Nell flinched as she heard him throw down his spoon and fork and skid his bowl across the table away from him.

  ‘You, out.’ Stephen’s voice was low, frightening.

  Nell wiped her hands on her apron and started for the door.

  ‘Not you, you silly whore.’

  She stopped dead in her tracks.

  ‘Him.’

  George was up and out of the room before Nell had dared move, and even if Stephen had crept across the kitchen in his bare feet rather than in his heavy, clumping boots, she would still have known he was looming right there behind her.

  ‘Well?’

  Nell gulped down a breath that threatened to choke her. How could he expect her to speak?

  She felt him grab her by the hair, and then her head was being jerked back and he was dragging her sideways over to the table.

  ‘George saw you messing around with that little bastard across the landing. It’s a man you want, not a fucking kid.’

  ‘Please, Stephen, leave me alone. Please.’

  Stephen smacked her hard across the face with the flat of his hand, wrenched her body round and slammed her face down onto the table, sending the bowl, spoon and fork and the remains of his supper crashing to the floor.

  There was nothing she could do except squeeze her eyes tight to hold back the tears as he tore down her knickers and thrust himself into her.

  Soon sated, Stephen wiped himself dry on the tea towel and set about buttoning up his fly. ‘Don’t you ever show me up like that again.’

  He calmly looked towards the open door where George was standing watching them, his swollen penis gripped in his hand.

  ‘You won’t get that back in your trousers when it’s like that,’ he said matter-of-factly to George. ‘And if you don’t want another bloody nose tomorrow, you can get yourself and your lazyarsed sister down that market in the morning. I’ve got better things to do than run a stall. And don’t you think I’m kidding, boy. Cos I’m not. I am a busy man, and you and her are taking over that stall or you’ll pay what for, you have my word on that.’

  Nell wouldn’t have understood what Stephen was talking about when he claimed he had better things to do with his time – even if she hadn’t been preoccupied with vomiting into the sink.

  Stephen pushed past her. ‘And make sure you clean up this kitchen before you come to bed.’

  She didn’t even register George’s agonised gasp as his father punched him squarely in the solar plexus.

  ‘Have that as a little reminder for you not to let me down in the morning, Georgie boy, or you really will have something to complain about.’

  Across the landing Martin was standing in the open doorway of number 57, fists up, flexing his shoulders, his chest visibly rising and falling.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing out here?’ It was Mary Lovell, standing behind her son, looking over his shoulder at the empty landing.

  ‘Can’t you hear the noise from the Flanagans, Mum? I’ll bet that bully’s knocking her about because I punched him this morning. I’m going over to see what’s going on.’

  ‘Aw no you’re not. It was different earlier, you were all out on the landing, but you’ve been brought up better than to interfere in what goes on behind people’s closed doors. Now get back in here before there’s any more trouble.’

  ‘But Mum, I heard her shouting for him to leave her alone. That George makes me sick, treating her like that. I’m going to have him. Teach him how to behave. Someone’s got to.’

  ‘Do I have to call your father?’

  ‘I’m not a kid, Mum.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, I’m not. I bring money into this house, remember.’

  Mary blinked slowly. ‘I do know, son. Of course I do.’

  Martin threw up his hands, furious with his big mouth. ‘I’m really sorry, Mum, that wasn’t fair. Course I bring money in, and I’m really glad that I do. This is my family and we all pull together. We do what has to be done. Dad looked after me when I was little, and now I can make some sort of repayment for all the things you both did for me. Please, Mum, don’t be upset. I know I sounded like I begrudge it, but course I don’t. You know that. I’ll stay here for as long as you both need me. I promise you.’

  Mary dug up a smile from somewhere and stroked her son gently on the cheek. ‘Like when you were a little boy and you used to promise me you’d take me to the seaside one day?’

  Martin shrugged. ‘Yeah. One day, eh Mum?’

  ‘Yeah, one day, son.’

  Chapter 16

  Nell’s hands were shaking as she buttoned her coat. For once, Stephen had insisted that she should go to the corner shop to buy some corned beef – he said he
fancied hash for his supper. They both knew full well he would usually bring some home, but he’d made it quite clear that today at least he was only going to stay at the market long enough to show Lily and George how to run the stall, and then he was off somewhere. Apparently this meant going to some place where he couldn’t buy corned beef.

  As Stephen had issued his instructions about her going to the shop, Nell had watched him mopping up the last of the egg yolk with a slice of toast – all that was left of the plateful of fried breakfast she had made for him. And she had really wondered for one almost happy moment if it was his way of apologising for what he’d done to her the night before, his clumsy way of saying sorry. But she had rapidly returned to reality – Stephen wasn’t a man who said sorry. Yet still she knew she had to struggle to pull herself together, make up her mind to find some good even in a morning like this, or else she would sink as surely as a bag of rubbish that had been tossed in the river. She had to find some strength from somewhere.

  She closed her eyes. Right. For a start, George and Lily, in an unusually quiet and compliant mood, had left the Buildings with their father. That had to be good. There, that was something to start with. And, if she were lucky, they wouldn’t be home until late afternoon.

  Blissful peace for hours . . .

  Maybe she should try looking on the bright side a bit more often. It had to be better than feeling miserable and alone all the time.

  She couldn’t help but think about Sarah Meckel from the corner shop, and how she always tried to make the best of everything despite the hardships and disappointments she’d suffered. When people asked her about her husband, David, she always said the same thing – that he was fine, and how it was important that you realised that you had to work at a marriage to make it last, and that everyone went through their little bad patches. If that was true for Sarah and David then maybe it could be true for her and Stephen, and while they weren’t officially man and wife like the Meckels, they were as good as married. Maybe if she tried a bit harder life would be easier, better.