Rough Justice

by Gilda O'Neill

  Nell took a comb from her handbag and turned to the mirror above the kitchen sink, preparing to go round to the corner shop.

  As soon as she saw herself, her mood darkened immediately. The left side of her face was covered in a livid purple-brown bruise.

  Now she understood what Stephen was doing – he was sending her to the shop so that everyone could see her – it was more punishment. Stephen was going to make sure that everyone saw what he had done to her, to show the power he had over her and what he could do if she displeased him. But she had made the decision to live with a man without being his wife – and with everyone knowing it – so how could she think it was unfair? Even if she had only run away from George to protect herself, maybe she deserved to be punished and humiliated.

  As Nell went into the shop, her head held down and her chin tilted away from them, Sarah Meckel and Mary Lovell exchanged glances.

  ‘Morning, Nell,’ said Mary brightly.

  ‘Yeah, morning, Nell,’ chimed in Sarah. ‘What can we get for you today? Some washing soda? A slab of soap maybe?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Nell, barely audibly. ‘I’d like six ounces of corned beef, please.’

  That had Sarah and Mary flashing another look at each other along the counter.

  ‘Corned beef? Not like you, coming in for something like that.’ Sarah lifted the rectangular slab of red, fat-marbled meat off the white porcelain stand and onto the bacon slicer. ‘I thought Stephen always fetched in the food. Thought we were only good enough for household bits and pieces.’

  Nell shrank down into her coat. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Sarah. If you’d rather I went somewhere else.’

  Both of the women heard the sob in her voice.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Nell,’ said Sarah. ‘I was only playing. Now, let’s see, six ounces was it?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Funny old weather we’re having,’ Mary said, sorting through the biscuits in the big glass-lidded tins and putting any broken ones in the mixed bargain barrel. ‘One minute you think spring’s here, then it starts getting all gloomy again.’

  Sarah turned the chrome handle of the slicer, activating the blade that carved through the meat, and caught the slices on a sheet of greaseproof paper. ‘Me and Mary, we were going to have a cup of tea in a minute. Stay and have one with us if you like.’ Another quick look at Mary. ‘We can have a nice little chat. Just the three of us. Tell you what, we’ll put the closed sign up on the door and have a real good natter.’

  ‘I can’t, I’ve got to get back.’

  Sarah put the meat on the scale and watched the arrow move across. ‘Just under. Want another slice?’

  ‘No, that’ll do. Thank you. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘Stephen said to put it on the slate, please.’ Nell’s voice was now quavering, and she snatched up the greaseproof paper before Sarah could parcel it up. That was a mistake. The slices of meat fell all over the scrubbed wooden counter and Nell burst into tears.

  ‘Right, that’s it.’ Sarah went over to the door, bolted it tight and turned the sign round to read CLOSED. ‘We’re going to get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘Sarah,’ said Mary, pulling a please shut up face. ‘The girl said she’s got to go home.’

  ‘Too bad, now go and put the kettle on.’

  ‘I don’t want any tea,’ sniffed Nell. ‘I feel sick.’ She dropped down onto the customer’s chair that stood by the counter.

  ‘You don’t have to stay with him, you know,’ said Sarah, patting her shoulder. ‘It’s not as if you’re, you know, married to the man.’

  Nell didn’t even bother to try and hide her tears. ‘You don’t understand. No one does. I’ve got to stay with him. I’ve got no choice. I’ve just got to.’

  ‘No you haven’t. A beautiful young girl like you, there are so many boys out there – boys your own age, boys who’d love the chance to be with someone like you.’ Sarah stroked Nell’s hair. ‘You’ve got your whole life in front of you. Course you haven’t got to stay with him.’

  ‘Yes I do have to.’

  ‘But darling, why?’

  Nell pulled her handkerchief from her bag, and although she held it up to her mouth, what she said next was horribly clear to Sarah and Mary. ‘Cos not only have I been living in sin like some cheap tart, but I think I’m expecting. I keep being sick and I’ve not seen my, you know, my –’ She dropped her voice. ‘My period. Again. That’s two I’ve missed. Two.’

  Sarah said something in a language that neither Nell nor Mary understood, while ‘Blimmin’ hell,’ was as much as Mary could manage by way of response.

  Sarah squatted down next to the chair. ‘There are things you can do, you know.’

  Nell sniffed and wiped her nose.

  ‘I mean, you don’t have to have it.’

  Mary tutted loudly, concerned but exasperated. ‘Have you got any idea what Sarah’s talking about, love? Cos I don’t suppose they told you about these things in the home, now did they?’

  ‘They didn’t tell us anything much in the home, but I do know what she means. My friend Sylvia, she explained all sorts of things to me when I lived at the pub. But I couldn’t do what you’re talking about. I just couldn’t. I wasn’t wanted when I was little and I know what that feels like, having no one wanting you.’ She put her hand on her stomach and let out a little huff of mirthless laughter. ‘I might have been wrong when I thought that Stephen Flanagan actually wanted me because he loved me – me, daft little Nelly – but I know I want my baby.’

  ‘Where will you go, sweetheart?’

  ‘Nowhere. There’s nowhere for me to go.’

  ‘How about the pub? The Hope with that Sylvia Woods? You used to live there all right, didn’t you?’

  ‘That was before. It’s different now. Stephen’s a good friend of the owner, he’s in there all the time, so I’d hardly be welcome there if I went and left him.’

  ‘But that’ll mean you being stuck with the Flanagans.’

  ‘If that’s what I have to do, then that’s what I have to do.’

  Tenderly, Sarah touched the bruise on the side of Nell’s face. ‘Tell me, darling, how did that happen?’

  ‘I left the cupboard door open, and forgot.’

  ‘And in a minute my David’s going to walk down them back stairs, tell me to put my feet up and start running the shop for me.’

  Mary took herself back behind the counter and began to wrap the scattered slices of corned beef. ‘The girl doesn’t want to talk about it, Sarah.’

  Sarah stood up. ‘And that’s exactly how men like him get away with it.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘Go on Steve-o, let’s have a bit of credit, mate. Just a couple of bob each way. I’ll pay you back in a few days, I give you my solemn word on it. In fact, I swear on my old woman’s life. I’ll repay you every penny. You can trust me, Steve-o, you know that.’

  Stephen was leaning against the wall outside a tobacconist’s shop in Brick Lane. He had his cap pulled down hard over his well-oiled hair, and a white silky muffler knotted around his neck. He took a leisurely drag of his roll-up before bothering to answer.

  ‘Pay me back in a couple of days, now will you?’

  ‘Sure I will.’

  ‘You can’t be that confident of winning then, feller, now can you, or you’d be promising to pay me back right after this afternoon’s race – straight after you’ve won. So do us all a favour and piss off, I’ve got these genuine customers waiting here, men with money in their pockets waiting to lay real bets.’

  The shabbily dressed man, hands deep in his trouser pockets, slunk away, with Stephen’s mocking laughter ringing after him.

  ‘Reckon he thinks I’m straight off the boat, that one.’ Stephen flicked the butt of his roll-up into the gutter. ‘Right, who’s for any more? And I am talking about the exchange of actual money here remember, gentlemen. So please don’t ask for tick, cos a punch in
the gob often offends. If it’s credit you want you have definitely come to the wrong man.’

  Stephen walked into the Hope and Anchor, completely ignoring Sylvia who was busy serving the lunchtime rush, and made his way to the back of the pub where Bernie was leaning, studying the newspaper he had spread out on the bar in front of him.

  ‘All right, Bernard?’

  ‘Not so shabby.’ Bernie winked at Stephen, closed his newspaper and nodded towards the corner table, which the regulars knew was for the landlord’s exclusive use. ‘Stephen, would you care to join me in my office?’

  Sylvia watched as they sat down, and Stephen, with his back carefully set towards her, handed a canvas bag to her husband, which Bernie then secreted in the folds of his newspaper. They exchanged a few words and Bernie turned his head towards the bar. Sylvia hurriedly looked away.

  ‘Couple of light and bitters over here, Sylv,’ Bernie called across to her.

  Sylvia filled the glasses and took them over to the corner table.

  ‘Hello Stephen, how’re things doing down the market?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. And how about Nell, how’s she?’

  Stephen took a sip of his drink, giving himself a moment to think. The last thing he wanted was this nosy cow sticking her beak in and threatening to cause any friction or unpleasantness between him and Bernie. ‘Not too well as it happens. But thanks for asking.’

  Sylvia frowned. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Just a bit under the weather. I told her to go back to bed,’ he lied.

  ‘Give her my love, won’t you,’ said Sylvia, glancing at the bulging newspaper. ‘And tell her to pop in and see me when she’s feeling better.’

  ‘Course I will.’

  Bernie jerked his thumb towards the bar. ‘There’s people waiting to be served over there, Sylv.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said with a mocking curtsey, and planted a lipsticky kiss on his bald head.

  Surely Bernie must have realised by now that she’d known what he was up to practically from the day she’d started working in the pub as a barmaid – never mind the things she’d found out about him since they’d been married – and lately Stephen’s involvement in matters had become too obvious to ignore. That’s why Bernie was so irritable whenever Nell was around. He knew she wasn’t like Sylvia. She was so naive Bernie was scared she would open her mouth all innocently and ruin everything.

  It was a good job Sylvia loved the daft old sod – and, she had to admit, all the fancy trimmings his dodgy dealings brought her – or who knows what mischief she could have caused him. She smiled at the line of customers.

  ‘Right chaps, who’s next then?’

  As she looked at the men standing before her, she wondered what sort of secrets they were hiding from their wives – everyone said women were the last to know what their husbands were up to. But Sylvia wasn’t like most women, and neither did she have any qualms about sticking up for a friend if she thought she was in trouble. Maybe this afternoon, once they’d closed, she might cheer up Nell by taking her one of the sugary doughnuts from the baker’s next door to the pub. She used to love them, especially when the jam squelched out from the doughy middle. She smiled to herself as she remembered the two of them laughing until their sides ached when they had competitions to see who could eat a whole one of the sugar-covered things without licking their lips.

  Now barely smiling, Sylvia’s eyes stung as she blinked back the tears, missing Nell, missing her so very much, and feeling so very sorry that she had let her friend get involved with Stephen Flanagan.

  Sylvia had hardly an ounce of spare flesh on her tiny frame, but she wasn’t used to climbing so many stairs on a regular basis, and by the time she’d got to the Flanagans’ flat on the top floor of Turnbury Buildings she was puffing like a steam train.

  She took a moment to catch her breath, hand leaning against the wall, head bowed, before she knocked on the door, but she’d wasted her time. No one answered.

  ‘Bugger, Nell must be asleep. Have I really done all them rotten stairs for flipping nothing?’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Sylvia turned round to see Ada Tanner, arms folded, looking her up and down as if she’d never seen the like before.

  ‘Nothing to concern you; just talking to myself.’

  Ada pointed at the paper baker’s bag in Sylvia’s hand. ‘So what you got in there then?’

  ‘A tube of nose ointment.’ Sylvia held out the bag. ‘Here, do you want a dab? Cos that nose of yours must be right sore from sticking it in other people’s business all the time.’

  ‘That’s a nice way to talk to a woman old enough to be your mother.’

  ‘Grandmother more like,’ muttered Sylvia.

  ‘What did you say?’

  Sylvia mocked up a smile. ‘I said – have you got a pencil I can borrow, please?’

  ‘What for?’

  Sylvia was about to say To stick up your arse, you nosy old cow, but she needed a pencil. ‘I thought I’d leave a note for Nell. Let her know I came round to see her.’

  Ada narrowed her eyes. ‘You wait there and I’ll fetch the one my Albert uses.’ She hesitated. ‘I said wait. Get me?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sylvia, who had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near the horrible old woman’s front room. It was probably full of broomsticks and black cats, and her Albert probably used the pencil to write down her spells for her.

  Sylvia tore off a bit of the baker’s bag and just stopped herself from licking the end of the pencil – goodness only knew where it had been or what it had really been used for – and then she wrote:

  Dear Nell, sorry I missed seeing you, darling. Hope you had a good sleep and that you’ll be feeling better soon. Come and see me when you do. Love from your friend, Sylvia.

  She put the note in the bag, rolled the top over and set about shoving it through the letter box. It took a bit of squashing, but she managed.

  ‘That’ll be nice for her to come home to,’ said Ada, taking back the pencil.

  Sylvia’s pleasantly surprised smile at what she first thought were Ada’s kind words didn’t last long when it quickly dawned on her what the woman actually meant – she was saying that Nell wasn’t at home. But she had to be wrong; Nell was poorly – in bed asleep, getting better.

  While Sylvia’s mind churned over these confusing thoughts, Ada was warming to her subject.

  ‘You know what’ll happen, don’t you? She’ll be bound to step on it and then she’ll get jam all over the hall runner, and then she’ll have to get down on her hands and knees and scrub off all the mess.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong there, because if you must know, the poor girl’s in there in bed. She’s not well.’

  ‘If you say so, but I reckon I know better. I’m telling you, that girl was in the shop.’ Ada didn’t give Sylvia the chance to reply, she just shut the door firmly in her face.

  Sylvia didn’t know what to think any more, and as she made her way down the stairs – so much easier than climbing the buggers – she was even more concerned for her friend.

  It was only a pity that she didn’t notice Nell, with her hand covering her bruised and swollen face, as she pressed herself flat against the wall in the shadows by the rubbish chute, the place where she’d been hiding ever since she’d heard Sylvia’s voice and had been too ashamed to show herself. Not only ashamed, but too scared to show herself to her dearest friend in the whole world for fear of what she might do.

  As she heard Sylvia’s footsteps echoing and fading away down the stairs, Nell thought about her precious brooch hidden under the pile of handkerchiefs in the bedside cabinet, and wondered how she could make sure that if something really bad happened to her it would become Sylvia’s. Because, the way she felt now, Nell honestly wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to last in this world.

  1936

  Chapter 18

  ‘Get that boy away from
me, or you’ll both be sorry.’ Stephen was threatening Nell but concentrating on his food.

  ‘But I only want the leftover bits.’

  Nell raised her eyebrows and shook her head urgently at her now almost eight-year-old Tommy as he hovered around the table, staring at the thick glossy brown rind that Stephen had cut off a fat slice of gammon, which almost filled his plate.

  Tommy’s mouth watered as he twiddled his thick dark fringe around his finger. He loved the smell of fried bacon.

  ‘Tommy, don’t bother your dad while he’s having his tea, there’s a good boy. I know, why don’t you go down and play in the courtyard? Go on. And why don’t you take Dolly down there with you?’

  Dolly – Nell and Stephen’s six-year-old, the blonde curly-haired image of her mother – was hanging on Nell’s apron as Nell stood at the sink washing up the pots and pans. Dolly stared at her father’s back, her thumb plugged in her mouth.

  Nell turned to look out of the window. ‘It’s lovely out there. I bet the kids’ll all be playing Olympics again. Go on. Go and join in.’

  ‘That was last week,’ said Tommy, taking a last lingering look at his father’s bacon, but, as usual, he did as his mother told him, judging – correctly – from the tone of her voice that she wasn’t actually asking him if he fancied going down to play, she was most definitely telling him to make himself scarce.

  ‘Well, whatever they’re up to, they’ll all be out in this lovely sunshine.’ Nell ruffled her children’s hair, and shooed them out of the door with a smile. ‘And Tommy, make sure you keep hold of Dolly’s hand when you’re going down the stairs,’ she called. ‘You know how steep they are for her.’

  She turned her attention back to the sink. Cooking and clearing up after everyone took more hours than there seemed to be in the day lately. It wouldn’t be so bad if Lily and George would just wait an hour or so to eat until the little ones came in for their tea. But that would be too easy, too kind for those two even to think of doing. Oh no, they had to have their meal waiting for them ready to be put on the table as soon as they got back from the market, and if that was just after three, then it was Nell’s bad luck.