Rough Justice

by Gilda O'Neill

  Trying to banish her worries, Nell picked up the basket, closed her eyes and sniffed the sweet smell of linen dried in the open air in warm summer sunshine. The heated racks in the laundry were a blessing in bad weather, but being able to dry washing outside was so much nicer. It was something that had never been possible in the home, so Nell valued it especially, but it was hard to think of much else that she liked about the place.

  ‘Penny for ’em, darling?’

  She opened her eyes. It was Sylvia, her face as heavily made up as always, despite the scorching heat. She was wearing a floral print dress and a neat straw hat topped off with a little bunch of cherries that dangled saucily over one side.

  ‘Well, are you going to tell your old mate what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours or just stand there gawping?’

  ‘I’m just enjoying this lovely weather.’

  ‘Yeah, course you are.’ Sylvia didn’t sound convinced. ‘Now, have you got time to make me a cup of tea before you start ironing that lot? Or I can just sit and watch while you get on with it if you like. You know me, Nell, I’ve never minded watching people work.’

  ‘I’m a bit pushed this morning to be honest, Sylv.’

  She’d have loved to have sat and had a chat with Sylvia, she could always cheer her up, but Nell couldn’t be sure when Stephen might turn up, and what with everything else, she really didn’t feel like risking another row.

  ‘Go on, Nell.’ Sylvia screwed up her nose and pinched Nell softly on the cheek. ‘Only just a quick one. I have come all this way.’

  Nell was torn. ‘It’ll have to be ever so quick. I’ve got so many jobs to do.’

  I’ll bet you have, thought Sylvia. She held up her shopping basket. ‘And I hope you don’t mind. I’ve bought a few bits round for the kids.’

  ‘Thanks, Sylv, but you really shouldn’t; you spoil them two.’

  ‘Loving them’s not spoiling them, Nell, you know that.’

  With Sylvia settled down with her cup of tea, Nell took the presents she’d bought for the children – a whole tin of lead soldiers for Tommy and a pink, fluffy rabbit for Dolly – and hid them away in the back of the wardrobe. She would find a way of letting the children play with them without Stephen and the twins finding out, otherwise they’d only accuse her of wasting money, and they’d call her a liar if she said Sylvia had bought them – such kindness wasn’t within their understanding.

  Nell came back into the kitchen, spread the ironing blanket on the kitchen table and set about working her way through the pile of laundry. ‘I know I said you shouldn’t, but Tommy and Dolly will love them, thanks Sylv. You’re so good to them.’

  ‘How many years have we been friends now, Nell? Must be what, getting on for nine years?’

  ‘Must be.’

  ‘Well, however long it is, you do know I feel like you and the kids are part of the family, don’t you?’

  Nell smiled at her. ‘Course I know.’

  ‘And you know you can always tell me anything, don’t you?’

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘Blimmin’ heck, Nell, this is like pulling teeth here.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Listen to me, I know you’re not happy living here. And you’re grafting so hard, and you look—’

  Nell stiffened. ‘Hard work never did anyone any harm.’ As if to demonstrate the point, she went at the sheet with even more vigour.

  ‘Aw no? Well, I reckon too much of it can bloody kill you. You are not their slave, Nell.’ Sylvia took a mouthful of tea. ‘Look, I’ve got to tell you.’ She paused, trying to find the right words, knowing she was more than capable of sticking her dainty little foot right in it if she wasn’t careful. ‘Them two, the ugly twins, they came in the pub last night looking for Stephen, and I heard them saying that they thought you should be working on the stall. That you did bugger all else and they want you out there grafting instead of them.’

  Nell carried on with the ironing; she finished the sheet and immediately started on another. Then, after a long moment of consideration, she said evenly, ‘I was always told it wasn’t right to listen to other people’s conversations.’

  ‘Don’t be like that with me, Nell. I’m only trying to help you. I’ve been thinking about all this for weeks now. No that’s not true, I’ve been thinking about it for months if the truth be told.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Sylvia put down her cup. ‘I thought you and the kids could come and live with us, with me and Bernie at the pub, and you could go back to doing your old job if you wanted. It’d be just like the old times and I’d get to see you and the kids every single day. There’s this smashing school just around the corner. I even made enquiries and they said that when the new term begins—’

  ‘Sylvia.’ Nell put the iron down carefully on the blanket. ‘Do you really think—’

  ‘No, you wait, Nell. You mustn’t get too excited. Like I said, I’ve thought about it, and I’m not sure it’s going to work, not the way things are. So we’ll have to come up with something to sort out Stephen. Because you see it’s him, he’s the fly right in the middle of the pot of flipping ointment.’

  Nell stared at her, horrified. ‘Stephen? What about him? What have you said? Have you spoken to him? Sylvia, you’ve got to tell me what you’ve done.’

  ‘I’ve not said or done anything. Well, only the usual – here’s your pint – that sort of thing. It’s just that he’s always there in the bloody pub with Bernie, sitting in the corner whispering.’ Sylvia fiddled around with her hankie. ‘Every sodding night he’s in there, and I’ve seen him chatting away to women like he’s a man with no responsibilities. Cheeky sod. Then him and Bernie go off upstairs with some other blokes and play cards for hours on end. Thick as thieves, them two. So if the idea’s to get you away from him, for you not to have to face the horrible what’s-his-name every day, what’d be the point? That’s why we’ll have to think of something. Come up with some sort of plan.’

  Nell wasn’t listening any more. Her stomach was churning and she felt physically ill. She knew Sylvia, knew that she was oblivious of the consequences when she said exactly what was on her mind, and that she was would happily say it to men who were twice her size. She was, in fact, totally fearless. But then she didn’t have two little ones to worry about, did she? What if she decided to say something to Stephen, something that upset him, and he decided to take it out on Tommy and Dolly?

  Nell took a breath. ‘Listen to me, Sylvia. I don’t want to be rude to you, but I’ve got to say this straight – please, please do not, and I mean this with all my heart, do not interfere. You have no idea about my life here, and what me and the children want or need. It’s our business, for us to deal with. It’s nothing to do with you, or with anyone else. Do you understand me?’

  Nell picked up Sylvia’s cup and took it over to the sink. ‘And if you don’t mind I’ll have to be getting on now. I’ll have to start thinking about the twins’ tea or they’ll have nothing to eat when they get in. So, like I say, if you don’t mind . . .’

  ‘Nell, don’t be like this.’

  ‘Like what? I’m fine.’

  ‘No you’re not fine, you’re bloody well scared of him. Scared of that pisspot Stephen bloody Flanagan. And look at your face. He’s bashed you again, hasn’t he? Why would any man want to do that to a woman?’

  Nell automatically shielded her face with her hand. ‘Don’t be so silly, course he hasn’t.’

  ‘Aw I forgot. You’ve got the strangest cupboard doors known to man here in this gaff, haven’t you? They just wait for you to walk by and then they fly open and smack you right in the gob.’

  ‘Sylvia, please, I’m asking you.’

  Sylvia stood up and straightened her hat. ‘If you won’t help yourself, Nell, then someone else has to. And believe me, that idiot, who doesn’t know how blessed he is, should be licking the soles of your bloody shoes, not doing that to you.’

 
‘Sylvia, you mustn’t. You don’t know what he’s like.’

  ‘Trust me, he doesn’t scare me, not one little bit.’

  ‘I don’t mean that.’

  Sylvia picked up her bag and kissed Nell on the cheek. ‘I’ll see myself out. You just leave it to me.’

  Chapter 24

  Sylvia smiled automatically as she pushed through the crowd drinking at the counter, making her way over to her husband. He was sitting at his usual table in the corner writing figures in a leather-bound book, his face red and damp with sweat.

  ‘Warm enough for you, Sylv?’

  Sylvia ignored his pleasantry and sat down opposite him, plonking her shopping basket on her knees as if she was still on the bus. ‘Bernie, I want you to do something for me.’

  ‘What’s that then, my little lovely?’ He stuck his pencil behind his ear and looked at her. ‘You seem a bit serious.’

  Sylvia reached out and took Bernie’s huge paw in her hand. ‘I want you to bar Stephen Flanagan from the pub. Now. Today. For ever. Soon as he comes in. Tell him he’s not welcome in here any more, and just get rid of him then and there.’

  Bernie rubbed his hand over his bald head, took a deep breath and then stared down at the table. ‘Don’t start on about him again, Sylv,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I am not starting, I am just saying. I worked it all out on the way back from Nell’s. I want you to bar him so that Nell can come back here to live and maybe work for me again. For us, I mean. And I want her to bring the kids with her and all.’

  ‘Do what? Have you gone stark raving mad, woman?’

  ‘What’s the problem with that? We’ve got plenty of room.’

  Bernie’s face grew even redder. ‘I’m not talking about whether we’ve got the room, girl.’

  ‘So what is the problem then?’

  He raised his head and looked at his wife. She was such a tiny little thing, he could pick her up with one hand if he wanted to, but still she always assumed that she was in charge – and most of the time she was right, but not over this, not this time. ‘You want me to bar Stephen Flanagan from the Hope, eh? And when did you two come up with this little idea then?’

  Sylvia studied her fingernails, and threw in casually, ‘Nell doesn’t know anything about it yet.’

  ‘This just gets better and better.’ Bernie wiped the sweat from his face and neck with a big white handkerchief. ‘You want a woman to leave her old man and move out of her home with her kids, and she doesn’t even know about it?’

  ‘Bernie, you don’t understand. Of course I mentioned moving to her, but not about Stephen being barred from the pub. I told you, I only thought about that on the way back on the bus. So how about it?’

  ‘No, Sylv, for once I am actually going to say no to you. You know I like that girl, I like her a lot, but for one thing we are not getting involved in a married couple’s business.’

  ‘They’re not married.’

  ‘I do know, Sylv, and you know full well that they’re as good as married as any other couple around here. They’ve got two kids and they’ve been together for years now.’

  ‘But they’re not married legally, are they? So it wouldn’t be the same her leaving him, would it, Bern?’

  Bernie shook his head. ‘No, Sylv, I am not getting involved in this and I am not even talking about it any more, I am just not having it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. This time, believe me, you are not getting your own way, and that’s final. Stephen is a friend of mine, all right? Finished.’

  When Stephen walked into the Hope and Anchor that evening it was just gone seven and the pub was packed. Sylvia only noticed him as she lifted her head to smile as she handed over the change from a ten-shilling note to an already slightly tipsy young dockworker, who was celebrating the fact that he’d managed to find more than just a couple of days’ work that week. Sylvia’s smile vanished. She was glad for the young docker, but she definitely wasn’t glad to see Stephen Flanagan.

  Infuriated by his presence, but resigned to the ritual, she watched as Stephen handed Bernie the cloth bag, swallowed a pint of mild and bitter, and then – as he did now on most nights of the week – followed Bernie up the stairs to the flat.

  Did Bernie really think she didn’t notice what they were up to? Like most men, he didn’t have a very high opinion of women’s ability to work things out, but surely he could give her some credit – at least for having two eyes in her bloody head.

  The next time Sylvia saw her husband – with Stephen still firmly in tow – it was a quarter to nine. They were down a bit earlier than usual. They came through the door by the side of the bar followed by four men who were as red-faced from drink as Bernie had been from the heat. The four men were speaking and laughing loudly. Stephen was neither red-faced nor speaking loudly, and he certainly wasn’t laughing, in fact he looked fit to put somebody’s lamps out.

  Sylvia sidled casually along behind the bar, moving closer to where the men were saying their goodnights. The four strangers shook Bernie’s hand, variously winked at Stephen, lifted their chins in his direction or saluted him, and then left, still talking and laughing loudly.

  Sylvia caught Bernie’s eye and mouthed – tell him he’s barred – before getting back to serving.

  With a raise of his hand, Bernie called another goodnight, and then turned back to Stephen, looking into his eyes as if he were trying to decode some sort of secret that Stephen was hiding behind them.

  ‘Everything all right is it, Steve-o?’

  ‘I’ve just lost ten quid, what do you think? Them bastards couldn’t get away quick enough. Scared I’d win it back from them. Do you call that fair play?’

  ‘Leave off. You’ll get it back soon enough. You always do, mate. But I wasn’t talking about that.’

  Bernie had to be careful how he put this, but he wasn’t about to let Sylvia think she was going to get away with this bloody hare-brained scheme of hers. Bringing Nell back to the pub – had she lost her marbles or something? Whatever would she come up with next? Giving away half-price beer every Saturday night? If she had her way, not only would it ruin what had become a very nice arrangement between him and Stephen Flanagan, but there’d be two little cherry hogs running around the place. No thank you very much. He’d never had kids of his own, so why would he want someone else’s? But, most of all, why would he want to lose a money-spinner like Flanagan? He was the most profitable runner he’d ever had, and the muscles on him meant that he never had to take any nonsense from the punters. No, it was a good set-up, one he wasn’t about to ruin. He had to warn him that something was up, but without setting him off. Flanagan could go off like a rocket on Bonfire Night, and he didn’t fancy being on the tail end.

  ‘No, what I meant was is everything all right indoors? It was just something Sylv was saying earlier, after she’d been round to see your Nell. I thought you’d want to know about it, that’s all. You know how women talk.’

  Bernie stopped there. Had he said enough? Too much?

  Shit, he had.

  Stephen’s face was now just as red as Bernie’s. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Bernie, or what your wife’ – he emphasised the words with a sneer – ‘is talking about. In my home, Nell does as she’s told. She keeps things like I want, and she doesn’t spend all her time nagging and gossiping like other women. You got that?’

  Bernie held up his hands, stretching his braces almost to bursting point over his big round belly. ‘You know best, Steve-o.’

  ‘As far as my own home goes, yes I do. Yes I fucking well do thank you very much.’

  Bernie groaned inwardly. That went well. ‘Right.’

  ‘So long as we’ve got that straight.’

  ‘Yeah, course. See you tomorrow then?’

  At the sound of Stephen’s boots in the hall coming towards the bedroom, Nell closed her eyes tight, trying to breathe calmly as if she were sleeping. Maybe it would be one of those nights when he just got in
to bed and went to sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, leaving her alone while he snored like a pig.

  But it wasn’t.

  Before she had a chance to protect herself, Stephen had torn the covers off her and was dragging her out of bed. He slammed her against the wall and smacked her across the face with the flat of his hand.

  ‘I don’t want to hear that that whore from the Hope has been anywhere near this place ever again, do you understand me?’

  Nell’s head felt as if it was spinning off her shoulders, but she knew she had to nod – she certainly couldn’t speak.

  ‘And if you make a noise and wake up them two little bastards through there and they come in and then they start screaming, and then I have people poking in their noses where they’re not wanted, well then you’ll be sorry. Very sorry. Got it?’

  Another headjarring nod. She knew he meant Martin Lovell. She really didn’t want him being involved and Stephen starting on him. She liked Martin so much. He was so kind. Or did Stephen mean Sylvia. Or . . . ? Or who did he mean?

  But she couldn’t remember any more names, because it was then that Stephen Flanagan started punching and kicking her.

  Chapter 25

  Martin Lovell stood at the window of the brewery office, looking down at the street below. The crowd was still out there, right by the gate, and, what made it worse, so was his father, right in their midst.

  What was he going to do? He couldn’t just go down there and ignore him, but the gate was the only way out of the building.

  Martin dragged his fingers down his cheeks. This was turning out to be a royal pain in the arse. For the past couple of hours he’d been finding bits of work to occupy him, making up reasons why he had to stay in the office – papers to sort through, orders to update, accounts to be chased – all the while hoping that the crowd below would just listen to the organisers’ rabble-rousing speeches, shout and holler their support back at them for a while, and then make their way home or clear off to the pub.