Sadie moved into Eden House, sobered by her bid to follow her own feelings over Richie. She was like a child whose fingers had been burnt, who none the less still finds the flames fascinating and cannot leave the fire alone. Richie cropped up in her thoughts whenever she had a moment to spare from washing, changing and feeding Meggie. Throughout July, in the close heat of the court, she rocked their baby to sleep, humming a lullaby, secretly dreaming that his desertion was temporary and, like a cinema hero, he would gallop over the horizon clutching a fistful of dollars, with a smile on his handsome face.
He would be contrite. He would say he’d come back to be a husband and a father. They would be a family. For Sadie could not believe that she’d fallen for the type of man who would use a girl and ditch her the moment she got pregnant – the old story. She remembered Richie: his hooded, passionate eyes, his unspoken vulnerability, their closeness in bed. He couldn’t have pretended then that he loved her without her knowing that he was insincere. She trusted her instinct, a small, dark voice that said Richie was better than he seemed. His love for her and the baby would overcome his doubts. She did expect to see him again, if not with a bagful of money, then at least with his sleeves rolled up, ready to try again.
Work had been the problem. Or lack of it. If Rob hadn’t sacked Richie, Sadie felt that things would have worked out between them. Once out of worky his stride began to falter. He was a proud man, he hadn’t liked her being the breadwinner at Swan and Edgar. He felt even worse when she had to leave her job over the pregnancy. He knew he wasn’t a real man unless he could provide for her and the baby. Failure had driven him away.
This was not the general opinion on Richie Palmer down Paradise Court. Dolly Ogden denounced him as the ruination of a girl’s good name. Long summer evenings gave her the space to proclaim these views among the older women who kept to the custom of sitting at their doorsteps until night fell. These were heatwave days, when dogs kept to the shady alleys, and every rat carried the danger of festering disease. Government promises to keep a hold on prices had been broken. The pound in the pocket didn’t go as far. Only gossip was free.
‘And you see how the poor girl has to live,’ Dolly said. ‘In that nasty tenement. It don’t matter how many licks of paint she gives it, it won’t make no difference. And Frances can bring over all the disinfectant and bleach she likes, it ain’t gonna keep them rats away: Not in the long run.’
There was a shaking of heads. Edith Cooper confirmed she’d seen a rat scuttling up a stairway that morning as she set off for work.
‘It ain’t paint and disinfectant she needs,’ Liz Sargent agreed. ‘It’s a good man.’
‘Don’t we all?’ went up the general murmur.
‘But from what I hear, she’d take Palmer back like a shot,’ Dolly went on disapprovingly. She brushed biscuit crumbs from her broad lap on to the pavement.
‘Never!’
‘She wouldn’t!’
‘She would.’ Dolly leaned confidentially forward. ‘She told my Amy as much. Amy wormed it out of her last week. She reckons she still loves him.’
‘Hush!’ Liz saw Annie strolling up the court, eyes and ears alert. ‘And how’s the bonny, bouncing baby, Dolly?’ She steered the subject on to safe ground.
‘Blooming, ta. He’s sitting up and taking notice already. We’ll have him saying his first word before Christmas at this rate. Won’t we, Annie? I was just saying, we got a little prince in young Bobby. He’ll soon be toddling around, God bless his cotton socks!’
Annie agreed. ‘He’s spoilt to death, mind. Amy’s gonna have to toughen up on him before too long.’
‘And Rob,’ Dolly reminded her.
‘You’d think no one had ever had babies before.’
‘Let them go ahead and spoil him rotten, Annie. It’s more than some can do for their littl’uns.’ She pushed towards controversy. Life was dull when everyone agreed.
‘How’s that?’ Annie bristled. ‘I hope you ain’t referring to Sadie?’
Dolly protested innocence. ‘I never meant nothing. How is Sadie, by the way?’
‘Nicely, thanks.’ Annie’s face stayed stiff and unsmiling.
‘Under the circumstances.’ Dolly nodded. ‘And how’s little Meggie?’
‘Dancing the tango and doing long multiplication sums,’ Annie snapped.
Dolly’s eyebrows shot up. ‘No need to be like that, Annie. We’re all on your side.’
Annie should have known better than to draw Dolly on, but she narrowed her eyes and folded her skinny arms. ‘And what side is that, then, Dolly?’
‘We all feel sorry for the poor girl. Sadie’s been a bit headstrong, we know that. But she ain’t done nothing to deserve Richie Palmer. Look how he brought her down, it’s a disgrace. I used to look at young Sadie and say to myself, “There’s a girl that will go far!”
Annie growled back. ‘Sadie’s fine. She ain’t feeling sorry for herself and she don’t want your pity, Dolly Ogden. She’s getting office work and bringing it home. Rob and Walter teamed up and bought her one of them typewriter machines from the pawnshop. She’ll soon be on her feet.’
‘And she won’t hear of taking Palmer back?’ Dolly knew she was pushing her luck.
‘Don’t be bleeding daft,’ Annie retorted. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Nowhere.’ Dolly pressed her lips together. ‘Ain’t no one mentioned it to me. I was just asking.’
‘And I wonder you don’t have nothing better to do, Dolly. Or I would if I didn’t know you better, you old windbag.’ Before Dolly had chance to reply, Annie nodded at Liz and Edith and marched on her way. She was going over to Ealing to visit Jess and the little ones. She saw trouble brewing in that direction. Maurice had gone and got himself work hundreds of miles away. That would put a strain on any family. Ett had said that Jess wasn’t herself lately. Annie wanted to go and see for herself.
August broke with a heavy thunderstorm. Rain hammered on to the grey roofs, single slates slipped and fell. But the air was cleared. A weak sun broke through as Walter Davidson stopped his taxicab outside Eden House and raced up the-stone steps in the final splattering drops.
‘There’s a rainbow,’ he told Sadie as she opened the door.
‘I ain’t got time for no rainbows, Walter.’
‘You can’t see it from here.’ He unbuttoned his jacket and drew out a sheaf of jumbled, dog-eared papers. ‘I brought the accounts we want you to type up.’
She nodded. ‘Come in. I’m sorry I snapped.’
He took off his cap and followed her inside. ‘Ain’t nothing wrong, is there?’ Meggie was sitting propped in a big, soft chair, wedged around by pillows. Her eyes followed Sadie everywhere.
‘No, except it’s rent day,’ she grumbled. She cleared the table, then offered Walter a seat. Since she’d come back to Paradise Court, he’d taken up their friendship in his old, steady way. He never tried to romance her though, and never referred to what had once been between them. She caught him looking at her with concern and a hand went to her hair to straighten it. ‘Thanks for bringing me these.’ She put the bundle of papers on to the table.
Walter drew money from his pocket. ‘Paid in advance,’ he insisted. He noticed how she held her breath, uncertain whether to accept. He placed the coins on the table. ‘How about a quick cuppa?’
She smiled and nodded, and set about filling the kettle with water. ‘How’s things?’ Walter often stopped by for a chat like this. It broke the monotony of her days and brought no pressure. He seemed to visit out of sheer kindness. She compared him with Richie, and found no likeness. Walter was patient and steady. His wavy brown hair gave his face an open, friendly look. Though he was tall and upright, his presence felt shy. Ready to smile, slow to take offence, she would even call him handsome. After all, she’d once been attracted to him, before their affair had fallen into its uneventful, companionable pattern.
Sadie listened as Walter ran through the street gossip. Taxi business was down,
as it always was in the summer. Rob and he were still a million miles away from getting their hands on new cars. The old Bullnoses creaked on. The boycott at the Duke was holding up. Rumour had it that Bertie Hill was already feeling the pressure from the brewery. ‘I hear he’s been forced to serve after hours every now and then, just to boost the takings.’
Sadie laughed. ‘Who says so?’ She couldn’t imagine Hill being so careless of his licence.
‘Tommy.’
‘Well, then!’ She dismissed the rumour. ‘Tommy’s a dreamer. He says he’s moving into Coopers’ old shop when he’s ready. Swears blind he’ll be a millionaire before he’s thirty!’
Walter laughed and rose to go. ‘I’d best be off.’ He took his hat from the table.
‘I’ll get these accounts typed up and back to Rob or you by the weekend,’ she promised.
‘No rush.’ He nodded and left, passing Bertie Hill on the stairs.
Sadie’s door was still open and Hill strolled in without being observed. He stood watching as she worked with her back turned, lifting the sleeping Meggie from the chair and laying her gently in her crib.
When she turned, she started. She felt his eyes devour her, glanced down to straighten her blouse, walked to the far side of the room.
‘It’s that day already.’ Hill strolled to the window and smirked, ‘Rent day.’ He folded his arms and continued to stare.
Sadie nodded. She had to cross near to him to fetch her purse from the mantelpiece. He stepped after her, trapping her in a small space by the empty hearth. She took out the money and handed it to him. His thick fingers turned the coins in his palm. Twelve shillings and sixpence,’ she assured him. ‘It’s what we agreed.’
‘You ain’t heard the bad news, then?’
His casual manner nettled her further. ‘No. What?’
‘I put the rent up to thirteen shillings last week. To cover maintenance costs. The roof, it needs mending.’
‘You ain’t said nothing to me.’
‘I am now.’ He kept her locked in the corner, studying her figure, noticing the smoothness of her skin.
‘But that ain’t right.’ She fumed against him. Twelve and six was what they’d agreed.
He shrugged. ‘Please yourself. There’s plenty of others would pay thirteen bob for a nice place like this.’ He glanced round at her improvements; clean paintwork, bright tablecloth, a picture or two on the wall.
‘It’s a crying shame! And you ain’t done nothing about the rats, like I asked. It’s bad for the baby. Ain’t you never heard of the Housing Act? This place ain’t fit for nothing!’
Again he shrugged, but didn’t move.
She stared back at him, furious.
‘’Course, we might be able to agree special terms,’ he suggested. It seemed to him a reasonable offer he was about to make. ‘If you was nice to me, I might see my way to a tidy little rent reduction.’ He didn’t expect her to turn it down. In his experience, women in Sadie’s situation would snap his hand off.
Sadie looked at him with loathing. ‘Stay away from me, you hear!’ As he advanced, she began to push him off. The offer was meant to operate then and there.
Hill grabbed her by the elbow. ‘Ten shillings. How does that sound? Don’t that seem fair enough?’ He reached to kiss her. She struggled as she felt his lips smear down her cheek on to her neck. She tried to turn away at the last second, and began to yell out. Her fists pummelled ineffectually against him.
He lashed out with his free hand and sent her staggering against the wall. Then he pinned her against it, tearing at the buttons on her white blouse, excited by her resistance. He felt her tug the back of his hair. Her body was soft and slender.
Sadie felt a wave of sick panic. She struggled to break free, but knew at once that he was too brutal and strong. She wouldn’t give in, though. She cried out against him.
Walter had seen the landlord going up to Sadie’s room and made nothing of it. After all, she’d told him it was rent day. But back in the taxicab, he frowned. Hill had seemed to give him a sneering look of the man-of-the-world type, as if he knew why Walter was a regular visitor to Sadie’s room. Walter had shrugged off the implication. Now what he found in the car gave him cause to go back up and check in any case. He took up a loose page which had fallen from the bundle of accounts and grasped it in his hand. Sadie would need it so she could type it up with the rest. He ran back up the stairs, two at a time.
Sadie had almost blacked out from hatred and disgust. Hill had ripped the clothes from her breast and his great hands were mauling her. He held her up to stop her from sinking down, pressing her up against the wall. His mouth worked against her neck. She still fought him off, but was growing feebler.
Walter ran in through the open door. He hurled himself at the landlord, tore him away from Sadie. Then he punched at his body and head, sending him reeling backwards with a bloody nose. Sadie wept and sank to the ground, trying to cover herself.
Crazy with anger, Walter laid into the burly ex-policeman. Hill knew how to handle himself, but Walter was fitter, cleverer. His punch, developed at Milo’s gym during his teenaged years, was stronger. There was only so much battering that Hill could take before he slumped to the ground. In the end, Sadie had to drag her defender away, to prevent real damage.
By the time Walter had lugged Hill from the room and watched him stagger away, Sadie too was almost senseless. Walter rushed across the landing to Mary O’Hagan, sent her in to help Sadie, then rushed for Annie. When he brought her back, they found Sadie in tears in Mary’s rooms. She was begging for Richie.
Walter stopped short at the door.
Annie shot him a look. ‘I’ll see to things here. You go get yourself cleaned up.’ There was blood trickling from the corner of Walter’s mouth. His shirt collar was torn.
In a daze he went down to the taxi and drove himself to the depot. Rob took one look and demanded the full story. Walter spat it out, seeing Rob’s own anger boil up. ‘A girl ain’t safe with Hill around. I hope you gave him a good thrashing, Walt. He bleeding deserved it!’
Walter dabbed at his sore mouth. The cut was swollen and tender. ‘If she had someone to look after her, none of this would’ve gone on. God knows what he’d have done if I hadn’t showed up again.’
Rob frowned through his cigarette smoke. ‘Ain’t you the one to do it, then?’
‘What?’
‘Look after Sadie, long-term. You know.’ Walter shook his head.
‘Why not?’
‘It ain’t me she wants, Rob. It’s Richie Palmer.’
Rob swore and protested, he called Sadie a fool, said Walter was worth ten of Richie. Walter wondered what Sadie would do next. ‘She can’t stay there no more. Hill will see to that. We gotta do something, Rob. Why can’t we find Richie for her?’
‘You’re stark staring mad.’ Rob took a step back and shook his head.
‘It’s what she wants.’
‘Then she is a fool.’ Rob thought through the new situation. Sadie’s position as a single woman with a kid was open to all kinds of abuse. Men like Bertie Hill would crawl out of the woodwork wherever she turned. Driving a taxi round these courts and back streets late at night, Rob knew this all too well. He listened to Walter’s account of Sadie sobbing out for Richie to come back. His conscience dug deep. ‘We could put out the word.’ Still he hesitated before he told Walter the full truth.
‘To find Richie?’
Rob nodded. ‘It ain’t gonna be that hard.’
‘You know something?’
‘I heard he was in Hoxton,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t know where exactly. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this, Walt. We must be bleeding mad.’
Walter pressed him to go on. ‘If Sadie wants to see him, you gotta let her.’
Rob gave in. ‘Tell her she should try the Queen’s Head. Like I say, I must be round the bleeding twist. And you need your head looking at,’ he told Walter. ‘You wouldn’t find me giving up on a girl like
that!’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Walter knew the Shoreditch and Hoxton area well enough to find his way easily to the Queen’s Head on the comer of Regent Street and Turner Court. It was an old-style pub where street gangs graduated after a teenage apprenticeship of fights with belts and bottles, where the twentieth century had as yet scarcely impinged, and where assorted carmen, porters, navvies and railway workers gathered until well past midnight.
He had driven through the mean streets, the miles of brick and squalor, the long vistas of bricks and misery, to reach the pub where Richie Palmer was to be contacted. It was a stifling night, yet to his surprise, he round a group of children with enough energy to dance to the music of a barrel organ on the street comer. Two women sat on the pub steps, singing along.
One of them grinned up at him as he stepped by. Her companion jostled her, and their laughter showed their rotten teeth, their crooked smiles. Walter ignored them. He went in and ordered a pint of bitter, served by a small grey Irishman with a long, lined face, whose hangdog expression belied the phrase about the luck of the Irish. ‘I’m trying to find Richie Palmer,’ he told the man.
‘You ain’t the only one.’ The beer sloshed on to the bar as he slammed the glass down.
Walter paid up. ‘He ain’t here, then?’
‘I never said that. This is his second home, this is.’
Walter frowned and glanced around the dingy room. The bar was partitioned by wood and glass panels, giving drinkers the privacy to play cards or dominoes. Many of the partitions contained two or three men huddled over their beer, which he now discovered was flat and lukewarm due to the heat. ‘He is here, then?’ Walter felt his temper shorten as he peered round.
‘Was. Bought a drink ten minutes since. When I say “bought”, I don’t mean to say he had the wherewithal. What I mean is, he sweet-talked one of the girls into buying his beer. Richie Palmer ain’t had the price of a drink way back as far as I can remember.’
The Irishman’s sad face and tragic tones had a depressing effect. Realizing that he would never get a straight answer, Walter wandered away from the bar in search of the runaway.
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