Frank let go of his two uninvited guests and hurled himself at the man who was trying, and failing yet again, to land a punch on Pat’s chin.
Frank pinned the man’s arms to his sides. ‘Oi, oi, oi, come on now chaps. Yer don’t wanna fight. It was my flaming kitchen.’ He looked at the old man. ‘Now, are yer gonna tell me what all this is about?’
‘They’re a pair of dirty bastards,’ Phoebe chipped in from the position she had established for herself at the front of the crowd. ‘D’yer know what they done?’
‘What?’
Pat dropped his chin, barely able to say the words. ‘His son’s been feeling up Nutty Lil, ain’t he? And the old boy was going in your kitchen to have his turn.’
‘You what?’ Frank shook his head in disgust; he let go of the man’s arms, and without any warning spun him round, grabbed his collar and stuck a straight right directly on to his nose, making blood spurt all over the pair of them.
‘All right, Pat,’ Frank said, keeping his eyes fixed on the man, watching as he dabbed at his bloody nose with the stained sleeve of his jacket. ‘It’s over. No more now, eh? We’ll just get rid of ’em. We don’t wanna spoil the party. They’ll get theirs later on.’
Pat stepped round Frank, grabbed the man by his lapels, twisted him round and placed a boot up his backside. ‘If yer know what’s good for yer, just piss off out of it.’
As the two men slunk away, Frank called after them, ‘And yer’d better watch yerself if yer go down any dark alleys.’
The crowd were torn between cheering Frank and Pat and jeering at the two men.
‘All right, everyone,’ Pat said. ‘Show’s over. Let’s all have a drink, eh?’
‘He’s torn me pretty shawl,’ Lil wailed.
Katie put her arm round Lil’s shoulders. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Don’t cry. Let’s get you inside and wash yer face for yer. And we’ll make sure yer all right, eh?’
Peggy Watts stepped through the mob, holding young Theresa Barber’s hand, having kept her back from witnessing the fight. ‘You stand with Lizzie,’ she said to Theresa, as she flashed a look at Katie that said they both knew what they were afraid of. ‘Now give us yer shawl, love. And I’ll mend it for yer.’
‘No.’ Lil shook her head, frantically clutching the torn stole to her chest. ‘It’s mine. Honest. She give it to me. Said I could keep it.’
‘It’s all right, I was just gonna darn that hole.’
But Lil was having none of it.
‘Look,’ Katie suggested gently, ‘how about if we go in yours and mend it? You can keep hold of it while Peggy stitches it up. You ain’t gotta let go of it or nothing.’
Peggy went over and stood by Lil. ‘I could make it look good as new.’
Lil looked down at the ripped material, considered for a moment and then nodded warily.
‘Good. Come on then, Peg.’ Katie turned to Pat and said quietly, ‘I just wanna make sure he ain’t, you know, hurt her or nothing.’
Pat nodded, his teeth set rigid with anger.
‘You and Frank’d better have a wash. You look a right state, the pair of yer. Go over home, go on.’
With the drama at an end, the crowd wandered back to the other end of the street, all voicing their own version of how the events had unfolded and what the exact fate of the two men should be. A bit of rough justice was always a favourite conclusion to such matters in that neighbourhood.
While Katie and Peggy escorted Lil up to her rooms in number eleven, speaking softly and encouragingly, doing their best to keep her calm, Frank was chatting away nineteen to the dozen as he strode along, following Pat into the passageway of number twelve.
‘Like being down the docks a few months back, eh, Pat? Maybe we should do this for a living instead of wasting our time queueing up on the stones every morning.’
‘Who d’yer think you are? Joe Louis?’ Pat snapped without even bothering to look round.
‘Good fighter, him,’ Frank went on, obviously not put off by Pat’s terseness. ‘Reckon he’s got a chance against Max Baer if they do have that fight. What d’you reckon, Pat? D’you think he’s got a chance?’
Pat stepped into the kitchen and just managed to stop himself from making a very crude suggestion as to what Frank could go and do to himself, when he saw Molly sitting at the table.
‘Hello, Dad. Hello, Mr Barber.’ She stood up, frowning at the blood. ‘Here, you two all right?’
‘Yeah, we’re all right, darling. We just stopped a bit o’ trouble, that’s all. But how about you? What you doing in here all by yerself?’
‘I just come in for a drink of water.’ As she made for the door, she just managed a smile. ‘I’d better get back and find out what you two have been up to. See yer later.’
‘Yeah, see yer.’ Pat rolled up his sleeves and turned on the tap.
‘Reckon she’s the only one drinking water in this turning tonight, eh, Pat?’ Frank chuckled. ‘That’s a pretty girl yer’ve got there, and nice too. Yer’ve got every right to be proud of your family. I hope my Theresa grows up as nice mannered.’
Pat stepped back from the sink and signalled with a nod that it was Frank’s turn to wash.
‘Ta, Pat.’ Frank stuck his head under the stream of cold water and rubbed his hands all over his face, making loud spluttering noises as he washed the blood and sweat away. Then he turned off the tap and straightened up. ‘You being, yer know, a family man like, Pat,’ he said, combing his hair back from his face with his fingers, ‘you can help me – if yer wouldn’t mind that is – ’cos I reckon yer’ve got more idea about how women’s minds work. How they think, like. See, I’ve been on me own with me little ’un a bit too long and I’ve kind of forgotten.’
‘What you getting at?’ Pat sounded suspicious.
Frank grinned, his expression surprisingly boyish. ‘What would yer think about me and Edie?’
‘You and Edie?’ Pat sat down at the table. He hadn’t been expecting this.
‘Yeah. See, I’ve been chatting to her a bit lately. When I go along to do the bottling up, she’s usually opening the shop.’ He scratched his head shyly, sending a shower of water across the table. ‘But it’s been a long time since I really, you know, even thought of speaking to a woman in that way. I asked her if I could maybe help her out with any heavy stuff she’s gotta do in the shop, but what I really meant to say was I know how hard it is being alone. And it is hard, believe me. And I wanted to tell her that I thought she was a fine-looking woman. Kind and all. But none of it never come out like that. But now she’s practically out of mourning . . .’ He sat down opposite Pat, and leant forward, resting his forearms on the table. ‘D’you know it’s nearly the year round now?’
‘Must be,’ said Pat quietly, doing up the cuffs of his shirt
‘So, it won’t seem like a liberty, will it, Pat, if I say something a bit more, you know, straightforward like? Like, ask her to, I dunno, the Queen’s for a drink one night maybe.’ He leant even further forward; his forehead was almost touching Pat’s. ‘So, would that be a liberty, d’yer reckon?’
‘No, Frank,’ he said, standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I don’t reckon it’d seem like a liberty at all, mate. Come on, let’s go and enjoy the rest of this party. And who knows, yer might have a chance to have a few words with Edie now. A bit of a dance even, eh?’
Back outside, Pat crossed the street and went over to Katie, who was just coming out of number eleven.
‘All right?’ he asked, kissing the top of her head.
She smiled up at him. ‘What was that in aid of?’
‘Just counting me blessings.’
Lil stepped out of number eleven, followed by Peggy.
Peggy ducked her head and looked into Lil’s eyes. ‘You’re all right now, ain’t yer love? Happy?’
Lil nodded contentedly, smoothing the mended shawl in her arms as though it were a living creature. ‘I’m happy,’ she cooed.
Katie nudged Peggy and p
ointed along the street to where Frank Barber was standing, his body angled protectively round Edie Johnson to stop any stray dancers from bumping into her. ‘There’s someone else who looks happy and all.’
‘He’s a decent bloke that Frank Barber,’ Pat said bluntly.
Katie looked at him in astonishment. ‘Eh?’
‘You heard,’ he said.
If Katie hadn’t known him better she would have sworn he was pouting, pouting like a kid; him, big, tough Pat Mehan. ‘I think you need a drink,’ she said, linking her arm through his.
As they made their way back along the street, Katie flashed sideways glances at her husband, trying to figure out what had come over him.
They weren’t even close to the pub yet, but they both heard Mags clearly, screaming at the top of her voice.
Katie let go of Pat’s arm. ‘Whatever’s happening now?’ she wailed, shoving her way past everyone.
‘Mags?’ she puffed, bursting through the door of the pub. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’
‘It’s our Margaret! But there’s nothing wrong!’
Katie could see that now; Mags was rosy and elated, clinging on to Harold on one side of her and Margaret on the other.
‘Her and her husband’s only coming back to the East End, Kate.’
Katie shook her head in wonder at this latest turn of events. ‘Yer don’t say?’ Gratefully she took the glass of beer Harold was handing her. ‘This party’s having more turns than a blinking bed spring,’ she said, raising her glass. ‘Good luck to yer all.’
‘So what’s up then?’ Pat asked, poking his head gingerly round the door. ‘I waited outside for a minute in case it was women’s business. You know.’
‘Margaret and Paul are coming back home,’ Katie explained.
Harold poured a whiskey and held it out to Pat. ‘Didn’t get the work he’d hoped for, see.’ Harold turned to his son-in-law who was making a not very good job of shifting an empty barrel. ‘Did yer, son?’
Paul shook his head, unable to speak with the exertion.
‘And Margaret felt lonely stuck down there, didn’t yer, sweetheart?’ Mags chucked her daughter under the chin. ‘And now she’s expecting!’
Katie threw her arms round Mags and kissed her smack on the lips. ‘I’m that pleased for yer.’
‘I always said this boy was a good ’un,’ Harold added proudly.
Mags narrowed her eyes at her husband as much to say, ‘Liar,’ but what she actually said was, ‘And he plays the banjo lovely. Go on, Paul, go and fetch it, and we can go outside and yer can join in with Jimmo on his squeeze box.’
Relieved that he didn’t have to struggle with the barrel any longer, Paul left it where it was and disappeared into the back room to fetch his banjo.
When they all went outside again, they saw Stephen, with a piece of board laid out at his feet standing next to Jimmo. ‘Right, young ’un,’ he called out, pointing to indicate where Paul should stand, ‘get yerself over here with that banjo. Jimmo’ll tell yer what to play, and I’ll do the rest.’
Nora threw up her hands enthusiastically. ‘He’s going to do his step dance, God love him.’ She nudged Michael and Timmy in front of her to make sure they had a good view. ‘Just watch this, boys, and learn. Your grandfather is the best step dancer this side of the Wicklow Mountains.’
Katie couldn’t bear it, she rolled her eyes and went over to lean against the wall, determined to have her drink in peace.
Jimmo and Paul struck up a jig, the audience clapped and Stephen did his dance. His feet flashed and tapped as he moved with the speed and grace of a man half his age.
When he finished he pulled off his cap and bowed low, acknowledging the applause. Then he turned to his accompanists. ‘Will yer be taking a drink with me? And give me the chance to tell yers all about me beloved Ireland and the dances we used to have there. And rare dances they were.’
‘Yer love flipping Ireland so much, do yer?’ scoffed a grinning, swaying man, his face patched red from the booze. ‘Then why don’t yer get back there? Go on, piss off out of it!’
Stephen stuck up his fists in the classic fighter’s pose and glared about him. ‘Who said that? Come on out and I’ll fight yer. Sure, I’ll fight all o’ yers.’
‘It was him,’ Phoebe piped up, jerking her thumb at the now even redder man. ‘Yer know, him from round Upper North Street what’s married to that ugly old bag. He’s round here just to get away from her, I reckon. Horrible she is. Nearly come to blows with your Kate once. Had a right go at her over the kids.’
‘Is that so?’ Stephen moved forward, his fists still stuck up in front of him.
His would-be opponent, less brave than his belligerent wife, began to back slowly away. Then, moving quicker and quicker, he mumbled to himself, ‘Bugger this for a lark, the whole flaming family’s barmy. All they ever wanna do is fight.’
The man’s departure was met by a chorus of hoots and laughter. Even Katie, still leaning against the wall, caught herself smiling.
‘I bet yer can fight really good, can’t yer, Farvee?’ Michael asked proudly.
‘Sure, wasn’t I the bare knuckle champion back home in Cork in the old days.’
Michael frowned. ‘But I thought yer said yer was a champion singer?’
‘Wasn’t I just?’ he asked, turning to Nora. ‘A champion fighter and a singer o’ songs?’
Nora nodded. ‘A right song thrush, he was.’
‘Go on then, Farvee,’ Danny encouraged him. ‘Give us “Red Sails in the Sunset”,’ he squeezed Liz close to him, ‘so’s we can all have a nice little dance.’
Stephen looked mortified. ‘What, me sing modern rubbish like that? No fear, I only sing the classics. Here, I know, I’ll teach me little grandsons one o’ me old favourites. Ohhhhhh . . . Auntie Mary had a canary, up the leg of her drawers . . .’
This time, Katie did not smile. ‘Teaching my boys that trash,’ she fumed, marching over and dragging her protesting sons away from him. ‘I’m getting fed up with yer, causing trouble and getting the boys at it all the time.’
Stephen looked at Katie for a long moment, seeing the anger in her eyes, then he swallowed down the rest of his stout, picked up the whiskey he had lined up as a chaser and knocked that back too. ‘This suit yer better?’ he asked stiffly. With that he began in a sweetly, lilting voice to sing the opening notes of ‘Danny Boy’.
‘He’s got a good voice on him,’ Pat whispered.
‘The drink’s making yer sentimental,’ Katie snapped spitefully.
‘Sssh,’ Nora hissed at them. ‘Let him finish.’
But Stephen never finished his song. Quite suddenly he stopped, staring over Nora’s shoulder.
Everyone turned to see what had caught his eye.
Katie clapped her hands to the side of her face. ‘I don’t believe this.’
Sean was at the far end of the street by the house; Katie could see, even from where she was standing, that he had been fighting, but he was carrying something in his arms that she couldn’t quite make out.
Katie and Pat ran to see what was wrong with their son, followed closely behind by Nora, then Molly and Danny and the two little ones.
Phoebe let out a long, noisy sigh. ‘That bloke from Upper North Street was right: fighting mad the lot of them.’
Stephen shoved his face close to hers, the liquor on his breath almost choking her. ‘Why don’t you shut up, yer nosy old cow?’
‘And why don’t you bugger off back to Ireland like that bloke said?’ Phoebe sneered. ‘They don’t want yer here poncing off ’em. Any idiot could see that.’
At the other end of the street, Katie had just reached Sean and had realised that the bundle of blood-stained fur that he was cradling in his arms was Rags. When she saw the state the terrier was in, she backed away, her hand covering her mouth to stop herself from vomiting, but as Sean’s shoulders dropped and he crumpled into tears like a little boy, she took a deep breath, pulled herself together and motioned f
or him to get indoors.
Pat, Danny and Molly gathered round the draining board as Katie bathed Rags’s wounds, watching and praying silently for him to be all right; while Nora, Timmy and Michael sat at the table, glaring silently at Sean as he stared wild-eyed at the floor.
‘He’s gonna be fine.’ Katie gently lifted Rags from the side and set him down on the folded blanket that Molly had put by the Kitchener for him. ‘The poor little thing wasn’t as badly hurt as I thought, but he’s whacked out.’ She turned to Sean. ‘So, what’s the story this time? And let me just guess what stupid, step-dancing, boozing, no-good idiot put the idea of dog fighting into that thick head o’ your’n.’
Breakfast the next day was a solemn affair. Rags was sleeping contentedly on his new bed, but he was the only one who seemed to have anything to be happy about.
‘Yer sure he’s gone?’ Pat asked Nora.
She nodded. ‘He’s taken everything.’
Timmy started crying. ‘But he said he’d go down the Cut with me to find some old pram wheels and make me a cart. He can’t be gone.’
‘And he said he’d buy me a bike.’ Michael’s lip trembled.
‘Ssssh, don’t take on,’ Nora said, pouring herself some more tea. ‘Sure, yer can’t tame a wild spirit; a dreamer like your granddad.’
‘Tame him?’ Katie crashed the side of her fist on to the table making the cups rattle in their saucers. ‘I’d bash the living daylights out of him if I had my way. Dog fighting!’
Sean, who had been sitting staring silently at the floor, much as he had the night before, slowly lifted his head. ‘He never said I should do it. He just said that some blokes he heard of did it sometimes, back in Ireland. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t.’ He shoved his chair back and ran out of the room.
‘Sean!’ hollered Pat.
Katie stuck her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands. ‘Leave him, Pat.’
Nora too rose to her feet. ‘Yer shouldn’t be so quick to judge people, Katie. Yer father never meant no harm. He’s a good man.’
‘You trying to say it was my fault he’s gone?’
‘I just want him to come back. I don’t care if he don’t buy me a bike. I miss him, Nanna.’ Michael started weeping noisily, and Molly joined him as she put her arm round his shoulder and tried to comfort him.
Just Around the Corner Page 38