After Hours (41 page)

But, just as he picked up his cap to go, he cleared his throat and made an announcement. ‘I came to give you a bit of good news,' he said quietly.

Annie, who was tapping out loaves on to a cooling tray, looked up sharply. ‘Hettie ain't expecting already?'

George blushed. ‘Give us a chance, Annie. No, it ain't that.' He turned to Duke, reluctant as ever to make long speeches, unsure how to deliver the news. ‘We thought you'd like to know. Tommy O'Hagan brought in the coppers to the Prince of Wales last night. They caught Bertie Hill serving after hours.'

The news sank in. Ernie caught the word ‘coppers' and assumed something bad had happened. He looked at Annie, who was standing face flushed, open-mouthed and speechless. Duke sat still as a statue.

‘It seems Tommy reckoned the old boycott was getting a bit long-winded. It was only grinding Hill down slowly, and Tommy wanted action. You know how he is.'

‘I'll bleeding kill him!' Annie found her tongue at last. ‘Leading us up the garden path, and all along he was working to get Hill out. Dolly will go spare with him.'

George was puzzled. ‘You don't reckon she'll be glad to see the back of Hill?'

Annie tutted. ‘'Course she bleeding well will. We all will. But she'll skin him alive for not letting on. You know Dolly, she likes to be in the thick of things.' She went over to Duke and put an arm around his shoulder. ‘You hear that? Tommy's a bleeding hero!'

George filled the silence by explaining in detail to Ernie, ‘Everything worked out fine. The police will get Hill into court for breaking the law over hours, see. Hill will be out on his ear, thanks to Tommy. He didn't let anyone in on his little plan because he didn't want the word to get back to Hill. Once he got the evidence that he was serving after hours regular, he got the coppers in. They came last night and closed the place down, no messing. And you know something? Tommy ain't breathed a word to no one about
the part he played. It was Dolly. She saw the pub locked up and set about finding out from the brewery what was up. Word leaked out about an hour ago.'

Ernie nodded. His face lit up. ‘Does this mean we can all go home, then?'

Annie quickly came and gave him a hug. ‘No, I'm afraid it don't, Em. It's good news to get Hill out. But it don't mean we can all go back.'

Again George cleared his throat. ‘Now, don't go raising your hopes too high,' he warned. ‘But Hettie and me, we got our name down with the brewery. And if we get the licence, we want you and Annie and Ernie to move right back in with us. Ett said to come over and tell you straight away. I telephoned her at the shop when I heard Hill was out. She said to tell you we was in with a chance.'

‘And you let us sit here drinking tea and talking about football as if nothing had happened?' Annie advanced on George in mock outrage. ‘Why, you and Tommy O'Hagan, the pair of you, I could . . . why, I don't know what I could do!' Speechless, she flung her arms around George's neck.

Slowly Duke stood up and walked to the door. He shook his head. ‘Thanks, son.' There was a catch in his voice as he turned away.

George shot a look at Annie. ‘I ain't upset him, have I?'

‘No, you just made his dream come alive again.' Her own voice choked. ‘Go and see him, George. I'll wait here with Ernie.' She blew her nose and set to, refilling the kettle at the tap. ‘Come on, Ern, wash these few pots before you get back to work. Look lively.'

George followed Duke into the front parlour. Annie's aspidistra stood in its round, glazed pot in the window. The cream lace curtains hung in neat folds. A marble-cased clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Duke sat himself in an upright chair beside the polished, empty grate.

‘We ain't got the place, not yet.' George stood awkwardly at the door, holding the peak of his cap in both hands. ‘But we gotta be high on their list. I got experience, and I know my way around
the old place. With Hill out of the way, Ett thought I should let you know how things stood.'

Duke looked across the room at him. He tried to clear his throat. ‘You're a good lad, George. Thanks.'

He nodded. ‘I'd best be on my way then.' He was uncomfortable for the old man. Sometimes hope was harder to bear than defeat. ‘Ett says she'll come over after she finishes at work.'

At first, Duke didn't answer. Then he made an effort to get to his feet. He came to shake hands. ‘Let me tell you something, George. I don't mind telling you, there ain't much left in life for an old man like me. But if there's one thing that would make everything right before I die, it's to end my days in the old Duke of Wellington.' He clasped the younger man's hand between his own and shook it. ‘Now, if it don't turn out that way, it ain't for the want of trying, and I'll die thankful for all you done. You and the whole family. The whole street.' His eyes filled up as he released George's hand.

Grudgingly Dolly had to admit that Tommy was the hero of the hour. Not a soul spared an ounce of pity for Bertie Hill, who took to his room in the tenement, having failed to persuade his ex-colleagues in the police force to let him stay open at the Prince of Wales until the case came to court. The brewery moved in quickly to sack him, and let it be known that the pub would re-open under new management just as soon as possible. They wanted to settle things quickly, before lucrative Christmas trade was lost. Now the whole of Paradise Court had to keep their fingers crossed for George Mann.

October winds tore the leaves from the trees. Yellow chrysanthemums appeared on the flower stalls in the street markets. The government awaited the commission's report on the miners. Trade was slow in the docks as winter crept in.

Perhaps it was general gloom in the country and scant business for the taxi firm that put Rob's temper on a short fuse throughout October. Contented with family life, he tried not to present a
worried face to Amy, and he doted on his son, Bobby, now six months old and thriving.

But at work it was a different story. He and Walter fought to keep trade buoyant by fixing their fares low. But it meant they had to be on call when sensible men were at home with their families, and Richie's wage, which they'd been spared throughout the summer, was hard to find.

Walter worked through thick and thin. Decent to the core, he didn't resent Richie's return. Seeing Sadie recover her old sparkling eye was enough, knowing that he, Walter, had played some part in bringing her back together with the man she loved. Every baby should have a father, he reasoned. God knew, too many didn't these days. He thought of the families torn apart by war, and the millions who never returned. When he looked at things on this big scale, he saw his own sacrifice as small.

But he worried about the grating, tense relationship between Rob and Richie. Rob's worry about business translated into a bullying attitude: he was always picking on Richie for slow or shoddy work, expecting him to put in unreasonable hours for what, after all, was a poor wage for a trained mechanic. Walter knew that it was only Sadie's continued part-time work as a typist that kept the wolf from their door. ‘Leave him be,' Walter advised. ‘He's a good mechanic, when all's said and done.'

But Rob was irritated by Richie's very presence. There was something about his look: the eyes, the slightly slouching posture that seemed to challenge, a take-it-or-leave-it attitude that was insulting, once picked up and taken personally. Whenever he came out of the office into the workshop, Rob would have to hold back what amounted to a loathing of Richie. Instead, he would niggle and argue over the best way of carrying out a repair, nit-picking over Richie's slapdash timekeeping, making it plain who was the boss.

For his part, Richie enjoyed getting under Rob's skin without making the slightest effort. He'd taken up the job again under sufferance, as part of the deal for getting back with Sadie. He had no regrets there: Sadie was loving, and seemingly contented with
the way things had worked out. They both cared for Meggie with blind devotion. Only, Richie could not swallow his resentment against Rob, who had always held something against him and had sacked him for no good cause. He'd taken to drinking at the Prince of Wales, knowing that Rob would find out and hate him more bitterly. He admitted as much to Sadie, when, hurt and tearful, she had objected to his use of the place.

‘Ain't there nowhere eke you can go for your pint?' she cried.

He'd shrugged.

‘Yes, and even if you're doing it to get back at Rob, can't you see what it's doing to me?'

‘It's only a bleeding pub, for God's sake.'

‘So why does it have to be
that
pub, then? Don't it make no difference what Hill tried to do to me?'

He felt low and sneaking, but he wouldn't back down. ‘Listen,' he said. ‘I'm with you now, ain't I? If Hill tried something again, I'd kill him with my bare hands. But it ain't gonna stop me drinking where I want.'

Sadie had to admit defeat, and accept that Richie was set on a course that didn't include finer feelings such as family loyalty.

They got through most of October, on tenterhooks for news from the brewery, sitting on the keg of gunpowder that was the relationship between the taxi boss and his mechanic.

After school on Hallowe'en, Jess brought Grace and Mo to Paradise Court with turnip lanterns, to meet up in the street with the O'Hagans. Jess herself planned a chat with Annie and Duke. Frances was to come over, with homemade toffee for the children. Hettie, Sadie and Amy were all due for tea; it was to be a great gathering of the women. By six o'clock Annie's little house was bursting at the seams, while down the next court, Richie was still hard at work fixing the brake rods on Rob's Morris.

‘Ain't you finished yet?' Rob looked at his watch. He had to pick up a fare in ten minutes.

Richie, stretched full-length under the car, said it was a job that couldn't be rushed. ‘These rods are rusted pretty bad,' he advised.
‘And the split pin through this one is snapped clean in two, see.' He flung two pieces of metal sideways. They landed at Rob's feet.

Rob bent to pick them up. ‘How long will you be?' Walter was out on another fare, ‘Can't you get a move on?'

Richie eased himself clear of the car and hauled himself to his feet. ‘I need the right size pin to fit back in,' he muttered. He went to search in a metal box sitting on the oily workbench.

‘And a lot you bleeding care, by the look of things.' Rob was beginning to fume. ‘I suppose you think tomorrow morning's soon enough?'

Richie found a pin that would do, and slid back under the car. He worked silently, watching Rob's legs and feet stalk the length of the workshop with their characteristic, heavy limp.

‘Bleeding hell!' Rob threw a cigarette butt to the ground. After five more minutes, his patience was exhausted. He watched as Richie slid out from under the car for a second time. ‘What now?'

Richie wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing oil on to his face. ‘I gotta test the brakes, don't I?' He reached for the door-handle, as if to climb in.

Exasperated, Rob caught hold of his arm. ‘No time for that!'

Richie reacted as if he'd been burnt. He jerked his arm free and rounded on Rob.

Rob stepped quickly back. ‘Touchy all of a sudden, ain't we?'

‘Look who's talking.' Deliberately, with his face set in a sneer, Richie brushed off his sleeve where Rob had caught it.

The action felt like a slap in the face. ‘You keep a civil tongue in your head,' he warned, stabbing his finger at the mechanic. ‘Or you'll find yourself short of a job again.'

Richie drew air through his nostrils. ‘And what'll you tell Sadie this time? That you gave me the sack 'cos I wanted to check the brakes?'

The comment rubbed salt in Rob's wound. He knew all too well that Sadie and Meggie's future rested on Richie keeping his job at the depot. He was trapped good and proper, and his reaction was to get deeper into the argument. ‘You're too big for your bleeding
boots!' he accused, forgetting the waiting passenger, forgetting his promises to Amy to stay calm when Richie riled him.

‘And what'll you tell your lovely missus, eh?' Richie eyed him with contempt. ‘Ain't many men tied to two sets of apron strings, like you, Mister Parsons.'

Rob launched himself at Richie and grabbed his open shirt collar. His face came within inches of Richie's, saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth. ‘You take that back, you hear?'

Richie would rather have died. ‘I expect you think you've got it all worked out,' he sneered. ‘Nice little business, nice wife, nice kid.' He outstared his opponent, gripping his wrists and wrenching Rob's hands from his collar. He pushed him back and turned away.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' Rob felt his blood run cold. Richie meant something by that remark; something that Rob knew nothing about, that was going to make him look a fool in the eyes of the world.

‘Nothing.'

‘Yes, bleeding something!' He ran at Richie. Richie shoved him to one side, overbalancing Rob and sending the metal box clattering from the bench.

‘You don't want to hear.'

‘I'll break your bleeding neck.' Rob gasped with rage.

‘I'm telling you, you don't want to hear.' Richie was so confident that he stuck his hands in his pockets. His desire to damage Rob went deep, but he didn't intend to do it with his fists. ‘Why don't you ask your wife what I'm on about?'

Rob shook his head. ‘What's Amy got to do with this?'

‘Ain't she put you up to giving me my job back?' Richie's grin was insolent. He watched Rob's outrage swell and explode.

‘So bleeding what?'

‘So, she thought she'd better keep me sweet. She knew I knew. Stupid cow, she thought if she made up to me, I'd keep my mouth shut!'