After Hours (43 page)

The kids called after him. ‘Wotch it, Arfer! Moind 'ow y'gow!'

‘Cheeky monkeys!' He turned and hit out at them. They ducked and rolled away laughing. Arthur steered his own unsteady course up on to Duke Street.

George turned up his jacket collar and headed for home. Meredith Court was lit by gas-lamps. His own new lodgings were halfway down, midway between two pools of light. As he set off, he saw a shadowy figure moving ahead of him, towards the bottom of the court. He frowned as he identified it. Still unsure as he climbed his own stairs, he greeted Hettie with a preoccupied kiss. ‘I think I just seen Richie Palmer heading down to the depot,' he reported.

Hettie's heart sank. ‘What's he want there at this time of night?' She went to the window, parted the curtains and peered down into the dark street. ‘Are you sure it was him, George?'

‘I couldn't swear. I only caught a glimpse. I'm only saying it looked like him, that's all.' Uneasily he took off his jacket and warmed himself at the fire.

‘Maybe he went back to get his coat,' Hettie suggested. She herself had just arrived back from Annie's house, having learnt all the details of the row between Rob and Richie from Walter Davidson.

‘And pigs might fly,' he said dubiously.

She looked at him. ‘That ain't like you, George. What's wrong? You think he's up to no good?'

George felt the warmth of the fire penetrate his face and hands. He sighed. Hettie came up to him and put her arms around him. They swayed in a long embrace.

‘No,' he said, tempted to dismiss the shadowy figure. ‘Maybe I was imagining things.' He held Hettie and kissed her. The novelty of being married, of having her to come home to, after all the years of respectable walking out, made him feel like a kid. He wrapped his arms around her and made a show of his feeling, kissing her softly and leading her towards their bedroom.

Hettie smiled, then sighed.

‘What is it?' He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand, murmuring against her.

‘Sadie.' She thought of her youngest sister, and what the future held for her now. She looked up at George. ‘What if Richie ain't just gone back for his belongings?' she asked uneasily.

Meanwhile, Richie hoped that he'd slipped down Meredith Court unseen. He kept to the shadowy parts of the street, using his own key to open up the outer gates of the depot, and leaving the padlock off as he stole across the yard to the workshop. What he planned to do would be the work of five minutes.

He switched on the electric light over the workbench and took hold of the heavy pair of pliers that Rob had threatened him with, then he eased himself under Rob's stationary car. No one had moved it since earlier that evening, when the final row had brewed.

Richie knew exactly what he was doing as he examined the underside of the old car. There, where the brake rods led up to the pedal, was the crucial main joint; a yoke which connected the rods to the pedal. It was held in place by a clevis pin. He got into position, then used the pliers to wrench the new split-pin from the clevis pin. It looked like a long, steel tooth with a forked root. He grunted, pocketed the pin, and edged out from under the car. The yoke wouldn't immediately fall apart. But some day soon, Rob would be driving along, he would hit a bump, the yoke would work loose. Then the brake rods would disconnect, he would put his foot on the pedal, and nothing would happen . . .

Richie slithered out. He caught sight of his own reflection, cut
and bruised, in the windscreen. His rage wasn't spent yet. Taking his jacket from its hook on the workshop wall, he wrapped its thickness around his forearm and bludgeoned at the small pane of glass above the handle on the door into the tiny office. Then he freed his hand, shook out the shattered glass and reached through to take a spare key hanging inside. He used this to open the office door, then he went and took up a long screwdriver and used it to prise open the cash drawer. Inside was a handful of coins. He snatched them all.

By the time George had responded to Hettie's unease, had put on his jacket and braved the cold night air to go quietly down the court to investigate, Richie had stolen the petty cash and fled. He left the light on and the outer doors unlocked, careless about who discovered the break-in. Realizing that something was amiss, George stepped inside to survey the scene. There was a pane of broken glass in the office door, and the cash drawer had been forced open. He ran up to Powells'. He had to get Rob out of bed to bring him down to the depot to see what Richie had done.

‘It's my fault,' he said, shaking his head at the missing money. ‘I should've followed him down straight away.'

Rob stepped on to the glass and wrenched the empty drawer out of the desk. ‘Bleeding bastard!' he swore, flinging the drawer against the wall. ‘He's gone and done it this time, at any rate!'

‘How much is missing?'

Rob shrugged. ‘A few shillings. A couple of quid at the most.'

‘Will you call the coppers?' George was worried as he studied Rob's pale, bitter face.

He shook his head. ‘Good riddance,' he snapped. ‘What I say is, it's cheap at the price!'

Sadie didn't think so. Losing Richie had cost her dearly. All her hopes of sharing the pleasure of Meggie with him, of planning for the future and feeling his love as the mainstay of her existence lay smashed. Only the necessity of feeding and caring for the baby held her together. In her despair she blamed herself. It was her
fault entirely that Richie had fought with Rob and broken into the depot in his final spiteful act. It was her fault that Amy had been dragged down, her fault that she'd fallen for Richie in the first place and misread his character. She was unable to rouse herself from this self-pitying guilt, even when visitors came to the house; Frances, Walter, her pa and Annie.

‘I been a fool,' she said over and over, sitting pale and drawn by the empty grate.

Annie took the poker and rattled the ashes into the pan. ‘You can say that again.' She frowned at Duke and gestured for him to go and leave the two of them alone together.

‘Right, I'll take Meggie out for a stroll,' he suggested, rising stiffly to his feet. ‘It ain't too cold, is it?' It was four days after Richie's disappearance, and Sadie showed no sign of rallying. In fact, she seemed to be fading, day by day. She took no interest in anything, not even in the brewery's decision over the licence, which was due to be announced any day now.

‘Good idea.' Annie nodded her approval. ‘Give you both a bit of fresh air. Don't be long, mind. I left Nora to keep an eye on my stall, said I'd be back in half an hour.' She bustled into the bedroom and brought Meggie out, well wrapped up, looking sleepily around. She went down and laid her in the pram in the hall, then she stood in the doorway, waving Duke off up the court. She went back up to Sadie.

‘Pleased as punch,' she commented. ‘There he goes, head up, chest out, strutting along. He was just the same with Grace when she was little. And Mo, when he came along.'

Sadie's face broke into a faint smile.

‘That's more like it.' Annie went back to scooping the ashes from the hearth and brushing it clean. Then she rolled sheets of old newspaper and bent the tubes into a loose knot, laid several of these, stacked kindling against them and put a match to it all. Soon she was placing coal on to the growing flames. ‘Ain't it time you tried to pull yourself together?' she said at last, looking shrewdly at Sadie from her kneeling position by the fire.

Sadie shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, Annie.'

Her stepmother rose to her feet, frowning. ‘Don't be. Don't be sorry. Get mad, girl. Take a swipe at something. Swear your bleeding head off. Being sorry never did no one no good. Being sorry will eat you away inside. Who are you sorry for, when all's said and done?' She pummelled at the Cushion behind Sadie's back and made her sit up straight.

‘Myself,' came the small reply.

‘Exactly. And what for? So, Richie went and left you. Well, I ain't no Gypsy Rose Lee, but I could've told you he weren't the type to stick.'

‘He said he loved me.'

‘And most likely he did.' Annie refused to relent at Sadie's pitiful tone. ‘Or what he called “love”. With men like him, what's it mean? Wiggin said he loved me, once.'

Sadie stared. ‘Richie ain't like Wiggin.'

‘Not yet, he ain't,' came the firm reply. ‘Look, if you have to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for him. What's he got? He ain't got a job no more, he ain't got a baby to care for, he ain't got you to love him. And what have you got? You got Meggie and you got us.' She shook her head, stooping to look Sadie full in the face. ‘It ain't nice to be left in the cart, I know that. But life ain't a bottomless pit, and sooner or later you're gonna stop falling and come to your senses. Only, let's make it sooner, eh?' She stroked Sadie's white cheek, saw her listless eyes fill with tears. ‘Go ahead, you have a good cry,' she whispered.

Sadie let the tears fell. She put her head into her hands and sobbed, while Annie held her shoulders. Eventually she stopped.

‘Good. Now, dry them eyes. Don't let your pa come back and catch you crying. That's right.' Annie kissed her cheek. ‘That's the girl I know!'

Sadie took a deep breath and stood up to comb her hair. She washed her face in cold water. ‘Right,' she said, ‘what's the word from the brewery?' She began to make tea, looking out of the window for Duke and Meggie.

‘Nothing yet,' Annie replied, satisfied that Sadie was over the worst. It was a long journey back to feeling she could face the
world again, but she'd made a start. ‘Poor George and Ett, they're on tenterhooks. And as for your pa, he can't hardly sleep nor eat for fretting about it.'

‘Penny for the Guy!' The cry went up along the dark, damp streets. Bonfires took shape on patches of waste ground and in the parks all through the East End. On the morning of 5 November the rain came down relentlessly.

‘Bleeding lovely,' Rob said. He peered miserably out on to the depot yard at the dancing puddles. He stepped to one side as Walter turned up his collar and pulled his woollen scarf high under his chin.

The rain dripped from the brim of his hat the moment Walter stepped out. ‘I'll be back by eleven,' he called as he bent to turn the starter-handle. ‘Look, Rob, I gotta take your cab while the sparking plugs on mine dry out. All right? I gotta pick up a fare from Waterloo and take it over the water.' He jumped in and slammed the car door.

Standing in the shelter of the garage arch, Rob nodded and swore that one day soon they would fit those electric ignition sets his pa went on about. No more starting up in the rain.

Inside the cab, Walter flung his sodden hat down on the passenger seat and drove out through the puddles, up Meredith Court.

There was nothing in his mind, except rain, as he negotiated Duke Street. This was the scene – the market stalls, the shops, trams rattling by, errand boys leaning their bikes against lamp-posts – that he'd known all his life. He waved at Tommy O'Hagan, stopped by Powells' and went down Paradise Court to see if there was anything Sadie wanted from the shops.

She looked up from the sink in Edith's back kitchen at the dark splashes of rain on his jacket. She gave a grateful smile. ‘Ain't nothing I want that money can buy,' she said sadly.

He shrugged and promised to call in later with a treat for her tea.

‘I don't deserve a treat' She sighed, overcome by his kindness.
Walter didn't know what it meant to bear a grudge. He was always steady, always kind.

‘And I got a fare waiting at Waterloo.' He backed off before she got herself visibly upset. ‘See you later?'

She nodded and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Walter. For everything.'

He grinned awkwardly and went out. The rain had eased, but the pavement and gutter stood in huge, grey puddles. Walter stepped into Rob's cab and set off, noticing the boys wheeling out their sodden Guys on home-made carts knocked up out of orange boxes and old pram wheels. He drove on in a good mood.

Sadie and he had slipped back into their old friendship since Richie had gone off for good. Apart from a few odd bruises under Rob's eyes, the whole street had managed to put the whole affair out of mind.

Though Amy lamented her ‘ruined' reputation, they all knew she was tough as old boots in that respect. If anything, poor Sadie was the one who had lost most face. But even she was back on her feet, as Walter made it his business to check. He whistled as he drove, cursing the omnibuses that lurched from the kerb into the middle of the road without warning.

By the railway arch at the top of the street he turned left, nipping down side streets to miss the main traffic. He was late. When he came out on to a fairly empty stretch of Bear Lane, he put his foot down.

It happened every day; he was rushing to collect a fare, taking a few short cuts. There was nothing unusual, except perhaps the stiffer steering on Rob's car and the greasy surface of the road after rain.

A boy ran out from an alleyway. Walter saw him cut in front of a stationary taxi, and out on to the street. He wore grey braces and black, knee-length trousers. His head was shaved almost bare, and his thick boots were tied with pieces of string. He glanced sideways at Walter from under lowered brows. He was in a hurry, and no approaching taxicab would stop him from darting into the street, straight through a puddle, straight into the path of the car.

Walter slammed on the brake. Nothing happened. He pressed again. The rods flew apart and clattered to the cobbled ground. Sparks flew. The car kept on. Walter saw the boy's face, saw his hand go up to protect himself.

He swerved. The brake was useless. He tore at the handbrake, too late. He missed the boy, but the swerve took the taxi on to its two offside wheels, at a wild angle across the street. A tram rattled towards it, a steel giant, thundering along its track. Walter wrenched at the wheel, righted the car, too late to avoid the tram.