Cockney Orphan (29 page)

‘Who is Sydney?’ Connie said, alarmed.

‘Sydney is what the boy will be called,’ Gilbert Tucker answered sharply, ‘when he comes to live with us.’

Connie caught her breath. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s what we’re here for now, to look him over. See if he’s – suitable.’

‘Suitable? What for? What’s this all about?’

Ebbie took hold of her shoulders. ‘Calm down, now, love. Don’t get yourself upset.’

‘How can I calm down, Dad? You heard what he said.’

Ebbie frowned at their unwelcome guests. ‘You’ll have to come back another day when we can all sit down and discuss this properly.’

‘There’s nothing to discuss as far as I’m concerned. But have it your way,’ Gilbert Tucker said in a nasty tone as he took hold of the woman’s arm. ‘Next time
we meet, you’ll all have to cooperate whether you like it or not.’

He pushed by Ted Jackson and Ben Shutler, dragging the woman after him as he marched through the open front door.

Connie was shaking. Did he mean what he said about Lucky living with them?

‘It’s late, Constance, you should try to get some sleep.’ Olive locked the back door of the kitchen and pulled up the collar of her dressing-gown. She turned
to her husband. ‘Ebbie, I’ll see you upstairs. Don’t stay up too long. It’s past midnight now.’

‘All right, love.’

Everyone had gone home from Nan’s, with Clint and Taffy giving lifts. Connie had put on a brave face as she’d said goodbye to everyone, but at the end of it all nothing could change
the fact that if Gilbert Tucker was who he said he was, then Lucky was his kith and kin.

She looked enviously at little Lawrence asleep in his mother’s arms, with Doris holding Laurie’s hand as they walked up the garden path to Clint’s truck. Her heart ached for
the child she had lost.

After Olive had gone to bed, Connie sat in the front room with her father. He rolled a pinch of Empire Shag, licked the edge of the paper and lit up. Letting out a stream of smoke, he sighed
heavily.

‘Odds on a relative had to turn up one day.’

‘But it’s not fair, Dad, I love Lucky. And they don’t even know him.’

‘Blood is thicker than water.’

‘Why is it?’ Connie demanded, suddenly angry that her own father didn’t understand. ‘Gilbert Tucker’s not a nice person.’

‘But what does he want saddle himself with a youngster for then, if he’s not genuine? He must have an interest in the boy.’

Connie fought back the tears. ‘Oh, Dad, what am I going to do?’

‘There’s nothing much you can do. Just wait and see what happens.’

She slipped her hand over her father’s hard-working knuckles. ‘Thank you again for such a lovely twenty-first.’

He gripped her hand tight. ‘Sad it turned out so bad for you. We wanted it to be special.’

‘I wish Gilbert Tucker would disappear again.’

He nodded, but she knew by the look on his face what he really felt. Both her parents had warned her from the start that Lucky was on borrowed time.

And now that time was running out.

Billy felt the sweat drip down his back, through his vest and into his shorts. He held his gloves up in front of his face, just like Freddie had instructed. But once he did
that, his opponent came in low, sending his stomach through to bounce off his backbone. He felt sick and dizzy and his confidence was ebbing away.

The crowd assembled at Poplar Young Men’s Sporting Club was booing loudly. They wanted their money’s worth from this match. They were hoping to see the hot favourite and old pro
Benny Bartlett, who was still as fit as a flea, give the young contender a good thrashing.

Billy couldn’t believe such an old man was so good. He was losing his hair and had a face that had been hit so many times it looked like rubber. But Benny was dodging every jab and Billy
was tiring in the effort to land one.

Billy held his gloves higher again. He tried to dance out of the way, but Benny stopped him with a lightning left hook. All Billy could do was fall back on the ropes. He shielded himself the
best he could, but the crowd roared for more.

Benny Bartlett hammered in all he had. Billy’s knees buckled. They’d gone four rounds with Billy chasing all the way. He lowered his gloves and took a breath. In the time it took to
blink, a right jab caught his eyes. Blood spurted down his face, warm and thick.

Benny backed off, grinning, showing his gumshield. Billy swallowed as the jelly in his legs crept down to his ankles. What a pansy he’d look if he went down now. Freddie was sitting
ringside, a cigar in his mouth. Billy knew what he had to do, only he just couldn’t seem to do it. Nothing was working out; he had thought he was so much better than he was.

The belly punch came in like a hammer. Out of nowhere. He scissored up and hit the deck. It was all over, he knew, bar the shouting. He could barely raise his chin from the canvas. The last
thing he remembered as he was counted out was catching sight of Freddie leaving his seat, with Ada not far behind him.

‘Billy? Billy?’

He opened his eyes and through the slits saw a friendly face at last. ‘Ada. Fancy seeing you here.’

‘How do you feel?’ She held a wet sponge on his forehead.

‘How do I look?’

‘Rotten.’

‘Spoiled me good looks, has that bugger?’ He managed a grin through swollen lips. The changing room smelled of leather and lineament and it reminded him of Taffy’s shed. How
long ago was that now? A lifetime, it felt like.

‘You’ve got a dirty great cut under your eyebrow. It’s stopped bleeding, but your eye’s closing up.’

‘How did I get here?’

‘Two blokes dragged you back.’

‘Oh, shit.’

‘That’s right, Billy, and you’re in the middle of it.’

‘I didn’t see what was coming. Benny Bartlett moved round that ring like a two-year-old.’

Ada walked over to the small table with an enamel bowl on the top of it. She squeezed out the sponge. Apart from a chair, a hook on the wall, a small cupboard and the long bench Billy was
sitting on, there was nothing else in the room. Some of the pubs he had fought at had been better kitted out than this doss house.

Ada dug out a packet of Kensitas from her bag and lit up with a gold-coloured lighter.

‘Nice bit of merry and bright you’ve got there,’ Billy commented as she pushed the cigarette between his thick lips. The painful intake of breath made him gasp. ‘Christ,
I think my chest has caved in.’

‘You’ll survive.’ She placed the cigarette on the edge of the bench and began to unlace his gloves.

‘Where’s Freddie?’ he asked.

‘Planning your next fight,’ Ada said sarcastically, ‘with a blind, one-armed cripple.’

Billy grinned. ‘Go on with you, it wasn’t that bad.’

‘It was worse.’

‘I wasn’t on top form tonight that’s true,’ Billy admitted. ‘Still, better luck next time. I had him on the hop more than once. I just gotta get the right moment to
use the jab.’

Ada smiled, shaking her head slowly. ‘I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath.’ She gazed incredulously into his eyes.

He had always fancied her, his sister’s best pal, but it would have been more than his life was worth to admit it at the tender age of fourteen. She had lovely eyes, all big and done up
with spidery lashes, and she smelled lovely. Her red hair was gorgeous and her close-fitting suit and nylons were the height of fashion. Freddie Smith was certainly keeping her in the style to
which she wasn’t accustomed.

Poor old Con, Billy thought as he sat there. She was so worried about her pal. He wished he could tell her Ada was living the life of Riley up the Commercial Road, installed in Freddie’s
flat with everything she could ever wish for. But Ada had sworn him to secrecy about her whereabouts. And Billy wouldn’t have grassed anyway. He didn’t want Connie – or Taffy, or
that dimwit Wally – to come snooping round and spoil his plans to step right into Tammy Jarvis’s shoes.

‘You’re not wasting your breath, Ada.’ Billy grinned. ‘I’m sitting here, listening to every lovely word.’

Ada smirked. ‘You use that bloody mouth of yours better than you do your fists.’

‘You know I like you, Ada.’ He moved a little closer, grinning stupidly.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Ada warned, blowing smoke into his face. She gave his head a gentle pat.

‘Aw, come on, I wasn’t doing nothing.’

‘But you was thinking it.’

‘Then you must have been thinking about it an’ all.’

She gave him one of her smouldering looks. ‘How come you can be so mouthy after being mashed up like yesterday’s potatoes?’

‘This is just a one-off.’ Billy shrugged. ‘Freddie reckons I’m destined for the big time.’

Ada laughed outright. ‘And you believed him?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

Ada ground out her cigarette. ‘Sit forward,’ she told him irritably, ‘and I’ll help you on with your shirt.’

‘No, I can manage.’ He grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, serious now. ‘You ain’t answered my question, Ada. Why shouldn’t I believe him?’

‘If you don’t know by now, then I’m not telling you.’

‘Yes, you are.’ He lifted her chin, slowly bringing her forward. He was going to kiss her, but at the last moment she stopped him.

‘Don’t let’s make this more complicated that it already is,’ she said, pulling her hand away. She looked under her lashes and into his eyes. ‘You’ve gotta get
out of this, Billy,’ she whispered. ‘I’m telling you this for your own good.’

‘You’ve not told me nothing yet.’

She glanced round at the door. ‘Let me ask you one question. Don’t you think it’s odd that Freddie’s not here to give you a rollicking?’

Billy shrugged. ‘He’s waiting for me to come into form, that’s all.’

Ada raised a finely pencilled eyebrow. ‘Is that what he told you?’

‘More or less.’

‘Look, I don’t want to hurt your pride, Billy, but he doesn’t give a shit about your performance.’

‘Oh, come off it Ada—’

‘He doesn’t. All he cares about is himself, and you’re a mug if you don’t listen to me.’

Billy was getting angry. ‘If I’m such a mug, why did you shack up with Freddie, then? He’s had more women than he’s had hot di—’ Billy halted as he saw the
look of dejection on her face. He reached out and took her hands. ‘Oh, Christ, Ada, I didn’t mean to say that.’

‘I know it’s true.’ She hung her head. ‘I know what Freddie is.’ She lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were heavy and sad. ‘It’s too late for me, Billy,
but not for you. You can get out of this now before you’re in too deep. All you have to do is walk away.’

‘Walk away from what, Ada? I don’t know what you’re on about.’

She clutched his hands tight. ‘All right, I’ll spell it out. Freddie sets you up with fights you can’t win. He tells you what you want to hear about building you up and making
you a champ and he’ll maybe even let you win one or two to keep you interested. But in the end you’ll be taking the fall every time.’

Billy stared at her, his smile disappearing. ‘You don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘I do. Listen to me. Freddie is part of a syndicate. A lot of money rides on both the winners and losers. The payout is with the bookie and his associates, all big investors like Freddie
who have stakes in the game. He’ll let you go on for a few months, till you get really punch drunk and you can’t think straight, let alone fight straight. Then he’ll say, well,
seeing as you need a bit of a break, only go on to the third or fourth round, then make it look good and take a dive.’

‘What?’ Billy cried, appalled. ‘You’re talking about a deliberate fix!’

Ada nodded slowly. ‘The suggestion won’t seem so bad when your nose is broken and your eyes are swollen up permanently. In fact, the way Freddie will put it, you’ll jump at the
chance. The money will be good for a while, anyway, until Joe public doesn’t want to see your brains on the canvas any more. Then, I’m afraid, it will all be over bar the
crying.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I’ve got ears and eyes, haven’t? I’ve learned a lot about villains in a very short while.’

‘Why are you grassing him up, Ada? You’re living with the bloke.’

‘Because I care for you. You’re my best mate’s kid brother. I’ve known you all my life. You was better off with Taffy.’

‘You mean I was better off with fat, drunk bastards who couldn’t stop a punch coming if they saw it a mile off.’

‘Go back to Taffy. He cares about you.’

Billy sank against the wall. Was he such a dope that he hadn’t suspected something was up? Freddie must have singled him out at the Rose and Crown and known he was a sucker. He had
wondered why Freddie had never had a go at him for losing. What an idiot he was to fall for it!

He could hardly look at her. ‘You’d better go, Ada.’

She pulled his arm. ‘Billy, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’ll make a really good boxer one day.’

‘I’m fed up with hearing that.’

‘Please—’

‘Just go, gel.’

He stared down at the floor, the truth gradually sinking into his brain; he had wanted success so much that he had forgotten to be himself. He didn’t know who he was now.

Other than Freddie Smith’s patsy.

The door closed softly. He looked up. Ada had gone.

Vic got a thumbs-up from Georgie. His first mate was standing beside him in the corner of the pilot house, binoculars raised. Vic smiled, returning the gesture. Mission
accomplished. All 185 soldiers of the Special Raiding Squadron were wading ashore.

‘Marina d’Avola dead on target,’ Georgie yelled above the gunfire. ‘We’ve done it! They’re on their way.’

‘God speed them all,’ Vic muttered as he leaped to the far side of the bridge. Puffs of silver light cut through the gloom, indicating enemy resistance as shown on the aerial
photograph.

‘It’s the surf that’s the danger,’ Gerogie shouted, hurrying to join him. ‘Look at it, will you! Filthy great mountains of the stuff.’

Vic wiped the grease and dirt from his eyes. He held his breath as he watched the men in the sea struggling to reach shore. Wave after wave rollercoasted over them. Some were fetched back in a
tangle of debris. Others made it to the shoreline. There was no going back for any of them; they must advance, or die in the water.