Darkest Before Dawn (11 page)

Martha snorted inelegantly. ‘Rubbish,' she said roundly. ‘Most men would have sacked him weeks ago, the way he went on. So stop blaming yourself and eat your porridge.'

Harry laughed. ‘Oh well, I dare say you're right,' he admitted. ‘But I could kick myself for letting the whole business put our day on the canal right out of my mind. Still, you and the girls will go, won't you? And I will try to get along and meet you later, honestly I will.'

Martha walked across the kitchen and peered out of the window. ‘Well, we've promised Jim and Hetty so we'll have to keep our word, but it's just started to rain and judging by what I can see of the sky from here, it's going to be a really nasty day,' she said. ‘Don't you bother to come along, my love, if it's raining cats and dogs, because we'll all be cramped up in the living cabin and that's no joke when it's tipping down outside. Poor Hetty means to make us a meal, so I should think she'd be downright grateful to have one less.'

She had moved back across the kitchen as she spoke and Harry heard the sizzle as she dropped a thick round of home-made bread into the frying pan to accompany the bacon and eggs she had already cooked. He waited until she had placed the full plate before him, then reached for the HP Sauce, poured a generous helping on to the side of his plate, and turned to smile up at her. ‘Yes, mebbe you're right and there'll be no point in my rushing off if it's still raining hard. You know as much about the
Mary Jane
as I do myself, so you can tell me, when we both get home, if Jim and Hetty are doing right by her, and by dear old Gemma. A good horse is worth its weight in gold to a barge master and no better horse was ever foaled than our Gemma.'

Martha laughed and leaned across to give him a quick kiss before putting her own plate of bacon and eggs down opposite him and taking her seat. ‘When we first married you said that no better horse had ever been foaled than Gemma's mum Molly,' she reminded him.

Harry grinned. ‘All right, all right; I admit I've got a weakness for all horses, particularly our own,' he said. ‘Percherons are particularly good at towing because they learn easily and are very strong.' He glanced at the clock above the mantel, reached for another slice of bread and wiped it round his plate to gather up the last smears of egg, bacon and dripping. Then he folded the bread into a sandwich, hooked his jacket and cap off the door, and turned to give Martha a kiss just as the kitchen door opened and his three daughters surged into the room. Evie, in the lead, closed her eyes and raised her nose to heaven with an expression so reminiscent of the Bisto Kids that her parents both laughed.

‘Oh Ma, I
do
love Saturdays, and I do love bacon and eggs,' Evie said. ‘Are you off already, Pa? Isn't it a shame that the weather's changed, though? It's been fine all week and just because it's Saturday and we're having a day out, the bloomin' rain had to come tippin' down.'

Harry, passing her, rumpled her already untidy hair. ‘Never mind, Evie, maybe it'll clear up,' he said. ‘Be good girls, all three of you, and help Ma. See you later!'

The girls chorused that they always helped their mother, and then Harry was outside and clattering down the stairs, his mind turning from his family to the day ahead.

The rain was so heavy that he could scarcely see across Scotland Road and the drops hitting the puddles looked the size of pennies. He hesitated for a moment, for he was wearing a thin coat and knew that somewhere in the flat were the oilskins he had worn aboard the
Mary Jane
in foul weather. But then a tram came rattling along and he jumped aboard. He usually walked to work but there was no point in arriving at the warehouse looking as though he had swum there, so he rode to the nearest stop.

Getting down from the crowded tram, Harry set off for the warehouse with the rain driving into his face and slithering, coldly, down his neck. As he sloshed through the puddles he thought, with grim humour, how much he had changed in the last four months. As a barge master, he had been out in all weathers, had scarcely noticed rain, sleet, or indeed sunshine, save as to the effect it had on his journeyings. When the canal froze over, the ice could split a boat open as easily as he could crack a hazelnut, so no barge master worth his salt ever slept, save in cat naps, during a severe frost. He had always kept a foot of clear water all the way round the
Mary Jane
and both butty boats, even though it meant staying awake all night to keep the strip of water open.

And now I'm behaving as though a heavy rainfall was a wretched nuisance and a reason to change my ways, he scolded himself. Aboard the
Mary Jane
, of course, heavy rainfall after a prolonged drought could spell trouble because planks which had shrunk during the dry let the water pour in when heavy rain came, but ashore, tiles and brick took little heed of the weather and his family would remain comfortably dry whilst they were beneath a roof.

His place of work was reached by a narrow cobbled passage, surrounded on all sides by factories and warehouses, and whilst he was in this passage Harry was out of the worst of the weather. He took off his cap and actually wrung it out, then continued on his way. He wondered whether Mr Bister would come in, then put the matter out of his mind. He would speak to his boss as soon as he could, and explain matters regarding Reg Baldwin. Until then, he would simply get on with the job in hand.

Reg Baldwin woke that morning with a splitting headache, a mouth like the bottom of a parrot's cage, and a feeling of gloom which seemed to have no definite cause. He'd had a night of it, going from pub to pub along the docks, and felt no particular surprise over his physical state. He was not even surprised to find that he had apparently bedded down on the kitchen floor because this often happened when he went on the booze with his pay packet still intact. However, he rarely felt as though something horrible either had happened or was about to do so. Often he felt aggressive, furious, even fighting mad, but not – not . . .

A small picture was forming in the back of his mind. The hated face of Harry Todd, the reproving, wagging finger, the smugness of the fellow as he had told Reg . . . what had he told Reg? Something unpleasant, no doubt. Was I skiving? Reg asked himself. Well, if I was, why not? I remember now: he were late blowin' the bleedin' whistle so I took meself off round the back of the bleedin' tea chests for a quick drag . . .

Baldwin gave a deep groan and hauled himself to his feet. Immediately, a gang of small and vicious dwarfs began to beat hammers inside his aching head. Moving at all hurt him but he had to get to the water bucket. If he didn't lubricate his desiccated mouth, dry throat and arid stomach with a great big draught of cold water, he would very likely die.

He reached the sink, fell to his knees, and drank in huge gulps, then glanced at the kitchen clock. Damn it to hell, if he didn't get a move on he'd be late for work and that wouldn't please the bloody barge master. It did not occur to Baldwin that his wife was usually in the kitchen at this hour, getting breakfast; he simply grabbed cap and jacket off the back of the door and charged out of the house. By the time he arrived at the warehouse he had remembered two things. The first was that the kitchen clock was supposed to be wound up every Friday night and that he had not done so, for in passing the chemist on the corner he realised that he was more than an hour earlier than he should have been. In fact, it was still extremely dark and there was no sign of dawn in the east. The second thing he remembered was that that miserable old barge master had given him the sack the evening before, and told him to fetch his cards. He had not done so since he had every intention of fighting his case, trying to persuade Mr Bister that he had not been smoking the cigarette but merely holding it between his lips, much as a baby sucks a dummy. He would say that Todd had never liked him, had been against him from the first, always looking for some reason to boot him out. He would tell Mr Bister . . . oh, there were a thousand things he could tell him, for he could not imagine how he could get another job in such hard times. Folks said that there was a war coming and went on saying it, despite Mr Chamberlain's ‘Peace for our time', and if war did come then all the young men would go and older men, such as himself, would be much sought after. But it was no use counting on a war; no, he must speak to Mr Bister as soon as he could and tell the boss that Todd had always had it in for him. He would say the other man was jealous of the more experienced hands and wanted to get rid of them because they showed the barge master up for the greenhorn he was. He would remind Mr Bister how Herbie Hughes had leaned on him, asking his advice, giving him responsible jobs . . . no, perhaps that would not be wise. Better just concentrate on putting the boot in for the barge master and reinstating himself.

He reached the warehouse. The big doors were shut and barred so he went round and banged on the side door, and presently the old night watchman came grumbling down and let him in. Baldwin explained about his mistake over the kitchen clock and was invited to share a cup of tea with the old man. But instead, he decided to take a look around the warehouse, see whether there was any way he could work things to his advantage. After all, it was not yet common knowledge that he had been sacked; he had told no one and he was pretty sure that Harry Todd had not done so either, for when Mr Evans, who was the accountant for all three Payton and Bister warehouses, had come round with their pay packets, there had been no dark looks, no cruel jokes about making the most of this money because it might be the last he would get for some time.

So Baldwin refused the tea, saying that he might as well get on with some work since he was early anyway. He picked up a pile of papers, stuck a pencil behind his ear and moved out of the office. The old man had always left by the time the staff arrived and had no idea of what Baldwin's position was within the firm. He probably assumes I'm standing in for the barge master for some reason, Baldwin thought, with a chuckle. Ah well, they say the early bird catches the worm, so let's see whether it's true.

Despite the tram ride, Harry was late arriving at the warehouse. As he emerged from the passage, a lorry, rounding the corner, tried to brake. The driver had not allowed for the slippery state of the cobbles, and with a hideous screeching the vehicle slid across the road and into the side of a building, spilling its cargo everywhere. Harry ran forward. The cab of the lorry had been crushed against the brickwork and though the driver was mercifully unhurt it took some time to release him. The man vowed he was fine and began trying to gather up his scattered load, but Harry told him that he would be sensible to go along to the hospital and get himself checked over. Only when the man agreed to do this did Harry make his belated way, through the still torrential rain, to the warehouse.

Several of the workers had come out when they heard the sound of the collision, but Harry had ordered them back at once and they had gone willingly enough. Now he was glad they had done so, since it gave him the opportunity to see for himself how they were managing. It looked as though they were doing pretty well. Clearly, they were loading the top storey now, for as Harry moved across the warehouse the man on the hoist was swinging an enormous crate up on to the upper floor. Harry checked with his eye that there were men up there to receive it and put it into its appointed place, and was about to return to his office to fetch invoices and delivery sheets when something about the man working the hoist caught his attention. He stopped, staring hard at the person perched at the controls. Good God, if he hadn't sacked the man himself, he would have sworn that it was Reg Baldwin! What on earth was happening? He took a couple of steps towards the hoist, and saw the other man's face light into a grin so totally soulless and wicked that he stopped in his tracks and stared. He heard a warning shout, and even as he glanced up he saw the crate plunging towards him and knew the reason for that devilish grin. He even thought, as the crate smashed on to him, that he heard Baldwin say: ‘Gotcher, you bugger.'

Then, nothing. A moment of fierce and terrible pain, then darkness.

Percy woke at his usual time to hear rain sleeting down on the slate roof and gurgling along the gutters. For a moment, he imagined having to trudge to school through the downpour, then remembered that it was Saturday and got out of bed. Last night, he had gone to do the messages for his mother since there had been no food in the house – his father had clearly not bothered to eat at home whilst his family were staying at Auntie Nell's – and he had bought two large loaves, a packet of margarine and some marrow and ginger jam. If he got up now and was first down, he could get himself some breakfast before the rest of the family, gannets every one, gobbled the lot.

Moving carefully, because he did not wish to wake the others, he pulled on his old kecks and a ragged jersey, then stole towards the stairs. He was halfway down the flight when he remembered that, in all likelihood, his father would still be in the kitchen, probably sprawled on his back, snoring like a hog, for he had returned home at midnight, too drunk to mount the stairs.

The racket his father had made just opening the door and reaching the kitchen had woken the boys, but no one had got out of bed, and as soon as the shouts and yells had stopped, sleep had overcome them once more.

But now, poised on the stairs, Percy wondered whether it might not be wiser to return to his room. Last night his father had been calling down curses on Harry Todd's head, swearing revenge, shouting that he had been unfairly treated. If he woke in a mood as vile as that of the previous evening, then Percy felt he had a better chance of retaining a whole skin if he stayed in bed until his mother got up.

Nevertheless, Percy continued down the stairs and very soon saw that the kitchen door was ajar. Curious, he descended into the hall and peered cautiously into the kitchen, seeing at once that the room was empty. No enormous figure snored on the battered horsehair sofa, or slouched in the old wicker chair with its uneven legs. Percy blinked around. The fire was out and the curtains were still drawn across the window which overlooked the court. Percy crossed the room, walking on tiptoe despite the fact that he could see that his father was nowhere about. He supposed the old devil might be in the parlour, though this was very unlikely; last time there had been a money crisis his mother had sold the easy chairs and settee which had formerly adorned that apartment and his father was unlikely to have gone into a comfortless room when he could spend the night on the kitchen sofa, with the sink – and the buckets of water – conveniently close.