Dream On (11 page)

‘And have you brought anything home from the docks for your poor old mum?' Nellie asked pathetically.

Gingerly, Ted, shifted his weight and eased his hand into his trouser pocket. He held out his car keys to Ginny. ‘Go out to the car. There's some bananas on the back seat.'

‘Bananas!' Ginny ran out to the car to fetch them.

Nellie wasn't so impressed. ‘I'd rather have a few quid. Or a nice leg o' pork.'

Ted snorted at his mother's ingratitude. ‘I bring you the first bananas this country's seen since bloody 1939 and you don't even say thank you.'

‘Well, can you sodding well blame me?' Nellie no longer sounded pathetic, she sounded put out, very put out, and very loud. ‘D'you know what they had in the paper yesterday?'

Ted didn't answer.

‘Oi! I'm talking to you. A bloody recipe for Squirrel Pie. That's what. That's what the sodding government's telling us to eat.' Nellie was getting into her stride – it didn't take much. ‘We're going to have a lovely time, ain't we? Squirrels and pissing bananas. I'm not getting no younger, Ted. I need a bit of comfort in me old age.'

Ginny had heard her mother-in-law's hollering from outside in the street, but she was determined not to let Nellie upset her. Ted was home and that was all that mattered.

She came back into the kitchen and took the bananas from under her apron – although she was sure that all the neighbours knew what Ted was up to, she didn't like to advertise the fact – and, with a careful smile, put them on the table in front of Ted.

Ted ripped one off the bunch and tossed it to Nellie.

Grudgingly she peeled off the skin.

‘Don't get a gob on you, Mum,' he sighed. ‘What sort of a son do you think I am? You know you won't have to go eating no squirrels while I'm around.'

Nellie shrugged, unable to speak with all the fruit she had crammed in her mouth.

‘We've got plenty.' Ted jerked his head at Ginny. ‘Go up and get some of them boxes down, Gin. Show the old girl what I've got up there. When I flog that little lot, we'll be rolling in it. And there's plenty more where they come from an' all.'

As Ginny knelt in front of the wardrobe, she heard someone come into the room behind her.

She looked warily over her shoulder – she would never get used to Ted's ‘business' – but it was all right, it was Ted.

He limped slowly towards her. ‘Leave that for now,' he said, his lips stretched with pain. ‘I wanna bit of peace. I'm going to bed.'

Ginny stood up. ‘Shall I get in with you?' she whispered.

‘Leave off.' Ted climbed on to the bed and rolled over on to his side, clutching himself in agony. Billy Saunders, he fumed to himself. I swear, I'll find you, and I'll have you, you bastard . . .

It was Saturday morning, two weeks after Ted had been attacked, and Ginny hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since the night before.

He could now walk around without clasping himself in agony, but his improved health hadn't done anything to improve his mood. Whenever he did condescend to come home – which wasn't very often – he always seemed to be angry with Ginny about something or other. Anything could get him going: from the food on his plate suddenly not being to his liking, to Ginny singing quietly to herself as she washed up after him. It was like living with a time bomb that was ticking away, just waiting to go off in her face.

Any other Saturday, Ginny might have kidded herself that she was pleased Ted wasn't there to get in her way while she did the housework, but today was 30 March, Nellie's birthday and she had expected her son to be there with her. So Nellie wasn't very happy.

She had carried on at Ginny as though it was all her fault that he had stayed out all night again, and instead of being grateful, or even pleased, with the wireless that Ginny had bought her, Nellie looked at it with about as much interest as if she'd been given a pair of size fifteen football boots without any laces.

It wasn't that Nellie didn't like Ginny's gift – she loved it, although it would have killed her to say so – no, it was the fact that she wanted her Ted there, fussing over her, giving her presents, treating her like the queen she believed herself to be. Her son had gained himself quite a reputation around the East End for being a black marketeer, a real spiv, and Nellie basked in his notoriety as the bloke who could get you anything. It gave her a feeling of superiority to know that people were beholden to her boy for all the little things that were so difficult to get unless you had ‘contacts'.

No matter how they pretended to be good, law-abiding citizens, it seemed that nearly everyone was involved in some sort of fiddle: buying a bit of this and a bit of that from any source they could find. And it wasn't only luxuries that were hard to come by. Everyday food items were still in short supply and anything that could help stretch the rations – that were now even meaner than during the worst of the war years – could be sold for a good profit. As to where the stuff actually came from . . . Well, that didn't seem to be much of a cause for concern for all the eager customers.

Nellie had longed to see her Ted walk through the kitchen door with his arms full of gear that her neighbours could only dream about and say, ‘Here you are, Mum, happy birthday.' But he hadn't, and she had gone on and on about it. She went on so much, in fact, that when Pearl and George came over to take Nellie down to the Albert for a lunch-time celebration port and lemon – Pearl's all-seeing eyes hadn't missed Ginny's predicament – Ginny put her hands together in gratitude. It seemed almost like a treat to be left in peace to get on with the housework.

Ginny had just finished scouring the wooden draining board when the back door flew back on its hinges and Ted burst into the kitchen. ‘Get upstairs,' he snapped. ‘Now.'

Ginny's heart leapt: Ted might not have expressed himself very romantically, but she was so relieved that he was still interested in her, she treasured his words as though they'd come written on a card with a dozen long-stemmed roses.

It had been two weeks since they'd last been to bed together and she'd been seriously worried that he'd finally gone off her. And she couldn't have stood that. Despite everything, Ginny just couldn't contemplate life without him; couldn't stand the thought of being completely alone. The past fortnight had been terrible. Whenever Ted had been home, he'd made her sleep downstairs on the armchair in the front room. She knew it was because he was in so much pain, but she would have happily slept on the bedroom floor – if he would have let her.

‘I've missed you, Ted. I've really—' she began, walking towards him.

‘You can get that idea right out of your head,' he sneered, barging past her and out into the passage. ‘Now come on. Move yourself. We've gotta get all that gear out of the wardrobe.'

‘What, have you got a customer for the whole lot?' she asked, running up the stairs after him. Someone must have a few bob to spare. That should put him in a good mood.

‘Just help me shift it out to the motor.'

‘The motor?'

He spun round on the landing and glared at her. ‘What are you? A fucking parrot?' he snarled. ‘Just do it. Unless you wanna get me nicked.'

Ted jumped into his car with a muttered warning that, if Ginny knew what was good for her, she was to keep her trap well and truly shut, except for what he had told her she could say. He was going to lie low for a while and he didn't want her blabbing her big mouth off to anyone. Not to Nellie, Dilys, Pearl, no one. Then, with his car full of gear, Ted disappeared out of Bailey Street with a screech of rubber.

Less than ten minutes later there was a loud rapping on the front door of number 18. Ginny took a deep breath, nervously patted her hair into place and walked slowly along the passage. Ted had told her what to say; all she had to do was remember it. She could only pray that she got it right. Thank Gawd Nellie was down the Albert. She would just have got herself hysterical and made matters worse.

Pinning a neat smile on her face, Ginny opened the door.

As she had expected, it was the police. There was a black squad car parked outside and in the driver's seat sat a uniformed officer. But what she hadn't expected were the two smartly dressed men confronting her on her doorstep. From the little she knew about coppers, Ginny assumed they were detectives of some kind. And if they were, then this was no casual warning about selling bent gear, this was serious.

She licked her lips. Her mouth was so dry, it felt as though she had been eating uncooked porridge. ‘Can I help you, gentlemen?' she eventually managed to say.

‘Mrs Martin?' asked the taller of the two men, taking off his trilby.

She nodded.

‘Perhaps we could step inside for a moment?'

Ginny nodded again and stood back to let them in, ushering them towards the front room. ‘Won't you sit down?'

As she stepped inside the room and gestured towards the matching over-stuffed armchairs standing either side of the fireplace, Ginny hoped they didn't notice her hand was trembling.

‘We'll be all right standing, thank you,' said the man who had spoken before.

‘Cup o' tea?'

‘No thanks.'

Ginny blinked slowly. She felt as though she were watching a film. Take deep breaths, she told herself. You've got nothing to worry about. Ted's shifted everything.

Before anyone had the chance to say anything else, the street door was sent crashing back on its hinges and Nellie came hurtling into the room like a lunatic. ‘What's happened?' she yelled, grabbing the smaller of the two men by the lapels. ‘Has my boy been hurt?'

The taller man spoke. ‘Mrs Martin senior?'

Nellie ignored him. ‘I asked you a question!' She spat the words into the shorter man's face. ‘Someone runs into the Albert and tells me there's a law car outside my house and you stand there asking me my sodding name!'

Surprisingly delicately, the man unpeeled Nellie's fingers from his coat and brushed her hand away. ‘No, Mrs Martin, your son hasn't been hurt.' He paused and exchanged a brief, smug grin with his colleague. ‘Not yet. But someone's got it in for him. I think you ought to know that, so you can pass that little message on to him. And whoever it was didn't mess about. They went straight to the top. Tipped off the Ministry of Food.'

The other man nodded at him to indicate that he would take it from there. ‘I'm sure you've heard about the Ministry's campaign against the black market. Well, we're cooperating with them. There's road blocks going up all around London. We're searching lorries, vans, cars. You name it. Shops and restaurants, they're all being raided.' He flashed another look at his associate. ‘Aw yeah, I forgot. And houses. They're being searched too. So if you don't mind, Mrs Martin – either Mrs Martin will do – I'd like you to show us around the place.'

Two hours later the house was in a shambles and the two men were putting on their hats ready to leave.

‘Satisfied now you've upset an old lady?' wailed Nellie.

‘Not really,' said the tall one casually. Then, turning to Ginny, he added, ‘You will remember to tell your husband that someone's got it in for him, won't you, Mrs Martin? The word is that he's upset one of the big boys. And I reckon they're right. So I'd watch out if I was you. See, they're not too fussy how they go about paying someone back, especially when it's just a little two-bob spiv they've got the hump with. They'll pick on wives, mothers . . . Anyone.'

With that, he raised his hat and treated both Ginny and Nellie to a bright, sunny smile. ‘Cheerio then, ladies. I'm sure the Detective Constable and myself will be seeing you again soon.'

At thirty-eight years of age, Billy Saunders was a man in the prime of his life. He was tall, dark, powerfully built, and had a self-assured manner that convinced everyone he was handsome, despite the fact that, on closer inspection, he was more striking, in a rough, almost threatening sort of way, rather than conventionally good-looking.

He and Johnno, the minder who had been with him on the night he had given Ted a kicking as a reward for his bad manners, were paying an afternoon call on the same dodgy Limehouse pub where it had happened.

As they walked through the door, a few people looked up, but most of the customers got on with what they were doing: drinking, playing cards, or just staring into their beer. People in that area, so close to the docks and what remained of the bomb-damaged but still secretive world of Chinatown, knew to mind their own business.

That attitude – as well as the possibility of buying up cheap property – was one of the reasons Saunders was interested in the area.

Two of the people who did take notice of Saunders and his sidekick were Lilly and Marge, the girls who had inadvertently been the cause of Saunders giving Ted the beating.

The pair exchanged a nervous glance and hurriedly grabbed their handbags from the bar. The last thing they wanted was trouble; it was hard enough finding pubs that weren't complete bugholes, where they'd tolerate girls plying their trade. As it was they had to give the landlord his cut. Causing fights could only put his price up even more.

Billy Saunders, with his most charming smile, took off his hat and walked over to them. ‘Not leaving already, are you, ladies?'

‘Er, yeah, we've gotta be going, ain't we, Marge?'

‘That's right. We've got an appointment,' she agreed.

‘Shame,' Saunders said. ‘I was going to make you both a nice little offer and all, wasn't I, Johnno?'

Johnno stretched his lips tight across his teeth in regret. ‘He was.'

Marge immediately put her handbag back on the beer-stained counter. She wasn't going to let a chance like this slip by. These two looked much cleaner and better off than their usual punters and they might even take them to a decent hotel, instead of expecting to have a quick knee-trembler under one of the slimy, dripping railway arches. She grabbed Lilly's arm, holding her back. ‘What sort of offer would that be then, darling?'