Ironmonger's Daughter (61 page)

He looked down at his feet. ‘I felt I was sortin’ meself out an’ then me muvver died. I knew then that I was at the crossroads. I realised I could easily slip back wivvout ’er be’ind me. That’s when I really started, Con. I found this ovver job an’ got meself a new suit. Now I’m lookin’ ter learn as much as I can about the buildin’ trade an’ maybe start up meself when the war’s all over. There’ll be plenty o’ business fer good builders.’

‘Well I fink that’s great, Billy. I’m really pleased for yer.’

He looked at her closely and she saw that certain light in his large dark eyes. It stirred and excited her, and for a brief moment she wanted to turn and flee. She had met him by chance and suddenly her emotions were quickening inside her. Connie felt a stirring in her heart, and she realised it was the first time a man had had that effect on her since Robert had been killed. She knew that her feelings for Billy were more than just physical and she became afraid and anxious, for she was still determined never to become involved with anyone again and there was a deep anger which would stop her giving her love to anyone now: an anger at the way men had used her body selfishly with no tenderness or consideration for her. She knew it was not fair expecting Billy to understand the sordid details of her life. Connie lowered her eyes.

Billy picked up the shopping bag from between his feet. ‘Well, I’d better get orf,’ he sighed.

Connie smiled and moved a loose strand of hair from her face. ‘Yeah, me landlady will be wonderin’ where I’ve got to.’

Billy looked awkward as he stepped back a pace. ‘Look, Connie. If yer fancy a night out I’d be ’appy ter take yer somewhere,’ he said nervously. ‘It’s nice talkin’ ter yer an’ that an’ I’d like ter do it again.’

She looked into his dark, smouldering eyes and knew that she would have to say no, but the words froze on her lips. He looked so childlike and vulnerable. He seemed to be peering into her soul and she felt her heart melting.

‘I’d like that, too,’ she said at last.

Toby Toomey had spent quite some time thinking about his problem and he was no nearer solving it as he walked home on Friday evening. For a few days Marie had been acting like she had when they first got married. His tea had been ready when he arrived home last Friday evening and she had gone out of her way to make him feel comfortable. There had been no nagging during the weekend, and the only comments she passed on his appearance were complimentary. His favourite meals had been served up, and afters, too. She had even suggested an early night, and that had not happened for years. It was a pity he had had to go out that evening, he thought. Toby had to admit that at first he had thought she was up to no good, but his favourite meal of steak and kidney pie had not been poisoned, and she had not asked him for an increase in housekeeping money. He had put her change of attitude down to genuine remorse for the way she had been treating him and, just as he had been getting used to her fussing over him, she had changed back to her old self again. He considered the possibility that Marie had found out about his little jaunts with Iris but he dismissed it. If Marie had found out she would definitely have poisoned his steak and kidney pie. No, it must be her change of life, he told himself, or perhaps she was going off her head. Whatever it was, it was certainly puzzling. Maybe he ought to have it out with her when he got home.

Toby had almost reached the corner of Ironmonger Street when he was hailed by PC Wilshaw. ‘’Ello, Toby. Yer still washin’ barrels out, then?’

Toby nodded and made to walk on when he saw that the policeman was coming over to him. The chief barrel-washer cursed to himself. He had too much on his mind to feel like standing around chatting, and besides it didn’t look good being seen talking to the police. People might take him for a copper’s nark.

The local bobby came up to Toby and stood facing him, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Remember that little chat we’ad a little while ago, Toby?’ he asked, his eyebrows beetling.

‘No, what was that about then?’

‘Don’t yer remember me askin’ yer ter keep yer peepers open fer any strange characters yer might see in the manor?’

‘Oh yeah, I remember,’ Toby answered. ‘Well I ain’t seen anybody who looks strange, except my ole woman. She’s gorn strange lately.’

PC Wilshaw laughed to himself. Being married to you is enough to make any woman become strange, he thought. He gave Toby an enquiring look. ‘’Ow yer gettin’ on wiv that lodger o’ yours?’

Toby realised he had to be careful what he said. Marie had drilled into him what he should say if anyone did ask him about Dennis Foreman. ‘That’s Will Smithers,’ he replied as casually as possible. ‘’E’s me cousin an’ ’e’s stayin’ wiv us fer a while.’

‘I see,’ said the policeman, rocking back on his heels. ‘Well if yer do see any strangers ’angin’ about round ’ere, don’t ferget ter give me the nod, okay?’

Toby walked away mumbling. ‘Bloody nosy bastard. Somebody in the street must ’ave told ’im we’ve got a lodger.’

PC Wilshaw had gone back to take up his position outside the baker’s shop once more. He knew that he had to stay alert. There had been a shake-up at the station after that article in one of the daily newspapers about unsolved crimes and the chief had been taking some flack, word had it. Bloody politicians, he moaned to himself. Why do they have to keep interfering? The guv’nor’s a tyrant at the best of times, and now the politicians are on his back he’s a sight worse. It had not helped matters when the rumour was spread around that Dennis Foreman might try to creep back into the neighbourhood now that the fuss had died down. The old man had passed the word down for every constable to be on his guard. He had sifted through the rogues’ gallery and new prints of the Piccadilly jewel robber were now stuck up in the station.

PC Wilshaw grinned to himself. Well the villain won’t get by me, he vowed. If he dares to show his face around here I’ll nab him.

 

Ada Halliday was doing her front doorstep on Saturday morning when Joe Cooper walked by. She looked up, her face red with the exertion, and she wiped the perspiration from her brow with the back of a grubby hand.

‘’Ello, Joe,’ she said. ‘It’s all bloody go, ain’t it?’

He grinned. ‘I’d ’ave done yer step fer a couple o’ bob.’

‘Gertcha, yer saucy git. Yer wouldn’t know where ter start,’ she laughed, leaning over the step once more.

‘Don’t yer believe it, Ada. I used ter do me mum’s step years ago an’ I ain’t fergot ’ow it’s done.’

Ada put the block of hearthstone back into a tin box and leaned back on her haunches. ‘’Ere, ’ow’s yer wife, Joe? ’Ave yer ’eard from ’er lately?’

‘I got a letter day before yesterday. She said she’s quite ’appy where she is an’ don’t wanna come back till she’s sure the air raids are finished.’

Ada was not one to mince her words. ‘Well I fink she’s bein’ selfish, if yer ask me. A woman’s place is wiv ’er ole man at times like this. I wouldn’t be parted from my ole man if ’e was alive, Gawd rest ’is soul.’

Joe smiled weakly. ‘It takes all sorts, girl. ’Ere, ’ow’s young Connie settlin’ in?’

Ada stood up and puffed with the effort. ‘She’s gettin’ on fine, Joe. Settled in a treat. I was a bit dubious at first, I must admit.’

‘Why’s that, Ada?’

‘Well, there’s a lot o’ bad memories fer the kid in this street, ain’t there? Every time she looks at that ruin it mus’ bring it all back, stan’s ter reason.’

‘There’s a lot o’ good memories too, Ada. Connie grew up in the street. It mus’ stand fer somefink.’

‘Yeah, true enough. I fink she’s come ter terms wiv fings. She’s a real nice girl. Seems such a shame what she’s ’ad ter go frew. Me an’ ’er ’ave some nice chats after we’ve finished our tea every evenin’. She’s told me a few fings about that pub she used ter work in but there’s a lot she ain’t told me, I’ll be bound. Apparently there’s a right crowd gets in there, be all accounts. Seems ter me she’s better orf away from the place.’

‘The Dolphin, wasn’t it, Ada?’

‘That’s right. D’yer know it?’

‘I know where it is, but I ain’t never used it.’

Ada pressed a grubby hand to her side and winced. ‘Connie said the family treated ’er well. She’s a friend o’ their daughter apparently. They work tergevver at the leather factory in Tower Bridge Road. That’s ’ow young Connie got the job at the pub. What’s puzzlin’ me is, why she should suddenly leave there? If the family treated ’er decent it mus’ be somefink else. P’raps one o’ the customers upset ’er? Yer can bet a pound to a pinch o’ shit somefink ’appened ter make ’er leave. It couldn’t ’ave bin the work. Connie ain’t frightened of a bit o’ collar.’

Joe took his cap off and scratched the back of his head. ‘I might go round the Dolphin fer a drink wiv ole Will Smithers. They won’t know who we are an’ we might ’ear somefink. Anyway, Ada, I’m off. I’ve got a bet ter put on.’

 

Connie took her time getting ready on that Saturday evening. She had arranged to meet Billy Argrieves at the Bricklayers Arms at seven o’clock and she wanted to look her best. As she sat at the dressing table and studied herself in the mirror a familiar feeling of anxiety returned to her, but she shrugged it off. Billy was like her, she told herself. They were two of a kind. He had struggled to pluck up the courage to ask her out: he had hesitated, flushed up and had finally managed to come out with it. Connie smiled to herself as she remembered. There was no need to worry about Billy. He would probably be more nervous than she was. As she brushed her long blond hair, she was aware that she had at first felt pity for Billy. Connie remembered how sad it had made her feel to see him sitting alone in the corner and her heart had gone out to him. But then Billy had done something about the situation he found himself in. He had been courageous and determined, and her pity had turned to admiration. She knew now that watching him fight had helped her in no small way, and for that Connie was grateful. Billy’s transformation had awakened something in her that she had thought was gone for ever. She had slowly come to think of him in a different way. Billy had revealed himself to be an attractive young man with a disarming, gentle way about him. He had quickened her empty heart.

 

Joe Cooper and Dennis Foreman strolled leisurely along the Old Kent Road. It was a warm Saturday evening. The shops were already shuttered and the quietness was occasionally interrupted by the passing of a noisy tram. The fugitive had now discarded his eccentric garb in favour of a well-cut navy-blue suit and he looked markedly different from the character who had knocked on the Toomeys’ front door not so very long ago. Gone were the thick-lensed spectacles, the brilliantine-layered hair and the witless look. He had kept his bushy moustache, however, and it had the effect of making him look somewhat older. The two were chatting lightheartedly.

‘I tell yer, Joe. Those Toomeys are a real scream,’ Dennis was saying. ‘I walked inter a right ole argument last night. Marie was accusin’ Toby o’ playin’ around wiv anuvver woman. Can yer credit it?’

Joe grinned. ‘Don’t yer be so sure. ’E’s a dark ’orse, that Toby. ’E ain’t so daft. It wouldn’t surprise me if ’e’s got a bit on the side.’

The two men turned off the main road into a backstreet, their hands in their pockets and their checked caps worn at a jaunty angle. ‘The Dolphin’s jus’ round the corner,’ Joe said, indicating that they should cross the street.

Dennis glanced at his friend. ‘D’yer reckon there’s anyfink gone on there then, Joe?’ he asked.

‘I dunno,’ Joe replied. ‘Ada seemed ter fink there ’ad. She’s a knowin’ ole bird is Ada. We’ll jus’ keep our ears open an’ see what transpires.’

‘I only ’ope there’s nobody in the pub who used ter know me,’ Dennis said, grimacing at the thought.

‘Yer should ’ave kept those stupid glasses on,’ Joe laughed. ‘Mind you, wiv them on yer looked like Sharkey the bombthrower.’

Dennis’s grin left his face as they reached the pub and pushed open the door of the public bar. Inside the air smelled stale with tobacco smoke and a blue haze hung over the drinkers. The two made for the counter and Joe ordered the first drink. Bill French was serving and he gave the newcomers a mild glance of curiosity as he filled two glasses with ale. Joe and Dennis found a seat and sat back, casually taking in the atmosphere. At the far end of the counter a crowd of well-dressed men had congregated and soon they were joined by two young women who wore fur coats and had heavy make-up on their bloated faces. The crowd laughed loudly when one of the men said something and one character banged his fist down hard on the counter.

Dennis looked at Joe and then his eyes travelled around the bar. He noticed a few looks of distaste among the customers and he glanced back at his companion. ‘They look a right flash lot, don’t they,’ he said quietly.

Joe nodded. ‘I fink that’s the crowd Ada was talkin’ about. They’re all strangers ter me.’

Dennis sipped his pint and studied the crowd for a few seconds before saying anything. ‘I don’t know any of ’em,’ he said presently. ‘They seem like the local mob. They do like flashin’ their money about.’

Joe’s alert eyes glanced in the direction of the landlord. ‘’E looks a bit brassed off wiv ’em, too, if yer ask me, Den. Jus’ clock ’is face.’

An old man with a blood-red complexion and watery eyes was sitting at the table next to them. He was watching the antics of the crowd with a look of disgust. Presently he picked up a tobacco pouch from the table and proceeded to fill his stained clay pipe. High-pitched laughter came from the end of the bar and the old man looked over at Joe and Dennis. His eyes met Joe’s and he grimaced. ‘Bloody noisy bastards,’ he said, packing the pipe with a vengeance. ‘I don’t know why ole Bill allows ’em in the place.’

Joe leaned over. ‘D’yer know that crowd, Pop?’

‘Know ’em? Yeah I know ’em. See the one standin’ next ter the big tart? That’s Steve Barnett. ’E’s got a business. I fink ’e’s cartin’ the guv’nor’s daughter out. That’s ’er be’ind the bar,’ he said, indicating with his eyes.