Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (13 page)

‘
I won’t be
blackmailed in this way!’

‘
Well in what
way would you like to be blackmailed?’ Perry chewed his lip in
thought, ‘come to think of it, it’s not really blackmail anyway is
it? I’m selling something that you want to buy.’

Greaves was clearly not amused,
and folded his arms. ‘How do I know you aren’t working for them?
Feeding me false information.’

This almost
made Perry laugh. ‘What would they pay me with? They’ve not got a
bob to scratch together between them for starters. I think
sir,
that might be why
they’re striking in the first place. But I’m sure a businessman
such as yourself has already grasped the economics of the situation
better than a street scamp.’

‘
Watch your
cheek boy. I built this company from scratch.’

Perry wasn’t sure if he’d
pushed it too far. He stood, replaced his cap.

‘
Mr Greaves, I
didn’t come to argue with you, I’m just sorry we couldn’t make a
deal,’ he took a couple of steps towards the door and stopped. Time
to give the line one last little wiggle and see if the hook
catches, ‘I just hope you’ll be ready in time.’

‘
Ready? Are
they doing it soon?’

‘
Goodbye Mr
Greaves.’

‘
Wait! Come
back. Confound it! Damn scamp.’ He rummaged around the drawers,
‘Alright, alright. Sit, sit, sit.’

Perry returned to the desk.
Greaves held a pound note. Perry felt his hands unfurl and reach
out mechanically. Greaves snatched it back, and put it under a
paperweight on the table.

‘
That’s yours
if you tell me everything you know. You’ll get the rest on strike
day, if what you say comes to pass. You can’t say fairer than
that.’

Perry tried to keep cool, he
couldn’t believe it; he would have taken a pound for the whole
thing. Five was his outrageous bargaining position. He suddenly
wondered if he should have asked for more.

‘
A pound now.
Four later
when
my
information comes good. And you’ll do well to call me Perry, not
scamp, urchin or whatever rubbish falls into your head.’

‘
Fine,
Perry
. Go on. Speak.’
Greaves readied his pen and paper.

Perry
gratefully took the cup. The soup stand was right at the heart of
the harbour front. The sea in front was black in the darkness.
Carrot soup warmed his insides and prickled his lips. Gentlemen
passed, probably on their way to a club. A family man going in the
opposite direction, home for supper, he supposed.
The
Bell &
Mast
was its usual self, as selective as a
slop bucket. Eva and Joel would be home now, maybe preparing some
supper for him to come back to later. Two port workers walked past,
probably gasping for beer after an honest day’s sweat and lift. All
round it had been a worthy day’s work. A pound he’d earned and he’d
barely had to do a thing. With four more on its way he felt flush.
Laughter came out of the tavern like giant squid tentacles. He left
the rest of the soup and headed in.

With a bold grin he worked his
way towards the bar. His eyes met the shoulders of most men but his
slim frame quickly found a route to the front. The barman greeted
Perry by placing his fat hands on the bar and offering his ear.

‘
A beer
please,’ Perry said. The barman scowled, possibly deaf.

‘
Bitter, Stout,
Porter, what?’ he said gruffly.

Perry felt his cheeks flush
hot, and sensed the sudden silence of a group of men behind him. He
wasn’t sure which he’d like.

‘
I’ll have one
of each,’ he decided.

The barman’s eyebrows shot up.
A curly-haired man leant over.

‘
Need some help
choosing?’ it was a friendly offer, though he sounded
French.

‘
What’s that
you’re drinking?’ Perry asked.

‘
Gin.’

‘
One of those
too then please barkeep, for my new friend,’ he pulled himself
straight, ‘and get one for yourself and all.’

The barman gave him a puzzled
look and pulled a fistful of tankards down from a shelf.

‘
Gin, Ale,
Stout, Porter and two Bitters then. You better be able to pay for
these or I’ll have you beaten black and blue.’

Perry produced the pound
note.

‘
I hope you
have enough change,’ the man with the curly-hair said.

14

Gulls screeched. He was
freezing but his hands were somehow warm and tickled. Through the
slits of his eyes he saw the culprit, a straggly dog dripping brown
with mud. He palmed it away and tried to sit up. His head was
agony. The sky was bright, so bright it hurt.

Jesus. He was outside.

He jolted upright. It was the
alleyway by the tavern. Thankfully he was still clothed though his
boots and trouser bottoms were caked in mud, the rest protected by
a couple of sacks. His hands shot to his pockets.

The money was gone.

Panic flushed over him like a
giant wave. He checked all his pockets again, praying, hoping some
of it was still there but he hadn’t a penny left. The night was all
such a blur, he couldn’t remember if he’d spent it or had it taken
off him. There’d been music, he remembered that, and his throat
felt sore from singing. Singing! He remembered the old timer with
the squeeze-box and he, Perry, had been singing, dancing, drinking,
more singing and more drinking. Oh the shame of it! His stomach
lurched and he sat up just in time to thrust his head between his
knees and vomit on the floor. The dog made its way over to see what
could be salvaged.

‘
Idiot!’

Perry looked up to see Greaves,
standing in gentleman’s dress, a green cravat under his neck, his
jaw clenched, shaking his head. His sunken eyes examined Perry with
contempt.

‘
I suppose your
money’s gone?’

‘
Taken
sir.’

‘
Taken indeed,’
scoffed Greaves

Perry retched again and more
grey liquid splatted onto the mud. Greaves hopped back.

‘
Watch my shoes
you buffoon!’

‘
Sorry sir,’ he
wiped away a string of gob stretching from his mouth to the
floor.

Hot vapours curled into his
mouth and nostrils soothing his throbbing head. It was without
doubt the warmest, most comfortable bath he’d ever sat in. There
was a knock at the door and Greaves stepped in. Perry darted to
cover himself with his hands.

‘
You needn’t
worry. It’s a deep bath and your dignity is adequately submerged,
what’s left of it anyway. Dorothy has left you out some clothes,
they’re a little threadbare but should suffice. You may keep
them.’

‘
Thank you Mr
Greaves. Very kind,’ he mumbled.

‘
Well, we are
in cahoots with this strike business I suppose, and a duty of care
must be provided to all workers, casual or…otherwise,’ Greaves
cocked his head to one side. ‘I see you are very
disappointed.’

‘
I,’ he began,
‘I’ve been bloody stupid.’

‘
You aren’t the
first to squander such a sum believe me,’ his thin lips curved into
an almost undetectable smile, ‘still, that was six months wages to
a docker gone in one night! I must hand it to you Perry, few could
have done better. Let alone at your age.’

‘
But that
money, it wasn’t just for me.’

‘
Tsk, money
comes and goes Perry, we never truly own it. It’s Thursday today
and your money has all gone. Yet tomorrow you should have the rest
of your sum and be rich again for a time. The question is how to
keep more of it in your possession, more of the time. Have you ever
thought about how you might do this?’

Perry chewed his nails, and
shook his head. He hadn’t ever thought of it that way.

‘
You could for
instance, come and work for me? Despite your antics last night, you
negotiated well with me. A streetwise little scamp might be just
the ticket with this strike business,’ he stroked his chin, ‘I need
to know what the enemy is thinking.’

Perry was taken aback, ‘I don’t
know what to say Mr Greaves.’

‘
A shilling for
your first week? Then we can talk about something more regular if
you do well,’ his pin-hole eyes narrowed. ‘Though I’d counsel a
less profligate approach second time around.’

Perry couldn’t quite believe
this generous being was the same man he’d spied at the cargo docks.
The same man who larruped his slow moving workers with a cane. Now
here he was, paying him five pounds, giving him clothes, a hot bath
and regular work. He had been very fortunate indeed.

‘
Thank you
sir.’

‘
Return here at
6am for work and I will pay you then. I must go. I have important
preparations to attend to.’

Before he went back to Ma’s,
Perry walked around Southampton town for a while and tried to shake
the hangover off with the salty air. His heavy steps jolted his
head, sharpening his headache and the skin under his eyes felt like
they were hanging like hammocks. He immersed himself in the crowds
and walked past shipping insurers, the liner company offices and
the freight service companies that dominated Station Street. He
ambled, stopping to look through a shop window with an array of
barrows, buckets, mops and hoses for sale. His mind was dull and
blank and he felt as if alcohol was seeping from his every
pore.

‘
That’s him!
Get him Cecil!’

He knew the voice. Perry turned
around at once. Fairbanks and Cecil were on the other side of the
street.

‘
Shit!’

‘
Criminal!’
Cecil’s stick-like frame darted across the road. ‘Cuff that
boy!’

People stopped and turned to
look at him, he didn’t know which way to run. A woman shrieked,
pointing like he was some kitchen rat, and the sound unfroze him,
got his brain working and his feet moving. He barged his way inside
the shop and bundled through a path of goods, knocking stacks of
buckets over, but he didn’t look back. A man appeared in front of
him, the owner perhaps, yelling something, but Perry elbowed past,
pushing his way to the back of the shop, through a door.

‘
Oi! You can’t
go back there!’

He was already through, down a
narrow corridor, shoving a back door open and out into the light.
He steadied himself on the slimy wall of the alley, gave a glance
back and sprinted off again. A whistle blew from somewhere. He
didn’t stop running. Only God knew what they would do to him if he
got caught. He ran, pumping his arms, pushing himself until his
lungs stung and burnt with the strain. At the end of the alleyway
he came to a crossroad and took a route he thought would lead up
behind the train station.

He slowed to a jog, checking
over his shoulder, letting his lungs refill. The route led over the
train tracks and a gap in the fence would lead him back towards
home. It was only when he climbed over the rubbish heap onto the
Lane that he began to relax. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was
certain now – if he stayed in Southampton he’d have to constantly
be on his guard.

At Ma’s, something was up. He
knew it as soon as he stepped inside.

‘
We’re in
here,’ called Ma.

In the kitchen, Eva sprung up
when he walked in.

‘
Thank God
you’re alright.’

‘
We’ve been
worried about you all night, where have you been?’ said
Joel.

‘
New clothes?’
Ma had a wily expression on her face, like a bad card player with a
good hand.

‘
Well,’ Perry
took off his cap and scratched his head, ‘I got me a
job.’

‘
A job?’ Joel
shot Eva a look, ‘For who?’

‘
What they
paying you?’ asked Ma.

‘
Working for a
fruit importer down the docks, for a Mr Greaves as it happens.
What’s more, it pays enough so as I can pay for us,’ he paused,
wrong-footed by Ma’s amused expression, ‘pay for us all, the three
of us I mean, to stay, regular like. I had to help out and work
through the night to get it,’ he gave an exaggerated yawn. ‘I’m
knackered.’

‘
Well ain’t you
a clever little currant?’ Ma was actually smiling at him. He didn’t
like it one bit. ‘First you bring me this little gift and then go
get a job!’ Ma tousled his hair.

‘
Gift?’

She pointed to Eva. ‘Her.
Pretty thing like that’ll soon have ‘em flocking back over to Ole
Ma’s just you wait and see.’

Perry felt sick
and turned to Joel, how had he let this happen? But Joel’s head was
bowed. Eva looked uncomfortable and mouthed
sorry
.

‘
Joel can bring
back two at a time starting tonight.’

‘
Tonight?’
Perry said, horror creeping into his voice, ‘Now wait a second Ma
that’s not a good idea.’

‘
What you
talking about? It’s a great idea!’

‘
Well it’s like
you say,’ he looked at the ceiling buying some seconds, ‘it’s about
reputation. You want it to be perfect so they keep coming back
here.’

‘
What’s your
point?’ Ma folded her arms.

‘
Yeah,
what
is
your
point?’ Eva said.

‘
Ma. Look at
her. Look at them nearly healed bruises. So
close
to perfect. You wait a day or
two and she’ll be ready. The grocers don’t sell bruised apples on
their first day of business. Trust me, wait a couple of days and
Ma’s place’ll be the talk of the town, they’ll be queuing
up!’