Riches of the Heart (25 page)

‘I should tell the Rabbi, is that what you’re saying? He’d have a fit.’

‘You’ll be telling me next you like bacon sandwiches.’

‘Only if the bacon is crisp,’ came back the quick retort. Both of them laughed helplessly.

The tea arrived and as Lily began to pour, Rachel asked, ‘Have you sung at the club yet?’

Lily regaled her with her success.

Rachel clapped her hands. ‘Great. Well, maybe after all, you made the right decision.’

‘When will you be well enough to leave here?’ asked Lily.

‘A couple of weeks’ time. I’ll take it easy, but I must go back to the shop. Earn a few shekels to pay for all this.’

‘Perhaps I can help you in the shop,’ suggested Lily.

Rachel gave a snort. ‘I don’t think Mr Vittorio would like that, my dear. Amy is going to give me a hand for a while. I’m going to sell the shop eventually. It’s not the same no more. Not since you left. I’m fed up with it. But I need to think of doing something else in the future. I can’t stay at home all the time. I need something to keep me occupied.’

Lily looked perplexed. ‘Can you afford to retire? I have an empty house that Fred left me. You could live there.’

Rachel looked at Lily with affection. ‘Such a kind girl you are. No, my dear, thank you, but I’ve a few bob put away. Enough for my needs, but I don’t forget you offered. You think of some kind of business I might be interested in, you let me know, OK?’

As Lily went to kiss her goodbye, Rachel said, ‘You come and see me in The Ditches. I’ll even put the electric fire on for you.’ She clasped hold of Lily’s wrist. A frown furrowed her brow. ‘You take care, Lily. It’s early days with The Maltese. Watch your back. If you get into trouble, you come to me.’

Lily hugged her. ‘I will, I promise.’

As Lily made her way home, she knew that Rachel was right. It
was
early days. And with a man like Vittorio, there was always an element of risk. She didn’t know enough about his business to judge how near the edge he was. The Club Valletta seemed all right on the surface, but she knew she didn’t see half of what went on.

Swaying on his feet, Tom held the front-door key in his hand and searched for the keyhole. Why did it seem so much smaller tonight? Eventually, after much cursing and fumbling, he managed to open the door.

Inside, the room was dark apart from the low embers of the range. Mary was obviously in bed, for which he was thankful. He sat in the chair beside the fire and breathed a deep sigh. He wanted Lily so much it was like a constant pain nagging inside him. Never a day passed when she was not in his thoughts. His only consolation was the drink. It was the one thing that dulled the pain. The hangover the next morning he treated as a kind of penance. The more he hurt, the more he loved.

Putting his hand inside his flannel vest, he pulled out a scarf that Lily used to wear when they were courting. He held it in both hands and buried his face in it, breathing in the scent of her.

Lily, Lily, where are you?
His heart cried out for her.

He looked around the living room at the ornaments above the fireplace, all carefully dusted and placed precisely. They never must be half an inch to the left or the right. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d seen Mary push one back into place if he’d put something on the mantelpiece and inadvertently moved a china figure. Filled with a sudden rage, he got up from his chair and swiped the lot onto the floor with his hand. The broken pieces littering the floor gave him a demoniacal pleasure. Tucking the scarf back inside his vest, he went to bed.

Later, in the twilight time between being awake and asleep, he could smell her, feel her warm flesh beside him. The drink was like a magic elixir, conjuring many wonderful dreams and feelings. He put his arm around the warm body and held her to him. He could smell the scent of her. ‘Lily. Lily,’ he murmured as he fell asleep.

Mary, hearing the name of another woman on the lips of her husband as he held her, was outraged. This man she’d married who’d got her pregnant with his disgusting habits was now calling for another. Hadn’t she suffered enough, without this? She took the arm that was around her waist and angrily cast it aside.

Downstairs the following morning, Mary gave a cry of horror on seeing her precious things in smithereens. ‘That drunken bastard. How dare he?’ It was just one more thing with which to berate him.

Tom was ill-prepared for the onslaught that greeted him when he arrived in the living room.

‘How dare you come home the worse for wear and destroy my belongings! Well, you can damn well replace them.’

He looked coldly at her. ‘No chance. I didn’t like them. I want no more ornaments up there. They clutter the place. Now get on with me breakfast, woman.’ He picked up the strop to sharpen his razor.

Seeing the leather strop in his hand and the baleful look in his eye, Mary smothered her anger and prepared the breakfast, banging the plates on the table, banging the kettle on the top of the range, banging the frying pan onto the stove. Suddenly her wrist was gripped in a steel-like clasp.

Eyes blazing, Tom yelled at her, ‘Stop this at once or I’ll swear I’ll take the back of me hand to you!’

Mary looked both startled and outraged. ‘For God’s sake, Tom. I’m five months gone. You’d hit a pregnant woman?’

‘I’ve never raised me hand to a woman in me life, but you would drive a saint to the devil and I’m just a man. Enough, do you hear?’ He sat down and ate his breakfast in silence. Then, grabbing his coat from behind the door, he put it on, and his cap, and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

The noise made his head hurt. He was in an ill-humour as he made his way to work, thinking of the shrew of a woman who was his wife. It was an unfortunate start to the day, which grew steadily worse as it progressed.

Tom worked like a man demented that morning, trying to get the anger out of his system by sheer hard graft. During the morning break, he soothed his ruffled feathers by taking the rise out of Burt Haines.

With his quickfire repartee, Tom had humiliated the foreman in front of his workforce. The derisive laughter that had followed Burt’s departure as he walked away, unable to find the words to hold his own with the Irishman, still rang in his ears. Now anger raged within
him
.

Later that afternoon, Haines had his revenge; he constantly found fault with Tom’s work, clever enough not to make his remarks personal, then enjoyed seeing Tom trying to control his temper. He gloried in the unique situation.

Tom knew what was going on; he realised he’d gone too far earlier in the day. Being proud himself, he knew he’d battered the other man’s ego with his barbed comments. Fair enough! Let Haines have the chance to get his own back.

However, one final criticism that wasn’t warranted was more than he could stomach; it was the last straw. He was aware of tension in the air as his peers watched, waiting to see how far the situation would go.

Throwing down his tools, Tom faced his foreman. ‘All right, that’s enough! There’s nothing wrong with me work. You know it, and I know it.’ He stood within inches of the other man, clenching his fists, longing to punch the living daylights out of the foreman. ‘You’ve had your fun at my expense. Now we’re quits.’ He pushed Burt Haines in the chest, sending him staggering backwards. The workmen around him laid down their tools to witness the scene before them. ‘Bugger off and let me get on with me job,’ he growled.

Burt might well have been satisfied with this and let Tom continue, but in the distance he’d seen his own boss approaching. Aware that the confrontation had been observed by his superior but not overheard, his heart sank at the prospect of being questioned about the incident and having to explain it away. Once more, he’d look a fool.

‘You’re fired, McCann! Take your tools and report to the office.’ The words had a wonderful ring about them and Burt savoured the moment. He had longed to say them for many years – and now the situation had presented itself.

Tom looked at him in amazement. There was a buzz of surprise from his colleagues. ‘Don’t be bloody silly, man,’ Tom fumed. ‘This joke has gone far enough.’

Haines stood tall, chest puffed out with importance. ‘I’m not joking, McCann. I’ll make sure your money’s made up at the office for you. Now, get off this ship.’

‘You bastard – you’re serious!’ Tom’s face was pinched white, and his hazel eyes blazed.

Smirking at him, Burt said, ‘You’re not so funny now, are you? I don’t see you laughing. What, no witty repartee?’

Seeing the big boss approaching, Tom had the sense for once to curb his temper. He grabbed hold of the front of Burt’s overall. ‘I’ll have you,’ he said menacingly. ‘When you walk down a street on dark nights, you’d better have your wits about you, because I give you me word, you gutless little sod, one night I’ll be there waiting.’ He wiped his index finger across his throat as he spoke.

The foreman looked back at him, fear in his eyes. Tom saw it and leaned closer. ‘You’ve just taken me living away from me and that’s unforgivable.’ He let go of Burt’s overall. Pointing a finger at the man, he said, ‘I’ll be seeing you very soon.’ Picking up his tools, he threw them into his bag and stomped off.

During the time Tom had to wait for his wages to be made up, his anger increased. He tightly clenched one of his fists and rubbed the taut knuckles with his other hand, picturing the triumphant look on Haines’ face. The arrogance of that bastard, to fire
him
, Tom McCann, who could work the socks off him any day. Snatching his pay-packet from the fingers of the startled clerk, Tom marched out of the docks, the rage within him fermenting and bubbling like a volcano about to overflow.

Walking down the road, he wondered how he was going to tell Mary. He wasn’t married a year, his wife was pregnant and he was without a job. If he could get his hands round the throat of that bloody foreman right now, he’d do for him. He’d be worth swinging for.

The sound of the piano being played in The Sailor’s Return broke through his tumultuous thoughts. Tom looked along the road towards the pub. He needed a stiff drink. God! Didn’t he need something to cheer him up before he went home?

As he entered the bar, Knocker Jones greeted him. ‘Hello, lad. Come and sit down. What do you want to drink?’

‘A large whiskey.’

Whilst he waited for his friend to be served, he began to calm down, his anger replaced by a deep depression. He’d prided himself on the fact that he’d always been a working man, even during hard times. It had never occurred to him that one day he’d be unemployed. It had been a matter of personal pride to him. But now …

Knocker placed the glass in front of him. ‘What’s up, me old flower? I can see that something is seriously wrong.’

Taking a stiff swig of his whiskey, Tom said, ‘I’ve been fired. I’m out of work.’

Knocker sat quietly listening to his account of the morning. ‘The bastard!’ he exclaimed when he heard what Haines had done.

‘God knows what Mary’s going to say, with the baby coming and all.’ Tom raged on. ‘I’ve never been out of work, not since I started in the docks. That rotten sod has ruined all me plans. I thought I’d be working until the end of me days.’ Leaning towards his friend, he said, ‘If I see that bastard, I’ll do for him, so help me God.’

‘What you gonna do now?’ asked Knocker with a worried expression.

‘God knows! It’s no good me going back to Harland & Wolff’s. That bloody foreman will have put the mockers on me ever getting back into the docks. And you know how hard it is to find work elsewhere. Look at the poor buggers back from the war. They risked their lives in the trenches at the Somme, and now they’re out on the streets selling matches! Some land fit for heroes, this is. But I’ll look around, of course.’ Picking up his glass and downing the contents, Tom concluded, ‘To be honest, I can’t think straight, so I’m going to have another bloody drink.’

Knocker thoughtfully rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘I may be able to put a few jobs your way, if you’re interested. No questions asked.’

With an earnest look Tom said, ‘Thanks. I’ll do anything. I’ve got to earn some money somehow.’

‘Right, me old flower. I’ll let you know.’

Tom nodded. ‘You’re on. Let’s have another drink.’

Mary was frantic. Here it was, almost eight o’clock, and still Tom had not returned home. She knew that sometimes he stopped off at the pub on his way home, but he was never this late.

She tried to eat her supper, but she’d no appetite. She pottered about, cleaning, dusting, trying to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied, but eventually she gave up and sat fretting beside the fire. What if Tom had met with an accident? How would she manage? Five months gone, she couldn’t get work. What if he was dead? Her skin broke into goosebumps. Who would support her and the baby?

It was a further hour before she heard the singing.

‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen …’ The door opened and Tom staggered in, barely able to stay on his feet. He made his way over to his chair with difficulty and collapsed into it, gazing up at Mary with a vague alcoholic grin. ‘Hello, love. Is me supper ready?’

Mary’s fury, sparked with relief at his homecoming and anger for his drunken state, was formidable. ‘Your supper.
Your bloody supper
. Is that all you can say?’

The smile left Tom’s face.

‘I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to come home for hours. Christ! I’ve had you dead and buried I don’t know how many times. And look at you. You’re a bloody disgrace.’

‘Don’t start on me, woman,’ he growled. ‘I’ve had one of the worst days of me life.’

Even in his drunken state, the anguish he was feeling showed and Mary stopped her railing. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

Tom looked at her through glassy eyes. ‘I’ve been sacked. Can you believe that? I’ve been bloody fired.’

Mary looked shocked. ‘Has the work run out, then?’

‘No. It’s that sodding stuffed-shirt foreman. Can’t take a joke.’ He sat up straight, muttering, ‘He took away me livelihood. I’m going to kill the bastard.’