Rough Justice (16 page)

Sarah lifted the metal scoop off the scale and poured the tea into a twisted cone of stiff dark blue paper. ‘There you are, Mrs Leigh. See you tomorrow, will we?’

‘Yeah, thanks Sarah.’ The elderly woman
managed a feeble smile. ‘If I’ve got anything left in my purse by then.’

‘Your credit’s always good here, Mrs Leigh, you know that.’

‘Thank you, dear. I appreciate it. You’re very kind.’

Sarah watched the elderly woman shuffle out of the shop, her second-hand boots slopping around her ankles, and her stockings more darn than lisle.

‘Poor old girl,’ she said quietly. ‘Makes you want to cry to see what a hard time she’s having.’

‘And she’s not the only one.’ Mary ran past Sarah and into the stockroom behind the counter, where she burst into loud, sobbing tears.

Sarah rushed in after her. ‘Whatever’s wrong, Mary?’ she said, hugging her. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

Sarah felt like crying herself. Since she had opened up earlier that morning and had seen yet more filthy abuse chalked on the shop door about Jews and what should be done to them, she had been waiting for Mary to come in. She’d decided that rather than keep bottling it up, it was time to talk to someone about it. A problem shared and all that. But it just didn’t seem the right time any more. Mary had been a good friend to her over the years, and if she needed a bit of comfort, then that was what she’d get. Sarah would just have to wait until another day to unburden herself of her worries.

‘I know you’re not one to tell people your
problems, Mary, but if you want to chat about anything, I’m not going anywhere.’

Mary wiped her eyes on her apron. ‘Take no notice of me, Sarah. I’m just feeling a bit cranky. Time of life, you know how it is.’

‘Sure.’

Sarah looked at the defeated expression on Mary’s face. How had things come to this?

Nell was out in the courtyard, unpegging and folding her and Mary’s laundry before it got too dry to iron. She smoothed Mary’s sheets against her thigh and laid them in the basket, the pleasure in a job well done for once escaping her; if a marriage as strong as Mary and Joe’s could have such problems, what hope was there for anyone else – particularly for the likes of her and Stephen – to ever find happiness?

Trying to banish her worries, Nell picked up the basket, closed her eyes and sniffed the sweet smell of linen dried in the open air in warm summer sunshine. The heated racks in the laundry were a blessing in bad weather, but being able to dry washing outside was so much nicer. It was something that had never been possible in the home, so Nell valued it especially, but it was hard to think of much else that she liked about the place.

‘Penny for ’em, darling?’

She opened her eyes. It was Sylvia, her face as heavily made up as always, despite the scorching heat. She was wearing a floral print dress and a neat straw hat topped off with a little bunch of cherries that dangled saucily over one side.

‘Well, are you going to tell your old mate what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours or just stand there gawping?’

‘I’m just enjoying this lovely weather.’

‘Yeah, course you are.’ Sylvia didn’t sound convinced. ‘Now, have you got time to make me a cup of tea before you start ironing that lot? Or I can just sit and watch while you get on with it if you like. You know me, Nell, I’ve never minded watching people work.’

‘I’m a bit pushed this morning to be honest, Sylv.’

She’d have loved to have sat and had a chat with Sylvia, she could always cheer her up, but Nell couldn’t be sure when Stephen might turn up, and what with everything else, she really didn’t feel like risking another row.

‘Go on, Nell.’ Sylvia screwed up her nose and pinched Nell softly on the cheek. ‘Only just a quick one. I have come all this way.’

Nell was torn. ‘It’ll have to be ever so quick. I’ve got so many jobs to do.’

I’ll bet you have, thought Sylvia. She held up her shopping basket. ‘And I hope you don’t mind. I’ve bought a few bits round for the kids.’

‘Thanks, Sylv, but you really shouldn’t; you spoil them two.’

‘Loving them’s not spoiling them, Nell, you know that.’

With Sylvia settled down with her cup of tea, Nell took the presents she’d bought for the children –
a whole tin of lead soldiers for Tommy and a pink, fluffy rabbit for Dolly – and hid them away in the back of the wardrobe. She would find a way of letting the children play with them without Stephen and the twins finding out, otherwise they’d only accuse her of wasting money, and they’d call her a liar if she said Sylvia had bought them – such kindness wasn’t within their understanding.

Nell came back into the kitchen, spread the ironing blanket on the kitchen table and set about working her way through the pile of laundry. ‘I know I said you shouldn’t, but Tommy and Dolly will love them, thanks Sylv. You’re so good to them.’

‘How many years have we been friends now, Nell? Must be what, getting on for nine years?’

‘Must be.’

‘Well, however long it is, you do know I feel like you and the kids are part of the family, don’t you?’

Nell smiled at her. ‘Course I know.’

‘And you know you can always tell me anything, don’t you?’

‘Course I do.’

‘Blimmin’ heck, Nell, this is like pulling teeth here.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Listen to me, I know you’re not happy living here. And you’re grafting so hard, and you look—’

Nell stiffened. ‘Hard work never did anyone
any harm.’ As if to demonstrate the point, she went at the sheet with even more vigour.

‘Aw no? Well, I reckon too much of it can bloody kill you. You are not their slave, Nell.’ Sylvia took a mouthful of tea. ‘Look, I’ve got to tell you.’ She paused, trying to find the right words, knowing she was more than capable of sticking her dainty little foot right in it if she wasn’t careful. ‘Them two, the ugly twins, they came in the pub last night looking for Stephen, and I heard them saying that they thought you should be working on the stall. That you did bugger all else and they want you out there grafting instead of them.’

Nell carried on with the ironing; she finished the sheet and immediately started on another. Then, after a long moment of consideration, she said evenly, ‘I was always told it wasn’t right to listen to other people’s conversations.’

‘Don’t be like that with me, Nell. I’m only trying to help you. I’ve been thinking about all this for weeks now. No that’s not true, I’ve been thinking about it for months if the truth be told.’

‘How do you mean?’

Sylvia put down her cup. ‘I thought you and the kids could come and live with us, with me and Bernie at the pub, and you could go back to doing your old job if you wanted. It’d be just like the old times and I’d get to see you and the kids every single day. There’s this smashing school just around the corner. I even made enquiries and they said that when the new term begins—’

‘Sylvia.’ Nell put the iron down carefully on the blanket. ‘Do you really think—’

‘No, you wait, Nell. You mustn’t get too excited. Like I said, I’ve thought about it, and I’m not sure it’s going to work, not the way things are. So we’ll have to come up with something to sort out Stephen. Because you see it’s him, he’s the fly right in the middle of the pot of flipping ointment.’

Nell stared at her, horrified. ‘Stephen? What about him? What have you said? Have you spoken to him? Sylvia, you’ve got to tell me what you’ve done.’

‘I’ve not said or done anything. Well, only the usual – here’s your pint – that sort of thing. It’s just that he’s always there in the bloody pub with Bernie, sitting in the corner whispering.’ Sylvia fiddled around with her hankie. ‘Every sodding night he’s in there, and I’ve seen him chatting away to women like he’s a man with no responsibilities. Cheeky sod. Then him and Bernie go off upstairs with some other blokes and play cards for hours on end. Thick as thieves, them two. So if the idea’s to get you away from him, for you not to have to face the horrible what’s-his-name every day, what’d be the point? That’s why we’ll have to think of something. Come up with some sort of plan.’

Nell wasn’t listening any more. Her stomach was churning and she felt physically ill. She knew Sylvia, knew that she was oblivious of the consequences when she said exactly what was on her
mind, and that she was would happily say it to men who were twice her size. She was, in fact, totally fearless. But then she didn’t have two little ones to worry about, did she? What if she decided to say something to Stephen, something that upset him, and he decided to take it out on Tommy and Dolly?

Nell took a breath. ‘Listen to me, Sylvia. I don’t want to be rude to you, but I’ve got to say this straight – please, please do not, and I mean this with all my heart, do not interfere. You have no idea about my life here, and what me and the children want or need. It’s our business, for us to deal with. It’s nothing to do with you, or with anyone else. Do you understand me?’

Nell picked up Sylvia’s cup and took it over to the sink. ‘And if you don’t mind I’ll have to be getting on now. I’ll have to start thinking about the twins’ tea or they’ll have nothing to eat when they get in. So, like I say, if you don’t mind . . .’

‘Nell, don’t be like this.’

‘Like what? I’m fine.’

‘No you’re not fine, you’re bloody well scared of him. Scared of that pisspot Stephen bloody Flanagan. And look at your face. He’s bashed you again, hasn’t he? Why would any man want to do that to a woman?’

Nell automatically shielded her face with her hand. ‘Don’t be so silly, course he hasn’t.’

‘Aw I forgot. You’ve got the strangest cupboard doors known to man here in this gaff, haven’t you? They just wait for you to walk by
and then they fly open and smack you right in the gob.’

‘Sylvia, please, I’m asking you.’

Sylvia stood up and straightened her hat. ‘If you won’t help yourself, Nell, then someone else has to. And believe me, that idiot, who doesn’t know how blessed he is, should be licking the soles of your bloody shoes, not doing that to you.’

‘Sylvia, you mustn’t. You don’t know what he’s like.’

‘Trust me, he doesn’t scare me, not one little bit.’

‘I don’t mean that.’

Sylvia picked up her bag and kissed Nell on the cheek. ‘I’ll see myself out. You just leave it to me.’

Sylvia smiled automatically as she pushed through the crowd drinking at the counter, making her way over to her husband. He was sitting at his usual table in the corner writing figures in a leather-bound book, his face red and damp with sweat.

‘Warm enough for you, Sylv?’

Sylvia ignored his pleasantry and sat down opposite him, plonking her shopping basket on her knees as if she was still on the bus. ‘Bernie, I want you to do something for me.’

‘What’s that then, my little lovely?’ He stuck his pencil behind his ear and looked at her. ‘You seem a bit serious.’

Sylvia reached out and took Bernie’s huge paw in her hand. ‘I want you to bar Stephen Flanagan from the pub. Now. Today. For ever. Soon as he comes in. Tell him he’s not welcome in here any more, and just get rid of him then and there.’

Bernie rubbed his hand over his bald head, took a deep breath and then stared down at the table. ‘Don’t start on about him again, Sylv,’ he said quietly.

‘I am not starting, I am just saying. I worked it all out on the way back from Nell’s. I want you to
bar him so that Nell can come back here to live and maybe work for me again. For us, I mean. And I want her to bring the kids with her and all.’

‘Do what? Have you gone stark raving mad, woman?’

‘What’s the problem with that? We’ve got plenty of room.’

Bernie’s face grew even redder. ‘I’m not talking about whether we’ve got the room, girl.’

‘So what is the problem then?’

He raised his head and looked at his wife. She was such a tiny little thing, he could pick her up with one hand if he wanted to, but still she always assumed that she was in charge – and most of the time she was right, but not over this, not this time. ‘You want me to bar Stephen Flanagan from the Hope, eh? And when did you two come up with this little idea then?’

Sylvia studied her fingernails, and threw in casually, ‘Nell doesn’t know anything about it yet.’

‘This just gets better and better.’ Bernie wiped the sweat from his face and neck with a big white handkerchief. ‘You want a woman to leave her old man and move out of her home with her kids, and she doesn’t even know about it?’

‘Bernie, you don’t understand. Of course I mentioned moving to her, but not about Stephen being barred from the pub. I told you, I only thought about that on the way back on the bus. So how about it?’

‘No, Sylv, for once I am actually going to say no
to you. You know I like that girl, I like her a lot, but for one thing we are not getting involved in a married couple’s business.’

‘They’re not married.’

‘I do know, Sylv, and you know full well that they’re as good as married as any other couple around here. They’ve got two kids and they’ve been together for years now.’

‘But they’re not married legally, are they? So it wouldn’t be the same her leaving him, would it, Bern?’

Bernie shook his head. ‘No, Sylv, I am not getting involved in this and I am not even talking about it any more, I am just not having it.’

‘But—’

‘No. This time, believe me, you are not getting your own way, and that’s final. Stephen is a friend of mine, all right? Finished.’

When Stephen walked into the Hope and Anchor that evening it was just gone seven and the pub was packed. Sylvia only noticed him as she lifted her head to smile as she handed over the change from a ten-shilling note to an already slightly tipsy young dockworker, who was celebrating the fact that he’d managed to find more than just a couple of days’ work that week. Sylvia’s smile vanished. She was glad for the young docker, but she definitely wasn’t glad to see Stephen Flanagan.

Infuriated by his presence, but resigned to the ritual, she watched as Stephen handed Bernie
the cloth bag, swallowed a pint of mild and bitter, and then – as he did now on most nights of the week – followed Bernie up the stairs to the flat.