Rough Justice (20 page)

‘Mummy. Mummy.’ Dolly hugged Nell tightly around the legs, pressing her face into her mother. ‘Ouch, that feels hard. What is it?’ She dipped into Nell’s apron pocket. ‘Is it a present for me from Auntie Sylvia?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Nell, casting an anxious glance at Stephen. Had he heard what Dolly had said?

He had.

He stuffed the last piece of bread into his mouth and held out his hand. ‘Whatever it is, give it here.’

Nell stepped forward and put the compact on the table, and Dolly and Tommy moved closer to the door.

‘Have you been spending my hard-earned money on this shit?’

‘No, Stephen, really I haven’t.’ She hurried over to the dresser and snatched a tin tea caddy
down from the top shelf. She held it out to him. ‘Count it. I’ve not taken a penny.’

‘You’d better not be lying to me.’ He ignored the caddy, far more interested in the compact. He opened the catch on the lid, releasing a puff of sweetly scented, powdery air. ‘And what do you want this for, anyway? Planning on going out somewhere, are you? Got yourself some bloke sniffing around after you, like you’re some bitch on heat? Someone like that little arsehole from across the landing?’

Stephen tossed the compact on the floor and slowly levered himself up off his chair.

Nell put a hand on the back of each of her children. ‘I want you two to go downstairs and play.’ She did her best to keep her voice steady, not to sound hysterical. ‘Go on. Now. Off you go the pair of you, there’s good kids.’

‘But Mum,’ complained Tommy, as she urged them towards the kitchen door. ‘We’ve only just come up. And everyone except that soapy kid from the bottom floor’s gone in for their tea. And I’m not playing with him, he wets himself. It makes him stink. It’s horrible. I hate him.’ He lowered his voice so only his mother and Dolly could hear him. ‘And I don’t want to leave you alone here with him.’

‘Then play with your sister, you little bastard.’ Stephen spat the words through clenched teeth, moving nearer to the three of them.

Nell began to shake. ‘
Just do as you’re told
,’ she yelled at the children. ‘
Right now
.’

The unlikely sound of their mother shouting at them had Tommy and Dolly heading down the stairs before Stephen had taken another step. Something was very wrong.

Martin, with an evening paper tucked under his arm and a cigarette in his hand, strolled into the courtyard; he was in no hurry to go up to the flat and have yet more words with his father, and he was fed up with seeing his mother upset by their rows. Leaving work and going home to Turnbury Buildings was becoming more like an ordeal to be dreaded rather than the pleasure to be anticipated that it had once been. But at least he might bump into Nell if he was lucky.

He threw his finished cigarette down onto the tarmac and ground it out with his heel; he’d have to sort something out soon or he’d wind up getting into a real fight with his dad, and one of them might do or say something that they wouldn’t be able to forget or forgive.

Martin looked up from the soggy straggles of tobacco sticking to the crushed and split cigarette paper, and his frown immediately disappeared as he saw young Tommy and Dolly engrossed in a very serious game of hopscotch.

Martin caught Tommy’s eye as he skipped on one leg at the top of the grid, his tongue clamped between his teeth as he concentrated on keeping his balance.

Tommy immediately put his other foot on the ground. ‘I’m only playing this because Dolly’s
got no one else to play with.’ He had to explain such shockingly effeminate behaviour –
fancy being caught playing such a soppy game, and only by Martin Lovell, the best bloke in the whole of the bloody Buildings
. ‘The big girls marked it out earlier, but they’ve all gone in for their tea.’

‘Nothing wrong with a good game,’ said Martin, ruffling Tommy’s hair. ‘Here, lend us your slate and let’s have a go.’

Tommy handed over the flat grey sliver of roofing slate that he’d picked up earlier in the courtyard. ‘Mum made us come down again,’ he said in the weary tone of someone far older than his years. ‘And we’d only just gone up. But Dad was shouting and he called me a bastard—’

‘You mustn’t say that word,’ said Dolly, looking around in case anyone had heard.

‘
And
,’ Tommy glared at his sister, ‘then Mum only started shouting at us as well, didn’t she. And she never shouts. I hate my dad; he’s horrible to us. And them twins. I wish we could live with Auntie Sylvia.’

Martin squatted down on his haunches and looked Tommy in the eye. ‘Tommy, are George and Lily up there with them in the flat now? Are they shouting as well?’

Maybe – and he could only hope – it was just one of the usual Flanagan flare-ups. There were enough of those.

‘No.’ Tommy shook his head. ‘Them two went to the flicks ages ago. Lucky sods. Wish I could go. And they went to that new lido over
Vicky Park the other day. I never go anywhere. It’s not fair, they’re horrible but they go everywhere.’

‘Here.’ Martin dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of coppers. He picked out a threepenny bit and gave it to Tommy.

‘Next best thing to the flicks, I reckon. Take this round Sarah’s and get you and Dolly some sweets. And who knows what might happen next week on Bank Holiday Monday, eh? There’s all sorts going on then – fairs and days out and going over the park for a picnic.’

Tommy couldn’t speak. Who cared about the bank holiday? A whole threepenny bit? He’d never had more than a ha’p’orth of sweets before, and that was only when Auntie Sylvia bought him and Dolly a treat. Now they’d be able to buy the whole flipping shop. He could even get one of those tuppenny Lyon’s fruit pies if he liked, he’d always fancied the look of them.

Martin gave Tommy’s hair a final ruffle, sprang up from his heels and started off towards the stairs at a trot. ‘And make sure you hold Dolly’s hand and that you give her a fair share of the sweets.’

Tommy nodded, feeling guilty about being so happy when his dad was shouting at his mum, and – momentarily – about his fruit-pie fantasy.

Martin stopped and pointed at Tommy. ‘And make sure you take a while so you choose properly. You’ve got plenty of time, so don’t rush. I’ll let your mum know where you are.’

And please don’t come back before I’ve sorted out whatever that bullying bastard’s doing to your mother this time.

With the children on their way to the corner shop, Martin sprinted over to the stairs and took them two at a time, grabbing at the banister rail to pull himself up even faster. That tosspot would have someone more than a terrified woman to deal with once he got hold of him.

After what seemed like an age, he reached the top of the stone stairway; he skated across the landing and bashed on the front door of the Flanagans’ flat.

The only reply came from Stephen. ‘Whoever you are,’ he shouted, ‘you can fuck off.’

Nothing from Nell; not a single word.

Martin shoved the door.

Locked.

There was nothing else for it. He stepped back across the landing to the stairwell, turned sideways on and then ran at the door, barging at it with his shoulder.

The wood creaked, but didn’t give way.

He snorted through his nose and tried again. The door splintered in on its hinges, creaking back against the lock.

Martin raced along the passageway to the kitchen at the back of the flat – the mirror image
of his own home – from where he could hear Stephen swearing and shouting at Nell.

From the kitchen doorway he could see her cowering on the floor by the stove while Stephen laid into her with his boot.

Martin let out an enraged roar as he threw himself across the room. He grabbed Stephen by the back of his shirt and hauled him away from Nell.

‘You spineless bastard. If you want a fight, try this on for size.’

Martin swung his arm back and, with all his force behind him, smashed his fist into Stephen’s face, splitting the man’s cheek wide open.

‘How do you like that then?’

Stephen put his fingers to the cut and examined their bloodied tips. He took a few seconds to recover from the shock that Martin was not only in his kitchen –
his kitchen
– but had actually had the gall to attack him. Then anger overtook his surprise and he hurled himself at Martin, sending him flailing backwards across the kitchen, smack into the table, which flipped over onto its side. ‘I’ll show you fight, you little fucker.’

The men fell to the ground in a writhing mass of punches.

Nell pulled herself up from the floor, grasping the stove with one hand and her ribs with the other. ‘Martin, get out.’

For a brief moment Martin was distracted, and Stephen took the opportunity to land a sharp jab to his gut. Martin gasped as the wind was
knocked out of him, but he wasn’t going to let this arrogant arsehole get away with hurting Nell. He rolled away onto his side and grabbed the leg of one of the kitchen chairs. Lifting it shakily above his head with both hands, he brought it down across Stephen’s shoulders.

Stephen, yelling in pain, curled into a ball to protect himself.

Nell staggered across to Martin and pushed away the chair before he could use it again.

‘Don’t, Martin, please. I’m begging you. Just go.’

Stephen took the opportunity to get to his feet. ‘You’ve done it now, Lovell. I’m going to get you for this. I’m going to have you when you least expect it. You are going to be sorry that you ever set eyes on me.’

Then he turned to Nell. ‘And you, you painted whore. You just wait. I’m going to have you and all.’

‘But we’re not finished here yet, Flanagan.’

‘Aw no?’ Stephen grabbed his coat from the hook on the back of the kitchen door. ‘And that front door had better be mended before I get back or you’ll be even more sorry.’ He stormed out.

Nell sank to the floor and started weeping into her hands. ‘What have you done? What have you done to me? To me and my children?’

Martin crawled across to her. ‘Don’t worry, Nell, I’ll sort it all out, I promise you.’

‘Don’t you think you’ve caused enough harm here already?’

‘No. No I don’t. I’m going to sort this out once and for all.’ He touched her hair, his eyes closed. ‘Even if it kills me.’

Nell pulled herself to her feet, picked up the chair and set it upright. ‘If he doesn’t kill me first,’ she said, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

‘I’d never let him do that, Nell, never.’

She covered her face with her hands. ‘Just go.’

With his breath back, Martin hared out onto the landing after Stephen, having to run the gauntlet of both his open-mouthed mother and Ada Tanner.

‘Martin, whatever’s going on?’ Mary called after him. ‘What were you doing in there? Why haven’t you been in for your tea? And what’s happened to Nell’s front door? Has there been a fight?’

‘Been in there with her, have you? What a trollop. Here, and what did happen to that front door then?’ Ada Tanner demanded with spiteful glee.

He ignored them both and was now at the bottom of the stairs before the much older man had even cleared the courtyard.

Stephen was slicing his way through the gaggle of children who were now all back down playing after they had finished their evening meal. Tommy and Dolly were there too, returned from Sarah’s with their mouths stuffed full of sweets.

Martin had to hold himself back from running over to protect Tommy and Dolly as they shrank away from their father – who knew what reaction that might provoke in a lunatic like him? But he
needn’t have worried, Stephen ignored his children, appeared not even to notice them. He just kept walking, leaving the two little ones standing there with their paper screws full of goodies hidden behind their backs. Young as they were, they’d learned something about how to deal with Stephen Flanagan.

Martin kept Stephen in his sights, watching him as he strode along, dabbing at his cut cheek. As he passed under the archway that marked the entrance to the Buildings, Martin saw him turn to the right.

Martin nodded to himself. The Turk’s Head down by the dock, that was where he’d be heading.

If Martin had it right, and that was where he was going, then Stephen Flanagan would be getting a bit of a surprise after he had filled himself with drink. And Martin couldn’t wait to see how he liked being treated as if he were a punchbag.

After putting on a smile for Tommy and Dolly and a cheerful hint that their mum really wouldn’t mind if they stayed downstairs and played out until it was dark and time for everyone to go indoors – he had to give Nell a chance to make herself and the flat look something like normal for the kids – Martin hurried off in pursuit of their father.

Martin had guessed Stephen’s destination correctly. With a swipe of his sleeve across his
bloodied cheek, Flanagan pushed open the door of the Turk’s Head and disappeared into the warmly lit fug.

Martin leaned back against the wall of the warehouse that stood opposite the pub and took out his cigarettes. He could wait for him for as long as it took. And it wasn’t so bad standing there enjoying the last of the evening sun; in fact, at that moment, there was nowhere else he would rather have been.

It was almost two hours later when Stephen reappeared. Martin’s eyes were used to the now late evening light, but Stephen had to squint to focus as he stepped out of the pub.

‘Oi! Flanagan.’ Martin straightened up to his full height.

Stephen peered into the twilight. ‘Is that you, Lovell? Ain’t you had enough yet, boy?’

‘Do you know, Flanagan, I reckon it is me. And no, I don’t reckon I have had enough. So what are you going to do about it?’

Stephen didn’t even trouble to check for traffic, he just hurled himself across the street. ‘This is the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your whole stupid life, Lovell.’

‘I don’t think so. I just wanted you to know that if ever you dare touch Nell again—’

Before he could finish, Stephen swung at him, a big haymaker of a punch, but Martin was too quick for him and the blow just glanced off his shoulder. Martin, head down, raised his knee,
driving it hard into the other man’s crotch. Stephen doubled over, and Martin pounced on him, locking his arm around his neck.