Rough Justice (22 page)

‘I thought you were him coming home.’

‘Fascinating.’ Lily shoved past Nell, deliberately knocking into her. ‘I’m off to bed. See you tomorrow, George.’ Then, without turning to look at Nell, Lily said to her, ‘And you’d better make sure you’ve got my breakfast ready on the table before you wake me up in the morning.’

If it hadn’t been for George standing there looming over her, Nell would have checked the children, but there was something about the way
he was staring at her that told her she had to get away from him as soon as possible, and the only place she had to go was Stephen’s bedroom.

Martin sat there on the shore, his legs bent up and his chin resting on his knees, waiting for Stephen to move, ready to give him another clout. Stephen would learn a lesson tonight about what it felt like to be frightened if it was the last thing that Martin ever did. If the man had a single ounce of sense in him, after what had happened tonight he would never touch Nell again.

‘You’re a bad man, Stephen Flanagan, do you know that? A really bad man, and you don’t see really bad people that often in life. Normal people might make mistakes, do or say stupid things, or even act like idiots, but normal people don’t behave like you, Flanagan, and normal people don’t understand why you think it’s all right to do what you do to a woman. It’s only a pity that more of them don’t speak up about it, because that’s how the likes of you get away with it. But me, I say what I think, and, do you know, I think you’re worse than an animal. No man should hit a woman, especially someone like Nell. Think about it, Flanagan – she’s kind, she’s beautiful and she loves those kids. And from what Mum says she looks after you lot like you’re all made out of gold or something. It’s not right, it’s just
not bloody right. Any other bloke would treat her like she was the special one, not expect it to work the other way round.’ He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘And that’s what she is – special. A little gem swamped by all the muck surrounding her. You and George and Lily should appreciate that girl, realise what you’ve got. Not treat her like shit.’

Martin had been watching Stephen’s chest rising and falling as he took slow shallow breaths, but now it was too dark to make out such small movements, and to his surprise the tide had turned and the water was lapping at his feet. He hadn’t realised that they’d been down there so long. It was time for them to get moving.

Against his better judgement, he hauled himself to his feet so that he could drag Stephen off the shore and away from the surging river. Bracing himself, with his feet planted firmly apart, Martin gripped Stephen by the arms.

He immediately let go of him.

Something about Stephen Flanagan didn’t feel right.

Martin squatted down and touched Stephen’s face and then his neck. He was cold, and sort of clammy. Definitely not right.

Martin dragged his fingers through his hair, wondering what to do next. He lifted one of Stephen’s arms and let it fall. Lifeless.

It was over. Stephen Flanagan was dead.

Slowly, Martin stood up and backed away, stumbling and slipping on the stony foreshore,
his eyes fixed on the shadowy outline of the motionless form before him. When he reached the waterman’s steps leading up to the alley, he took them in just three leaps.

Back on the roadway, Martin sprinted towards home as if the lost souls of every cutlass-wielding pirate who had ever sailed up the London river were all chasing after him.

The moment the alarm went off, Nell’s eyes blinked open and she was immediately thinking about her children. The ringing of the clock and the clattering of the marbles on the tin plate hadn’t disturbed Stephen, but still she moved slowly as she turned to look at his side of the bed – just to make sure that he was still asleep.

She frowned, puzzled. Stephen wasn’t there. And not only was he not there, there wasn’t even a dent in his pillow. What was going on?

Nell pushed herself up on her elbows to look more closely, wincing at the soreness of her bruises, but distracted from the pain by the mystery of where Stephen could be. Since the twins had taken over the stalls he never got up before half past eight at the earliest.

All she could think of was that he couldn’t have come home last night.

Maybe Ada Tanner was telling the truth for once in her life, and he really was going with someone else. Her first reaction was to hope that it was true, hope it was true with all her heart, as maybe that would mean he would lose interest in her once and for all and she’d be free at last from his groping hands, even when he was drunk. But
she had to be sensible. Say he did decide to move another woman into the Buildings? What would it mean for her and the children? Would Stephen throw them out? He was certainly heartless enough; and if he did, where would they go? How would they live?

In moments of wild fantasising about running off and leaving him, Nell had checked in the
East London Observer
to see how much it would cost to rent a room for her and the children. The fantasy hadn’t lasted very long. Because they had nowhere to go, the welfare people would be sure to start prying. Then they’d take the children away from her and put them in some terrible place like the home that she had so hated, but which had been the only home she had known throughout her childhood, and, in the end, had not wanted to leave. Say her children felt the same and they didn’t want to leave the place they were sent to, even if she did eventually find somewhere for them all to live together?

Nell threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, fighting to keep her panic under control. She would not let anyone take Tommy and Dolly from her, she’d make sure of that. So she would keep Stephen happy, do whatever he wanted, and that way she would keep a roof over her children’s heads. And she would make sure she was nice to Lily and George. They could be so vicious, but she would get them on her side. That could make all the difference, because if they weren’t kicking up a fuss, Stephen didn’t pay
them much attention. So she’d make sure they had nothing to make a fuss about.

Still struggling to calm herself, Nell closed her eyes. If she tried really hard, then everything would be OK – her children would have a roof over their heads and they’d have food in their stomachs, and a mother to love them. There’d be no children’s home for them. Never. She would do anything to protect them. It was simple, she now had a plan, and that was what she’d do. Without any fuss or upsetting anyone, she’d just make them all realise they couldn’t cope without her.

Nell opened her eyes and stood up, her new resolve making her feel oddly peaceful.

Nell knocked gently on Lily’s door. ‘Breakfast in two minutes, Lil, and there’s a nice clean towel in the kitchen and a basin of hot water waiting for you ready for your wash.’

Lily opened her door, her fashionable bob not looking quite so sleek after the disturbed sleep she’d had as a result of all the port and lemons she’d sunk the night before.

She eyed Nell suspiciously. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Nelly girl, with all your sweet talk, but if you’re taking the piss out of me or something, you do know you’ll regret it, don’t you?’

Nell smiled. ‘Just glad to be up and about on a lovely morning like this, Lily, that’s all. I’ll go and wake up George now, shall I?’

Lily’s only reply was to slam the bedroom door in Nell’s face.

After the twins had moped about, moaning and complaining, and had then dragged themselves off to work – neither of them had thought to ask when or even if their father had come home – Nell left the children sleeping while she cleaned the rest of the flat with even more care than usual. Satisfied at last with her efforts, she then woke Tommy and Dolly, helped them wash and dress, and gave them thick slices of toast for their breakfast, just like Sylvia used to make for her, but with marge instead of butter – that was only for Stephen and the twins. She then ushered them down the stairs to play. When he eventually came home, Stephen was going to have no reason to find fault in anything she had done – no reason at all. It would all be perfect. The place would be spotless, the children would be out of his way playing down in the courtyard and she’d have made him something special for his tea – fat pork chops with mash and gravy, he loved that. She’d go round to the butcher in Wapping Lane, he did lovely pork down there. She could juggle the money to pay for a couple of really nice ones; she didn’t mind getting by on a few slices of bread.

But despite all her resolve, Nell still couldn’t help fretting about what was going to happen when Stephen did come home. She only hoped that, as sometimes happened, his temper had blown itself out like the wind when it came
howling up the river threatening a gale but then coming to nothing, just as if it had changed its mind.

Red-eyed from lack of sleep, Nell opened the front door. It had been five days now since Stephen had gone missing, so she wasn’t exactly surprised that it wasn’t him standing there as if nothing had happened, looking like a wreck and ravenous for a meal that she would be expected to rustle up from nowhere. In fact, she was so worn out, she wasn’t even surprised that it was Sylvia waiting to greet her as if nothing had happened between them.

‘Hello, Nell, sweetheart,’ she said, speaking as if she’d been set on double speed. ‘I know you sent me that letter, but I know you didn’t really mean it, and as it’s Bank Holiday Monday in a couple of days, I was wondering if you’d let me take the kids out for a few hours. We could have a laugh. Like me and you used to have. I could take them over to Blackheath to the fair. Or to the pictures. Or even over the lido if it’s a nice day. Southend on the train, or maybe the boat. How about it? You could come and all if you like. And don’t worry, it’ll be my treat.’

Sylvia reached out to take Nell’s hand, but Nell pulled away.

‘I don’t want to be rude, Sylvia, but you know
you’re not welcome here. Thank you for coming round but it wouldn’t be right. Not after you upsetting Stephen like that.’ Nell couldn’t bear to look Sylvia in the eye. ‘And I meant every single word that I wrote in the letter.’

Nell tried to close the door, but Sylvia, little as she was, kept it open with her shoulder.

‘Nell, please don’t do this. I wasn’t going to mention it because I didn’t want to upset you, but Bernie told me about Stephen going missing, and I’ve been out of my mind worrying about you. Please let me do something – anything – to help you.’

Nell didn’t reply, which made Sylvia relax a little – at least she’d stopped trying to close the door on her. ‘Still no news from him?’

Nell shook her head.

‘So where’s Laurel and Hardy?’

No reply.

‘Sorry, that was unkind. I should have asked, where’s Lily and George?’

‘On the stall.’

‘They’re obviously worried sick about their father then.’

‘They’ve got to go to work, Sylvia.’

‘Yeah, sorry again. Me and my big mouth. That was below the belt. It’s them twins, they . . . Aw, you know.’

‘This is so hard for me, Sylv.’

The two young women stood there at the door with so much to say to one another, but with neither of them speaking and the silence
beginning to build between them like a brick wall. Suddenly the silence was broken, but not by Sylvia or Nell.

‘Good afternoon, ladies.’

Sylvia turned round to see who had spoken. She took a step back when she saw two uniformed police officers standing there on the landing. Nell stared at them over Sylvia’s shoulder.

‘Would one of you be Mrs Flanagan?’ said the taller of the officers.

‘This is the lady you want,’ said Sylvia.

‘Are you a friend?’ asked the other.

Sylvia nodded. ‘I like to think so.’

‘Good, well then I think it would be very helpful if you came in with us while we have a word with Mrs Flanagan here, because we have some news for her.’

As Sylvia and the police officers followed a reluctant Nell along the passageway towards the kitchen, Ada Tanner opened the door of Number 56. She had seen the two men enter the courtyard through the arch when she had been nosing out of the window, and had then watched with mounting speculation as they made their way straight for her block. And now they were actually up on her landing. She was about to burst with curiosity. In Ada’s book coppers only ever meant one thing: bad news, and Ada was damned sure she would be amongst the first to hear what it was.

Sylvia busied herself making a pot of tea, doing her best to look as if she wasn’t listening to the conversation that was going on across the kitchen table between Nell and the two policemen.

Nell, shoulders slumped and hands in her lap, asked softly, ‘But how do they know it was Stephen?’

‘When they finally managed to drag the body out from under the . . .’ The officer checked himself. ‘I apologise, Mrs Flanagan, excuse me, when they found your husband under the wharf in Limehouse, we had the details you supplied to the local constable about his gold teeth. They matched perfectly. And then there was the wallet inside his jacket pocket. Apart from all the money he had on him, there was what we soon realised was a stack of betting slips. We made some enquiries, talked to the lads from various stations and it wasn’t long before we put two and two together. Now we just need you to come over to the mortuary in Poplar to make a positive identification, but I have to warn you it won’t be pleasant.’

Nell frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

The policemen exchanged looks, eyebrows raised.

‘Mrs Flanagan, we think your husband had been in the water for some time, maybe up to as much as a week, and so the body’s going to be—’

‘No, I don’t mean that, I mean about the betting slips, and you said
all the money
. Stephen wasn’t as badly off as some round here, but he was far from what you’d call well off. So what money? How much are you talking about? And where did it come from?’

‘Mrs Flanagan,’ the other policeman said, his voice dripping with cynicism. ‘Your husband was a bookie’s runner, working near the markets. Are you telling us that you had no knowledge of what he was doing?’