Rough Justice (8 page)

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Sylvia said, flashing a look over her shoulder at Stephen, who was standing outside on the frosty pavement with his hands in his pockets and his chin in the air. He looked, to Sylvia’s eyes, as if he thought he owned the place.

‘How exactly do you think he’s going to pay for this pitch he’s going after in the market?’

‘I don’t believe it’s my place to think about it, Sylvia. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go, Stephen’s waiting.’

Feeling helpless, Sylvia could only watch as Nell walked off along the street with Stephen Flanagan. OK, the man seemed really taken with Nell, but as Bernie said, what man wouldn’t be?
But why didn’t the girl wonder where someone like him, a washed-up casual from the docks, could find the money for the pitch? Since he’d started making a play for Nell, Sylvia had wondered constantly about where the cash could possibly have come from, and now she had more than a good idea. And she didn’t much like it.

Nell had been to the Petticoat Lane market on Sunday mornings before, she’d gone with Sylvia on clothes-hunting expeditions, and she had loved every brightly coloured, overexcited minute of the whole experience. But never had the market seemed as wonderful as it did today. With only a few weeks left until Christmas, the streets were heaving, and alongside all the regular stallholders and the pavement traders selling their herrings, beigels and cucumbers from wooden barrels and baskets, there were stalls stacked high with festive decorations, brightly painted tin toys and glowing, foil-wrapped sweetmeats and fruits. They were perfect for filling Christmas stockings like the ones Nell had seen in books, and, making it all seem even more magical, the gloomy December morning light had been banished by the naphtha lamps that lit up the market with a soft warm glow. She was so looking forward to having what Sylvia called a ‘real Christmas’ for once – something she had never experienced before.

And she was with Stephen Flanagan.

It was so exciting, nearly all the stallholders
seemed to know him, and they acknowledged him as he walked by with a nod of the head, a lift of the chin or a call of: ‘All right, Steve-o?’

He replied in turn with a slight lift of his eyebrows or a flash of a thumbs up – no words, simply gestures.

Then there were the winks and looks directed at Nell, and the saucy observations about the old so-and-so Stephen Flanagan finding such a looker for himself, and how it must all be down to the luck of the Irish.

Nell felt as if she were walking along the street with a film star – a glamorous man just like the ones Sylvia had taken her to see on the newsreels. And, although she couldn’t understand why, that glamour was somehow rubbing off on her.

Then, when they came to a greengrocer’s stall that was close to the corner of where Wentworth Street met Middlesex Street, Stephen suddenly stopped.

‘You wait here,’ he said to Nell, indicating that she should stand by the corner of the stall, then he went round the back where a stooped elderly man was serving alongside a young lad.

‘Solly, you look frozen, old mate,’ said Stephen, holding out his hand to the older man, whose gnarled arthritic fingers were sticking out from the fraying ends of knitted fingerless gloves.

Stephen flexed his shoulders. ‘Got time to discuss that bit of business we talked about?’

Solly nodded and indicated that Stephen should join him further back on the pavement.
Nell, left to her own devices, could only stand there and stare at Solly’s miserable-looking young assistant as he selected, weighed and bagged customers’ orders from the mounds of fruit and vegetables.

Solly beckoned for Stephen to come closer until they were standing almost nose to nose.

‘We discussed the price, but you do know you have to pay the premium to the – ’ He paused, looking about him. ‘
Special fund
when you take over the pitch, don’t you, Steve-o?’

‘Course I do.’

‘And you do know who the enforcer is, don’t you? The one who’ll be expecting the payment and who’ll turn very nasty if you ever forget?’

‘Would I be right in thinking that it might be a Mr Jack Spot?’

‘Keep your voice down, will you?’ Solly could only imagine that the man didn’t believe what everyone had heard about Jack Spot. ‘Listen Steve-o, that bloke’s used to dealing with us nice placid Jewish fellers and girls in the market. He won’t be very happy if some big-mouthed lump of an Irishman starts broadcasting his private arrangements out loud to any passing schmuck.’

‘I’m not a fool, Solly.’ Stephen winked and lifted his chin towards Nell. ‘I wouldn’t have that one in tow if I was, now would I?’

‘But you watch out all the same. Spot’s not the sort to give a person a second chance. And, you
have to believe me, the stories you’ve heard about him are all true.’ He held up a finger to Stephen’s face. ‘And this is our debt cancelled.’

‘It is.’

‘All of it? Every last penny?’

‘All of it.’

Stephen spat on his palm and held out his hand to Solly, and that was it, it was over. Stephen was being patted on the back, and being shaken firmly by the hand by Solly. The assistant sniffed in bored response, apparently not realising or not caring that his job might soon be gone and he would be joining all the other unemployed cockneys who were pointlessly seeking work in what was supposed to be the greatest capital city in the whole world.

Nell knew it was nothing to do with her, but Sylvia had put ideas into her head and she couldn’t help but wonder why this man would let Stephen buy his pitch. She knew from talk in the pub and from listening to the wireless how hard it was for people to get work.

She watched as Stephen started talking again, but from where she was standing she wasn’t able to make out what he was saying. She would have been even more puzzled if she had heard his words.

‘Solly, you have my word on it, old son. And although you’re settling a debt here, I am still going to make sure you get a nice little drink out of this, cos you have no idea how much I appreciate it.’

Nell saw Solly smiling, but he looked more cynical than amused.

‘Matter of fact, Steve-o, I think I have a very good idea. With nothing doing down the dock, I’ll bet you’ve been scratching your head wondering how to cover up where the money’s coming from.’

Stephen’s grin looked far more convincing. ‘How did a clever man like you wind up in so much debt?’

Solly shrugged. ‘Gambling, it’s a bok. You know what they say – better to be born lucky than to be born clever. But let’s be happy today.’ He took Stephen’s face in his hands, his ratty gloves rough on the younger man’s cheeks. ‘You won’t have no trouble now, Steve-o,’ he whispered into Stephen’s ear. ‘Everyone knows there’s no such thing as a poor market trader – except if you’re a fool like me, of course. Trouble is, my friend, you’re going to have to put in some very long hours. Or maybe you could get those twins of yours doing their bit for their father.’

Now Stephen’s grin seemed forced. ‘Them two? Our George wouldn’t know a day’s work if it bit him on the arse, and as for Lily I’ve never seen the girl out of bed before dinnertime, let alone work.’

‘You’re going to be in for a shock then, Steve-o, I’m telling you.’

‘How hard can it be?’

Solly looked at his dour assistant, and waved a hand at Stephen. ‘How long d’you give him
before he learns how hard market trading really is?’

That actually had the miserable lad cracking a snaggle-toothed smile.

‘Why don’t you give them a shake then?’

‘Never had any cause. Their mother left when they were kids, and they just got on with things in their own way.’

‘Believe me, I understand you don’t want your kids to suffer, but we’re talking about them helping you earn a living here.’

‘If I want advice on how to raise my family—’

‘I spoke out of turn, and I apologise, Steve-o, but give it a few weeks and I guarantee you’ll change your tune.’

Nell didn’t know what was going on, but she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. How long was this going to take? She’d only just got used to all the noisy racket and banter in the pub, but at least in there she had Sylvie to protect her and – how did Sylvie put it? – to ‘kid her along’. She wasn’t used to all this row going on around her while she was left standing alone.

But then, before Nell knew what was happening, Stephen had let go of Solly’s hand, and had taken her by the elbow – nothing too intimate, but sort of protective she thought – and now he was steering her towards the Ten Bells pub on the corner of Commercial and Fournier Street.

‘Where are we going?’ she said, skipping out of the path of a gruff-looking man with a handcart piled high with root vegetables.

‘I think it’s time to celebrate,’ he said, pushing open the pub door.

‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ Nell whispered, ‘but I have to get back to the Hope. I didn’t realise it was opening time. Sylv’ll be expecting me and I’d hate to let her down after all she’s done for me. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.’

‘Surely even Sylvia wouldn’t begrudge you a drink to toast your engagement?’

She stopped dead. ‘My what?’

‘Your engagement. You and me, Nell, we’re getting engaged. I’m going to be right busy, what with having to sort out the new stall, so I thought we might as well get on with it. And sooner rather than later. Never saw any point in mucking around.’

He lifted his hand to the barmaid. ‘Pint of mild and bitter and a lemonade over here, girl. Quick as you like, I’m spitting feathers.’

Stephen kept his eye on the barmaid as she poured the drinks, watching to make sure he got his full measure and not a quick top-up from the slops tray. He’d seen her cheating people on a Sunday morning before.

‘The twins are bound to be off before long, so I thought you might as well move into Turnbury Buildings with me. Don’t see any point in hanging about. Never have. It’s not my way. And I’m sure you feel the same about me as I do about you. You’re a pretty girl, Nell, a right pretty girl, and I’ve seen you working – you’re a grafter and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, I
admire that. And I’m fed up with being lonely. You know what that’s like, Nell, don’t you, coming from the home and everything. So, how about it? Us getting engaged? Cos I know it’s what I want.’

Nell put her hand to her mouth. Had she heard him right? ‘Do you mean engaged, like engaged to be married?’ she asked through her fingers.

‘Sort of, yeah.’ Stephen sniffed, considering his words. ‘But there can’t be no marriage, of course, because even though she might have run out on me and her own children, I’m still married to my Violet, remember. So you won’t be able to go setting your heart on no wedding day or anything like that. But how about it? Me and you?’

Nell was astonished; this man actually wanted her. It would be just like having a family of her own, and she’d have her very own place to live and everything. And it wasn’t as if he had any choice about getting married properly – not for now, at least. But who knew what might happen in the future?

She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded and took a sip of her lemonade.

A week later, Sylvia stood grim-faced behind the bar of the Hope and Anchor, while Bernie made sure that everyone had a drink in their hand to celebrate Stephen and Nell’s engagement – their ‘happy day’, as everyone except Sylvia seemed to be calling it. There was no denying it, Nell looked beautiful. She was wearing a simple ivory satin sheath dress and matching coat, adorned with the pearl and gold brooch, Sylvia’s fox-fur stole that she’d loaned her for the day, and a little veiled hat that was just right – unlike this sham of an engagement that couldn’t even lead to a marriage, and most definitely wasn’t right in any way at all.

Since Nell had come bursting into the pub last Sunday with her supposedly good news, Sylvia had done everything she could think of to make her see sense, to persuade her that it was ridiculous even to contemplate getting engaged to Stephen rotten Flanagan. But in her usual sweet way Nell had told Sylvia not to worry about her, and that moving in with Stephen would be just like being given a ready-made family – perfect. Even God would forgive her, Nell went on, as he would understand that
Stephen couldn’t help it that his wife had run away from him and his poor children.

Sylvia thought, but didn’t have the heart to say, that it wasn’t God she was bloody worried about, and having two kids who were at least four years older than you – if not more – was hardly having a ready-made family.

‘Come on, Sylv,’ Bernie said, nudging his wife, as he pulled yet another pint. ‘At least it’ll give her a bit of security, and Stephen’s right taken with her, anyone can see that. And, be fair, you couldn’t expect the kid to stay here with us for the rest of her natural.’

‘You said it, Bern – she’s a kid. Just a kid. And he’s a dirty old man. Our Nelly deserves better than him. Much better.’

‘Well, I think she should be thanking her lucky stars. For a start he’s got that place in Turnbury Buildings. Little palaces everyone says they are. Even got their own lavs and a communal wash house.’

Sylvia looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. ‘You’ve never even washed a rotten handkerchief, so what do you know about wash houses? Communal or bloody otherwise.’

He shrugged. ‘I hear people talking. Cos people do talk in boozers, you know. And she won’t have to go carting stuff down the public baths like she does for us no more.’

‘No, but guess who’ll be using the
communal wash house
morning, noon and night? My little Nelly, that’s who. She’ll be nothing more than a
skivvy for the three of them, you just wait and see.’

‘She’s not much more than that here really, is she Sylv?’ Bernie handed the foaming glass across the counter to a customer keen to get his share of this unexpected Sunday lunchtime bounty. ‘The girl don’t stop.’

‘She’s paid for what she does here. Full board and a fair wage, and I know you treat her well – and don’t look at me like that, she told me, in case I expected her to pay it back out of what I give her. And I’ve bought her all them new clothes and got her hair cut all nice for her. You watch, she’ll be ground down by him in no time. And them two lousy kids of his’ll find a way to take advantage of her good nature, you can guarantee it. It’s not right, Bernie, you’ve got to put a stop to it. He’s not even bought her a bloody ring. Nell told me the tight sod hadn’t had time.’