Sons and Daughters (17 page)

‘How does that look?’ he asked once.

‘As if you’re tied up in knots,’ said the pro, ‘but you’re coming along.’

‘Thanks for the kind words,’ said Jimmy.

Eventually, the pro said, ‘I like it now.’ And he teed up a ball for Jimmy. ‘Hit it,’ he said.

Jimmy took his time to address the little round white devil. Then he swung the club. The ball, smacked clean and hard, travelled into what Jimmy considered infinity.

‘Well, how about that?’ he said.

‘Congratulations, but only a beginning,’ said the pro. ‘Hit another.’

For the rest of the hour’s tuition, Jimmy swung
at one ball after another. If some drives were patchy, others were exhilarating, and he had no air shots. The pro told him he had promise, but would have to play regularly or have regular practice lessons if he wanted to master the game. Jimmy told him what a good bloke he was, and they had a drink together, Jimmy standing treat.

‘Are you going to take up golf, Jimmy?’ asked Susie after supper that evening.

‘I doubt it,’ said Jimmy.

‘Why the lesson today, then?’ asked Polly.

‘Just to find out if I could hit a ball,’ said Jimmy.

‘Ah,’ said Sammy, sort of knowingly.

‘Ah, well,’ said Boots, tanned to a deep brown, which made Polly think in warlike terms about certain women who’d been giving him the eye on the beach.

‘Nothing to do with the girl,’ said Jimmy, ‘just for my own satisfaction.’

‘Yes, of course, Jimmy love,’ said Susie.

‘There’s a lot of winking going on,’ said Jimmy.

‘Ah, well,’ said Polly.

‘I’m looking at you, Aunt Polly,’ said Jimmy.

‘I cherish your admiration, Jimmy old lad,’ said Polly.

Later that night. Much later. Past one o’clock in the morning, in fact.

Belsize Park slumbered in the darkness. Sparky Dewdrop and Large Lump were wide awake, Large Lump keeping watch as Sparky went to work. The
gates of the high wire perimeter were closed, a chain and padlock in place. Sparky fiddled with the padlock, using a stout darning needle. A little click signalled success. Carefully he removed the padlock and parted the chain. He cast cautious glances.

‘All clear, Sparky mate,’ whispered Large Lump.

‘Stop shouting,’ hissed Sparky.

‘Shouting?’ said Large Lump, affronted. ‘Me?’

‘Good as,’ sniffed Sparky. The coast clear, he gently opened the left-hand gate. ‘Right,’ he breathed, taking his oversized carpet bag from Large Lump, ‘come inside, close the gate and stand there. Don’t want you looking untidy by standing outside. Keep yer mince pies peeled. Got it?’

‘I ain’t daft,’ whispered Large Lump. He entered the forecourt with Sparky, and closed the gate silently. Sparky, rubber soles softly treading, made for the double doors of the factory. There were two Yale locks. His torch was in the carpet bag, and he left it there while he applied himself to springing the locks.

That took less than a minute. He opened one door, picked up the bag, and inserted himself soundlessly into the gap. He stood and listened. Not a sound. Good-oh. Interference on a job like this could damage his career which, after all, was only injurious to insurance companies loaded with the ready.

He closed the door, gently set the carpet bag on the floor, opened it and extracted his torch. Facing the wide passage, dark as the night, there were no
windows at his back, and he switched on the torch. Its beam cut a bright hole in the darkness and illuminated a large sliding door on which was painted a notice.

‘WORKSHOP AND STOCKROOM. NO UNAUTHORIZED ADMITTANCE.’

Very right and proper, thought Sparky, but I’m under contract.

Picking up his bag, he advanced, sniffing a bit, but otherwise in sound working order. A door opened on his right, a light flooded on, and a thunderbolt fell on the back of his neck.

Sparky dropped, out cold.

At the gate outside, Large Lump was suddenly aware that one of the factory’s windows was showing light. Eh? Sparky wasn’t noted for turning on lights when doing a job. It advertised the kind of thing that the law didn’t like. The law was as interfering as the rozzers.

The factory entrance doors opened. Framed in the gap, with light behind him, was a broad-shouldered man, nothing like narrow-shouldered Sparky. He shouted a command.

‘You there, stay where you are!’

‘Flaming clappers, it’s Scotland Yard in a suit,’ hissed Large Lump to the night. The night offered no help, so he opened the gate and set off like a galumphing elephant with a scalded tail. He breathed bitter words about what his horoscope was doing to him lately.

He charged into the night.

Neither Michal Greenberg nor his brother Jacob
followed. They were quite happy with having downed the man with the carpet bag.

‘He’s coming to,’ said Jacob.

‘Give him some of the coffee,’ said Michal.

‘His mouth isn’t open yet,’ said Jacob.

‘Pour it over his head,’ said Michal, ‘then we’ll ask him a few questions. If he turns out to be a Nazi as well as a threat to Tommy and Sammy Adams, we’ll torture him.’

‘I should do that?’ said Jacob. ‘I’m declining.’

‘We’ll only pour hot coffee over his assets,’ said Michal.

‘I ain’t declining that,’ said Jacob.

Saturday
.

Tommy, having received a telephone call from Michal at seven, arrived at the factory some fifteen minutes ahead of Gertie and the machinists, who always travelled from the East End by the underground railway.

Michal and Jacob, a little heavy-eyed from their long night, introduced Tommy to the slick, skinny geezer whose monicker was Cyril Jenkins and who, under some direly threatening interrogation, had admitted to the nickname of Sparky Dewdrop, and to having been contracted by Mr Ben Ford to do an arson job on the factory.

‘You lump of skinny meat, I’ve a good mind to tread your face in,’ said Tommy. He was tall, sturdy and muscular enough, as well as grim enough, to make Sparky feel the messenger of death had arrived to do him a fatal injury. Gawd help us, he thought, that could kill me.

‘Honest, guv,’ he said, ‘I know it don’t look too good, but I got to earn an honest living. Well, it’s
honest use of me talents, and there’s me missus and five kids – no, six – to keep.’

‘What a barrowload of wet winkles,’ said Tommy. ‘You’re an out-and-out crook, and your missus ought to run you through her mangle until you’re flat all the way up and down, then slip you down a kerbside drain.’

‘Mangle?’ said Sparky, whose head was still aching from the chop he’d received on the back of his neck hours ago. ‘She don’t use one of them antiques, guv, she sends all the washing to the local laundry. Course, it costs a bit, which costs me a bit, and what with that and all the other expenses, you can see I got to make a name for meself at me profession.’

‘By doing dirty jobs for ugly spivs like Ben Ford?’ said Tommy, scowling.

‘Well, I grant yer, guv, Mr Ford ain’t exactly handsome,’ said Sparky, ‘and I promise yer, you give me permission to go on me way and I’ll cross him off me list. On behalf of me missus and all me kids – oh, I nearly forgot, there’s me old widowed mother and her wooden left leg as well—’

‘Has he been like this all night?’ asked Tommy of Michal and Jacob.

‘He would’ve been if we hadn’t stuffed his socks into his tonsils,’ said Jacob.

‘Guv, I ain’t telling no lies,’ said Sparky, sniffing. ‘Me dear old mother lost her left leg when one of them ’orrible doodlebugs dropped in Kennington. It was there one minute, next to her right one, and a second later it was gone. She never
found it, and had a terrible job getting to hospital. Still, they fixed her up with her wooden peg, and seeing she relies on me, like me missus does, and me kids, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention me name to the cops. I’ve—’

‘Shut your gob,’ said Tommy. He heard the machinists arriving. ‘Michal, on your way home, could you deliver this heap of no-good cabbage back to the Fat Man? With a message?’

‘No sooner said than done, Mister Tommy,’ said Michal. ‘We’ll use his car. It’s parked a little way down.’

Sparky shook his head gloomily.

‘Mr Ford ain’t going to like it,’ he said. ‘Still, no cops, guv?’

‘Next time there will be, you squirt,’ said Tommy.

‘You’re a gent,’ said Sparky, ‘specially as these two coves give me a terrible night. Didn’t sleep a wink – ouch!’ Michal had kicked his thigh. ‘’Ere, what’s that for?’

‘For your old mother’s wooden leg,’ said Michal.

Breakfast over, and with Cornwall bathed in morning sunshine, Jimmy took a walk up Daymer Lane while everyone else made preparations for another day on the beach. Jimmy had holiday cards to post for himself and the two families. The little post office of Trebetherick that sold newspapers, tobacco, confectionery and gifts was at the top of the lane, and the walk was an exercise of the will for people who spent most of the year inhabiting
the flat streets of inner London. Jimmy, however, living on Denmark Hill, made easy work of the climb.

He popped into the shop to buy penny stamps for the cards, and who should be there but none other than gorgeous Jenny Osborne, and what a picture postcard she herself looked in the tail-tied RAF shirt and hip-hugging, thigh-hugging navy blue shorts.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said.

‘Are you following me about?’ she asked, face browned by the sun and the sea air.

‘Definitely not,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ve been brought up by a dad who believes in leading, not following. Leading means initiative and a bright future, and who gets anywhere by just following?’

‘Well, you’ve got here, which isn’t anywhere, it’s suspicious,’ said Jenny. ‘What have you come for, anyway, if not to ask me for my home phone number?’

‘I’ve come for stamps,’ said Jimmy.

‘Stamps?’ said Jenny.

‘Postage stamps for holiday cards,’ said Jimmy. ‘What’ve you come for?’

‘Stamps,’ said Jenny, and laughed. ‘And a straw hat for the beach.’

‘Here’s one,’ said Jimmy, lifting a round white creation with a wide brim from a shelf. ‘Try it for yourself, it’ll suit you better than it’ll suit the beach. Do beaches wear hats?’

‘You’re killing me,’ said Jenny, but she took the hat and plonked it on her head. Jimmy thought it
made her look like the spirit of Mayfair in the summer. ‘How’s that?’ she asked.

‘Buy it,’ said Jimmy, and watched as she took a mirror out of her handbag and studied her reflection.

‘Love it,’ she said, ‘I will buy it. What led you to choose it?’

‘Initiative,’ said Jimmy.

‘There’s a clever boy.’

‘I’m wearing trousers,’ said Jimmy.

‘Oh, very manly,’ said Jenny, and she paid for the straw hat. ‘Well, I must be off, Jimmy, me and my lot are going sailing off Rock today, with my father and his yacht.’

‘Sounds breezy,’ said Jimmy.

‘Not too breezy, I hope,’ said Jenny, ‘or Barry will get seasick again. That and a sprained ankle, what a buffoon. So long – oh, d’you want to try a round of golf again tomorrow?’

Jimmy experienced a mental shudder, then thought about the hour he’d spent with the club professional and what he might be able to achieve in company with stunning Jenny.

‘I’ll chance it if you will,’ he said.

‘See you at the pro’s shop at two tomorrow afternoon, then,’ said Jenny.

‘By the way, what’s your home phone number?’ asked Jimmy.

‘I didn’t hear that,’ said Jenny, and off she went.

Jimmy bought his stamps and some more picture postcards for his mum and Aunt Polly, then returned to the cottage, where he found everyone
ready for another day in Cornwall’s balmy sea air.

He imparted the news of a second go at golf.

‘Hello,’ said Sammy, ‘something’s cooking.’

‘Something is,’ said Susie.

‘So it should be,’ said Polly.

‘Crikey,’ said Phoebe, ‘is she getting keen on you, Jimmy?’

‘I can truthfully say I’m doubtful,’ said Jimmy.

‘Ah,’ said Sammy.

‘Ah, well,’ said Boots.

‘Ah, my eye,’ said Jimmy.

Large Lump was in another difficult position in trying to explain one more failure to Mr Ford. The Fat Man listened to details, including an assertion that Sparky Dewdrop, very unfortunate, had been copped by a bloke who looked like Scotland Yard in a suit. Large Lump also asserted that it all pointed very suspicious, like, at an interfering informer, as he’d mentioned before.

‘I tell yer, guv, the plain clothes cops was waiting for us,’ he said. ‘Large as life. And seeing I couldn’t do nothing for poor old Sparky, I scarpered double quick.’

‘You half-baked rissole, you’re giving me a pain in my posterior,’ said Fat Man, and looked at his gold pocket watch. ‘It’s gone eleven. Why didn’t you report at nine?’

‘Have a heart, guv, I didn’t get home till four in the morning,’ said Large Lump. ‘I ain’t never felt more worn out. So I flopped, didn’t I? I only woke up half an hour ago.’

‘Listen, are you telling me the cops have got Sparky Dewdrop for definite?’ asked Fat Man.

‘I’m telling yer it’s a fact, guv,’ said Large Lump.

‘Because you saw some geezer in a suit?’

‘Well, it was dark and the light was behind him,’ said Large Lump, ‘but I could make out he was wearing a suit, and he hollered at me to stay where I was so he could finger me collar.’

‘He said exactly that, did he?’

‘Not exactly, guv, but sort of good as. Yus, “Stay where you are.” That’s what he said. Hollered it at me.’

‘And you didn’t think it might have been Tommy Adams, Sammy’s ’orrible brother?’

‘Eh?’ Large Lump looked vague. He’d been a bit slow on the uptake since he’d been conked by a beer mug in a pub brawl. ‘Eh?’

‘Tommy Adams, I said, didn’t I?’ Fat Man’s growl sounded like bacon frying.

‘Well, it could’ve been, I suppose,’ said Large Lump. His brain worked then. ‘Mind, I got to point out that Sparky ain’t showed up. So I ask yer, guv, why ain’t he?’

At which precise moment, the door opened and the bruiser Rollo appeared.

‘Someone to see yer, Mr Ford,’ he said.

‘Got an appointment, has he?’ said Fat Man irritably.

The door was pushed wider open, and Sparky Dewdrop entered at a lurching stagger, having been shoved in. He was followed by Mr Greenberg’s sturdy stepsons, Michal and Jacob, who made
short work of Rollo’s attempt to get in their way.