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Tilly had a look on her face halfway between disbelief and despair. ‘It looks like a bleedin’ piana,’ she roared at him. ‘Don’t dare tell me that you’ve paid good money fer it.’
Jack knew that before Tilly got worked up enough over wasted cash to launch herself at him he must stop teasing her and reveal his good news. In fact he’d no need to say anything at all. He simply shoved a hand in a pocket. When it reappeared it held several pound notes.
For once in her life Tilly Keiver was momentarily dumb-founded. They were stationed on the pavement just outside their home. At the kerb was a cart that Jack had just pulled up the road. Tilly had seen him from the window when he came round the corner from Paddington Street. After a stunned few minutes gawping at her husband ferrying a gleaming piano on an old cart she’d flown down the stairs to confront him over it. Her eyes darted about the street as though she reckoned someone might be close by and spot her husband had a wad in his pocket. As far as she knew Jack had been working as a runner for a bookie because nothing better had presented itself. That paid shillings not pounds. ‘Put that away for Gawd’s sake,’ she squealed.
Jack obligingly shoved the cash back where it came from but said, ‘Let ’em see. I come by it fair ‘n’ square.’
‘Did you now?’ Tilly sounded sceptical. ‘What you done? You pulled a stunt?’
‘No . . . I ain’t pulled a stunt. I ain’t been gambling neither. I got work, Til. I got good work from Basher Payne.’
Basher Payne had started out with just one horse and cart. He now owned half a dozen and hired them out. He also owned doss houses in Campbell Road and the surrounding streets. He protected his little empire fiercely despite the fact he stood little more than five feet four inches tall, and had earned the name and reputation of a formidable fighter.
‘What work’s he given you?’ Tilly eyed her husband suspiciously.
‘I’ve been painting out his places in George’s Road ’cos the sanitary inspector’s been in and condemned ’em. I started Monday. I kept it as a surprise for you. He’s pleased as punch with what I’ve done so far.’ Spontaneously Jack pulled Tilly in to a hug. ‘He paid me this on account.’
Energetically Tilly elbowed free of her husband’s embrace, not yet convinced that such good luck could be theirs. She needed more information. ‘So you got a job off Basher and a sub off him so thought you’d buy a joeyanna with it to celebrate.’
‘Why not?’ Jack asked simply. ‘You want a bit of a drink and a laugh, don’t you?’ He grinned at her. ‘Well, I don’t mind if I join in. No need to go down the Duke all the time. We can have a few bottles and a singsong right here. The kids can stay home instead of dawdling in the corridor of the Duke or out on the pavement.’ He plunged a hand into his pocket and scrunched the notes till they crackled. ‘Ain’t as if I spent it all. Supper from the chippy tonight. Kids’ll like that.’
‘Yer daft git,’ Tilly said quite affectionately. ‘We ain’t got room enough upstairs to swing a cat and you bring us home this monstrosity. Where we gonna put it? Out on the landing?’
Jack bent to snatch a kiss from his wife. ‘You’re pleased really, ain’t you?’ he teased. ‘If Basher keeps me in work for a good while perhaps we’ll finally get out of here ‘n’ get up the other end of the road in something bigger ‘n’ better.’ He ruffled her thick, fiery hair. ‘This Saturday we’ll have a bit of a knees-up. Ask a few of the neighbours over.’
‘You daft git,’ she repeated with a grin. She slipped her fingers over the glossy lid of the piano. ‘How we gonna get the bugger upstairs?’
‘I’ll see if Jimmy’s in,’ Jack said. ‘He can give us a hand with it.’ He disappeared into the dank interior of the house, whistling cheerfully.
The smile on Tilly’s face faded at the mention of her brother-in-law. She wouldn’t ever forgive Jimmy for beating Fran, or for causing trouble over the half crown he’d given to Alice. Several months might have passed, and things might have calmed down between them all, but Tilly knew it wouldn’t be long before Jimmy was up to his old tricks again. Jimmy was work shy. He also thought he was a bit of a hound round these parts and the fact that he had a wife and kids relying on him wouldn’t stop him poncing about doing nothing or showing off to his mates . . . most of them younger than he was by some years. When he thought he could he’d take up with fancy women again and generally act flash with the bit of cash that should be given to Fran as housekeeping. And if Fran didn’t like it, he’d show her who was boss . . . in the way he always had . . . with his fists.
A few minutes later Jack reappeared with Jimmy loping at his side. It was early summer and Jimmy had on just a vest belted into his trousers. From his lips dangled a stumpy crumpled roll-up.
‘Alright, gel?’ he greeted Tilly.
She mumbled a response, her eyes flashing dislike at him.
Jimmy smirked and unconsciously flexed the muscles in his naked arms. He knew Tilly despised him yet it didn’t stop him preening. Such was his conceit that he thought every woman must find him irresistible. He’d plenty of time on his hands to keep himself in shape by sparring with the lads at the YMCA in Pooles Park. His eyes lingered on Tilly, running over her top to bottom. He was just waiting for the right opportunity to impress on her once again he was a bloke you didn’t mess with. He’d done so once before,. She’d deserved another lesson on numerous occasions since. It might have been a while ago but he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d showed him up in the street when he’d been caught out with Nellie. His pals still ribbed him over it and made him feel a bloody fool. He was more careful with Nellie now. They’d had to make use of alleys and dark corners instead of her room along the road.
But Nellie was pulling in a good few quid a week from working the streets up west and sometimes Jimmy thought he might be better off moving in with her. He didn’t see why he should knock himself out acting as Jack’s labourer doing painting and decorating, or helping Billy the Totter for a few measly bob a day, if he could act as Nellie’s manager and take a bit of commission off her.
‘Oi, daydreamer . . .’ Jack called and started Jimmy from his brooding. He undid the rope that had lashed the piano to the cart.
‘Where d’you get this fucker then, Jack?’ Jimmy enquired past the drooping dog-end in his mouth.
‘Off old man Bailey. He said he’d give me first refusal on it. He kept to his word. Been put by since Christmas.’
‘You give him a deposit?’ Tilly demanded shrewdly. She knew that Victor Bailey had a secondhand furniture store in Holloway Road. She knew too that he wasn’t generally soft-hearted. He was a wily businessman.
Last Christmas things had been tight for money and the kids had had just one stocking, filled mainly with bruised fruit and a few liquorice sticks, to share between them. If she thought for one moment that money that could have been well spent had been put down on a piano and left there for six months she’d put a hammer through the poxy thing right now.
‘I didn’t give him nuthin’,’ Jack soothed, knowing the way his wife’s mind worked. ‘He kept to his word ’cos I did him a favour and mended the lock on his door when he was burgled.’
Tilly’s acceptance of that explanation was limited to a jerk of her chin. She watched as the two men proceeded into the house lugging the piano between them. She glanced around to see that they had drawn a few spectators. She threw back her fiery head and gave a loud chuckle. ‘What’s up? None of yers seen a bleedin’ piana before?’ she bawled out, spinning on the spot in glee. Then gripping her skirts she followed Jack and Jimmy in to the house.
‘Mum . . .’
Tilly gathered up the old sheet in her arms then spun about to look at Alice. She narrowed her eyes on her daughter. ‘What’s that look fer? What you after?’
Alice chewed her lip. ‘Don’t go mad . . . but . . .’
‘Spit it out, girl,’ Tilly said and folded her arms with the sheet bundled against her chest. ‘I ain’t got all day to stand about.’
They were in the bedroom that Alice shared with her sisters. Tilly had got hold of a decent sheet off Billy the Totter to replace the threadbare scrap that had covered the dirty mattress the girls slept on. Alice had just helped her mother put the new one on the bed whilst trying to pluck up courage to ask the favour that had been playing over in her mind. Oddly she thought she had a good chance of her mum agreeing to what she wanted. She could be awful in some ways but nice in others.
‘It’s about Sarah . . . she’s got in right trouble again.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Well, you know I said she’d moved round the corner to stay with her dad ’cos Louisa won’t leave her alone and keeps hitting her over that blouse?’
‘Yeah . . .’ Tilly said in a drawn-out way.
‘Well, she can’t stay with her dad no more ’cos he’s moving to Bethnal Green to get a job and if Sarah goes she’ll have to go to a different school and she don’t want to ‘n’ nor do I want it ’cos she’s me friend.’ Alice drew breath to renew her appeal. ‘She can’t go home ’cos of Louisa and also ’cos her mum’s took in Louisa’s friend who pays rent. There’s no room there now.’
‘And?’
‘Can she stay here for a while? Just till . . .’
‘Just till what?’ Tilly asked, but she gave a rare smile. ‘You’re too soft, my gel. It’s gonna do you no favours when yer older.’
‘So can she stop here for a while? Till the lodger moves out?’
‘Just for a while till she gets it all sorted out. I’ll take Beth in our bed fer a bit. Sarah can kip in with you ‘n’ Sophy. But you tell her that if she’s gonna expect a bit of grub Ginny’d better stump up the necessary. You tell her or I will.’
Alice rushed to her mother and hugged her about the waist. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Get off with you.’ Tilly elbowed herself free. ‘Now let’s get on. Yer dad’ll be back soon and wantin’ something to eat.’
Chapter Six (#ulink_405cd167-119d-5f67-bf47-28eb4315c5c2)
‘I’m arresting you lot if that fire’s not out by the time I come back.’
‘You ’noose army, rozzer?’
Constable Bickerstaff took a threatening step towards the bonfire, fingers stroking the truncheon on his hip. Through a mirage materialised two men’s faces, their grins highlighted by fierce flames.
‘Aw, c’mon, mate . . . just roastin’ me chestnuts . . .’ one of the men lewdly implored for lenience.
‘You know rules are no street fires; now put the bugger out,’ Twitch bellowed. ‘It’s hot enough tonight as it is without you making it worse than it needs to be.’
As though to reinforce his argument Sidney Bickerstaff peeled his serge collar away from his sticky skin and wiped it with a handkerchief. He took a glance about. It was ten o’clock on a Saturday evening in late summer and dusk had settled long ago. It might have been three o’clock in the afternoon. Campbell Road never slept. At any time of day or night you might find it bustling with people young and old, and reeking of unwashed humanity and indeterminate rotting debris. At the height of summer the stench and noise was just so much worse. The domestic cacophony escaped through windows and doors flung wide in the forlorn hope of letting in fresh air. It wasn’t unusual at this time of year to see people sleeping on carts in the street to escape the stifling conditions in the overcrowded houses.
Sidney Bickerstaff and Ralph Franks had just passed a grizzled old fellow playing a barrel organ and stopped a group of louts from tormenting him and his monkey. The boys had scattered, shouting abuse, but Twitch knew if he turned around he’d see them peeping round the corner of Paddington Street at him. They’d simply wait till he disappeared into Seven Sisters before looking for mischief again. He knew too the street gamesters who’d hared off, after grabbing up dice and cards and coins that’d been strewn on the pavement, would reconvene on the corner outside the doss house as soon as the coast was clear.
‘I’m sweltering here,’ Constable Ralph Franks complained as he sought his older, stouter colleague as lee from the illegal bonfire. ‘We’re not coming back this evening, so might as well turn a blind eye.’ He turned to squint at the blaze. ‘Leave ’em be. With any luck they’ll burn the whole bleeding street down and do everyone a favour.’ He broke off grumbling as he glimpsed the girl he found attractive. She’d seen him too and was casting sideways looks his way while chatting to another girl. The one he fancied was a definite looker whereas that lump of lard standing next to her was ugly enough to put a bloke off his beer.
As the young constable turned away from her Connie Whitton smiled and wondered what coppers got paid and if that particular copper had a wife or sweetheart. If he did, it wouldn’t stop her. It wouldn’t stop him either; the randy git couldn’t keep his eyes off her when they met. If she took up with him, or any copper, she’d get the cold shoulder round here. That wouldn’t worry her. She was itching to get away from the lot of them. Her mother was driving her mad, taking all her wages, then collapsing on the couch she used as a bed. She never stopped drinking and moaning. Her sister Louisa stank the place out because she sweated so much and never bothered to wash. She looked across the road and saw her sister Sarah sitting with the Keiver kids on the steps outside their house. Sarah had been living away from home for months and it didn’t seem to bother her younger sister one bit to be away from her family. Connie knew how she felt.
On noticing the two policemen were heading off in Sarah’s direction, Connie sauntered over to say hello to her sister and put herself in the young constable’s way again.
‘What d’you want?’ was Sarah’s blunt reply to her sister’s cheery greeting.
‘Party goin’ on in there, is it?’ Connie cocked her head to listen to the unmistakeable sound of a piano being thumped and some raucous singing accompanying it.
‘What if it is? You ain’t invited, anyhow,’ Sarah flatly told Connie.
‘No need to be like that, Sar,’ Connie complained. ‘Ain’t my fault Louisa set about you and started it all off. Ain’t my fault either that Dad moved off to Bethnal and left you behind.’
‘He didn’t leave me,’ Sarah muttered. ‘I wanted to stay behind.’
‘What’s all that racket?’ Twitch asked, earning his nickname twice in rapid succession. He’d crossed the street to stand and glare up at the open window out of which, at that precise moment, sailed an empty brown bottle. It narrowly missed Alice’s head and smashed on the pavement. Alice jumped up and scraped shards together with her foot.
‘Just me mum ‘n’ dad ‘n’ a few friends having a singsong,’ Alice cautiously told Twitch, still shifting broken glass. She knew, as did everyone in these parts, that you had as little as possible to do with the law. She sat down again and one of her hands dived into the newspaper containing the chips she was sharing with Sarah. They’d been sitting on the pavement for some while talking about this and that and every so often going indoors to jig about on the fringes of the adults or snatch a drink of lemonade. But this weekend the temperature had soared and it was too crowded and hot in there for the youngsters to want to stay too long. They got crushed and elbowed by adults boozing and swaying and roaring out songs.
Since Jack had brought home the piano it had been a regular occurrence on Saturday evening to have a get together – and it went on for as long as limited space and sobriety would allow. Usually by the early hours of Sunday the guests who were still standing had stumbled off home and an uneasy peace was to be had till morning.
Twitch continued to gaze at the window with his hands clasped behind his back. It was a racket, no doubt about it, but if Bunk residents stayed on their own patch it meant he and Franks encountered fewer disorderly drunks while on the beat. And Tilly Keiver was one of the most difficult drunks to deal with. About to share that observation with his colleague, Twitch realised Ralph had wandered off and was talking to the pretty Whitton girl.
‘You’re fairly new around here, ‘n’t yer?’ Connie struck up conversation and lowered her eyelashes. Close to he wasn’t bad looking at all for a flatfoot.
‘Yeah . . .’ Ralph said. ‘And I wish I wasn’t.’
Connie glanced up from beneath her lashes. ‘Stay long enough you might just find something about The Bunk you like.’
‘Like what?’ Ralph eyed her calculatingly. ‘You know of some sort of compensation for me being stuck in the worst street in North London on a Saturday night?’
‘Yeah . . . might do . . . might know of something . . .’ Connie pouted. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Ralph Franks.’
‘I’m Connie . . . Connie Whitton. I live up the other end a bit; better end, you might call it.’
‘I might,’ Ralph said sarcastically. ‘But I doubt it.’ He moved away from her, conscious of his colleague’s ears flapping.
‘Well, might see you again . . . when you come back for your compensation,’ Connie added slyly.
‘Ready to go then, are we?’ Twitch asked with a very old-fashioned look lifting his brows beneath his helmet. ‘Able to march back to the station, are you, with your balls on fire?’ he added with acid amusement as they plodded on towards the corner that turned into Seven Sisters Road.
Franks scowled and said nothing but his restless hands plunged a little deeper into his pockets.
‘So . . . found something desirable about the place, have you?’
‘She’s probably on the game . . . hard to know with any of that lot what they get up to.’ Ralph frowned into space.
‘If she was on the game, son, she wouldn’t be hanging around here on a Saturday night. She’d be up west somewhere earning a fortune with those looks.’
‘Are they trouble?’
‘Who, the Keivers? I wouldn’t mess with them for no reason.’
‘Nah. The Whittons.’
‘The Whittons.’ Twitch grunted a laugh. ‘Now let me see. What you’ve got there is one mad old mother, a father who’s had sense enough to have it away on his toes before he goes crackers too, a son dead of disease and three daughters. Lenny died of something or other when he was just about old enough to go to work. I think that’s what sent the mother into a decline . . . the thought of his lost wages. As for the girls . . . you’ve got a fat ugly one, a skinny schoolgirl and the novice tart you just spoke to. So, all in all, I suppose you’d have to say they’re a pretty average mob for around here.’
‘Come ‘n’ play us a tune, Al,’ Jack called to Alice as she tried to slip past him in the crowded room. Jack pulled her onto the stool beside him and affectionately ruffled her dark hair.
‘Don’t know any tunes, Dad,’ Alice said with a grin but she plinked and plonked up and down on the ivories, making some inharmonious noise while her dad took a break from performing. He flexed his fingers then supped from the pint glass on top of the piano. The other men might drink straight from the bottle but her dad liked to take his ale with a bit more style.
‘Come on, Jack, get goin’ again while I’m in the mood,’ Jimmy Wild yelled before swigging from the bottle in his fist.
Alice swivelled on the seat to look about. Her eyes met Jimmy’s and he gave her a wink. Not so long ago she would have shared the private moment and winked right back. But now, since he’d got her in to trouble with her mum over that half a crown, she felt differently about him. She was beginning to understand that Uncle Jimmy wasn’t as nice and friendly as he liked people to think. She was coming to believe that perhaps it wasn’t half a dozen of one, six of the other when he and Aunt Fran were going at it hammer and tongs. And perhaps Bobbie and Stevie hadn’t misbehaved enough to deserve the bruises she’d seen on them at school. She suspected that her uncle just needed to be in a bad mood over something to act mean.
He’d been mean to her. He must have known that she’d get a wallop off her mum for taking his half a crown. She’d thought that a little secret existed between them yet he’d told on her straight away. His wink and that secret stare now made an odd feeling squirm in her stomach. She half-smiled at him but looked away quickly, her eyes flitting about the cramped room.
She’d left Sarah on the pavement and only come in to get them a drink of pop . . . if any was left in the bottle. If not she was going to ask her dad for a bit of money so they could get some from the shop. Since her dad had got a good job with Basher Payne money hadn’t been so tight and being cheeky and asking for a few coppers didn’t naturally get you a clip round the ear. Her dad had waylaid her and she’d stopped where she was rather than slipping back outside because she enjoyed having his attention.
‘Come on, give us a little tune, Monkey,’ her dad fondly invited her, using the pet nickname he had for her.
‘Alright, Freckles,’ she teased him back and rubbed a tickling finger over the speckled skin on his jaw. ‘Glad I’m not a Freckles,’ she said provocatively.
Jack touched the mark. ‘It’s me beauty spot,’ he said, as he always did when ribbed over the blemish. ‘I know you’d like one just like it really.’
Alice chuckled and picked out a simple chord that he’d taught her when they’d first got the piano. Her dad accompanied her lightly, encouraging her to try again when she hit a wrong note. Finally Alice gestured she’d had enough and looked around for her mum. She was squashed up against the mantelpiece with Aunt Fran. Both of them drinking whiskey by the look of it. Aunt Fran’s best skirt barely outlined the little mound of her pregnant belly. Most of the people who had lodgings in the house were either crammed into the room or were out on the landing. Even old Mr Prewett from the landing below – who was known to be a bit of a misery guts – was sitting on the bed edge, tapping his good foot in anticipation of her dad soon starting to play a new tune.
Margaret Lovat bent her head close to Alice’s and shouted over the rollicking din, ‘You seen my Danny, Alice?’
‘He’s just outside on the pavement with all of us,’ Alice answered.
‘Tell him to nip next door ‘n’ see to the little ’uns, will you, in case Geoff’s gone out.’
Alice got up from beside her dad and slipped out and into the back room. Mrs Lovat had just reminded her that her baby sister might need her attention. It was usually her job to make sure that Bethany and Lucy were taken care of while the adults enjoyed themselves and got drunk. Not that her mum asked her to do it. She was probably too under the influence to even remember she had kids some of the time. She just assumed Alice would look out for the younger ones.
By the light of a tiny flame in an oil lamp balanced precariously on the seat of a chair Alice could see Bethany was dozing on the bed next to Lucy. The room stank and the unmistakeable sound of flies could be heard buzzing. Alice turned up the flame. She looked down at Lucy. She was awake and smiled at her despite the fact that a fly crawled in the milky sick on her chin.
Alice flicked it away and found what she needed to clean her up. She wiped her face with a rag then attended to her bottom end. Alice felt herself gag as the stench intensified. Quickly she bundled the filthy nappy onto the floor and cleaned Lucy’s bottom. She then put a clean scrap of cotton on her and picked her up.
‘When I go . . . I’ll take you with me,’ she promised her. ‘I’ll always be around if you need me,’ she whispered against her soft, musky cheek. She put her back down on the bed close to Bethany then, picking up the stinking nappy, she took it out, hoping that most of the flies would follow.
