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Kevin hung his head. That bloody girl had unnerved him. She had almost walked in on them and if she’d seen the stash, what then? Pearl worked for his mother, for Christ’s sake – she knew his face!
‘Come on, Kevin,’ Dick Smedley said as he picked up one of the cartons. ‘Let’s get a move on.’
Kevin pinched his bottom lip between his fingers, but then nodded. Pearl bloody Button hadn’t seen anything, so why was he worrying? The warehouse job had been easy, and they’d got clean away. All right, it wasn’t a big haul, but even so, they were on a nice little earner. For once he wouldn’t have to cadge money from his mother. He’d have plenty to spend on his favourite hobby. If you could call it a hobby, he thought with a smile. Soho beckoned … the girls … the things they let him do.
When Kevin reached Soho, walking the narrow streets, neon lights announced the clubs. Kevin frowned. It had been a hard lesson, money leaving his pocket like water, for drinks that cost an arm and a leg, but he knew better now and wouldn’t frequent those dives again. It had taken a few trips, but he’d finally found what he was looking for. Now he turned down an alley, his excitement beginning to mount. When he reached the last door on the left it bore no indication of the delights inside, but he just hoped that Eva was available.
She was, and following her into the bedroom he licked his lips in anticipation. Eva knew just what to do and stood waiting, but as he stepped forward she held up a hand in warning.
‘No bruises this time or I won’t entertain you again.’
His eyes narrowed. She was out of role and he didn’t like it, his erection dying. He wanted her submissive, frightened. ‘All right, I’ll be careful.’
She switched into the act, her eyes becoming wide with fear. That was better, the trigger he needed, and now he walked towards her again.
‘No, please!’ she begged.
He grabbed Eva, ripping the clothes from her body before throwing her on the bed. He wanted to pummel her, punch her, but had to hold back, yet even so, her cries of mock pain drove him to ecstasy.
It was quick, too bloody quick, and annoyed, Kevin threw money onto the bed. If he got his needs regularly, maybe he’d be able to last longer, but at least he had a few bob now and would be back. Without saying a word to Eva he left.
It was one o’clock in the morning when he drove down the side entrance, parking in the large yard at the back of the café. He was quiet as he made his way upstairs, but despite that, his mother appeared in her bedroom doorway.
‘Kevin, where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’
‘Don’t start, Mum. I got held up, that’s all.’
‘Held up. Where?’
‘Er … the car had a flat tyre.’
‘But surely it didn’t take long to change it?’
‘For Christ’s sake, leave it out, will you! I ain’t a kid, you know,’ Kevin shouted as he stomped off to his bedroom.
Only a few minutes later he heard raised voices. His mother was berating his father again, taking her angst out on the old man. He despised him, despised his weakness. What sort of a man let a woman rule him – hit him – belittle him? Why didn’t his father stand up to her?
As a kid he’d thought it normal, but as he got older it became apparent that in other households it was the man who ruled, not the woman.
His home was different and he hated it, hated seeing the way his father kowtowed to his mother. With this hate came fear. Was he the same? Was he less than a man, like his father?
Yes, his first trip to Soho had introduced him to sex, but it hadn’t really taken away his fear. The tart was paid to do as he asked; paid to be submissive.
In between trips to Soho he’d taken a few girls out, usually the obvious types, and had played the big man. Yet deep down he was still nervous, especially if they showed a bit of spunk and stood up to him. When that happened he dropped them like hot potatoes, and so girls came and went, giving him the reputation of a ladies’ man, one that he enjoyed.
His mother’s voice rang out again and, hearing it, Kevin’s determination was renewed. Not for him someone like his mother. Not for him a woman with a forceful personality. If the day ever came, and he doubted it, that he got married, he would make sure his wife was a pretty little thing. Someone meek and mild, who would have no chance of dominating him.
Chapter Six (#ulink_3f34a8e1-2419-5ea9-b5a0-4003763a92bc)
‘I’m home, Gran!’ Derek Lewis called as he stepped into the small terraced house. It was Monday and he’d been delayed, but now hurried upstairs. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
Derek gazed down at his beloved gran, and frowned worriedly. She still looked frail, despite the doctor saying she had only a touch of bronchitis. Connie Lewis was a tiny woman, grey-haired and thin, but she was wiry and rarely ill. ‘Sorry I’m late but I had a bit of stock to pick up. Have you had your medicine?’
‘Yes, and stop looking so worried. I think I’ll be well enough to come downstairs tomorrow.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘We won’t. If I have to stare at these four bloody walls for much longer, I’ll go batty.’
‘All right, keep your hair on. I’m off to make us something to eat. What do you fancy?’
‘Something light. Perhaps a boiled egg, with bread and butter.’
‘You need more that that. How about a pork chop with mashed potatoes?’
‘No, thanks, but you have a chop. Is it your night for the gym?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to leave you if you still feel rough.’
‘I told you, I feel fine, and a fraud for laying here.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’
‘Gawd, Derek, will you stop treating me like a bleedin’ invalid? I ain’t ready for the knacker’s yard yet.’
There was a spark in her eyes now and Derek grinned. When his mother had been killed during the war, he’d come to live with his gran. At the time he’d been ten years old, a lost and frightened little boy, but she had taken him under her wing, showering more love on him than he’d ever received from his flighty mother.
He’d questioned Gran about his father, but she fobbed him off so many times that he’d given up asking. It was only as an adult that he found out why. On his birth certificate, the space for listing the father’s name was blank.
Derek bent forward, planting a kiss on his gran’s papery cheek. ‘I’m off to put your egg on.’
‘It wouldn’t suit you, love.’
‘Very funny, and if you’re cracking jokes you must be feeling better.’
‘I am, and put plenty of butter on me bread.’
As Derek went downstairs he found his thoughts turning to the café and the new waitress. Pearl looked such a frail little thing, too frail to be working for Dolly Dolby. When she fainted and he’d carried her to the kitchen, she was as light as a bird, her huge eyes full of fear as she looked at him. Well, she had no need to fear him. In fact, he was determined to look out for the girl.
In no time his gran’s egg was ready, and having spread the butter thickly on the bread, he carried the tray, complete with a cup of tea, upstairs. ‘There, get that down you.’
‘Thanks, pet, and what are you having?’
‘I think I’ll pop into the chippy on me way back from the gym. It ain’t good to spar on a full stomach.’
‘Derek, you’ve had fish and chips three times this week!’
‘It won’t kill me, Gran. You’ll be up soon and no doubt shoving vegetables down me throat again.’
‘I will, and I’ll make sure you eat the lot.’
They smiled at each other. Then Connie tapped the top of her egg, and Derek went to the bathroom for a wash. He stood looking at his face in the mirror over the basin. For a moment a frown creased his forehead. Boxing had certainly taken its toll, and was that the start of a cauliflower ear? Yes, maybe, but what did it matter? He’d never been much to look at in the first place.
An hour later he’d given his gran another cup of tea, and was ready to leave. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’
‘Derek, for goodness’ sake just go. Those kids you’re helping along will be waiting for you.’
‘All right, I’ll see you later,’ he called, clattering back downstairs and out of the house.
In no time he reached the gym, a few kids crowding round him as soon as he walked in. His eyes flicked round the large room, noting a few other nippers having a go on the punch bags, their thin arms making little impact. A couple of blokes were sparring in the ring, a trainer watching them avidly, but other than that the place was empty.
Derek tousled the nearest boy’s head. ‘Right, let’s get you lot sorted. Jimmy and Bill, you do some skipping, and, Ricky, get your gloves on ready for a spar when the ring is clear.’
They all ran to do his bidding and he smiled. They were good kids, better off in the gym than running the streets.
Jimmy, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, was Derek’s favourite, a kid he was sure he had turned round. The lad had hesitantly entered the gym six months ago, and it hadn’t taken Derek long to learn that the boy was regularly beaten by his drunken father. He’d been running wild on the streets, rebelling, nicking stuff off stalls, but coming to the gym had changed all that. At first he’d seen the boy taking his anger out on the punch bag, but gradually he had grown in confidence.
Yes, Jimmy was a lot happier now, especially since Derek had taken it upon himself to have a quiet word in his father’s ear.
The following morning, Pearl was dashing along the High Street. Some costermongers were already setting up, and as she passed Derek Lewis he raised his hand to wave.
His stall was half ready, piled with china, and Pearl looked at some of the sets with interest. Maybe in another couple of weeks she could buy cups and saucers to replace the old chipped ones she’d inherited with the room.
She reached the café, rushing inside to see Bernie behind the counter as usual. ‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve just made a pot so do you want a cuppa before you start?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, taking her apron from the hook and tying it around her waist.
‘Here you are then, and take this one through to Dolly.’
Pearl took the cup, careful not to slop any tea in the saucers. It was something she knew Dolly Dolby hated, and had felt the sting of her tongue the first time the tea had over-spilled.
Gertie didn’t start work until seven, and Mo nine, so there was only her employer in the kitchen.
‘Good morning, Mrs Dolby,’ she said, hoping that the woman was in a good mood.
‘Morning,’ Dolly said shortly, adding, ‘I thought I told you to tie your hair back.’
‘I’m just about to do it,’ Pearl said, hurriedly fishing for the elastic band in her apron pocket.
‘Get it done and go back to the dining room. It won’t be long before the breakfast rush starts.’
Pearl scrapped her hair back, hopes dashed. Mrs Dolby was obviously in a foul humour, and she dreaded the rest of the day. When her employer was in a good mood – if any of her moods could be called good – the job was easier, but when bad-tempered, like today, she would build mountains out of molehills, making all their lives a misery.
She went back to the dining room, and as she swiftly drank her tea, Bernie gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘I can see by your face that you’ve found Dolly with the hump. It’s Kevin’s fault. He didn’t come home until one in the morning on Saturday and he was out all hours last night too. Dolly was out of her mind with worry.’
‘One o’clock in the morning! My goodness.’
‘Yeah, and God knows what the young tyke was up to.’
Pearl wondered too, but then the café began to fill with costermongers, all ready for large breakfasts. They took it in turns, watching each other’s pitches, but even so, the café was soon packed.
Derek Lewis came in at eight, but ordered only two bacon sandwiches to take away.
‘No breakfast this morning?’ Pearl asked.
‘My gran’s a bit under the weather so I’m popping home to give her one of these. Frank’s keeping an eye on my stall.’
Pearl watched him leave, wondering if she could tell him about her landlord and his threat on Saturday night. She was frightened of Nobby Clark, needed someone to protect her, but didn’t feel she knew Derek well enough yet. This was a tight-knit community and she knew she had a long way to go before she was accepted. Until then, it might be more prudent to keep her mouth shut.
Pearl was taking her break, tucking into her meal, when Kevin came down from the upstairs flat.
His eyes flicked around the dining room, but then he walked towards her table. Pearl’s stomach fluttered and she quickly lowered her head.
‘Hello. Pearl, isn’t it? How are you getting on?’
‘F … fine, thanks,’ she said, amazed and gratified that he had spoken to her.
Her eyes rose, and as they fastened momentarily on his, she flushed. God, he was gorgeous, yet why did he look so anxious?
‘Do you live around here?’
‘Er … yes, I live over the empty shop further along the High Street.’
‘All right, is it?’
‘Yes, it’s fine.’
‘Who’s your landlord?’
‘Mr Clark. Nobby Clark. Do you know him?’
He smiled, perfectly even, white teeth flashing. ‘No, not really. See you,’ he said abruptly, walking away.
Pearl was thrilled that Kevin had spoken to her, but puzzled by the strange conversation.
Gertie then dashed out of the kitchen, looking harassed. ‘One of the ovens isn’t working and Dolly’s doing her nut,’ she told Bernie.
‘All right, I’m coming,’ he said. ‘Keep an eye on things out here, Pearl.’
She rose to her feet, unable now to think about Kevin’s strange behaviour as three young women came in, asking for teas.
Kevin was still smiling as he strolled along the High Street. Christ, he’d been shit scared that the new waitress had clocked him on Saturday night, but a short conversation had allayed his fears. When Pearl had asked if he knew Nobby Clark, it was obvious that she hadn’t seen him in the shop. If she had, she wouldn’t have asked the question.
‘Watcha, Kevin. With that smile on your face you must’ve got your leg over last night.’
