Family Betrayal (33 page)

‘We didn't use kids. We'd never do that. Tell her, Danny.’

‘He's telling the truth, Mum.’

‘Even if I believed you, which I don't, it wouldn't make any difference. You still made other films and you can't deny that. Now are you going to accept my offer or not? Because if you don't, you'll end up with nothing.’

‘We'll accept it,’ Maurice hastily said.

Danny's temper spilled over. ‘Maurice, are you out of your mind? Of course we're not accepting it.’

‘If we don't, as Mum said, we'll end up without a penny.’

Joan watched as her eldest son ran a hand through his hair, obviously trying to calm down before he met her eyes. ‘Mum, I know you're upset, but this is silly. Surely you don't really want us to leave the alley.’

‘Yes I do, and my mind's made up. In fact, I don't want any of you to put a foot inside
my
yard again.’

‘It won't run itself, Mum. If you close down you won't have any money coming in.’

‘I told you, I'm selling it, and if you must know, the sale's already in hand.’

‘I can't believe you're doing this,’ Danny groaned. ‘Mum, at least give us time to think about it.’

‘Oh, I know your game, Danny. You're trying to stall me, hoping I'll change my mind, but I won't, you can be sure of that. Now you've got one hour, and after that you either accept my offer or you can forget it. Now bugger off, the lot of you.’

‘Come on, Danny, you can see she means it,’ Maurice urged.

As Danny looked at her, Joan kept her head high, her expression hard. At last, with a sigh of exasperation he turned to march out, his brothers behind him.

Joan was glad to see the back of them and slumped in her chair. Her plan
had
to work, it just had to, or Petula would never come home. She closed her eyes, praying silently as she waited for her sons to make their decision.

Bob said he'd talk to Sue and hurried into his own house, his face white as he broke the news.

‘So your father left you nothing, not even a few bob?’

‘That's right.’

‘But your mum's offering to give you the premises in Wimbledon?’

‘Yeah, but as I said, only if we move out of the alley.’

‘That suits me fine.’

‘Do you really mean that? It means finding somewhere else to live, but by the time the money is split
between four of us, I don't know how much we'll get.’

‘Of course I bloody mean it, now shut up and give me time to think.’ Sue was quiet, her eyes narrowed. Then she said, ‘I reckon you'd get a good few thousand, and if you pool it with your brothers, what's to stop you starting up your own business? With your contacts you could carry on supplying building materials. You'd only have to find premises and buy in stock.’

Bob's face lit up. ‘Sue, you're a genius. I'll go and put it to the others.’

He hurried next door and without preamble said, ‘Sue's had a great idea. If we take Mum's offer and sell Wimbledon, we could start up our own business.’

‘Count me out,’ said Maurice. ‘I've got my own plans.’

‘That still leaves three of us,’ Bob said eagerly.

‘None of you seems to be thinking about your mother,’ Yvonne protested. ‘If we leave the alley it'll be empty. She'll be all on her own.’

‘It's what she wants – she made that clear,’ Maurice said.

‘We can't do it, we can't just leave,’ Chris said.

‘If you stay in the borough,’ Maurice argued, ‘you can keep an eye on her and, who knows, she might eventually come round.’

‘Yeah, Maurice is right,’ said Bob, ‘and anyway,
I don't think we've got much choice. If we don't take the offer, we'll all be left with nothing.’

‘I've just thought of something,’ said Chris. ‘Even if we agree to take up Mum's offer, we've still got to sell Wimbledon and that could take time, maybe months, and it would give us a chance to bring her round.’

‘Bloody hell, I hadn't thought of that,’ said Bob, ‘but if it takes that long to sell, what will we do for money? Shit, I'll have to get a job, work for someone else, and I don't know about you lot, but I don't fancy that.’

So far Danny had just listened, but now he said, ‘It's funny really, almost like fate, if you believe in all that rubbish. The last time I was at Wimbledon it was to tell Pete Saunders that we were closing down, but he didn't seem surprised. When I told him that he could stay on at the cottage for a while, he said he'd already been looking round for another place.’

‘Hang on, Danny. How could Pete have known in advance that we were closing down?’ asked Chris.

‘With all that was going on at the time, I wasn't myself, and to be honest it sort of went over my head. He said something about a big developer sniffing around, looking to buy the land, and that he was looking for another place in case we took the bloke's offer.’

‘What offer?’ asked Maurice.

‘Pete gave me a letter that had been delivered to
the cottage, but as I said, I was in a bit of a state and hardly looked at it.’

‘Blimey, talk about luck,’ Maurice said, then asked eagerly, ‘Where's the letter, Danny?’

‘I dunno.’

‘Think, Danny. Did you leave it at the cottage or bring it home?’

‘At the time it didn't seem important so I've no idea. I might have just stuffed it in my pocket.’

‘Try the sideboard, Danny,’ Yvonne suggested. ‘You usually clear your pockets when you take off your jacket so you might have put it in the drawer, the one that you keep locked.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ Danny said, taking out a bunch of keys to find the small one that fitted the drawer. He walked over to the sideboard, saying as he unlocked it, ‘I doubt it's here, though.’

They all watched as Danny pulled out papers. Then, finding a book, he said, ‘Blimey, the hooky business accounts. I should have destroyed these. If the police had warrants to search this place, it would have left us in the shit.’

‘Give it to me,’ Maurice urged. ‘I'll burn it now.’

Danny handed the book to Maurice, watching as his brother threw it onto the fire.

‘It seems sort of symbolic,’ he murmured, ‘our old lives going up in flames.’ He shrugged and returned to his search. ‘Got it,’ he said at last, pulling out an envelope.

‘Give it here, Danny,’ Maurice urged, and after scanning the contents he said, ‘This is too good an offer to turn down, but we don't know if he's still interested. Give him a ring, Danny.’

‘Are you all sure about this?’ Danny asked. ‘Do we really want to take Mum's offer?’

‘I do,’ said Maurice, ‘and if you ask me, we'd be mad not to.’

‘Yeah, and as my Sue said, it'll give us the chance to set up our own business.’

‘What about you, Chris?’

‘You seem to have made up your minds, so I don't suppose I've got much choice.’

‘Right, the decision's made,’ Danny said.

Moving to the telephone, he dialled the number. They all listened, hearing only one side of the conversation, but even from that it soon became clear that Danny had struck a deal.

He finally replaced the receiver, turning to say, ‘We're on. There's only the legal stuff to be sorted now.’

‘Blimey, you were right, Danny. Talk about fate,’ Bob said.

Only Yvonne and Chris looked doubtful, Chris saying, ‘That's it then. Once it's all finalised, we're all going, but it still doesn't seem right to leave Mum.’

‘I feel the same,’ said Yvonne.

‘Bloody hell, Yvonne, do you think I'm happy
about it?’ Danny snapped. ‘But as Bob pointed out, if we don't take Mum's offer we're stuck with nothing. Like him, I'd have to get a job to pay the rent, but doing what? Without any skills I'd be down to labouring on a building site or something like that, and earning shit money. Is that what you want?’

‘No, no, of course not, but—’

Before Yvonne had finished speaking, Danny interrupted, turning to look at Chris. ‘What about you? Once the money is in place, do you want to come in with me and Bob, or do you want to go it alone?’

‘I don't know. I'll need to think about it.’

‘Please yourself, but don't take too long about it,’ Danny said, obviously fired with enthusiasm as he continued, ‘because after telling Mum that we'll accept her offer, me and Bob are going to start looking for some decent premises. Ain't that right, Bob?’

‘Yeah, and somewhere else to live.’

Danny glanced at his watch. ‘The hour is nearly up so let's get back to Mum's.’

Only Chris hesitated, but Maurice said quietly, ‘Come on, Chris. It'll all work out, you'll see. This is a fresh start for all of us, a chance to make something of our lives. I want to start up a little business and if you don't go in with Danny and Bob, you could do the same. If you make it a success, make Mum proud, she's bound to come round.’

Chris still hesitated, but as though Maurice's words had touched his heart, he at last nodded. ‘Yeah, you're right. Mum's disgusted with the lot of us and until I can give her something to be proud of, she's never going to forgive me. Not only that, if I can find a business that's close by, I can still keep an eye on her.’

Danny knocked on his mother's door, she opened it and they stepped inside. Chris's eyes flicked along the alley and settled on George's house. So much had happened in such a short time, but it had all started there. Chris shivered, looking swiftly away. He was the last to walk into his mother's house, wondering if it would be for the last time.

Chapter Thirty-seven

 

By March, everyone was sick of snow. It had been the worst winter that anyone could remember, with the River Thames freezing over in places, but at last a thaw was settling in.

Petula filled a hot-water bottle, firmly screwing on the top before taking it upstairs. She didn't care about the weather, was unaware that in Ivy's garden the tips of daffodils were poking through. Pet's only concern was for her cousin. They had watched her go downhill, until finally, that morning, Steve had put his foot down, insisting that she saw the doctor again. With Ivy in so much pain, Steve had demanded a house call.

Now, as Pet pushed open the bedroom door, she said, ‘Here, I've brought you a hot-water bottle. The doctor should be here soon.’

‘I bet the old quack wasn't happy about being called out,’ Ivy said, but her voice was weak, the pain wearing her down.

Pet tucked the hot-water bottle under the blankets and then heard a knock on the front door. ‘That must be him now.’

When she hurried back downstairs, Pet opened the front door to find a young man on the front step, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled. ‘Dr Finch is down with the flu. I'm Dr Davidson, his locum.’

‘Oh, right, you'd better come in,’ Pet said. She led him upstairs, saying, ‘My cousin is in a lot of pain. Dr Finch said she has an ulcer, but she's getting worse and the medicine he prescribed doesn't help.’

As they walked into the bedroom, Ivy struggled unsuccessfully to sit up.

‘Good morning, Mrs Rawlings,’ the doctor said. ‘I'm Dr Finch's locum. My name is Dr Davidson, and this young lady tells me that you have an ulcer.’

‘Yeah, that's right, and it's bloody killing me.’

‘Right, let's take a look at you.’

Pet remained whilst the doctor carried out his examination, and though he frowned, his voice remained impassive as he said, ‘I'd like to send you for a few tests. If you have a telephone, I'll ring the hospital now.’

‘Tests? What sort of tests?’

‘An X-ray, bloods and maybe a barium meal.’ He turned brusquely to Pet. ‘Do you have a telephone?’

‘Yes, it's downstairs.’

He followed Pet, saying as he picked up the
receiver, ‘I'll arrange for an ambulance to take Mrs Rawlings to the local hospital. With any luck there'll be one available.’

‘What? You want her to go now?’

‘Yes, that's right,’ he said, hastily dialling the number.

As she picked up on the doctor's urgency, Pet's stomach lurched. ‘It … it isn't an ulcer?’

The call went through, Pet's question unanswered.

In Drapers Alley, Joan read the letter again before screwing it up and throwing it onto the fire. She didn't care what the council said, because when the time came, she wasn't budging from the alley. It explained why the rest of the houses remained empty, the alley now looking run down and desolate, but until her daughter came home, she was staying put.

Grim-faced, she put on her coat and after tying a headscarf around her head Joan stepped outside. The snow was thawing, the pavement mushy but, deep in thought, she hardly noticed. The sale had gone through on the yard, and after making sure that Chris was paid off, the rest was safely in the bank. Her new will was drawn up and the solicitor wanted her at his office to sign it. She had hated making a will the first time, feeling that it was like tempting fate, but in the end, with Dan going first, fate had been on her side.

It rankled that the boys had done all right from the deal she had struck with them, but she just wanted rid of them and had no choice. Petula was her only concern now – her need to make it up to her daughter. At least when anything happened to her, Joan thought, her daughter would do all right, her new will made out in Petula's favour.

Danny and Bob had started up on their own as builders' merchants, but she had no idea what Maurice was up to. To her annoyance, when old Bill Tweedy retired Chris had bought his shop, her son now living on the corner of Aspen Street to remain within spitting distance. He usually called round on a Wednesday afternoon and, sick of telling him to bugger off, she was glad that the solicitor's appointment coincided with his visit. Joan sighed. Though loath to admit it, she was lonely, sorely tempted at times to let Chris in, but she couldn't do that, not after what he had been involved in.

She had hoped that when her sons left, Petula would show her face, but so far there was no sign of her. Of course it didn't help that Chris's shop was just around the corner, but as it was Danny who had made the threats, she still hoped, still prayed, for her daughter to come home before it was too late.

Few people spoke to Joan, but she had kept herself to herself for years so it wasn't surprising. Yet now, as she turned into Aspen Street, she saw that Betty
Fuller was standing on her doorstep, deep in conversation with her neighbour. They went back years and at one time Betty had been after Dan. He hadn't been interested, and at the time Joan had been thrilled that, instead of Betty, he had chosen her. Thrilled – yes, she'd been thrilled, but now she had lived to regret it.

Betty broke off her conversation when she saw her, but Joan didn't miss the wink that she threw at her neighbour before she spoke. ‘Watcha, Joan. We were just talking about Chris and we're wondering how you feel about his friend – you know, the one that works in his shop.’

‘Sorry, can't stop,’ Joan said.

‘You should have a word with him. He's making himself a laughing stock.’

‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ Joan snapped as she hurried away, yet even so, her curiosity was piqued. Chris, a laughing stock? But why? Oh, what did it matter? She was finished with him, with all of them. All she wanted was her daughter, but it had been so long now, months since Petula had run away. Would she ever come back? Oh, please, God, she must.

Danny was bent over a battered desk, adding up columns in the account book, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Maurice had always handled the accounts and this
was new territory for him. At last they balanced and, leaning back, he smiled with satisfaction. They were doing all right, and though it had taken a bit of wrangling, they had managed to hold on to their biggest customer, his order now filled. Chris had told him that his mother had sold the yard as a going concern, and that would mean competition, but so far, with the promise of discounts, they had managed to bring all their old customers with them.

It was a shame that Chris had decided to go it alone, and now Danny's face straightened. In a million years he had never expected Chris to turn soft, buying a piddling little corner shop to be close to their mother. Not only that, he'd begun to hear rumours, ridiculous ones that needed to be snuffed out. Chris was a Draper, a name that still meant something in the borough, and he wasn't going to stand for the local gossip turning his brother, and by association them, into a pervert and a laughing stock.

Danny scowled. He might be out of the porn game and running a truly legit business, but he was still a Draper, still his father's son, and still wanted the respect that the name deserved.

Bob came into the office, grinning widely. ‘Dick Larson's had me in stitches. He told me a couple of really good ones.’

‘Go on then.’

‘What do you call a donkey with three legs?’

‘All right, tell me.’

‘A wonkey.’

Danny just chuckled, before saying, ‘Rubbish. He must have got that one out of a Christmas cracker.’

‘All right then. What did the elephant say to the naked man?’

‘I dunno.’

‘How do you suck up water with that dangly little thing?’

Danny laughed. ‘Better.’

'A snail goes into a pub, but it's against policy to serve snails so the barman kicks him out. A year later the snail comes in again, looks up at the barman and says, “What did you do that for?”

This time Danny roared. ‘Yeah, I like that one.’

Bob saw the account book lying open on the desk. ‘How are we doing?’

‘Considering that we've only been up and running for just over a month, we're doing fine, but I want to talk to you about Chris and the local gossip.’

‘Danny, I've told you, it's rubbish.’

‘I know it's rubbish, but someone is spreading this shit and I ain't standing for it. We may have left the alley but we're still Drapers and the locals need to remember that.’

‘Yeah, well, once we've had a quiet word in a few people's ears, it's bound to stop.’

‘It'd better,’ Danny growled.

‘Talking about the alley, I wonder how Mum's doing.’

‘Chris said she still won't let him in, but he'll keep trying.’

‘Maybe Yvonne could give it a go.’

‘She had a rough time when the baby came early. She isn't ready for a run-in with Mum.’

‘Sending Sue round would be a waste of time. Those two have never seen eye to eye. I suppose we'll just have to leave it to Chris to make a breakthrough. Still, at least Yvonne and Sue are getting on well, the pair of them as thick as thieves now.’

‘Sue was brilliant when Yvonne came home with Danny junior, and with him being so tiny, Yvonne was a nervous wreck. It was good of Sue to help out, and anyway, with us living in the upstairs flat, and you down, it's just as well they get on.’

Bob grinned. ‘It was a bit of luck finding that house, and with it already divided into two flats, it's ideal. Sue prefers it to Drapers Alley, and the kids love the garden.’

Danny yawned. ‘He may have been early, but my boy was screaming his lungs out last night.’

‘Yeah, I heard him and it's a wonder Maurice didn't hear him in Devon. Has he been in touch with you yet?’

‘No, but at least I hear how he's getting on through you. I think he blames me for everything and, to be honest, he's right.’

‘He'll come round. Last time he rang me he said
that Oliver has taken to country life like a duck to water.’

Despite the lack of sleep, Danny smiled. He knew how it felt to have a son now, his boy his pride and joy. He had never wanted kids, but that had changed the instant he saw Danny junior. The urge to find Garston, to take revenge, had left him, his one desire now to provide a secure future for his son. At one time he had let depression swamp him, and he was still ashamed of his weakness. He was back to his old self now, and he'd show his son what it meant to be a Draper. Legit or not, he would make sure the name still brought the respect it deserved.

‘Customers,’ Bob said.

Danny closed the account book and, Bob ahead of him, left the tiny office. Yes, he thought, they were doing all right, the proceeds from Wimbledon setting them all up, but there was still something unfinished. They still hadn't found Petula.