Lizzie of Langley Street (23 page)

‘I dunno nothing about a jeweller’s,’ Vinnie blurted, going white. ‘I . . . I . . . never went near the place.’

‘You and me know that, don’t we, old son? But does the law?’

‘Y . . . you said you told them . . .’

Ferreter grinned. ‘Oh yeah, I told them you was with me.’

‘Well then . . .’

‘But me memory ain’t so good – sometimes. See what I mean? It varies according to me mood.’

Frank felt a pulse throbbing in his temple. His eyes were riveted on Vinnie, whose face had drained of colour.

The bookie nodded slowly. ‘Memory’s a funny thing, ain’t it? Now sometimes I recall that night clear as a bell. You were round my place at Poplar and so were you, Frank. Yeah .
. .’ Ferreter gave a chuckle, turning his gaze on Frank. ‘You was all dolled up to the nines in one of them flash new suits.’

Frank swallowed. He didn’t remember that. And hinting at a flash suit – did Ferreter know about the deals with Vinnie?

The bookie’s smile widened. He stroked his cards lightly with the tip of his finger. ‘There now, Vincent. Ain’t you the lucky one? You got real mates sitting at this table.
Mates that’ll look out for you whenever the law pays a call. And you, Frank, out the goodness of yer heart, you’d remember that evening ’cos you was wearing that new suit of
yours.’

Frank remained silent. A cold sensation was creeping down his spine. Mik Ferreter leaned forward. He laid down three aces. His gaze met Frank’s stare then drifted towards Vinnie.
‘Reckon I just hit the jackpot.’ He counted the notes piled in the middle of the table and stuffed them in his pocket before rising to his feet. Steadily he surveyed the two men
watching him. ‘We’ll have to do this more often. Nice place you got here, Frankie boy.’ He swung his jacket from the back of the chair. Pushing the wad of notes into the breast
pocket, he playfully punched Vinnie on the jaw. ‘Gotta see a man about a dog. Don’t bother seeing me out. I know me way.’

The airey door closed. A gust of March wind blew into the room, freshening the foul air. Vinnie slumped over the table, dropping his head in his hands. ‘Bastard,’ he muttered.

Frank stared at him. ‘What was all that about?’

Vinnie didn’t reply. It wasn’t until Frank poured him another drink and pushed it against his arm that he looked up.

‘What’s he mean about the jeweller’s up West?’ Frank was oblivious to the melting pot of anger sitting next to him.

Vinnie downed the beer with a vengeance. ‘Use your head, you idiot! What do you think he means?’

Frank half laughed, a nervous, light laugh. ‘You were in on that job?’

The younger man closed his eyes. ‘At last he susses it.’ When he opened them, a look of disdain spread across his face. ‘It’s all about alibis. He’s knitted us
together like a bloody jumper.’

Frank’s mind had gone blank. ‘That job was years ago, anyway.’

‘Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. Mik hoards things. Keeps it all up here.’ Vinnie jabbed a finger at his forehead. ‘Like that bloody fire at Chalk
Wharf.’

Frank looked at Vinnie blankly. ‘Yeah, but that was an accident. You said so yerself.’

Vinnie looked exasperated. ‘Mik sent me on that little job because them blokes from over the water were a bit suspect. I was expendable if things went wrong. And they did, didn’t
they?’

A chill went down Frank’s spine as the truth began to dawn. ‘Christ almighty, Vinnie, why didn’t you get the hell out of it after that?’

Vinnie laughed mirthlessly. ‘When are you gonna wake up, you silly sod? No one walks out on Mik Ferreter, not unless they’re tired of breathin’ and fancy a swim at the bottom
of the river. Mik’s in the information business. He collects it, puts it on the back burner till he needs it. Then when he’s ready, he’ll give you a nice little reminder. Like he
did tonight.’

‘But I . . . I ain’t in his pay!’

‘You don’t have to be. You’re in it up to your neck without a bloody penny in yer palm.’ Vinnie half snarled, half laughed. ‘For instance, your future old lady
ain’t gonna be too impressed with your track record, if someone was to tell her. She’d drop you like a hot brick.’

‘But I ain’t married her yet. I ain’t even asked her. I’m a free man still.’

Vinnie arched an eyebrow. ‘Married or not, do you fancy that straight-arsed sister of mine will give you a pat on the back for bedding Lena and them other whores?’

Frank felt his neck shrinking down in his shirt. Lizzie wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole if she were to find out.

Vinnie chuckled. ‘And what about that little deal you cooked up with our Babs? Conveniently forgotten, have you?’ He dragged the air noisily through his teeth, his eyes challenging.
‘How you got her to pinch Danny’s letter from Australia and give it to you? And when she’d done that how you got her to keep a lookout for anything more that might turn up in the
post?’

‘I did it for Lizzie’s own good,’ Frank pleaded desperately. ‘It turned out that me brother was seeing someone himself, had a kid by her an’ all.’

‘Yeah, but you weren’t to know that then, were you? You don’t know when he hitched up with his missus.’

‘But that was three years back. Who’s to remember it now?’

Vinnie muttered, ‘I’ll bet you a pony Mik does.’

‘But I ain’t never told him.’

Vinnie stood up. He pulled on his coat and straightened his hat. ‘You really are a stupid sod. Ferreter knows everything about everyone. He goes for your soft spots. What you’re most
afraid of losing. Your freedom, your money – or your woman. Whatever it is that hurts most. Don’t you know that our Babs has been kipping with him these last two years? Or did you think
you was laying her all on your own?’

Frank’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. ‘You mean to say you’d let your sister – no more than a kid – sleep with a
piece of shite like Ferreter?’

Vinnie shrugged. ‘She’s been sleeping with you, ain’t she? And anyway, I told you, he’s got me by the balls. Whatever Ferreter wants, he takes. The only thing he
ain’t been able to talk between the sheets is your intended. God help you if you think she’s gonna let you anywhere near her just ’cos you’ve put a ring on her finger. All
she’s after is the shop. She’ll have you worn out with all that carrying and lugging and you’ll be too knackered to get it up at all.’

Frank jumped to his feet. ‘ ’Ere, you watch it, Vin. That’s my girl you’re talking about!’

Vinnie laughed. ‘Yeah, right. Pull the other one. She’d drop you like a ton of bricks if yer brother come back.’

The mention of Danny was too much for Frank. He lunged at the departing figure and they toppled together against the wall, falling on the sideboard and sending the china crashing. Suddenly a
blade flashed in the light. Cold steel pricked Frank’s throat as the tip of the knife licked his gullet.

‘Don’t you ever lay a finger on me again,’ Vinnie rasped furiously as he held him down, ‘’cos if you do, I ain’t gonna think twice about giving them ugly
tonsils of yours a tweak.’

‘T . . . Take it easy,’ Frank spluttered, going red in the face. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry, mate.’

Vinnie relaxed his grip slowly and slid the knife back into his pocket. ‘You keep yer paws to yerself, understand?’

Frank nodded. Vinnie had boasted that he carried a knife, but he hadn’t thought anything of it, fancied it was just a bit of bull. But tonight his eyes had been opened.

Vinnie paused at the door. ‘Give me sister me best,’ he drawled contemptuously. ‘Ain’t been home much lately – due to the pressure of work.’ He patted the
pocket of his jacket, his fingers lying briefly on the hard shape beneath the cloth. ‘Oh yeah, before I forget. All those deals you’re doing on the side . . . we’ll have a chat
about them soon. Mik wants a piece of the action, thinks you might need a helping hand shifting all them fags and bottles of booze.’

Frank stared incredulously after him. How did Ferreter know about his fag and booze sideline? Vinnie departed and Frank felt sick to his stomach. He slumped down at the table and drank a beer.
He felt no better when he’d drunk it so he poured himself another. Then he turned his attention to the bottle of Scotch in the sideboard. Crunching over the broken china, he swore under his
breath.

There was only one alternative as far as he could see. Wed Lizzie and go kosher. What if she did want the shop? That was fine by him. Perfect in fact. He no more wanted to work in a
greengrocer’s than fly to the moon. What he did want was a wife he could trust to run the business, cook his meals and be there in his bed. And, by God, that’s what he was going to
have.

L
izzie closed the shop door and shivered as the bell tinkled. She pulled her coat tightly round her. She hadn’t noticed the cold until now.
Serving the customers kept her warm, but at six trade had dropped off.

Christmas was just two weeks away. She was pleased with the new lines she had added for the festive season. The cakes, sweets and home-made bread were selling well, thanks to the bakery that
supplied fresh goods for the shelves. It was as Lizzie was bundling up the last of the fairy cakes into bags for late customers, that Frank appeared. He was wearing his cap, thick jacket and
hard-wearing trousers, a scarf tucked warmly round his neck. ‘Just put the horse in the stable,’ he told her, his breath fanning out in the freezing air. ‘Given him a few oats to
keep out the cold.’

Lizzie smiled. ‘All the deliveries done, Frank?’

‘Every last one of them.’

‘Well, I think I’ll close up now. Bert’s just gone and your dad’s upstairs. He was feeling the cold today, you know. I wish he would take it a bit easy.’

‘Yeah, I know. He worries me an’ all.’

‘I’ve told him I can manage in the shop. With Bert in the storeroom and you out on the cart, there’s really no need—’ Lizzie stopped as she realized he wasn’t
listening. ‘Are you all right, Frank?’

‘Oh, er, yeah.’ He nodded, removing his cap and folding it up in his mittened hands. ‘Except that. . . well,’ he looked at her and lifted his shoulders. ‘Lizzie,
could you and me have a word, d’you think?’

‘What, now?’

Frank nodded. ‘I’d prefer it if we went downstairs. It’s a bit cold in here to talk.’

Lizzie felt her heart sink. She knew by Frank’s expression there was something wrong.

‘The books are up to date,’ she said quickly, resting the broom against the counter. She had already recorded the week’s takings. Sometimes on a Saturday she worked on the
books down in the airey. Frank always made her a cup of tea, watching in silence as she spread out the books on the big oak table in the front room. With the increase in turnover, she had paid off
the shop debts. She hadn’t found the bookkeeping difficult. It gave her a thrill to see the rows of figures written down neatly and to know there was nothing owing.

‘It’s not the books,’ Frank told her edgily. ‘It’s something else.’

Lizzie couldn’t think what it could be. Her secret fear was always that now she had accomplished so much at the shop it would all end. She knew Frank was content for her to run the
business. He had told her so many times. But she always wondered if Bill might do something unexpected, like selling up.

‘All right,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’ll lock up.’

But Frank moved towards her, restraining her gently. ‘You go on down and put the kettle on. I’ll see to everything up here.’

Lizzie handed him the keys. His eyes didn’t quite meet hers. She had a sinking feeling. Was Frank going to tell her she wasn’t wanted anymore? What would she do if she had to leave
the shop? She loved the work now and relied on the regular wage. Would Bert have to leave too? Where would he get another job? Disturbed thoughts hurtled through her mind as she left the shop and
walked into the cold December air.

The door to Frank’s airey was open as always. Inside the big front room a fire was burning in the grate. There were a few sprigs of holly on the dresser and in the hearth. The room looked
festive, Christmas paper chains hanging from one corner to another.

The airey was very familiar now. She almost took it for granted. From the first day she had come here with Danny for the Christmas party, it had felt like a second home. Even when Danny had
first gone to Australia she had derived some comfort from it, knowing that it had once been Danny’s home too.

Lizzie sat in the chair and gazed at the hot black coals. So much had happened in the three years he had been away. If she concentrated hard, she could almost see his face in the flames. . .

Suddenly there was a click and she jumped. The front door opened and closed. Frank crossed the room, then took the chair opposite. ‘I built up the fire before I went out. Thought it would
be nice,’ he said, looking uneasy.

She nodded. What was he trying to tell her? She waited, her heart beginning to hammer, but still Frank said nothing.

‘Frank, it’s nice sitting here but—’

‘Did you put the kettle on?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll do it then.’ He got up and was about to hurry off when Lizzie stood up too.

‘Frank. I don’t want a cup of tea. Just tell me what the trouble is.’

He turned and stared at her. For a moment, in the light of the flickering flames, she thought it could be Danny standing there, with his wide blue eyes and thick curly blond hair. Her heart gave
a painful clench as Frank moved towards her. ‘Oh, there ain’t no trouble,’ he told her. ‘At least, not yet.’

Lizzie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Sit down again, gel.’

‘But Frank—’

‘It’ll only take a minute.’

Reluctantly Lizzie sat down again. Frank took the other chair. He cleared his throat and, heaving a sigh, looked directly at her. ‘I’ve got to ask you something.’

‘Yes, you said so in the shop.’ She waited. She didn’t understand. It was not like Frank to act this way.

‘You ain’t gonna get all upset, are you?’

‘How can I answer that, Frank, when I don’t know what it is?’

Frank coughed once more. ‘It’s about . . . well, you and me.’

Lizzie stared at him. ‘You and me?’