The Camberwell Raid (21 page)

Well, I’m going to have something to say myself, thought Vi. Her daily help, Mrs Ross, had left at three,
her
usual time. Vi opened the French windows and stepped out. The April breeze caught her. Her fair hair rippled and the skirt of her dress fluttered.

There was no-one in the van. At least, not in the driving seat. Well, I’m blessed, she thought, who drove it round here, then, the baker’s ghost? The intermittent sunshine, becoming momentarily bright, threw sudden shadows. Vi turned to the source of the shadows, and there they were, the people who had brought the van round to the patio. Bowler hats, grey suits, kid gloves, spectacles and moustaches. Expressionless faces and cold eyes, eyes that stared at her through the spectacles. A little shiver ran down her back.

‘Who are you, what d’you want, why have you brought this van into our garden?’ Vi spoke as firmly as she could, although she hardly recognized her own voice.

‘Go inside,’ said Dusty Miller.

‘D’you mind going away and takin’ this van with you?’ said Vi, wishing Tommy was home.

‘Go inside.’

‘I won’t, not until you go away.’

A hand fastened on her shoulder, spun her round and pushed her back into the sitting-room.

‘Mummy?’ Paul was there, staring at the two people following his mother into the room.

‘It’s all right, Paul lovey,’ said Vi, ‘you go and meet Alice and David. They’ll be on their way home now.’

‘He’s not going anywhere, Mrs Whoever-you-are,’ said Miller, ‘and nor are you.’ Ginger Carstairs picked Paul up and sat him in an armchair. The spacious room, attractively furnished, was bright with light and colourful chintzes. It was a room Vi loved. From there,
one
could see so much of the wide garden, the French windows always offering an expansive view.

‘Who else is in the house?’ asked Miller.

‘No-one,’ said Vi.

‘There’s someone,’ said Miller.

‘No, it’s the wireless in the kitchen, it’s playing afternoon music, that’s all,’ said Vi, trying not to communicate her fears to Paul. The boy was dumb and staring as the cold calculating eyes of the intruders looked her up and down.

‘Have you got other children?’ asked Miller. Carstairs might have been in charge, but was letting Miller do all the talking.

‘Yes, two,’ said Vi, ‘and you just heard me say they’ll be on their way home from school now. If you want something, please take it and go.’

‘Where’s your husband?’

‘At work,’ said Vi.

‘What time will he be home?’

‘About six,’ said Vi.

‘He’s got a fine house.’

‘He’s earned it,’ said Vi, fighting her tremors, ‘he started at the bottom, and he’s worked for everything he’s got.’

‘You’re lippy, lady. Don’t be lippy. This old man of yours, has he got a car as well?’

‘Yes, he uses it to get to work,’ said Vi. She moved closer to the armchair on which Paul had been unceremoniously dumped. He lifted his hand and she took it, pressing it warmly and comfortingly. ‘What is it you want?’

‘Don’t ask questions,’ said Miller. ‘But I’ll answer that one. We want a car. That’s all. Your old man’s due home about six, you said?’

‘He’s not often late,’ said Vi.

‘Listen, when your other kids get here, let them in and say nothing out of place. We’ll look after this one and keep him cosy.’

‘They’ll come in through the kitchen,’ said Vi.

‘Well, when they do, go and meet them,’ said Miller. ‘Tell them you’ve got visitors, and bring them through to meet us, remembering we’ll be looking after this one. Right?’

‘I’ll remember,’ said Vi, racked.

‘Does your old man let himself in?’

‘Yes, by the front door, with his key,’ said Vi.

‘Well, that’ll suit us,’ said Miller, ‘we don’t want a lot of inconvenience. Are you fond of your old man?’

‘He’s my husband,’ said Vi. Always soft-spoken, she answered that particular question very quietly. Like all the other Adams women, Lizzy, Emily, Susie and Chinese Lady, Vi had an old-fashioned respect for the marriage state, never mind that Lizzy, Emily and Susie also had modern women’s ideas about how to circumvent any Victorianism in a husband without hardly trying.

‘Husbands are made for providing, are they?’ said Miller, whose wooden expression hadn’t changed one iota. Nor, for that matter, had that of his partner in crime. They were a pitiless pair at this stage of the operation, and not prepared to suffer any more setbacks to their acquisitive venture into the realms of the get-rich-quick fraternity. Carstairs had thrown in a calculation on their way from the bank to Cadiz Street and the parked van, to the effect that there were sixty bundles of banknotes at least. Worth six thousand smackers and more. A bloody fortune, Miller had
said
. The Gladstone bag was presently resting on an armchair, Carstairs standing guard over it, watching Miller and Vi alternately. ‘Answer up,’ said Miller to Vi.

‘My husband provides for all of us,’ she said. Young Paul, gulping, found his piping voice then.

‘Mummy, can’t these men go away?’

‘Oh, they will, lovey, as soon as Daddy gets home,’ said Vi, ‘so don’t worry, they’re not going to hurt us.’

‘Right,’ said Dusty. ‘You do as you’re told, lady, and I’ll guarantee there’ll be no accidents, like taking this kid for a nice long walk.’

‘You wouldn’t—’ Vi stopped at the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, followed by the clatter of David’s shod feet on the tiled floor. Miller jerked his thumb, and put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. Vi hastened to the kitchen. David was pouring himself a glass of water, and Alice was getting a tin of sherbet powder from the larder. They both liked sherbet water. It fizzed, and it tickled nostrils.

‘Oh, hello, Mum,’ said David. The wireless was still entertaining housewives with light music.

‘Listen,’ said Vi, making an effort to sound normal, ‘we’ve got visitors,’

‘Oh, special ones?’ said Alice, fair hair bright, soft and curling.

Heaven help me, thought Vi, what else can I do except what they’ve told me to? They’ve got Paul.

‘Yes, they’re a bit special,’ said Vi, ‘and you can come and meet them.’

‘Can I have my sherbet drink first?’ asked Alice. David gave her his glass, now fizzy with sherbet, and filled another with tap water, at which point the
music
stopped and the announcer came through with a newsflash. Vi stiffened. A bank robbery had taken place at a branch in the Walworth Road, by Camberwell, South London. Two men were involved, one of them known to be armed with a revolver. They had made their escape in a blue baker’s van. The name on the van was Joseph Roberts. Any information concerning its whereabouts would be welcomed by the police, but as the men were dangerous the public was warned to stay clear of them. A very accurate description of the two men, based on detailed information given by bank staff, began to follow.

Vi, spellbound, listened to the description with her heart almost stopping.

‘Mummy?’ said Alice. It was her turn to stare. Vi wheeled round and saw the man with the thick moustache standing at the open kitchen door. He too was listening to the newsflash. Without a word he walked swiftly in, crossed to the wireless set on the dresser and switched it off. Vi knew why, of course.

‘Why’s he done that?’ asked David.

‘Never you mind, kid,’ said Miller.

‘It’s our wireless,’ said Alice in girlish protest.

‘Well, count yourself lucky,’ said Miller, ‘not everyone’s got a wireless. Or a garden. Or a car. Now come and meet my friend. Bring ’em,’ he said to Vi, and he stood aside, watching her in his expressionless way.

‘Yes, come on, David, come on, Alice,’ she said, ‘let’s go into our garden room.’ They called it that sometimes because of its expansive view of the lawn, the flower beds and the shrubbery.

Alice and David, puzzled rather than alarmed for the moment, let their mother lead them through to
the
sitting-room, Miller following. There, Alice and David saw the other visitor, who was dressed just like the first one. Ginger Carstairs, standing beside the armchair in which Paul was seated, eyed Vi’s elder children without comment.

Paul said, ‘Mum, I want to pay respects.’

‘What’s he mean, that he wants to piddle?’ asked Miller.

Vi was a gentle-natured woman, and for all that she’d been born a Camberwell cockney, she disliked earthiness. The word used was of a mild kind, but still not one she wanted spoken in front of her children. True, they did hear all sorts of words at school, where there was a mixture of kids, some well-behaved and others saucier than Max Miller. Sometimes Alice and David came home asking what did this word or that word mean, and Vi always told them they were ugly words that nice people never used. Vi believed children should be allowed their years of innocence, whatever their backgrounds.

‘Paul means he wants to go upstairs,’ she said.

‘Same thing, I suppose,’ said Miller. ‘A bit finicky in this house, are you?’

‘No, not finicky,’ said Vi, putting on a valiant front in the knowledge that any visible fear or nervousness would acutely disturb her sons and daughter, who were already very uncomfortable.

‘Take the little ’un upstairs, then,’ said Miller. ‘We’ll keep your other two company. Wait, have you got a phone?’

‘Yes, course we have,’ said David, ‘and I don’t know why you’re talkin’ to our mum as if you don’t like her.’

‘Mum’s nice,’ said Alice.

‘Beg your pardon, I’m sure,’ said Miller, his mockery of a deadpan kind. He looked around. ‘Where d’you keep the phone?’

‘It’s in the hall,’ said Vi.

‘And there’s one upstairs as well, is there?’ said Miller.

‘No, course not,’ said David. ‘What do we want one upstairs for when we’ve got one downstairs?’

Paul wriggled. Carstairs, a sudden little touch of irritation showing, put a hand on his arm and pulled him from the chair. Miller nodded.

‘My friend’ll take the boy,’ he said.

‘I’d rather you let me,’ said Vi, her teeth beginning to clench, but she had to watch helplessly as Paul was taken from the room.

‘We ’aven’t had our cup of tea and cake yet,’ said David accusingly to Miller.

‘Well nobody has, have they?’ he said. ‘We’re visiting because we’ve got some business to do with your dad, and what with one thing and another, your mother hasn’t had time to put the kettle on. She can do it now. I like my tea strong and sweet, missus. No cake, just some piping hot brew. The kids can have cake. You can leave them with me while you make the pot.’

‘I’ll go with Mum and help her,’ said Alice.

‘So will I,’ said David.

‘You’re set on that, are you?’ said Miller.

‘Yes,’ said Alice, sure now that her mum didn’t like these visitors any more than she did, or David did. David was beginning to show his pugnacious look. It was the kind of look he showed if he thought Alice was being ragged at school. Teachers weren’t always on hand to give bullies a slap. David could land a
punch
if he decided he had to. ‘Yes, me and David’ll both go and help Mum,’ she said.

‘We’ll all go,’ said Miller.

‘We don’t need you,’ said David.

‘We’ll all go,’ said Miller again. ‘We don’t want to lose each other, do we, sonny?’

‘I don’t mind losin’ you,’ said David, and Vi gave his arm a little squeeze. He looked up at her. Vi was actually able to smile. It was an effort, but she managed it.

‘Come on, lovey,’ she said.

When Carstairs brought Paul down, everyone finished up in the kitchen. Carstairs sat at the table with Paul. Miller stood close to the door. Vi had the kettle going, and Alice and David were close about her, as if guarding her.

Miller took his bowler hat off after a while, showing a wealth of wavy black hair. He ran the side of his hand over his forehead, and Vi thought he’s nervous, he’s perspiring. He’s a monster, but his nerves are showing. Is he the one who’s got the revolver?

Carstairs looked stonily at Miller, thin lips tight with contempt.

Vi, noticing that too, said to herself, no, that’s the one with the gun, the one who hasn’t said a single word so far. Oh, dear Lord above, what’s Tommy going to do when he gets home to this?

She felt these brutal intruders were capable of anything, and she wasn’t far wrong.

Dusty Miller, son of a Kent miner, was a man with an obsessive envy of all who had been born in better circumstances. At school, he thieved in bullying fashion from boys large or small. In his first job, as an engineering apprentice, he thieved all he could lay
his
hands on. Found out, he was summarily sacked. He took up a career as a thief, and far from having served only one prison sentence, he had been in and out of gaol countless times. His envy of moneyed people grew, and he hated the middle classes. He developed, inevitably, a need for instant riches, and he knew only one way to put real money into his pocket.

He had met Ginger Carstairs by chance, in a pub. His spiteful envy of better-off people was outmatched by his new acquaintance’s hatred of everyone, full stop. The parents of this particular specimen of misanthropy were Bohemians of a thriftless, loose-living and wholly selfish kind, with not the faintest idea of parental responsibilities. Ginger Carstairs grew up hating them, hating their debts, their creditors, their associates and the whole bloody world. Escape could only come about by the acquisition of money and a totally new environment.

That money was now literally in the bag, but departure from the country had, for the moment, been nipped in the bud. To restore the balance, Ginger Carstairs was quite prepared to subject Vi and her family to any kind of mental torture.

That included the woman’s husband when he arrived home.

Miller was fully one with Carstairs in this, even though by now neither liked the other. That was inevitable, given the extent of their obsessive dislikes.

THE CID MEN
had searched for the vanished quarry up hill and down dale. When their car entered Denmark Hill, the van could not be seen, but the woman on the corner had been positive in declaring it had turned right and gone up the hill. The policemen, with Freddy still aboard, travelled fast to Herne Hill, stopping there to ask people if they had seen the van. Response was negative, and the inspector surmised it had turned off somewhere along Denmark Hill or Herne Hill. Freddy, head still aching, said what now, then? The sergeant said they needed a little bit of luck, that no-one could find a needle in a haystack without a little bit of luck.