The Fight for Lizzie Flowers (16 page)

‘But I’ve portered since I left school.’

‘Time for a change, boy. A clean shirt and a good barber.’

‘Walter, we’ve got a kid on the way.’

‘Yeah, but Billingsgate is dead-end,’ joked Clifford, his younger brother, who had turned up at the meeting.

‘Not many blokes have a licence,’ Syd had argued mildly.

‘And look where it’s got you.’ Walter wagged his fat finger as he polished off his chaser. ‘Come into the firm, Sydney. I’m on the lookout for a driver.’

‘I can’t drive,’ Syd admitted guiltily. ‘That’s the problem.’

‘Driving’s a doddle,’ Clifford had assured him. ‘Even for you.’

‘Come on,’ chivvied Walter, smiling that smile of his that caused his sweating round face to look faintly agreeable. ‘If you don’t make the jump now, you’ll be
wiping the scales from your mitts by the time you get to Dad’s age.’

Syd thought fleetingly of his father. Walter Miller senior was rarely present at family conferences. The Missus usually headed the table. A potent mixture of brown ale and gout took their dad
off to his bed. At sixty he was an eighty-year-old, thought Syd sadly. Was Walter insinuating that he was to turn out the same?

‘We’ll teach you to drive,’ Clifford assured him. ‘There ain’t nothing to it. You’ll be ducking and diving round the East End like an old-timer. We’ll
take you out in the scrapyard lorry, right? There’s just two gears, forward and reverse. Well, nearly. After a couple of weeks you’ll be flying, right?’

‘Dunno,’ he’d resisted for all of ten seconds.

‘Your old lady will respect you,’ Walter had concurred. ‘Especially when you tuck a twenty in her palm for the kid.’

‘A twenty?’ Syd had repeated. Twenty quid was more than he earned in a month.

‘Sovs,’ added Clifford with a nod.

‘Your old lady has a right to be gutted,’ continued Walter in an intimate tone. ‘I wouldn’t want Flowers’s filthy hands all over me when I was out of it.
That’s taking a liberty, that is.’

‘All the more reason to give her a nice surprise when she comes out,’ Clifford insisted.

‘Look, take this.’ Walter had squeezed two notes into his hand and they weren’t pounds. ‘This is up front. You’ve earned this, mate.’

‘I ain’t done nothing.’

‘You’ve come to us. You done the right thing.’

‘You’re our brother, right?’ said Clifford, smiling the same smile as Walter. ‘You’re a Miller. People should know you’re not to be messed with.’

Clifford patted him hard on the back. ‘My old lady lost a kid last year. Nearly full term she was, an’ all. And it was only me bunging her a few bob extra that put a smile back on
her face.’

As he drew his mind back to the moment Syd reflected on the plan of action his brothers had devised. They, as in the three of them, were to put the fear of God up Flowers. He’d be out of
the East End within the week. Syd and Flo and Danny and Lizzie would be rid of the lying, shit-stirring clown that Flowers was, thanks to the Millers.

Now, as Syd hurried to the rear of the building, he was half hoping his brothers wouldn’t be there. But to his surprise and also alarm they were.

‘One for the road at the local?’ Walter suggested. ‘Night staff don’t clock on for another hour.’

Syd nodded, eager for a reversal of plan. They walked to the Queen’s and downed as many ales as they could before chuck-out.

‘No boots, no dusters, right?’ Syd said as they made their way back to the hospital. ‘No knives or razors.’

‘Would we?’ replied Walter with an innocent expression as he turned up the collar of his overcoat over his outsized Miller ears.

It was a warm May night and Syd could smell the antiseptic drifting out from the hospital. Together with the scent from the apple trees on the green, it caused Syd’s stomach to revolt.

Hidden by the trees, Walter said, ‘We’ll nab the git as he walks in, bring him over here. We’ve got good cover.’

Syd nodded. He had to keep reminding himself they were only going to warn Flowers off. Then he’d be able to guarantee Flo that her brother-in-law was history. And it was down to him.

‘Then we’ll sort out this Savage,’ Walter assured him.

‘What?’ Syd brought himself fuzzily back from the vision of himself earning respect from his wife.

‘You was saying about the shop,’ Clifford reminded him.

‘Did I?’ Syd recalled the endless pints he downed on his visit to Mile End. What else had he blabbed?

‘How some idiots have put the squeeze on Lizzie,’ Walter urged.

‘Yes, but she’s taking care of that.’

‘She’s hired goons,’ Walter said dismissively, ‘who, by all accounts, don’t add up to much of a lump.’

‘Yeah, morons,’ agreed Clifford, stroking back his greasy brown hair with fingers the size of rolling pins.

‘How do you know that?’ Syd mumbled.

Walter tapped the side of his big nose.

‘The girl needs heavyweights to do the job. Like us.’

Syd stared at his two brothers in shock. What were they going on about? They were his kith and kin and he forgave them their faults. Yet his instincts were shouting he was well out of his
depth.

‘Is this the geezer?’ Walter nodded to a tall figure strolling across the hospital grounds.

Syd’s legs went to jelly. He peered into the gloom. ‘Nno, don’t think so,’ he lied.

‘Got to be, ain’t it?’

Clifford grinned. ‘Yeah, course it has.’ He rubbed his big hands together.

‘What are we waiting for?’ Walter belched beer and drew the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Let’s do the deed. Give lover boy the recognition he deserves.’

It was the end of May when Lizzie took Polly to Gertie’s again. Polly had been out of sorts and off school. But now, as Lizzie and Ethel walked towards Poplar with Polly
skipping ahead in her school uniform, they talked about their visit to Mr James’s empty shop.

‘The notice in the window says it’s still for rent,’ Lizzie said as she slipped her hand through Ethel’s arm. ‘But with Flo being in hospital, I haven’t given
it much thought.’

‘Mum says Flo is happy now she’s home. The hospital was getting her down. I just hope she puts her feet up.’

‘Syd will keep an eye on her,’ Lizzie replied. ‘He’s packed in his job at Billingsgate.’

‘That was a surprise.’

‘The family firm beckoned, I hear. Syd’s brother Clifford is teaching him to drive the lorry for the scrapyard.’

‘Dad thinks he was daft to leave a steady job.’

‘Syd always wanted to drive.’

‘What does Flo think of that?’ Ethel asked curiously.

Lizzie grinned. ‘She wants a car too.’

Ethel nudged her elbow. ‘Everyone’s trying to keep up with the Joneses. Or should it be the Flowerses?’

‘I don’t know about that.’

They walked on a little way. ‘Did you see there was lots of space inside Mr James’s shop? Plenty of space for a display cabinet.’

‘Yes,’ Ethel agreed enthusiastically. ‘It was all very nice.’

‘We could buy a second-hand one from the rag and bone man. Even an old oven for the room out back.’

‘Do you think there would be enough interest from the locals?’

‘Yes,’ Lizzie replied confidently. ‘I’d like to call the shop “The Bring and Buy Shop”.’

‘Don’t you want your name on the sign?’

‘Not yet. I want women to know the shop is for everyone.’

‘That’s a nice idea.’

‘Would you take it on?’

‘Do you think I could?’

‘You won’t have much time to spare when business gets cracking.’

Ethel grinned. ‘I should get back to a routine.’

Lizzie asked the all-important question. ‘How are you managing without your pay packet from Rickard’s?’

‘Money’s tight. As you know, Richard’s careful with the housekeeping.’

Lizzie stopped and looked at her friend. ‘You won’t have to ask him for any if we pull the shop off.’

‘Yes . . .’ Ethel hesitated.

‘It might be tricky at first,’ Lizzie conceded. ‘A new business needs a lot of attention. How will the kids and Richard feel about that?’

‘Timothy and Rosie won’t mind. They’re older now and I wouldn’t have to ask Mrs Ryde to look after them.’ Again Ethel paused. ‘Richard will have other ideas.
But he never did like me working anyway.’

‘This shop will be a bit different, Ethel. Once we get it off its feet, with home-made goods coming in on a regular basis, and fresh fruit and vegetables at knock-down prices, we’ll
take on more staff. Perhaps Rosie would like a Saturday job and a few hours after school?’

‘She’d be happy with that.’

‘You’ll have Bert for deliveries.’

‘What about Ebondale Street?’

Lizzie shrugged. ‘I’ve got Fowler and Elmo now.’

‘Do you like them?’

‘They ain’t too bad.’

Ethel’s face was pensive.

‘What’s wrong?’

Ethel looked up from under her fair lashes. ‘I was wondering, have you seen anything of Savage?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Would he be likely to take an interest in the new shop?’

Lizzie suddenly understood Ethel’s hesitation. ‘I wouldn’t think so. He won’t know I’m involved.’

‘It’s just that – well, what if he came round and demanded money?’

Lizzie nodded slowly. ‘I can’t say it wouldn’t ever happen. But I don’t want you to worry either.’

Ethel looked down. ‘Richard would be hopeless in a tight squeeze.’

Lizzie knew Ethel’s enthusiasm had taken a big dip and she understood why. ‘Let’s wait and see how things go, shall we?’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Course not.’

They stood on the corner of Gap End as Polly ran down it. ‘How is the romance?’ Lizzie asked, and saw Ethel’s face brighten.

‘We meet at the garage when Danny’s not there.’ She blushed. ‘I never realized how hard those bus seats are.’

They both laughed, but Ethel took Lizzie’s arm. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind waiting a bit? About the shop, I mean. What if it goes to someone else?’

‘There will always be another one.’

‘I’m not as brave as you.’

Lizzie smiled, even though she was disappointed. Ethel would make the perfect manageress. It would also give her the chance to make a new life for herself as the kids, inevitably, left home.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Lizzie teased. ‘Not with a mother-in-law like yours.’

Ethel laughed . She glanced down the rows of crooked terraces that led up to an old railway yard, now in disrepair. ‘Is Frank seeing Polly today?’

Lizzie nodded. ‘We were to visit every Thursday. But Polly had a cold last week.’

‘He really does want to see her, then?’

‘So he says.’

Ethel smiled. ‘So miracles do happen.’

‘No one wants to believe that.’ Lizzie raised her eyebrows. ‘Including your mum who’s dead certain he’s faking it.’

Ethel grinned. ‘That’s Mum.’

‘What do you think?’ Lizzie asked of her friend.

‘Of the new Frank?’ Ethel raised her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. But like you, I think it’s worth a go.’

‘You’re definitely in the minority.’

Again Ethel shrugged. ‘Only time will tell.’

‘Thanks for being such a good mate.’ Lizzie hugged her friend.

‘I ain’t much of one, if I’m such a scaredy-cat.’

‘Stop that. You’re always there for me.’

After they’d said goodbye, Lizzie was left with mixed feelings. Would she go ahead with the new shop without Ethel? She had always pictured Ethel there, in a smart uniform like Ethel had
worn at Rickard’s, with that lovely smile of hers welcoming the customers.

Ethel had a good brain, was honest as the day was long, and had a talent for knowing what sold. She had been the backbone of Rickard’s haberdashery for many years. But Mr James’s
shop wouldn’t be vacant forever. It was spacious, clean and had an outsized back yard. Mr James had kept all his timber and rope in the store there. It was also going cheap.

If she didn’t take it, someone else soon would.

‘Am I gonna have tea with Uncle Frank today?’ Polly asked Lizzie as they stood outside the green-painted door.

‘I should think so.’

‘We played dominoes last time.’

Lizzie smiled. ‘Did you win?’

‘No, it was Granda. But Uncle Frank said I’m a good player as I can add up quicker than him.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

‘He said Gertie used to cook boiled beef and carrots for him and Uncle Danny. They was only little like me. It was the best stew in the East End and made them grow up big and strong. Can I
have some of Gertie’s boiled beef one day?’

Lizzie nodded, surprised that Frank had talked so openly about his childhood. And in a positive way too. She only wanted Polly to hear the good things for now. ‘Knock again, Polly. They
couldn’t have heard us.’

Polly giggled as she took hold of the brass horseshoe. ‘Granda’s a bit mutton, Gertie says.’

‘Who’s taking me name in vain?’ Gertie said as she opened the door. ‘Oh it’s only you, mischief. That’s all right, then.’ Wearing a flowered apron and a
scarf around her head, Gertie bent to kiss Polly. ‘Run along to the parlour. Your Granda’s there.’

‘How is he?’ Lizzie asked as she stepped inside. She knew by the look on Gertie’s face something was wrong.

‘Could be better. I was wondering if you’d turn up.’

‘Sorry we ain’t been. Polly had a cold. She was off school.’ Lizzie smelled the air, thick with camphor and cabbage.

Gertie drew Lizzie close and, glancing over her shoulder, whispered, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘What?’

‘It’s about Frank.’

‘Frank?’ Lizzie repeated, her tummy beginning to churn.

‘Yer. He was attacked.’

‘Frank? Attacked?’ Lizzie said in a shocked voice. ‘When?’

‘About the time Flo was in hospital. He was going to his night shift when these thugs set on him.’

‘Who were they? Why would they do that?’

‘Dunno.’ Gertie pulled her scarf tighter. ‘It was too dark to see.’

‘Did they hurt him?’

‘You could say that. He put up a good fight, though.’

Lizzie felt her head swim. There was always something with Frank. If he wasn’t in trouble, trouble wasn’t far behind. Danny was right about that. ‘So what happened?’

‘The coppers were called to the hospital. But let’s face it, Frank Flowers ain’t gonna come top of their list for attention.’