Trinidad Street (36 page)

The small man sighed and shook his head. ‘Dear, dear. What a pity. That’s the trouble with Jimmy here, you see. He don’t know his own strength. And he’s not even roused at the moment. If he was roused . . .’ He let Gerry’s imagination fill in the end of the sentence.

Gerry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. There was a terrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He did not have the money and he did not know where he could raise some. All he had – all he had was a brother who acted much the same as these two. In his desperation, he grabbed hold of this dubious lifebelt.

‘I wouldn’t let him loose if I was you,’ he said, trying to inject the same quiet menace into his voice that had just been used on him. ‘Your Jimmy’s not the only one who can get nasty. You heard of Charlie Billingham? Same name as me, see? Funny, ain’t it? Could be because he’s my brother. And you know how it is – blood’s thicker than water. A hard man, my brother. He don’t like it if he hears I been pushed around.’

His eyes flicked nervously from one face to another, hoping, praying, that he might see even a shadow of the fear that was turning his legs to pieces of chewed string. To his utter consternation, both men burst out laughing.

‘Charlie Billingham? That’s a joke! Ain’t that a joke, Jimmy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Charlie Billingham hard? He’s about as hard as a rotten banana.’

He caught Jimmy’s eye and indicated Gerry with a jerk of the head. Jimmy stretched over the counter, grabbed Gerry by the lapels and lifted him off his feet. Gerry found himself eyeball to eyeball with the bruiser. The broken nose and red veins loomed before him in horrible detail. His breath, tainted by his blackened teeth, wafted up Gerry’s nostrils and down his throat. Gerry though his last hour had come. Then, just as quickly, he was back on his feet again. He had to hold on to the counter to keep upright.

The small man I ared his teeth in a mocking grin.

‘Friday. That’s when Mr Praed wants his money. Friday, first thing. Or else me and Jimmy here’ll have to come and pay you another little visit.’

Gerry swallowed, and nodded. ‘R–right,’ he managed to squeak.

‘Remember.’

The two left the shop, setting the bell jingling. For a moment, Gerry
stood staring at the space they had just vacated. Then he bolted out the back and was violently sick.

Ellen watched with increasing concern as Gerry ran round chasing his tail in an effort to keep one step ahead of his creditors. His normally cheerful face became drawn, with lines of tension about the eyes and mouth, making him look older than his twenty-five years. She admired the way his fertile imagination kept coming up with new schemes to shuffle around what little money he had, but though he did not confide details, she could see that it was just a continuous train of emergency measures. Nothing was bringing in enough new money to get him out of the downward spiral.

She doubled her efforts at the stall, trying to shift as much as she could, but though it helped, it was not enough. One afternoon, two men came asking for him. She recognized them at once from Gerry’s description: Praed’s bruiser and his bear-leader.

‘He ain’t here,’ she said, staring the small one straight in the eye though her heart knocked against her ribs.

‘Well, tell us where he is then, darling.’

‘Ain’t he at the shop?’ she asked brightly.

‘Would I be asking you if he was?’

‘If he ain’t there I dunno where he is,’ Ellen said.

The weaselly man gave an unpleasant smile. ‘You take my tip, darling. Get out while you got the chance.’

Ellen did not tell Gerry about their visit. He had enough to worry about.

‘Trouble is, everyone’s avoiding me now they think I’m going under,’ he said, as they packed up.

‘You’ve not gone under yet,’ Ellen pointed out.

‘No.’ Gerry gave a smile, a travesty of his usual grin. ‘No, I’m still swimming. Just.’

She tactfully did not mention the kettles. That piece of bad judgement was what had really started it off, but it was a taboo subject between them. They had been gathered up and sold for a song to a dealer in the wilds of Southwark.

‘Thing is, though,’ he said, ‘I reckon I’m going to have to give up the shop.’

‘Oh, Gerry!’

She knew how much it meant to him. The shop was what he had been aiming at for all these years, ever since he was just a kid working at old Rooney’s after school.

‘I can’t pay the rent. In fact, I ain’t paid it for weeks. There was always someone breathing down my neck. Well, you know that. But now the rent man’s on to me.’

‘Oh, Gerry, that’s terrible. Ain’t there no way you can hang on to it? Hold him off for a bit?’

Sadly, he shook his head. ‘I tried, girl. But I’m going to have to let it go.’

All one Sunday, they toiled to clear the shop out. It was depressing work. Only a short while ago they had laboured to clean it up and bring stock in and arrange everything on the shelves and in the window. It had been a big new adventure then, and their energy seemed boundless. Now it was all a terrible effort, draining them of even the ability to speak. Ellen tried to keep up a flow of chatter for a while, and Gerry gamely attempted to respond, but in the end they lapsed into silence. Back and forth they trudged with the handcart, taking what was left of the goods to be stored in Gerry’s bedroom until it could be transported up to Poplar to be sold on the stall.

In the street, the girls were squatting on the kerb playing cat’s cradle, the boys were flicking cigarette cards, the old folk sat on chairs outside their doors, and some of the mothers were gossiping, arms folded, shoulders leant against the wall. Ellen could feel their eyes upon her and knew what they were thinking, what they were saying once her back was turned. There was sympathy for Gerry in his plight, but there was also a strong element of ‘I told you so’. They were even rather satisfied that he had failed, since it proved that he was no richer or cleverer than anyone else in the street, after all. Ellen wanted to shout at their smug faces, to point out that at least he had tried, at least he saw something beyond the hand-to-mouth existence that they all took for granted.

At last it was all done, and they took a final look around the empty premises. Gerry’s shoulders were slumped, his voice flat and toneless.

‘I better take the key round the landlord’s office and stick it through the door.’

Ellen had never heard him sound so defeated. On impulse, she reached out and put an arm round his waist.

‘It’s not the end yet, you know, Gerry. You still got the stall, you still got loads of stock. You’ll bounce back, I know you will.’

In answer, he held her close, hugging her to him with a fierce strength, burying his face in her neck.

‘You’re the best, Ellen,’ he said, his voice muffled against her skin. ‘You’re the very best. I love you.’

The words jolted through her heart. She wished she could say what he wanted her to, that she loved him, but she could not. She liked him, he was a good pal and she was very fond of him. But love – that was something different, that was what she had felt for Harry, what she still felt for Harry. When they were together, the whole world had been a brighter place and she had lived on a higher level where everything was new and sparkling and full of wonderful opportunities. Even a simple walk to the shops or a drink in a pub had been an exciting expedition when Harry was by her side. It was not the same with Gerry.

‘You’re a real pal, Gerry,’ she said lamely. To gloss over the lack of passion, she rushed on, ‘This is only a little setback, I’m sure of it. You’ll get what you want one day. You’ve always got what you wanted, ain’t you?’

‘Not everything,’ he said bleakly.

Ellen knew very well what he meant. ‘Nobody ever gets everything,’ she said, with feeling.

‘No, I s’pose not.’ He released her, making a visible effort to act as if everything was all right. ‘I’ll take this key back, then. See you tomorrow.’

Ellen was left feeling that she had failed him.

Quitting the shop eased the difficulties for a while, but it did not solve them. Gerry still seemed to spend a lot of time either placating people or avoiding them. Late one Saturday he appeared at the market, breathless and harried, and demanded all the money that had been taken so far. As Ellen emptied out her apron into his hands, he kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to pounce on him.

‘What is it?’ Ellen asked. ‘What’s up? Who’s after you?’

‘It’s that bloody Praed again. He’s out to get me.’

‘Praed? I thought you’d settled with him.’

‘Only part of it, enough to get him off my back. Now he wants the rest. With interest.’

‘Oh, Gerry.’ With shaking fingers, she scraped out every last farthing. ‘Will that be enough? Will he be satisfied with that?’

‘I flaming well hope so.’

Gerry stuffed it in his pockets and made off through the crowd.

Ellen packed up the stall on her own that day. One of the other stall holders helped her to pull the cart back to the store. She hung around for a while, expecting Gerry to come, but he did not. In the end she locked up and took the tram back to the Island, worry gnawing at her.
Praed had a nasty reputation. The other market traders thought that Gerry had been foolish to get mixed up with him.

She did not go directly home, but stopped off at the Billinghams’. Alma was busy getting tea ready.

‘No, love, I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him all day,’ she said in answer to Ellen’s anxious enquiry. ‘I thought he was up the stall with you.’

‘No.’ Ellen did not know whether to tell Alma what she knew. Best not to worry her, she decided. She handed over the last of the day’s takings. ‘He might need this. I think he’s a bit short at the moment.’

Alma sighed. ‘Too true he is, lovey. I’ll give it him when he comes in. Staying for a cuppa?’

‘My mum’s expecting me, thanks. But would you ask him to step along and let me know he’s back, when he does turn up?’

Alma followed her to the door. She gave Ellen a quick kiss on the cheek.

‘Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure he does.’

But Ellen hardly heard her. Harry had just come out of number forty-seven and was walking down the street. He was all dressed up for Saturday night in a navy suit and stiff collar, a bowler hat at a rakish angle on his blond curls. Ellen found herself gaping at him. As he drew level with her, their eyes met and she felt a hot flush rising up her neck. He gave a curt nod.

‘’Evening, Aunt Alma, Ellen.’

‘’Evening,’ Ellen answered, equally coldly.

Alma watched his retreating back. ‘Hmph. Bet I know where he’s off to, him and all his mates. To watch that Siobhan doing her act.’

‘What?’

‘Oh yeah, haven’t you heard? She’s back. Large as life and twice as natural. Not staying here no more, of course. But she’s playing in London, at the Gattis. That’s where they’re all off to, all the young lightermen. They always goes to the Gattis.’

Ellen felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. All this time, despite the fact that she and Harry were hardly on speaking terms, she had nursed a secret hope that one day they might make it up. Not that she would ever make the first move. As the injured party, she felt that was not her place. Her mother had hinted that maybe Harry considered himself the injured party, what with her going out with Gerry. Ellen did not see this at all. She was just good pals with Gerry. That was altogether different from what Harry had got up to with Siobhan. Why, if she had not disappeared into the blue like that, they would have been married with a baby, possibly two by now. It was not
the same at all. And so things had stayed in a stalemate, with both of them too stiffnecked to give an inch. Now she suddenly saw it all in a different light. It was not just an interlude, however long, before they got together again. It was over. Harry worked long hours during the week and went out spending freely on Saturday night and Sunday. He had a full life. And now he was off to see Siobhan perform. She walked slowly home, her heart full.

It was a subdued Gerry who finally turned up at gone nine o’clock. Ellen flew into the front parlour the moment she heard his knock on the door.

‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘You all right? He didn’t beat you up, did he?’

‘No, no, I’m all right. I done it. Paid him off.’

It was said with such conviction that Ellen believed him. She was not to know that it had been done with borrowed money.

‘That’s good. That’s real relief. You mean Praed’s right off your back now?’

‘Yeah. All paid up.’ Only there was a new loan to pay back now.

‘That’s real good news, Gerry. The best I heard for ages. Oh – by the way, I left the last of today’s takings with your mum.’

‘Yeah, thanks, she gave it to me. You took your wages out of it, I hope?’

‘No,’ Ellen admitted. ‘I didn’t know how pushed you were.’

Gerry reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her on the lips. ‘You’re one in a million, Ellen. When I’m out of this mess – and I’m over the worst now – will you marry me?’

Ellen stared at him, not knowing what to say. He flushed, as if the question had been just as unexpected to him.

‘What d’you say, Ellen? Will you? I never had the courage to ask you before, but you stuck by me through all this, and that must mean I’m more than just a neighbour to you.’

‘Oh, you are, Gerry. And anyway, I couldn’t have walked out when you was in trouble, now could 1? It’s just . . .’

It was just that he was not Harry. When Harry came upon a crisis, you could rely on him to know just what to do. There would be no fuss and bother, he would calmly take command, and people would do as he asked them because they respected him. Gerry was clever, and fun to be with, but when it came down to it, Harry was a rock, whereas Gerry was built on sand.

But she could not tell him that in so many words.

‘You know I’ve always loved you, Ellen. For years, ever since you
was just a kid. These last months, I couldn’t have hung on if it hadn’t been for you. I’d’ve gone under, honest I would, but I kept going, ’cos I had you to think about. It’s all been for you. And I can build it up again, I know I can, if I got you with me.’