Tuppence to Tooley Street (26 page)

Danny stood in Ginny’s doorway thinking about his brief liaison with Alison. He knew that she was not going to rush a letter off to him as soon as she got home, and he was sure that she was trying to tell him in a roundabout way that they were not going to get too serious. The chat they had together on the platform at Paddington Station made him feel that she was preparing him for a rejection. Why did it all have to be so complicated? It seemed as though a dark cloud was settling over everything, even Dawson Street and his own family. His sister Connie was walking around in a perpetual daze since she had heard about Jimmy’s ship going down, and Lucy was getting very irritable and unapproachable. Even Maggie seemed to have lost her calm ‘big sister’ image and was wearing a constant frown.

Just as Danny was ready to finish his morning stint he saw Jack Mason coming down the turning towards him looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel. His face was flushed and he was clenching his fists, and as he got closer Danny could see the vicious look in his eyes. Mason stopped in front of Ginny’s house.

‘You seen that berk Rossy?’ he blurted out without any greeting.

Danny felt dislike welling up inside him. ‘I bin ’ere fer the last hour an ’alf, an’ ’e ain’t showed. What’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong?’ Mason sneered. ‘Rossy’s s’posed ter be collectin’ some gear from Tony, an’ ’e ain’t turned up. Tony’s copped the needle an’ I’m left ter do the errands. If yer see the cow–son tell ’im ter get ’imself roun’ Tony’s quick as ’e can, or I’ll put one in ’is chops.’

Danny gave Jack Mason a sideways glance. ‘I thought Johnny Ross was workin’ at the vinegar factory?’ he said.

‘So ’e is, but ’e’s signed on the panel again. That’s why the job was arranged fer this week. I tell yer, son, if it was down ter me an’ not Tony I’d give ’im the elbow. It ain’t only ’is mouth that annoys me. The bastard’s unreliable.’

Danny nodded. ‘Okay, if I see ’im I’ll pass the message on.’

Mason suddenly relaxed a little and he gave Danny an evil grin. ‘You ain’t seen nuffink o’ that fat git Stockbridge round’ere, ’ave yer?’ he asked.

‘Not since ’e nabbed Bonky Williams. Why?’

‘Just askin’. By the way, ’ow’s the pitch goin’?’

Danny forced a grin. ‘Not bad. Biff Bowden’s mutt cost Tony a few bob, but it’s pickin’ up a bit.’

Jack Mason rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘Well I’ll be off. Yer keep yer nose clean an’ we won’t ferget ter put a little somefing your way later on.’

Danny watched as Mason hurried out of Clink Lane. A couple of weeks ago he would have been eager to work his way into the set–up, but now he felt that no good was going to come out of it. If he got involved any further in Tony Allen’s organisation there would be no backing out. He thought over what Tony Arpino had said, and he realised he would have to be very careful in arranging a meeting with Kathy. Mason had a house in Dockhead and it was out of the question to go there to see her. Maybe Ginny Coombes could help him. She had seen Kathy at the shops in Tooley Street, she might know if Kathy ever came round to see her mother since her father threw her out. If she visited her mother at all it would have to be during the day when her father was at work. That would be the best time to catch her, he thought.

 

The warm, sunny weather continued throughout the rest of the week. Danny was constantly sullen and miserable. There had been no letter from Alison and no news for Connie, and on Saturday morning Maggie was reduced to a flood of tears as she bade farewell to her two children. Alice joined Maggie at the school gates and stood around with the rest of the local parents while their offspring were tagged with their names and given a bag of fruit and a packet of sweets each. The kids seemed excited at the new adventure, although a few tears were shed by the less adventurous ones. Buses arrived and the fond farewells began. There were last minute hugs and kisses, and a general dipping into handbags for handkerchiefs, and finally the parents walked away toward their homes in the backstreets looking sorrowful and apprehensive.

On Sunday morning Lucy joined Ben for the early service at the Methodist mission. When the Reverend John Harris climbed up into the pulpit in his white cassock, his greying hair flattened to his head with brilliantine, Ben whispered to Lucy, ‘The organist is late.’

Lucy glanced up and gazed at the huge instrument with its multitude of gilt and blue pipes that stretched up to the rafters. She wondered how the minister was going to start the service, now that the usually dependable Mr Craddock was not in his place. The Reverend gripped the rail of the pulpit and beamed down benevolently at his flock. ‘Good morning, brethren. While we are waiting for Mr Craddock let us begin this morning’s service with a short prayer.’

Heads bowed and a silence reigned in the cold, sterile hall. When Reverend Harris lifted his head at the ‘Amen’ and saw Mr Craddock enter the back of the hall he was delighted. He had selected some rousing hymns for the service, and good old Mr Craddock had not let him down after all. The organist nodded to the congregation as he hurried to his place. His tall, stooping figure and flat–footed gait drew some sympathy from two elderly ladies who were sitting immediately in front of Lucy and Ben.

‘Poor Mr Craddock, he’s such a dear soul,’ one of the ladies whispered.

Her companion touched her Sunday hat with the tips of her fingers and nodded. ‘He’s so pleasant to everyone. It’s a shame. He seems hardly able to do the collection lately. I think it’s getting too much for him.’

Mr Craddock had reached the organ and settled himself at the keyboard. He pushed up his pebble–lensed spectacles onto the bridge of his nose and squinted at the opened music sheet. He rocked back and forth a couple of times, then the opening bars of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ shattered the silence. The old ladies’ kindly mutterings about Mr Craddock’s health and humility were drowned out as the congregation sang with feeling.

 

Monday morning the 22nd of July dawned wet and windy. The recent glorious weather changed suddenly on the day Bella Corrigan was to be laid to rest. The horse–drawn hearse and its attendant coach stopped for a few seconds at the top of Dawson Street as a last respect, and in the coach Alice Sutton, Annie Barnes and Billy Birkitt’s mother held handkerchiefs to their faces. Bella’s neighbours stood silently by as the cortége passed along Tooley Street. Dockers doffed their caps, and a strolling policeman halted and gave a stiff salute. At noon the rain stopped and the sky cleared. The period of mourning was over, and in the early afternoon when Alice was hanging her black coat up in the wardrobe, she heard loud shouts and laughs in the street outside. Mrs Ellis came hurrying into the turning, beaming and waving a telegram. Her son Jimmy had been picked up and landed in Newfoundland. He was quite well and recuperating in hospital from his spell in the cold waters of the North Atlantic.

That lunchtime Danny was anxiously watching along Clink Lane. He had spoken to Ginny about Kathy and was told that she visited her mother every Monday during her lunch–hour. Danny was getting worried. Tony Arpino was pressing him for information, and he said he had heard that there would be a visit sometime during the week for a pay–off. It was ten minutes past one when he saw Kathy walking down the turning and he was shocked by her appearance. She looked tired and jaded, her usual bounce and vitality replaced by a leaden walk. Danny noticed the dark circles around her eyes as she got closer. He waved to her and Kathy smiled. ‘’Ow are yer?’

‘Not so bad,’ Danny replied, moving his hands in a rocking gesture. ‘I need ter talk ter yer, Kath. Soon as possible.’

‘I’ve got no time now, Danny, I’m jus’ poppin’ in ter me mum. I’ve gotta be back ter work by two.’

She looked at him and saw the anxiety in his eyes. ‘’E goes out most nights. I might be able ter get out fer a while ternight. I can’t promise though.’

‘Where can I meet yer?’

Kathy thought for a moment. ‘There’s a little pub down by the riverside–The Bell. D’yer know it? It’s only five minutes from my place.’

Danny nodded. ‘Yeah I know it. Is it okay there?’

‘We’ll be all right there,’ Kathy assured him. ‘It’s a family’ouse. None o’ the villains get in there. I’ll try ter get there by’alf–eight, it should be quiet then. Okay?’

Danny grinned with relief. ‘That’s ’an’some. I’ll be there. Try an’ make it.’

‘I’ll do me best, Danny,’ she said as she hurried back to the other side of the street.

She waved to him as she reached her mother’s house.

 

It was a momentous Monday morning for Ben Morrison. He had his army medical and passed A1. He also saw the selection officer and asked to join the Royal Army Medical Corps, but he was not too encouraged by the officer’s response. The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’ll be told in good time,’ he said dismissively. Ben hoped desperately that his request would be granted. If not, he could only envisage a confrontation with the military and a spell in an army prison. He was troubled by something else too that had been niggling away at him for the past few days now. When he got back from his medical he went up to his flat and made himself a mug of tea. In the quietness of his room he took the letter down from behind the clock and sat for a while looking at the envelope. Was there something he had missed? he wondered. Was there something in the content that would identify the sender? Ben put his mug down and turned the envelope over. It was an ordinary kind that could be bought anywhere. His name and address had been printed in bold lettering: childlike but legible. Almost reluctantly he took out the folded sheet of paper that had one rough edge.

It was lined paper and had obviously been torn from an exercise book. The wording was upright and neat, and the spelling mistakes seemed to be more deliberate than natural. Ben stared at the letter until his eyes were tired. Maybe Lucy was right, maybe he should burn the evil thing instead of becoming obsessed with trying to identify the writer. After all, there were thousands of these sort of letters received every day by conscientious objectors, according to the newspapers. They were the product of sick minds. Ben sat for some time thinking about whether or not to destroy the letter, then finally he folded the sheet of paper and replaced it in the envelope. He heard Lucy’s familiar knock on his door and before answering it he put the envelope back behind the clock.

Danny strolled along in the cool of the summer evening until he came to Jamaica Road. He walked on for a while then turned off into a backstreet leading down to the river where moored barges rocked on the incoming tide. That particular stretch of the Thames was quiet, almost rural. A patch of green stood out across the river at Wapping where the ancient churchyard held back the threatening wharves and storehouses. At the river wall a lane ran along beside the warehouses until it narrowed into a pathway. It was there that The Bell stood. The pub had none of the trappings associated with riverside inns, apart from a couple of faded pictures of the
Cutty Sark
. The one long bar was sparsely decorated and the proprietors, an elderly couple, seemed content to keep it that way.

When Danny walked in he aroused no more than a casual glance from the few folk who sat around on hard chairs resting their beer on iron–legged tables. He ordered a pint and took a seat. Now and then a customer came in, but there was no sign of Kathy. Danny finished his drink and eyed the bar clock: five to nine. He decided to get a refill, and if Kathy had not shown up by the time he had finished his second pint he would leave. Danny was halfway through his drink when Kathy walked in. She came over and sat down with a sigh. ‘I didn’t fink ’e was goin’ out ternight. ’E’s only jus’ left,’ she said, breathing heavily.

‘D’yer wanna drink? I mean, are you . . .’ Danny began.

Kathy laughed. ‘I’ll ’ave a stout, Danny. It’s all right, me doctor ses it’s good fer me–an’ the baby.’

Danny returned with the stout and watched while Kathy took a sip. When she put the glass down onto the table he leaned forward and put his hand on hers.

‘Listen, Kath, I’ve got a big faver to ask. It’s not fer me really, it’s fer Tony Arpino. You know Tony.’

Kathy looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘I thought yer got me ’ere so yer could carry me off ter some exotic place,’ she said smiling.

Danny squeezed her hand and grinned. ‘Later, Kathy. Right now I want some info. Will yer ’elp me?’

‘What is it, Danny?’

‘There’s a mob goin’ roun’ puttin’ the squeeze on Tony’s family, an’ the rest of the shopkeepers in Bermon’sey Lane.’

Kathy stared at her glass. ‘Yer fink it might be Jack’s crowd?’ ‘Tony’s pretty certain ’e’s be’ind it, Kath. Can yer give us any idea if it is ’im?’

Kathy’s eyes flared angrily as she looked at him. ‘You’ve got a nerve. Do yer really expect me ter snitch on ’im?’

Danny returned her angry stare with a hard look. ‘Listen, Kath, I wouldn’t even think of it if yer was ’appy wiv ’im. Don’t try an’ tell me ’e don’t knock yer about. Don’t tell me yer’appy wiv ’im.’

‘There’s such a fing as loyalty, Danny. I’ve made my bed an’ I’m lyin’ in it.’

‘Yeah, an’ yer ’avin’ ’is kid, an’ the cow–son’s knockin’ yer about.’

‘I ain’t said Jack’s knockin’ me about, Danny. You said it.’

‘C’mon, Kath, it’s yer ole Danny yer talkin’ to. Tell me the trufe.’

‘All right, maybe we do ’ave our ups an’ downs. So do lots o’ people. Yer can’t expect me ter tell yer if ’e’s involved, even if I did know ’e was–which I don’t.’

Danny swallowed the rest of his drink and put the glass down heavily on the table. ‘I didn’t know if yer knew or not. I thought yer might over’ear somefing an’ be able ter tell us when they’re goin’ roun’ ter put the boot in.’

‘Look, Danny, Jack’s always got somebody callin’ round ter see ’im. I don’t stay in the room when they’re talkin’. Even if I did over’ear somefing an’ I told yer, Jack would know it was me. ’E’d kill me.’