Nobody’s Girl
Kitty Neale
Abandoned and alone, you'll do anything to survive…A gritty new saga from the bestselling author of Outcast Child.Abandoned on the cold stone steps of an orphanage, only a few hours old and clutching the object which was to give her name, Pearl Button had a hard start to life.Now 16 years old, she's finally managed to escape the cruel confines of the orphanage, and enter the real world. Finding work at a nearby café, Pearl is thrilled to start earning her own money, even if she must contend with sharp-tongued Dolly Dolby.But soon she becomes tangled up in the murky South London underworld in which Dolly's son – the cruel but handsome Kevin – operates. By chance, she sees something she shouldn't, something dangerous, and her life is thrown into jeopardy. Can gentle giant Derek Lewis protect vulnerable Pearl from Kevin – and her own heart?Meanwhile, a local boy is snatched, terrifying this close-knit community, and at the orphanage where Pearl lived out her wretched childhood, the past is coming back to haunt its owner – and the secret she has promised to guard for so many years…
KITTY NEALE
Nobody’s Girl
Copyright (#u1eed3aee-e735-5675-97e0-37b3549587c0)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Avon
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2007
Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016
Cover photographs: Getty
Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9781847563484
Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780007278930
Version: 2016-09-12
Dedication (#u1eed3aee-e735-5675-97e0-37b3549587c0)
For Rita McAneny.
We have worked together, laughed together, shared sadness and tears, my precious friend for over twenty years.
Contents
Cover (#u627dec89-2f87-594d-8e29-b147201d5a10)
Title Page (#u7de99313-f0b5-5dc3-a505-38dbabf170ed)
Copyright
Dedication (#ufb0c12d4-c917-5b64-ae61-f9372eb67776)
Prologue (#ufae4fe15-897f-51b8-8ede-7080ee760788)
Chapter One (#u226b82c3-1c98-543e-afb0-5a3262f071b3)
Chapter Two (#u208f20aa-c1bb-5814-b997-6d392f743267)
Chapter Three (#u900b8300-6ff6-528b-86b1-990ae3403522)
Chapter Four (#u5f18ef30-5796-523b-9294-9c90979cfcad)
Chapter Five (#u6c1a898b-de29-5160-a816-5d09b7d5d47c)
Chapter Six (#ufb962f2f-c6eb-57c5-aa53-19b4eab5db77)
Chapter Seven (#u445ce09e-2842-5fbb-88d1-0341ed9e5f7a)
Chapter Eight (#ue5d2322c-40b3-545e-acef-69d96cd3bbe7)
Chapter Nine (#ub39ab0cb-0c8c-5772-a070-1e19cf7d29b6)
Chapter Ten (#u7cd3f96b-b34c-5426-b4c3-192491647a8c)
Chapter Eleven (#u5181cd29-1482-52e1-86c0-e5ea66b672be)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Author’s Note
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the same author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher
Prologue (#u1eed3aee-e735-5675-97e0-37b3549587c0)
The moon was in its first quarter as the man climbed out of his car. A high wind wailed through the skeletal branches of trees, the sound echoing that of the tiny bundle clutched in his arms. He ignored the cries, uncaring, feeling only disgust as he held the bundle away from his body.
His face was grim. He was going to make his daughter pay for almost ruining the family name, and her bastard would pay too. It would cost him dearly, yet worth it to watch her suffer, not once, but twice. My God, he had thought her perfect, his only child, but she had turned out to be a slut.
He reached the end of the lane, his eyes flicking from side to side as he turned onto a small, built-up road. He had chosen well. There were no houses, and with a wartime blackout in force, no streetlights pierced the dense blanket of darkness.
The building loomed, but still he was cautious, looking swiftly over his shoulder before roughly laying the bundle on its concrete steps. The wrapping fell to one side, the infant mewling, but the man was heedless of the cold night air.
At first he had wanted the bastard dead, but then decided it would be too easy for her, the slut’s suffering short. No, he’d bide his time, watch her grieve, and then one day, when the time was right, he’d tell her the truth. And when he did, he’d watch as she suffered all over again.
His smile thin, he swung on his heels now, swiftly walking away.
He was only just out of sight when a door swung open. A woman emerged, running swiftly down the steps and, taking up the baby, she carried it inside.
Chapter One (#ulink_07113659-2074-5dd5-aef0-5ed3794c7665)
Battersea, South London, 1956
Dolly Dolby picked up a thick white plate from the stack and scowled. ‘Gertie, get in here!’
Up to the elbows in hot water, Gertrude Wilson sighed and, grabbing a tea towel, she hurriedly dried her hands before leaving the small, cramped washing-up area. She was used to Dolly’s moods and met her ferocious gaze with equilibrium.
‘What do you want now?’
Dolly stiffened with annoyance. She was a woman at odds with her name: there was nothing doll-like in her appearance. Tall, formidable, and big-boned, with a broad flat face above wide shoulders, her only saving grace was long, thick, chestnut-brown hair. However, the only person likely to see it was her husband when she let it down at night. In the kitchen she wore it pulled back tightly and covered with a thick hairnet.
Scowling again, she indicated the remnant of dried egg on the rim of the plate. ‘What do you call this?’
‘I do me best, but I ain’t feeling too good today.’
‘What, again? Mrs Neverwell, that’s you. If it ain’t your bleeding varicose veins, it’s your arthritis. Maybe I should think about replacing you with someone who can wash up properly.’
It was an empty threat, but one Dolly enjoyed. Gertie had been working in the café for over ten years, and in her own way Dolly was fond of the woman. There weren’t many who would put up with the conditions in the small washing-up room, which contained just two deep Belfast sinks with wooden draining boards. There was a tiny window looking out onto the yard, and now, in July, it was like working in a hothouse.
‘After all the years I’ve worked for you, you’re threatening to sack me over one dirty plate,’ Gertie whined, her small brown eyes filling with tears.
‘All right,’ Dolly placated, ‘don’t start with the waterworks. I’m just spouting wind and you know that. Just make sure that in future you wash up properly.’
‘Two full breakfasts with black pudding and fried bread,’ Rita Marriner shouted as she hurried into the kitchen, slapping an order slip onto the table.
Dolly glared at the young waitress. ‘Didn’t you hear the bell? Those two breakfasts have been standing there for nearly five minutes.’
Rita’s eyes blazed as she picked up the standard meal of sausages, bacon, fried eggs and beans. ‘No, I didn’t hear the bell. I’ve only got one pair of hands and it’s a bit much expecting me to cope with all the tables. It’s about time you found another waitress.’
‘Don’t give me any lip, young lady. You’re getting paid extra so you ain’t got much to complain about. Now get those breakfasts out of here and make sure you ask them if they want bread and butter with it.’
Clutching the two plates, Rita pushed the swing doors with her bottom, saying as she reversed out of the kitchen, ‘Why don’t you stick a bloody broom up me arse and I’ll sweep the floor at the same time!’
Dolly’s mouth opened and shut like a fish floundering out of water. She turned her eyes on Gertie, taking her anger out on the thin, middle-aged woman as she yelled, ‘What are you looking at? Get on with the washing-up.’
As Gertie scurried off, Dolly slapped four rashers of bacon into a frying pan, her shoulders rigid. Rita had been working in the café for only about two months, but the young madam would have to go. It was always the same with youngsters nowadays: they gave you lip, and she wasn’t putting up with it. Mind you, with only one waitress at the moment she’d have to stay her hand until she found a replacement.
‘Two eggs on toast, and one full breakfast,’ Rita yelled again, the door abruptly swinging shut.
The pace was picking up, costermongers from the market ready for their breakfasts. Two more rashers joined the pan, all Dolly’s concentration now focused on the morning rush.
Bernard Dolby stood behind the counter, a large stainless-steel pot in his hand as he poured tea into thick, white china cups. The antithesis of his wife, Bernard was quite short and thin, except for a slightly protruding beer belly. He had light brown hair that was thinning, and most of the time his grey eyes carried a mild expression.
Rita came running up, looking harassed as she picked up the cups of tea, calling out as she hurried away again, ‘Two slices of bread and butter please, Bernie.’
He turned to the work surface behind him, spreading butter on the bread before cutting the slices into neat triangles. ‘Who are they for, Rita?’
‘Table two.’
‘Morning, Derek,’ Bernie said as he took the plate across the room and placed it beside the man.
Derek Lewis looked up, his pug-nosed face breaking into a grin. ‘Watcha, mate. I won me fight last night.’
Bernie smiled, wondering what the other amateur boxer looked like. One of Derek’s pale blue eyes was swollen, the start of a nice black eye visible. ‘How many rounds did you go?’
‘Only six, then I knocked him out just before the bell.’
‘Well done,’ Bernie said, but seeing two customers waiting to pay for their meals, he went back to his post.
‘Right,’ he said, taking the first slip, ‘that’ll be one and six, please.’
Bernie picked up the two shillings proffered. ‘There you are, a tanner change. Dolly’s doing her steak-and-kidney pie for lunch.’
The man licked his lips. ‘That’ll do us. Save a couple of slices, Bernie.’
‘Will do.’ And taking the other man’s slip he added, ‘Egg and Bacon, plus bread and tea – that’ll be a shilling.’
The two young men left and, as the café filled with more customers, Bernie refilled the large teapot, ready for the rush.
It was nine thirty before Bernie drew breath, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as the last customer paid his bill.
‘Rita, when you’ve finished clearing the tables, you can have your break.’
‘I’m dying for a fag. Can’t I have a breather now?’
‘If my wife comes out of the kitchen and sees the state of the place, she’ll have your guts for garters.’
‘It ain’t my fault. It’s impossible to do double my tables and clear them at the same time.’
Bernie exhaled loudly. He sympathised with the girl, but knew what Dolly would say if she saw the mess. He came out from behind the counter, saying with a placatory note in his voice, ‘Come on, if I give you a hand they’ll be cleared in no time.’
The girl heaved a sigh, but began stacking the plates on table two as Bernie started on the next one.
Dolly stuck her head out of the kitchen door. ‘Rita, get me a cup of tea.’
‘I’m busy,’ she replied shortly.
Bernie held his breath, but knew what was coming as his wife marched into the room.
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me. I’ve been rushed off my feet since six thirty this morning. These tables need clearing and I ain’t had a break yet. If you want a cup of tea, I don’t see why you can’t get it for yourself.’
Dolly’s face suffused with colour as she glared at the girl. ‘You, miss, are on a week’s notice.’
‘Huh, is that a fact? Well, sod your week’s notice. I’m going now and you can stick your bleedin’ job.’
Dolly’s jaw dropped as Rita ripped off her apron, threw it on a table and then marched out of the café, only to reappear moments later to grab her handbag from under the counter. Briefly she glowered at them both, but then as a parting shot, before slamming the door behind her, she spat, ‘Do you know something, Dolly Dolby? You’re a miserable old cow and I ain’t surprised you can’t keep a waitress for more than five minutes.’
For a moment there was a shocked silence, but then Bernie sighed heavily, turning to his wife. ‘Now you’ve gone and done it. How are we supposed to manage the lunches?’
‘I’ll get Kevin down here to do the counter. You’ll have to do the serving.’
Bernie, knowing what a lazy young bugger their son was, said with a doubtful shake of his head, ‘I don’t think he’ll take kindly to that. And anyway, he’s probably still in bed.’
The bell pinged and both glanced towards the door again as a young woman came in, her head low as she looked at them shyly from under her lashes. She was a small, mousy-looking creature, wearing a shapeless, grey cotton dress that hung on her tiny frame. Straight, light brown hair sat on her shoulders, parted at the side and fastened with a slide.
For a moment they gazed at her. Then, gathering his thoughts, Bernard asked, ‘What can I get you, love?’
‘I … I saw the notice in the window for a waitress.’
‘Oh, right, then you’d best speak to my wife.’
Dolly took in a great gulp of air, her eyes momentarily looking heavenward before she spoke. ‘I’ve just lost a waitress so your timing is perfect. Sit down,’ she offered, her voice unusually soft.
Bernie listened as his wife began to question the girl. She had arrived at an opportune moment, but she looked so slight that a puff of wind could blow her over.
‘Right, what’s your name?’
‘Pearl Button.’
‘Blimey, your parents must have a sense of humour.’
The girl’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. ‘I … I’m an orphan. When I was left on the orphanage steps, they found a tiny button clutched in my hand. That’s how I got the name.’
‘Gawd, if it wasn’t so tragic, it’d be funny. Anyway, how old are you?’
‘I’m sixteen, but I’ll be seventeen in October.’
‘Speak up, girl, I can hardly hear you. How old did you say you are?’
‘I said I’m sixteen.’
‘Christ, you’re just a kid. Have you been a waitress before?’
‘Er … no, but I can start straight away, and I’m quick at picking things up,’ she said, for a moment her expression animated.
Dolly brushed some crumbs from the table, obviously thinking it over as Bernie urged, ‘Give her a try, love.’
He watched as his wife continued to ponder, but it seemed that need overcame her doubts. With a small nod she said, ‘All right, the job’s yours. It’s Tuesday, but if you really are willing to start straight away, we’ll give you a full week’s wage on Saturday.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Pearl said, and as she smiled for the first time Bernie saw a flash of beauty. The girl had an elfin face with a pointed chin. Huge brown eyes seemed to take up most of her face, but they were hidden again as she lowered her head.
‘You don’t know what the hours are, so don’t thank me yet. Your shift will start at six thirty in the morning, ending at three thirty in the afternoon. You’ll get an hour for lunch between eleven and twelve.’
‘That’s all right. And … and the pay?’
‘You’re only sixteen so it’s two quid a week. Until we get another waitress I’ll give you a bit extra, and you should pick up some tips too.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘Hearing you speak it’s obvious that you don’t come from these parts. Where do you live?’
‘I have a bedsit over an empty shop further along the High Street.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re renting one of Nobby Clark’s rooms?’
‘Well, yes, my landlord is Mr Clark.’
Bernie and Dolly exchanged glances, both knowing what a dodgy character the young man was. The premises had been left to him by an aunt, but he had run the grocery shop into the ground. He had a reputation for shady deals, and some said that letting the upstairs rooms was just a front for his other activities.
Sixteen, Bernie thought, the kid is only sixteen and living alone in one of Nobby’s grotty bedsits. As he coughed she looked up at him, her vulnerability making him swallow. God, once Dolly showed her true character the girl wouldn’t last five minutes. He forced a smile, saying kindly, ‘Well, love, if you can start straight away I’ll show you the ropes, but first, how about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Make it a quick one,’ Dolly said sharply. ‘This place looks like a bomb’s hit it and I want it cleared ready for the lunchtime rush. While you’re at it, Bernie, you can pour a cup of tea for me and Gertie. Pearl can bring it through to the kitchen and I’ll introduce her to Gertie before I start on the lunches.’
Bernie moved behind the counter, and when his wife was out of earshot he decided that if they wanted to keep this waitress, it wouldn’t hurt to put her in the picture. He beckoned Pearl forward, handing her a tray with three cups on it. ‘Now listen, love. Before you take these through to the kitchen I should warn you that my wife can be a bit sharp at times. It’s just her way, but it’s lost us a few waitresses in the past. My best advice is to ignore her if she’s in a bad mood, and for Gawd’s sake, don’t answer her back.’
For a moment Pearl appeared disconcerted, whilst Bernie hoped he hadn’t put his foot in it. They needed a new waitress desperately, but now he might have scared her off.
Her amazing eyes were wide as she looked at him, but then with a faint smile she said, ‘Thanks for warning me.’
Bernie watched her as she walked to the kitchen, thinking it was like seeing Daniel going into the lions’ den. Yet there wasn’t only Dolly to contend with, there were the costermongers too. Rita, with her dyed blonde hair, thick make-up and hardened appearance, had given as good as she got, enjoying their ribald jokes. Pearl, on the other hand, looked as innocent as a lamb and he doubted she’d cope. They were a good crowd really, who looked after their own, and maybe he could tip them the wink, asking them to lay off the girl. He’d start with Derek Lewis. The man might look like a hard nut, but underneath Bernie knew he had a soft spot for waifs and strays – a category that Pearl Button certainly fitted into.
Chapter Two (#ulink_b7c79648-ae95-59b8-9808-02c68185b2d4)
Pearl had been introduced to Gertie, drunk her tea and, now doing her utmost to take in what Mr Dolby was saying, she was back in the dining room.
‘Right, Pearl, give me a hand to clear these tables. I’ll explain what you have to do as we go along, though it ain’t hard. Take the customer’s order and write it on a slip, along with the table number.’
‘Table number?’
‘Yes,’ Bernie said, pointing to a block of wood next to a cruet set on which a number was painted boldly in red. ‘Leave the top copy with the customer, and the carbon copy goes to the kitchen. Always ask if they want tea and bread and butter with their meal because we make a good profit on those. Dolly will ring a bell when the order is ready so make sure you listen for it. Have you got that?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. Now as soon as a customer leaves, make sure you clear the table ready for the next one. Take the dirty plates to the kitchen and give the table a quick wipe down.’
Pearl already felt bemused.
‘Don’t look so worried. Once you get the hang of it you’ll be fine. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention cutlery. You’ll find knives and forks over there on that trolley,’ Bernie pointed.
The door opened and two elderly ladies bustled in, pausing as they took in the scene. ‘Blimey, don’t tell me you’ve lost yet another waitress.’
‘I’m afraid so, Ena.’
‘It’s just as well you keep your wife out the back or you’d lose all yer customers too,’ the other lady chuckled.
‘Yeah, I think you’re right. Now what can I get you?’
‘Just two cups of tea, please.’
‘Pearl, take those plates to the kitchen,’ Bernie said, with a wave of his arm, ‘and then finish the rest of the tables.’
Pearl picked up the stack, hurrying away. Nerves made her hands shake, the cutlery on top rattling and sliding in an alarming manner. With relief she placed them on the large wooden table at the entrance to the washing-up room, glancing through to see Gertie giving her a wide grin. The woman’s sparse, reddish hair was moist from the steam rising from the sink, her face shiny with perspiration.
‘Is that the lot?’ she asked.
‘I’ve only got two more tables to clear.’
‘Thank gawd for that. I’ll just about finish the washing-up before the lunchtime rush starts.’
‘Yeah, so stop talking and get on with it!’ Dolly snapped.
Pearl had just cleared the last two tables, taking the crockery through to the kitchen, when the back door to the yard opened.
‘Sorry I took so long, Dolly,’ a short stocky woman said as she rushed in. ‘The waiting room was packed and it was ages before I saw the doctor. Mind you, it was a waste of time. He reckons I’m just a bit run down and said I should take a tonic. Tonic indeed! I tried to tell him that it’s more than that, but he wouldn’t listen.’
‘Christ, another Mrs Neverwell. I don’t know why I put up with you and Gertie.’
‘Hello, love,’ the woman said as she spotted Pearl.
Dolly heaved a sigh. ‘Pearl, this is Mo, or Maureen Price, and she’s my vegetable cook. Now enough chat and let’s get on. Mo, you’ve been out for over an hour, so get on with the potatoes.’
With a smile at the harassed-looking woman, Pearl left the kitchen. ‘What do I do now?’ she asked Bernard.
‘It’ll be quiet until lunchtime and it’ll give me a chance to show you how things work behind the counter, but first you can refill the cruets.’
A couple of young women came in. ‘Two teas, please,’ one of them said, and turning to her companion she added, ‘Grab a table by the window so we can keep an eye on our prams.’
Pearl started on the first table, checking the condiments and filling those she found empty. It was hot, the sun blazing through the windows. Her throat was dry, but, too shy to ask for another drink, she carried on.
She had finished half of the tables when a door she had seen to the side of the counter opened, a tall, dark-haired young man appearing.
‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Dad?’
Bernie’s face darkened, but his voice was level as he said, ‘We’re still a waitress short and I could do with a hand later.’
‘Sorry, no can do. I’ve made other arrangements,’ and, picking up the cup of tea that his father had poured, he headed for the kitchen, pausing for a moment as he passed Pearl.
She kept her head down, moving to the front of the dining room, and couldn’t fail to hear the remarks made by the two young women sitting at a window table.
‘Cor, that Kevin Dolby’s a bit of all right.’
‘Yeah, and he certainly ain’t a chip off the old block. He looks nothing like Dolly or Bernard.’
‘If I wasn’t a married woman, I might be tempted.’
‘Leave it out. Your old man would skin you alive.’
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Glancing out of the window, she added, ‘Sod it, we’d best be off. My baby’s waking up.’
As they hurried out, Pearl only had one table left to check and it was where the two elderly ladies sat. Smiling shyly at them, she picked up the salt pot, carefully removing the lid.
‘How are you getting on, dearie?’ one asked.
‘Fine,’ Pearl told her.
‘Just keep your head down and you’ll be all right. What’s your name?’
‘Pearl Button.’
‘Blimey,’ she said, unable to keep a straight face and echoing Dolly Dolby as she added, ‘Your parents must have a sense of humour.’
Pearl just nodded, and as she made to move away Kevin Dolby reappeared, taking a seat in the dining room. The old lady put a hand on her arm, whispering urgently, ‘Dolly Dolby can be a dragon, but she’s as soft as shit when it comes to her son. If you want to stay in her good books, take my advice and stay away from Kevin.’
Puzzled, Pearl now went to the counter, but she had hardly reached it when the kitchen bell rang. When she hurried to answer it, Dolly said, ‘Give that breakfast to my son.’
Pearl picked up the huge fry-up and carried it through to the dining room, her mouth salivating. It was nearly eleven, and with no breakfast that morning her stomach growled with hunger.
Nervously she placed the plate in front of Dolly’s son, relieved when, after giving her a cursory glance from hazel eyes, he went back to reading his newspaper, only murmuring, ‘Get me a couple of slices of bread.’
She went to the counter to find Bernard chalking a list of lunchtime meals onto a blackboard. There was steak-and-kidney pie, sausages and mash, pork chops, or liver and bacon. Apple or Bakewell tarts were added for pudding, along with custard. Once again Pearl’s mouth salivated, her stomach growling as she buttered the bread.
With more important things on his mind, Kevin hardly noticed the new waitress. He finished his breakfast, stood up and, leaving his empty plate on the table, went back to the kitchen.
‘Mum, can I have a word?’
‘What is it, love?’
‘Most of me mates have got cars, but I’m still riding a scooter.’
‘Blimey, Kevin, that Lambretta was a lot of money and you’ve only had it for a year.’
‘Yeah, I know, but I’ve been offered a lovely Vauxhall Wyvern for two hundred quid.’
‘Two hun—’
‘Listen, Mum,’ Kevin interrupted, ‘a new one would be five hundred and fifty, not forgetting the purchase tax. This one’s only a couple of years old and it’s a bargain.’
‘It’s still a lot of money, son.’
Please, Mum,’ Kevin wheedled. ‘All me mates have got cars now. Scooters are for kids.’
‘Kevin, I threw a big party for your twenty-first birthday and it cost me a pretty penny. Now you want money for a car. It doesn’t grow on trees, love.’
Kevin pouted, his expression for a moment that of a small boy. ‘Pleeease, Mum.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
He smiled secretly, knowing that with a bit more persuasion he’d get his own way. He could pull the asthmatic trick again, say it was due to the dust he breathed in when riding his scooter. That would give her a fright and with any luck she’d give in.
‘We could do with a hand at lunchtime.’
The smile left Kevin’s face. ‘I’ve got things to do, Mum. Can’t you manage without me?’
‘We’re a bit pushed. Rita walked out and the new girl’s inexperienced. I doubt she’ll cope with the lunchtime rush.’
Kevin knew what buttons to push. ‘From what I saw she’s doing all right, and I must say she ain’t bad-looking.’
‘She’s just a kid and far too young for you,’ Dolly snapped.
Pearl came in carrying Kevin’s empty plate, and as she placed it on the table he moved to her side, throwing an arm around her shoulder. ‘Hello, we haven’t been introduced.’
The girl flushed, looking up at him with wide, brown eyes, her words sounding breathless as she said, ‘Er … hello.’
‘Kevin, we can manage without you,’ Dolly said hurriedly.
He smiled inwardly. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll see you around tea time.’
‘Don’t stand there gawking, Pearl. Get back to your work!’
‘Yes. Sorry, Mrs Dolby.’
Dolly’s face softened almost imperceptibly as the girl ran back to the dining room. At last, a youngster who showed a bit of respect. Mind you, she’d have to keep an eye on her when Kevin was around. Pearl was just a bit of a kid, and as she was an orphan there was no knowing what sort of background she came from. There might be bad blood in her family and she was therefore totally unsuitable for her son.
‘Mo,’ Dolly shouted, ‘have you finished the spuds?’
‘Not yet, but I won’t be much longer.’
‘We’re all behind ’cos of your bleedin’ trip to the doctor’s. When you’ve finished, get on with the onions. There’s liver and bacon on the menu today so make sure you do enough.’
‘Yeah, all right, Dolly.’
It was quiet for a while as the women worked, Dolly placing the pork chops in the oven before laying out the pies ready for warming. Next she part-fried the liver, ready to be finished off with bacon when she got an order. There were only the sausages to get on now. So after vigorously forking them, Dolly placed them on a tray to cook later.
She glanced up at the clock. ‘Gertie, you’d better have your break, and you, Mo, get the spuds on.’
Mo placed the large pans on her cooker, added a generous amount of salt and lit the gas. ‘There, done, and once I’ve finished the onions I’ll get on with the cabbage and carrots.’
The Bakewell and apple pies had been delivered yesterday, and the custard already mixed, so after giving Gertie a bacon sandwich, the woman’s usual fare, Dolly took this opportunity to have a break too.
In the dining room there were only a few customers, but Dolly knew it was the calm before the storm. At lunchtime the place would be heaving and she hoped the new girl would cope. After a quick look at the tables, she sat down near the counter, her eyes now on Pearl.
Bernie was showing her how to make the tea, water pouring into the pot from the hot-water urn, a cloud of steam momentarily obscuring Pearl’s face. As it cleared, Dolly saw that the girl’s cheeks were pink from the heat, and she frowned, noticing for the first time how pretty she was. She hadn’t seen it when interviewing her, and wondered why.
As though suddenly aware that she was being observed, Pearl quickly lowered her head. That’s it, Dolly thought. It was her mouse-like demeanour, the way she kept her eyes down and her shoulders hunched.
‘As that tea is freshly made, you can pour me a cup and take a couple through to the kitchen for Mo and Gertie,’ she said, thankful that at least the girl wasn’t plastered with make-up. Kevin usually went for the obvious types, and had made a play for several of her previous waitresses. Of course, as soon as this happened she got rid of them, vowing never to employ a girl with looks again.
Had she made a mistake with Pearl? Yet as the girl came from behind the counter and carefully placed a cup of tea on the table, she doubted it. Once again she looked like a mouse, with a slim figure that was almost boyish. No, she definitely wasn’t Kevin’s type.
Chapter Three (#ulink_8a12b38d-4834-52df-a864-b44ac5026e29)
As the first lunchtime customers entered the café, Pearl took a deep breath in an effort to steady her nerves. She waited until they had sat down before approaching their table, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Her pad was poised.
‘What can I get you?’
‘Hello, who’s this?’ the costermonger asked his companion.
‘I dunno. Rita served me for breakfast. Has she left, darlin’?’
‘Yes, this morning. Now, what can I get you?’ Pearl asked again.
‘Blimey, she talks well, Charlie.’
‘Yeah, I’ll grant you that.’
The door opened again, four men walking to a nearby table and, seeing them, Pearl’s hands shook. She hadn’t taken this order yet, but already had to take another. ‘Please, what would you like?’
‘You on toast will do. Mind you, with the amount of meat on you I wouldn’t get much of a mouthful.’
Pearl reddened, relieved when the one called Charlie placed his order. ‘I’ll ’ave the steak-and-kidney pie, love.’
‘Yeah, I’ll ’ave the same.’
She scribbled it down, dashing to the kitchen, but as she laid the order on the table, Dolly spoke sharply. ‘What do you call this?’
‘It … it’s an order.’
‘There’s no table number on this slip, and this copy goes to the customer. If they’re paying separately they have a slip each. I have the bottom copy.’
‘I … I’m sorry. I’ll write it out again, but I don’t know if they’re paying separately.’
‘Make sure you ask next time.’
‘Yes, sorry.’ Then hurriedly leaving the kitchen, Pearl approached the table again, her head bowed.
‘I’m sorry, I forgot to ask if you’re paying separately for your meals.’
‘Yeah, but don’t worry, love. We’ll split the bill between us.’
‘Oh, thank you.’
‘Here, miss, are we getting served today?’
‘Yes, sorry,’ Pearl said as she went over to the other table, her head once again low and feeling that she had said nothing but ‘sorry’ since she started. She flushed as one of the men at the table began to sing.
‘“Pussycat, Pussycat, what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under her chair.”’
Bernard Dolby wandered over. ‘Give Pearl a chance, Frank. It’s her first day and she hasn’t done the job before.’
The man slowly scrutinised her and she held her breath, thankful when he finally said, ‘Liver and bacon for me.’
The other three men gave their orders and this time, asking if they were paying separately, she had to make out four slips. As she tore them off and handed them out, it seemed a daft idea to her. Why write separate orders for each customer? Surely there was a more efficient way? However, as the café began to fill she dismissed it from her mind, and after dashing to the kitchen with the orders she almost ran to the next table.
Having finished their meal, the four men on table five stood up. As they walked towards the counter, one beckoned to Pearl, saying, ‘Do you want a tip, love?’
She didn’t know what to say. Yes, she needed tips, but hadn’t expected to be asked.
‘Here’s a good tip for you. Have a bet on Imperial Lad running in the three thirty at Newmarket.’
All the men burst into laughter. ‘Gawd, that’s a good one, Frank.’
Humiliated but determined to hide it, Pearl went to clear their table. It was only as she picked up the last plate that she saw the threepenny bit underneath. Pearl looked up quickly, just in time to see Frank giving her a wink as he went out of the door. Oh, he was nice really, and somehow she would have to get used to these rough men’s humour.
It was chaos by one thirty and Pearl could hardly keep up, her brow beaded with perspiration as she carried yet more plates out of the kitchen. She glanced at the clock, praying the lunchtime rush was almost over. Her lips were parched, throat dry, and she felt weak with hunger, legs wobbling beneath her.
Bernie was standing at table one, talking to a huge, fair-haired, craggy-faced man who looked like he’d been in a fight. She shuddered, hating violence, but when she finished giving the customers on table seven their order, Bernie beckoned her over.
‘Pearl, this is Derek Lewis. He’s an amateur boxer and a good one. Take his order next, will you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Blimey, girl, there’s no need to call me sir. Bernie will do.’
‘Is there any steak-and-kidney pie left?’ Derek asked.
‘No, I’m afraid not, but the liver and bacon is very tasty.’
Pearl saw that Bernie was looking at her with approval, and when Derek agreed to have the liver, Bernie positively beamed.
‘Well done, love,’ he whispered as she hurried past, slip in hand and heading for the kitchen.
When she had cleared three more tables and taken another order, the bell rang in the kitchen. Pearl went to get the order, which was the liver and bacon for table one.
‘Don’t worry, love,’ said Derek Lewis, when she brought it over. ‘Bernie tipped me the wink and I’ll have a word with the other costermongers. They’ll leave you alone in future.’
‘Oh, no, don’t do that. I don’t want them to think I’ve been complaining.’ Pearl’s eyes were wide with appeal, but then she suddenly swayed. The room dimmed, voices came as though from a distance, her knees buckled, and she knew no more.
When Pearl opened her eyes, she saw unusually pale blue ones looking back at her and it took her a moment to realise she was in Derek Lewis’s arms.
She struggled, but became still when he said softly, ‘It’s all right, pet. I’m just taking you through to the kitchen.’
‘Wh … what happened?’
‘You fainted.’
Pearl was placed on a chair and, dizzy again, she leaned forward.
‘What’s going on?’ Dolly asked sharply.
‘She passed out, Mrs D. Your old man told me to bring her in here.’
‘Yeah, well, you can go now.’
When Derek left the kitchen, Gertie hurried over. She gave Pearl a glass of water, and then asked, ‘’Ave you been sick in the mornings, love?’
‘Sick … no.’
‘So you ain’t up the duff then?’
‘Up the duff?’ Pearl parroted, her head still swimming.
‘She’s asking if you’re in the family way,’ Dolly snapped.
‘No, of course I’m not.’
‘Why did you faint? Are you ill?’
‘Oh, no. It’s just that I didn’t have any breakfast this morning and—’
Bernie stuck his head around the door. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s just hungry. Can you manage without her for a while?’
‘No, not really. There’s customers waiting to be served.’
‘I can give him a hand for a little while,’ Gertie offered.
Dolly exhaled loudly. ‘All right, go on then, but just while I give this daft cow something to eat, and then she can get back to work.’
Gertie scampered out, and as Dolly shoved a pork chop onto a plate, Pearl sat watching, mouth salivating. Her head was clearer now, but her stomach rumbled.
A dollop of mash was added, then some vegetables and thick gravy, Dolly’s voice gruff as she plonked it in front of her. ‘Right, get that down you.’
‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, and though she tried not to scoff, in a very short time the food disappeared.
‘I don’t think going without breakfast is reason enough to faint. When was the last time you had anything to eat?’
‘I … I had some soup yesterday lunchtime.’
‘Christ, will you speak up, girl?’
‘I said I had some soup yesterday.’
‘Is that all? No wonder you passed out. Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry?’
‘I didn’t like to, and as I started after ten, I didn’t think I was entitled to a break.’
‘For goodness’ sake! We aren’t bad employers and you only had to say.’
‘There’s something else, Mrs Dolby …’
Pearl paused and Dolly snapped, ‘Well, spit it out.’
‘I don’t think I’ve got enough tips to pay for this meal.’
‘Pay for it? You don’t have to pay for it! Lunch is a perk of the job.’
Pearl’s eyes lit up and, having, gulped down the glass of water, she rose to her feet. A free lunch every day would make all the difference. She would be able to manage on the wages and wouldn’t have to look for an evening job after all. Things were looking up.
‘Thank you for the meal. It was wonderful, but I’d best get back to work.’
‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right now?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine,’ Pearl said, still smiling as she hurried out of the kitchen. She’d been warned about Mrs Dolby, but the woman wasn’t so bad. The job was hard, but she was sure it would become easier once she got the hang of it, and if they found another waitress it could be a doddle. She would be finished at three thirty, leaving her lots of time to study, her goal now becoming a little closer.
‘Are you all right now?’
Yes, I’m fine thanks, Gertie.’
‘Right, I’ll get back to the kitchen. There’s only one more customer waiting to be served on table eight, and a few more to clear.’
‘Thanks,’ Pearl said again.
She glanced around the café, but there was no sign of Derek Lewis. Determined to thank him for his help on her way home, she later asked Bernie where she could find him.
‘He’s a costermonger selling china about halfway down the market.’
‘Why are they called costermongers?’ Pearl asked.
‘It’s an ancient name for men selling stuff from barrows or stalls, especially fruit and vegetables. I know it isn’t used much nowadays, but I like to keep up the old traditions. Most of the men working in the market have had their pitches handed down from father to son, and though they may sound a bit rough at times, they’re a good crowd.’
Pearl listened with interest, and then glanced at the clock. It was after two thirty. All the unoccupied tables were cleared, and apart from one or two late customers, the café was nearly empty. Pearl’s feet were throbbing, but at least her tummy was full, and despite the constant ribbing from some of the male customers, she’d enjoyed her first day.
Bernie gave her a tray of tea to take to the kitchen, saying he would pour one for her when she returned.
‘I don’t want any more fainting fits, girl,’ Dolly said. ‘See that you eat something before you start work in the morning.’
Pearl agreed, about to leave the kitchen when her employer spoke again. ‘You did well for your first day. Keep it up.’
Pearl smiled, unused to praise, and was still smiling as she returned to the dining room.
‘Blimey, Dolly, what’s come over you?’ Gertie asked.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘If I’m not mistaken, you actually praised the new waitress.’
‘Yeah, well, this one’s a bit different. She shows me some respect, which is more than I could say for Rita.’
‘Things ’ave certainly changed since the war,’ Mo said as she came over to take a cup from the tray. ‘Kids ain’t got any respect nowadays. My Emma came down this morning dressed in something she called Capri pants. They looked daft, if you ask me, and I told her they were too short, but she just laughed. She said it’s the Brigitte Bardot look. I ask you, who’s Brigitte Bardot? She’s got herself a bleedin’ record player too, a Dansette, and it cost twelve quid. Now all I hear day and night is flaming rock-and-roll music.’
‘Twelve quid! Where did she get that sort of money?’
‘She got it off the club, and I just hope she keeps up the payments. Gawd, I wish her father was still alive. He’d ’ave sorted her out.’
‘Yeah,’ Gertie agreed. ‘And as for that Brigitte Bardot, she’s a French actress, and from what I’ve heard she’s a right sexy piece.’
‘It’s disgusting, that’s what it is,’ Dolly said. ‘The way young girls flaunt themselves nowadays they’re just asking for trouble. Still, as I said, Pearl seems different, and she doesn’t wear make-up plastered all over her face.’
‘She seems a nice enough kid,’ Gertie agreed.
‘Right,’ Dolly said, putting her cup back on the tray, ‘let’s get finished up. I don’t know about you two, but I’m fair worn out.’
The back door opened and Kevin appeared, his look furtive as he clutched a bag behind his back.
‘Hello, love. What have you been up to today?’
‘Not now, Mum,’ he said, hurrying through the kitchen without stopping.
Dolly frowned, wondering what was wrong with the boy. She went back to her tasks, rushing to get them finished so she could go upstairs to their flat. Kevin looked upset, and she wanted to know why.
As she walked along the market, Pearl’s eyes were peeled for Derek Lewis. When he saw her approaching him he quickly finished a sale, moving to the front of his stall.
‘Are you feeling better now?’
‘I’m fine and wanted to thank you for helping me.’
‘Leave it out. It’s the first time I’ve had a girl swooning at me feet and it won’t do me reputation any harm.’
‘Here, Derek, got yourself a bit of stuff, ’ave you?’ a voice called from the next stall. ‘Hang on, ain’t that the little mouse from the café? Well, at least you’ll only ’ave to leave her out a bit of cheese.’
Derek laughed, shouting back to the stallholder, ‘Shut up, Frank! You’re just jealous.’
‘Not me, mate. I like a bit of meat to get hold of, and you’ve seen the size of my wife.’
‘Yeah, nobody could miss Lucy when she’s in full sail.’
‘You cheeky bugger,’ Frank Hanwell called, but then had to serve a customer. ‘What’s that, missus? Of course me lettuce is fresh. Hand-picked from Covent Garden this morning.’
Derek chuckled and then turned his attention back to Pearl. ‘You could have knocked me down with a feather when you passed out. What brought it on?’
‘Oh, nothing really. It’s just that I hadn’t eaten.’
She saw Derek frown, his soft voice at odds with his build as he said, ‘Are you all right for money, love?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, but I must go now. Thank you again for your help.’
As Pearl walked away she kept her head low, but as she passed Frank’s stall he started to sing again. ‘“Pussycat, Pussycat, where have you been? I’ve been up to London to visit the Queen. Pussycat, Pussycat, what did you there? I frightened a little mouse under her chair.”’
She picked up her pace, and with the raucous voices of the other traders calling their wares, she didn’t see or hear Derek Lewis approaching Frank Hanwell, his fists clenched threateningly.
When Pearl walked into her bedsit she sighed with appreciation. The room was small, with just a built-in cupboard and chest of drawers, but to her it was heaven, a place of her own.
In one corner there was a curtained-off area, behind which was a sink and a single gas ring. In a tiny cupboard there were a few pieces of crockery, a small saucepan and a frying pan.
After kicking off her shoes, Pearl went to the tiny kitchen, placing the kettle on the gas ring. She wasn’t hungry after that wonderful meal in the café and was counting her blessings, especially as she was down to her last tin of soup.
Who’d have thought she’d get a job with a meal thrown in? She turned on the gas tap, frowning when she realised she’d have to feed the meter. Her precious few tips were just enough to cover the shilling needed, so feeding the coin into the slot, she hoped there would be more tips forthcoming in the morning.
There were used tea leaves in her small strainer and, carefully pouring boiling water over them, she frowned at the weak brew. Still, things were looking up and soon she’d be able to get a bit of shopping. Not only that, now that she was earning again her dream of taking art classes felt a little bit closer.
After drinking the tea, Pearl had a strip wash, carefully hung up her one and only decent dress, then threw on an old pair of pyjamas. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she picked up her sketch pad and pencil.
Everything had looked dire that morning, and she had been in despair when she’d seen the advert for a waitress. Her elfin face lit up with a smile and she began to draw a face from memory. Dolly Dolby slowly emerged on the page, but when the sketch was finished Pearl flung it aside, wishing she could afford paint and brushes.
Painting was all Pearl lived for, and never a day went by when she didn’t try to create something. With no money for paint she would sketch, burying herself in the task of perfecting whatever she was drawing. In the orphanage it had been her refuge, a way of blanking out all that went on around her.
She was constantly picked on by the other children, all laughing at her because she was never chosen for fostering or adoption. From the day she had been found on the steps until the day she left, the only home Pearl had known was the grey and forbidding orphanage, her bed one among twenty that lined the dormitory. She had plucked up courage once to ask why she couldn’t be put forward for a foster home, only to be told by grim-faced Miss Unsworth that she wasn’t suitable. When she dared to ask why, she had received a slap, Miss Unsworth telling her that she should count herself lucky that she had a home in the orphanage.
The face of Derek Lewis swam into her mind so, taking up her pad again, Pearl began to sketch. In the orphanage, picked on and helpless against the teasing, she had quickly realised that she needed someone to look out for her – someone to hide behind. She had chosen an older girl, one who, like her, was a loner, and it had worked.
Of course, eventually the girl went into foster care, and Pearl was left alone again. It was the first time she’d faced such a traumatic parting, but Pearl had leaned another hard lesson. To survive she couldn’t get attached to anyone. If she hardened her heart, she couldn’t get hurt.
From then on, through the years, she found other girls to hide behind, girls who would stand up for her, but though they didn’t know it, her feelings remained detached.
As Derek’s pug-nosed face took shape on her sketch pad, Pearl smiled. He had already offered her some sort of protection, volunteering to make sure that the other costermongers laid off the teasing. Of course she had protested, but a warm feeling now spread through her body. Yes, Derek Lewis was someone she could hide behind, and it would be a good idea to make him a friend.
Chapter Four (#ulink_d6f51048-5368-52c9-8057-89185c7831a7)
As he cashed up the till, Bernard Dolby’s mouth was set in a scowl, his thoughts on his son instead of the task at hand. Kevin had walked through the dining room earlier, going upstairs without a word. The lazy git should get another job, but after leaving the engineering factory three months ago, wasting years of training, he wasn’t making much of an effort to find other employment.
The young tyke had avoided National Service by becoming an apprentice, deferring his call-up until he was twenty-one. Then he’d avoided it again by failing the medical, much to Dolly’s delight. Asthma. Huh, in Bernie’s opinion a bit of physical training would have sorted that out, turning Kevin into a man instead of a mummy’s boy.
Dolly wouldn’t hear a word against her precious son and had mollycoddled him from childhood. He’s your son too, a small voice said at the back of Bernie’s mind, and once again he scowled. Yes, Kevin was his son, but other than his conception, he’d had no hand in the boy’s upbringing since Kevin was a toddler. If he so much as raised his voice to Kevin, Dolly went mad.
Bernie hunched his shoulders. It was his own fault, he knew that, but for a quiet life he always gave in to Dolly. His wife had a temper, one that he feared, and he’d felt the lash of her hand from almost the first day of their marriage.
Yes, he’d married her, but she was three months gone with Kevin and he hadn’t been given a choice. When Dolly’s father had marched round from the house next door, his pregnant daughter in tow, Bernie’s own parents had forced him to the registry office.
It had been drink, of course – a party that got out of hand – and somehow, though he had no recollection of it, he’d taken Dolly amongst a pile of coats left by the guests in an upstairs bedroom.
‘Have you finished cashing up?’ Dolly asked as she came through from the kitchen.
‘Yeah,’ he said, entering part of the takings in the cash book.
‘Well,’ she said pointedly, holding out her hand.
Bernie gave her some notes and she clasped them avidly. ‘I’m going upstairs. I think Kevin is upset about something.’
‘I’ll wait for Nora to turn up and then I’m off to the bank to pay in the rest of the takings.’
Dolly hurried upstairs and, putting the bags of coins and notes into a small sack, Bernie waited impatiently for their cleaner. Nora was a nice woman, but slow-witted. She’d been cleaning the café for the past twelve months and was surprisingly good at the job, the best they’d had. He smiled now as she came in, a headscarf tied turban-style around her head as usual.
‘Hello, love.’
‘Hello, Mr Dolby,’ she said, her round face breaking into a smile.
‘I’m off to the bank. If you need anything, my wife is upstairs.’
‘Righto,’ and without preamble she went to fetch the broom, bucket and mop. Nora might be slow, but she was thorough, and Bernie knew that the floor and the kitchen would be sparkling by the time she’d finished.
As he stepped outside, Bernie took in a great gulp of air, feeling as though he’d been released from his chain. His eyes roamed the market. It was quiet, many of the stallholders packing up for the day, and he envied them, envied their camaraderie, and their freedom.
Shortly after Kevin was born, Dolly’s gran died, leaving her the café. Dolly had been working for her gran since she left school, and with her mother roped in to look after Kevin, she had carried on. Like a fool Bernie had agreed to work with her, but soon realised his mistake. She ruled absolutely, dismissing any suggestions he made and keeping a firm hand on the purse strings.
A few years later, when war had been declared, he’d gone eagerly to join up, only to be declared unfit with a heart murmur he didn’t know he had. He’d looked forward to getting away from Dolly, her violence and the café. Instead he’d seen his friends going off to fight, and several were killed in action. He’d eventually volunteered to be an air-raid warden, but in truth it wasn’t out of patriotism – it was for the same reason as he’d tried to enlist in the army: to get away from Dolly for a while.
Of course the bloody café had survived the air raids and, despite rationing, they had made a living. Nowadays the place was a little gold mine, but what did he see of it? Huh, just the pocket money that his wife gave him.
‘What’s up, Bernie? Has Dolly been giving you what for again?’
Yes, that’s how they saw him, Bernie thought: as a downtrodden and henpecked husband. He forced a smile, turning to face the costermonger.
‘Well, you know Dolly.’
‘Not as well as you, mate, thank God. Do you fancy a game of darts tonight?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ As he walked away, Bernie knew that as he threw each dart he would picture his wife’s face etched on the board.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ Dolly asked when she saw her son slumped in a chair.
‘Nothing, Mum.’
She sat on the arm of the chair, stroking his hair. ‘Don’t give me that. I can see you’re upset about something.’
Kevin pushed her hand away. ‘Leave it, Mum.’
‘Don’t be silly, son. If you’re upset about something, maybe I can help.’
‘If I tell you what’s wrong, it won’t do any good.’
‘Tell me anyway.’
‘My friends are going to Brighton on Sunday, but I can’t go with them.’
‘Why not?’
‘’Cos they’re all driving down by car, and can you see me keeping up on my scooter?’
‘Surely one of them could give you a lift?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so, but you don’t know how it feels to be the odd one out. From now on I’ll have to scrounge a lift every time we go somewhere.’
Dolly stood up, exhaling loudly. ‘Kevin, I know how much you want to buy that car, but it’s an awful lot of money, son.’
‘See, I knew you’d say that! I told you to leave it, but you insisted I tell you! What good has it done?’ he cried, bending forward then as though gasping for air. After forcing a wheezing sound and hearing his mother murmuring worriedly, he straightened. ‘It’s that bloody scooter and the dust I inhale that causes these attacks, but forget it, Mum. You can’t afford to buy me the car so that’s that.’ And on that note Kevin reared from the chair, stomping to his bedroom, the door slamming behind him.
Dolly paced back and forth but then, casting a glance behind her, she went into her bedroom and to the dressing table. Tucked in the bottom drawer, from under her underwear she took out her cash box. This was her hidden hoard, money the tax man had no knowledge of, and carefully added to over the years. Taking the notes that Bernie had given her and the key, she opened it, her eyes mentally assessing the contents. Why not? she thought. They weren’t hard up, and if riding that scooter was making Kevin ill, he’d have to have a car.
‘Here you are, love,’ Dolly said, knocking before going into Kevin’s room. Her son had become a stickler for privacy, but it was probably normal at his age.
‘Thanks,’ Kevin cried, jumping up and throwing his arms around her. ‘You’re the best mum in the world.’
Dolly smiled, and touched his face. ‘And you’re the best son.’
‘I’d better get a move on before he sells the car to someone else.’
Kevin released his mother, leaving the room without a backward glance, his face alive with excitement. Good old Mum, she had coughed up, as he knew she would. The radio he’d nicked and stashed in the bottom of his wardrobe wouldn’t have raised more than a pittance, but now he had all the cash he needed.
He rushed through the dining room, totally ignoring Nora as she vigorously swept the floor. In the yard he hopped on his scooter and in no time he was at Larry Mason’s house, relieved to see the Vauxhall parked outside.
‘Is the car still for sale?’ he asked, hiding his anxiety when the man came to the door.
‘Yeah, do you want to have another look at it?’
‘I’ve just been to see a Morris, but I can’t make up my mind between the two. Mind you, the Morris is cheaper.’
‘Huh, you can’t compare a Morris to a Vauxhall Wyvern.’
‘Maybe not, but I ain’t made of money.’
‘Come on, I’ll take you for a spin. It might help you to make up your mind.’
Kevin hid a smile. He knew he was going to buy the Wyvern, but there was no need to let Larry know that. He wasn’t ready to part with two hundred quid and intended to haggle.
‘It runs like a dream,’ the man said as they drove along Falcon Road.
‘The engine sounds all right, but I think I’ll go for the Morris. It’s fifty quid cheaper and I ain’t got money to burn.’
‘How about I knock off twenty-five quid? It’s still a better car, and I can’t go any lower.’
Kevin pursed his lips, pretending to consider the offer, and then said, ‘All right, Larry. I’ll take it off your hands.’
In another hour Kevin was on his way to see some important contacts, his heart thumping. They’d have to take him seriously now. They needed a car, and he had one. And without it, the job would be impossible.
Chapter Five (#ulink_a40539aa-c366-573f-89e7-d91db7e8d5e9)
On Saturday, Pearl took her first week’s wages, pleased to find an extra ten shillings. With tips she had made two pounds, thirteen and sixpence. A guinea would have to go to her landlord, but now that she didn’t have to buy much food, art classes were definitely on.
She hugged herself with excitement. Art classes! She could actually go to art classes! Her mind slid back to the orphanage and the one teacher she had liked. Miss Rosen had come to the orphanage during Pearl’s final year, and she’d been inspirational, encouraging her to look at objects in a new way.
‘See the texture of the bricks,’ she would say, ‘feel them, and there’s the sky, Pearl. It isn’t just one shade of blue with clouds like puffs of cotton wool. Look closely – there are far more colours.’
And she had looked, and she had learned, but not enough, not nearly enough. Only three months after Miss Rosen arrived came Pearl’s release, and she was one of the first to leave that year. And that’s how she saw it: release – as though she had spent her whole life up to that moment in prison. Miss Rosen was the only teacher she missed, but she would never forget her art lessons.
Before leaving she’d been told they had found her a job in a laundry, and a place in a hostel, both of which she hated from the first day. The work in the laundry sickened her, making her stomach turn. Her job was to sort out linen from great bags, and check that the laundry mark was in place before sending it on to the washroom. The sheets, from a local psychiatric hospital and an old folk’s home, were often covered in blood, vomit or excrement. She had tried to distance her mind, but it was impossible, and then, after months and months, there came the final straw. A sheet she pulled out was so covered in filth that she had bent double, vomiting on the cold stone floor.
With little money saved, she had left both the job and the hostel. She moved to an area a long way from the orphanage, alighting from the train at Clapham Junction station. Maybe it was luck, maybe she had a guardian angel, but almost immediately she’d seen a card in a newsagent’s window offering a cheap room to let. After asking directions she had made her way to Battersea High Street, enthralled by the busy, bustling market. She had taken the room, and then when almost down to her last penny, providence stepped in again when she found the job in the café.
Pearl jumped as she heard a sudden knock on her door and opened it to see her landlord.
‘Your rent’s due, Miss Button,’ Nobby Clark said.
‘Yes, I’ll get it for you,’ she agreed, hiding her distaste. Her landlord was a greasy-looking young man, with dark, slicked-back hair and a small moustache. But it was his eyes that she hated most; button black and hard, they made her shiver.
He marked the rent book, handed it back, and Pearl was glad to close the door on him. For the rest of the evening she sketched. She attempted Kevin Dolby, but couldn’t get his handsome face right. With a sigh she scrunched the paper into a ball before throwing it in the bin. God, Kevin was so good-looking. Despite knowing that he would never be interested in her, she still felt her heart skip a beat every time she saw him.
At ten thirty Pearl climbed into bed and was just drifting off to sleep when she heard noises coming from the empty shop below. She sat up nervously. Men’s voices, the scraping of what sounded like chairs, a soft laugh. She strained her ears, but the voices were indistinct, muffled. Who was down there?
Pearl wished there were other tenants, someone she could run to, but hers was the only room occupied.
Laughter again, loud this time, and Pearl relaxed a little. Perhaps it was her landlord showing someone the premises, but at this time of night? Despite her trepidation, curiosity had Pearl rising to her feet and, slipping on a thin cotton dressing gown, she padded softly downstairs.
The internal door creaked as she opened it a little, and for a moment she froze, but then the handle was snatched from her hand as it was flung wide by her landlord.
Nobby Clark glared angrily, pushing her rapidly back into the hall and slamming the door shut behind him. ‘Have you heard the saying that curiosity killed the cat?’
Wide-eyed, Pearl looked back at the man, but her throat was too constricted with nerves to answer.
‘What did you see? Answer me, you silly cow! I said, what did you see?’
‘N … nothing,’ she managed to gasp.
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Y … yes,’ she stammered, finding her voice at last. ‘I … I heard noises and thought it might be burglars.’
‘What – in an empty shop?’
‘I … I didn’t think.’
‘That’s obvious. Now listen, and listen well. What goes on in my shop is none of your business and in future keep your nose out.’
‘Yes, Mr Clark.’
He stepped back a pace, took a cigarette out of a packet and lit it, blowing smoke into the air as his shrewd eyes bored into hers. ‘Get back upstairs,’ he snapped.
Pearl scampered away, her heart thumping. When she reached her bedsit she hurriedly shut the door, leaning against it as she drew in great gulps of air. She had seen something. Before Nobby Clark shut the door she’d had a brief glimpse of three men sitting around a table, and piled beside them were stacks of cartons. She had seen the markings. Cigarettes – they were cartons of cigarettes.
‘Did she see anything?’ Kevin Dolby asked anxiously.
‘Nah, she didn’t have a chance.’
‘Christ, you should’ve locked the internal door.’
‘I know that!’
‘Are you sure she didn’t see anything?’
‘I’ve told you, ain’t I? Now shut up and I’ll give Vince a ring. If you’d had the sense to buy a van we’d have a lot more stuff to offer him. I’m not sure he’ll be interested in this little hoard.’
Kevin glared at Nobby. Bloody hell, they wouldn’t have any transport if it wasn’t for him, and there was no way he was going to be seen driving a flippin’ van. The Vauxhall gave him a bit of kudos and he enjoyed the envy he saw in his mates’ eyes.
Nobby returned from making the call, a satisfied smile on his face. ‘Yeah, Vince is gonna take them, but he wants delivery now.’
‘Christ, it’ll take us over an hour to get to Streatham and back.’
‘Look, the sooner we get shot of the stuff, the sooner we’ll get our dosh, and it’s better than stashing it here overnight.’
‘I’m not happy about using my car again.’
‘We can hardly get a bus.’
Kevin hung his head. That bloody girl had unnerved him. She had almost walked in on them and if she’d seen the stash, what then? Pearl worked for his mother, for Christ’s sake – she knew his face!
‘Come on, Kevin,’ Dick Smedley said as he picked up one of the cartons. ‘Let’s get a move on.’
Kevin pinched his bottom lip between his fingers, but then nodded. Pearl bloody Button hadn’t seen anything, so why was he worrying? The warehouse job had been easy, and they’d got clean away. All right, it wasn’t a big haul, but even so, they were on a nice little earner. For once he wouldn’t have to cadge money from his mother. He’d have plenty to spend on his favourite hobby. If you could call it a hobby, he thought with a smile. Soho beckoned … the girls … the things they let him do.
When Kevin reached Soho, walking the narrow streets, neon lights announced the clubs. Kevin frowned. It had been a hard lesson, money leaving his pocket like water, for drinks that cost an arm and a leg, but he knew better now and wouldn’t frequent those dives again. It had taken a few trips, but he’d finally found what he was looking for. Now he turned down an alley, his excitement beginning to mount. When he reached the last door on the left it bore no indication of the delights inside, but he just hoped that Eva was available.
She was, and following her into the bedroom he licked his lips in anticipation. Eva knew just what to do and stood waiting, but as he stepped forward she held up a hand in warning.
‘No bruises this time or I won’t entertain you again.’
His eyes narrowed. She was out of role and he didn’t like it, his erection dying. He wanted her submissive, frightened. ‘All right, I’ll be careful.’
She switched into the act, her eyes becoming wide with fear. That was better, the trigger he needed, and now he walked towards her again.
‘No, please!’ she begged.
He grabbed Eva, ripping the clothes from her body before throwing her on the bed. He wanted to pummel her, punch her, but had to hold back, yet even so, her cries of mock pain drove him to ecstasy.
It was quick, too bloody quick, and annoyed, Kevin threw money onto the bed. If he got his needs regularly, maybe he’d be able to last longer, but at least he had a few bob now and would be back. Without saying a word to Eva he left.
It was one o’clock in the morning when he drove down the side entrance, parking in the large yard at the back of the café. He was quiet as he made his way upstairs, but despite that, his mother appeared in her bedroom doorway.
‘Kevin, where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’
‘Don’t start, Mum. I got held up, that’s all.’
‘Held up. Where?’
‘Er … the car had a flat tyre.’
‘But surely it didn’t take long to change it?’
‘For Christ’s sake, leave it out, will you! I ain’t a kid, you know,’ Kevin shouted as he stomped off to his bedroom.
Only a few minutes later he heard raised voices. His mother was berating his father again, taking her angst out on the old man. He despised him, despised his weakness. What sort of a man let a woman rule him – hit him – belittle him? Why didn’t his father stand up to her?
As a kid he’d thought it normal, but as he got older it became apparent that in other households it was the man who ruled, not the woman.
His home was different and he hated it, hated seeing the way his father kowtowed to his mother. With this hate came fear. Was he the same? Was he less than a man, like his father?
Yes, his first trip to Soho had introduced him to sex, but it hadn’t really taken away his fear. The tart was paid to do as he asked; paid to be submissive.
In between trips to Soho he’d taken a few girls out, usually the obvious types, and had played the big man. Yet deep down he was still nervous, especially if they showed a bit of spunk and stood up to him. When that happened he dropped them like hot potatoes, and so girls came and went, giving him the reputation of a ladies’ man, one that he enjoyed.
His mother’s voice rang out again and, hearing it, Kevin’s determination was renewed. Not for him someone like his mother. Not for him a woman with a forceful personality. If the day ever came, and he doubted it, that he got married, he would make sure his wife was a pretty little thing. Someone meek and mild, who would have no chance of dominating him.
Chapter Six (#ulink_3f34a8e1-2419-5ea9-b5a0-4003763a92bc)
‘I’m home, Gran!’ Derek Lewis called as he stepped into the small terraced house. It was Monday and he’d been delayed, but now hurried upstairs. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
Derek gazed down at his beloved gran, and frowned worriedly. She still looked frail, despite the doctor saying she had only a touch of bronchitis. Connie Lewis was a tiny woman, grey-haired and thin, but she was wiry and rarely ill. ‘Sorry I’m late but I had a bit of stock to pick up. Have you had your medicine?’
‘Yes, and stop looking so worried. I think I’ll be well enough to come downstairs tomorrow.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘We won’t. If I have to stare at these four bloody walls for much longer, I’ll go batty.’
‘All right, keep your hair on. I’m off to make us something to eat. What do you fancy?’
‘Something light. Perhaps a boiled egg, with bread and butter.’
‘You need more that that. How about a pork chop with mashed potatoes?’
‘No, thanks, but you have a chop. Is it your night for the gym?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to leave you if you still feel rough.’
‘I told you, I feel fine, and a fraud for laying here.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’
‘Gawd, Derek, will you stop treating me like a bleedin’ invalid? I ain’t ready for the knacker’s yard yet.’
There was a spark in her eyes now and Derek grinned. When his mother had been killed during the war, he’d come to live with his gran. At the time he’d been ten years old, a lost and frightened little boy, but she had taken him under her wing, showering more love on him than he’d ever received from his flighty mother.
He’d questioned Gran about his father, but she fobbed him off so many times that he’d given up asking. It was only as an adult that he found out why. On his birth certificate, the space for listing the father’s name was blank.
Derek bent forward, planting a kiss on his gran’s papery cheek. ‘I’m off to put your egg on.’
‘It wouldn’t suit you, love.’
‘Very funny, and if you’re cracking jokes you must be feeling better.’
‘I am, and put plenty of butter on me bread.’
As Derek went downstairs he found his thoughts turning to the café and the new waitress. Pearl looked such a frail little thing, too frail to be working for Dolly Dolby. When she fainted and he’d carried her to the kitchen, she was as light as a bird, her huge eyes full of fear as she looked at him. Well, she had no need to fear him. In fact, he was determined to look out for the girl.
In no time his gran’s egg was ready, and having spread the butter thickly on the bread, he carried the tray, complete with a cup of tea, upstairs. ‘There, get that down you.’
‘Thanks, pet, and what are you having?’
‘I think I’ll pop into the chippy on me way back from the gym. It ain’t good to spar on a full stomach.’
‘Derek, you’ve had fish and chips three times this week!’
‘It won’t kill me, Gran. You’ll be up soon and no doubt shoving vegetables down me throat again.’
‘I will, and I’ll make sure you eat the lot.’
They smiled at each other. Then Connie tapped the top of her egg, and Derek went to the bathroom for a wash. He stood looking at his face in the mirror over the basin. For a moment a frown creased his forehead. Boxing had certainly taken its toll, and was that the start of a cauliflower ear? Yes, maybe, but what did it matter? He’d never been much to look at in the first place.
An hour later he’d given his gran another cup of tea, and was ready to leave. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’
‘Derek, for goodness’ sake just go. Those kids you’re helping along will be waiting for you.’
‘All right, I’ll see you later,’ he called, clattering back downstairs and out of the house.
In no time he reached the gym, a few kids crowding round him as soon as he walked in. His eyes flicked round the large room, noting a few other nippers having a go on the punch bags, their thin arms making little impact. A couple of blokes were sparring in the ring, a trainer watching them avidly, but other than that the place was empty.
Derek tousled the nearest boy’s head. ‘Right, let’s get you lot sorted. Jimmy and Bill, you do some skipping, and, Ricky, get your gloves on ready for a spar when the ring is clear.’
They all ran to do his bidding and he smiled. They were good kids, better off in the gym than running the streets.
Jimmy, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, was Derek’s favourite, a kid he was sure he had turned round. The lad had hesitantly entered the gym six months ago, and it hadn’t taken Derek long to learn that the boy was regularly beaten by his drunken father. He’d been running wild on the streets, rebelling, nicking stuff off stalls, but coming to the gym had changed all that. At first he’d seen the boy taking his anger out on the punch bag, but gradually he had grown in confidence.
Yes, Jimmy was a lot happier now, especially since Derek had taken it upon himself to have a quiet word in his father’s ear.
The following morning, Pearl was dashing along the High Street. Some costermongers were already setting up, and as she passed Derek Lewis he raised his hand to wave.
His stall was half ready, piled with china, and Pearl looked at some of the sets with interest. Maybe in another couple of weeks she could buy cups and saucers to replace the old chipped ones she’d inherited with the room.
She reached the café, rushing inside to see Bernie behind the counter as usual. ‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve just made a pot so do you want a cuppa before you start?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, taking her apron from the hook and tying it around her waist.
‘Here you are then, and take this one through to Dolly.’
Pearl took the cup, careful not to slop any tea in the saucers. It was something she knew Dolly Dolby hated, and had felt the sting of her tongue the first time the tea had over-spilled.
Gertie didn’t start work until seven, and Mo nine, so there was only her employer in the kitchen.
‘Good morning, Mrs Dolby,’ she said, hoping that the woman was in a good mood.
‘Morning,’ Dolly said shortly, adding, ‘I thought I told you to tie your hair back.’
‘I’m just about to do it,’ Pearl said, hurriedly fishing for the elastic band in her apron pocket.
‘Get it done and go back to the dining room. It won’t be long before the breakfast rush starts.’
Pearl scrapped her hair back, hopes dashed. Mrs Dolby was obviously in a foul humour, and she dreaded the rest of the day. When her employer was in a good mood – if any of her moods could be called good – the job was easier, but when bad-tempered, like today, she would build mountains out of molehills, making all their lives a misery.
She went back to the dining room, and as she swiftly drank her tea, Bernie gave her a sympathetic smile.
‘I can see by your face that you’ve found Dolly with the hump. It’s Kevin’s fault. He didn’t come home until one in the morning on Saturday and he was out all hours last night too. Dolly was out of her mind with worry.’
‘One o’clock in the morning! My goodness.’
‘Yeah, and God knows what the young tyke was up to.’
Pearl wondered too, but then the café began to fill with costermongers, all ready for large breakfasts. They took it in turns, watching each other’s pitches, but even so, the café was soon packed.
Derek Lewis came in at eight, but ordered only two bacon sandwiches to take away.
‘No breakfast this morning?’ Pearl asked.
‘My gran’s a bit under the weather so I’m popping home to give her one of these. Frank’s keeping an eye on my stall.’
Pearl watched him leave, wondering if she could tell him about her landlord and his threat on Saturday night. She was frightened of Nobby Clark, needed someone to protect her, but didn’t feel she knew Derek well enough yet. This was a tight-knit community and she knew she had a long way to go before she was accepted. Until then, it might be more prudent to keep her mouth shut.
Pearl was taking her break, tucking into her meal, when Kevin came down from the upstairs flat.
His eyes flicked around the dining room, but then he walked towards her table. Pearl’s stomach fluttered and she quickly lowered her head.
‘Hello. Pearl, isn’t it? How are you getting on?’
‘F … fine, thanks,’ she said, amazed and gratified that he had spoken to her.
Her eyes rose, and as they fastened momentarily on his, she flushed. God, he was gorgeous, yet why did he look so anxious?
‘Do you live around here?’
‘Er … yes, I live over the empty shop further along the High Street.’
‘All right, is it?’
‘Yes, it’s fine.’
‘Who’s your landlord?’
‘Mr Clark. Nobby Clark. Do you know him?’
He smiled, perfectly even, white teeth flashing. ‘No, not really. See you,’ he said abruptly, walking away.
Pearl was thrilled that Kevin had spoken to her, but puzzled by the strange conversation.
Gertie then dashed out of the kitchen, looking harassed. ‘One of the ovens isn’t working and Dolly’s doing her nut,’ she told Bernie.
‘All right, I’m coming,’ he said. ‘Keep an eye on things out here, Pearl.’
She rose to her feet, unable now to think about Kevin’s strange behaviour as three young women came in, asking for teas.
Kevin was still smiling as he strolled along the High Street. Christ, he’d been shit scared that the new waitress had clocked him on Saturday night, but a short conversation had allayed his fears. When Pearl had asked if he knew Nobby Clark, it was obvious that she hadn’t seen him in the shop. If she had, she wouldn’t have asked the question.
‘Watcha, Kevin. With that smile on your face you must’ve got your leg over last night.’
‘Morning, Frank, and yes, I did,’ he lied.
‘You jammy young git. My old woman had a headache as usual.’
‘So much for marriage,’ Kevin quipped back.
‘It’s got its compensations, and she ain’t always under the weather.’
Kevin pictured Frank’s wife and shuddered. Like his mother, she looked a right battle-axe and he wouldn’t fancy waking up alongside her every morning.
‘Morning, Derek,’ he called as he reached the next stall.
‘Watcha, Kevin. How’s the new waitress? She ain’t fainted again, has she?’
Kevin frowned. Fainted? It was the first he’d heard of it. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about and as far as I know she’s fine.’
‘She passed out cold on her first day and I had to carry her through to the kitchen. Ain’t she a pretty little thing?’
Kevin’s eyes widened. Pretty! Blimey, Derek must need his eyes tested. Pearl was thin, pale and insipid, without an ounce of femininity. ‘Can’t say I think much of your taste, mate. Still, if you like her, as far as I’m concerned, she’s all yours.’
For a moment Derek’s face saddened. ‘She wouldn’t want me, Kevin.’
‘You don’t know that. Give it a go, mate.’
‘Nah, it’d be a waste of time.’
Kevin called goodbye, sauntering along the High Street, his arm lifting to acknowledge other stall-holders. He was still smiling happily, thinking about the money in his pocket. Yeah, he had plenty of dosh now, and would take another trip to Soho tonight.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_9a31e6aa-e016-549f-ac04-7a5ebe4d8de4)
During the next couple of weeks Pearl made a point of chatting to Derek Lewis whenever she got the chance, and this had certainly done the trick. The other costermongers still ribbed her, but in a friendly way, and their jokes were no longer smutty. On the whole she enjoyed the waitressing job. As long as she kept her head down and showed Mrs Dolby respect, the woman wasn’t too bad.
Pearl still felt like an outsider, but had learned a lot. There seemed to be unwritten rules in this little community. There was a strict code that no matter what you saw, or heard, you didn’t speak to the police. People round here took care of any problems in their own special way, but how they did it was still a mystery to Pearl. She had heard snippets of conversation – talk of keeping to your own patch and not treading on anyone’s toes – but had no idea what it meant.
It was a busy morning, about a month after Pearl had started working at the café. She wiped a hand across her forehead. ‘Can I have my break now, Bernie?’
He was about to answer when a tall, buxom woman walked into the café. As she approached the counter Pearl’s ears pricked up.
‘Are you still looking for a waitress?’
‘Yes, we are. Take a seat and I’ll get my wife.’
Bernie winked as he passed her, but Pearl frowned. It was hard work managing all the tables on her own, but if Mrs Dolby took this woman on, she’d miss the extra ten shillings a week in her wage packet.
When Dolly came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her large white apron, Bernie followed behind. ‘Right,’ she said brusquely, as she sat opposite the woman, ‘my husband tells me you’ve come about the job.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Have you had any experience?’
‘I’ve been a waitress in the Trafalgar Café at Clapham Junction for three years, but now they’ve sold the place to Greeks and they’re turning it into an omelette bar.’
‘An omelette bar? That’s a new one on me.’
‘Me too. I could stay on, but don’t fancy it somehow.’
‘I can’t believe the old Trafalgar Café has been sold. It’s been in the same family for years.’
‘I know, but old Mrs Watson wanted to retire and none of her lads would take it on.’
‘Tell me a bit about yourself.’
‘My name is Alice Freeman. I’m thirty-two and live just off Falcon Road. I’m married, with one daughter.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Yvonne’s eleven.’
Dolly pursed her lips. ‘The hours are six thirty to three thirty. How are you going to manage that with a kid of eleven?’
‘It isn’t a problem. My mother lives next door and already looks after Yvonne while I’m at work.’
‘Right, so I suppose it’s down to pay. What are you earning now?’
‘I’m on three pounds a week.’
Once again Dolly pursed her lips. ‘All right, we can match that. When can you start?’
‘On Monday.’
‘Right then, the job’s yours.’
‘Thank you,’ Alice said, smiling widely.
Pearl picked up the plates, her thoughts racing as she took them through to the kitchen. It didn’t seem fair that Dolly had offered Alice three pounds a week when she, Pearl, was earning only two. They’d be doing the same hours, the same amount of work, but because the woman was older, she’d be paid more.
Gertie turned to give Pearl a grin. ‘If someone’s applied for the waitress job, things will be a lot easier for you. You’ve been running around like a blue-arsed fly since you started and must be fair worn out.’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘What’s she like?’
Before Pearl could answer, the door swung open, Mrs Dolby walking in with Alice Freeman behind her. ‘Gertie, Mo, this is Alice. She’s starting work with us on Monday.’
‘Hello,’ Gertie said, Mo following suit, both looking at the woman appraisingly. Alice was a strong-looking young woman, with fair hair pulled back in one long plait that hung down her back.
‘And this is Pearl, our other waitress.’
‘Hello,’ Alice said. ‘Have you been managing the tables on your own?’
‘Yes, but I’ve coped.’
‘She has,’ Dolly agreed, ‘for a new girl she’s done remarkably well. Mind you, a lot of our customers ain’t got time to hang about and they’ve been getting a bit impatient at the slow service.’
Pearl flushed. She’d heard the complaints, and on occasions a few costermongers walked out, saying they’d go across the road to the pie-and-mash shop. She hadn’t realised that Mrs Dolby knew, and hung her head.
‘Now then, girl, I ain’t criticising. As I said, you’ve done well. Now go on back to the dining room and fetch us all a cup of tea.’
‘Yes, Mrs Dolby.’
‘Well, Pearl,’ Bernie said as she walked up to the counter, ‘we’ve got another waitress at last, and an experienced one at that. Things will be easier all round now.’
Pearl managed a small smile, watching as Bernie poured the tea. She took the cups through to the kitchen, finding Alice chatting to Mrs Dolby, the two women obviously getting on well.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Dolby,’ Alice was saying, ‘I’ll be able to show Pearl the ropes and her speed will pick up in no time.’
‘Did you hear that, Pearl? You’ll learn a lot from Alice, so take note of what she tells you.’
With a small nod, Pearl placed the tray on the table. Alice was looking at her, a strange look in her eyes, one almost of triumph. But why?
Pearl found out on Monday. When she arrived at the café, Alice was already there, standing behind the counter and making a pot of tea.
‘Right, Pearl, once I’ve poured this you can take one through to Mrs Dolby. I’ve sorted out our tables. You can have the ones at this end, and I’ll take the others.’
Alice had chosen the easiest tables to work, those nearest the kitchen, and Pearl looked at Bernie for his reaction.
He was emptying bags of coins into the till, and just smiled, saying, ‘Good morning, love. It’s good that you won’t have to manage on your own now. There’ll be no complaints about the service today.’
Pearl had a bad feeling about Alice. She was already asserting herself, but since her days in the orphanage Pearl had never had the courage to speak up for herself. Now, taking a cup of tea through to Mrs Dolby, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her tummy.
‘Good morning, Pearl,’ Dolly said. ‘Now that Alice has started, watch and learn from her. It was rough on you starting with no one to show you the ropes, but you ain’t done bad.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Dolby.’
Dolly’s broad, flat face broke into a smile, her voice unusually soft. ‘Go on, get on with your work.’
As Pearl went back to the dining room she saw both Bernie and Alice chatting as they drank their tea.
‘Come on, Pearl, I’ve poured a cup for you too,’ Alice called.
It was a friendly gesture and Pearl responded, chatting to the woman whilst Bernie popped out to the kitchen.
Alice glanced around the café. ‘I expect it’s the same routine as the Trafalgar and I’ll soon settle in.’
‘I’m sure you will, but I think there must be an easier way to take the orders.’
‘What do you mean, love?’
‘We have to write out a separate chit for each customer, and sometimes if there are four on a table it takes ages.’
‘That sounds a bit daft to me and not very efficient.’
‘I think it would be easier to write out one slip per table, listing the order with the customers initial beside it. Most come from the market, they know each other, and nine times out of ten sit with the same crowd each day. Of course, if strangers sit at the same table it wouldn’t work, but that doesn’t happen very often.’
‘It sounds like a good idea to me.’ The bell pinged, and as customers came in, Alice said, ‘Right, Pearl, shake a leg.’
Pearl frowned. Alice made it sound like a command, but the first four men took a seat at one of her tables so she went to take their order. ‘Good morning, and what can I get you?’
‘Morning, love,’ Frank said. ‘I’ll ’ave me usual.’
‘Me too,’ another man said, adding, ‘Is that another new waitress?’
‘Yes, she’s starting today.’
‘She looks like a battle-axe, Frank.’
‘Yeah, a bit of a Boadicea, if you ask me.’
Pearl was smiling as she wrote out their chit. It was obvious these men liked to find nicknames for people. During her first week, Frank had started to call her Minnie Mouse, but she didn’t mind. It was just their way, and she was getting used to them now.
The smile left her face when she went into the kitchen. The new waitress was talking to Mrs Dolby and she looked as pleased as punch at what she was hearing.
‘Blimey, Alice, that’s a great idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. My old gran set up the present system, and as it worked we just carried on. Now though, if we do things your way, not only will it speed up service, it’ll also save us a fortune on order pads. Well done, Alice, and it’s lovely to have someone who takes an interest in the business.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Dolby,’ Alice said.
‘Pearl, our new waitress has just come up with a marvellous idea for taking orders and we’ll start using it straight away. I’d best get these breakfasts on so I’ll leave Alice to put you in the picture.’
With a smile of satisfaction, Alice beckoned Pearl to the dining room. ‘Mrs Dolby was dead chuffed when I suggested writing out one order chit for each table and it’s certainly got me into her good books.’
‘But … but it was my idea.’
‘Well, yes, but does it matter who came up with it? As long as it makes things easier for us, that’s all that matters. Oops, better get a move on, customers are waiting.’
Pearl stood rooted to the spot for a moment, unable to believe that Alice had pinched her idea. It was her own fault, she should have plucked up the courage to speak to Dolly herself, but now it was too late. She heaved a sigh. Maybe Alice was right – after all, it would make things easier for them – but she still had a bad feeling about the woman.
By eight thirty the café was heaving, and when Derek Lewis came in he took a table at the far end of the café, surprised when Alice came to serve him.
‘Hello, where’s Pearl? She hasn’t left, has she?’
‘No, she’s in the kitchen. I’m doing the tables down this end. Now then, what can I get you?’
‘Just a couple of eggs on toast.’
Carrying two plates, Pearl came backwards through the swing door, and as she rushed past she didn’t see Derek. He watched her, his face showing his disappointment. He’d decided to pluck up the courage to ask her out today, and now felt deflated. He’d been rehearsing what he was going to say, his stomach knotted as he came in the café, but now he wouldn’t have the chance. Maybe he’d be able to catch her on her way home.
Derek kept his eyes on Pearl as she worked, and when Alice put his breakfast in front of him he hardly looked at it as he picked up his knife and fork. Would Pearl say yes? Christ, he hoped so. She always seemed pleased to see him, and sometimes stopped for a chat. He’d never had attention from a girl before, and hoped he hadn’t misread the signs.
Pearl was rushing to the kitchen again, but this time she saw him. Her elfin face broke into a smile. ‘Hello, Derek,’ she called, but sailed on past.
Derek finished his breakfast, drank his tea, and then went to pay at the counter, pleased when Pearl came to his side.
‘Hello, how are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine thanks. How’s your gran?’
‘She’s back to normal, and bossing me around as usual.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Er … Pearl, I was wondering …’
As Bernie filled two cups of tea, Pearl grabbed them, and Derek was left staring at her back as she hurried away. His heart sank. She hadn’t even let him finish his sentence. Maybe he’d imagined it and she didn’t like him after all. Sadly he watched her running around for a moment. Then, with his shoulders slumped, he left the café.
It was eleven o’clock when Derek saw Kevin Dolby strolling through the market, and he lifted his arm to catch his attention.
‘Watcha, Derek, how’s things?’
‘Fine, but I wanted to ask your advice.’
‘Fire away.’
‘It’s that waitress, Pearl. She seems to like me, but how can I know for sure?’
‘You can’t, mate. Sometimes you just have to take a chance. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re worried about. She can only say no, and there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Derek murmured as Kevin walked away. It was all right for him – he was a good-looking bloke and obviously had no trouble finding women. Derek thought back to the one time he’d asked a girl out, and she’d made her distaste plain. Would Pearl be the same? Would she tell him to bugger off too?
A customer came to the stall and, pushing his worries to one side, Derek went to serve her, pleased when she purchased a tea set.
Pearl was relieved when her shift finished and was just preparing to leave when Dolly came out of the kitchen. As she walked the length of the café, her eyes inspected each and every table, but thankfully they were all clean and tidy.
Pearl’s ears pricked up when Alice said, ‘Mrs Dolby, can I have a word about our tips?’
‘What about them?’
‘It’s a bit frantic in here, both for the breakfast and lunch servings, and I’ve noticed that Pearl ain’t quite got the hang of it yet. To help out I’ve cleared a few of her tables, but some customers leave tips and in the rush I might have put hers in with mine by mistake. I wonder if it might be better if we have a jar on the counter to pool them in, sharing the money out at the end of the week.’
‘Surely mixing Pearl’s tips with your own won’t happen very often?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know. As I said, there’ll be time when I’ll have to clear Pearl’s tables, and it’s easy to get in a muddle.’
‘What do you think about this, Pearl?’
‘I … I’m not sure. Maybe it would be better to keep them separate.’
‘You should think yourself lucky that Alice has helped you out, and by clearing your tables she takes on extra work. If you ask me she should keep any tips she finds.’
‘Oh, no, Mrs Dolby,’ Alice protested. ‘That wouldn’t be right. I’d rather we share them.’
‘Very well then, until Pearl gets up to speed you can put a jar on the counter. If and when she improves, we’ll discuss it again.’
Pearl wanted to protest, to tell Mrs Dolby that she didn’t need Alice’s help. With only half the tables to do now she could easily manage, but seeing impatience on her employer’s face, she was held back by fear.
Both she and Alice took their handbags out from under the counter, saying goodbye as the left together, but when the door closed behind them, Alice turned to Pearl, her smile ingratiating. ‘I hope you don’t mind my suggestion, love. After all, we don’t want to get our tips mixed up, do we? See you tomorrow.’ With this she walked off in the opposite direction to Pearl.
For a moment Pearl watched her, unhappy but helpless. Alice had made her look bad in front of Mrs Dolby, and she should have had the courage to speak up for herself. Yet both women were dominant, assertive and she just didn’t have the nerve. Kevin was walking towards her, heading for the café, and once again her heart skipped. It wasn’t often that he spoke to her, but just a rare smile in her direction was enough to bring the colour flooding to her cheeks. Would he speak to her now?
‘Watcha, Pearl.’
‘Er … hello,’ she stuttered, but he walked straight into the café without breaking his stride. Disconsolately she started to stroll along the market, berating herself for being silly. Kevin Dolby would never look at her twice. He had the pick of the girls and she could never compete.
Derek was looking out for Pearl and at three forty-five he saw her meandering down the market. Fingers crossed, he went to the front of his stall, smiling when she drew near.
‘Hello, love. Off home, are you?’
‘Yes, I’ve finished my shift.’
‘Er … Pearl. I … I was wondering if you fancy going to the pictures one night?’
Her huge eyes rose to meet his and he gulped. Christ, she was such a lovely little thing. She looked so innocent, so frail, and he held his breath for her answer.
‘The pictures? Well, yes, I suppose so.’
‘That’s great. How about tonight?’
‘Yes, all right. Can we go to the Granada? There’s a Marlene Dietrich film on that I’d love to see.’
‘Fine with me. How about I pick you up at seven?’
‘Yes, do that.’ And smiling shyly, Pearl walked away.
Bloody hell, he’d done it! With a little skip, Derek was grinning as he returned to the back of his stall, and was busy for the rest of the afternoon.
As Derek walked in the door that evening, Connie Lewis assessed him shrewdly. ‘What are you looking so happy about?’
‘I’ve got a date, Gran.’
‘Have you now? And who with? I hope she’s a nice girl and not one of these painted tarts you see nowadays. Does she live around here?’
‘Now then, Gran, I’m twenty-six, not sixteen, and don’t need an inquisition. But yes, she’s a nice girl and I think you’d like her. Now, I’m off upstairs to have a bath.’
Connie frowned as her grandson left the room. Derek wasn’t one for the girls so she was surprised to hear he had a date. She was under no illusions. Derek couldn’t be described as handsome. He’d been a plain little boy when he’d come to live with her, and was plain now, but of course boxing hadn’t helped.
Yet he was a lovely lad, kind and caring, in fact, sometimes too caring. She smiled, remembering all the lost and wounded animals he’d brought home over the years, from wild birds to cats. In fact they still had one of the cats now, a fat and lazy creature that spent all day asleep on a chair.
As if knowing she was thinking about him, Marmalade opened one eye, yawned and stretched, rousing himself enough to settle in another position before closing his eye again. Connie smiled. Yes, Marmalade was a good name for the ginger cat, and she was quite fond of the old thing really.
She rose to her feet, walking across the kitchen to feed cabbage into the pan of boiling water on the stove. Unbidden, Connie found herself thinking about her daughter, an expression of sadness crossing her face. Mary had got herself pregnant and had never revealed the name of Derek’s father, but she didn’t deserve to die that way – trapped under the rubble of a pub when it had been bombed during the war.
‘What’s for dinner, Gran?’ Derek asked as he returned downstairs, towelling his hair dry.
‘Stewed steak.’
‘Smashing.’
‘Where are you taking this girl tonight?’
‘We’re going to the flicks.’
‘Well, just make sure you behave yourself!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, sorry, love. Take no notice of me. I know you’ll be a perfect gentleman.’
‘What’s up, Gran? You not only sound snappy, you look a bit down too.’
‘I was just thinking about your mother. It’s her birthday tomorrow.’
‘We’ll take some flowers up to the cemetery as usual.’
‘She seems to fill my mind more than ever around this time. I don’t know why. It’s almost as though she draws close to me on her birthday. I know she wasn’t much of a mother to you, but I’ll never forgive myself for the way I treated her.’
‘Gran, it was a long time ago and about time you forgave yourself. And, well, to be honest, I can hardly remember her now.’
Connie checked the vegetables and, seeing they were ready, she drained them before dishing up their dinner. As she placed the plates on the table and sat opposite Derek, her eyes flicked to an old black-and-white photograph of her daughter on the mantelpiece. Mary had been such a pretty girl, with dark hair and eyes, and Connie couldn’t help the comparison. Derek bore no resemblance to his mother at all. In fact he didn’t look like anyone in the family. He was big, lumbering, with wide shoulders and a large head. There was something Slavic-looking about his features – Polish, maybe? She heaved a sigh, knowing full well that Derek’s origins were something they would never know. And now as she began to eat, she was just praying that this girl he was taking out wouldn’t hurt him.
Chapter Eight (#ulink_3ca85679-6b76-5820-89fb-a54ca694a129)
Pearl went into her room and slumped onto the side of the bed. She’d been taken by surprise when Derek asked her out, saying yes without really thinking about it.
At first it had been nice to have her own place, but now had to admit that she was growing lonely. Art classes didn’t start until September, and sitting alone in her bedsit every evening had lost its appeal.
Derek was a nice man and she pictured his face, his misshapen nose, thick lips, and heavy brows, softened by his lovely, kind smile. She had only coveted his friendship, but his invitation sounded like a date. What if he tried to kiss her? She had never been out with a man before, and had no idea what to expect, but surely there must be a way to make Derek understand that it really was only friendship she sought.
Pearl rose to make herself a drink. If Kevin Dolby had asked her out it would have been different. She’d have jumped at the chance, and shivered at the thought of being held in his arms. Don’t be silly, she told herself, smiling wryly. Kevin would never look at her twice and it was just a silly dream. When the kettle boiled she made the tea, pleased that nowadays she had milk and sugar. Nevertheless she only put a small amount of each into her cup. She had only half the tables in the café now, and that meant half the tips. Yes, it was silly to dream about Kevin, but art classes were a different matter and still within reach if she was extra careful with her money.
At six o’clock Pearl stood at her sink having a strip wash, after which she surveyed her frugal wardrobe. There wasn’t much to choose from and she would love some new clothes, but more important was saving for paint and brushes. She pulled on a navy cotton skirt that had faded with so many washes, adding a blue striped blouse with a Peter Pan collar. Without navy shoes to match, she would have to wear her usual black, low-heel court shoes, and after flicking a brush through her hair she was ready.
Derek rang the bell on the dot of seven and, stomach fluttering with nerves, Pearl picked up her rather old-fashioned clip-top handbag before going downstairs.
He grinned when he saw her. ‘Hello. You look nice.’
Pearl took in his appearance. He was wearing a grey striped suit with wide lapels, the material straining across his huge shoulders. His shirt was white and his tie a bit loud, but she returned the compliment. ‘You look nice too.’
Derek’s face suffused with colour, the red flush rising from his neck to his hairline. ‘Thanks,’ he spluttered, and gaining some equilibrium added, ‘Right, are you ready to go?’
They jumped on a bus that took them along Falcon Road and up St John’s Hill to the cinema. The queue at the ticket office was short, and then Pearl smiled when Derek went to the kiosk to buy her a box of chocolates.
‘Here you are,’ he said, his smile a little shy as he handed them to her.
Pearl thanked him and then he took her arm, walking up to an usherette, who clipped their tickets before they went in to see the film.
It was pitch-black as they pushed through the double doors, but another usherette came forward, shining her torch along a row of seats about three down from the back. Pearl shuffled past a few people, whispering apologies, and then pulled down the folding seat, sitting hurriedly. Derek sat down heavily beside her just as the Pathé News began, and they settled back to watch.
Halfway through the B movie, Pearl opened her chocolates, offering the box to Derek and finding that as the flickering, bluish light from the screen playing across his face, it emphasised his pug nose and craggy cheeks. He turned to smile at her, the effect softening, but she quickly looked away. His bulk filled the seat, Pearl feeling tiny beside him, and moments later he was groping for her hand. She surreptitiously moved it, taking another sweet from the box and offering one to Derek, the moment thankfully passing.
The main film was on, Marlene Dietrich looking beautiful and sultry, when Pearl stiffened. Derek’s arm was moving slowly around her shoulders. God, what should she do? She didn’t want to encourage him, but didn’t want to lose his friendship either.
Hastily she whispered, ‘Sorry, Derek, I need to go to the powder room.’
Pearl spent a long time in the ladies, staring at herself in the mirror and dreading going back to sit beside Derek. He was a lovely man, she knew that, but at the thought of being in his arms and kissed by him, she quaked.
‘Well, Pearl, what did you think of the movie?’ Derek asked as they made their way home.
‘It was good, and thanks for taking me.’
‘We’ll have to do it again soon.’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
‘I tell you what. How do you feel about coming round one night to meet my gran? She’s a lovely old girl and I know you’d like her.’
Pearl sucked in her breath. If she didn’t say something now, she’d lose her nerve. ‘I’d like that Derek, and I’m glad that we’ve become friends. I’m too young to think about having a boyfriend, so this is lovely.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Derek said.
She caught the note of disappointment in his voice. ‘I know you live with your gran, but what about your parents?’ she asked softly. ‘I haven’t heard you mention them.’
‘My mother was killed during the war, and I don’t know who my father is.’
Pearl smiled at him with sympathy. ‘I don’t know anything about either of my parents.’
‘We’ve got something in common then.’
Pearl rapidly changed the subject. ‘Did I tell you I’m starting art classes in September?’
‘No,’ Derek said, and for the rest of the journey back to Battersea High Street, she spoke of her ambitions.
It was as they drew level with her bedsit that the door to the shop opened, Nobby Clark coming out, with Kevin Dolby behind him.
‘Watcha, Nobby … Kevin,’ Derek said. ‘Me and Pearl have just been to the flicks.’
Kevin’s smile was tight. ‘Is that right? Sorry, mate, we can’t stop to chat.’
Pearl frowned as they walked away. ‘Kevin once told me that he didn’t know Nobby Clark, but now they seem very friendly.’
‘I think you must have got the wrong end of the stick. They go back years; we all do. Kevin is about five years younger than us, but as a nipper he was always hanging around us older lads. Nobby used to be the ringleader and I ain’t proud of the things we got up to but, unlike Nobby, I grew out of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what young lads are like. We were always up to mischief.’
Pearl shook her head, unable to make sense of it all. She was sure that Kevin had said he didn’t know Nobby Clark. He had lied. But why?
Kevin climbed into his car and, leaning over, he opened the passenger door for Nobby, his mind on Pearl Button. Shit! The bloody girl had seen him with Nobby and that was the last thing he wanted.
‘Bloody hell, Derek and Pearl Button. Talk about beauty and the beast,’ Nobby chuckled as he climbed into the passenger seat.
‘Beauty? Pearl ain’t a beauty.’
‘Take a closer look, mate. Her clothes aren’t up to much, and she doesn’t wear a scrap of makeup, but when you get a good gander at her face, she’s a bit of all right.’
‘Don’t tell me you fancy her too?’
‘Nah, she’s too scrawny for me, but I can see the attraction for Derek. He always was a soft bugger and I think the girl brings out his protective instinct.’ He chuckled again. ‘When we were kids, do you remember that dog? Derek went mad when we chucked stones at it.’
‘Yeah, I remember. He nearly blew his top. When Derek’s got his pepper up he can be a nasty sod.’
Kevin revved the car, but before driving off he paused. ‘Look, mate, I ain’t sure about casing this joint. It’s a bit too soon after the last job and I thought we were going to lay low for a bit.’
‘We only got peanuts for those fags and I need more dosh. Dick Smedley said this job would be a doddle. Come on, it won’t hurt to take a look.’
In half an hour they were sitting outside the storage depot. It was in total darkness and there was little to be seen, but even so, Nobby peered through the windscreen. ‘Dick’s right, it looks a piece of cake. It’s still in Vince’s manor so we’ll have to clear it with him, but as long as we offer him the gear, I reckon he’ll be OK.’
‘What makes Dick so sure they store booze?’
‘’Cos he went there pretending to apply for a job.’
‘What about the alarm system?’
‘According to Dick it’ll be easy to nobble.’
‘Huh, and he’s an expert, is he?’ Kevin’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
‘What’s the matter? Turning chicken, are you?’
‘You know me better than that. Anyway, it’d be a waste of time using my car. We’d only get a few cases in the boot.’
‘Like I said, you should’ve got a van, you daft sod. Still, it shouldn’t be a problem. We can nick a van and dump it afterwards.’
Kevin chewed his bottom lip. Up to now, Nobby and Dick had only attempted petty thieving, low risk, but small returns. Now they were looking for bigger jobs, bringing him on board as the driver. There was no doubt this one could make them a lot of money, and at that thought he grinned. ‘All right. I’m in.’
‘Good boy. Right, let’s get back to Battersea.’
Kevin drove home, dropped Nobby off outside his house, and then parked at the back of the café.
His thoughts turned to Pearl Button again, and he scowled. On occasions, until they could shift it, they stored a bit of stolen gear in the back room of Nobby’s empty shop. What if Pearl got nosy again? What if she found it? And if she did, would she link it to him? He was frowning as he quietly went up to the flat, holding his breath as he tiptoed past his mother’s room. Maybe he should have a quiet word in Pearl’s ear. The girl needed a hint that if she was going to live around here, no matter what she saw, or heard, if she wanted to stay in one piece the best policy was to keep her lips zipped.
Chapter Nine (#ulink_2263fa99-ece7-58c8-915c-e79d416f6cf2)
Pricilla Unsworth sat behind her desk at the orphanage, relieved that she had finally sorted the records in preparation for her retirement. They were all in order, but one remained, one that had been carefully guarded from prying eyes. It was Pearl Button’s, the child who had provided her nest egg, and taking out all but the barest details, she was going to destroy it, leaving no trace behind.
When she’d been approached all those years ago, she’d agreed to the ruse, and made sure that she was the one to find the new-born baby on the steps.
Everything had been done by letter; unsigned, with a box number as the return address. With so much to gain, Pricilla had diligently followed the instructions. The person who’d abandoned Pearl wanted no risks, and certainly no questions asked. To that end he, or she, had insisted that Pearl Button was never fostered out, or put up for adoption. Pricilla had thought this over-cautious in the extreme, but financially the arrangement suited her well. For each year that Pearl Button remained in the orphanage, Pricilla had been paid, the money building up to a nice little nest egg.
She picked up the thin file. No doubt the child had been born out of wedlock, perhaps another victim of a wartime romance, but it was almost as if this person wanted to punish the baby along with the mother. Many times she had wondered who she’d dealt with, and had decided it was a man. Of course she couldn’t be certain, but surely only a man could act so callously.
There had been just one sticky moment that occurred during Pearl’s last year, but thankfully it had passed. Pricilla had been surprised when she’d received a letter from a woman enquiring about an abandoned baby, giving only the date of birth. When Pricilla realised it was Pearl’s, her heart had missed a beat. She’d replied, denying any knowledge of the child, and to be on the safe side had arranged for Pearl to leave the orphanage earlier than anticipated. Thankfully that there had been no further enquiries.
It was over now, the girl no longer under her care. Pearl Button had left the orphanage, she had been found employment, a place in a hostel, but that was as far as Pricilla’s authority went. She had no idea where the girl was now, and didn’t care. It was done, finished with, and Pricilla smiled. The money she’d received for Pearl Button had provided a decent retirement fund, and now a nice little cottage in the country beckoned.
About to tear the letter to pieces, she was annoyed to hear a knock on the door. ‘Yes, what is it?’
The art teacher came into the office, her eyes puzzled as she gazed at Pricilla’s poised fingers. Quickly stuffing the letter back in the file, she saw Emily Rosen placing an envelope on her desk.
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve come to tender my resignation.’
‘Really?’ Pricilla said. ‘And may I ask why?’
‘There is no longer any reason for me to stay.’
Pricilla shook her head impatiently. The woman wasn’t making any sense, but what did it matter? She was leaving too and wouldn’t have the task of finding a replacement. In truth, she had never liked the woman, finding her too inquisitive about the children, asking to see records that were none of her business. There was another knock on her door, and heaving a sigh of exasperation she called, ‘Come in.’
‘Oh, Miss Unsworth, can you come quickly?’ the harassed teacher begged. ‘A serious fight has broken out in the playground and I can’t break it up.’
Pricilla tutted with impatience. ‘I can’t deal with it now.’
‘But, Miss Unsworth, it’s the older girls and I can’t get through them to the poor child they’re picking on. She’s on the ground and looks to be in a dreadful state.’
Pricilla rose hastily to her feet. ‘I’ll have to sort this out,’ she told Miss Rosen.
The woman nodded, saying quietly, ‘Very well.’
Pricilla hurried from her office, but had she looked back, she would have seen the art teacher surveying the file she’d mistakenly left on her desk. Emily Rosen reached to pick it up, flicking it open. As she scanned the contents, a gasp escaped her lips. Her face lit up with joy and for a moment she hugged the file to her chest. Then, carefully replacing it in the exact position she had found it, Emily Rosen scurried out.
In Battersea, Pearl was looking at her sketches. Of all of them, the drawing of Derek stood out as best. His kind eyes looked incongruous against his craggy features, but Pearl thought she had captured the essence of the man. She picked up the sketch of Nora and frowned. She didn’t see much of the cleaner, and the sketch was one she wasn’t happy with. Nora had a round face that was somehow featureless, making it difficult to capture on paper. There was something missing, and as she tried to picture the woman in her mind, she realised it was Nora’s childlike innocence. Placing Nora’s picture to one side, Pearl lifted one of her favourites, a sketch of Frank Hanwell’s son.
She had seen the lad a couple of times hanging around his dad’s stall and was taken by the eight-year-old’s features. He had dark, unruly hair, a tiny nose sprinkled with freckles, but it was his cheeky, gap-toothed smile that Pearl had wanted to capture. She gazed critically at the sketch. It wasn’t perfect, and without paint she had been unable to capture the boy’s wonderful emerald-green eyes.
Placing the drawing back inside the folder, her thoughts returned to Derek Lewis. He’d looked disappointed when she told him they could only be friends, but had still invited her to meet his gran. Thinking of that, her eyes widened. He’d be here soon and she wasn’t ready!
As she dashed around, Pearl knew why she had agreed to go to Derek’s house. She was curious – curious to see what a normal home looked like. All she had known was the orphanage and then the hostel, family life a mystery to her. She’d heard talk, of course. When girls came back to the orphanage after being fostered for a while, they spoke of the families they had stayed with and she had listened to their stories with avid interest. Of course, not all of the tales were good ones, and some were horrible. One girl of thirteen had been used as a servant, forced to do housework from early morning to night, and had slept in a small, cold room under the eaves of the house.
When she heard a knock on the street door, Pearl shook her thoughts away as she hurried downstairs. The orphanage held mostly bad memories, ones she wanted to forget.
‘Hello, love,’ Derek said. ‘I’ve told Gran I’m bringing you round and she’s looking forward to it.’
‘Is she?’ Pearl found she was suddenly nervous and as they walked along the High Street she clung to Derek’s arm. He looked down at her, smiling with pleasure and she managed a small smile back. Oh, he was a nice man. Would his gran be the same?
It didn’t take them long to reach Derek’s house. As they walked in Connie Lewis stepped forward.
‘Hello, ducks, nice to meet you,’ she said, leading them into a small room at the front.
‘It’s nice to meet you too,’ Pearl said, smiling shyly. Derek’s gran was a surprise. She was a tiny, thin woman with sharp features, but like Derek, her eyes were kind.
‘Take a seat, love,’ she invited.
‘Thank you,’ Pearl said, doing so.
‘Derek tells me you’re an orphan.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘How old were you when you were put in the orphanage?’
‘From what I’ve been told, I was a new-born baby and left on the steps.’
‘Oh, that’s awful. Your mother must have been desperate to do that.’
Pearl looked down at the threadbare rug under her feet. Yes, her mother must have been desperate, perhaps unmarried, but Pearl would never know the answers. Over the years she had thought about her. Did they look alike? She had read a novel once in which a servant had been taken by the master and then thrown on to the streets. Was that what had happened to her mother? Scenario after scenario filled her mind. Had her mother been ill – too ill to look after her – and, as she had never come back to claim her, had she died?
‘I’m sorry, love. Me and my big mouth, and now I’ve upset you,’ Connie cried.
‘No, please, I’m all right.’
‘I’ll go and make us all a cup of tea,’ she said, bustling from the room.
‘Sorry about that, Pearl. My gran does have a tendency to put her foot in it, but she doesn’t mean any harm.’
‘It’s all right. There’s no need to apologise.’
Pearl gazed around the room with interest. There was a three-piece suite, and she was sitting on one of the rather lumpy chairs. Under the window she saw a highly polished sideboard, with a lace runner across the top on which sat a few china ornaments. The fireplace was small, and covering the grate there was a little painted paper screen in the shape of a fan. There was a carved fender, and in one alcove a small table on which sat a rather ugly plant. Even with so little furniture the room was crowded, and there was the faint scent of lavender in the air. Pearl found it cosy and wondered what the rest of the house was like.
‘Here we are,’ Connie said as she came back into the room.
Derek took the rather laden tray from her, admonishing, ‘You should have called me, Gran. This weighs a ton.’
Pearl saw pretty china cups and saucers, a teapot, and a plate piled with slices of cherry cake. Connie moved the plant from the small table, and as Derek laid the tray down she bustled out again, calling, ‘I’ll just get the milk and sugar.’
Derek grinned. ‘To tell you the truth, Pearl, we hardly use this room. We live and eat in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t have minded the kitchen.’
‘Well, tell Gran that.’
‘Tell me what?’ Connie asked as she came back into the room.
‘That Pearl would’ve been happy to sit in the kitchen.’
‘Blimey, and there’s me trying to make an impression. Well, we’re in here now, and here we’ll stay. Do you take milk and sugar, love?’
‘Yes, please.’
Connie handed her a cup of tea, followed by a plate with a slice of cake on it. Pearl floundered; with both hands full she couldn’t drink her tea or eat the cake. Maybe she could balance one on her lap?
Connie followed the same procedure with Derek, but instead of consternation, he roared with laughter. ‘I’ve only got two hands, Gran. Am I supposed to eat the cake with me toes?’
Connie laughed too, her eyes bright as she looked at Pearl. ‘As you can see, we ain’t used to airs and graces. All right, I give in, let’s go to the kitchen and at least we can sit around the table.’
‘Thank Gawd for that,’ Derek said.
Pearl stood up and followed Connie through to the kitchen, Derek behind them with the tray. The room was larger with a well-scrubbed table in the centre.
‘Sit down, love,’ the old lady said.
From then on it was more relaxed, the ice broken, and soon Connie was asking Pearl questions again, this time about her job in the café, and Dolly Dolby.
‘I hear the woman’s a bit of a battle-axe. Is that right?’
‘She isn’t too bad. Well, unless she’s in a bad mood.’
‘And that’s every other day,’ Derek said with a chuckle.
‘Derek tells me you live in a bedsit.’
‘Yes, I’m renting it from Nobby Clark.’
‘Is he that tyke you used to knock around with, Derek?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one.’
‘Huh, he’s nothing but trouble. When he was left the shop he could have done all right, but from what I heard he got hooked on gambling. It’s a mug’s game and the shop went under, all the profits going to the bookies. All right, he was only nineteen at the time, but that’s no excuse. You were running the stall on your own, and you’ve done well. What’s Nobby up to these days?’
‘Nothing honest, that’s for sure.’
Pearl thought about the cartons of cigarettes she had seen, wondering if she should mention them, but then Derek stood up.
‘I’m just going out back for a Jimmy Riddle.’
‘A what?’
‘You explain, Gran.’
‘Jimmy Riddle – piddle, its cockney rhyming slang. He’s gone to the outside toilet,’ Connie said, and as the door closed behind him she leaned forward, her eyes now hardening. ‘How old are you, Pearl?
‘I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen.’
‘Christ, you’re just a kid. Look, I know you’ve become friends with my Derek, but I don’t want him hurt. He likes you, I can tell, but you’re a bit young for him.’
‘We … we’re not courting. We’re just friends.’
‘That’s as maybe, but I still think he’s looking for more than that. I don’t want to cross-examine you, but I can’t see why you’ve latched on to Derek. Surely you’d prefer friends, girls of your own age?’
‘I don’t know any girls, and those that come into the café seem to be a bit stand-offish.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s probably because you talk like you’ve got a plum in your mouth. You stand out as different, an outsider, and they’re bound to be suspicious.’ Connie leaned back and sighed heavily. ‘All right, I’ll say no more, but if you don’t want things to go any further with Derek, it might be better if you stop seeing him.’
‘Gran!’
Connie’s head shot round. ‘Derek, I didn’t know you were there.’
‘That’s pretty obvious. Now what’s going on? I only heard the tail end of what you were saying, but why are you telling Pearl to stop seeing me?’
Connie hung her head. ‘I don’t want you hurt.’
‘Gran, I’m a grown man. I like Pearl, and she likes me, but I know she’s only looking for friendship. Now if you don’t mind, I think you should keep your nose out. Come on, Pearl, I’ll take you home.’
‘Oh, please, don’t fall out over me.’
‘It’s all right, dear. Derek’s right and I had no business interfering.’ Connie stood up, going to her grandson’s side and laying a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. Pearl’s a nice girl, and I like her. I was just trying to protect you, that’s all.’
Derek’s face softened as he looked down at the tiny woman. ‘Do I look like I need protection? Now come on, let’s start again, and how about cutting me another slice of cake?’
Pearl heaved a sigh of relief. Seeing the loving look that Connie Lewis was giving her grandson, she felt a twinge of envy. It must be wonderful to have someone to love you like that, unconditionally. Maybe she could think of Derek as more than a friend – maybe she could become part of this small family. She would have a home, Derek would always be there to look out for her, and she would never have to be afraid again. Yet even as she considered it, Kevin Dolby’s face flew into her mind. Stop it, stop dreaming, she berated herself.
Chapter Ten (#ulink_79829799-34f6-5eb5-9014-bd5c3bda83d1)
Nobby Clark threw open the door of the empty bedsit with a flourish. ‘There you are, and it’s a guinea a week rent.’
The balding, flabby man looked around before testing the bed. ‘Yes, it’s all right. Is there a bathroom?’
‘There’s one further along the landing.’
‘How many tenants will I have to share it with?’
‘Only one. A young woman lives on the floor below, but she’s a nice quiet girl.’
‘What about my car? With the market set up every day, I can’t see anywhere to park outside.’
‘This is one of the few premises with a side entrance. You can drive round the back and park in the yard, but don’t come in through my shop. There’s another door that leads into the downstairs hall. You can use that.’
‘Right, I’ll take it and I’ll pay a month’s rent in advance.’
Nobby grinned, pleased to have a bit of extra money coming in. They were still planning the next job and things were a bit tight. ‘What do you do for a living?’
‘I work in insurance.’
‘And what’s your name?’
‘Trevor – Trevor Bardington.’
There was something about this bloke that gave Nobby the creeps, but with a month’s rent in his pocket he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d put a bet on, one that was heavily tipped, and maybe the bad luck that dogged him would change. Yeah, perhaps he’d be on to a big winner.
‘Thanks,’ the man said as Nobby handed him a rent book and keys. ‘I’ll pick up my things and be back later.’
As both men left the room to go downstairs, Pearl Button was on her way up. They waited until she reached the landing, Nobby saying, ‘Hello, Pearl, you’re just in time to meet Mr Bardington. He’s moving in to the room above yours.’
‘Hello,’ she said shyly.
The man nodded, saying nothing and, once again thinking he was a strange one, Nobby led him down to the street door, showing him out before going through to his shop.
It wasn’t long before Kevin Dolby and Dick Smedley turned up, looking furtively behind them as they walked in.
‘Are we nearly set to do the job?’ Nobby asked.
Dick answered, ‘I’ve seen a van and have been watching the driver’s movements for several days. He parks it up in the same spot every night, and as he’s got a ladder stashed on the top it solves another problem. I doubt he’ll notice the van’s gone until the following morning, so we’ll have done the job and dumped it before it’s reported missing.’
‘Sounds good,’ Kevin said. ‘And is it the usual buyer, Nobby?’
‘Of course it is. I daren’t offer it to anyone else – you know that. Anything that isn’t small time is always fenced through Vince.’
‘He must be raking it in.’
‘Yeah, but he ain’t one to cross. He’s got the borough sewn up, and if we offered it to anyone else his boys would turn us into mincemeat. I don’t fancy storing the booze overnight, so we’re to take it straight to his club. He’s gonna wait for us, and after unloading we can get rid of the van. Now it’s just a matter of deciding when we hit the warehouse.’
Dick pursed his lips. ‘I reckon tomorrow night. They get a delivery today, and nothing gets sent out again until Monday morning.’
‘That’s fine with me. What about you, Kevin?’
‘Yeah, I’m in.’
The three men went over the plans again. When they were satisfied, Kevin rose to his feet. ‘Right, how do you fancy a drink before we go to see the match?’
‘Good idea.’
Kevin felt a thrill of anticipation as they left the shop. After the job he’d be able to take a trip to Soho, and if the haul was a big one more trips would follow.
Pearl was pleased that another tenant was moving in, but had hoped it would be someone young, ideally a girl she could make friends with.
Mr Bardington looked to be in his forties. He was a big man, overweight, with a grey unhealthy appearance, and cold blue eyes. She had looked forward to having someone else in the house, especially at night, but wasn’t sure she liked the look of the older man.
Her bedsit was like an oven, stuffy, and even with the window open it felt airless. She wiped a hand across her brow as she perched on her bed. It was the third week in August, and with art classes starting soon, she wanted to check her savings.
She’d been frugal, and with any luck there would be enough to buy paint and brushes. She checked her tips, a frown creasing her forehead. With fewer tables to work, her tips had gone down, but surely not this much.
Mentally Pearl assessed the day. She had regulars who sat at her tables, and most tipped her once a week. Frank Hanwell always left her three-pence on a Saturday, along with the other costermongers who sat with him. Derek too was generous and he mostly left her sixpence.
An awful suspicion began to fill her mind, one she wanted to dismiss but couldn’t. It was over three weeks since Alice had started work in the café, and despite her earlier trepidations, they were getting on well together. She’d assured Alice that she could manage, but the woman still thought nothing of clearing Pearl’s tables along with her own, and also took over behind the counter to give Bernie a break.
Alice seemed to have boundless energy, and though the weather was blazing hot, she was rarely still. Yes, Alice cleared her tables for her, but what about the tips she found? Was she putting them in her own pocket?
Pearl stood up and moved across to the window. Oh, surely she was imagining things. It was wrong to be suspicious, yet it had happened so many times at the orphanage. They had little, but still had to guard their tiny treasures from thieving hands. Pearl remembered a ribbon she’d been given by a departing teacher. It had been pink and she’d treasured it, but one day it had gone. She had never found out who took it, but suspected an older girl, a bully whom she’d never had the courage to confront.
Now there was Alice, and if the woman was stealing her tips, what could she do? She daren’t accuse her – Alice would go mad – but was there another way? Derek!
She could ask him to have a word with her, or maybe she could tell Bernard Dolby … Round and round her thoughts went until at last her mind calmed. Take one step at a time. Watch Alice, and if she really was pinching her tips, then maybe their employer would sort it out.
At seven o’clock, Pearl was ready. Derek was boxing tonight and had invited her to the match. She had hesitated, hating the thought of the brutality, but Connie Lewis wanted to go, and had urged Pearl to join her.
She still hadn’t made up her mind about taking the friendship with Derek any further, but as a regular visitor to his house she was growing close to his gran. Now, picking up her handbag, she went to collect Connie.
By eight o’clock they were in one of the large function rooms at Battersea Town Hall, sitting in the front row and watching a match between two young men.
Pearl found the atmosphere gladiatorial: the smell of sweat; the baying of the crowd; the boxers dancing around each other in the ring, exchanging flurries of punches that had the crowd rising to their feet yelling for more.
A bell clanged, the round coming to an end, and as one of the boxers sat in his corner, Pearl’s stomach turned as he removed his gum shield, took a mouthful of water and then spat it into a bucket. Another man took a soaking sponge, running it over the young man’s puffy, red face, blood now visible and oozing from his nose. Oh God, it was awful, but as she glanced around, Pearl could see that she was the only one affected.
‘There’s only one more round to go and then Derek’s match is next,’ Connie said, gripping Pearl’s arm with excitement.
Pearl fought nausea and the need to flee. A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around.
‘Watcha, Pearl,’ Kevin Dolby said. ‘Enjoying it, are you?’
‘Er … it’s all right.’
‘Your boyfriend is on next.’
Pearl didn’t bother to correct him. Derek was just a friend, but in the crowded room it was impossible to speak without shouting. Instead she just nodded.
‘It’ll be a good match and I’ve got a few bob on Derek.’
Pearl forced a smile before turning to face the front again. She looked up at the ring, wondering why it was called a ring when it was, in fact, square, but then the bell signalled the start of the last round.
Both young boxers began the dance again, circling around each other, until one lunged forward. A gloved fist connected with a chin, a boxer bouncing off the ropes in front of Pearl before falling with a crash onto the canvas.
The referee rushed over, his arm slicing the air as he counted the boxer out. ‘… Eight – nine – ten,’ he yelled.
The boxer didn’t move, and signalling that he was out for the count the referee bounded over to the other man, grabbed his arm and raised it into the air to show who was the victor.
By then, Pearl and the defeated boxer were the only ones who weren’t on their feet, the cheers for the local lad deafening.
A couple of men scrambled under the ropes, kneeling beside the young boxer as they tried to bring him round. Pearl found she was holding her breath. Oh God, he still wasn’t moving. Was he dead? With a groan he finally sat up, eyes glazed as he was helped to his feet and led from the ring.
Pearl saw the winner dancing round, his body slick with sweat and his arms punching the air with delight. When the accolades of the crowd gradually diminished he too ducked under the ropes and left the arena, a satin gown covering his body and a towel draped over his head.
‘That was a good match,’ Connie said as she sat down. ‘Here, what’s the matter? You look as white as a sheet.’
‘I … I feel a bit sick.’
‘Gawd, you’re a soft one.’
‘I … I think I’ll have to leave.’
‘Don’t do that, love. Derek will be ever so disappointed. Look, go outside and get a bit of fresh air. His match won’t start just yet.’
Pearl rose to her feet, stumbling for the door. The air felt heavy as she stepped outside, and she could hear distant rumbles of thunder, a summer storm threatening. She leaned against a wall, startled when she heard a voice.
‘What’s up, Pearl? Don’t you like the sight of a bit of blood?’ Kevin asked as he nonchalantly lit a cigarette.
‘I … I think it’s awful.’
‘You’ve got Derek’s match to watch yet. It’s a heavyweight bout and more my cup of tea.’
‘I don’t think I can go back in.’
‘If you ask me, you ain’t the right type to live around here. You don’t fit in. Things go on – things you have to keep your nose out of, if you know what I mean.’
Pearl’s eyes widened, and with a menacing smile Kevin continued, ‘This is just a little warning. No matter what you see, or hear, keep your mouth shut. It’s safer that way.’
She couldn’t speak, managing only a small nod.
Kevin threw his cigarette onto the pavement, grinding it out with the sole of his shoe, his manner changing again as he said softly, ‘Are you coming back in?’
‘In … in a minute.’
Pearl gulped as Kevin walked away. She was seeing him in a new light and her mind was reeling. Instead of her heart skipping a beat when she saw him, it was now jumping with fear. He had threatened her, but why?
The noise inside the function room rose again and, pushing herself from the wall, Pearl went inside, deciding that now, more than ever, she needed to stay close to Derek Lewis.
As they watched Derek’s match, Kevin found his eyes drawn to Pearl. When Derek or his opponent took a punch, instead of jumping up and baying with the crowd, the girl covered her face with horror.
When he’d followed her outside and issued the veiled threat, she had looked at him like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights. Her eyes were amazing and as she stared up at him, he enjoyed seeing her fear. She was a timid little creature who seemed incapable of standing up for herself. In fact, she was the complete antithesis of his mother, and for the first time he could see why Derek was attracted to her.
Kevin continued to watch Pearl, seeing her growing distress when Derek sustained a nasty cut above his eye. Christ, what on earth did she see in him?
The two heavyweights continued to lumber around the ring, sweat pouring from their bodies, and with only one round to go, both men looked exhausted. They came together, clinging to each other like two bulls locked in an embrace, the referee once again shouting, ‘Break!’
Dick Smedley hissed, ‘I think our bets are safe. I reckon Derek will win on points.’
‘Yeah, he’d better,’ Nobby said. ‘I stuck four quid on him instead of a horse.’
The round came to an end, and as a small stool was quickly put in Derek’s corner, he slumped onto it. His face was sponged, the cut attended to, and after the referee took a quick look at it, he signalled for the match to continue.
Aware that this was the last round, both boxers put in a bit more effort, and there were flurries of punches. Derek was obviously trying to protect his cut, his gloved hands high over his face and body leaning forward as he stalked his prey. He managed to land a good few punches, but the other boxer remained on his feet until at last the bell rang.
Both boxers went to their corners, but remained standing, and a hush descended on the crowd as the points were counted.
‘I wish they’d get a bloody move on,’ Nobby hissed.
The result! And as the referee raised Derek’s arm in victory, cheers rang out.
Kevin found himself watching Pearl again, and as she stood up he saw tears running down her cheeks. She looked up at Derek as he came to the ropes to grin down at her, blood now oozing from the cut.
Kevin scowled, surprised to find himself suddenly jealous. But why? The skinny cow wasn’t his type. He liked his women to have a bit of shape.
‘Come on, let’s go. We’ll collect our winnings and then have another drink,’ Nobby urged.
Kevin nodded, but his thoughts were still distracted as he followed his two mates. What would sex be like with Pearl Button? Would she let him dominate? Of course she would – the timid little cow would be too scared to put up a fight. He found himself hardening at the thought. He wouldn’t have to pay her either. Pearl was one he could have for free, and maybe, just maybe, he might sample the goods.
Chapter Eleven (#ulink_243b226d-4986-58a6-9175-14679842179d)
On Sunday evening, Pearl looked up at her ceiling, puzzled. Mr Bardington seemed to be pacing back and forth, and had been doing so for over an hour. At first she tried to ignore it, but now it was driving her mad. Thump, thump, thump, his heavy footsteps unrelenting.
She couldn’t sketch, it was impossible, and throwing her pad aside she decided to have a bath. She rarely used the room, preferring a strip wash to the brown, stained, roll-top bath, but maybe soaking in nice deep water might relax her.
Pearl had a lot on her mind. There was the anxiety that Alice Freeman might be taking her tips, but worse, the veiled threat Kevin Dolby had issued. It had forced her hand, making her decide to take things further with Derek. Though she didn’t like his looks, she felt safe with him and knew she would have no need to fear Kevin Dolby, or anyone else, whilst he was around.
She crept upstairs, clutching her towel and wash things. The bathroom didn’t look inviting, the distempered walls grey and flaking, but she locked the door behind her and turned on the taps.
With her eyes closed, shutting out the ugly room, it was nice to lie back in the water, letting it trickle over her shoulders. At last she couldn’t hear Mr Bardington pacing. There was a faint sound of music now, something classical, and Pearl luxuriated in the peaceful solitude.
The water was tepid, refreshing, but finally Pearl climbed out, towelling herself vigorously. She was perching on the edge of the bath, drying her feet, when the door handle turned. She froze as it rattled again, but finding her voice she called, ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Trevor Bardington. Sorry, I didn’t realise someone was in there.’
‘I’ve nearly finished and it’ll be free in a few minutes.’
‘Right, thanks,’ and as she heard his footsteps retreating, Pearl dressed quickly.
She scooted out, but as her eyes flicked along the landing there was no sign of the man. Soon she was back in her room and, throwing on pyjamas, scrambled into bed. Yet why was she frightened? Mr Bardington had only tried the door – he hadn’t forced his way in. Pearl turned, clutching her pillow. It was Kevin’s threat that was making her jumpy and more than ever she felt alone, vulnerable, in these almost empty premises.
It was after midnight when Kevin, Nobby and Dick walked quietly to a nearby street, pleased to see the van parked in the usual spot.
‘There’s nobody about,’ Nobby said.
Dick scratched his chin. ‘It won’t take long to open that door.’
‘Come on then, let’s get on with it,’ Kevin said impatiently. He didn’t like standing around and was nervous of being seen. The sooner they got into the van and drove off, the better.
Dick, skilled at the task, soon had the door open, and in another few minutes Kevin had hot-wired the van, the engine coming to life.
‘Jump in the back, Dick,’ he hissed as Nobby climbed hurriedly into the passenger seat.
Kevin took as many backstreets as possible, finding his mouth dry as they drew up outside the warehouse. The premises were in darkness and Kevin twisted round in his seat to speak to Dick.
‘Are you sure about the alarm?’
‘As sure as I can be.’
Nobby climbed out. ‘Come on, Dick. We’ll cut the padlock and open the gates. When that’s done, Kevin, you can drive in.’
Kevin waited, finding his hands sweating as he gripped the steering wheel. The two men made light of the lock, and soon the metal gates were swinging open. With a look in his rear-view mirror, Kevin drove into the grounds, pulling up in front of the loading bay.
Dick walked up the ramp, inspecting the alarm box high on the wall. ‘I hope that bleedin’ ladder’s long enough,’ he mumbled before bending down to his bag of tools.
Nobby struggled to get the ladder off the van. ‘Give me a hand, Kevin.’
As soon as they’d placed it up against the wall, Kevin returned to the van, ready for a quick getaway if anything went wrong.
Dick climbed the ladder and then Kevin watched as he placed a small torch between his teeth, leaving his hands free to work on the alarm box.
Kevin’s tension eased. Dick seemed to know what he was doing. He removed the cover, carefully handing it down to Nobby before reaching inside the box. Then suddenly a deafening, clanging racket pierced the silence.
Kevin froze momentarily, but then in panic he gunned the engine to life, eyes on stalks as he screamed, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’
Dick slid down the ladder, grabbed his tools, and then both men scrambled for the van.
Nobby just about managed to leap into the passenger seat as Kevin screeched off. ‘Shit!’ he yelled, holding on to the dashboard for dear life.
Dick had almost shot into the back of the van and, with tyres screaming, Kevin was out of the gate, driving with his foot hard on the accelerator.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Dick yelled, ‘give me a chance to shut the back doors!’
Kevin slowed almost imperceptibly before turning a corner, his ears peeled for the sound of police sirens. Dick managed to pull the doors closed, and soon they were streets away.
‘Slow down, you stupid bastard! You’re drawing attention to us,’ Nobby shouted.
‘Watch your mouth,’ Kevin spat, his eyes now flicking to the back of the van and to Dick Smedley. ‘So much for the alarm being a fucking doddle! Christ, it serves me right for getting mixed up with amateurs.’
Nobby’s voice was dangerously low: ‘We ain’t amateurs. It was just bad luck. Now find somewhere to dump this van, and soon.’
Kevin turned left towards the industrial arches under Clapham Junction station. In the pitch-darkness his headlights pierced the gloom and, parking in front of the first unit, he scrambled out of the van.
‘Come on, this’ll do. We can make our way home through the backstreets.’
The three men walked quickly, constantly looking behind them and relieved when they reached Battersea High Street.
‘That was a bloody fiasco,’ Kevin said, breaking the silence.
‘I’ll admit it was a cock-up, but we got clean away.’
‘Yeah, but empty-handed.’
‘There’s always another job, and we’ll make better plans next time.’
‘Next time! You must be kidding!’
Nobby shrugged. ‘You’ll be looking for easy money again soon, and I’ll be in touch.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Kevin spat as he marched away.
Trevor Bardington still couldn’t sleep. Standing in the darkness of his room, he looked out of the window on to the three young men below him in the street. He recognised his landlord, Nobby Clark, and though the men seemed to be arguing, he wasn’t interested. His appetite was rising again, and try as he might he couldn’t fight it. How many times had he moved? How many different areas had he lived in? He’d lost count. So far he’d been lucky, very lucky, and had never been caught.
He turned away from the window and threw himself onto his bed. Once he had seen that face it was impossible to get it out of his mind – impossible to fight the desire. Now, as he had done so many times in the past, he began to plan.
Other than the young girl downstairs, this place was ideal, and if he used drugs again, there would be no noise. Of course, the time and place would be crucial, and it wouldn’t be easy. His brain turned. There had to be a way, there was always a way, and as an idea began to form, Trevor Bardington smiled. He’d love it, he knew he would. They all did, despite their protests.
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