“Pssst! Tommy! Over here.”
Tommy halted abruptly, his eyes scanning the uneven mass of rubble. The site of the partially demolished block of houses hadn’t yet been cleared. He scrutinized the shadowy piles of bricks and other debris, finding it difficult to place exactly where the whispered call had come from. Another urgent murmur of his name from behind made him jerk around violently. Then a very slight movement in the hollow beneath the remains of a staircase caused him to start again before his eyes came to rest on the huddled figure of his brother.
After checking that no one else was around, Tommy clambered over the rubble to reach Alfie. “The police are after you,” he said crouching down to join him.
“I know.”
“They’ve been to the house and turned it upside down. They even pulled out the old dresser in the kitchen; left it out too. Said maybe Mam wanted to clean behind before it went back. Cheeky sods! Mind you, it looked like half a ton of chip fat had been tipped back there. Mam gave ’em short shrift, I can tell you. But she did her nut about all the mess, and Dad says he’ll skin you alive when he gets hold of you.” Tommy chuckled, knowing it was an empty threat. “Oh, and they’re tearing the warehouse apart as well. Did you know they’ve taken your van away?”
“I know. I saw them. I only just missed them by the skin of me teeth. Bastards!”
“They’ve gone from the house now. What were they looking for? What have you done, Alfie? They wouldn’t say when Mam kept asking.”
“Never mind that now. Did they search outside?”
“A bit. They turned out the shed. They didn’t find anything though.”
Alfie squeezed his eyes shut and breathed a short sigh of relief. Then he grunted appreciatively on the thought that Lady Luck had kept him company today. “Give me a fag, I’m pegging out. Is Ronnie still in lock-up?”
Tommy nodded, handing Alfie the packet.
“I don’t need to worry about him. They’d have to unlock his mouth with bolt cutters to get him to open up. I’d bet me life on it. What about Eric Smiley? Have they arrested him?”
“I heard they’d taken in him for questioning. But they must have let him go. I saw him turn into Cove Lane not more than a few minutes ago. I was going to ask him what was going on but he rushed in and shut the door. I don’t know whether he saw me or not.”
Alfie puffed hard on the cigarette, his expression darkening as he thought about this and finally put two and two together. Clearing his throat, he spat out a gob of phlegm and then said, “The cowardly little weasel. He’d better have not turned snitch if he wants to see this side of midnight. Listen, go round and find out all you can. Tell him he’s got to get me a vehicle. Anything will do.”
“What if he won’t? What if he –”
“What if! What if! We’ll never know if you don’t look sharp and get going. Tell him to get along to Fenton’s Garage double quick, rent something, preferably a car but nothing fancy. Make sure it’s got a full tank. Tell him to bring it to the crossroads on the old coast road. He doesn’t need to stick around, just leave the keys in it.”
“I could do that, Alfie.”
“Don’t be bloody stupid. You can’t drive. Fenton would send you packing right off.”
“Not if I’ve got money in me pocket. If I say I can drive, who’s to say different? To be on the safe side I’ll see if I can find Dad’s driving licence. I’m sure I could do it, Alfie. There’s nothing to driving. I’ve watched you often enough. And it’s not far from Fenton’s Garage to the crossroads. And anyway, what if Eric says he’s got no money for the deposit?”
Alfie lit up another cigarette, the smell of sulphur from the struck match bringing a fleeting thought of the fiery depths of hell.
“Alfie, I –”
“Shut up. I’m thinking …” Alfie pocketed the cigarettes and matches. “Listen, you know that row of concrete slabs at the side of the shed. Look for the loose one. Underneath you’ll find a small brown suitcase. It’s not locked. All my cash is in it. Take out fifty quid for the car. Try Eric first. Don’t tell him where he’s going till he’s got the car. Understand? You go with him to the garage. Bring the suitcase along but look casual like, as if it’s nothing to make a fuss of. Oi, and don’t you go pilfering any of my dosh. And tell Eric I’ll have his guts for garters if he doesn’t come through.”
Tommy nodded eagerly and shot to his feet.
“Wait … Look, if he won’t go along with it, then you’ll have to try it on your own. Now get going. Time’s short.”
After only two steps, Tommy turned back. “Where’re you going to hide in the meantime? You’re not staying here, are you?”
“Don’t be daft! I was only waiting here to catch you. I knew you’d be along in the next hour or two. I’ll try and get to Mullond’s Beach. If I can make it there without being seen I should be safe for a bit.” Alfie checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait there one hour and then make for the crossroads. Now get your skates on!”
*
Andrew stepped out of the outhouse, pulled the door to behind him and leaned wearily against it. Oh to be able to pee like an old dray horse as he used to. Nowadays it was all fits and starts. It took longer to empty his bladder now than move his bowels. It couldn’t be put off any longer. Embarrassing as it was, there was nothing for it but to drag himself off to the doctor’s. It would have to be sorted out and no more messing about. He had promised Rayne that it would be a long, long time before he followed Grandma Gertie to the cemetery and he had meant it. So, by gum, he must do everything in his power to ensure that promise was kept; he was exceptionally close to the boy.
He would lay down his life for any of his grandchildren without a second thought. But Rayne was special. Deliberate neglect of his health might see Andrew taking a premature trip to the funeral parlour and that would never do because Rayne would never forgive him, and that he couldn’t bear. Nodding to himself, he decided that he would nip along to the evening surgery. But he would keep it to himself; no use worrying folk unnecessarily.
Having made up his mind to that, he now switched it to the other matter that had been troubling him. All these years he had stayed quiet whenever mention of Amelia Mullond cropped up, and kept his thoughts to himself even when she was spoken of in the usual denigrating terms, all totally unwarranted. Having gone some way to explaining her plight to his own family, Andrew now felt that it was high time that he at least made a good effort to let her know that there were still some people around who remembered her with fondness. A few potatoes and the like weren’t sufficient to make up for all the lost years. But the arrival of those apples indicated that maybe, just maybe, Amelia’s reclusive existence wasn’t entirely self-inflicted. To him, it spelt out a first step towards friendship with another human soul and he wasn’t about to let it pass by without a positive response.
The death of her father must have seemed like the end of the world for her. All these years with only dotty Billy Dix and the grasping Rita Blackney for company was a crime in itself; she must have been so lonely. At any rate, Rayne’s friendship must have brightened her life considerably. That fateful day when she had taken courage by the horns, gone marching off to town to save Billy Dix and luckily encountered Rayne was one of God’s little miracles, Andrew thought. He would be eternally grateful for the gift of such a wonderful, caring grandson. Whenever he thought about Rayne his heart felt full to bursting with pride. He loved all his family, of course – except for bloody Mabel – but Rayne was the most precious of all.
Ah well, better late than never, he murmured, thinking of Amelia once more. Rising from his slouch, he leaned heavily on his walking stick, picked up his feet and went back inside to write a letter.
*
Mabel was still smarting from the humiliating confrontation with Andrew and all the subsequent limitations that had been placed on her spending as a result. Andrew’s gift of the new washing machine to Lizzy was like a deliberate slap in the face for her, and way beyond the final straw. Brooding ever since, she seemed to have settled in a permanently vindictive mood.
Having just returned from next door to find that she had missed Lizzy, she was presently in a state of flux. She had almost blurted out the momentous news about Franny to Andrew alone, but had managed to bite her tongue just in time. Telling only Andrew wouldn’t have given her enough satisfaction, she quickly realized. No, she must bide her time and wait until they were all there. But she could barely wait to see their self-righteous faces crumble when they learned what their darling Franny had been up to lately.
The trip to town had been well worth it in the end. And to think she almost hadn’t made an effort, thinking she would serve up chips for tea again. Well, why should she bother? After all, she never got any thanks for slaving over the stove – unlike the sainted Lizzy. Anyone would think she was the world’s best cook the way they all carried on. Though that wasn’t the only thing that irked her. She was sick to death of having her boys pushed out in favour of Rayne. It was Rayne this, and Rayne that. Rayne! Rayne! Rayne! You would think he was the second coming the way everyone went on about him.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Andrew hadn’t trampled her warm cosy nest. As a result, things had been decidedly frosty round here of late. It was all so unfair. Damn it! All she was trying to do was make a nice home for them all. Nothing short of jealousy, that’s what it was! All because she had got so many nice things. And if left to Andrew he would strip her of the lot, she had no doubt. Well, she would show them, by heck. She would wipe the smug smiles off their pompous faces in one foul sweep, and no mistake.
She took up a position in the parlour by the front window, settling down with her knitting. She would keep her patience and wait until she was sure of a full house next door before popping round to drop the bombshell.
And while she waited she stoked up her temper, adding more and more fuel to the burning resentment as she rehearsed her speech. Completely oblivious to all but her thoughts, the sleeve of the cardigan she was knitting by far surpassed the length needed as the needles clicked in tune to the furious tap of her fingers.