Chapter Ten

The motorbike, a Norton overhead valver, was seven or eight years old and had seen service on several mountain circuit TT races. According to the guy from whom Dennis had bought the machine it was in perfect working order and only needed a light overhaul to restore it to its former glory. Neither Dennis nor Jackie were taken in by the patter. They knew very well that the bike had been stolen and was, anyway, a knocker. They had several cannibalised parts for other old Nortons stashed away in the shed, though, and Dennis had offered thirty bob for the bike which the guy had eagerly accepted, thus confirming the Hallops’ opinion that the bike had been stolen.

It lay now in pieces on an oily old tarpaulin on the ground, plugs and valves floating in jars on the bench above and its frame propped up on two little piles of bricks ready to be rubbed down and repainted. Dennis had somehow lost his enthusiasm for continuing with the job, however, and Jackie, with his torn hands gloved, could barely hold a cigarette let alone a spanner or a brush. He had spent the afternoon huddled in front of the stove, feeding it from time to time with lumps of coke that he hoisted up between his palms as clumsily as a bear trying to lift a ball.

Dennis was none the worse for his ducking in the Clyde but he still smarted from the humiliation of having had to be rescued by Tommy Bonnar and the even greater humiliation of having had to slosh through the streets dripping wet. Fortunately there had been few folk about at that hour to point and jeer and, even more fortunately, no coppers to ask awkward questions.

There was no guilt in either of the young men and very little apprehension. To their way of thinking the only thing they’d done wrong was to bungle the break-in – and for that they blamed Patsy Walsh. Since they hadn’t got off with the safe and had reaped not a penny from their enterprise they considered themselves not just hard done by but also virtually blameless; so blameless, in fact, that they hadn’t even bothered to lock the gate of the yard or bolt the door of the shed.

When, about half past six, an out-of-breath Babs burst in upon them they didn’t leap up or even start but turned gloomily from contemplation of the stove and growled in unison, ‘What the bloody hell d’ you want?’ a greeting that pleased Babs not at all.

‘I want my hundred quid for a start.’

‘Hah!’ said Jackie, turning back to the fire.

‘What d’ you mean “hah”? Do you know what I’ve been through today because of you, Jackie Hallop?’

He held up his gloved hands. ‘Worse than this, dear?’

‘I was questioned – I was grilled by Mr Manone himself.’

‘So what?’ said Dennis.

‘So I want my share.’

‘Share of what, sweetheart?’ said Jackie.

‘The money.’

‘There is no money,’ said Dennis. ‘We never got nothin’.’

‘Liar!’

‘It’s true, but,’ said Jackie. ‘Patsy dropped the safe in the river before he could blow the bloody thing open.’

‘That’s not what Mr Manone told me.’

Dennis got up slowly, frowning. ‘What’s this about Manone?’

‘Mr Manone told me you got away wi’ the lot,’ Babs fibbed.

‘Then he’s a liar,’ said Jackie. ‘Ask Patsy Walsh if you don’t believe me.’

‘How do I know Patsy’s not in on it too?’ said Babs.

Jackie held up his gloved hands placatingly. She was mad all right, scared too. ‘Why was Manone askin’ you questions?’

‘He wants me to…’ Babs flushed.

‘Squeal?’ said Dennis.

‘Naw, not squeal exactly. What happened t’ your hands, Jackie?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’ Dennis came forward, bulking over her. ‘How come Manone picked you to question?’

‘He knows my mammy.’

Jackie said, ‘Look, Babs, you didn’t tell Manone about us, did you?’

‘What d’you take me for?’ Babs said. ‘Where’s my money, Jackie? You’re not talkin’ me out o’ my hundred quid.’

‘One more time, Barbara,’ Dennis said. ‘There is no money. Manone wants everyone to think he wasn’t robbed so he won’t have to call in the cops.’

‘He didn’t tell me that,’ said Babs.

‘Bloody hell!’ Dennis exclaimed.

‘Listen, sweetheart,’ Jackie said, ‘Manone’s a crafty bugger but maybe he does think we got away wi’ the money. That could be it, couldn’t it, Dennis? Maybe nobody’s looked for the safe yet.’

‘Where is it?’ Babs said.

‘I told you, at the bottom o’ the Clyde.’

‘What’s it doin’ there?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Jackie.

‘Is that what happened t’ your hands?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What about Patsy?’

‘Patsy!’ said Dennis, spitting on the ground. ‘Sod Patsy.’

‘He’s all right,’ said Jackie. ‘We’re all okay.’

‘You won’t be if Mr Manone catches you,’ Babs said. ‘Are you tellin’ me the truth about all this?’

‘Cross ma heart.’ Jackie fashioned an appropriate gesture. ‘Dominic Manone ain’t gonna find out it was us.’

‘Unless somebody tells him,’ said Dennis.

‘No hundred quid,’ Babs said. ‘God! After all I’ve been through.’

‘I’ll make it up t’ you, Babs,’ Jackie promised.

‘How?’

‘I’ll take y’ dancin’ on Saturday.’

‘With those mitts? No thanks.’

‘Next week then. Christmas.’

‘Forget it, Jackie.’

‘Uh-huh!’ Dennis murmured. ‘Are you on the turn, dear?’

‘On the turn, nothin’,’ said Babs. ‘I’m just – just annoyed.’

‘Annoyed enough to suck up to Dominic Manone?’

‘Don’t be so bloody daft, Dennis.’ Babs pursed her lips. ‘I just don’t think I should be seen with either of you for a while.’

‘She is,’ Dennis said. ‘She’s on the turn.’

‘Why, but?’ said Jackie. ‘Why won’t you go out wi’ me?’

‘Use your loaf, Jackie,’ Babs told him. ‘Mr Manone’s out for blood an’ if he spots me wi’ you he might start to put two an’ two together.’

‘Can’t see that,’ said Jackie. ‘We’ll be safe enough at the Calcutta.’

‘You’re not safe anywhere,’ Babs screeched. ‘Can’t you get that into your thick skull, Jackie Hallop? Right now you’re poison.’

‘That’s not a very nice thing t’ say, Babs.’ Jackie sulked. ‘After all we’ve meant t’ each other. I thought we had somethin’ nice goin’ on?’

‘Nice? If this is your idea o’ nice…’

‘She’s suckin’ up to Manone,’ Dennis stated.

‘I am not suckin’ up to anybody,’ Babs shouted. ‘I just don’t think I owe you anythin’, Jackie, not after what you’ve done to me. Promisin’ me money an’ then lyin’ about it.’

‘I’m not lyin’,’ Jackie declared.

‘He’s not lyin’,’ said Dennis.

‘Anyway, I’ve had enough o’ you lot,’ Babs said.

‘Is this goodbye then?’ said Jackie.

‘Yes, this is goodbye,’ said Babs.

‘Don’t count on it,’ said Dennis.

*   *   *

‘Oh, it’s yourself, Alex,’ Patsy Walsh said, casually. ‘Come on in.’ He stepped back and allowed O’Hara to enter the kitchen.

Polly was seated in a chair by the fire still wearing her overcoat and hat.

O’Hara glanced at her, looked round at Patsy and grinned. ‘I didn’t know you had company.’

‘She’s a friend,’ said Patsy. ‘Polly, this is Alex O’Hara.’

‘Polly, pleased t’ meetcha.’

‘If you’ve business to discuss,’ Polly said, ‘perhaps I should leave.’

‘Yeah, that might be a good idea,’ Patsy said.

O’Hara would have none of it. ‘You in residence here, Polly?’

‘God, no.’

‘You got a man somewhere else?’

‘No.’

‘Where you from?’

‘Gorbals.’

O’Hara paused, then said, ‘Lavender Court, right?’

‘How did you…’

‘You’re Rosie Conway’s sister.’

‘Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.’

‘I see,’ O’Hara said. ‘Yeah!’

‘I don’t know what you think you see, Mr O’Hara,’ Polly said, ‘but Patsy’s just a friend of mine, no more an’ no less.’

‘Good friend, but?’

‘Alex…’ Patsy began.

O’Hara held up a blunt finger to silence him, then asked Polly, ‘You sleep wi’ this guy?’

‘Of course I don’t sleep with him,’ Polly said. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘So you weren’t here last night?’

‘As it so happens,’ Polly said, ‘I was.’

‘All night?’

‘Nope, not all night.’

‘Till when?’

‘Half past eleven. Maybe nearer midnight.’

‘Is that a fact?’ said O’Hara.

‘Yes,’ Polly said, ‘that is a fact.’

‘Alex, what the hell’s goin’ on here?’ said Patsy. ‘What you askin’ her all these questions for? What’s it to you who I – who I’m friendly with?’

O’Hara ignored Patsy’s protest.

He continued to focus his attention on the girl. She was cool, he had to give her that. Her cockiness reminded him of Rosie’s only it was more mature, more superior. She didn’t like him – he didn’t expect her to – but she wasn’t afraid of him either and that worried him. He felt himself shrink from her unyielding gaze. Give him ten minutes alone with her and he’d make her change her bloody tune. He’d teach her a bit of respect.

‘What’d your mam have t’ say about you gettin’ home so late?’

‘She was asleep,’ Polly said.

She sensed a subtle shift from aggression to wariness, from wariness to sexual speculation. She had a vague understanding that O’Hara was afraid of her and wouldn’t know what to do with her except cause her pain. She could see in his eyes, in the sour little wrinkling of the lids, a longing to hurt.

‘Who else was here last night?’ O’Hara glanced round. ‘Your old man?’

‘He was on shift,’ Patsy answered.

‘So it was just you an’ the lady here, gettin’ up to mischief?’

‘Look, I’ve had about enough o’ this,’ Patsy said. ‘Either you tell me what’s goin’ on or you get the hell outta my house.’

Polly said, ‘He thinks you stole Mr Manone’s safe.’

‘What?’ said Patsy, feigning astonishment. ‘What safe?’

Polly said, ‘I was just about to tell you when Mr O’Hara came in and interrupted me. Somebody stole a safe from the Central Warehouse last night.’

‘How d’ you know that?’ O’Hara said.

‘My sister told me.’

‘Rosie, how did—’

‘Not Rosie. My other sister – Babs.’

Patsy managed a bark of laughter. ‘Jeeze, is that what all the fuss is about, Alex? You thought it was me done the warehouse? I might be a daft bastard at times but I’m not that daft. How much did they get off with?’

‘Four or five thousand,’ O’Hara said. ‘Manone wants it back.’

‘I’ll bet he does,’ said Patsy.

Polly studied Alex O’Hara carefully. She had taken a risk in admitting that she already knew about the robbery. It was logical that she would know, however, that Babs would have told her. Just how much logic a thug like O’Hara would apply to any given situation Polly had no idea; less, she suspected, rather than more. She was tempted to spell it out for him, to amplify her lie, but decided to let him make the running.

O’Hara said, ‘How come your sister knows so much about it?’

Polly answered without hesitation. ‘She works for the CWC.’

O’Hara sat back. ‘Uh!’

Polly didn’t dare lift her gaze to look at Patsy who stood by the table, hands bunched loosely into fists.

Polly said, ‘Mr Manone – Dominic – spoke to her about it this morning.’

‘An’ you came right up here to tell your boyfriend?’ O’Hara said.

‘Of course I did,’ said Polly. ‘I know what Patsy does for a livin’.’

‘You thought it might be him, right?’

‘Nope,’ Polly said. ‘I knew it couldn’t be Patsy ’cause I was with him.’

‘Aye, but not all night,’ said O’Hara.

‘Long enough,’ said Polly. ‘I came to tell him because I thought he might know who’d be smart enough to row off downriver with a safe full of money.’

‘Down the river?’ said Patsy; another bark of laughter. ‘Clever, clever.’

The chair creaked as O’Hara eased his weight back.

He was still squinting, though, still with that wrinkle of doubt about the eyes. Short of drawing out a knife or a razor he could do no more to threaten them, however, and he was too cautious to resort to physical violence just yet, particularly now she’d mentioned Manone’s name.

‘You don’t know who might’ve done it then?’ O’Hara said.

‘No idea,’ said Patsy. ‘Down the river? Jeeze, that’s rich.’

‘Mr Manone ain’t laughin’,’ Alex O’Hara said.

‘I’ll bet he isn’t,’ said Polly.

*   *   *

Five minutes later, seconds after O’Hara had left the flat, Polly was sprawled diagonally across the top of the alcove bed. She was still fully dressed but her coat was unbuttoned and her skirt hitched up. Patsy’s hands caressed her thighs above her stockings and cupped the moist warm pocket of her knickers. He did not enter her but lay heavily upon her, rubbing urgently against her, making her gasp and thrash and lift herself up in aching little spasms that were partly pleasure, partly pain.

At that moment she couldn’t separate sense from horse-sense. She realised that he might take her and that she wouldn’t resist. That she wouldn’t be a girl, a virgin any longer and would have to carry a secret of her own and the worry that went with that secret. That she would have no one to trust with that secret other than Patsy himself and she wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to give him that much power over her. After a while, though, she stopped thinking altogether and surrendered helplessly to the strange, untrained rhythms that moved through her body.

Patsy did not attempt to undress her. His love-making was forceful but not insistent. It was accomplished without penetration. Polly still wore the silly cup-shaped hat that Aunt Janet had given her at New Year a year ago. She stared up into Patsy’s face, urging him to take her but even in the throes of a loving act he remained controlled. She wanted to shout that she was ready, that she wanted him inside her but the spasms were becoming more frequent, more and more demanding and when he came against her thighs she responded with a single, profound spasm of fulfilment that left her dazed by its intensity.

Patsy pulled back from her at once, his eyes wide with horror.

‘God, Polly. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

She eased herself up, holding her skirts away from her sticky thighs.

‘For what?’ she heard herself say.

‘I didn’t mean it to be like that, the first time.’

‘It’s all right.’ Polly leaned forward and kissed him, first on the brow then on the lips. ‘I wanted you to do it.’

‘But it wasn’t right,’ Patsy said. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’

‘I do,’ said Polly and, flustered at last, asked him if he would be good enough to fetch her a handkerchief.

*   *   *

‘I don’t know why you’re so pleased with yourself,’ Babs said.

‘I’m not pleased with myself,’ said Polly, ‘not particularly.’

‘You’re lyin’ there grinnin’ like the cat that ate the canary.’

‘Am I?’ said Polly, sleepily. ‘Well, maybe I am. I’m just glad it’s all over and that none of the boys got caught.’

‘Do you really think it’s all over?’

‘Babs, I’m too tired to worry about it any more tonight.’

‘Jackie’s hands…’

‘Patsy says they’ll heal up in a day or two.’

‘Patsy, Patsy! He’s no better than the rest o’ them.’

‘Leave Patsy out of it,’ said Polly ‘It’s not his fault you squabbled with Jackie. You should have been more sympathetic.’

‘Aye, an’ I should’ve been paid.’

‘They didn’t get away with anything. They didn’t make any money.’

‘Mr Manone said—’

‘Don’t tell me you’re going to take Dominic Manone’s word for it,’ Polly said, ‘instead of believing the boys.’

‘I don’t know who to believe. After all I done for—’

‘Babs.’

‘What?’

‘Shut up an’ let me sleep.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Babs.