Jude waited impatiently for the lone customer to leave to leave the shop. It was already past closing time. Outside, the street was empty and the balmy evening air tempting; he’d take Amy and the children for a walk in the park after they had had tea. Pleased with the idea, he emptied the cash drawer. The scruffy young man with a straggly red beard and hair continued to flit from shelf to shelf pulling out books but not really looking at them before shoving them back in the wrong place. Jude’s spirits drooped. The last person he wanted to deal with at this time of day was Hubert Crank.
‘Sorry, we’re closing,’ said Jude.
Hubert pulled a book from a shelf, riffling the pages carelessly.
Jude stiffened. It wasn’t Hubert’s first visit to the shop, he’d been in twice before and his attitude irritated Jude. On his second visit, Stephen, Maggie’s beau had been in the shop. He’d briefly acknowledged Hubert, and Jude had asked who he was. When Stephen told him, Jude had replied, ‘Crank by name and crank by nature.’
Stephen had laughed and said, ‘You’re dead right there.’
Now, Hubert looked smugly at Jude. ‘Which one are you, Leas or Wiseman?’ he asked sneeringly.
‘Leas. As I said, I’m closing.’
Hubert, unaffected by Jude’s terse response asked, ‘Do you live above the premises?’
Jude gave a monosyllabic ‘no’ and went and stood by the door, keys in hand.
Hubert sauntered towards the door, and as he drew level with Jude, he said, ‘You Jews are all the same.’
Jude looked bemused.
‘Jew,’ Hubert repeated, making the word sound dirty. Before Jude could respond, he bounded up the steps and into the street.
‘So that’s what’s eating you – you’re an anti-semite,’ Jude said to himself as he slammed the door behind him, savagely twisting the key in the lock. He detested bigotry. He’d come across it in the army, chaps who hated anyone they perceived to be different from themselves, those with brown skin or Jewish origins tormented the most. As Jude walked home mulling over the peculiar exchange, he made a mental note to keep his eye on Hubert Crank.
*
‘It’s beautiful, Maggie,’ said Amy, her palm supporting Maggie’s outstretched left hand as she admired the engagement ring on her niece’s finger. ‘Congratulations to both of you. Be happy.’ Stephen blushed and shuffled his feet.
‘Let’s have a look at it then.’ Jude was seated at the table scanning a large, old leather-bound volume, a recent find on a day out with Noah to the auctions in Leeds. Swinging round in his chair he beckoned to his eighteen-year-old niece to come close, his eyes twinkling wickedly.
Maggie crossed the room and proffered her hand. Jude lifted the magnifying glass he had been using, and placing it over the ring on Maggie’s finger, he gasped. ‘By God, Maggie! Diamonds as big as the crown jewels.’
‘You cheeky bugger,’ said Maggie, withdrawing her hand and laughing merrily as she squinted at the minute diamonds. ‘They might be small but me an’ Stephen don’t believe in wasting money just so we can show off.’
‘Very wise too.’ Amy gave Jude a warning glare.
‘It’s lovely, Maggie,’ he said contritely and then, by way of making amends he added, ‘I didn’t buy Amy one. I couldn’t afford to.’
‘I’d never have been able to afford one either if I hadn’t got the job with the Barnborough Chronicle.’ Always a peacemaker, Stephen was keen to show he took no offence at Jude’s playfulness. He really is the nicest young man, thought Amy. Jude gave him a smile filled with admiration.
‘It’s a job I wouldn’t have minded having when I was your age,’ he said, ‘and before you know it you’ll be their political editor, travelling up to London to report on what’s going on in the government. We’re proud of you, lad.’
Yet again Stephen blushed, and muttered his thanks then shrugged before saying, ‘Last week I reported on a tailor’s shop that had been deliberately set on fire after whoever did it had slashed all the suits to shreds, and today I was reporting on a church that was vandalised last night, out Melborough way. Whoever did it made a right mess. There’s some crazy people out there.’
Jude sniggered. ‘Aye, well, it was the 1st of April yesterday – all fool’s day. By the way, talking of fools. What do you know about that fellow, Hubert Crank?’ He told them about the altercation in the shop.
‘He’s barmy,’ Stephen said sneeringly. He put his index finger to his temple and made a winding motion. Laughing out loud, Kezia copied his action. ‘He styles himself as something of a radical. He stands outside college dishing out leaflets and making crazy speeches. He’s recruiting for a looney society who hate Catholics, Jews, black people, you name it – they hate the lot of them.’
‘He sounds thoroughly disgusting,’ Amy said, and then sent Kezia upstairs on the pretext of checking on John before she heard any more. Her perspicacious daughter’s habit of storing and then repeating conversations she had overheard sometimes caused embarrassment or downright unpleasantness. Only the other day she had unwittingly told Noah it was a wonder he didn’t get buried in all the clutter in his sitting room, a remark Amy had made to Jude after she had gone there to take Noah some buns she had baked that morning.
‘If he shows his face again I’ll soon give him his marching orders,’ said Jude, rubbing one fisted hand in the palm of the other and imagining it to be Hubert’s face. ‘It’s not as though he’s a customer – he’s never bought a thing.’
*
The next day, it being a Saturday and with Stephen otherwise occupied, Maggie volunteered to look after John and Kezia, leaving Amy free to serve in the shop. In the late afternoon, it being gloriously warm for April, she put John in his pushchair and they walked down Bankside Street to the Book Cellar. Kezia was skipping alongside keeping up a lively stream of chatter, but Maggie wasn’t listening. She was thinking about the conversation Jude and Stephen had had the day before and worrying for Stephen’s safety. Today he was reporting on a lock-out at a local pit, the miners protesting for better wages and working conditions. As they neared the shop, she saw Hubert Crank lounging at the top of the steps, his pale, shifty eyes watching their approach. He made no attempt to move out of their way. Kezia gave him a dirty look and wiggled her finger round her temple as she shoved past. Maggie wrinkled her nose, repulsed by his smell as she squeezed by, bumping the pushchair down the steps into the basement.
‘He’s hanging about outside, an’ he stinks,’ Maggie announced, seeing there were no customers in the shop.
‘Who?’ Amy glanced up from the low bookshelf she was tidying.
‘That smelly man with the scraggy red beard and shifty eyes,’ piped Kezia. She had no sooner spoken than Hubert sidled into the shop.
Jude strode over to him.
‘Can I help you, Mr Crank?’ The jaded question had a threatening edge to it and Jude’s glowering expression reminded Amy of the days in Beckett’s Park when Jude had had one of his bitter episodes. She cringed, wringing her hands and wondering if she should intervene before Jude exploded.
‘Just looking,’ Hubert drawled, pulling a book from the shelf and letting it drop.
‘Not anymore, you aren’t.’ Jude steered him towards the door, his features tight with anger. ‘I don’t object to anyone just looking but I do expect them to treat the books with respect.’
‘Respect! Why should anybody respect you? You rotten Jews are all the same. You think because you own the banks and the fancy jewellery shops and run big businesses that you have a right to tell us what to do. But not me, I hate Jews and everything about them.’
‘Get out!’ Jude thundered, hustling Hubert through the doorway and up the steps, not letting go until they reached street level. With one almighty shove he sent Hubert sprawling on the pavement, watching with satisfaction as the miscreant scrambled to his feet and ran.
Jude bounded back into the shop. ‘That’s got rid of him.’
‘He’s bloody crazy,’ Maggie cried, her green eyes flashing angrily.
‘He’s certainly unstable,’ said Amy, ‘and thank goodness there were no customers to witness his outburst.’ Or yours Jude, she silently added, the violent display making her feel sick. Did he still feel a pain so great that the slightest word or look could trigger his anger and revive the horrendous memories he had struggled to forget? But rather than seething with temper Jude seemed elated, laughing as he picked up the book Hubert had dropped and then saying, ‘There’s never a dull moment in the place.’
Amy breathed a sigh of relief.
*
Later that evening, Stephen called to see Maggie. She cried when she saw his bruised face. ‘Who did that to you?’ she shrieked, pulling him into her arms. ‘Whoever it was’ll have me to deal with if I ever catch the buggers.’
‘It turned out rough then,’ Jude said, giving Stephen a sympathetic wry smile.
Stephen gratefully accepted the cup of tea Amy had shoved into his hand and then grinned. ‘Just a flying stone,’ he said casually. ‘I didn’t move quickly enough when all hell broke loose.’
‘Who threw it?’ Maggie demanded.
Stephen laughed. ‘God knows, it was mayhem once the pit owner’s hired thugs arrived.’
‘It’s history repeating itself,’ Jude reflected. ‘T’miners have always had to fight for their rights. You make sure you write a bloody good story defending ’em,’ Jude said.
‘I will,’ he said, rubbing the bruise on his cheek and chuckling. ‘I never imagined writing for a newspaper could be dangerous.’
‘An’ I never thought selling books would be. I had a run-in with that chap Crank this afternoon. I threw him out of the shop.’
‘Good for you,’ said Stephen. ‘His sort are nothing but trouble.’
‘Me Uncle Jude saw him off all right,’ Maggie said proudly. ‘He’ll not be back. And the next time you’re out on an assignment, you keep out of trouble. I couldn’t bear it if owt bad happened to you.’