SAMMY, WHO HAD left for Manchester on Monday evening without returning to the office, was back on Wednesday afternoon. In Manchester he’d been talking to mill owners. His new contract with Coates meant he couldn’t take the slightest risk in respect of fabric deliveries.
Susie, hearing him enter his office, immediately went to see him.
‘Ah, good afternoon, Miss Brown,’ he said, hanging up his hat and coat.
‘Ah to you too,’ said Susie, and walked up to him, lifted her face and pursed her lips.
‘Not in office time, Miss Brown,’ said Sammy.
A kick arrived on his left shin.
‘Take that,’ said Susie. There had been other times in her prolonged and electric relationship with Sammy when she’d had to deliver kicks.
‘You did that with your eyes shut,’ said Sammy, and kissed her.
‘That’s better,’ said Susie.
‘Not bad at all,’ said Sammy, ‘but I think we’ll have to stop meetin’ like this in office hours.’ But another kiss arrived, a lovely one to Susie. He had a man’s fine firm lips, and didn’t believe in pecking a girl.
‘Now you’re takin’ advantage,’ she said.
‘Well, Susie, while I’m not purportin’—’
‘While you’re not what?’
‘While I’m not purportin’ to imply the Manchester girls don’t have fashionable legs and female bosoms, the fact is what you’ve got, Susie, is high-class and adorable all over. Mind, I haven’t been all over yet—’
‘Sammy!’
‘So I’m speakin’ blindly, you might say, but not without bein’ confident and optimistic. Accordingly, when we keep meetin’ like this I can’t help takin’ advantage – hold on, is me declaration of confidence amusin’ you, Miss Brown?’
Susie, laughing, said, ‘Sammy, I love it. More, please.’
‘Later, Miss Brown, later. Did you see Eli?’
‘I did, and he’s goin’ to put his nose into every suitable warehouse. Sammy, exactly why do you want him to buy up our kind of materials?’
‘Well,’ said Sammy, ‘Harriet—’
‘Miss de Vere.’
‘The selfsame, Susie. Our summer fashions are sellin’ like hot faggots in her branches—’
‘Cakes. Hot cakes.’
‘Same thing, Susie, except hot faggots are tastier and more nourishing,’ said Sammy. ‘Now, on account of that, Miss de Vere, who is actually a widow name of Mrs Bird, persuaded her directors to give us a huge contract for autumn and winter designs.’
‘I know that,’ said Susie.
‘Well, I’m glad you do, Susie, it does me heart good to know your brainbox is tickin’, because we’ve got to make sure we don’t fall flat on our faces when it comes to delivery. I acquired promises in Manchester regardin’ delivery of fabrics, and before I went there I had a specialized talk with Harriet—’
‘Miss de Vere,’ said Susie. Before becoming engaged to Sammy, she’d felt somewhat threatened by his attachment to his old girlfriend, Rachel Goodman. So she’d discouraged the development of anything but a strictly business relationship between Sammy and Harriet de Vere. Harriet had found Sammy mesmerizing. However, she had subsequently met Boots and found him fascinating. Even so, Susie was taking no chances. The horrendous casualties of the Great War had resulted in a shortage of eligible men and a worrying surplus of women.
‘The obligin’ lady—’
‘I don’t like that word,’ said Susie.
‘Let’s say she was reasonable, then,’ said Sammy. ‘She’ll have the delivery date altered to give us two extra weeks. All the same, promises from the mills don’t always work out, which is why we want Eli Greenberg to nose out our kind of materials in certain London warehouses and to buy them for us.’
‘But if the Lancashire mills come up with deliveries in good time,’ said Susie, ‘we’ll be stuck with all the fabrics Mr Greenberg buys on our behalf.’
‘Ah well,’ said Sammy.
‘Mister Sammy Adams, kindly explain what ah well means,’ demanded Susie.
‘Yes, you’ve got it, Susie.’
‘I haven’t got it,’ said Susie.
‘Well, it could mean some of our competitors will be dyin’ of wantin’ what we happen to have,’ said Sammy.
‘Sammy, that’s not fair.’
‘Eh?’ said Sammy.
‘You’ll have cornered the market,’ said Susie. ‘It’s not nice.’
‘Pardon?’ said Sammy.
‘It’s not decent,’ said Susie.
‘Am I hearin’ you correct, Miss Brown, or is there something wrong with me listenin’ equipment?’
‘If I thought I’d helped you starve our competitors, I just couldn’t look the vicar in the eye on our weddin’ day,’ said Susie.
‘I’m glad you’ve got principles, Susie,’ said Sammy, ‘I’ve got some meself. Would I let our Shoreditch competitors starve for want of fabrics?’
‘I hope you’ve still got some Christian goodness,’ said Susie. ‘And I’ve just thought, they’d be getting all they wanted from the mills. Except, of course, some firms do order from the London wholesalers.’
‘Well, if our competitors couldn’t get what they wanted from the mills, I’d sell them what they wanted from our stocks,’ said Sammy.
‘There’s a good boy,’ said Susie.
‘At a fair price, of course.’
‘Sammy?’
‘One of me strictest business principles, Susie, is never to let me charitable inclinations interfere with the profits.’
‘You’re wicked,’ said Susie.
‘Well, we’ve got to live, Susie.’
‘Yes, ruination’s very upsetting,’ said Susie. ‘By the way Boots wants to see you.’
‘If he’s been enquirin’ after me, you can let him know I’m here,’ said Sammy.
‘I don’t think it was an enquiry,’ said Susie.
‘Watch what you’re goin’ to say next.’
‘Oh, he just said tell Junior to come and see me as soon as he gets back from Manchester – Sammy, don’t you dare!’
Sammy was after her. Susie fled back to her office. Sammy, grinning, went to see Boots. On the way he looked in on Emily, busy typing in her own little office. Its privacy related to the fact that she was the wife of a director.
‘Hello, Em. Everything all right with you?’ Sammy thought she was getting much too thin.
Emily’s smile was overbright, so were her big green eyes.
‘Hello, Sammy love. I’m fine. I think me lord and master’s been askin’ after you.’
‘It’s my serious opinion that Boots has been the fam’ly’s lord and master since he first put on long trousers,’ said Sammy.
‘It’s his posh education,’ said Emily.
‘I’m now goin’ to sort him out,’ said Sammy, and departed for his brother’s office, where he informed Boots he was against being given messages by his personal assistant that made him sound like the office boy.
‘Is that a fact?’ said Boots.
‘I hear someone’s been referrin’ to me as Junior,’ said Sammy.
‘First I’ve heard of it,’ said Boots, and Sammy cottoned on.
‘That Susie,’ he said, grinning again. ‘Wait till she’s Mrs Sammy Adams.’
‘We’re all waiting for that,’ said Boots. ‘How did you get on in Manchester?’
‘Manchester was what you call promisin’,’ said Sammy, ‘but I’m buyin’ in from London wholesalers in case the promisin’ bit gets rheumatism. Before I took me train to Manchester, I had to talk serious to Harriet about that delivery clause.’
‘You mean you floored her,’ said Boots.
‘Well, she fell about a bit,’ said Sammy, ‘but the delivery date’s goin’ to be put back two weeks. Now can I ask what you wanted to see me about?’
‘The Bermondsey scrap yard’s been temporarily shut down, Sammy.’
‘It’s what?’
‘That’s just between you, me and Susie’s dad at the moment,’ said Boots, and went on to recount how a young girl’s body had been found in the gravel under the shed floor. He’d been keeping in touch with the police, and an hour ago they’d informed him over the phone that the girl’s identity had been established. She was the daughter of a Bermondsey couple, officially listed as missing from home thirteen months ago. Her name was Ivy Connor and she’d been twelve years old at the time. The pathologist had diagnosed strangulation.
‘Jesus,’ breathed Sammy, ‘a twelve-year-old girl? The sod who did that to her ought to be put in an empty room with her father for an hour before they hang him.’
‘I feel the same,’ said Boots. ‘Her name and the pathologist’s report will be in today’s evening papers. So far, Susie doesn’t know the body was discovered in our scrap yard, and Jim’s said nothing to her or any of his family. Further, he’s kept the relevant page of their daily paper to himself. He doesn’t want Susie upset with the wedding not far away, and she won’t necessarily find out it concerns our Bermondsey yard unless the papers mention the firm’s name again. On the other hand, there’ll be an inquest, of course, and I don’t doubt Jim will be called on to confirm he was present when the body was discovered. He and his assistant are working at the Kennington yard at the moment. How much d’you know about the previous owners of the Bermondsey yard, Collier and Son?’
‘Couple of boozers,’ said Sammy.
‘I think the police are investigating them.’
‘Waste of time,’ said Sammy. ‘Old man Collier and his son Walter as boozers are harmless except to their business. Listen, I think Susie’ll have to be told.’
‘I thought you might think that,’ said Boots, ‘but left it to you to decide.’
‘The staff don’t know?’ said Sammy.
‘Some do, those who read the newspaper accounts,’ said Boots, ‘but they’re keeping quiet.’
‘I’ll tell Susie,’ said Sammy, and did so at once. It was a shock to her, but she was her dad’s daughter, she had his brand of resilience and was concerned more for him than for any shadow it cast over the wedding. She was concerned because the yard had been shut down just when he’d been appointed manager and because he’d had to see the body.
‘I feel sick, Sammy. That poor young girl.’
‘I share your feeling, Susie, and don’t think I don’t.’
Susie spoke to her dad that evening. She’d bought an evening paper on her way home. The details were all there, all relating to the grisly conclusion that the girl had been murdered and her body hidden in gravel under a shed in a scrap metal yard in Bermondsey. Reported missing from her home thirteen months ago, her murder was now commanding a full investigation by the police. There was no mention of Adams Enterprises as the present owners of the yard, but the report did state that the owners at the time of the murder were Collier and Son. It also stated that two men were helping the police with their enquiries.
Susie agreed with her dad not to discuss the matter with the rest of the family.
‘You’ve come, then,’ said Henry Brannigan in the evening twilight. The woman had got to the town hall before him.
‘You didn’t think I’d play you up, did yer, Henry?’ asked Madge.
He looked at her. Her face was only lightly powdered, her lips not quite so richly carmine. She was wearing a smaller hat and a less fancy coat. She looked very respectable, in fact. She had a little smile on her face.
‘Did yer tread on any lines gettin’ ’ere?’ he asked.
‘Not one,’ said Madge, ‘I wasn’t goin’ to risk a bit of bad luck poppin’ up and knockin’ me off me feet. It can injure a girl. I must say you’re lookin’ a gent this evenin’, Henry.’
He wore no coat. He was dressed in a serviceable blue suit that fitted him well, with a collar and tie and a trilby hat. His eyes looked deepset in his gaunt face. He was middle-aged, but his body was straight and without a paunch. She was willing to bet he was as strong as a horse, and that he was good in bed.
‘You’re lookin’ presentable yerself,’ he said, ‘but don’t think I didn’t like what you wore last night, except for yer paint an’ powder.’
‘Oh, yer fancied me saucy skirt, lovey?’ said Madge, smiling. ‘You should’ve said, I’d ’ave worn it again tonight.’
‘Good company you were,’ said Henry Brannigan. ‘’Ave yer found a flat?’
‘I found a really nice one in the New Kent Road, above that little paper shop,’ said Madge. ‘It’s got its own door an’ stairs at the side of the shop, and it’s two nice rooms and a kitchen, it’s all self-contained at ten an’ six a week. You’ll be able to visit when yer like, with yer own door key. I’ll cook supper for yer sometimes, if you fancy that. D’yer want to come an’ see it? Only I said I’d take it, it’s fully-furnished and I gave the newsagent five bob as a deposit on the first week’s rent. I couldn’t afford to give ’im the lot in case you – well, you know.’
‘In case I didn’t turn up.’
‘Well, a girl can’t trust every man she meets, even if she does like ’im,’ said Madge.
‘We’ll go an’ see it,’ said Henry Brannigan. ‘I know that shop, we’ll cut through Wansey Street. Watch the lines, it ain’t dark yet, an’ seein’ we’re after settin’ you up in the flat, let’s keep bad luck away from its door or we’ll risk it catchin’ fire the day you move in.’
‘Yer a thoughtful man about me superstitiousness, Henry,’ she said, and they began their walk, partners in their belief that it was unlucky to tread on lines, although Madge only practised this belief when the mood took her. They went down Wansey Street and made for Balfour Street, which would bring them into the New Kent Road. Dusk fell and the lines between paving stones began to be lost to the eye. Treading on them didn’t count then. They passed the sagging gates of the destroyed factory. Madge made a comment. ‘They ought to build a new one,’ she said, ‘an’ give the people round ’ere a bit of work. I did ’ear a new one might be goin’ up.’
‘You ’eard that, did yer?’ Henry Brannigan gave it some thought. ‘Well, you ladies usually manage to ’ear more than men do.’
‘Henry, you got a nice way of makin’ a lady of me.’
‘A woman like you, you’ve got the makings of bein’ a lady, that’s me honest opinion. I ’eard meself that this place is a kids’ playground, which keeps ’em off the streets an’ gettin’ in people’s way. Watch that lighted bit of pavement comin’ up, the lines’ll be showin’.’
Madge did a little one-two step at the right moment, and Henry Brannigan couldn’t help being highly approving of her.
He liked the flat. It was very nicely furnished, the bedroom neat, the living room cosy and the kitchen just right. It had new wallpaper and an almost new gas oven.
‘Yer really like it?’ said Madge.
‘Be a pleasure for me to keep yer comfortably resident ’ere, Madge. I’ll give yer thirty bob a week to pay for yer rent and yer livin’ expenses.’
‘Thirty bob?’
‘It’ll keep yer respectable, an’ now and again I might treat yer to some new togs. That fair, is it?’
‘It’s all that to me,’ said Madge, ‘but I still can’t see what you get out of it.’
‘I like yer, I like yer company, and I like bein’ able to talk to yer,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay you the allowance monthly. Here.’ He took out his wallet and extracted six pound notes. Madge reckoned he had twenty of them in the wallet. It didn’t give her ideas. If she’d become a tart, she’d never been a sly or calculating one. Henry represented the turn of the tide, a turn that was highly welcome to her at her age. ‘That’s yer first month’s,’ he said, and handed her the banknotes. ‘I’ll come an’ see yer Tuesday an’ Thursday evenings, and I’ll take you out Saturday evenings an’ Sunday afternoons. I know yer’ll play fair with me.’
‘You sure you know?’ said Madge.
‘I’m bettin’ on yer.’
‘I’m short of flour and bakin’ powder,’ said Mrs Brown the next morning. Her husband and Susie had gone to work, and Sally and Freddy to school, but Will was still around and thinking of going to the public library to borrow a couple of books. ‘And I need some bakin’ eggs as well.’
‘What’s bakin’ eggs?’ asked Will.
‘Cracked ones that come half price. I’ll have to go out, I can’t start me bakin’ till I do.’
‘Well, I’m goin’ to the library, Mum,’ said Will, ‘I’ll get the stuff you want.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Mrs Brown spoke fondly. ‘I’m a bit busy, love, I’d be grateful. I’d like two pounds of self-raisin’ flour, a tin of bakin’ powder, four cracked eggs that’s not too cracked, and two pounds of caster sugar.’
‘Right,’ said Will, a little grin on his face as he decided which shop he’d patronize. ‘Special reference to four cracked eggs not too cracked, eh, Ma?’
‘If you would, love,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘You can take me shoppin’ bag.’
‘D’you mind if I don’t?’ said Will. ‘I’m a bloke, not a mum.’
‘Oh, you don’t want to take no notice of what people might say,’ said the affable Mrs Brown, ‘and you’ll have to carry the shoppin’ in something.’
‘I’ll work it out,’ said Will, who was keeping active but without putting himself under stress. He’d had a couple of mild evening attacks, that was all.
There were customers in the shop, and Mr Urcott, Miss Banks and Annie were all busy. Will, entering, hid himself behind a large lady whose voluminous apparel doubled her size. Her hat was a further help. Not until Annie finished serving her did Will become visible. It was like a Houdini trick to Annie. One moment there was only a large lady at the counter, the next moment Will materialized. With a grin on his face, of course. Still, he had a nice face, a sort of country face because it looked brown and healthy. A girl could put up with a grin on that kind of face. But he’s going to sauce me, she thought, and prepared herself for verbal battle.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.
‘Any cauliflowers, miss?’ enquired Will.
‘No, nor any coal, either, nor any soldiers’ sauce, except yours.’
‘What a funny shop,’ said Will. ‘Never mind, I’ll try for two pounds of self-raisin’ flour, two pounds of caster sugar, a tin of bakin’ powder and four cracked eggs not too cracked.’
‘I hope you’re serious,’ said Annie, bobbed hair smooth, neat and shining, grey eyes daring him to be joking.
‘Mrs Brown is,’ said Will.
‘Mrs Brown?’
‘My mother. She wants to do some bakin’. Go to a good grocer’s, she said, where they serve you with a smile and don’t give you any lip.’
‘Any lip? You can talk,’ said Annie. ‘Are you really shoppin’ for your mum?’
‘It’s me pleasure,’ said Will.
‘Nice you’ve got some good points, like bringing a girl flowers and doin’ your mum’s shoppin’,’ said Annie, and served him. The flour, sugar and baking powder were placed on the counter, and then she found four very acceptable cracked eggs for him. Brightly she asked, ‘Have you brought your shoppin’ bag, sir?’
A female customer spoke up. Like most cockney women, she wasn’t given to reticence.
‘Oh, is yer wife laid up, young man? If I was laid up, I don’t know that my old man would let ’imself be seen with a shoppin’ bag. I admire yer for not mindin’.’
‘You don’t seem to have it with you, sir,’ said Annie, tongue in cheek.
‘No, I left it on a tram with me handbag,’ said Will. Customers laughed. ‘Use this, miss.’ He brought a folded brown paper carrier bag out of his pocket, the one he had bought previously from Annie. ‘I’ll give you shoppin’ bag,’ he murmured.
Annie placed his purchases in the carrier. The eggs, which she’d put into a brown paper bag, she rested carefully on top.
‘There you are, sir, thank you for your custom – oh, and you can get a nice strong straw shoppin’ bag for sixpence down the market.’
‘You can get carpet beaters too,’ said Will.
‘What for?’ smiled Annie.
‘Smackin’ saucy bottoms,’ murmured Will, and departed, leaving Annie not quite sure who’d won the battle. Still, it had been nice seeing him. She hoped he hadn’t forgotten about Sunday, only he hadn’t mentioned it.
‘Mum, ’ave yer got a cushion I could borrer?’ asked Freddy a few minutes after he arrived home from school.
‘What d’you want a cushion for, lovey?’
‘For Cassie.’
‘Cassie?’
‘Yes, that girl who’s me new mate,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m takin’ ’er for a ride on me bike again. She’s outside.’
‘Well, bring ’er in,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘you don’t have to keep your friends on the doorstep.’
‘Yes, go on, bring ’er in,’ said Sally, ‘me and mum would like to see where you put the cushion.’
‘Bless us,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘don’t you go puttin’ no cushion where you shouldn’t, Freddy, not like you did with your cap.’
‘I didn’t do it, Cassie did,’ said Freddy, and went to the kitchen door. ‘Cassie, come in,’ he called, and Cassie entered the passage and came through to the kitchen.
‘Oh, ’ello,’ she said.
‘You’ve got a sister called Annie,’ said Sally.
‘Yes, our Will’s friendly with her,’ smiled Mrs Brown.
‘Are you Freddy’s mum?’ asked Cassie.
‘Yes, I have that pleasure,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘We don’t ’ave a mum,’ said Cassie, ‘she died. But we’ve got a nice dad that builds railway engines. ’E saved a lady from being eaten by lions once.’
‘My, did he do that?’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Yes, it was when ’e was in darkest Africa,’ said Cassie, ‘’E was a famous explorer, ’e was explorin’ a jungle and ’e saw this lady. She was all tattered an’ torn. Well, ’er clothes were. ’Er ball gown was nearly ruined by the lions’ claws. They were runnin’ after ’er.’
‘Why was she wearin’ a ball gown in a jungle?’ asked Sally.
‘She was goin’ to a ball with an African prince,’ said Cassie, ’only the lions ate ’im.’
Sally rolled her eyes. Mrs Brown smiled.
‘My goodness, Cassie,’ she said, ‘why did they want to eat the lady as well?’
‘Dad didn’t say.’ Cassie did a bit of thinking. ‘Oh, yes, I remember now, it was for afters. Lions like afters.’
‘’Ere, Cassie,’ said Freddy, who’d heard a lot like this before, ‘d’yer want a slice of cake?’
‘Yes, please, I’m not ’aving none at ’ome,’ said Cassie, ‘I told Annie I was ’aving a ride on your bike.’
‘Here we are, love,’ said Mrs Brown and cut slices for all three of them.
‘Cassie, you ’aven’t told us how your dad actu’lly saved the lady,’ said Sally.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Freddy, ‘she won’t forget to tell yer.’
‘Yes, me dad got down from the elephant ’e was ridin’,’ said Cassie, eating cake, ‘and ’e swept the lady up into ’is arms. Her hat fell off, but she didn’t mind.’
‘Fancy wearin’ an ’at with a ball gown,’ said Sally.
‘Well, it was rainin’ a bit,’ said Cassie, rarely at a loss. ‘Me dad said you should ’ave ’eard the lions, they didn’t ’alf roar, ’e said.’ Cassie ate more cake. ‘’E climbed up on his elephant with the lady an’ they galloped off.’
‘Crikey, you sure, Cassie?’ queried Sally. ‘I mean, gallopin’ elephants, I never ’eard of elephants gallopin’ before.’
Cassie did some more thinking. She plucked at her fertile imagination.
‘Well, it was galumpin’ actu’lly,’ she said. ‘Elephants do a lot of galumpin’ in darkest Africa. After me dad ’ad saved the lady, she wanted to marry ’im, but ’e was too busy at the time, so she gave ’im a lock of ’er golden ’air instead. And I think she sent ’im a Christmas card once, with robins on it.’ She smiled at Freddy’s mum. ‘That was ever such nice cake, Mrs Brown. ’Ave yer got a cushion I could use for the bike ride, please?’
‘Get one from the sofa, Freddy,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘Cassie, you mind you put it on the carrier, not anywhere else.’
‘Yes, I can’t put it in me things,’ said Cassie, ‘a cushion’s too big. Our Aunt Eileen ’ad to kneel on a church cushion once, but it did ’er back in an’ she ’ad to be lifted out of the pew by a fire engine. She was ever so blushin’. Well the ’Ouse of Lords was there, it was in St Paul’s Cathedral.’
Sally had one of her hysterical fits. Mrs Brown just smiled placidly.
‘Come on, Cassie,’ said Freddy, wearing a huge grin, ‘let’s get the cushion.’
He and Cassie were outside a minute later with the bike. Sally brought hers out too. Cassie was placing the cushion on Freddy’s carrier when Mr Ponsonby appeared.
‘Well, dear me, dear me,’ he said, ‘what’s all this on the pavement?’
‘It’s our feet, Mr Ponsonby,’ said Sally.
‘And our bikes,’ said Freddy.
Mr Ponsonby peered and murmured.
‘Good gracious, and a cushion too,’ he said.
‘Yes, it’s for Cassie to ride on,’ said Freddy. ‘This is Cassie, she’s me new mate.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said Mr Ponsonby, and raised his bowler hat.
‘’Ello,’ said Cassie, ‘you give me a peppermint once.’
‘So I did, so I did. Did I?’ Mr Ponsonby puzzled over it. ‘What a charming girl. Ah, yes, and Sally too. You must all have a peppermint now. Dear me, what am I thinking of not to have offered them?’ He produced the bag, and Sally, Cassie and Freddy took one each. ‘Where is my camera? Bless me, two such pretty girls and I’ve forgotten my camera. Stay there and I shall bring it. Good afternoon, good afternoon.’ Off he went, his pigeon-toed walk making him look as if he was twinkling over the pavement.
‘Come on, ’e won’t come back,’ said Freddy. ‘On yer get, Cassie, and I’ll ride yer round the ’ouses. You can come, if yer like, Sally, I see you got yer wooden legs on.’
‘Oh, she ain’t got wooden ones really, ’as she?’ said Cassie, sitting astride the cushion.
‘Well, she used to ’ave ord’nary short ones,’ said Freddy, ‘so she went an’ bought wooden ones down the market.’
‘Golly, they look real,’ said Cassie.
‘You’re both daft,’ said Sally, and away she went on her bike. Freddy went whooping after her with his delighted passenger.
Henry Brannigan, on arrival home from work, put his head round the kitchen door. His sister was preparing supper for herself and her husband. Her crumpled blouse could have done with some ironing, and her hair could have done with some hairpins.
‘’Ere y’ar, Queenie.’
‘What’s this?’ asked Queenie Watts.
‘Box of choc’lates,’ said her brother. ‘I appreciate you fixin’ me up with lodgings.’
Mrs Watts, taking the box out of its bag, gazed at it in bliss.
‘Well, ain’t you a love?’ she said. ‘And you ain’t no trouble, ’Enry; I’m pleased to ’ave yer after all yer troubles. ’Ere, is that a new coat yer wearin’? It looks really nice on yer.’
‘I reckoned it was time I ’ad a new one.’
‘Listen, what d’yer go out a lot for of an evenin’?’ asked Mrs Watts. ‘You found yerself someone you like? Only you never come an’ talk about yerself.’
‘I ’appen to ’ave got over me troubles, Queenie.’
‘That’s good, ’Enry. Yer still a fine strong man, except yer don’t always look as if yer put enough food into yerself, and yer don’t go in for talkin’ much. You could be welcome company for someone like a widder woman if yer talked a bit more.’
‘It’s been me troubles and me bad luck,’ said Henry Brannigan, ‘and all them street kids gettin’ in a man’s way.’
‘Gettin’ in yer way?’
‘Specially some. Still, can’t be ’elped.’
‘Well, there’s got to be kids, ’Enry.’ Mrs Watts helped herself to a cream chocolate. ‘It wouldn’t be no life for anyone if there wasn’t no kids. Mine are off me ’ands, of course, but I’m ’oping for some grandkids some day.’
‘You could do with some ’airpins first, Queenie, if yer don’t mind me sayin’ so.’
‘I don’t know where all me ’airpins get to,’ said Mrs Watts, and ate another chocolate.
‘You could look a bit ’andsome if you took more time with yerself.’
‘It’s me back, yer know, ’Enry, it catches me something chronic, but the choc’lates’ll cheer me up. Yer a good sort, an’ don’t you let street kids worry yer.’
‘Young devils some of them are,’ said Henry Brannigan, and went up to his room.