Roy's voice followed him. 'She's Luke Hammond's
sister-in-law
.'
Stunned, Jack spun round. 'Your gaolbird friend…and Hammond's classy sister-in-law? What kind o' sad joke is that?'
'It's no joke,' Roy said, 'and there's more.' Having now caught Jack's interest, he deliberately paused, a look of mischief curling his face. 'Oh, I forgot! You don't want to hear about it, do you?'
Intrigued, Jack returned to sit down again. 'What else do you know? You've got this far, you might as well tell me the rest.'
Roy took his time, before revealing his own thoughts on the unlikely relationship. 'Think about it, Jack,' he urged. 'Don Carson is pally with the man who attacked Sylvia Hammond. I know for a fact Don visits Stratton in gaol.'
Again he paused to let his words sink home. 'And now her glamorous sister is on the scene…making up to Don like there's no tomorrow.'
Realistic as ever, Jack mused aloud, 'Happen they just fancy each other?'
'It's all too convenient,' Roy insisted. 'My bet is she must have found out that Don was pally with the man who damaged her sister.'
Thinking on it, Jack slowly chewed on his bottom lip, as he did when something bothered him. 'It doesn't make any sense, does it?' He wondered if it was a cruel twist of Fate, or simply animal attraction. Besides, even if she did know the connection between Carson and her sister's attacker, there was nothing much she could do about it.
'I must admit it's an odd coincidence, though,' he went on. 'This Georgina is not short of a bob or two; she's attractive and desirable by anybody's standard, so why would a woman like that want a man like Carson?'
Roy had the answer. 'To get even for what happened to her sister.'
'But the man who attacked her sister is already behind bars.'
Roy nodded affirmatively. 'I know that,' he replied, 'and I don't know how she means to get her own back, but for the life of me, I can't see any other reason for her to come after Don.'
'I can!' Like a light had switched on in his mind, Jack had seen something Roy couldn't see, or didn't want to.
'What's on your mind, Jack?'
'Your friend, Don.'
'What about him?'
'You're not his only friend, are you?'
'You know I'm not. He's got a lot o' good friends.'
'Ex-convicts like himself, are they?'
Not too comfortable with his line of questioning, Roy demanded to know, 'What are you getting at, Jack?'
Jack revealed his thoughts. 'I'm wondering about Georgina,' he said. 'I'm wondering if she's the kind of person who would want her sister's attacker done away with, and if she did, who better to go to than an ex-convict, with contacts who might well be prepared to carry out a sort of execution…for a price?'
Against his better instincts, Roy could see the feasibility of what Jack was proposing, and was shocked by it. Jesus! Are you saying she might ask Don to put out a contract on Stratton?'
Throwing out his hands in a gesture of helplessness, Jack asked, 'What do I know? But look, mate…you have to admit, it's not beyond the realms of possibility. Is it?'
'You must be bloody mad!' Scrambling out of the chair, Roy slammed his half-empty cup onto the mantelpiece. 'You don't know him like I do!' Shock trembled his voice. 'All right, I'll admit…Don Carson spent time in gaol, so he's an ex-convict and keeps in touch with others of his kind. But I'm an ex-con too, and I keep in touch with Don, so you could say we're out of the same mould.'
'I never said any such thing!' Getting out of his chair Jack confronted him. 'All I'm saying is, this woman might not be what he thinks. After what he did to her own flesh and blood, she might want Stratton taken out for good, if you know what I mean?'
'You might be right,' Roy agreed, 'but even if you are, there's nothing /can do about it.'
Jack disagreed. 'If you think Carson is a genuine mate, and not capable of organising a hit man, then tell him to check her out. Tell him who she is, and —'
'I'm telling him nothing!' Roy snapped. 'He wouldn't thank me for it, and I wouldn't blame him. Besides, you're wrong about him. You said yourself, you know nothing about the man, while I've served time alongside him; slept on the bunk above him and talked well into the night about nothing and everything. We've ate garbage at the same table; slopped out together and looked out for each other.'
He paused, remembering how it used to be, and hating every last minute he'd wasted of his life. 'I reckon I know Don Carson well enough to be sure he'd never get mixed up in what you say. He might be a petty thief and he might like to use his fist when he's had a drink or two. But he wouldn't entertain murder…not for a woman, nor a wad o' money, however tempting. He just wouldn't do it!'
Jack nodded. 'All right, matey, forget what I just said. Happen she just fancies him after all, eh?' Placing his two hands on the smaller man's shoulders, he smiled to ease the tension. This was the first time he and Roy had exchanged such strong words. 'Happen he gives her what she can't get from her other men, eh? A bit o' rough and tumble.'
'Mebbe.'
'I didn't mean anything by what I said. You asked me what I thought and I thought wrong. OK?'
Calmer now, Roy nodded, 'OK.'
'So, will you finish your coffee or what?'
'No, I'd best make my way back.' Needing to clear his head, he made his way to the door. 'G'night, Jack.'
'G'night, Roy.'
Following him to the door, Jack watched him go down the street, shoulders hunched and hands thrust deep in his pockets. 'I think you're getting out of your depth mixing with Carson,' he mused, 'but you'll need to find that out for yourself, because I'll not risk our friendship by interfering.'
Another startling thought occurred to him. 'Unless o' course you're in danger. If I thought there was a chance you might be hurt…' his expression darkened, 'o' course, that would be a different kettle of fish altogether.'
Hurrying along, Roy heard the door close behind him. He looked back but Jack was already gone.
The chilling air seemed to clarify his thoughts, making him consider what Jack had said.
Now that there was a distance between himself and Jack, and the cool air had sharpened his reasoning, he could see the sense in at least some of what Jack had said. 'I suppose it
would
make sense if she was planning to have Stratton done away with,' he voiced his thoughts in a harsh whisper, '…considering what he did to her sister. But if she
is
keen to have him out of the way for good…and I'm not even sure about that…why would she go after Don? As far as I know, they go back a long way and they've allus looked out for each other.'
He tried to work it through in his mind. 'If she's done her homework…and she looks like the kinda woman who would, then she must know the last thing Don would do is to arrange for Arnold Stratton to be murdered. They're best buddies for Chrissake!'
All the same, Jack's warning was strong in his thoughts, and now, he was made to see things in a different light. 'She
is
getting to him though,' he admitted reluctantly, 'even I could tell that. By! She's the kind o' witch who could worm herself all the way into a man's soul if he wasn't careful.'
He thought of the way Don looked when he spoke of her…kind of proud and excited all at the same time; wanting to look his best when she turned up, yet not complaining if she unexpectedly turned up early, when he was still in his rough.
'It looks to me like she's already twisting him round her little finger,' he muttered. 'If she can make him behave like a lovesick schoolboy, then what else can she do to him, eh?'
And back came the answer, 'She could work on him, until he's ready to do whatever she asks.'
He couldn't believe what he was thinking. 'Would Don really have his best friend done away with?'
He hated himself for even entertaining the idea. 'No.' The thought was abhorrent to him. 'He wouldn't. Never!'
He dismissed the notion from his mind as quickly as it had entered it.
September had been such a glorious month, it came as something of a shock when October arrived with a vengeance. For three days and nights the heavens opened and drenched the earth below.
Today was the first Tuesday of October. The heavy downpour had mellowed into a steady, soaking drizzle, but the wind was still strong.
'Bugger me, Mrs Tooley…' With a clatter and a thump, Daisy fell in through the door, her umbrella inside out and her hair standing up like the rag end of a floor mop, 'it's like all hell's cut loose out there!'
Mrs Tooley remained firmly behind her counter. 'Don't you dare come near me dripping wet!' she exclaimed, holding her hands up in protest. I'm wearing my best clothes.'
Her smile all teeth and wrinkles, she proudly informed Daisy, 'Mr Leyton has invited me to dine with him,' she giggled like a dizzy girl, 'at the Royal Hotel, no less.'
Wet to the skin and unable to muster any excitement on Mrs Tooley's behalf, Daisy took her time in answering. She shook her brolly all over the floor and threw off her wet coat and hat, which she then hung over the radiator, and now she came forward, sneezing and coughing and frightening Ma Tooley into retreating a few more paces behind the counter.
'Don't you think that's wonderful, Daisy?' Mrs Tooley persisted, desperately needing to be told how clever she was at having secured a date with the man who owned two ironmonger's shops, and wore suits from Jacob's tailors.
'Well, I never, Mrs Tooley!' Daisy answered, in a manner that had the older woman bristling. 'Aren't we the lucky one. Ooh! The Royal no less! Bleedin' hell, whatever next, eh?'
'Hey!' Incensed, Mrs Tooley dared to venture near. 'I'll not have you talking to me with that attitude, young lady. Moreover, I will not have someone working in my cafe who can't keep a civil tongue in their head.' Giving Daisy one of her commanding stares, she asked, 'Do you understand what I'm saying?'
Daisy understood, and was mortified at her own rudeness. I'm sorry, Mrs Tooley,' she answered meekly. 'It's terrible out there. The tram was late, then I stepped off into a puddle. The wind drove the rain right at me all the way here, and now I'm soaked to the skin and freezing cold. I didn't mean to be cheeky, honest.'
'Hmph.' Mrs Tooley took note of Daisy's red nose and bedraggled hair and the way her feet squelched as she walked, and she felt a wicked feeling of satisfaction. 'So, it won't happen again, will it?'
'No, Mrs Tooley, it won't happen again.'
As Mrs Tooley turned away with a condemning comment, Daisy put out her tongue, only to swiftly retrieve it when Mrs Tooley suddenly turned on her heel to tell Daisy, 'I'm being collected in less than an hour. I've seen to them all and filled out the shelves and that's my little bit done for today.'
'Yes, Mrs Tooley.'
'Go on then, young lady. Get a move on. Into the back and get yourself straightened up. You'll find a new towel hanging on the loop, and make sure you replace it with a clean one when you've finished.'
'Yes, Mrs Tooley.' Half-tempted to curtsy, Daisy managed to contain herself. She didn't want to risk losing her job, at least not yet. 'I'm on my way, Mrs Tooley.' Silently mouthing, she started off towards the back room.
'And be sharp about it,' Mrs Tooley called after her. 'It's market day. The customers won't be long before they start arriving. They'll be queuing for breakfast if you're not careful.'
Daisy went away mimicking her. 'Queuing for breakfast, my hat!' she sniggered. 'I've never known there to be a queue for
anything
in this place, not since the day I started.'
All the same, she was thawed and dried and ready for work in a matter of twenty minutes. 'I'm all right now, Mrs Tooley. So you can go whenever you like.' Thinking: the sooner the better, you miserable old cow!
Mrs Tooley was impressed. 'There's a good girl,' she purred. 'You look the part now.'
Daisy had on her blue overall with a white pinafore over, and her hair was enclosed in the white mobcap Mrs Tooley insisted upon—and which the minute her back was turned would go into a drawer.
Mrs Tooley smiled sheepishly. 'Do I look smart, Daisy?'
'Yes, Mrs Tooley. You look…' Hesitating, Daisy searched for the right word, but for the life of her, she could not find one to describe the sight before her eyes.
The over-painted Bertha Tooley was not a pretty sight. Dressed in a brown boucle two-piece with overlong arms, too tight a skirt and too loose a jacket, she had a spotted green blouse underneath and a yellowing pearl necklace enclosing her rubbery neck. Her hair had been permed so tight it resembled a scouring pad, and her crimson lipstick, which had partly spread over her teeth, was now melting into little rivers at the corners of her mouth.
'You look…er…you look…' Again she couldn't find the words, so had to finish, 'Good grief, Mrs Tooley! I do believe Mr Leyton won't know which way to look.'
'Oh, Daisy, I do hope you're not just saying that to please me?' Mrs Tooley's chin dimpled in a surprisingly pretty smile. 'Well, I never!' She even blushed a slight shade of pink. 'Do you know, Daisy, I actually think I might have found the right one, in Mr Leyton.'
'That's very nice, Mrs Tooley. I'm pleased for you, I must say.'
Every man over the past year had been 'the right one'. Until the inevitable day when Mrs Tooley would march in, moaning and complaining about how men were not worth the ground they stood on, and however could she forget what monsters they all were.
Then the outrage would pass and she was on the rampage again, searching for the poor unsuspecting soul who would give her the attention she craved.
At half-past ten, a cab arrived, and Mrs Tooley sailed out in all her glory. 'I'll see you later,' she told Daisy. 'Mind you take care of the place while I'm gone.'
'Don't you worry, Mrs Tooley,' Daisy assured her. 'It'll still be in one piece when you get back.'
After setting out the tea cakes and flapjacks and turning on the oven for the sausage rolls and pies, which were bought in, delivered to the back door and needed only reheating, Daisy was ready for serving. All she needed now were a few likely customers.