The Girl from Cotton Lane (15 page)

Fred could see her hatred for the man showing plainly on her face, and he thought of Nellie’s closing words which kept running around inside his head. Perhaps there was something else, something between the two families which had spawned such detestation. Both Nellie and her daughter wore that same look on their faces at the mention of the name Galloway. Maybe it was better not to dwell on it, he decided. Maybe some things were better left to the natural course of time.

Chapter Nine

Early on Friday morning a tearful Sadie Sullivan woke her son Billy and told him that the police had been. ‘Yer gotta go ter Dock’ead police station at ten o’clock an’ if yer don’t they’re comin’ for yer,’ she sobbed.

Billy climbed out of bed glumly and went down to the scullery where Sadie was stirring porridge over the gas stove. ‘Yer’ll be the death o’ me, ’ she groaned. ‘I bet the y’re gonna charge yer fer fightin’ wiv that guv’nor at the sawmills.’gonna ‘No, they’re not, Ma,’ Billy said irritably. ‘They’re jus’

‘No, they’re not, Ma,’ Billy said irritably. ‘They’re jus’ gonna ask me ter sign the statement.’

‘What statement?’ Sadie asked as she spooned out the porridge onto a plate.

‘You know, the one I made at the sawmills.’

‘Well, it seems strange ter me. Why didn’t they make yer sign it when they first spoke ter yer?’ Sadie asked suspiciously.

‘’Ow the bleedin’ ’ell do I know,’ Billy moaned, blowing on the steaming porridge.

‘It don’t seem right ter me,’ Sadie told him. ‘I knew the police would mark yer when yer started runnin’ around wiv that crowd o’ no-gooders. Yer should get yerself a nice Catholic gel an’ settle down.’

While his mother was in the back yard pegging out the washing Billy ate the porridge in silence, his thoughts racing. They were going to put him on an identification parade, he was certain. What if the old watchman picked him out? How could he prove he wasn’t involved in the robbery? The questions tumbled around in his head and he had no answers. Who would believe him? His mother wouldn’t. She was convinced already that he’d been getting into bad ways with the Tunnel Mob. She had told him often enough.

‘I’ll do yer some bread an’ jam. They might keep yer there a long while,’ Sadie told him, fighting back the tears.

Billy stood up and wiped the back of his hand across his lips. ‘Look, Ma, there’s nuffink ter worry about. They jus’ wanna get me ter sign that statement, that’s all,’ he tried to convince her.

‘Long as it ain’t got nuffink ter do wiv that ovver crowd,’ she said, her eyes questioning him.

‘Christ! I ain’t seen nuffink o’ that Tunnel Mob fer ages.’

Sadie’s eyes flared and she brought her hand up suddenly and slapped him hard across the face. ‘Don’t you dare blaspheme!’ she cried.

Billy’s hand went up to his face in surprise and then Sadie pulled him to her and hugged him tightly. ‘I believe yer, but yer shouldn’t take the name o’ the Lord in vain,’ she told him, her voice breaking as tears started.

Billy felt the pain in his chest and he gripped his mother by her shoulders. ‘Careful, Muvver. Yer know I’m a bit fragile,’ he grinned.

Sadie dried her eyes on her apron and gave him a smile. ‘I’ve boiled a kettle,’ she said. ‘Get yerself washed an’ I’ll cut yer some nice bread an’ jam. I’ll do it up in a bit o’ greaseproof so it won’t go an’ mess up yer pocket. Go on, orf yer go.’

An hour later Billy was presenting himself at the counter inside Dockhead police station.

‘Yer’ll ’ave ter wait. The inspector ain’t arrived yet,’ the sergeant told him. ‘Take a seat an’ we’ll call yer.’

Billy sat down and looked around at the posters on the walls. One showed a villainous-looking character who was wanted for murder and another offered a reward of fifty pounds for information. Billy did not get a chance to read on for an elbow suddenly prodded him in the ribs.

‘’Ere, mate. Got a fag?’

Billy looked at the scruffy individual who had sat down next to him on the hard bench. ‘I don’t smoke,’ he replied.

‘’Ave yer got the price of a cup o’ tea?’ the old man asked him.

Billy shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’m skint,’ he said.

‘I ain’t ’ad a bite since yesterday mornin’ an’ I’m bloody starvin’,’ the man went on, scratching his ribs through a hole in his filthy shirt.

Billy suddenly remembered the jam sandwiches his mother had prepared for him. ‘’Ere, ’ave one o’ these,’ he said, feeling sorry for the old gent.

‘What are they?’

‘Jam sandwiches.’

‘Jam sandwiches!’ the man repeated, a look of disgust on his stubbled face. ‘If there’s one fing I can’t stand it’s jam sandwiches. Are yer sure yer ain’t got a fag?’

‘I’ve already told yer, I don’t smoke,’ Billy replied, his voice rising.

‘All right, keep yer shirt on. I fergot,’ the old man moaned.

Billy looked around at him, aware that he was constantly scratching himself. Suddenly the man stood up and walked over to the counter.

‘Oi, you. Ain’t I gonna get any attention ’ere?’ he shouted.

The desk sergeant looked up at him with a stern expression on his face. ‘Now listen ’ere, Winkle. If yer after gettin’ yerself locked up, yer barkin’ up the wrong tree,’ he chided him. ‘We’re fed up wiv de-lousin’ the likes o’ you. Now why don’t yer piss orf out of ’ere an’ go round the local baths. It’s only tuppence.’

‘I ain’t got tuppence,’ the man grumbled, reaching out for the sheaf of papers on the desk.

‘Now leave those alone or I’ll get angry,’ the sergeant told him.

Winkle sat down and grinned at Billy. ‘’E finks ’e’s so clever. Jus’ wait till that inspector feller walks in. I’m gonna give ’im one. They’ll ’ave ter lock me up then.’

Ten minutes later the door opened and a tall, heavily built police inspector entered the station. As he walked towards the counter he stumbled over Winkle’s outstretched foot, and before he could recover his balance the old tramp was on his feet dancing around with his fists moving in small circles. ‘C’mon, stick ’em up,’ he called out.

The inspector glared at him. ‘Now get off home or I’ll get the lads to dowse you, Winkle,’ he growled.

Winkle suddenly shot out a fist which caught the inspector weakly in the chest and then he danced back out of reach. ‘C’mon, stick ’em up,’ he goaded him.

‘Get me a pail of water,’ the annoyed policeman called out to his sergeant, whereupon Winkle shot forward and landed a light blow on the inspector’s nose.

‘All right, lock him up,’ the officer shouted, holding a hand up to his face. Winkle was marched smartly away grinning with satisfaction and the inspector disappeared behind the counter. Billy could barely hide his amusement at the tramp’s antics, but his face became serious as the sergeant emerged from a back office and called him over.

‘William Sullivan?’

Billy nodded and the police officer motioned to the bench. ‘Wait there till yer called. Yer bein’ taken down ter Rother’ithe nick. Yer goin’ on an I.D. parade,’ he announced.

Carrie had been hard pressed all morning but she was feeling happy with herself as she scooped fresh tea-leaves into the large enamel teapot and filled it with boiling water from the bubbling urn at the back of the counter. Albert Buller, the catering firm’s representative, had called the previous morning and taken a large order, and the discount which Carrie had insisted upon had been confirmed later that day. The weather was holding fine today too and Rachel looked very pretty as Annie McCafferty took her for a walk to the park. Fred was cheerful and humming to himself in the kitchen and Bessie was unusually quiet, which Carrie found out later was due to a toothache. Another reason for Carrie’s high spirits was the conversation she had had with Annie earlier that morning.

The young nurse had mentioned seeing Billy Sullivan on her way to the cafe and he had smiled at her and waved from the other side of the road. ‘He seems a very nice young man,’ she had remarked casually.

Carrie had caught a certain look in the young woman’s eye and she decided then to learn something of her feelings towards the young man. ‘Do yer like ’im?’ she asked outright.

Annie flushed. ‘He seems a very nice young man,’ she repeated quickly.

Carrie smiled. ‘Billy needs a young lady in ’is life,’ she remarked pointedly. ‘’E needs somebody like you ter keep ’im on the straight an’ narrow. ’Ave yer got a young man, Annie?’

Annie shook her head. ‘I’ve never considered it,’ she said, becoming more embarrassed.

Carrie felt suddenly sorry for the pretty young nurse. ‘Well, yer should do,’ she said in a firm tone. ‘Yer very pretty, yer know, an’ it’s obvious yer like children. Yer could do a lot worse than walk out wiv Billy Sullivan.’

Annie smiled and averted her eyes, trying to stifle her embarrassment by fiddling with the pram straps which were already fastened around the impatient child. ‘I wouldn’t dare give Billy the impression I’d like him to ask me to walk out with him,’ she replied. ‘I just couldn’t.’

‘Well, ’ow’s Billy gonna know yer like ’im unless yer try an’ give ’im some indication?’ Carrie said laughing.

Annie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t be too forward. It wouldn’t be right,’ she said in a quiet voice.

Carrie decided there and then to take the initiative. ‘Look, why don’t I talk ter Billy? I could tell ’im yer like ’im an’ ’e should ask yer outright ter walk out wiv ’im. All yer ’ave ter do then is say yes. Yer can do that, can’t yer?’ she asked, smiling broadly.

Annie looked thoughtful. ‘If Billy had wanted to ask me, surely he would have done,’ she said doubtfully.

‘Billy Sullivan is a very nice young man, Annie, but yer gotta remember ’e’s bin out o’ work fer a long time, an’ gettin’ wounded ruined ’is future as ’e saw it,’ Carrie told her. ‘Yer gotta remember too that Billy sees somebody like you as bein’ above ’im. Oh ’e’ll talk ter yer easy enough, Billy can talk wiv anybody, but askin’ a refined young lady like you ter walk out wiv ’im is a different matter. Yer gotta overcome yer shyness. Let ’im know yer like ’im. I can’t tell yer ’ow ter do it but yer know what I mean.’

Annie had smiled through her embarrassment and looked Carrie square in the eye. ‘Would you ask him?’ she suggested in a quiet voice.

Carrie had touched Annie’s arm reassuringly. ‘Jus’ leave it ter me,’ she said boldly.

As Carrie coped with the comings and goings at the dining rooms that morning she was feeling pleased at the progress she had made with Annie McCafferty. This could be the making of Billy, she told herself. The young man needed a woman to steady him and encourage him to get a job. Annie would be just the person. She was a Catholic too, which would make it easy for her to be accepted by Sadie and Daniel Sullivan.

‘Am I gonna wait all day fer that two o’ toasted drippin’, Carrie?’ a deep voice shouted out.

Carrie was quickly brought back to matters in hand and she smiled sweetly at the neglected carman. ‘Comin’ up right away, Bill,’ she told him.

In the Rotherhithe police station a motley crowd stood around waiting, and it was not long before they were ushered out into the compound at the rear of the building.

‘Right, line up in a straight line if yer will, gentlemen,’ the police sergeant requested politely.

There was a mumble of ill humour as the men did what they were told, slowly shuffling into position in the middle of the yard. Billy found himself standing at the end of the line. He stared up at the high barred window in the wall facing him. If this goes wrong that’s where I’ll end up, he told himself.

‘Right, gents, no talking,’ the sergeant said loudly.

Billy then saw a slightly built man come out from a far door with a policeman holding on to his arm. The man was led along the line. He stopped and turned to the first man. Slowly he looked him up and down and then moved to the next person. Billy could see the dark patches around his eyes as he drew nearer and he noticed that the man was visibly shaking at the ordeal. The policeman was still holding him by the arm and he seemed very frail and tottery.

‘Take yer time, pop,’ the policeman said encouragingly.

Billy looked ahead as the man reached the person next to him and he muttered a prayer to himself. He could see now that the policeman who was escorting the robbery victim was the officer who had warned him that day outside the sawmills.

Finally the man stopped in front of Billy and the policeman tightened his grip on the old man’s arm. The young man from Page Street was staring ahead and he missed the silent prompting of the police officer. He could feel the man’s eyes on him and he was filled with a desire to run off as fast as his legs would carry him.

‘That’s ’im!’ the man said in a surprised voice.

‘Are yer sure?’ the policeman said, a satisfied smile breaking out on his flat face as he took Billy’s arm in a strong grasp.

Billy felt his heart pounding as the elderly man looked at the policeman. ‘Sure I’m sure. That’s Billy Sullivan. I’d know ’im anywhere,’ he said excitedly.

‘That’s the man who attacked yer?’ the policeman asked him.

‘Attacked me? Nah, course not! That’s Billy Sullivan the boxer. I seen ’im fight at the Dock’ead Club a few times. I saw ’is last pro fight. ’Ow yer doin’, Billy?’ he asked, grinning widely.