‘I said ter my Frankie only the uvver night: “Yer an’ yer mates ought ter send the bastard ter Coventry”. My Frankie only laughed. Yer know what men are like–all pals tergevver.’
Danny heard the good news as he was going down the street that morning, and before he started work he called in on Mrs Thompson.
‘Come in, son, I’m jus’ makin’ meself a nice cuppa,’ she said.
Danny sat in the scullery while Violet filled the kettle and stood it on the iron gas stove. ‘Kathy’s out of the coma, fank Gawd. She’ll be all right now. She’ll look a lot better when I go in, I’m sure.’
‘Can I go in ter see ’er, Vi?’
‘I’m sure Kathy would like ter see yer when she’s feelin’ a bit better, son. I’ll tell ’er yer called round.’
Danny picked at the oil–cloth covering on the creaking wooden table. ‘Any idea what made ’er do it, Vi?’
‘Why, it was that whore–son, wasn’t it? ’E’s led ’er a dog’s life since she’s bin livin’ wiv ’im. She should ’ave known better. Kathy’s seen enough of it ’ome ’ere wiv me an’ ’er farver.’
‘What about the baby?’ Danny asked.
Violet Thompson suddenly reached for her handkerchief and put it to her eyes. ‘She lost it. She ain’t bin told yet. I’m jus’ ’opin’ it don’t upset ’er too much. That git Mason got ’is wish, didn’t ’e? ’E wanted Kathy ter get rid of it right from the start.’
The kettle came to the boil and Violet filled a small china teapot. Danny watched while the frail–looking woman busied herself about the scullery.
‘What’s goin’ ter ’appen to ’er now, Vi?’ he asked.
‘She can’t come ’ome ’ere. ’Er farver’s washed ’is ’ands of’er. I’m goin’ ter write ter me sister in Ilford terday. She’ll ’ave’er there fer a couple o’ weeks. We’ll jus’ ’ave ter see what’appens then.’
Danny put a half–crown down on the table. ‘Can yer take Kathy somefink in?’
‘Fanks, son. I’ll get ’er a nice bunch o’ flowers. The neighbours ’ave bin real nice. They say in times o’ trouble yer find yer real friends. And they’ve come up trumps round ’ere. Even ole Missus Johnson said ’ello this mornin’. I ain’t spoke wiv ’er since me ole man clouted ’er boy when ’e broke me winder.’
While Danny sipped his tea Mrs Thompson studied him. Presently she said, ‘Yer know, I often wondered about yer an’ my Kathy. I fink everybody round ’ere expected the two o’ yer ter get married one day. I mean, yer was always tergevver. Even when yer was kids. Why the bloody ’ell she got mixed up wiv that ’orrible bastard, I’ll never know.’
Danny shrugged his shoulders. ‘I got a letter from me sister, Con, while I was in France. She told me Kathy was goin’ aroun’ wiv ’im.’
Violet Thompson folded her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits. ‘Did you an’ Kathy ’ave a bust–up, son?’Fore yer went overseas, I mean?’
Danny nodded. ‘Yeah, we did, sort of, Vi.’
‘Yeah, I guessed as much. I remember ’er comin’ in cryin’ one Saturday night. It was about the time yer got called up. I remember that night well. My Charlie followed ’er in. Pissed ’e was. ’E wanted ter know who it was she was wiv in the doorway. I told ’im ter leave ’er alone ’cos she was upset an’ me an’ ’im gets at it. I got a right ole shiner that bleedin’ night.’
Danny finished his tea and put the cup down on the table. ‘I wished we could ’ave patched it up, Vi. I tell yer, she’s too good fer that bastard.’
Violet Thompson nodded. ‘Trouble was, son, even when ’e turned bad, she stuck wiv ’im. And then ’e got ’er pregnant. There was a terrible row ’ere when me ole man found out. ’E went up the pub an’ got blind drunk. ’E’d already told Kathy ter be out o’ the ’ouse by the time ’e got back, and I made sure she was. ’E give me a good ’idin’. ’E was in a terrible state. So was I by the time ’e’d finished wiv me.’
Danny drank his tea and stood up. ‘Fanks, Vi. I’d better get over ter Ginny’s,’ he said. ‘Give Kathy me love. Let me know when it’s all right ter go in, won’t yer?’
On Friday morning the early breeze sent pieces of paper swirling down the street and billowing clouds raced across the sky. Danny came down into the parlour to find a letter with a Maidstone postmark addressed to him. He knew it was from Alison. He opened it and read through it quickly. He had been despairing of ever hearing from her again, and now it seemed she was eager to pick up the threads of their brief liaison. At first he had wanted to take up a pen and write back in anger, but he had read the letter through once more and felt the hot blood coursing through his veins. Their time together had been an exciting one, she had been hot, demanding and moody, which both excited and puzzled him. He realised that he would probably never really understand Alison. He felt she did not fully understand herself. In the letter she said that she would like to see him again and that she had spent a lot of time thinking about her future, but it was clear she had still not decided whether or not she was ready for a steady relationship, and it angered him. She told him that she had been transferred to a hospital in Maidstone and wondered whether he could come down to spend a weekend with her, but she didn’t explain why she hadn’t arranged to meet him on her return from leave. Danny puzzled over that. Maybe she had needed more time? He remembered that morning on the station when he had been left with so many questions unanswered. The feeling he carried around inside him since then had been a mixture of anger and rejection, a state of depression which was only just beginning to lift. He had resigned himself to believing that Alison would not bother to contact him again, and now here was a letter that threw everything into confusion–and just at the wrong time.
Kathy was back in his life, and with serious problems that had taken her to the edge of death. What had happened to her was terrible, and it had allowed a deep loyalty to become reawakened. Danny knew he needed time, but he wanted to see Kathy very soon. The future could now be very different. Did they have a future together? What would Mason do when Kathy came out of hospital? The questions twisted around in Danny’s head and he found himself thinking again of Alison. Could he learn to cope with her demanding and unpredictable moods? Could the passion they had felt together ease the tension in their relationship? Why did he feel so uncertain?
Danny put the letter back in his pocket and stepped out into the morning air. He needed to be alone for a while to clear his head of his painful thoughts. The day was bright and he found himself strolling towards Tower Bridge, always his favourite place when he was in a pensive mood. The high white stonework of the bridge and the massive sweep of the supporting girders towered above him as he reached the first span. On either side the wharves were busy as usual, and down below the river swirled around the curved bastions of the bridge and eddied in oily patches in midstream. On the far bank, the narrow strip of muddy sand was partly exposed and two young children were prodding at something by the water’s edge. Above and behind them rose the indestructible Tower of London. Danny recalled his halcyon days, when he had bathed in the muddy river and scoured the empty barges for coconut husks and kernels of nuts and fruit. He remembered those walks down dark, scary lanes that led to the water’s edge. It had been pure adventure, uncomplicated and exciting. Now those idyllic days were gone. He had been on a slowly rotating carousel which had gone faster and faster and suddenly he had been pitched off into adulthood. It was now a different place; life had become complex and twisted, and the bones of everything were laid bare. Danny grinned to himself when he realised how serious he had become. This walk always seems to have that effect on me, he thought as he turned for home.
The large, shapely woman lying on the bed raised herself on one elbow and chuckled at the antics of her companion. The pale, nude figure hobbled about the bedroom, frantically gathering up his clothes. He tripped over the carpet and cursed loudly. ‘Look at the bleedin’ time, Cora. If ’e finds me ’ere ’e’ll spifflicate me!’
Cora lit a cigarette and watched as the young man dressed hurriedly. ‘Don’t get yerself in a panic,’ she said, ‘’E won’t be’ere yet. Jack won’t leave the pub till closin’ time. Come an’ give us a kiss,’ her painted lips pouted.
‘Bloody ’ell, Cora, ain’t yer never satisfied? Mason’s out fer me blood. I can’t take a chance of ’im findin’ me wiv yer.’
‘Are yer gonna come back an’ see me soon, Johnny?’
‘Course I am, darlin’, but I can’t ’ang around ’ere now. The pubs’ll be turnin’ out soon. There’s too many of ’is mates know me. If they clock my dial they’ll punch ’oles in me. I’ll look like an ole clockin’–in card.’
Cora chuckled and drew on her cigarette. ‘Jus’ one little teeny kiss?’
Johnny Ross finished tying up his shoe–laces and gave her a quick peck on her lips. ‘I gotta go, it’s ten ter ten now.’
Cora watched him make for the door and then called him back. ‘Don’t ferget yer cigarette case.’
‘Christ, Cora!’ he said, putting the case in his pocket. ‘Well, I’m orf. Keep it warm fer me, won’t yer?’
The long daylight hours were fading and dusk was deepening in the backstreets of Dockhead. The sounds of music and laughter came out from behind the heavy curtains at The Ferryman as three figures walked briskly up to the saloon bar door. Inside the air was stale, with cigarette smoke hanging like a cloud. A fat man with shirtsleeves rolled back over his wrists was tinkling on the stained piano keys, while behind the counter a huge man with pugilistic features and a shaven head was sharing a joke with one of his customers. The bar was full, and it took some time before the trio were served. They stood in one corner and studied the customers. Presently Tony Arpino nudged his companions. ‘Don’t look now, but ’e’s over there near the pianer talkin’ ter that brassy bird. See ’er? The one wiv the bunch o’ grapes stuck on ’er ’at. Don’t let ’im see yer lookin’ over, fer Gawd’s sake.’
The taller and heavier of Tony’s two companions nodded. ‘I’ve clocked ’im. ’E don’t look all that tough ter me. What d’yer reckon, Mario?’
The other smiled and showed a gold tooth. ‘Don’t yer worry, Tony. ’E’ll be no problem.’
Tony Arpino grinned nervously. ‘Don’t underestimate ’im.’E ain’t gonna be no pushover.’
The big Italian gripped Tony’s arm. ‘When yer ready give us the okay. We’ll be waitin’ fer ’im.’
The Ferryman was a dockside pub with a dubious reputation. The local criminal fraternity drank there, safe in the knowledge that they were on friendly territory. The pub was owned by an ex–fighter who was very careful to handpick his staff; the barman matched him for size, and everyone agreed that the features of the diminutive potman were enough to frighten babies in their prams. He had been a handy flyweight in his time and knew how to get rid of the dallying customers at closing time. If anyone did try it on with him, they could be sure that he was backed up by the ex–heavyweight champion of the Grenadier Guards.
The place was busy from Friday onwards. The local bookies, villains, and other mysterious characters met there regularly. The local police were well aware of the pub’s reputation for harbouring and succouring the less law–abiding, but their attempts to infiltrate the premises had come to nothing. On one occasion, a covert attempt to put an ‘ear’ inside the pub had ended in disaster. The plant spent the last hour before closing time with a funny–tasting pint in his hand, and a notice pinned to his back that said: ‘Beware the bluebottle’. The strange–tasting pint gave him a bad attack of diarrhoea and vomiting which necessitated a trip to the doctor. The landlord of the pub calmed the outrage quickly. He listened intently to what the visiting police inspector had to say and then informed him that the person responsible for the atrocious behaviour, so alien to the respectable character of The Ferryman, was a stranger who had been barred for life that same evening. A five pound note donated to the Police Orphans Fund and an afternoon drinking session with the inspector put everything right, and the pub was left in peace.
On this particular Friday night the beer was flowing and the customers stood shoulder to shoulder. Tony had moved away from his two companions as planned. He had visited the pub on a few occasions with Danny Sutton and Johnny Ross, and he did not want to draw any attention to the two Italians who stood in one corner keeping their eyes on Mason. When Tony Arpino eased his way towards the piano, the bigger of the two nudged his pal. ‘C’mon, time ter go.’
Tony had reached Jack Mason, who gave him a strange glance. ‘What you doin’ ’ere? Bit out of your way, ain’t it?’ he said in a malevolent tone.
‘I got a message fer yer, Mr Mason. It’s from Johnny Ross.’
Jack Mason’s eyes glinted. ‘Where is that little rat? I’ve bin lookin’ fer ’im.’
Tony gulped and prayed that his ploy would work. ‘’E’s outside by the oil shop. It’s urgent. Can yer meet ’im there right away?’
‘Why don’t ’e come in ’ere? What’s the matter wiv ’im?’
Tony took a breath. ‘’E’s got some money fer yer. ’E said ’e don’t want anybody ter see it change ’ands.’
‘All right, I’ll be out in a minute.’
Tony nodded casually but felt his heart pounding. If Mason brought anyone with him it would ruin the plan. He walked out of the pub and blinked as the darkness enveloped him. When he moved along to the oil shop Tony could see his two companions standing in the recess of the doorway. ‘’Old tight! ’E’ll be out in a minute,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Mario, you stan’ wiv me.’E’ll fink you’re Rossy. Al, keep back fer Gawd’s sake! If ’e sees yer ’e’ll know it’s a set–up.’
The saloon bar door opened and Tony bit on his bottom lip. An old gent emerged and walked unsteadily past the shop without noticing the three who were lying in wait. Tony took out his pocket watch. It showed ten minutes to ten.
Suddenly Mario nudged him. ‘’Ere ’e is!’
Mason had emerged from the pub and was walking towards them with his distinctive gait. His eyes opened in surprise as he saw the three men facing him.
Tony’s features were set hard. ‘We’ve got me ole man’s pay–off, Mason!’ he said, and he struck Mason full in the face.