The Street

Tilly had a look on her face halfway between disbelief and despair. ‘It looks like a bleedin’ piana,’ she roared at him. ‘Don’t dare tell me that you’ve paid good money fer it.’

Jack knew that before Tilly got worked up enough over wasted cash to launch herself at him he must stop teasing her and reveal his good news. In fact he’d no need to say anything at all. He simply shoved a hand in a pocket. When it reappeared it held several pound notes.

For once in her life Tilly Keiver was momentarily dumb-founded. They were stationed on the pavement just outside their home. At the kerb was a cart that Jack had just pulled up the road. Tilly had seen him from the window when he came round the corner from Paddington Street. After a stunned few minutes gawping at her husband ferrying a gleaming piano on an old cart she’d flown down the stairs to confront him over it. Her eyes darted about the street as though she reckoned someone might be close by and spot her husband had a wad in his pocket. As far as she knew Jack had been working as a runner for a bookie because nothing better had presented itself. That paid shillings not pounds. ‘Put that away for Gawd’s sake,’ she squealed.

Jack obligingly shoved the cash back where it came from but said, ‘Let ’em see. I come by it fair ‘n’ square.’

‘Did you now?’ Tilly sounded sceptical. ‘What you done? You pulled a stunt?’

‘No . . . I ain’t pulled a stunt. I ain’t been gambling neither. I got work, Til. I got good work from Basher Payne.’

Basher Payne had started out with just one horse and cart. He now owned half a dozen and hired them out. He also owned doss houses in Campbell Road and the surrounding streets. He protected his little empire fiercely despite the fact he stood little more than five feet four inches tall, and had earned the name and reputation of a formidable fighter.

‘What work’s he given you?’ Tilly eyed her husband suspiciously.

‘I’ve been painting out his places in George’s Road ’cos the sanitary inspector’s been in and condemned ’em. I started Monday. I kept it as a surprise for you. He’s pleased as punch with what I’ve done so far.’ Spontaneously Jack pulled Tilly in to a hug. ‘He paid me this on account.’

Energetically Tilly elbowed free of her husband’s embrace, not yet convinced that such good luck could be theirs. She needed more information. ‘So you got a job off Basher and a sub off him so thought you’d buy a joeyanna with it to celebrate.’

‘Why not?’ Jack asked simply. ‘You want a bit of a drink and a laugh, don’t you?’ He grinned at her. ‘Well, I don’t mind if I join in. No need to go down the Duke all the time. We can have a few bottles and a singsong right here. The kids can stay home instead of dawdling in the corridor of the Duke or out on the pavement.’ He plunged a hand into his pocket and scrunched the notes till they crackled. ‘Ain’t as if I spent it all. Supper from the chippy tonight. Kids’ll like that.’

‘Yer daft git,’ Tilly said quite affectionately. ‘We ain’t got room enough upstairs to swing a cat and you bring us home this monstrosity. Where we gonna put it? Out on the landing?’

Jack bent to snatch a kiss from his wife. ‘You’re pleased really, ain’t you?’ he teased. ‘If Basher keeps me in work for a good while perhaps we’ll finally get out of here ‘n’ get up the other end of the road in something bigger ‘n’ better.’ He ruffled her thick, fiery hair. ‘This Saturday we’ll have a bit of a knees-up. Ask a few of the neighbours over.’

‘You daft git,’ she repeated with a grin. She slipped her fingers over the glossy lid of the piano. ‘How we gonna get the bugger upstairs?’

‘I’ll see if Jimmy’s in,’ Jack said. ‘He can give us a hand with it.’ He disappeared into the dank interior of the house, whistling cheerfully.

The smile on Tilly’s face faded at the mention of her brother-in-law. She wouldn’t ever forgive Jimmy for beating Fran, or for causing trouble over the half crown he’d given to Alice. Several months might have passed, and things might have calmed down between them all, but Tilly knew it wouldn’t be long before Jimmy was up to his old tricks again. Jimmy was work shy. He also thought he was a bit of a hound round these parts and the fact that he had a wife and kids relying on him wouldn’t stop him poncing about doing nothing or showing off to his mates . . . most of them younger than he was by some years. When he thought he could he’d take up with fancy women again and generally act flash with the bit of cash that should be given to Fran as housekeeping. And if Fran didn’t like it, he’d show her who was boss . . . in the way he always had . . . with his fists.

A few minutes later Jack reappeared with Jimmy loping at his side. It was early summer and Jimmy had on just a vest belted into his trousers. From his lips dangled a stumpy crumpled roll-up.

‘Alright, gel?’ he greeted Tilly.

She mumbled a response, her eyes flashing dislike at him.

Jimmy smirked and unconsciously flexed the muscles in his naked arms. He knew Tilly despised him yet it didn’t stop him preening. Such was his conceit that he thought every woman must find him irresistible. He’d plenty of time on his hands to keep himself in shape by sparring with the lads at the YMCA in Pooles Park. His eyes lingered on Tilly, running over her top to bottom. He was just waiting for the right opportunity to impress on her once again he was a bloke you didn’t mess with. He’d done so once before,. She’d deserved another lesson on numerous occasions since. It might have been a while ago but he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d showed him up in the street when he’d been caught out with Nellie. His pals still ribbed him over it and made him feel a bloody fool. He was more careful with Nellie now. They’d had to make use of alleys and dark corners instead of her room along the road.

But Nellie was pulling in a good few quid a week from working the streets up west and sometimes Jimmy thought he might be better off moving in with her. He didn’t see why he should knock himself out acting as Jack’s labourer doing painting and decorating, or helping Billy the Totter for a few measly bob a day, if he could act as Nellie’s manager and take a bit of commission off her.

‘Oi, daydreamer . . .’ Jack called and started Jimmy from his brooding. He undid the rope that had lashed the piano to the cart.

‘Where d’you get this fucker then, Jack?’ Jimmy enquired past the drooping dog-end in his mouth.

‘Off old man Bailey. He said he’d give me first refusal on it. He kept to his word. Been put by since Christmas.’

‘You give him a deposit?’ Tilly demanded shrewdly. She knew that Victor Bailey had a secondhand furniture store in Holloway Road. She knew too that he wasn’t generally soft-hearted. He was a wily businessman.

Last Christmas things had been tight for money and the kids had had just one stocking, filled mainly with bruised fruit and a few liquorice sticks, to share between them. If she thought for one moment that money that could have been well spent had been put down on a piano and left there for six months she’d put a hammer through the poxy thing right now.

‘I didn’t give him nuthin’,’ Jack soothed, knowing the way his wife’s mind worked. ‘He kept to his word ’cos I did him a favour and mended the lock on his door when he was burgled.’

Tilly’s acceptance of that explanation was limited to a jerk of her chin. She watched as the two men proceeded into the house lugging the piano between them. She glanced around to see that they had drawn a few spectators. She threw back her fiery head and gave a loud chuckle. ‘What’s up? None of yers seen a bleedin’ piana before?’ she bawled out, spinning on the spot in glee. Then gripping her skirts she followed Jack and Jimmy in to the house.

‘Mum . . .’

Tilly gathered up the old sheet in her arms then spun about to look at Alice. She narrowed her eyes on her daughter. ‘What’s that look fer? What you after?’

Alice chewed her lip. ‘Don’t go mad . . . but . . .’

‘Spit it out, girl,’ Tilly said and folded her arms with the sheet bundled against her chest. ‘I ain’t got all day to stand about.’

They were in the bedroom that Alice shared with her sisters. Tilly had got hold of a decent sheet off Billy the Totter to replace the threadbare scrap that had covered the dirty mattress the girls slept on. Alice had just helped her mother put the new one on the bed whilst trying to pluck up courage to ask the favour that had been playing over in her mind. Oddly she thought she had a good chance of her mum agreeing to what she wanted. She could be awful in some ways but nice in others.

‘It’s about Sarah . . . she’s got in right trouble again.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Well, you know I said she’d moved round the corner to stay with her dad ’cos Louisa won’t leave her alone and keeps hitting her over that blouse?’

‘Yeah . . .’ Tilly said in a drawn-out way.

‘Well, she can’t stay with her dad no more ’cos he’s moving to Bethnal Green to get a job and if Sarah goes she’ll have to go to a different school and she don’t want to ‘n’ nor do I want it ’cos she’s me friend.’ Alice drew breath to renew her appeal. ‘She can’t go home ’cos of Louisa and also ’cos her mum’s took in Louisa’s friend who pays rent. There’s no room there now.’

‘And?’

‘Can she stay here for a while? Just till . . .’

‘Just till what?’ Tilly asked, but she gave a rare smile. ‘You’re too soft, my gel. It’s gonna do you no favours when yer older.’

‘So can she stop here for a while? Till the lodger moves out?’

‘Just for a while till she gets it all sorted out. I’ll take Beth in our bed fer a bit. Sarah can kip in with you ‘n’ Sophy. But you tell her that if she’s gonna expect a bit of grub Ginny’d better stump up the necessary. You tell her or I will.’

Alice rushed to her mother and hugged her about the waist. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Get off with you.’ Tilly elbowed herself free. ‘Now let’s get on. Yer dad’ll be back soon and wantin’ something to eat.’

Chapter Six (#ulink_405cd167-119d-5f67-bf47-28eb4315c5c2)

‘I’m arresting you lot if that fire’s not out by the time I come back.’

‘You ’noose army, rozzer?’

Constable Bickerstaff took a threatening step towards the bonfire, fingers stroking the truncheon on his hip. Through a mirage materialised two men’s faces, their grins highlighted by fierce flames.

‘Aw, c’mon, mate . . . just roastin’ me chestnuts . . .’ one of the men lewdly implored for lenience.