Part 16 (2/2)

Mois.h.i.+e and Harold got up and Bernie motioned to the stranger.

'C'mon, Charlie. One for all and all for one.'

Jack led the way out from the arch with the motley group following on his heels. Harold was bent over, his overcoat dangling along the ground. At his side was the tall figure of Mois.h.i.+e with a filthy bowler perched on the top of his head and a ragged overcoat reaching down to worn-out boots. Behind them came Bernie who was stroking his large black beard and holding on to a bundle of rags. Next to him was Charlie who looked the scruffiest of the lot. His overcoat was tied with string and his stubbly face was blackened by smoke from the fire. On his head was a grease-stained trilby that was pulled down around his ears, and in his lapel he wore a dead flower.

The group marched along into Abbey Street and out into Jamaica Road, ignoring the stares of pa.s.sers-by. As he strode along at their head, Jack was feeling good. He had friends and they were going to be treated to a good night's sleep. Maybe he could stand them supper, he thought. After all, they were his friends. Jack delved into his pocket and took out a handful of coppers. There was enough for three large pieces of cod and chips, he estimated.

Alf Rossi was shovelling more fried chips into the container above the fryer when he saw the party stop outside his shop. 'It's that idiot from Galloway's yard, Rosie,' he scowled. ''E's got 'is family wiv 'im.'

'I'm not 'avin' that lot in my shop,' Rosie shouted to her husband. 'Tell 'em ter p.i.s.s orf.'

Alf was spared the unpleasant task for Jack held up his hands signalling his friends to wait, and then swaggered into the shop alone. 'I want three pieces o' cod an' chips,' he announced. 'Nice big pieces if yer don't mind, Alf.'

'Cod's orf,' Alf told him. ''Addock or skate?'

''Addock. Big pieces,' Jack said, counting out his coppers.

'Who's that lot out there?' Alf asked as he wrapped the portions in newspaper. 'Looks like the 'ole family.'

'They're me pals,' Jack replied proudly, taking the packets and laying them in a line on the counter.

Alf and Rosie exchanged glances and Alf raised his eyes to the ceiling as the yard man opened the wrappings slowly and sprinkled the food with salt, pepper, and a liberal amount of spiced vinegar. 'Anyfing else yer want?' he said sarcastically as Jack re-wrapped the fish and chips.

'Got any 'a'penny wallies?'

Rosie put her hand into a large jar and took out two small pickled cuc.u.mbers. ''Ere, yer can 'ave these. Now yer better get goin', before that food gets cold,' she said impatiently.

The tattered wayfarers crossed the quiet Jamaica Road in a line and hurried along to Page Street. Jack was holding the bundles of food to his chest and his friends followed on closely, their nostrils twitching at the appetising aroma. It was dark along the turning, with only the gas lamp on the bend spreading a dull light on the pavement below. As the group shambled round the corner by the yard gates and emerged into the faint circle of light, Jack put his finger up to his mouth. 'That's the place,' he whispered. 'We get in round the back.'

Mois.h.i.+e's feet were hurting and he tutted as they trudged along to the end of the road and turned left into Bacon Street, while Bernie pulled on his beard as he relished the thought of the fish and chip supper they would soon be enjoying. Just past the buildings Jack ducked into the alley with the ragged gang shuffling in his wake, and after tripping and staggering over old bits of iron and bundles of rubbish they finally reached the fence at the back of Galloway's yard. ''Ere we are at last,' Jack grinned, handing Bernie the parcels while he grappled with the loose planking. Suddenly a dustbin lid clattered to the ground and they heard a loud caterwauling. A window in the buildings was thrown up and an object clattered down into the alley, then it became quiet once more.

Jack and his friends had soon settled themselves in the cosy stable. They sat in a circle with their backs propped against the straw bales. A paraffin lamp was hanging from the centre post and by its flickering light Jack halved two pieces of the fish and tore up the newspaper into sections. Soon they were all wolfing down their supper. Bernie took out a dirty penknife and wiped it on his sleeve before delicately cutting the cuc.u.mbers into small pieces. 'It's times like this when all's right with the world,' he sighed, spearing a piece of cuc.u.mber with his knife. 'All good friends together, or as the song goes, ”All good pals and jolly fine company”.'

Jack sighed contentedly. It was nice to have company, he reflected. They were good friends, and like him all lonely souls. They spent their days wandering the streets, scrounging bits and pieces, and their nights sleeping under the arches or on park benches when the weather was kind. As he stretched out against the straw, drowsy from the beer and hot food, it seemed to Jack that in the end the simple pleasures of life were all that really mattered.

A full moon shone down on the cobbled yard and in the long shadows the hunched figure made no sound as he tiptoed past the cart-shed and reached the office door. In the old days Charlie had earned his living by stealth. He had once bragged that he could walk over broken gla.s.s without making a sound, and had lost none of his guile. He had had to wait until his companions were fast asleep but he was not bothered. He had all the time in the world.

Charlie Hawkins had guessed right. The office door was not locked. There was no need for it to be, since the yard was secured by the main gate. Very carefully he let himself into the dark office and looked around. For a few moments he stood there silently until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He could see two roll-top desks, one near the door and one in the far corner. The first produced nothing, but when he gently slid up the slatting of the far desk he saw the silver watch hanging by its chain from a nail. Charlie sat down at the desk and took out the crumpled newspaper bundle from his overcoat pocket.

While he finished off the few chips he had saved and picked at the haddock bone, he studied the watch. That would bring in a few bob, he thought. He screwed up the newspaper and put it down on the desktop while he examined the silver chain. The links felt heavy and in the darkness Charlie's fingers closed around the small medallion. He grinned to himself as he slipped the watch and chain into his overcoat and turned his attention to the small desk drawers. He could find nothing of value, and as he was about to gather up the screwed-up newspaper he heard someone at the front gate. He quickly slid the shutter down over the desk and crept silently to the window. For a few moments it was quiet, then the gate rattled again and the sound of drunken singing carried into the yard. Charlie breathed easier as the staggering footsteps faded away, and when he was satisfied that all was quiet once more he slipped out of the office and hurried back to the small stable.

Carrie had been busy taking orders and serving for most of Monday morning, and when the dining rooms had become quieter she set about cleaning the marble-topped bench tables. There were only two carmen sitting at the end table and one other old man who sat near the door, slowly sipping his tea. Outside the morning mist still hung over the river and laden horse-carts trundled past.

Carrie hummed to herself as she dried off a table-top. Suddenly a young man slid into the bench seat and grinned at her. 'A large tea please luv,' he said cheerily.

Carrie looked at him and raised her eyes in surprise. 'I know yer, don't I?' she said.

The young man ran his hand through his dark wavy hair and his grin widened. 'Do yer?'

Carrie straightened up, feeling suddenly embarra.s.sed before his wide-eyed gaze. 'Wasn't you the one who gave me an' my mate a lift in yer cart?' she asked.

The young man slapped the table with his open hand. 'You're the suffragette gel. The one who 'atpinned the copper,' he laughed. 'Well, I wouldn't 'ave guessed it. Yer look different in yer pinafore, an' yer 'air's done different too. Well, I don't know. Fancy meetin' yer 'ere.'

Carrie smiled as she went to fetch his tea, and while she was filling the large mug he watched her. 'Last time I was in 'ere ole Ida was servin'. What's 'appened ter 'er?' he asked.

Carrie brought over the tea and placed it in front of him. 'Ida's 'usband is ill. She 'ad ter pack the job up,' she said, picking up the coppers.

'So yer've packed up bein' in the suffragettes, 'ave yer?' he remarked, a smile playing on his handsome features.

'No, I 'aven't,' Carrie said firmly, 'I still go on marches when I can. Only at weekends, though.'

'Well, I'll be blowed. Fancy meetin' up wiv yer again,' he said, shaking his head slowly. 'What about yer mate? Is she still a suffragette?'

Carrie nodded. 'Mary's doin' it full-time now. She works in Blackfriars somewhere.'

The young man put down his mug. 'My name's Tommy Allen, in case I didn't tell yer last time,' he said. 'What's yours?'

'Carrie. Carrie Tanner,' she replied.

'That's right, I remember yer tellin' me now,' he grinned.

Carrie noticed that the two carmen sitting at the end table were listening and hurried back behind the counter to busy herself with the tea urn. Occasionally she stole a glance in the young man's direction. He was handsome, she decided. She remembered thinking the first time she met him that his dark wavy hair and brown eyes gave him the look of a gypsy, and smiled to herself as she recalled the story that had pa.s.sed through her mind then. He seemed friendly, with his easy smile and laughing eyes. He was wearing an open-necked s.h.i.+rt with a red scarf knotted around his thick neck, and she could see that he had strong hands. His wide shoulders were hunched over the table and he appeared to be deep in thought as he sipped his tea.

Customers were now beginning to come in for lunch and she was kept busy taking orders. Suddenly she saw Tommy Allen get up and go to the door. He turned and smiled. 'Keep out o' trouble, Carrie,' he said, laughing, then he was gone.

For the rest of the day she kept thinking of the handsome young man with the gypsy looks. She was interested to know where he came from, and she found herself wondering whether or not he was married. Carrie tried to put him out of her mind but she had been intrigued by his manner. He was different from the other young men she had met and spoken to, although she realised that her experience of men was very limited and she had not really encountered many handsome young lads apart from Billy Sullivan. She felt strangely elated as Tommy constantly returned to her thoughts. He would come into the cafe again if he was interested in her, she told herself. But was he? He was most probably married or walking out with a girl. She vowed that she would get him talking next time he came in, and find out more about him.

On Monday morning George Galloway drove his trap into the yard. Normally, when he spent the whole of Monday morning going over the books with his accountant and making phone calls, he would get William to unhitch the gelding and put it into the stall or else tether it until he was ready to leave, but on this particular morning as he hurried into the office George told his yard foreman to leave the horse in the shafts. Jack Oxford busied himself with the broom and gave the Cleveland a wide berth. The old man won't be stopping long, he thought.

Suddenly there was a loud roar and Galloway burst out of the office door, his face scarlet. 'Tanner! Come 'ere!' he bawled at the top of his voice.

William was in the upper stable. He hurried down, surprise showing on his face at the sudden outburst. 'What's up?' he asked quietly.

'What's up? I'll show yer what's up. Come in 'ere,' Galloway shouted.

William followed his boss into the office, trying to puzzle out what could have made him so angry.

'Somebody's nicked me watch-an'-chain. An' that's not all. Take a look at this,' he growled.

William walked over to the open desk and saw the haddock bone lying on the greasy strip of newspaper. His first instinct was to burst out laughing but he managed to control himself. 'Who could 'ave nicked yer watch, George?' he asked incredulously, scratching his head.

'The same b.a.s.t.a.r.d who 'ad those fish an' chips,' Galloway said pointedly.

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