Coronation Wives (41 page)

If only the lady who told her stories would come. She wouldn’t feel frightened then.

She suddenly needed to use the toilet. Frightened, immobile and confused, she lay silently, afraid to make a sound. There was a pain in her groin because she wanted to pee, but was afraid to call out. She held it in for as long as she could, then burst into tears as the warm wetness seeped out of her body. Desperately she tried to cry softly so that she wouldn’t see those two women again, at least, not until she had to.

Doing a bit of housework for Charlotte and for Edna’s parents was all well and good, but it wasn’t really keeping the wolf from the door. Polly didn’t want to leave Mr Burbage in the lurch, not the way things were with Edna at the moment, but she had to do something.

‘You’re on yer own,’ she muttered to herself as she considered a large hole in Carol’s shoe and a severe lack of elastic in some of her own knickers. ‘You’re skint. Now what are you going to do about it?’

Thirty-four and her quality of life had dived nose down into a pile of poo. What she wouldn’t give to roll back the clock to the time when she was young – well – younger than she was now. Jitterbugs, Glenn Miller, good-looking guys with a few quid. What wouldn’t she give for a bit of fun and a few more pounds in her pocket.

‘Damn and blast you, Billy Hills,’ she hissed as she rolled herself a badly needed cigarette from a couple of stumps that she’d saved from yesterday. ‘Look what I’ve bloody come to.’

It occurred to her that although Billy was not entirely blameless for ending up in prison, the people he’d been working for had a lot to answer for. What’s more, he’d been so bloody loyal to them. And what about me? she thought, aiming a kick at the dog who had just chewed up her best shoes. He
can’t have been thinking about me. Luckily, the kick missed, her slipper flew off and the dog caught it and ran out into the garden. Oh well, she thought wryly, what the hell! They were old anyway and she had more important things on her mind.

Billy would carry the can and keep his mouth shut and, because she didn’t want to worry him, she’d still said nothing about the visit from O’Hara’s henchmen. No husband, no money, a right mess. What a load of aggro she was getting, though it was nothing compared to the aggro Carol had given that ginger git who’d come calling. Hope he’s got a bump the size of a potato, she thought with a wicked smile.

Her thoughts went back to Billy. Keeping his mouth shut was what the visit had been all about. They’d known he was about to get nicked and didn’t want him squealing. The police had badgered him to tell them more about the illegal operations of the bloke he’d been working for. So far he’d said nothing. There was a price on keeping quiet, thought Polly, as she poked at the last lumps of coal in the grate, and I’m the one paying it. That had to be worth money. It definitely had to be worth money!

She sat back in the chair as the unfairness of it all gave birth to an idea. Those blokes owed them for Billy’s silence.

‘And now,’ she said, getting to her feet and throwing the fag stumps into the fire, ‘it’s time to collect a down payment!’

‘I’m off to Ashley Down,’ she told Aunty Meg and explained why.

A smart black jacket teamed with a matching skirt in dog’s tooth check seemed just the thing to wear. It looked smart and businesslike, and that was the way she wanted to look.

Mouth full of hairgrips, she stood in front of the mirror that hung over the fireplace. As she fixed a featherlight hat to her head, she glanced at the boy and girl skating in Dutch national dress painted onto the mirror.

‘Look at them,’ she said to Aunty Meg and indicated the two figures with a nod of her head. ‘That’s what I’m doing – ice skating – only I’m more likely to fall flat on me arse than they are.’

Meg sat herself on the broad arm of the armchair, a nervous frown hanging over her eyes. ‘Are you sure about this? I mean, he might be a bit angry.’

‘Angry? How about me? I’m bloody angry! Lost me job ’cos the bloody manager wanted me to take more down than the posters at the end of a two-week matinee. Cheeky sod! Well I told ’im where to get off!’ She didn’t mention that they’d been living off money meant to finance their emigration to Australia. She’d only get upset.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?’ Meg asked.

Polly shook her head and clipped on a pair of black plastic earrings that Carol had bought her for her birthday in Woolworths.

‘Twopence for the bus is all I need, thank you very much.’

Meg leaned over the front gate and watched her niece totter off on three-inch black suede court shoes, her rear end rolling provocatively beneath a slim-fitting skirt that reached to her calves.

Polly was no longer the bubbly young woman who’d discovered love and lust under the anonymity of the blackout. She was older now, a wife and a mother. But she was still attractive. Meg could understand why her boss up at the Broadway had tried it on. But she couldn’t help but harbour the suspicion that Polly might very well have given in to his advances if it hadn’t been for Carol, not that she could blame her. Responsibility for their bed and board had fallen pretty heavily onto her niece’s shoulders. Lucky for them all that Carol had intervened and had also told Meg all about it, not
that she’d let on she knew. Besides, Carol had sworn her to secrecy.

Polly took a deep breath and tugged the hem of her jacket down over her hips before pushing open the gate of the house in Ashley Place. The glass at the windows seemed as inky black as on the first occasion she’d seen them. Billy had been with her then and she wished with all her might that he were with her now. But it was on his account that she was here. If only he’d never met these people in the first place …

‘Forget it,’ she said aloud, aware that her heart was beating like a hammer against her rib cage, the sound of it filling her head and drowning out the scrunching of gravel beneath her feet.

There were three chilly white steps leading up to the front door. Just as her foot landed on the first one the door sprang open. At first she didn’t recognize the man in the loud check suit who sprinted down the steps and grabbed her arm. Once she got a whiff of him, and saw his eyes, his hair and the ginger moustache, she knew immediately who he was.

‘Let go of me you ginger-haired stinker!’

He shook her like a terrier shakes a rat. ‘Get the hell out of here!’

‘I want to see the boss.’ Short as she was, she managed to stand her ground and glare levelly into his face.

‘I am the boss.’

‘No you ain’t! I want to talk to the organ grinder, not ’is bleeding monkey!’

His face came close to hers. ‘As far as you’re concerned I
am
the boss.’

A shout came from the open door at the top of the steps.

‘Cassidy!’

Ginger, who was obviously Cassidy, didn’t look round, but glared at her menacingly. Polly would have laughed into his
face and reminded him that he’d almost been beaten senseless by a schoolgirl armed with a hockey stick, but her attention was drawn to the man who had shouted from the top of the steps. He looked powerful, not because he was built like a bull, more because he had an aura of someone used to giving commands and having them obeyed. Military, she thought. He reminded her of Griffiths though better-looking.

After Cassidy (Ginger) let her go, she brushed at her sleeve with as much gusto as she would in banishing a large spider and spat the word ‘Pig!’ Cassidy merely stepped aside and folded his arms, a sardonic grin lifting one side of his mouth.

The other man came down the steps.

‘Billy Hills’s missus,’ explained Cassidy. ‘Mouthy cow! Want me to chuck ’er out?’

The man looked at her questioningly. ‘Is that right?’

Polly swallowed her nervousness. ‘Yes. And before you chuck me out, think carefully. You got my old man put inside. But the police are asking questions. And things being the way they are …’

He ran his eyes over the blonde waves, the checked suit with the nipped-in waistline, the skirt that was just a little too tight for her ample figure. It shouldn’t have happened but, for the first time in a long while, she felt sexy. The look in his eyes said he liked what he saw. Her mission was halfway accomplished.

Her surmise proved correct when at last he placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘Come inside.’

Cassidy brought up the rear. At the top of the steps the man beside her turned to Cassidy. ‘My car needs cleaning. See to it, will you.’

It was not a request. Polly felt her knees buckle. The man beside her sounded Irish, but for a moment she had almost believed it to be something else. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to mention it.

‘You almost sound American,’ she said and wondered if it was possible she’d had a date with him once. She couldn’t be sure. She’d had so many.

‘Irish. Michael O’Hara. You can call me Mickey.’

‘Mickey.’

Too old really for a name like that, but who cares, she’d call him ‘sir’ if he wanted. He was the best-looking bloke for his age that she’d seen for a while and his lilting accent was reminiscent of the handsome servicemen she’d known with their strong arms, square chins and the best chat-up lines ever. He’s Irish, Polly reminded herself. Besides, remember you’re a married woman and you’re here for Billy. You can’t be swayed by a sexy accent.

Polly shrugged her coat more squarely on her shoulders and followed the smart, suited figure into the cool interior of the white house.

Once inside she stopped in her tracks. ‘Wow!’

It was love at first sight. The floor tiles were black and white – her favourite colours. Wall lights fashioned from plastic to resemble black-stemmed tulips with white petals gleamed from alcoves on either side of a white marble fireplace through which black veins ran like broken blood vessels. Aims to get even or Billy a decent deal paled into insignificance. This was the house of her dreams.

The sound of their footsteps echoed against the gleaming white walls, the black leather furniture, the chromium and glass doors. He took her into a smaller room off the main entrance hall and indicated that she be seated.

As he nipped the end off a Cuban cigar she fancied she saw him admiring her legs through a haze of rising smoke. Polly coughed, shifted in her chair, and tried to look as if she didn’t like the way his eyes settled on her bosom and her belly before returning to her face. He was interested and she liked his interest.

Remember Billy, she said to herself, and sat up a bit straighter. The right words found their way to her tongue.

‘I’m Billy’s wife.’

‘I already know that.’

‘Oh yes! Of course.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘Billy didn’t say he was working for a Paddy.’

Mickey O’Hara smiled and slid onto the corner of the glass and plastic desk, one foot remaining on the floor, one foot dangling. ‘He didn’t say that you were a pretty little blonde with a lot to say for herself.’

Polly felt flattered, but uneasy. His look was too bold, his face too handsome in short, the sort of man who could sweep her off her feet without really trying given the right circumstances.
Dangerous thoughts.
Good God, how long had it been since she’d had a man’s arms around her? (Billy’s that is, not the rat Griffiths’s.) Too bloody long! Bloody hell, how would it be after a few months?
Control yourself. Remember you’re a married woman.

‘Tell me why you came here. Pity to waste the bus fare when I might be able to give you exactly what you’re looking for.’

Damn the bloody man! His gaze settled on her breasts and his meaning was double-edged, but she’d swallow it. Better him being suggestive than showing her the door.

‘Blokes in prison cost their family a lot of heartache and a lot of money,’ she said stiffly. ‘A woman alone trying to bring up a child without her bloke around has a bloody hard time of it.’

O’Hara narrowed his eyes. ‘I believe you.’

‘I need help!’ She said it quickly before she lost her nerve. ‘I reckon I’m due some help from you.’

‘How do you reckon on that?’

‘Billy’s taken his punishment like a man. And he ain’t said
one word to the coppers about you lot, even though they want him to. Not a word.’

His look hardened.

Polly warned herself not to push her luck.

He said, ‘So you think it’s worth money to keep him and you quiet.’

‘If you wants him to stay that way, there has to be something in it for us. Billy deserves it.’ Inside she was shaking like a leaf, willing herself not to blink or tremble.

O’Hara chewed on his cigar before answering. ‘Well, I am surprised. I truly thought he’d salted a bit away from the wider than average cuts he was taking.’

Christ, Billy you’re an idiot! He knows. He bloody well knows!

She kept her nerve. ‘OK, so he’s not entirely honest. But then, neither are you lot. Is he the first to ever take a bigger cut than he was s’pposed to? Come on. Tell the truth. You allow for the likes of him taking a bit off the top. Takes a thief to know one.’

It sounded good and she congratulated herself on what she had said. Criminals ripped off criminals – a plausible excuse that might work in her favour.

It didn’t seem to at first. Mickey O’Hara was attractive, but had a mean look in his eyes and his jaw was set like a slab of concrete.

Suddenly a slow smile crept across his face and became a laugh. ‘You’ve got balls, Mrs Hills, I’ll definitely give you that. And you are right, surprisingly enough.’ His laugh got louder. His shoulders began to shake. ‘What the hell can we expect if we employ criminals, eh?’

Polly laughed too, albeit nervously. ‘That’s right. That’s bloody right!’

Mickey O’Hara’s laughter stopped dead and he got to his
feet. A harder look came to his eyes. ‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll be in touch. Are you working at present?’

She swallowed her pride and owned up to the truth. ‘Just a bit of cleaning and looking after an old lady – that’s what I do. But it ain’t enough. Not nearly enough.’

He glanced at a leather-strapped wristwatch. ‘I have to go. Can I give you a lift?’

‘Yes please. The Tramway Centre if you could. I can get me bus home from there.’