One Step at a Time (6 page)

‘And you’ve got a friend at last.’

When her mother put bread, butter and cheese on the table, Amy ate hungrily, looking forward to the pictures. She hugged the word ‘friend’ to herself in awe. She’d always envied the other girls with their friends; now she had one.

When she arrived at the Regal, Gladys was already there standing in the queue, waiting for her.

‘Over here, Amy, I’ve saved you a place.’

There were one or two disgruntled mutters as Amy pushed in, but neither girl took any notice of that. It
wasn’t long before the early show turned out and they began to file in slowly.

Once inside Amy gasped in wonder. It looked like a palace, with red velvet seats and a patterned carpet, also in red. There were little lights around the walls, and the ceiling was carved and painted gold in parts. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. A girl with a torch showed them to their seats at the back of the stalls.

‘This’ll do.’ Gladys grinned. ‘I like to be nearer the screen really, but those seats cost more.’

Amy was too excited to do more than smile as she gazed around. Then the lights dimmed and the show began. There was a short B film before the main feature, and when
King Kong
came on she could hear Gladys sigh in excitement, but Amy was more interested in the scenery. However, she was soon drawn into the make-believe world and was sorry when it was over. It had been frightening to see the big ape catch the girl.

After saying goodbye to Gladys, she hurried home and was pleased to see her mum already there, on her own and sober.

She got ready for bed that night in a glow of happiness she hoped was going to last for ever.

5

A gust of cold wind swirled around Amy as she sat by the river, making her pull her coat around her chin for warmth. It was October now and the summer was over, but what fun it had been.

Licking her ice cream she gazed across the water, watching two elegant swans glide along. Although it was cloudy with a hint of drizzle in the air, it was still a lovely spot. She wondered if the man she’d met four months ago ever came back here to draw. It wasn’t likely, she thought, catching a dribble of ice cream as it ran down her finger; he would probably need sunshine for his drawing. His picture was safely in her drawer until she could have it framed.

The last of the ice cream was popped in her mouth and she wiped her sticky fingers on her hanky. Her sigh was one of contentment as she rested her chin on her knees. She’d been saving something every week, like her mum had told her, and if she didn’t spend all of her two shillings pocket money, the last pennies were put in the pot as well. She’d be able to put an extra shilling in this week because Gladys couldn’t come to the pictures today. Amy was sorry about that: they’d gone every Saturday since she’d started at the factory. Amy had considered going on
her own, but it wouldn’t be so much fun without Gladys. She’d give it a miss and go next week when her friend could make it.

She could still taste the ice cream and licked her lips with pleasure. She hadn’t been able to resist it when she’d seen the ‘Stop me and buy one’ tricycle. They wouldn’t be coming round much longer now the weather was getting cold. She still had a little money left over, and as her mother had been looking rather tired and drawn this last week, she would buy them both a lovely orange on the way home. Dolly would like that.

With her mouth watering in anticipation, Amy stood up and headed for the greengrocer’s and then home.

Amy’s warm glow of contentment vanished when she found her mother sitting at the table in the scullery with her head in her hands.

‘What’s the matter, Mum? Are you feeling bad again?’

There were dark smudges under her eyes when she looked up at her daughter: she had been crying.

‘Oh, Mum.’ Amy sat beside her. ‘Don’t you feel well again? You’ve been fine since you’ve been working at the paper shop.’

‘They sacked me yesterday,’ her mother muttered, concentrating on folding up the newspaper she had been reading.

‘Why’d they do that?’ Amy gasped. Her mother had liked the job, and talking to all the people who
came into the shop. It had given her a real lift and made her happy over the last few months.

‘Said they didn’t want me no more.’

‘Never mind, Mum.’ Amy smiled encouragingly. ‘You’ll find something else, and Dad will be home soon, won’t he?’

When her mother didn’t answer, Amy showed her the two oranges. She had picked the two biggest she could find. ‘Look, I’ve bought us a treat. Have that and when you go out for your drink with Mrs Preston you’ll soon feel better.’

‘I’m not going out tonight. I’ll just go and have a rest.’ She stood up. ‘I don’t want any tea, Amy, I’m not hungry.’

‘But, Mum’ – Amy was alarmed now – ‘don’t you want your orange? I’ll peel it for you.’

‘That would be nice.’ Dolly gazed at her daughter, then gathered her into her arms, holding on tightly and murmuring, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Amy watched in astonishment as her mother walked towards the bedroom. She couldn’t remember Dolly ever showing her that much affection before. Her mother was not a demonstrative person. She must be feeling very bad, so it was a good job Gladys couldn’t come out tonight.

After peeling the orange and putting it on a saucer, she took it into the bedroom. Her mother was fast asleep, so Amy left it on the bedside table for her to eat when she woke up.

Returning to the scullery, she made a pot of tea
and settled down to practise her reading and writing. Her mum would get over her disappointment and be better in the morning.

The door of his studio opened quietly and, out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Howard come in, but he didn’t stop painting. His friend perched on the high stool in his usual position and watched, not speaking.

After about fifteen minutes, Ben shot him a sideways glance. ‘You’re very quiet. Haven’t you got anything to do?’

Howard stood up and stepped towards him, a newspaper rolled up in his hand. ‘Where are the paintings of the girl?’

‘They’re on the bench covered by a sheet. Have a look if you want to.’

The sheet was quickly removed and Howard studied the paintings intently.

‘What do you think?’ Ben stood beside his friend, head on one side and lips pursed in critical concentration.

‘They’re beautiful, especially the full-face portrait.’

‘Hmm. I like that too. What do you think I could get for them?’

‘What did you say her name was?’ Howard tapped the newspaper against his leg.

‘Amy Carter.’ Ben shot his friend a curious look. ‘Why so interested in who she is?’

‘There might be a good reason for that. Do you know where she lives?’

‘Farthing Street, Wapping. Don’t know the number though.’

Howard let out a slow whistle. ‘In that case don’t sell these yet. They could be worth a fortune in a little while.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Ben laughed. ‘I know they’re some of my best work, but—’

‘Read this.’ Howard unrolled the newspaper and thrust it at him, pointing to a section at the top of the page. ‘They mention that the man has a daughter called Amy.’

Leaning against the bench, Ben began to read an account of a trial taking place at the Old Bailey. When he’d finished he bowed his head, remembering the young, innocent girl sitting by the river and smiling at him. Pity swamped him.

‘Oh, hell!’

Howard shook his arm to gain his attention. ‘Do you think it’s her father?’

‘She told me her father was in the merchant navy and had gone to Australia this time.’

‘That’s it then.’ Howard was now pacing the room. ‘Hang on to those paintings.’

Ben erupted in fury. ‘Of course I’m hanging on to them! I can’t sell them now. Probably not ever.’

‘Yes you can. When the trial’s over.’

‘I never thought you were a callous sod, Howard.’ Ben had rounded on his friend. ‘What do I show them as, huh? Buy a painting of a murderer’s daughter?’

‘Sorry.’ Howard held up a placating hand. ‘I didn’t
mean it to sound like that. He might not be found guilty, and even if he is, you’ll be able to sell them after a year or so. They’re too good to stay under the sheet, Ben.’

‘No, I can’t sell them.’ Ben shook his head sadly. ‘She was such an intriguing girl. Poor little devil. Things could get tough for her.’

‘We might be jumping to conclusions.’ Seeing his friend had calmed down, Howard slapped him on the back. ‘Come on; let’s go for a drink. All we can do now is wait and see what happens.’

‘You’re right.’ Ben ran a hand through his untidy hair. ‘I could use a pint or two.’

Still in their old working clothes, they got in the car and Ben headed up the road.

‘Hey!’ Howard exclaimed. ‘We’ve just passed the Hare and Hounds. Where are we going?’

‘Wapping. There’s a pub there called the Lord Nelson. It’s a bit rough, but the regulars are bound to know the man on trial.’

‘How do you know this place?’

‘Saw it on one of my sketching trips.’

Howard shrugged. ‘You do go to the oddest places.’

‘You know I like to draw things with character.’ Ben grinned at his friend. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe, especially if we buy a few drinks.’

‘At least at six feet four you’re big enough for me to hide behind.’

‘Coward.’

‘You bet.’

*

The pub was crowded but strangely subdued when they arrived.

‘Two pints of your best bitter, landlord.’ Ben leant on the bar and gazed around, then back at the man pulling the pint. ‘Have one for yourself.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ The landlord put the overflowing glasses on the counter and pulled another for himself. ‘Haven’t seen you here before.’

‘We’re just passing through and felt thirsty.’ Ben drank down half of the pint in one go and rolled his eyes. ‘You serve a good beer.’

‘Best in the area,’ the man said proudly.

Ben nodded. ‘No wonder you’re so busy.’

‘It’s usually livelier than this, but when they’ve got a few pints down them they’ll forget about the murder.’

‘Oh?’ Ben looked interested. ‘What murder is that?’

The landlord was called to serve someone else at that moment, and when he went to the other end of the bar, Howard muttered, ‘You should have been a bloody actor. And where did that cockney accent come from?’

‘Not bad, eh?’ Ben grinned. ‘Drink up.’

‘Hope you’ve got enough money for this, Ben, because I’m broke.’

‘I’ve got enough. I sold a painting today.’ Ben took a pound note out of his pocket and put it on the counter.

Howard’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Does that mean we get to eat this week?’

‘Might even stretch to a bottle of cheap wine.’

‘That good, eh?’ Howard looked considerably more cheerful now.

‘Yep, and I’ve got a commission for another one. My luck’s changing.’

‘Wish mine would.’ Howard gave a ragged sigh. ‘You’re propping me up, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Don’t get so disheartened. You’re a damned good sculptor, and you’ll make it one day.’

They stopped talking when the landlord came back to them.

‘Two more, landlord.’ Ben handed him the money and watched while he pulled the pints and put the money in the till, returning with his change.

‘What’s this about a murder?’ Ben prompted.

‘One of our regulars when he’s ashore, a merchant seaman, Greg Carter, killed a man. Just got off his ship and had a barney with a bloke on the dock. He pulled out a knife and stabbed him.’

‘That’s terrible.’ Ben sipped his beer. ‘Lives nearby, does he?’

‘Farthing Street. Folks around here aren’t happy cos the man who died was well liked. Had a nice missus and three kids.’

‘What about the man who killed him? Did he have a family?’

‘Wife and daughter. They won’t be able to show their faces again.’

‘That’s right.’ A man tottered up to the bar for a refill. ‘Andy was my mate. He might have had a quick temper, but there was no cause to kill him.’

Ben paid for the man’s beer. ‘What was the row about?’

‘Said Andy picked his pocket and stole his money.’ The man downed his beer in one gulp and looked hopefully at Ben. ‘But if you ask me it was the other way round. Carter probably gambled away his pay and didn’t want to go home with nothing in his pocket.’

A nod to the barman and the glass was refilled.

‘Andy would never have done that. He wasn’t a thief even if he did have some extra money in his pocket. Probably had a win at the dogs the night before. He was always right lucky.’ The pint went the way of the other one.

Howard tugged at Ben’s sleeve. ‘Time to go.’

‘Right.’ Ben gave the two men a bright smile. ‘You said the man on trial had a daughter. Do you know her name?’

‘Amy,’ the landlord told him. ‘She ain’t quite right in the head.’

‘Thanks.’ Ben frowned and tossed some more coins on the counter. ‘Have yourselves another drink on me.’

‘Thanks, mate. Right good of you.’

They left the pub and walked round the corner to where they’d left the car.

‘Well, that settles it.’ Howard slid into the passenger seat. ‘It sounds like her father.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t understand his last remark about her not being right in the head. She seemed
perfectly normal to me. In fact I’d have said she was a bright kid.’

‘Well, it must be her. There can’t be two Amy Carters living in Farthing Street.’

Ben nodded in agreement, his expression grim.

6

At lunchtime on Monday, Amy picked up her sandwiches and walked towards Gladys, a smile on her face, eager to find out what her friend had been doing over the weekend. The smile died as Gladys looked away, took the arm of another girl and left the building with her.

The snub was unmistakable and Amy was completely bewildered as the old pain of rejection rushed back. She hadn’t felt like this since she had started working here. Over the last four months she had grown in confidence, and whereas she would have once accepted this kind of attitude, things were different now. She wanted to know why her friend had ignored her.

Running hard, she caught up with them. ‘Gladys, what’s the matter? What have I done?’