Riches of the Heart (11 page)

With a nod Tom said, ‘Thanks, that’s real kind of you.’ He shivered. ‘It’s getting so parky these days, a hot cup of tea is just what I need.’

When they arrived at his house, Bill opened the door and called, ‘Mary!’

A tall girl peered around the scullery door. She had a head of riotous black hair and green eyes like a cat. ‘Hello, Dad.’

‘This is my mate Tom. Make us a cuppa, there’s a good girl.’ Turning to Tom he nodded towards the scullery. ‘My daughter – works as a maid at the doctor’s house.’

Tom thanked Mary as she put two mugs in front of them and smiled to himself as he saw the nervous tremble of her fingers. ‘I don’t bite, you know.’

She was embarrassed. Looking at him shyly she said, ‘I don’t suppose you do.’ Then she left them alone in the room that served as both kitchen and living room.

Bill lit his pipe and, tamping down the tobacco, quietly puffed on it to set it going. Sitting back in his chair he asked, ‘So how are you these days?’

Tom shrugged. ‘All right, I suppose. I guess I have to just get on with life, but it isn’t easy.’

‘Women are strange creatures, but there’ll come a day when you’ll be able to put it all behind you. Life is for living, lad. You’re a bloody long time dead.’

As he sat beside the range in the warm cosy room, quietly drinking his tea, Tom felt at peace for the first time since Lily had disappeared. He supposed he had to accept that she really didn’t want to be found. He still couldn’t understand it. He had experienced all kinds of emotions – shock, worry, despair and a sort of grieving for her. Now he was angry. His pride had been hurt and he wondered just how she could do such a thing to him. Offering marriage was a holy commitment, one for life. She’d thrown it back in his face. She couldn’t have loved him – how could she? It had all been lies. Yes, it was time to put it behind him.

Downing the dregs of his mug, he got to his feet. ‘Best be off. Thanks for the tea.’ He called, ‘Thanks, Mary.’

She came into the room and said, ‘You’re welcome.’

He walked towards the door and stopped. Turning around, he asked, ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come to the pictures with me on Friday?’

She looked surprised, then glanced over towards her father, who nodded his approval. ‘Thank you, I’d like that.’

‘I’ll pick you up about six then,’ he said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

‘Fine. I’ll see you then.’

When he’d gone, Mary said to her father. ‘That was a bit unexpected.’

Bill let out a sigh. ‘Poor chap. He was going to be married, but his girl ran off.’

She looked thoughtful. ‘Oh dear. Why on earth did she do such a thing?’

‘I don’t know, neither does he, but he was very cut up about it. Still, if he’s asked you out, he must be feeling better. He’s a nice bloke, Mary. Be gentle with him, he’s still a bit fragile.’

‘He looked man enough to me to take care of himself.’ She walked back into the scullery. Whilst she washed up the dirty mugs, she wondered who would be mad enough to run away from marrying such a good-looking man.

It was late November and the weather was cold and miserable. In the streets of Southampton, there had been a two-day fall of snow, which was now beginning to turn to slush.

Lily shivered as she stood on the corner of the street, her feet frozen in the thin shoes that needed repair and let in the wet. She’d been forced to go on the game to keep body and soul together. She was a reluctant whore, only taking a punter when she needed the rent and to buy food. She hated what she’d become, and cursed Manny Cohen every time a strange man’s hands moved over her body, touching her.

She tried to be careful in her choice of client, because here in the dock area there were many undesirable and dangerous people. But she’d learned the hard way that the decent-looking men were sometimes the worst. Sometimes she smiled wryly when Amy’s words came true – when her time with a punter was thankfully over quickly.

She saw Jim from time to time. It was a welcome respite for her. Despite the fact that he paid her for sex, he took her out for a meal, brought her gifts from America, treated her with respect and never questioned her about herself.

But tonight she felt ill. The rent was paid, but she hadn’t been able to face the street and all its horrors for days. She was weak with hunger, shrammed to the bone, and tonight had been forced to leave the safety of her room and try her luck.

Fred Bates was strolling along the street, happy to be out of prison at last and looking forward to his first pint in several long weeks. Having been released earlier that day, he had been home to dump his small parcel of possessions and was now ready to slake his thirst. He had stopped to light a cigarette, when a girl stepped out of the darkness and spoke to him.

‘Hello, dearie. You look lonely. Could you do with some company?’

In the low light from the street-lamp, he looked at her with interest. She’d pulled the collar of her coat up around her face to keep out the cold; all he could see was a pair of wide, deep-blue eyes, fringed with long silky eyelashes. The voice lacked the harsh tones that most of the toms possessed, through years of degradation. He was curious.

‘If I knew who I was talking to, I might be interested.’ He leaned forward and opened up the collar, and was surprised at the youthful appearance of the girl. Despite the dark hollows beneath her eyes, she was a pretty little thing.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

She gave him a cheeky grin, tucked her arm in his and said, ‘Old enough.’

He caught hold of her hand, which was like ice. She staggered against him, and he clutched at her, to stop her falling. She was shivering.

‘You shouldn’t be out on the streets like this. Come on. I’ll take you into the pub and give you a pie and a drop of whisky, or I can see I’ll have a body on my hands.’

He ushered her into The Dog and Duck, sat her down and went to the bar.

‘Hello, Fred,’ the barman greeted him. ‘Just got out?’

‘Yeah, this morning. And I’m never bloody going back.’

The man laughed. ‘That’s what you said last time.’

‘Yeah, but this time I mean it. Give us a pint of bitter and a Scotch. Got any hot meat pies?’

‘Yes. I’ll get the wife to fetch one for you.’

Lily sat huddled in a corner, blowing her breath into her hands, trying to warm them and observing the stranger at the bar. He must be in his thirties, she guessed. His build was wiry and his thin face was kind. He glanced back at her with a worried frown and gave her an encouraging grin. She smiled wanly back at him.

He walked over to her, handed her a glass and said, ‘Sip this, love. Slowly, mind. Don’t want you choking on me.’

The fiery liquid slid down her throat, burning as it made its slow passage, warming her. Then she tucked into the pie, brought over by the landlady. It tasted so good, she relished every mouthful.

Fred didn’t speak but watched her with fascination. What was she doing on the street? This was no usual tom. There was a vulnerability about her, almost an air of innocence, which he found very strange when she was out there selling her body. ‘Feel better?’ he asked as she swallowed the last crumb.

‘Mm,’ she answered with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘That was very kind of you. Thanks. Now where do you want to go?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you bought me a drink, gave me something to eat. Do we go back to your place or mine?’

Her words shocked him – but why should they? After all, she’d propositioned him. There was no secret about what she was offering for money.

‘How long have you been on the game, love?’

Lily lowered her gaze for a moment then, lifting her head defiantly, answered, ‘That’s none of your business.’

Fred smiled inwardly. So there was fire there. A spirit that was not yet extinguished. For no particular reason it pleased him.

‘You’re quite right, it isn’t. Sorry if I offended you.’

Perked up by the whisky and the pie, Lily grinned. ‘No, I’m not offended. What’s your name?’

‘Fred.’

She held out her hand. ‘Hello, Fred. I’m Lily.’

Amused, he took her hand, shaking it solemnly.

‘What’s your game then, Fred?’

He scratched his chin. ‘Well, to be honest, I’ve just come out of prison.’

Lily’s smile vanished and a wary look was in her eye, a worried note in her voice as she asked, ‘What for? What did you do?’

‘I haven’t killed anyone, girl. I’m a dip – a pickpocket.’

She relaxed against the seat. ‘Oh, is that all.’

Chuckling he said, ‘I wished the magistrate what sent me down thought like you do.’

‘How long did you get?’

‘Three months – this time.’

‘Why do you do it, then?’

‘I’ve been doing it all my life, Lily. My father was one of the best dips on the South Coast. When I was a kid, we used to go to the markets or busy streets. I’d cry, pretending to be lost, then when people gathered round, my father used to pick their pockets.’ The way he told it, with a mischievous grin, it didn’t seem a crime at all.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Lily asked.

Sipping his pint he said, ‘I’m going to try and keep out of trouble. Go straight.’

‘It must be awful being in prison.’ Lily looked troubled.

Fred nodded. ‘Yeah, it is. There are some pretty mental people in the nick. It’s a dodgy place to be … that’s why I’m never going back.’

‘Will it be easy to find a job? I mean, you’ll have a record.’

‘True, but my friend Knocker Jones, the rag and bone man, wants me to give him a hand.’ He lit a cigarette. With a sudden note of pride in his voice, he told her, ‘I’ve got my own little house – a two-up and two-down. It belonged to my dad, the only good thing he got from crime. So you see, sometimes it does pay. Want another drink?’

Lily relaxed. The drink and food had made her feel better. Fred was a good companion who made her laugh.

He, however, was still curious about this young girl. ‘Do you live alone, Lily?’

‘Yes, I’ve got a little room not far from here. Bit grotty, but it’s home.’

She’d undone her coat now she felt warmer and Fred could see her curvaceous figure. This girl should be at home with a husband to care for her, not out on the streets in the docks. God knows what could happen to her, or already had. Something must have sent her out there. He knew enough about toms to know that most of them had a sad story.

‘What are your plans for the future, then?’ he asked.

The change in Lily was astonishing. Gone was the smile, the friendliness.

‘Future! What future?’ The expression on her face was one of bitterness. Two Scotches on an empty stomach had loosened her tongue. ‘Do you think I want to go on like this day after day, year after year? I
have
no future.’

Fred looked around to see if anyone had heard her outburst. The bar was fuller now than when they had entered, but the people drinking were immersed in their own world. Here, in these parts, folk just survived. They had enough problems without being involved in other people’s.

But Lily’s words had upset Fred. This lovely girl needed someone to care for her, that was evident. He couldn’t bear to think of the consequences if she was left alone. He knew how tough life could be on the streets without a penny to your name. It made you do all kinds of crazy things. Maybe for once in his life he could help someone down on their luck. He felt he had to try.

‘You come home with me, love – I’ll take care of you. I’m going to be working, I’m going to be legal and all that. No more prison. You needn’t go back on the game. How about if you look after me and the house, cook my meals, and in return I’ll look after you?’

‘What’s in it for you, Fred?’

He looked at her quizzically. ‘I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to share my bed with you, Lily, but only if you want me to. I’ve never forced myself on a woman yet.’ He paused, then asked, ‘What do you say – give it a try?’

Lily was feeling so desolate that she thought, Why not? It couldn’t be worse than what she was forced to do now. She looked across at Fred. He seemed decent enough, and if she didn’t like the situation she could always leave.

‘All right.’ She perked up a bit. ‘My rent’s paid until the end of the week, so I’ll give it a try until then. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll leave and you can pay my next week’s rent.’

He chuckled. ‘You strike a hard bargain, I’ll give you that. OK, it’s a deal.’

‘Half a mo. What happens if I don’t want to sleep with you?’

‘Nothing. I’ve got a spare room. You’ll be a kind of housekeeper.’ There was a twinkle in his eye as he added, ‘But if you change your mind, I won’t say no.’

Men never do, thought Lily. Why did they have to be born with all that tackle between their legs? It was ugly and was the cause of a lot of trouble. Some said a lot of pleasure, but up to now she hadn’t found it so.

The barman winked at Fred as the couple left. Fred pointed a warning finger at him, daring him to utter a word.

Lily followed Fred into his house. The front door opened straight into the living room. She was surprised that it was so clean and tidy. In the polished black-leaded range a fire was burning. She immediately went over to it, turning her back to the flames, loving the warmth creeping through her clothes.

When Fred lit the gas-lamp, she looked around at what was to be her new home. There was an old leather settee, covered in a bright rug. The linoleum on the floor, though cracked, was clean. In the centre of the room stood a table, covered in a maroon chenille cloth. Two armchairs were drawn up on either side of the range. The room was welcoming and cosy.

‘This is the scullery.’ Fred led her through the door. Then, opening the back briefly, closing it when Lily shivered, he told her: ‘There’s the lavatory and a clothes line where I hang me washing. In the bin is the coal for the range. If you come upstairs, I’ll show you the rest.’

Lily followed him, thinking, Now we come to the real business.

He opened one bedroom door, inside which was a double bed, a wardrobe and chest of drawers. ‘That’s my room.’ He walked over to the other door and pushed it open. It contained a single bed, with a small cupboard beside it. ‘This is your room, Lily.’