Rough Justice (18 page)

‘Why don’t you fuck off back where you came
from?’ someone called out from the back of the crowd.

‘What,’ the man laughed, easing himself into the car, ‘Bow?’ Then he added snootily, ‘Tredegar Square, of course. Nothing but the best for me.’

‘No, fucking Russia, you Jew bastard.’

Martin broke into a run, not wanting to hear either what he was sure would come next from the enraged mob or any more taunting from the manager and his companion, who should have known better than to flaunt their wealth in front of such desperate men. As he ran he could only hope that they wouldn’t be having a meeting there again tomorrow evening. Their yelling and their abuse disgusted him, and the thought of his father being caught up in such venom was too much for him to stomach. He knew Joe wasn’t a bad man, just a frightened one, but it was still no excuse. He had changed so much, it was like living with a stranger sometimes, and now having witnessed him being part of the mob, with his face contorted by hatred, he began to wonder how much more he could bear.

In the past Joe had always encouraged Martin to do the right thing, telling him to care about people and their feelings, and never to judge them because of what he thought they were, but to give them a chance to prove their mettle. In other words, he’d taught him that it was important to treat people as if they were worthwhile, unless or until he learned otherwise. And he’d persuaded Martin to read the newspapers, to
listen to the wireless, to take an interest in politics – to decide what was fair and what was just. But if this was what his father had become – no matter for what reason – he wasn’t that same man any more, and Martin didn’t know how much longer he was prepared to stay under the same roof as him.

He heard a yell followed by a huge roar of fury from behind him.

Martin started running faster, wanting to leave the mob and their filthy ideas far behind him. And if that meant leaving his father behind too, then that was the way it would have to be.

‘Don’t usually see you in here at this time of the morning, Nelly darling.’

As Sarah Meckel spoke she did her best to act light-heartedly and not to stare at the cut on Nell’s lip and the swelling on her jaw, but it wasn’t easy – Nell’s face looked as if she’d challenged a speeding, out-of-control bus to a fight and had come off exactly as you’d have expected.

‘I thought you were always one to get your clearing up done of a morning before you did your errands,’ Sarah smiled.

‘Can I have an envelope and paper, please?’

Nell’s voice was so low that Sarah struggled to hear what she was saying. Had she heard her right? Envelope and paper? It wasn’t the sort of thing her customers usually requested.

She leaned across the counter, her face screwed up in concentration. ‘Envelope and paper, did you say?’

Nell nodded, hardly moving her head, but still the pain ran through her, making her eyes sting with tears.

‘Sorry, darling, I don’t sell anything like that.’ Sarah looked about herself for inspiration – how
could she help the poor girl? ‘I know, I could let you have a few sheets out of my receipt book, if you like. It’s nice thin paper, you could write on that. But envelopes, no. I don’t think I can help you there. But let’s think where you could try. Here, I know, how about that big stationers up on the Commercial Road? Their windows are always full of all sorts, so I’m sure they must do packets of envelopes. And I bet if you ask nicely they’ll let you have just the one if that’s all you want.’

Nell said nothing, she just turned slowly, with her head bowed, and began to walk away.

Sarah wasn’t leaving it at that. She dodged round the counter and rushed after her. ‘Nell. Nelly. Wait, darling. Hang on. I’ve just remembered – I’m sure David’s got some writing things up in the flat. He was a great letter-writer at one time. Used to keep in touch with his family back home as regular as clockwork, before . . . Before . . . Aw, that doesn’t matter. Anyway. You come back in the shop with me and sit yourself down and I’ll nip up and see what I can find.’

A few minutes later, Sarah was back down in the shop with two sheets of crackly lined paper and a yellowing envelope. ‘Not exactly smart, as you can see. David hasn’t done much writing in some time, but I think it’ll do the job. And see there, look, I found a stamp in the drawer and I stuck it on for you as well, so that’s something you don’t need to worry yourself about.’

Nell got up from the chair, holding onto the counter to steady herself. ‘Thank you, Sarah. I appreciate it. How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing. And you’re not leaving quite so fast, young lady. You sit yourself back down. You’re having a cup of tea with me. And you know how I like my cuppa.’

‘Sorry, Sarah. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I can’t. I’ve got to get back.’

Yes, thought Sarah, of course you have, because you’re scared that Stephen will find out you’ve been in here asking for paper and an envelope. Who would she be writing to? And surely even he would be ashamed for people to see her walking about looking like that. Sarah had never seen her quite so bad.

No, that beast of a man wouldn’t give a damn. He was a genuine pig.

‘If you can’t have a cup of tea with me, then at least let me give you a few biscuits. You can have them with a cuppa when you get home.’

Sarah took the glass lid off the first of the row of biscuit tins and picked out half a dozen chocolate creams.

Nell opened her bag and took out her purse.

‘Don’t you dare,’ said Sarah, wishing she could give Stephen Flanagan something a lot more than a few biscuits, but getting involved would probably only make it worse where that man was concerned. He couldn’t have any conscience if he was capable of such behaviour. ‘Take them. They’re a little present from me. And I’ll pop in a
few strawberry wafers for the little ones. I know the kids all go mad for them.’

At that moment Florrie Talbot, the prostitute who lodged in one of Sarah and David’s upstairs rooms, walked into the shop. Her heavily made-up face was smudged and smeared and her hair poked out from under her hat like electrified wire wool. It looked as if she’d had a very lively night.

‘Blimey, girl,’ she said, pulling a disapproving face at Nell. ‘I have to deal with some rough customers, but I’d never let them do that to me. You wanna look after yourself a bit more. You don’t have to put up with that sort of shit, you know. No one does.’

‘All right, Florrie,’ said Sarah. ‘That’ll do.’

‘Well, look at the poor kid.’ She waggled a scarlet-tipped finger at Nell. ‘You stand up to him. That’s what you have to do with his type.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Nell gasped through her pain. ‘I hit my face on the cupboard door.’

‘Course you did,’ Florrie called out after her, as Nell hurried off along the street. ‘We’ve all seen women with cupboard doors like that. Trouble is, some of them doors start hitting their kids.’

‘Get your newspaper all right then did you, Joe?’ Mary Lovell didn’t look at her husband as she made her usual enquiry on his return from the paper shop. Not looking at him wasn’t her way of punishing him for his behaviour of the day before – storming out and upsetting her like that – she wasn’t that sort of person. It was just that she was too busy fussing around her son.

She reached across the table and put her palm flat across his forehead. ‘You can’t hide it from me, you know, Martin, I’m your mother. I can tell something’s wrong with you. You’ve not eaten a mouthful of breakfast and you’ve hardly said a word since you got out of bed.’

Martin pulled away from her.

‘And I know why you overslept,’ she went on. ‘You couldn’t drop off last night, could you? And it’s no good you saying otherwise. I heard you tossing and turning in there for hours on end. Proper restless, that’s what you were.’

‘I told you, Mum: there is nothing wrong with me.’

‘If you don’t feel well, Martin, you know you shouldn’t go in to work. There’re some nasty things going round and you’ll only be spreading
it about. Ada said her granddaughter’s been ever so poorly for over a week now, and if that old trout’s handing out sympathy then that little love must be feeling really unwell. You’re better off looking after yourself before it gets worse. You take my word for it.’

‘I was a bit bilious, that’s all. It’s nothing, Mum, nothing at all.’

Mary stood up. ‘I’m going down to the phone box and I’m going to call your manager for you. Tell him you’re feeling bad.’ She couldn’t resist stretching across the table again and touching her son’s forehead one last time. ‘It won’t take me two minutes. I can do it on my way in to work. You must have the office number written down somewhere.’

‘For Christ’s sake woman, leave him alone can’t you?’ Joe slammed his newspaper down on the table.

Mary reared up like a spooked horse. ‘Don’t you raise your voice to me, Joe Lovell.’

‘Don’t raise my voice?’ Joe was now speaking ominously quietly. ‘Don’t raise my sodding voice? He’s a grown man, not a bloody child.’

‘And would you mind watching your language? This is not the public bar of the Turk’s Head.’

Now Martin was on his feet as well. It was no good; he just couldn’t take it any more. He
wouldn’t
take it any more. ‘I’m gonna get off, Mum. And don’t worry if I’m a bit late; I’m not sure when I’m finishing again tonight.’

Mary’s glower transformed into a faint twitch of a smile. ‘Here, you’ve not got a new girl have you, Martin? Is that what’s up with you? I mean, not sleeping and everything, they’re all the signs, just like when I met your dad. And is that why you were late home last night?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I knew something was up when you wouldn’t tell me. Come on, who is she?’ Mary moved around the table to stand beside her son. ‘Here, do I know her?’

‘Mum, I have not got a new girl.’ Martin looked steadily at his father. ‘It’s nothing like that. And do you know what, it’s something that is really so unlike that, that if I told you I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’

‘
So unlike that?
Martin, what the flipping heck are you talking about? You’re talking in flaming riddles.’

‘It’s nothing, Mum.’ Martin screwed up his eyes, gritted his teeth and let out a long, frustrated sigh. ‘It’s nothing at all. All right? I’ll see you later.’

Mary put a hand on her son’s shoulder. ‘This is getting daft, love. You’ve not even said goodbye to your dad.’ She sounded as if she were in pain. ‘That’s not like you. Now, will you please tell me what’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing. Nothing you can do anything about.’

Martin peeled his mother’s hand away and walked out.

Mary looked at Joe – did he understand what
was going on? But he just picked up his newspaper and snapped it open, turning the pages quicker than he could read them.

‘Martin, at least say goodbye to us, son,’ she called after him.

If Martin heard her, he never replied.

Nell was standing at the bottom of the stone stairs that led up to the Flanagans’ flat in Turnbury Buildings – she had long since stopped thinking of the flat as being hers – with her head drooping, the bag of biscuits in one hand, and her handbag hanging by her side from the other. She was trying to summon the energy to make it up to the top floor.

She wasn’t doing very well.

‘Nell?’ Martin pulled up just short of crashing into her as he sprinted down the stairs, racing to get away from his father, his mother’s questioning, and to hide in the sanctuary and neat order of the brewery office as soon as humanly possible. He stared openly at her cut and lividly bruised face. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

She turned away, putting up her hand to hide her wounds. ‘No, thanks, I’m fine. Fine.’

‘At least let me carry your shopping upstairs for you.’

‘It’s nothing, only a few biscuits. No weight at all.’ Nell twisted away from him, not wanting him to touch her. But she shouldn’t have moved so quickly; the jolt to her ribs left her whimpering in pain.

‘This is silly.’ Martin took the bag and hooked his arm around her waist. ‘There’s no point saying no, because I won’t listen to you. I am going to help you. No argument.’

It was a slow journey climbing the stairs and Nell fretted every step of the way – and not only because of the pain. What if someone saw them together and said something to Stephen or to the twins? She liked Martin so much, she’d have hated to see him being hurt.

She needn’t have worried, the only one who did see them was a toddler playing on the second-floor landing, and he was far more interested in the tower he was building with his wooden blocks than in what the neighbours were up to. But Nell’s hands still shook as she dug around in her handbag, searching for her key.

Please, please let me find it before Ada Tanner comes out onto the landing.

She was in luck again, and she found the key almost right away, but what happened next wasn’t so fortunate. Instead of just handing over the biscuits and leaving her at the door with a polite goodbye, Martin actually followed her into the flat.

‘I meant it Nell, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m going to help you, and if George, that so-called man, is still in here I’m going to make sure he’s got somebody his own size to pick on. He can’t keep getting away with this.’

Martin was endeavouring to get past her,
craning his neck to see along the passageway further into the flat. ‘I could handle him when I was a kid, so I’m sure as hell I’ll be able to handle him now. I just don’t understand how Stephen lets him get away with it.’

‘George isn’t here, and it wasn’t him anyway,’ she said, tears running down her cheeks. ‘So don’t start on him when you see him or it’ll make things even worse. And everything’s bad enough as it is.’

‘You’re telling me it wasn’t George?’ Martin threw up his hands and shook his head, bewildered by what he was hearing. ‘In that case, are you telling me it was Stephen who did this to you?’

‘Thanks for helping me up the stairs, Martin, but would you go now?’

Martin reached out and ran a finger across her bruised mouth, making her shudder – but not with pain, his touch was so gentle. Then he wiped away her tears.