The Long Walk Home (32 page)

'He's no pal o' mine,' Mikey called back. 'I hardly know him.'

'What do you mean? You came to London together.'

'Happen we did,' Mikey said. 'But I still don't know him. What's in 'consignment? Do we need extra men?'

'Doesn't matter what's in it; it just has to be unloaded. The two of us can manage.'

'Get Tully to help you,' Mikey muttered. He was fed up with being at everybody's beck and call.

Manners chewed on his lip. 'Tully doesn't know about it and I'd rather you didn't tell him. He's going to be somewhere else on Boxing Day anyway.'

He's up to something, Mikey thought as he walked away, and Simon and Manners were in it together, cutting out Tully; but then Simon got ideas of his own. So now what do I do? Is it risky?

He decided to put the matter out of his head for now, and after paying the men he went in search of a flower-seller to buy posies of violets; one for Eleanor, or Ellie as he liked to think of her, and one for her landlady, who had been kind enough to invite him.

When he got back to the lodging house, Bridget heard the front door and came out of her room. 'Have you seen Simon?' she asked petulantly. 'He said he'd tek me to see 'pantomime on Boxing Day and I want to know if he's got 'tickets.'

Mikey stood and stared at her. 'So you don't know!'

'What? Know what? Has summat happened?'

'He's gone away. I've just been talking to Manners.' Mikey searched Bridget's face. Would she be upset? She and Simon had been close. Mikey had seen him coming out of her room a couple of times. 'Simon's gone to Canada.'

He saw the colour drain from her cheeks and she clutched her hands to her face. 'Mother of God,' she whispered. 'Canada! That's abroad, isn't it? Near America?'

Mikey nodded. 'Manners said he sailed yesterday. So he didn't mention it to you? Not that he was thinking about it?' He must have been planning it. You don't just up sticks and get on a ship. Not to somewhere like Canada.

Bridget's face screwed up. Now it was flushed and angry, no longer pale and washed out. 'Judas!' she yelled. 'Shabby, slimy snake in 'grass.' She started to weep. 'He promised me! He said we'd go away, away from these lodgings, and have a fresh start.' She hiccuped in her weeping. 'I'd told him I was fed up wi' acting as bait for Tully, aye, and for Manners as well. He was all sweet talk, and then . . .'

she sobbed, 'and then that's when he said we'd go off somewhere. Men! Vile hypocrites!' She looked at Mikey. 'I don't mean you, Mikey,' she sniffled. 'You're 'onny friend I've got. You're 'onny man I can trust.'

'Will you tek me to 'pantomime, Mikey?' Bridget wiped her eyes and blew her nose. 'Have you got any money?'

'No.' He shook his head. 'I'm doing a job wi' Manners, anyway.'

He was conscious of the violets clutched in his hand.

She suddenly noticed them. 'Who've you bought those for? Are they for me?'

'No, they're not.' No use beating about the bush, he thought. 'I've been invited somewhere for Christmas dinner and these are for—'

'They're for her, aren't they? Simon's lad i-da sister,' Bridget sneered. 'Does she know he's gone to Canada? How come she didn't tell you?'

'I don't know,' he muttered. 'Mebbe she doesn't know.'

'Pah!' she said derisively. 'Course she knows. She might have gone with him and not told you.'

Ellie wouldn't do that. Would she? She wouldn't go off suddenly, not when she had invited him for Christmas. But a doubt crept in. Perhaps Simon had surprised her with the suggestion and she had had no chance to write and tell him. He looked down at the flowers. What should he do?

He shrugged. 'I'll find out, won't I?' he said in a light-hearted manner but feeling decidedly downcast. 'But I'll have my dinner with her landlady anyway. It was her who invited me.'

Bridget's lip trembled. 'Can I come?'

He hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to be unkind, but Bridget could ruin any situation with an unthinking remark.

'I can't invite you, can I? Not up to me. Anyway,' he suddenly galvanized himself into action, 'I can't hang about now; I've got to take Sam to Whitechapel. You can come there wi' me if you like.'

'You're joking! Why would I want to walk all that way just to see a crowd o' bairns? No thanks.' She seemed to consider her options. 'Where did you say Tony Manners was?'

'I didn't,' he answered. 'But he's in 'office, doing his books.'

'Simon usually did those,' she said thoughtfully. Then she gave a snigger. 'Bet he was cooking them. He allus had plenty o' brass, anyway. I reckon he was tekking backhanders.'

'Be careful what you're saying, Bridget.'

'Oh, I will,' she said sweetly. She reached for a shawl on the back of a chair. 'I'm off out. I might not be back.' She gave him a defiant stare and then looked away. 'Happy Christmas!' she muttered.

'Thanks, and 'same to you.' Impulsively he thrust a bunch of violets towards her. 'Here. Tek these.'

She gave a triumphant grin. 'Thanks, Mikey. You're a pal.'

He went in search of Sam and found him in the warehouse repacking a crate.

'What's in there?' he asked him.

'Baccy,' Sam said. 'It's going to take me for ever! It's just come in off a ship. This crate's not going through the books, though. I heard Manners say there was no paperwork with it. It's a private arrangement for him and Tully.'

Mikey heaved a sigh. Sam generally had his ear to the ground and knew what was going on. But sooner or later Tully and Manners would be found out in their scheming, and Mikey could not dismiss the notion that those two would implicate everyone else around them, including him and Sam. The authorities would be sure to say that the workforce must have known what was happening.

'I'll help you,' he said. 'And then we'll be off. I want to see my bed some time tonight.'

It was quicker with the two of them and they'd almost finished transferring the tobacco from one crate to another when Tully appeared. He glared at Mikey. 'What 'you doing here?'

'Helping Sam to get finished,' he muttered. 'We're off to Whitechapel when we're done. It's Christmas tomorrow, in case you'd forgotten.'

'I hadn't forgotten,' Tully growled. 'But there's one more job afore you leave, my lad. I want you to—'

'No!' Mikey said. 'Lad's tired and we've to walk to Whitechapel for him to spend Christmas Day wi' his brother.'

'Too bad!' Tully snarled. 'If he leaves now then he's out of a job when he comes back.'

Mikey glanced at the weary Sam. 'What do you want to do, Sam? It's gone eight o'clock already.'

'Can't I do it on Boxing Day?' Sam asked Tully. 'I'll be back then.'

'No, it's tonight or not. You tek orders from me, not Quinn!'

Sam hesitated. Then he shook his head. 'I can't,' he said. 'I'm dead beat, Tully. I've been working since seven this morning. I don't even know if I can walk to Whitechapel.'

'Right. That's it then,' Tully snapped. 'You're out. Don't come whining to me wanting your job back.' He started to walk away.

'Wait a minute.' Sam hurried after him. 'I need my wages.'

'Come after Christmas,' Tully muttered. 'I might have 'em ready then.'

'But I need the money now.' Sam was almost weeping. 'Tully!'

'Tully!' Mikey confronted him. 'Give him his wages. He's earned them.'

'Keep your nose out of it, Quinn. It's nowt to do wi' you.'

'It is to do wi' me! Sam has to buy food and he gives towards his lodgings.'

It was no use asking Manners because he didn't give Sam his wages, Tully did. But Tully wouldn't be moved. 'Boxing Day,' he said. 'I'll pay you then. Mebbe.'

Sam wept as Tully walked off, and Mikey wished he hadn't interfered. Yet it was so unfair. 'What am I going to do, Mikey? I'll get fed tomorrow, but I've not eaten today. I was going to buy a pie.'

'I'll buy you one,' Mikey said. 'It was my fault this happened. I shouldn't have said owt.'

Sam wiped his nose on his thin shirt sleeve. 'It's not your fault,' he snuffled. 'It's not the first time Tully's kept my wages. Sometimes he's said that I haven't worked hard enough, and anyway he only gives me a pittance, barely enough to buy bread.' He swallowed away his tears. 'I'm thinking of leaving in any case, Mikey. I'm going to try to join the London Shoe-Black Brigade. They give you a uniform and you don't have to work at night. One of the men at the docks told me about 'em. And if they won't have me, I'll be a street-sweeper. You earn your own money then, straight into your hand.'

Mikey nodded. He'd seen the young bootblacks in their red uniforms on his rare trips into London town; he'd also seen young children sweeping horse and other animal dung from the streets, so that ladies and gentlemen didn't have to walk in the mud and the muck. But those children lived on the streets. Most of them had no homes or lodgings to go to.

Sam was only slightly younger than Mikey had been when he had left Hull, and their circumstances were similar, with no family member to take care of them. Mikey had made his own decision about leaving and now Sam was doing the same.

'Let's enjoy Christmas,' Mikey said. 'Then we'll think on what to do. I'm fed up with working for Manners and Tully too. Simon's already left and mebbe it's time for a change for us as well.'

Sam didn't know about Simon, so Mikey told him what had happened. He bought him a meat pie and the lad wolfed it down as they set off on their journey. There were plenty of people about, several scurrying to buy last-minute bargains of geese or rabbit to cook the next day. The inns and hostelries were full to overflowing with men spending their wages; the sound of singing and tinny piano music could be heard as the Christmas festivities began. But there were many who were not celebrating. Whitechapel was a poor run-down area and as Mikey and Sam approached it they avoided dark street corners and alleyways when they could, for there were desperate people sleeping rough in doorways or corners of buildings. Children cried, voices shouted and dogs barked as they passed.

Carollers were singing but they too kept to the streets which had gas light; they held flickering lanterns in their mittened hands as they sang outside houses and hostelries. Mikey and Sam stopped to listen and sometimes joined in if they knew the words.

'I feel better now,' Sam admitted. 'I like Christmas. I can just remember what it was like when my ma was alive.' He gave a small smile. 'I remember stirring the Christmas pudding; and on Christmas Day we had a stocking with an orange and nuts in the toe. There wasn't much else, though there was sometimes a toy for us to share, but it didn't matter; we were just pleased that it was Christmas.' He hesitated for a moment, and then said, 'After this time, Mikey, I can come and see William on my own. There's no need for you to come wi' me. I'm nearly thirteen; old enough now to look after meself.'

'Yes,' Mikey answered, 'I know you are. But it doesn't mean that we can't do things together. If you want to ask me owt, or if you're not sure about summat, you know that I'm your pal.'

It was after midnight when Mikey turned to walk back. Mrs Goodhart had insisted that he ate a slice of spice cake and drank a glass of mulled wine; to keep out the cold, she'd said. She had asked him to stay and have Christmas dinner with them the next day, but he'd refused, saying he was going elsewhere.

'To see that young lady?' she'd asked with a twinkle. 'Eleanor? I do hope so. She was very nice.'

Embarrassed, Mikey agreed that she was and said that Eleanor's landlady had invited him. To his delight Mrs Goodhart gave him a box of candy as a present, and he decided to give that to Mrs Bertram in place of the flowers he had given Bridget.

The church bells were pealing in Christmas Day as he went on his way, but instead of feeling joyous he was heavy-hearted. Some of the houses he passed had lit windows through which he could see families gathered, and in some of them Christmas trees were decorated with candles and coloured baubles, something his family had never had; money was too hard to come by for such frivolities.

Churchgoers were coming away from midnight mass and he heard their shouts of Christmas greeting to one another and felt lonelier than ever.

If Ellie has left and gone with Simon to Canada, as Bridget hinted, I don't know how I'll feel, he thought. I'll be devastated. But more than that I'll feel let down. Is there nobody to trust?

He hitched a ride on a waggon which took him most of the way back, and he was grateful, for his feet were sore. He had a hole in the sole of one of his boots and he knew he couldn't afford to get it repaired. I'll have to find a piece of cardboard to mend it, he thought.

There was no key to the lodging house door, for there was nothing worth stealing. He took off his boots and peeked into Bridget's room, but she wasn't there. There was no knowing where she might be. Bridget was a law unto herself and would tag on to anyone who might offer her food or entertainment. She answered only to herself and never to anyone else.

He fell asleep in the chair and awoke with a start when he heard a distant clock strike. For a minute he thought he was late for work and then he remembered it was Christmas Day.

'Happy Christmas, Mikey,' he muttered, and shivered as he washed under the pump. He wet his hair and ran his fingers over his stubble. He only shaved once a week as a rule, but today was special and he must make an effort. But the blade was blunt and he nicked his chin, making it bleed.

He gave his one and only coat a shake, and brushed down his trousers with his hands.

'Well, that's it,' he murmured as he put the coat on. 'Christmas Day or not. This is me and what I am.'

He had the address of Ellie's lodgings from the letter she had written and he found the house quite easily. Courts and alleyways he was used to, and their layout generally had a pattern to it. He came to Trenton Square and after a slight hesitation he knocked on the Bertrams' door.

He waited and then anxiously knocked again. He heard a voice inside calling for someone to get the door. Then it opened, and a smiling Eleanor stood there.

'A happy Christmas, Mikey,' she said. 'Come on in.'