Authors: Harry Bowling

Gaslight in Page Street (73 page)

The Tanners left the room and William walked quickly over to Joe Maitland who was waiting in the yard. ‘’E said ’e’ll see yer. Good luck, Joe.’

Florrie Axford was sitting in her parlour with a mug of tea at her elbow. Joe Maitland sat facing her, his face impassive as she questioned him.

‘Well, tell me ’ow yer come ter get the proof yer needed then,’ she coaxed.

He grinned finally. ‘As a matter o’ fact, Jake Mitchell come up trumps,’ he said. ‘’E told me ’e was in the yard office when that crooked ’oreson of a copper put bets on wiv Galloway. What’s more, ’e said ’e’s actually seen the inspector at a couple o’ the fights. Best of all, Mitchell’s willin’ ter make a statement.’

‘Christ! ’E’s takin’ a chance, ain’t ’e?’ Florrie said.

‘Not really,’ Joe replied. ‘I’ve sent everyfing ter Scotland Yard. Once it’s out in the open, they’ll give ’im protection. Anyway, Mitchell’s leavin’ Bermon’sey. ’E’s goin’ back over the water. ’E’ll be safe enough in Stepney.’

‘What about you, Joe? Are yer goin’ back over the water ter live now yer’ve sorted fings out?’ Florrie asked.

The young man leaned back in his chair, a sly smile on his face. ‘Why should I? I like it in Bermon’sey,’ he said. ‘Besides, if I did leave yer might fink I ’ad somefink ter do wiv what ’appened ter the publican o’ the Crown. I wouldn’t want yer ter fink that, Flo.’

‘I wouldn’t fink anyfink o’ the sort,’ she said with a contrived show of disdain. ‘The papers said ’e fell down the cellar steps an’ died of a broken neck. Even ’is own wife said ’e’d bin drinkin’ ’eavily that evenin’. Who am I ter say different.’

‘Quite right too,’ Joe replied, the smile still lingering on his face. ‘After all, there’s no reason fer anybody ter fink that somebody ’ad a score ter settle wiv ’im ’cos o’ somefing that ’appened a long time ago, now is there? Nope, I fink I like it in Bermon’sey. I fink I’ll move me buyin’ an’ sellin’ over this side o’ the water, an’ the first fing I’m gonna do is get ole Will Tanner ter work wiv me. The poor bloke needs a decent job. Now put yer coat on an’ I’ll take yer up the Kings Arms fer a pint. I feel like celebratin’.’

Florrie took his arm as they walked up the street. ‘If yer not careful yer’ll ’ave the neighbours talkin’ about us,’ she grinned.

‘Let ’em,’ Joe laughed. ‘If anybody asks what me an’ you are doin’ out tergevver, I’ll tell ’em we’re drinkin’ a toast ter Jake Mitchell. After all, ’e did come up trumps.’

Florrie gave her lodger a crafty look. ‘Yeah, I reckon ’e did,’ she said.

Carrie Tanner crossed the busy Jamaica Road laden with shopping as she walked from the market through the thickening February fog. She wanted to see her parents before she returned to the café, and the urge to walk down the little cobbled backstreet where she had spent so much of her young life overcame her tiredness. As she turned into Page Street she saw the large weather-beaten sign over the Galloway yard looming out above the spluttering gas-lamp on the corner. It seemed to exude a vague sense of menace. The muted sound of a fog-horn carried into the turning and from somewhere nearby Carrie could hear a baby crying.

She changed the shopping-bag to her other hand and drew her coat tighter around her against the penetrating cold. The house where she was born and where she had grown up looked drab and cheerless now, with the last of the paint peeling from the front door and the windows heavily draped and showing no light. Carrie could almost hear the former laughter of bright sunlit days in the turning. In her imagination she could picture poor James walking along the road with his thumbs hooked through his braces and his cap askew, Charlie sitting unconcernedly before a banked-up coke fire with his head bowed over a book, or Danny fidgeting at the table and forever going on about Billy Sullivan’s boxing skills. Well, her young brother had developed skills of his own now, Carrie thought, and smiled to herself as she passed the yard and walked towards Bacon Street.

After the trials and tribulations of January, she felt sure that it would be a good year from now on. Trade at the café was booming, and Fred was a kind and devoted husband. Danny was back working on the river, and she sensed a new closeness growing between her parents now. Her mother did not look so ill anymore, and seemed to have made peace with herself after carrying her secret burden alone for much too long. Her father seemed happier than he had been for a long time, now that he had started working for Joe Maitland.

Before she reached Bacon Street Carrie stopped and glanced back along the little turning. She could see the fog swirling in the light of the gas lamp and suddenly recalled the times she had peeped through the drawn curtains as a frightened child and taken comfort from the soft, warm glow of the streetlight. She smiled to herself as she remembered the times she had ridden back atop a laden hay-cart and heard her father encouraging the tired horse with the click of his tongue as it pulled the load into the cobbled turning and drew into the shadowed yard.

Carrie unconsciously brushed her hand across her flat stomach as she thought about the new life that was just beginning to form inside her, and she sighed contentedly. Fred would be so happy when she found the right time to tell him.

Gaslight in Page Street (73 page)

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