Coleman Street ran between Wapping Wall and New Gravel Lane and was a convenient cut through from the docks to the river. Now, late in the afternoon, those river men who’d sailed up the Thames on the morning tide trudged up the alley on their way home. Ma liked to sit outside at this time to keep an eye on the comings and goings. With Snapper at her heels, she shuffled along a couple of yards and then stopped. Harry, who had followed her with one of the Boatman’s wooden chairs, set it down against the wall.
‘There you go, Ma.’
Ma pulled a sour face. ‘You’ve put it in the sun.’
‘I thought you’d like the warmth,’ he said, moving the chair into the shade. ‘Loosen up your bones.’
She gave him a sour look. ‘You know I have tender skin.’ She rubbed her hand over her bare forearm, creasing the flesh. ‘Charlie wouldn’t have put me in the sun.’
Harry shot her a sullen look.
Ma called to Snapper, who had wandered off down the alley. The dog cocked his leg, then trotted back and settled himself beside her chair. Removing her pipe from behind her ear she tapped out the cinders then thrust it at her son. ‘Well, get me a rub of baccy, then.’
Harry pulled out a leather pouch and offered it to her.
‘Haven’t I told you twice already today that me knuckles are bad,’ she said, flexing her hands and grimacing. ‘I’m sure you’ll be glad when I’m dead and you won’t have to bother yourself any more.’
‘You know I don’t like to hear you talk like that,’ he replied.
She thrust the pale clay pipe at him. ‘You load it for me . . . there’s a good boy.’
His pleased expression returned and he pulled out a couple of strings of tobacco.
Ma studied him as he poked it in the smoke blackened cup and thought just how closely he resembled his dad.
She’d fallen under Harry Tugman’s spell almost as soon as he turned his lively grey eyes on her. As she’d known men and their bastard ways since her tenth birthday, it was surprising that she’d been so easily taken in by Harry’s sweet words.
He’d told her she was his only love, but it wasn’t more than a month or two after they moved in together that he had her working the streets alongside his other doxies. When she found she’d been caught with Harry, she considered slipping the baby into the Thames. It wouldn’t have been the first unwanted infant washed up on the shore at low tide, and it wouldn’t have been the last, but when she’d found out about Harry’s other women she decided to stay and make his life as near to a living hell as she could manage. And she’d had seven good years of goading, nagging and robbing him blind before the drinking finally caught him and he curled up his toes.
‘Here you go, Ma,’ Harry said, handing her the pipe, his face begging for her approval.
Ma clamped the stem of the pipe between her thin lips. ‘Give us a light then,’ she growled out of the corner of her mouth, ‘and tell that slut of Charlie’s, Judy—’
‘Lucy,’ Harry corrected.
‘Whatever her fecking name is, to fetch us a drink,’ she called after him as he disappeared into the gloom of the pub.
People passing down the alley touched their hats to Ma Tugman as they went by, but despite their friendly greetings she could see the wary look in their eyes - just the way she wanted to keep it. There had been too many of the local bargemen not giving her the respect she was due, especially the Irish scum working with that bastard, Patrick Nolan. The Micks used to know their place before he showed up.
Ma stood up, dragged the chair out of the shade. She settled back down and, closing her eyes, tilted her face to the warmth of the sun.
Harry reappeared with another chair slung over his arm, followed by Charlie’s current bit of fancy carrying a bottle and two glasses.
Charlie’s a one for the ladies all right, a bit like his father in that way
.
She didn’t mind that he brought them back to the Boatman as long as they showed proper respect. This one with her downcast eyes seemed to know her place.
The last one Charlie used to warm his bed had thought she was something special, swanning around the bar like the queen of England and giving Ma a mouthful of cheek. But Charlie had put her in her place, smacked her black and blue he had, then sent her to China Rose’s knocking shop.
A little smile crossed Ma’s face.
I’m sure she’s special there
.
‘You’ve moved back into the sun,’ Harry said, looking confused.
Ma drew on her pipe. ‘You didn’t think to bring my shawl, so I had to,’ she replied.
Lucy nodded and poured out the brandy. The bottle rattled against the glass as she did.
‘Don’t spill it, girl,’ Ma said, taking the glass from her.
Charlie had been fighting drunk when he stumbled home two nights ago and the bruise he’d given Lucy still showed mauve around her eye.
Lucy poured Harry a drink and passed it to him. He grabbed her wrist and drew her to him and his other hand grabbed her rear.
‘You’ve got a lovely arse, girl, let me have a piece of it,’ he said grinning at her and showing his uneven teeth. ‘I’ll give you better than Charlie ever gives you.’ Holding her firmly with one hand he thrust the other hand under her skirt. ‘Very nice,’ he said. Lucy’s feet scrabbled for the floor as she tried to avoid his groping hands. ‘Look at ’er, Ma, can’t keep herself off me.’
Ma watched with mild interest for a second more then whistled. Snapper jumped up. ‘See ’er off,’ she told him.
Lucy bolted for the pub door. Snapper dashed after her but then he shot through Harry’s legs and down the alley, barking as he went.
Ma stared after him as he ran, his pads barely touching the dirt, towards a well-dressed young woman at the south end of the walkway. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties and was wearing an outfit that would fetch at least ten shillings. Whoever she was she must have been addled in her brain because as far as Ma could tell, she was alone.
Snapper reached the young woman and with a quick double step he sprang at her, teeth snapping. The young woman didn’t scream, as Ma expected her to but thrust her umbrella at the dog. Snapper’s jaws closed around it and he ripped it from her hand.
Harry pointed at the dog. ‘L . . . look, Ma, old Snapper’s . . .’ he laughed. Others in the alley joined in.
Having found something that he could chew his way through, Snapper took his prize over to the far wall. Growling, he shook the umbrella, bit its cane frame into slivers then ripped through the silk cover.
The young woman watched her umbrella being destroyed and then she turned. Setting her mouth into a straight line, she strode over.
‘Is that your dog?’ she asked in an odd-sounding Irish accent and pointing her finger at Snapper.
‘Aye,’ Ma replied, drawing slowly on her pipe.
‘Well, then,’ the young woman said, glancing briefly to where the dog was shredding the last few solid pieces of the coloured fabric. ‘If you don’t want the police after you, you had better keep it under control.’
As the words left her lips Josie realised that she just should have walked by and ignored them. Now it was too late.
The man and the wrinkled old woman stopped laughing instantly and the old woman blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth. She was bareheaded and without a shawl and a grimy charcoal gown covered her overfed figure. Although her hair was pulled back, a number of greasy strands fell around her face and, as her grey eyes glided slowly over her, Josie suppressed the urge to shudder.
‘You threatening us with the nabbers, are you?’ the man asked, revealing a set of brown teeth.
A tingle of disquiet crept up Josie’s spine. The crowd gathering around them was enjoying her discomfort and, although they seemed good-natured, if this brute turned nasty she knew that every one of them would turn their back and leave her to her fate. She tugged down the front of her coat.
‘I’m just saying that it might not be an umbrella next time but a child’s leg, that’s all.’ She set her lips firmly together. ‘But as there is no harm done we’ll say no more about it this time. Good day.’
She went to walk past but the man grabbed her arm. ‘What’s your hurry, sweetie? Come and ’ave a drink.’
His fingers closed around her arm and dug through the fabric of her jacket. Josie glanced down at the plump hand with dirty, broken nails and then she fixed its owner with a furious stare.
‘Let go of me.’
‘A sweet girly like her is too good for you, Harry,’ the old woman said. ‘She’s probably got some man waiting for her, some toff, who ain’t got missing teeth or a beer belly.’
Harry sucked in his stomach as he gave his mother a hateful look, and then turned his attention back to Josie.
‘You can have a brandy with me before you run off to your fancy man,’ he said, dragging her towards him.
‘She don’t seem very keen, son,’ the old woman said, as Josie’s feet skidded on the earth.
Her bonnet fell to one side but Josie ignored it and glared at the man holding her. ‘Get your filthy hands off me, you great lummox, or by the Virgin I’ll see you swing for it, so I will,’ she yelled.
The old woman chuckled. ‘Oh, Gawd luv us, she’s a Paddy.’
‘Well, that’s all right then, they all like a drink or two,’ Harry said.
With a monumental effort, Josie ripped her arm free. Harry reached out to catch her again then his gaze flickered past her.
‘Can I be of some assistance, Miss?’ a deep voice with an Irish lilt asked from behind.
Josie spun around and stared up at the face that she’d thought never to see again this side of heaven.
‘Patrick?’
There was the mass of black hair that she remembered so well, curled around his ears and forehead, softening the toughness of his face. There was the same strong nose, well-shaped mouth and square jaw, now covered with the dark hue of end-of-day stubble. There was also a spray of dark chest hair poking up through his open shirt that hadn’t spread past his breastbone the last time she had seen him.
‘Josie?’
She nodded. She had to, because she couldn’t speak.
‘What are you doing here? What are you do—’ Patrick stopped and glanced over her shoulder. ‘Is this fellow bothering you, Miss O’Casey?’ he asked, stepping between her and her tormenters.
A laugh bubbled up inside and dizziness circled around her head for a moment. Patrick was alive and not at the bottom of the ocean or rotting in his grave. He was here, really here. This oaf with his scruffy mother couldn’t drag her into the pub because Patrick wouldn’t let him.
‘He,’ she pointed at Harry, ‘was trying to drag me into that . . . that . . . cesspit.’
The old woman’s face formed itself into an innocent expression. ‘The poor lamb was lost and Harry was showing her the road.’
‘Feck off, Nolan,’ Harry growled.
Patrick squared his shoulders and Josie’s gaze ran over them. ‘Miss O’Casey is an old friend of mine but I wouldn’t want to see you showing
any woman
the road.’
Harry glared at Patrick while the old woman’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men.
‘I’m fine,’ Josie said, wanting only to get away from the alley and put the whole frightening episode behind her. She placed her hand on Patrick’s arm. ‘Would you walk me to Wapping High Street? I’m sure my young Sam will have found a cab by now.’
Patrick smiled at her and Josie’s heart, that had only just returned to a steady beat, set off at a gallop again.
Josie! For a moment Patrick thought his eyes and mind were playing tricks on him but, as his gaze ran over her, his brain accepted the irrefutable fact that Josie O’Casey was standing, up to her ankles in slurry, not an arm’s reach from him.
She was different, of course. This sophisticated young woman in her straw bonnet, hooped skirt and tailored jacket was not the leggy eighteen-year-old he’d waved goodbye to as she stood on the New York dockside seven years before. But the prominent cheekbones, sparkly green eyes and full red lips were the same.