‘Rubbish,’ Fifi said indignantly.
‘Okay, we’ll wait and see,’ he said. ‘I bet you get a letter from her in a day or two suggesting you come down alone for a weekend. She’ll dress it up saying she and your father want some time alone with you, or some such excuse.’
Fifi flounced out of the room into the bedroom. She thought Dan was actually a bit jealous. He probably felt powerful when she had no one but him to turn to.
She lay on the bed reading a magazine, and Dan didn’t come in for over an hour. When he did, he was grinning from ear to ear.
‘Who’s a sulky girl then?’ he taunted her.
‘I’m not sulking,’ she said airily, even though she was.
He caught hold of one of her bare feet and tickled the sole, making her giggle. ‘You aren’t allowed to sulk,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go down the pub and celebrate the last night of the plaster.’
‘What’s to celebrate about that?’ she asked.
‘There isn’t much, but you’ve had your hair done and you look pretty, so I’m looking for an excuse to show you off. Besides, we haven’t tuned into the grapevine lately.’
Fifi found it impossible to be cross with Dan for long. One look at his handsome grinning face, those dark eyes and angular cheekbones and she was putty in his hands.
‘Okay then.’ She got up and put on her shoes and some lipstick. ‘But don’t say anything more about my mum or I’ll come straight home.’
Fifi was laughing as she walked into the pub. Dan had been doing an impersonation of Stan as they walked up the road. He had caught his hangdog expression, the stiff-backed walk and the accent perfectly.
‘Nice to see a pretty girl laughing,’ Johnny Milkins said, turning on his bar stool to look at Fifi. ‘Tell us the joke, I could do with a laugh.’
The pub was very quiet, no more than fifteen or sixteen people in all. But then it was often that way on a Wednesday night.
‘Dan was doing an impression of Stan,’ Fifi said. She tugged at Dan’s arm. ‘Go on, do it for Johnny!’
Dan arranged his face appropriately. ‘I may not go to the Rifleman until all theese bad feelings are gone,’ he said, getting the Polish accent perfectly. Then he walked up to the bar with Stan’s special walk.
Johnny roared with laughter, his huge belly which slouched over his trousers wobbling like a jelly. ‘You’ve got him to a T,’ he said through his laughter. ‘Can you do anyone else?’
‘I could do you, mate, if I had a big enough pillow to stick under my shirt,’ Dan replied.
Johnny roared again, slapped Dan on the back and insisted on buying him and Fifi a drink.
Fifi liked Johnny. He was a huge man in every way, well over six feet tall, weighing around twenty stone, and with a personality to match. His hair was going grey but he had masses of it, standing up on end like a thick brush. With his deep, dark tan from working outside, and vivid blue eyes, he was attractive despite his immense bulk.
He was the man who claimed to have a close friend in the police force and had related the information about the clean sheet covering Angela.
Dan liked Johnny too, but said a man who wore half of England’s gold reserves around his neck and wrist yet lived in a council flat had to be a bit thick.
‘You don’t normally come in here midweek,’ Johnny said, giving Fifi one of his lecherous winks. ‘Special occasion?’
‘My plaster’s coming off tomorrow,’ Fifi replied. ‘I can’t wait, it itches underneath. I have to poke a knitting needle up it to scratch it.’
‘You’re gonna have to hang that arm out yer window to brown it up,’ Johnny said. ‘My missis broke ’er arm once and I nearly pissed meself when the plaster come off. I said she ought to audition for the Black and White Minstrels.’
‘I’ll wear long sleeves,’ Fifi said. ‘Or put gravy browning on it like they did in the war.’
Over the first drink Johnny entertained them with various funny stories connected with his scaffolding business, including an hilarious one about a man who fell asleep sunbathing in his lunch hour, three floors up, turned over in his sleep and fell off.
‘Luckiest man alive,’ Johnny chortled. ‘Fell into a heap of sand. Not a scratch on him.’
They were on a third drink when Fifi asked Johnny if Frank or Stan had started to come back to the pub yet.
Both men had stopped coming in after they were hauled in for police questioning. They were not the only ones who’d absented themselves. Mike Skinner from number 7, Ralph Jackson who lived on the top floor of Yvette’s house, and John Bolton at number 13 had not been seen in the pub either. They were all men who had been known to have been at card games at number 11 in the past, and they’d all been pulled in for questioning. None of them had been at the last game, but feelings were running so high about Alfie that any associates of his were not welcome in the pub.
‘You haven’t heard about Stan?’ Johnny asked, looking surprised. ‘I thought you must’ve when Dan was taking him off.’
‘What about him?’ Fifi asked.
‘He’s been taken down the cop shop again.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Fifi exclaimed. ‘Why can’t they leave him alone?’
‘A woman over in Brixton reported he’d molested her daughter,’ Johnny said. ‘Seems kosher too. She were seven, same age as Angela. And ’e weren’t at work that morning she died neither. ’E never showed up.’
Fifi was so shocked she could only stare at Johnny in disbelief.
‘Are you sure about this, mate?’ Dan asked, suddenly very serious and ashamed he’d been mimicking the man. ‘I can’t believe that of Stan. His own little girls were gunned down in the war.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Johnny said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’d have staked me life on ’im being as straight as a die where kids is concerned. But it looks black fer ’im. He lied about being at work that morning, and he empties the bins around Brixton. Then there’s that stuff him and Frank said about killing one of the kids and making it look like Alfie done it.’
‘But that was just a black joke, they weren’t serious,’ Fifi said indignantly.
‘No one wants Alfie to swing for it more than me,’ Johnny said, gesticulating with his hands. ‘I ’ates the geezer. The boys up the nick are sure he’d done stuff to all his girls, so no one wants ’im to walk away from this. But if ’e didn’t actually kill Angela, then someone else did. And the Old Bill ’ave got to nab ’im.’
‘Of course it was Alfie,’ Dan said impatiently. ‘It’s as plain as the nose on your face.’
‘That’s just because you want to believe that,’ Johnny said. ‘We all do.’
‘It couldn’t be Stan,’ Fifi said stubbornly. ‘I just know it.’
‘I certainly don’t wanna believe Stan is a nonce. It just don’t fit right to me,’ Johnny said. ‘But it could be ’e’s never bin right in the ’ead since ’e lost his wife and kids.’
‘Do you know why he didn’t admit he wasn’t at work that morning?’ Dan asked.
‘Stan reckons ’e overslept and ’e didn’t own up to it cos another bloke ’ad clocked ’im in. ’E reckons they do it all the time for one another when they’re late, to save ’em getting their money docked. ’E didn’t want anyone to get into trouble for covering for ’im.’
‘What time did he get into work then?’ Fifi asked. Her good mood had vanished and the old fear and anxiety were coming back.
‘’E joined ’is dustcart around eleven,’ Johnny said.
Fifi and Dan went home after that drink, both subdued and shocked.
‘I don’t, I won’t believe it,’ Dan burst out once they got indoors. ‘Stan’s a decent man.’
‘What about the word of the woman in Brixton?’ Fifi said in a small voice. She was remembering all the times Stan had got shopping for her when she first came home from hospital. She found it impossible to believe such a kind man could molest a child, but if he had really done it, perhaps he had another side she and Dan hadn’t seen.
‘This information could have come from someone who owes the Muckles a favour,’ Dan said grimly. ‘Or just some hysterical woman who’s remembered seeing Stan playing with her kid. I’ve seen him out in the road talking to kids plenty of times. He’s just a lonely man who likes to see children playing.’
It was Fifi who lapsed into silence this time, saying nothing while Dan ranted about how he reckoned Alfie had been in the habit of giving the police backhanders, and this was why they were looking for someone else to frame.
‘Look at the times he’s got away with stuff that would get anyone else locked up immediately,’ he said. ‘If it’s Detective Inspector Roper he’s got in his pocket, Alfie could easily get him to pin this on someone else. Stan’s the perfect patsy, he’s a Pole for a start, with no family. Who’s going to stick up for him?’
Fifi had been brought up to respect the law, and to trust the police to apprehend criminals and bring them to trial. She hadn’t liked Roper much, but she didn’t believe he would take bribes or frame an innocent man, not even to protect himself. Yet she knew Dan was far more worldly-wise than she was, and Roper did seem to be pulling out all the stops to find someone other than Alfie to pin the crime on.
It was unthinkable that Alfie just might be released without charge. Even if he hadn’t actually killed Angela, he’d treated her and all his children shamefully, and once home again, he’d continue to do so. He would also be wanting revenge against anyone who had spoken out against him. Herself included!
Fifi left the hospital at noon the following day, feeling like a new woman without the plaster, though just as Johnny had said, her arm did look odd being so white. It was thinner too, and it felt weak; she supposed some of the muscle had wasted while not being used. But it felt so good to be able to stretch out her fingers, to know that she could dress herself quickly again, and cuddle Dan without clonking him on the head!
As she drew close to Dale Street she spotted Frank going into the pub. She hadn’t as much as caught sight of him for days, but assuming he had come out of his hermit-like state, she thought she would go in too and see how he was.
After the glare of the sunshine, the pub seemed very gloomy. There was only a handful of people in there, and Frank was at the bar waiting for his pint to be pulled.
‘Hello, how nice to see you,’ she said brightly, as if surprised to find him there. ‘I’ve just had the plaster off my arm, so I thought I’d get a drink to celebrate. Let me buy you that pint too.’
‘No, you’re all right,’ he said, looking as if he wished she would go away.
Fifi had sensed when he began hiding himself away from her that he wished he hadn’t told her all that stuff about Molly. She had kept her promise of silence, she hadn’t even told Dan about it. But maybe he didn’t believe that.
She wasn’t going to back away now; she was determined to make him talk to her. ‘I insist,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back at work on Monday, so it’s my last chance to be a bit naughty and drink during the day.’
He tried to produce a smile, but it was a weak, forlorn one. ‘Was that your mum I saw you leaving with yesterday?’ he asked. ‘If so, she looks young enough to be your sister.’
‘Yes, it was Mum, a surprise visit. I’ll tell her what you said. That will make her day.’
She thought Frank looked ill. He’d lost weight and his normal good colour. Once she’d got her drink and paid for them, she suggested they sat over in the corner.
‘Now why have you been avoiding me?’ she asked teasingly. ‘I thought we were friends.’
Frank shrugged. ‘I’ve been down in the dumps. I couldn’t face talking to anyone.’
‘Well, it was a good job you didn’t run into me,’ Fifi said. ‘I was down too, but it affected me the other way. I was talking non-stop to anyone that would let me.’
‘It just seems to be getting worse rather than better,’ he said wearily. ‘And now they’ve got Stan again.’
‘So we heard,’ Fifi replied, putting her hand over Frank’s. ‘Dan and I think it sounds like a load of old rubbish.’
Frank looked as if he was going to cry. ‘I’ve just been up to the nick to see if they’d let me see him, but they wouldn’t. They’ll have to charge him soon, or let him go. He’s been there nearly twenty-four hours.’
‘Do you know anything about the woman who made the claims?’
‘A bit. She’s called Frieda and she’s rough, got several kids and her old man’s doing time,’ Frank said, his voice wavering. ‘Stan used to empty her bins, and she set her cap at him at the end of last year, always coming out with a cup of tea for him and that.’
‘Do the police know that?’
‘Stan’s bound to have told them now. Last Christmas Eve she came in here all dressed up, on the hunt for him.’
‘What happened?’
‘Stan was a bit drunk, he kissed her under the mistletoe and flirted a bit. The next day when he came for his Christmas dinner with me, he felt really bad about it. He said he’d only got to know the woman because her little girl used to chat to him, but he didn’t really like her mother, and now he’d given her the wrong signals. I said he’d have to put her straight.’
‘Did he?’ Fifi asked.
Frank shook his head. ‘You know what Stan’s like, too much of a gent to be rude to any woman.’
‘So she got her claws into him then?’
‘Not in the way you mean. He didn’t take Frieda out or anything like that, but he liked the little girl, and felt sorry for her cos she were a bit neglected. Next thing Frieda was tapping him up for a few bob when the kid needed new shoes and stuff. I reckon it must’ve got out of hand, because back in June Stan was getting the other blokes on the dust van to do the bins on that street so he didn’t have to see her.’
‘Do you think this is like “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”?’ Fifi asked.
‘I reckon so. I know Stan ain’t seen her or the kid for ages, and if he really had done something to the child, Frieda would’ve screamed blue murder right away. The way I see it, she heard about what happened in the street, and thought she’d jump on the bandwagon and make some mischief for him.’
‘Evil cow!’ Fifi exclaimed. ‘But did you tell the police this today?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, fat lot of good it did though. They see me and Stan as a team because we’re mates. And of course there was that joke I made in the pub, they took that seriously.’
Fifi tried everything to cheer Frank up. She showed him her white arm, told him about
The Day of the Triffids
, and some of the more amusing things her mother had said during her visit. But it was impossible to make him either laugh or talk, and after a second drink she left to go home.