that theory by booting both your heads around on these cobbles until they leak out your ears. You think I won’t?’
They both shook their heads.
‘Now you’re not wanted around here any more. You’re leaving your job, getting another somewhere else. That clear?’
They both nodded.
‘See?’ A smile broke out on Charlie’s face again; it was like the sun appearing through storm clouds. ‘Was that so hard, us doing a bit of business together? Thanks for your cooperation, boys. You shouldn’t have messed us about, you know.’
Charlie was slipping on his brass knuckledusters.
‘Now wait . . .’ said the smaller one, backing away until he hit the wall.
‘People get to hear about me being made to look a cunt because two little wankers won’t stand aside when they’re told? Sorry, boys. I don’t think so.’
Charlie piled in, and Joe followed.
A week later, Charlie was taking tea round at Betsy’s place. He was feeling very pleased with himself. The last two anti-Union boys had obligingly disappeared the day after their little meeting with Charlie and Joe, and after that the management caved in at last. The Union was in, and Charlie was rewarded with tickets to Smithfield; he got five of his boys in there straight away, and soon that would pay dividends.
And now . . . now he had to charm Betsy’s mum and dad, Mr and Mrs Porter, which was a piece of piss. He had been very relieved when she’d told him there was no sprog in the offing after their little tumble in the alley, and even if she let him within a mile of her again he told himself that he was going to have to take more care. If he hadn’t been so worked up after offing Tranter, he wouldn’t have taken such a chance with her.
He was stringing her along at the moment, not quite sure which way to jump. She wanted marriage, of course she did – didn’t they all? – but did he? When he thought of married life, he thought of a curtailment of his freedom, answering to a nag who wanted to know where you were day and night.
He also thought of kids, and of course he wanted that; he wanted boys, like him, little bruisers to play with and get started in the business. Sure, he was fond of Betsy. She was impetuous and pretty. But there were so many women in the world.
When Vi joined the little family gathering his doubts increased. Vi was a hot number, smoother than her sister, regal in her bearing and mannerisms, more impressive. Her parents didn’t seem to know quite what to make of her. Charlie didn’t either, but he reached the firm conclusion that she probably fucked like a stoat.
His thoughts turned to Mrs Tranter, so calm, so composed in the face of adversity, in the face of a husband who abused her, in the face of anything Hitler or even Charlie Darke threw at her. Then Mrs Porter cut him another slice of fruitcake and said, ‘More tea?’
He nodded. For now, he was going to keep his options open. Betsy’s dad was in a reserved occupation in the docks, and jobs in there were always passed from father to son or even sons-in-law – or pals, for a price – and someone in the docks was always a useful contact to have.
17
They were masters of the universe. That’s what Ruby thought, when she first peeped out from behind the curtain and saw them.
‘God alive,’ she said out loud.
‘What?’ asked Vi, busy powdering her nose.
‘They’re a bit . . . loud ,’ said Ruby, closing the curtain quickly.
What she had seen was a group of young men, about twenty of them, all rigged out in black frock coats, red bow ties, matching silk waistcoats and white shirts with stiff starched collars. They were laughing in that haw-haw way the upper classes had, chucking hunks of bread roll at each other and downing enough wine to sink a battleship.
Actually what she felt was frightened. ‘D’you think . . .’ She hated to say it; she knew Violet thought she was a bit limp. ‘D’you think it’s safe?’
Vi stopped powdering and gave her a
They both shook their heads.
‘Now you’re not wanted around here any more. You’re leaving your job, getting another somewhere else. That clear?’
They both nodded.
‘See?’ A smile broke out on Charlie’s face again; it was like the sun appearing through storm clouds. ‘Was that so hard, us doing a bit of business together? Thanks for your cooperation, boys. You shouldn’t have messed us about, you know.’
Charlie was slipping on his brass knuckledusters.
‘Now wait . . .’ said the smaller one, backing away until he hit the wall.
‘People get to hear about me being made to look a cunt because two little wankers won’t stand aside when they’re told? Sorry, boys. I don’t think so.’
Charlie piled in, and Joe followed.
A week later, Charlie was taking tea round at Betsy’s place. He was feeling very pleased with himself. The last two anti-Union boys had obligingly disappeared the day after their little meeting with Charlie and Joe, and after that the management caved in at last. The Union was in, and Charlie was rewarded with tickets to Smithfield; he got five of his boys in there straight away, and soon that would pay dividends.
And now . . . now he had to charm Betsy’s mum and dad, Mr and Mrs Porter, which was a piece of piss. He had been very relieved when she’d told him there was no sprog in the offing after their little tumble in the alley, and even if she let him within a mile of her again he told himself that he was going to have to take more care. If he hadn’t been so worked up after offing Tranter, he wouldn’t have taken such a chance with her.
He was stringing her along at the moment, not quite sure which way to jump. She wanted marriage, of course she did – didn’t they all? – but did he? When he thought of married life, he thought of a curtailment of his freedom, answering to a nag who wanted to know where you were day and night.
He also thought of kids, and of course he wanted that; he wanted boys, like him, little bruisers to play with and get started in the business. Sure, he was fond of Betsy. She was impetuous and pretty. But there were so many women in the world.
When Vi joined the little family gathering his doubts increased. Vi was a hot number, smoother than her sister, regal in her bearing and mannerisms, more impressive. Her parents didn’t seem to know quite what to make of her. Charlie didn’t either, but he reached the firm conclusion that she probably fucked like a stoat.
His thoughts turned to Mrs Tranter, so calm, so composed in the face of adversity, in the face of a husband who abused her, in the face of anything Hitler or even Charlie Darke threw at her. Then Mrs Porter cut him another slice of fruitcake and said, ‘More tea?’
He nodded. For now, he was going to keep his options open. Betsy’s dad was in a reserved occupation in the docks, and jobs in there were always passed from father to son or even sons-in-law – or pals, for a price – and someone in the docks was always a useful contact to have.
17
They were masters of the universe. That’s what Ruby thought, when she first peeped out from behind the curtain and saw them.
‘God alive,’ she said out loud.
‘What?’ asked Vi, busy powdering her nose.
‘They’re a bit . . . loud ,’ said Ruby, closing the curtain quickly.
What she had seen was a group of young men, about twenty of them, all rigged out in black frock coats, red bow ties, matching silk waistcoats and white shirts with stiff starched collars. They were laughing in that haw-haw way the upper classes had, chucking hunks of bread roll at each other and downing enough wine to sink a battleship.
Actually what she felt was frightened. ‘D’you think . . .’ She hated to say it; she knew Violet thought she was a bit limp. ‘D’you think it’s safe?’
Vi stopped powdering and gave her a
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