Read Online The Suburbs of Hell by Randolph Stow - Free Book Online

we scoop up stones and shingle and that and bring it back here on our barge. Thass good money, boy;
you
need a job like that.’
    ‘No experience,’ Dave said sadly.
    ‘You don’t need it. Well, Charlie does, but me, I’m on’y a labourer now. I’ll keep my eye open for you, if you like.’
    ‘Yeh, well, fanks, Harry,’ Dave said, without enthusiasm, stroking his black beard. ‘Yeah, that sound like that’d suit me.’
    ‘Where the hell’s Billy?’ Harry demanded of the air, and banging the table yelled: ‘Bill-ee!’
    The cropheaded crane-driver got up, carrying his cup of tea, and came over to take the chair beside him. He said: ‘Billy’s hitting the cooking sherry, I suspicion.’ As he spoke, a tall fat man, with a long apron over blue-and-white cook’s trousers, emerged from a rear door and bore down on them with a light but stately tread.
    ‘Billy,’ Harry said, ‘where was you, boy? I’m starvin.’
    Billy explained: ‘Family reunion going on out the back. My daughter, with her kids. Her husband’s at sea, and she’s scared to stay at home alone.’
    ‘She’s one of several,’ said the crane-driver. ‘There’ll be a few bolts and chains sold tomorrow.’
    ‘So I didn’t hear you come in,’ Billy told Harry. ‘Sorry. What’s it to be?’
    ‘Steak and chips,’ Harry said, ‘and bread and butter and a cuppa tea.’
    ‘Twice,’ said Dave.
    ‘Quick as I can,’ Billy promised, and went off, pausing for a moment in answer to some gesture from a Yugoslav seaman. His companions seemed to hold aloof from the exchange that followed, sitting hunched in their coats, and silent, like commuters.
    ‘I see ’em looking a bit happier,’ Charlie remarked, ‘a week ago. They got old Arthur, in the Moon, to teach ’em to play darts.’
    ‘Do they speak English?’ Dave asked.
    ‘One does, but not a lot. The oldest one, a bit bald in front, he’s the pack-leader.’
    ‘Charlie,’ said Harry, ‘would you reckon we could get young Dave here a job on our rig?’
    The grizzled crane-driver looked the young man over. He had a long thin face, longitudinally grooved like driftwood. ‘Possible,’ he decided after a moment. ‘Not soon, but people drop out and move on. What are you doing now?’
    ‘Nuffin,’ said Dave.
    ‘Got to do what I can for him,’ Harry said. ‘His father was an old mate.’
    ‘Yeah,’ Dave said, morosely. ‘Thass right.’
    Fat Billy came back, silent-footed, and laid the table, reaching bare tattooed forearms around Harry’s back. ‘Those boys asked me,’ he said, ‘if I knew someone who’d change some pesetas for them. I don’t know who would, and
I
can’t. Feel sorry for them. Lousy position to be in.’
    ‘Well, then,’ Dave said, ‘that lets
them
out. They int been doin no burglin.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ Harry demanded, shortly. ‘There weren’t no burglin done. I mean, no theft.’
    ‘You know that?’ Charlie asked, turning his wooden face.
    ‘Yeh,’ Harry said, ‘I know it.’ And he looked so grim that Charlie tactfully returned to his teacup.
    Billy was looking out through the steamy window traced with runnels of clearness. ‘Hullo,’ he said, ‘here’s trouble,’ and padded away to his kitchen.
    The bell tinkled, and Frank De Vere came in, drunk, and stood for a moment holding the door open, letting in frosty air, until Black Sam, following, gently moved him on and closed it. But still Frank stood, blue eyes blazing in his saturnine face, staring at Harry.
    ‘Evenin, Frank,’ said Harry, with a quizzical expression. ‘Sam.’
    Frank gave his muzzy head a slight shake, and muttered: ‘Harry.’
    ‘Come to join us? One of these days we’re goonna eat.’
    ‘No,’ said Frank, with a wandering voice but eyes transfixed. ‘No, I just—I was looking for Dave.’
    ‘I’m here,’ Dave said, twisting his chair about.
    ‘No—ah—not Dave,’ Frank said, ‘I meant—it’s Ken Heath I was looking for. He been