All Fall Down (31 page)

She put down the cup just in time, because he came back from flinging open the curtains and letting in the sun to tip her clean out of bed. Edie responded with a small scream of protest.

By the time she'd recovered, he was already dressed. He went to the wardrobe and brought out the pale blue dress, stood with mock impatience.

But she refused to be rushed. Time enough to get out into the sunny evening after she'd bathed and done her hair. Tommy would have to go back to his newspaper and wait. She did put on the blue dress, however. He called her a bobby-dazzler. She whisked him out of the door and down the stairs before he had a chance to get up to any more of his tricks.

They spent an hour walking across the park under the spreading leaves of the horse-chestnuts, with only the sandbagged entrances to the shelters to remind them of a grimmer reality; a sight by now so familiar that it was possible to pass them by without noticing. Edie was looking up at the pinky-cream flowers of the chestnut blossom, while Tommy kept an arm firmly round her waist and told her his plans to open up a new stall by the entrance to the covered market behind the cathedral. He wanted to sell newspapers and magazines.

‘It'll be starting from scratch, I know.'

‘With newspapers?' She sounded doubtful.

‘Trust me,' he said. It was a commodity everyone wanted in these news-hungry days of all-out war.

Bill Morell was at the flat waiting for them when they got back. He had Edie's letter telling him that their marriage was over tucked into his top pocket, where it had stayed since he received it in the
early spring. He'd read it through once; how his last visit had finally decided her, how she wasn't prepared to take any more bad behaviour on his part. Though she was sorry to hurt him, especially whilst he was away doing a dangerous job for his country, she wanted him to understand that she would never, never be a wife to him again.

The news had come as no surprise, but the tone of the letter had annoyed him. She seemed to suppose that by putting on a hoity-toity voice she could place herself above him, chuck him to one side, and sail on without so much as a backward glance. But he knew her game. No woman walked out of a marriage without someone or something else to walk into, and it didn't take a genius in this case to work out who it was. The gift of the stockings, the bottles of spirits in the cupboard; who besides Tommy O'Hagan could readily get hold of such black market goods? Though Edie never mentioned her employer, Bill's suspicious mind had fingered Tommy long before the letter had arrived.

Now he saw himself as the wronged party, as technically he was. Away at sea, he brooded on it and the wrongs assumed monstrous proportions. Edie had betrayed him for a fly-by-night street trader who'd got on through shady deals and dodgy connections; a man who'd ditched his own wife in order to start up an affair with Edie.

This was bad enough. But as for Edie, Bill had no words to describe her; or rather he had them, but none were crude enough to fit the bill. She'd sold herself for a pair of silk stockings, she was O'Hagan's tart, his fancy-piece, his whore. In this massacre of Edie's reputation to pals on board ship from whom he extracted plenty of easy sympathy, Bill's own behaviour didn't enter into the equation. She had done the unforgivable; invited another man to leap in between his sheets. Any revenge he could concoct during the dark hours on watch could never equal the crime that had provoked it.

In the event, however, Bill's return to the flat didn't bear the hallmark of careful planning. Leave had come out of the blue, as usual, and before he knew it, he was ashore and heading home on
the train. No warning for Edie and her fancy-man, no time to think how best to wrench her away from Tommy and put an end to her carrying on. Brute force would enter into it, of course, since he viewed O'Hagan as a no-contest opponent, and Edie herself had always understood the language of violence. Not for a moment did Morell entertain the possibility that the marriage was truly over.

Meanwhile, he made use of the well-stocked liquor cupboard at the flat. He drank well into the evening, biding his time, sure from the signs that Edie wouldn't be gone long, equally sure that her new man had moved in lock, stock and barrel. The black certainty of a mind dulled by alcohol descended on him. Seven o'clock, then eight came and went. Outside the sky was still clear blue.

Edie came upstairs at nine in carefree mood. Tommy had stopped off at the Duke to see if he could catch Jimmie. She went on alone. There was nothing to alert or alarm her, no neighbours in residence to warn her about her unexpected visitor. But the door which she was sure she had locked opened without the key. She stood for a moment, puzzled, took a step inside and saw Bill sitting in an armchair facing her. She made as if to step back and slam the door shut, but not fast enough. He lunged to grab the handle, and with his other hand he pulled her inside the room. He locked the door and put the key in his pocket.

‘Where is he?' His voice was a sneer as he went to open the window and look down onto the street.

Ignoring the question, bracing herself against the door, she spoke up at last. ‘Didn't you get my letter?' He'd sent no reply, but then she'd hardly expected one.

He drew it from his pocket, unfolded it, and with his eyes directly on her, tore it to pieces.

‘I mean it, Bill. We're finished.' She put her palms flat against the door to steady herself.

‘What if I say it don't work like that?' He kept his distance, but his voice was slurred, his stance unsteady. ‘What if I ain't ready to let you go?'

‘You have to. You can't force me to stay married to you.' But
she saw plainly that he intended to try. That would be his tactic, she realised. She turned to rattle the door handle. ‘You let me out of here!'

‘So you can go running to Tommy O'Hagan?' His voice grew nastier, a smile appeared on his face.

‘What's Tommy got to do with this?'

‘Plenty if you ask me.'

‘No he ain't. We were washed up long before Tommy came on the scene, and you know it.'

‘So you admit he's the one? Can't keep his hands off other men's wives, dirty little bleeder.' He swayed across the room towards her.

‘It's not like that.' She managed to dodge out of the way, but only into the bedroom, where she was trapped. He stood in the doorway, arms resting high on either side of the frame.

‘Ain't it? Tell me how it is, then, with me tucked up in my hammock miles from anywhere, and you and him going at it hammer and tongs.'

Afraid as she was, she scorned to answer.

‘Don't like that, eh? Don't like it when I call a spade a spade?' He advanced into the room.

‘That ain't the point.' Somehow, the more he trapped her, the more she felt able to rise above her fear. She wasn't going to plead and make excuses. ‘The point is, I want a divorce, Bill. You can do what you like, it won't make no difference.'

He swore and grabbed her by the arm, flinging her with ease into a corner. She felt his brute strength, as often before. She didn't even cry out as he moved in again, dragged her to her feet and began to hit her across the face with the palm of his heavy hand.

Tommy didn't linger long at the Duke. Jimmie wasn't there, and after a word or two with Walter, he said he thought he would turn in for an early night.

‘Any news of Jerry?' he asked. Walter was ready for duty in his helmet and overalls.

‘Not so far. Let's hope for a quiet night.'

‘They say he's too busy with Moscow these days.'

Tommy and Walter exchanged news; the US navy was gathering in Pearl Harbor, another good sign for the Allies. Soon though, Tommy went off to join Edie.

He sensed something, was wrong as he went upstairs to the flat. The landing door was open, but it was too quiet inside. The living room was empty. A whisky bottle stood open on the mantelpiece.

‘Edie!' He ran into the kitchen, then into the bedroom.

She lay on the bed. Blood trickled from a wound on her head, her face was battered, her eyes closed. Morell. Tommy saw only her poor face, the red blood soaking into her fair hair. Her dress was ripped, her body flung against the headboard, covered in cuts.

He ran over and held her. ‘Open your eyes, for God's sake, Edie!' She was warm. He felt for a pulse, found one, then wrapped a sheet around her, trying not to move her in case her bones were broken. How could he have let this happen? Where was Morell now?

‘Wait till I get my hands on him.' He should have been here to take and return the blows. How badly was she hurt? If Morell had killed her, if Edie should die . . .

Chapter Nineteen

Morell's one-track mind ticked Edie off his list of scores to settle and came next to Tommy O'Hagan. He made for the paint and wallpaper shop on Duke Street, leaving his wife unconscious on the bed. No one could ditch him or do the dirty on him and get away with it.

The sight of the paint shop collapsed like a sandcastle into a heap of rubble threw him, however. He had to check his bearings, try to recognize some of the buildings nearby, shell-scarred and boarded-up, but still standing amongst the debris. Yes, this had been O'Hagan's shop and living quarters, now smashed to dust. Morell turned on his heel, hoping that the bombs hadn't done for him what he'd savoured doing all these last months at sea.

The Duke of Wellington was his next port of call, for news and another drink. He would go on a bender, fire himself up, then tear the bloke apart, always supposing that Hitler hadn't got there first. He swung open the doors of the pub. It was full of smoke, music, loud voices, the same old faces.

‘Hello, Bill. What can I get you?' Annie stood fast behind the bar. A few heads turned as the serviceman entered. Like her, they registered trouble.

He ordered and took a whisky. ‘Where's O'Hagan?'

‘You mean Tommy? Not in tonight.'

‘Not buried underneath his precious shop, then?' He slugged the whisky back.

‘No, thank God.' The answers came slow and steady. Further along the bar, George Mann kept a wary eye on him.

It was Bill's plain intention to make his wife's lover wish that
he had been killed by the bomb; the look on his face left Annie in no doubt. He shoved his glass back across the bar and nodded for a refill.

Annie poured. ‘That's your lot.'

‘I know. No need to tell me, there's a war on.'

He drank again. Annie annoyed him for several reasons. For instance, he didn't like the way she stood there, smart and spry, as if the whole world hadn't gone to hell and Edie wasn't making a fool of him, plain as the nose on his face. Morell knew that Annie knew.

She turned away to serve another customer. His dangerous mood had alarmed her, though she didn't show it. Tommy had only just left the pub. He'd called in minutes before, but only had the one drink, thank heavens. Now though, with Bill on the warpath, he would soon have to face the music. She wondered how to warn him, and caught George's attention by calling out: ‘Can you go down and tap a new barrel of bitter?'

‘I just did.' George came over, wiping his hands. He nodded at Bill. ‘I hear it's bad in the Med.'

‘Couldn't say. I'm in Greenock.' He stared at his empty glass, working up a fresh rage. Every other blighter in the pub was staring at him, thinking, ‘Poor sap, home on leave and all alone, while his wife lets O'Hagan warm his sheets.' He felt their eyes fixed on him in quiet mockery.

‘Better than the Far East at any rate.' George took over from Annie in case he was needed. ‘I wouldn't fancy it out there myself.'

‘Like a nice, quiet war, do you?' Morell sneered.

‘That's the ticket.'

‘Tell that to Mr Hitler,' Dolly Ogden chipped in sharply, then bit her tongue. Bill Morell shouldn't be crossed. He was slurring his words and swaying against the bar. George and Annie were doing their best to keep a lid on things.

‘Where will I find O'Hagan?'

George shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘What do you think I am, his keeper?'

‘I bet he was in here, though.' Bill picked up his hat which he'd
thrown down on the bar. Saturday night; sooner or later everyone pitched up at the pub.

George's eyelids flickered.

‘Thanks for nothing, mate.' Bill jammed the hat on. ‘It don't make no difference to me. I got forty-eight hours to find the little bleeder. I ain't in a rush.' He wouldn't skulk, or run after him, he would bide his time. Let someone sneak off and warn him; he enjoyed the idea of Tommy having time to squirm before he belted him.

‘What's up, Bill? Why are you looking for Tommy?' Annie took a direct line at last. After all, Bill had opened it up.

‘As if you didn't know.'

‘You tell me.'

He shrugged. ‘Ask Edie.'

Annie didn't like this reply. The alarm bells rang louder still. They all knew how things stood with the marriage and in one small corner of her mind she did in fact afford Bill a scrap of sympathy. It couldn't be nice to come back to this; no wife, no home, no future. Being old fashioned, she also believed that Edie should have told him face-to-face. The way she did it, by letter, left too much unfinished business that was bound to catch up with her and Tommy sooner or later.

‘Edie don't gossip, Bill. You should know that. She keeps her troubles to herself.'

‘So my name ain't mud around here?' He scoffed at Annie. ‘Do me a favour!'

‘She ain't said nothing.' Reading between the lines, Annie had realized that things had been hard for Edie. You only had to look at Morell; slurred, heavy, his face glistening with sweat, to see just how hard. Her grain of sympathy dissolved. ‘No need to take it out on her, is there?'

‘Too late.' He turned unsteadily.

‘Look here!' Annie reached over to take him by the cuff. ‘You ain't done nothing silly?'