All Fall Down (34 page)

‘What will you have? Sherry?' The landlady offered Sadie a chair at a table by the window.

‘Nothing, thanks. I wanted to have a talk about Meggie and Ronnie, and since they haven't seen fit to introduce us, I took things into my own hands.'

‘Well, you're only young once.' Gertie took an unopened packet of cigarettes from the bar and offered one to Sadie. When she refused this too, she lit up for herself and sat cross-legged on a high stool, some distance away. ‘You know what they're like.'

‘I know what
I
was like at their age.'

‘Exactly. No one has ever been in love before, tra-la!' Gertie's wide lips spread into a smile. ‘Tell them it was the end of the world and they wouldn't take a blind bit of notice.'

‘I don't know if you know it, but Ronnie is Meggie's first boyfriend.' Sadie led things forward. Gertie seemed noncommittal, waiting for her to make the moves. ‘She's fallen for him in a pretty big way.'

The eyebrows flicked up. ‘It'll pass, don't you worry.'

Sadie allowed herself a smile. ‘Try telling Meggie that.'

‘It will, though.' She'd seen it all before, she gave Sadie to understand. ‘Does Meggie know you're here?'

Quickly Sadie shook her head. ‘She'd wring my neck.'

‘So, what do you want to know? Ronnie's taken up with your daughter. There ain't much I can do about that, is there?' Gertie held her cigarette at an elegant angle, clicking her long thumbnail against the nail of her third finger.

‘And how serious is he?'

‘Blimey!'

‘No, I need to know.' She wouldn't be thrown off course by Gertie's scorn.

‘He writes her letters, don't he? How should I know, for God's sake?' Sadie's earnestness irritated her. She reached for a drink of the sherry that she'd offered her visitor. ‘Listen, I take it you're worried about your girl getting in too deep? But if you take my advice, you'll let things ride, see if they cool down.' She wished she'd followed this line herself with Ronnie. Instead, she'd forced
his attention onto Meggie all the more by moaning and wailing on.

‘I already tried that,' Sadie let on. ‘I took a back seat, thinking the usual things; it's her first time, she's bound to fall hard, then she'll pull herself together and take a good look at what she wants out of life.'

‘She will. Give her a chance.' Meggie hadn't been the first girl to fall head over heels for Ronnie.

‘The trouble is, it's the war. It flings them together and pulls them apart. It ain't natural.'

Gertie's determination to underplay the strength of feeling between the young couple began to falter. ‘What are you trying to say, that you think this is the real thing?'

Sadie shook her head. ‘It don't matter what I think. It's what they think that counts.'

‘Listen.' Gertie came down from her stool. ‘Have you tried talking some sense into her?'

Sadie sighed. ‘Talking to Meggie ain't easy. She's a good girl, but she's got a mind of her own. What am I supposed to say? Ronnie Elliot ain't the one for you. I don't know that, do I? That's why we needed to have a talk.'

Gertie came and sat at the table, silent and troubled.

‘Well, is he?'

Gertie stared hard. ‘Is that it? You came to check up on Ronnie through me?'

‘For a start.' By now Sadie wanted everything out in the open. If there were real problems to sort out, she must give Gertie the full picture.

‘And then what?'

‘Meggie let something slip last night, poor girl. She came home in a state, sobbing and hugging me, saying your Ronnie's asked her to marry him.'

Gertie stubbed out her cigarette with a violent twist. ‘Come again?'

‘He never told you, did he? I didn't think he had.' Sadie studied her. ‘It was last night. She was beside herself, otherwise I'd never
have got to hear. Ronnie's talking about the two of them eloping together.'

‘Over my dead body.' Gertie stood up and paced the floor. ‘Has he gone out of his mind, for God's sake?' She noticed Shankley appear at the door in response to her raised voice, and went and closed it in his face. ‘You're sure about this? She ain't making it up?'

‘I'm cast-iron certain.' Once again Sadie was thrown. Gone was Gertie's hard shell, her tough air of knowing the ways of the world. There was panic in her eyes.

‘You ain't gonna let her?' She came and leaned over the table, arms braced, eyes staring. ‘She's too young, ain't she? Sixteen—'

‘Seventeen, going on eighteen.'

‘Seventeen. She's throwing her life away. What about her job?'

‘I don't know. They haven't thought it through. All I know is what I'm telling you, they plan to get married.'

Gertie shook her head. ‘Well, you'd better stop her.'

‘What about you?' A new idea dawned on Sadie. She too stood up. ‘Look, he ain't got a wife already, has he? It ain't nothing like that?' Something, she didn't know what, had appalled Ronnie's mother. ‘What's so bad about Meggie marrying him?'

‘I can't say. It ain't right, that's all. I feel it in my bones.' She pulled away as Sadie tried to take her by the arm. ‘Tell her Ronnie don't mean it. His mouth ran away with him, you know how it is.'

‘You mean, he only wants her to think . . .?' It was Sadie's turn to be shocked.

‘That's what men do. They make promises.'

‘And don't keep them?' Sadie wanted to fly out of the door to rescue her daughter. ‘Are you saying he's that sort?'

‘Maybe, maybe . . . he could get himself into that sort of fix. Anyone could.' Gertie held onto this idea. It put him in a bad light, it was true, but it was possible that Ronnie was playing this game, keeping Meggie dangling on a string.

‘If he's done that, I'll . . .' Sadie was speechless.

‘Yes, and if your girl's been fool enough to fall for it!' Gertie's
hardbitten defences were back up. She crossed the room to the door. ‘Let's keep a cool head. You go home and give her a talking to when she gets back. I'll try and find out what Ronnie's up to.'

Sadie collected her hat and bag with trembling hands. She felt sick, she felt a fool. Like Meggie, she'd taken Ronnie's proposal at face value. Now his mother was exposing it as an age-old trick. Before she left, she gathered her dignity.

‘It's true Meggie's only young,' she told Gertie on the doorstep. ‘But she ain't a fool. If Ronnie's stringing her along, she'll see it in time, believe me. She knows lies when she hears them, and she's been brought up proper.' She fixed her hat on angrily. It was more than could be said for some, she implied.

‘Then there's nothing to worry about, is there?' Gertie closed the door on Sadie. She leaned back against it, felt the blood drain from her face. She'd tried with all her might to keep Ronnie and Meggie apart, but in vain. It was time to think again, before it was too late.

Tommy waited all night in Edie's empty flat for Morell to show his face, but he was meant to stew in his own juice, it seemed. The hours crawled by. Tommy went from room to room, waiting, listening, until it grew too much to bear. He went outside into a grey dawn light and hunted for him in the streets, with the idea that Morell might have drunk himself into a stupor and was lying senseless in a doorway, or slumped at a table in an all-night speakeasy. For an hour or so he turned up no clues; Morell hadn't been seen since Walter and George had thrown him out of the Duke. Tommy knew every corner, every back alley of Southwark. They were the haunts of his childhood; the railway embankments, the arches, the cathedral close.

‘Take it easy, Tommy,' Walter Davidson advised, off-duty but cruising round in his cab. He pulled in at the kerbside and called him over.

‘How's Edie?'

‘Sleeping, finally. I just called in. Hettie says she had a bad night.'

‘Have you seen Morell?'

‘No, and if I had I wouldn't tell you.' Walter recognized Tommy's shortening fuse. ‘You'll get yourself killed if you're not careful.'

‘Bleeding coward.' Tommy walked on. Walter's taxi crawled alongside. ‘He batters a woman, but when it comes to a fair fight, where is he?'

‘Winding you up, Tommy. Biding his time.'

‘If you see the swine, tell him I'm ready and waiting. And I'll track him down like a dog if he doesn't come to me.' Already he planned to get up to Paddington in time for the departure of the Glasgow train. Morell had to be on that, come what may.

‘And help you put your head in the noose?' Walter gave up trying to talk reasonably. He drove off, shaking his head, while Tommy went on scouring the streets.

By midday, his mood had set into a bitter, reckless determination. The anger died down only after Tommy had managed to eliminate from his mind the picture of Edie lying injured on the bed. He wouldn't call in to see her until all this was over. What he felt now was a cold desire to get even by using Morell's own methods. He imagined his fists thudding into that thick jaw, his feet kicking his ribs once he'd got him down.

Coming into Meredith Court at the bottom end by the factory, Tommy decided to scale the embankment for a good vantage point over the rows of terraces below. The railway line ran at roof level; once he'd scrambled up, he would be able to see much of what was going on to either side.

Come on, Morell!
He lit up a cigarette and studied the streets. A couple of kids played a skipping game on one corner, a salvage man drove his horse and cart past piles of rubble. Catching sight of a dark figure nip into one of the railway arches over Duke Street, Tommy's skin crawled with the sensation of cat-and-mouse. Instinct told him the figure was Morell. Without stopping to think, he threw away the fag and raced down the bank, slipping, sliding, once losing his footing as he ran. But when he reached the spot, the arch was empty. It ran back for twenty yards, stacked with old oil drums and petrol cans, ending in a derelict workshop; perhaps a small iron works or blacksmiths. Tommy walked cautiously into
the dead end, kicking aside loose bricks, rusting bits of iron and nails. The place smelt damp and disgusting, water dripped from the high arch, one of the workshop double doors hung half open.

‘Morell!' Tommy's voice echoed. He'd yelled the name so often he didn't expect a response.

The door swung wide open, inviting him to enter.

‘Swine!'

He picked up an iron bar from the floor of the yard and ran forward. Morell must be hiding behind the door. Tommy went for the window to one side, smashed it and leapt through. The smell hit him again, a filthy, dark smell of drains and mould. The roof of the workshop ran with dirty water which landed in a swamp of rotting wood and sludge. Tommy whirled round, looking for Morell.

‘Up here.'

There was just enough light to see a ledge, wide and high enough for Morell to stand on, reached by an eight-foot metal ladder attached to the wall. In a flash, Tommy had made it to the ladder and climbed up.

Morell waited. His idea was to stamp on Tommy's hands as he came within reach and cripple them. He raised his boot, towering overhead. But he caught only one hand, and Tommy ignored the pain. He swung himself up with his other arm to catch Morell by the ankles and topple him. Morell overbalanced, he slipped sideways, Tommy wrenched and they both fell to the sodden floor. They rolled, grabbing at one another's clothes, kicking and punching. Tommy's left hand was useless, Morell was powerful and used whatever came within reach: He seized an old sledgehammer and swung it, making Tommy dodge, and advanced slowly. It rang, metal against brick, as Morell missed. Tommy kicked at his opponent's knees and brought his legs from under him, seizing the hammer as it fell. Morell shielded his head, seeing the raised sledgehammer. He froze as Tommy pounded it down inches from one side of his face, then the other, down again, raining blows deliberately wide.

This was an unlooked-for chance, and Morell seized the reprieve.
The hammer was heavy and clumsy as Tommy raised it above his head, Morell spun round in the dirt and rolled against him. They were both down again, but Morell was up first, dragging Tommy after him out into the yard, landing punches as Tommy put up his one good hand to defend himself. Morell slogged relentlessly, knowing that Tommy had let him off the hook once, determined to beat him to a pulp before he could regain the advantage.

Tommy felt the blows come thick and fast. One landed him against an oil drum, which rolled and oozed black liquid. Then the kicks from Morell's boots; semi-darkness; another kick to the head. The sounds of clashing metal cans, the smell of petrol engulfed him as Tommy tried to open his eyes. Legs astride, Morell tore off a cap from a rusty petrol can and sloshed it over him. Tommy felt it soak through his clothes, smelt the fumes, felt them catch in his throat, saw Morell back off, as he floated in and out of consciousness. Now that he'd doused Tommy in petrol, Morell intended to keep a safe distance.

He drew a lighter from his pocket. Tommy would go up like a torch; no evidence, nothing. He searched for a rag or a scrap of paper dry enough to use as a firebrand. He went back into the workshop, leaving his victim unconscious in the yard. There was a cupboard in there, tucked away behind the door. Morell wrenched it open, ignoring the fractured pipes and torn wiring which lay open to view. He found what he needed: an old pair of overalls which he tore to shreds and twisted into a rough cord. He took it to the workshop door. Tommy had come round and was slithering towards him, heaving himself along the ground with his elbows, caked in petrol-soaked mud.

Morell held out the makeshift torch, ready to light it. The silver lighter lay flat and smooth in his palm. He took it and put it to the end of the rag. When it caught light and began to blaze, he would fling it at the crawling figure. Morell's hand was steady. He pressed with his broad thumb, the flint clicked and sparked. Gas from the fractured pipe ignited all around.