Soldier Girl (31 page)

‘No! Where to?’

‘Only up the road. To a bigger house. One of those ones up the end.’

‘Oh,
have
they?’ Molly said grimly. ‘They seem to be in the money all of a sudden.’ She ran a hand over her face. She hadn’t thought anything through. ‘I don’t want to be over there – I’ll stop ’ere with you, if that’s all right?’

Em leaned down and squeezed her hand. ‘Course it is.’

‘I s’pose I’d better look in on Mom,’ Molly said when they’d all had their tea. ‘See how they’re getting along in their new palace!’

She was a bit curious about the new house in Lupin Street, but as she left number eighteen, she was also anxious not to get in the Brown family’s way. She’d promised Cynthia she’d go and apply for a civilian ration book the next day, so that she was not a burden on them. She was still wearing her uniform, the only clothes she had with her, and she wanted to retrieve a few old things she had in the house to make do with for now. After that she was going to have to get back on her feet, get a job and pay her way.

It was only thanks to Em that she knew the number of the house. It was in a terrace, two up, two down – hardly a palace, but an improvement on the old back-to-back they were in before. Like all the other houses in the neighbourhood, its brickwork wore a thick powdering of grime, and the window frames were rotting, but the front door, which was dark green, had recently been given a lick of paint. Molly stood on the step for a few seconds, bracing herself. As well as the usual musty smell that emanated from these houses, there was a whiff of something else seeping out round the door, a pungent, sickly smell.

Molly pushed at the door, but to her surprise it was bolted from the inside. She tutted. It was very rare for anyone to bother locking their door round here. There was nothing much to steal anyway. What the hell was going on? Impatient, she rapped on the door.

Immediately she heard someone running downstairs and then Bert’s muffled voice: ‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s Molly. Remember me – your sister? For God’s sake, let me in.’

An elaborate performance of undoing locks and bolts went on behind the door, and then Bert’s rat-like face appeared in the gloom. He gave a disparaging laugh.

‘Oh. It’s only you! What’re you doing back ’ere?’

‘Just passing through,’ Molly said as he stepped back to let her in. She could see the shapes of furniture in the dark room. ‘What’s that horrible pong?’

‘ ’Oo’s that down there with yer?’ she heard Iris bawl from upstairs.

‘It’s Molly,’ he said indifferently.

‘Oh-ho –
is
it?’ Iris shouted nastily. ‘What’s
she
want?’

‘I’ve come to pick up the last of my clothes,’ Molly said, moving towards the stairs. ‘I s’pose you’ve brought my things here with yer?’ She was already longing to get away. She’d known better than to think she might find a welcome.

Bert was barring the way upstairs, a nasty, taunting expression on his face.

‘Just let me get my clothes and go,’ Molly said wearily. Hearing a cough from the back room, she realized it was Joe, and pushed her way in past Bert. Startled, she looked round. There was a dim light bulb hanging in the middle of the room over a table she had never seen before, with four chairs pushed in under it. It wasn’t new, but it was better than any furniture they’d ever had before. Against one wall stood an old Welsh dresser, arranged with pink flowery crocks, all of which were new, and in the back corner of the kitchen was a gas stove. Joe was parked in his chair by the grate, as he had usually been in the last house, though the evening was too warm for a fire, even if anyone had been prepared to light one.

‘Hello, Joe,’ Molly said once he noticed her in the room. She wasn’t even sure if he knew who she was, in her ATS uniform. ‘It’s Molly.’

Joe nodded. ‘All right?’ he said. He moved a trembling hand up to his face and fussed at his cheek as if some insect had landed on it. Molly couldn’t see anything.

‘I’ve just come to get my things,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go away again for a bit.’

‘Have yer?’ He lowered his quivering hand onto the arm of the chair. It continued to shake.

‘Is there anything I can get yer?’

He shook his head, then closed his eyes and put his head back as if to shut everyone out. Molly pitied him having to live with this stink. She pitied him altogether, but there was nothing she could do. And in his odd, twisted way, it did seem as if Bert was looking after the family, at least in terms of bringing in the money.

Turning, she saw that Bert was watching her, leaning on the door frame and barring her way.

‘It’s a good job you ain’t coming to stop ’ere,’ he said, and there was a note of pride in his voice. ‘’Cos there ain’t no room for yer now. You’d better come up and see what we’re doing, little sis.’

She followed Bert’s shiny shoes and the pungent smell up the stairs. These, she noticed in the light of another dim bulb, had deep red carpet running up them, an unheard-of luxury in any of the other houses. At the top, a tiny landing separated the back room from the front, and Bert turned into the back one. Molly stopped at the door, trying to make sense of the startling sight in front of her. There was a narrow bed against the back wall away from the window, across which had been laid a flat board, covered in newspaper to make a makeshift table. On it, arranged methodically, were a number of large metal cans and several rows of small glass bottles, and in front of it, Iris was sitting on a chair, clothed in a satin confection of a dress in a harsh shade of peacock blue, all pleats and flounces and plunging neckline. Her legs were braced wide apart, the skirt hoicked up indecently high, and she was pouring liquid from one of the cans through a funnel into one of the little bottles. Beside her, on the bed, rested a half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker. Iris finished pouring, took a swig from the bottle, and, staring aggressively at Molly with bleary eyes, said, ‘Oh – so
you’re
back, are yer? I thought you was too good for us.’

It was only then that Molly noticed a movement from behind the door and realized there was someone else there. A young woman walked towards the bed holding another of the cans, which she put down near the others. She turned to look at Molly, who saw a thin, sallow face with a poor complexion, dark eyebrows plucked to a thin line, the eyes heavily laden with makeup. Her hair, blonde, unlike her eyebrows, was obviously dyed, and was scraped back from her face in tight, lacquered waves. She had a pert little mouth which seemed to express a sneering scorn at the sight of Molly. She too was wearing a fancy little frock, pink and too short for her.

‘This is my little sister, Molly,’ Bert said to the girl. She made a sour movement with her mouth and turned away. He didn’t bother to tell Molly who she was and Molly couldn’t have cared less anyway.
Just another of Bert’s nasty little bits
, she thought.

She stared round the room. Against all the other walls were stacked cartons. Some were open and she could see that they contained empty bottles like the one Iris was filling, but the others held other booty. She went over to look and Bert didn’t stop her. He stood with his arms folded, a scheming, satisfied grin on his face. She opened one box and tapped at the smaller boxes inside, shocked to realize that it was crammed full of packets of cigarettes. In another, under the window, she prodded blue wrapped packages.

‘Sugar?’ She turned to Bert.

‘Bingo. And here—’ He rifled in another smaller box behind the door and brought out a sheaf of papers. Petrol coupons – hundreds of them.

‘Are they . . . ?’ Molly looked at him, only gradually taking in the magnitude of what he was involved in.

‘Straight up?’ Bert gave a sneering laugh. ‘What do you think?’

‘And what’s . . . ?’ She gestured towards the bed, the bottles.

‘Perfume – straight from the boulevards of Paris!’ He pronounced it Paree. ‘The ladies love it – it’s the scent of love!’

‘Smells lovely,’ Iris murmured. ‘D’yer like my frock, Moll? Bert got it for me.’

Molly stared at the grotesque sight of her mother in the silky dress, fit for a glamorous night out, yet so tight on her that she looked more like a stringed ham, the silky folds pulled about in all directions. Her hair was scraped up chaotically, and she was wearing daubs of rouge and bright red lipstick, no doubt all courtesy of Bert. She and the girl were most likely drenched in perfume too, though the sickly smell was so generally overpowering in here that there was no way of telling.

Bert became expansive, seemingly enjoying showing off his prowess. He went to a box in the corner and brought out another bottle of Johnny Walker. Molly’s gaze fastened hungrily on the bottle, a look which Bert didn’t miss.

‘That’s it, sis – come down and have a drink. I know you like a drop. There’s plenty more where this came from. Hilda – you stay here and help our mom for a bit. I need a conflab with my sister.’

Hilda stared balefully as Molly followed Bert from the room.

‘Our mom dozes off on the job,’ Bert said as they went downstairs. ‘I like to ’ave Hilda up there to keep ’er going as long as ’er can. Help earn some of the money for all ’er finery! Right – go and sit in the front – the old man’s in the back.’

When Bert turned on the light, Molly looked round in amazement. Everything in the room was new to her – a settee and two chairs, all in a matching brown, a wooden dresser by the wall with plates arranged on it, a rug on the floor, bright blue and gold vases on the mantel either side of a clock in a curving wooden case, and all sorts of other knick-knacks. There were even two pictures on the walls – sentimental portraits of little children, girls with long golden hair tucked into bonnets.

‘ ’Ere – get yerself tucked round that.’ Bert handed her the bottle he’d brought with him from upstairs and went to the dresser cupboard, reaching in for glasses –
glasses!
He handed her one, then flung himself down in one of the chairs, lying back like a king surveying his empire. He lit a cigarette – the first of many that evening – and passed one to Molly as well. Molly, sitting opposite him on the strange brown chair, didn’t exactly relish the thought of time spent with her brother, but the offer of free whiskey was too big a lure. And she was curious about it all. Bert was looking so flaming pleased with himself. She took a big slurp of the liquor, feeling it burn warm down inside her, beginning to soften the edges of the pain which lay so heavily, like a rock inside her. She was still trying to come to terms with what she had seen upstairs, with the new state of the house. It was no surprise to her that Bert was a criminal, but she was startled by the scale of it.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ she asked. ‘Where did all that stuff come from?’

‘It ain’t a game.’ Bert sat forward, tensely resting his arms on his thighs. ‘D’you think I got all this stuff just from some stupid game?’ He sounded really affronted.

‘How did you
get
it all here?’

‘Ah well – that’s down to Wal. Wal Spence. We call ’im “The Mole”. His old man’s an undertaker, over Kings Heath way. Now he ain’t gunna notice if his wheels do a few night trips, is ’e?’

‘You mean – in a
hearse
?’

Bert nodded gleefully, his shrewish face creasing with amusement. ‘Plenty of room in a hearse.’

‘But what about the petrol?’

‘You saw – I’ve got all the coupons you could want. We’ve got a fella prints ’em up for us. Once you got your wheels – I mean there’s a gang of us – Wal and me, and there’s Horrid Harry, Soapy Joe – oh, and Fred.’

For a moment Molly felt as if she was in conversation with a twelve-year-old, the brother she remembered shinning over the rooftops of the yard to get away from trouble; his little gang of bullies and pilferers, always up to something, always mean and sadistic at the same time and Bert always the meanest of the lot. She felt herself recoil from him, an urge to get up and slam out of the house. But the generous amounts of whiskey she was gulping down were making her feel warm and muzzy. In fact she hadn’t felt so at ease in a long time. She picked up the bottle and hugged it to her.

‘That’s it, sis, you have a good go at it,’ Bert said indulgently. ‘Plenty more where that came from.’

She realized he was enjoying lavishing the drink on her, playing the big man. She sat back drinking steadily while, proudly and ramblingly, Bert outlined the underhand plots and heists that were bringing his and Iris’s standard of living up no end, not to mention being a draw for the girls who now seemed to swarm round him. Hilda was apparently the latest in a queue. Molly listened to a list of lootings at the railway yards and wharfs, of robberies from warehouses – one where they had crowbarred a whole section of wall away to get at the stocks of sugar now occupying the upstairs room, and one consisting of consignments of butter and meat – the last of which had proved a nightmare to get rid of, crawling with maggots when they finally despatched it into the cut.

‘The stuff we managed to sell must’ve given a few of them buggers a tummy ache!’ Bert chortled, then took another swig, straight from the bottle now. The whiskey fumes mixed with the strong stench of the perfume were beginning to make Molly feel quite peculiar. She couldn’t seem to care whether what Bert was doing was criminal. She took big mouthfuls of whiskey.