Riches of the Heart Page 9

  Downing the dregs of his mug, he got to his feet. ‘Best be off. Thanks for the tea.’ He called, ‘Thanks, Mary.’

  She came into the room and said, ‘You’re welcome.’

  He walked towards the door and stopped. Turning around, he asked, ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come to the pictures with me on Friday?’

  She looked surprised, then glanced over towards her father, who nodded his approval. ‘Thank you, I’d like that.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up about six then,’ he said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you then.’

  When he’d gone, Mary said to her father. ‘That was a bit unexpected.’

  Bill let out a sigh. ‘Poor chap. He was going to be married, but his girl ran off.’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘Oh dear. Why on earth did she do such a thing?’

  ‘I don’t know, neither does he, but he was very cut up about it. Still, if he’s asked you out, he must be feeling better. He’s a nice bloke, Mary. Be gentle with him, he’s still a bit fragile.’

  ‘He looked man enough to me to take care of himself.’ She walked back into the scullery. Whilst she washed up the dirty mugs, she wondered who would be mad enough to run away from marrying such a good-looking man.

  It was late November and the weather was cold and miserable. In the streets of Southampton, there had been a two-day fall of snow, which was now beginning to turn to slush.

  Lily shivered as she stood on the corner of the street, her feet frozen in the thin shoes that needed repair and let in the wet. She’d been forced to go on the game to keep body and soul together. She was a reluctant whore, only taking a punter when she needed the rent and to buy food. She hated what she’d become, and cursed Manny Cohen every time a strange man’s hands moved over her body, touching her.

  She tried to be careful in her choice of client, because here in the dock area there were many undesirable and dangerous people. But she’d learned the hard way that the decent-looking men were sometimes the worst. Sometimes she smiled wryly when Amy’s words came true – when her time with a punter was thankfully over quickly.

  She saw Jim from time to time. It was a welcome respite for her. Despite the fact that he paid her for sex, he took her out for a meal, brought her gifts from America, treated her with respect and never questioned her about herself.

  But tonight she felt ill. The rent was paid, but she hadn’t been able to face the street and all its horrors for days. She was weak with hunger, shrammed to the bone, and tonight had been forced to leave the safety of her room and try her luck.

  Fred Bates was strolling along the street, happy to be out of prison at last and looking forward to his first pint in several long weeks. Having been released earlier that day, he had been home to dump his small parcel of possessions and was now ready to slake his thirst. He had stopped to light a cigarette, when a girl stepped out of the darkness and spoke to him.

  ‘Hello, dearie. You look lonely. Could you do with some company?’

  In the low light from the street-lamp, he looked at her with interest. She’d pulled the collar of her coat up around her face to keep out the cold; all he could see was a pair of wide, deep-blue eyes, fringed with long silky eyelashes. The voice lacked the harsh tones that most of the toms possessed, through years of degradation. He was curious.

  ‘If I knew who I was talking to, I might be interested.’ He leaned forward and opened up the collar, and was surprised at the youthful appearance of the girl. Despite the dark hollows beneath her eyes, she was a pretty little thing.

  ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

  She gave him a cheeky grin, tucked her arm in his and said, ‘Old enough.’

  He caught hold of her hand, which was like ice. She staggered against him, and he clutched at her, to stop her falling. She was shivering.

  ‘You shouldn’t be out on the streets like this. Come on. I’ll take you into the pub and give you a pie and a drop of whisky, or I can see I’ll have a body on my hands.’

  He ushered her into The Dog and Duck, sat her down and went to the bar.

  ‘Hello, Fred,’ the barman greeted him. ‘Just got out?’

  ‘Yeah, this morning. And I’m never bloody going back.’

  The man laughed. ‘That’s what you said last time.’

  ‘Yeah, but this time I mean it. Give us a pint of bitter and a Scotch. Got any hot meat pies?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll get the wife to fetch one for you.’

  Lily sat huddled in a corner, blowing her breath into her hands, trying to warm them and observing the stranger at the bar. He must be in his thirties, she guessed. His build was wiry and his thin face was kind. He glanced back at her with a worried frown and gave her an encouraging grin. She smiled wanly back at him.

  He walked over to her, handed her a glass and said, ‘Sip this, love. Slowly, mind. Don’t want you choking on me.’

  The fiery liquid slid down her throat, burning as it made its slow passage, warming her. Then she tucked into the pie, brought over by the landlady. It tasted so good, she relished every mouthful.

  Fred didn’t speak but watched her with fascination. What was she doing on the street? This was no usual tom. There was a vulnerability about her, almost an air of innocence, which he found very strange when she was out there selling her body. ‘Feel better?’ he asked as she swallowed the last crumb.

  ‘Mm,’ she answered with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘That was very kind of you. Thanks. Now where do you want to go?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you bought me a drink, gave me something to eat. Do we go back to your place or mine?’

  Her words shocked him – but why should they? After all, she’d propositioned him. There was no secret about what she was offering for money.

  ‘How long have you been on the game, love?’

  Lily lowered her gaze for a moment then, lifting her head defiantly, answered, ‘That’s none of your business.’

  Fred smiled inwardly. So there was fire there. A spirit that was not yet extinguished. For no particular reason it pleased him.

  ‘You’re quite right, it isn’t. Sorry if I offended you.’

  Perked up by the whisky and the pie, Lily grinned. ‘No, I’m not offended. What’s your name?’

  ‘Fred.’

  She held out her hand. ‘Hello, Fred. I’m Lily.’

  Amused, he took her hand, shaking it solemnly.

  ‘What’s your game then, Fred?’

  He scratched his chin. ‘Well, to be honest, I’ve just come out of prison.’

  Lily’s smile vanished and a wary look was in her eye, a worried note in her voice as she asked, ‘What for? What did you do?’

  ‘I haven’t killed anyone, girl. I’m a dip – a pickpocket.’

  She relaxed against the seat. ‘Oh, is that all.’

  Chuckling he said, ‘I wished the magistrate what sent me down thought like you do.’

  ‘How long did you get?’

  ‘Three months – this time.’

  ‘Why do you do it, then?’

  ‘I’ve been doing it all my life, Lily. My father was one of the best dips on the South Coast. When I was a kid, we used to go to the markets or busy streets. I’d cry, pretending to be lost, then when people gathered round, my father used to pick their pockets.’ The way he told it, with a mischievous grin, it didn’t seem a crime at all.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Lily asked.

  Sipping his pint he said, ‘I’m going to try and keep out of trouble. Go straight.’

  ‘It must be awful being in prison.’ Lily looked troubled.

  Fred nodded. ‘Yeah, it is. There are some pretty mental people in the nick. It’s a dodgy place to be … that’s why I’m never going back.’

  ‘Will it be easy to find a job? I mean, you’ll have a record.’

  ‘True, but my friend Knocker Jones, the rag and bone man, wants me to give him a hand.’ He lit a cigarette. Wit
h a sudden note of pride in his voice, he told her, ‘I’ve got my own little house – a two-up and two-down. It belonged to my dad, the only good thing he got from crime. So you see, sometimes it does pay. Want another drink?’

  Lily relaxed. The drink and food had made her feel better. Fred was a good companion who made her laugh.

  He, however, was still curious about this young girl. ‘Do you live alone, Lily?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a little room not far from here. Bit grotty, but it’s home.’

  She’d undone her coat now she felt warmer and Fred could see her curvaceous figure. This girl should be at home with a husband to care for her, not out on the streets in the docks. God knows what could happen to her, or already had. Something must have sent her out there. He knew enough about toms to know that most of them had a sad story.

  ‘What are your plans for the future, then?’ he asked.

  The change in Lily was astonishing. Gone was the smile, the friendliness.

  ‘Future! What future?’ The expression on her face was one of bitterness. Two Scotches on an empty stomach had loosened her tongue. ‘Do you think I want to go on like this day after day, year after year? I have no future.’

  Fred looked around to see if anyone had heard her outburst. The bar was fuller now than when they had entered, but the people drinking were immersed in their own world. Here, in these parts, folk just survived. They had enough problems without being involved in other people’s.

  But Lily’s words had upset Fred. This lovely girl needed someone to care for her, that was evident. He couldn’t bear to think of the consequences if she was left alone. He knew how tough life could be on the streets without a penny to your name. It made you do all kinds of crazy things. Maybe for once in his life he could help someone down on their luck. He felt he had to try.

  ‘You come home with me, love – I’ll take care of you. I’m going to be working, I’m going to be legal and all that. No more prison. You needn’t go back on the game. How about if you look after me and the house, cook my meals, and in return I’ll look after you?’

  ‘What’s in it for you, Fred?’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to share my bed with you, Lily, but only if you want me to. I’ve never forced myself on a woman yet.’ He paused, then asked, ‘What do you say – give it a try?’

  Lily was feeling so desolate that she thought, Why not? It couldn’t be worse than what she was forced to do now. She looked across at Fred. He seemed decent enough, and if she didn’t like the situation she could always leave.

  ‘All right.’ She perked up a bit. ‘My rent’s paid until the end of the week, so I’ll give it a try until then. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll leave and you can pay my next week’s rent.’

  He chuckled. ‘You strike a hard bargain, I’ll give you that. OK, it’s a deal.’

  ‘Half a mo. What happens if I don’t want to sleep with you?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ve got a spare room. You’ll be a kind of housekeeper.’ There was a twinkle in his eye as he added, ‘But if you change your mind, I won’t say no.’

  Men never do, thought Lily. Why did they have to be born with all that tackle between their legs? It was ugly and was the cause of a lot of trouble. Some said a lot of pleasure, but up to now she hadn’t found it so.

  The barman winked at Fred as the couple left. Fred pointed a warning finger at him, daring him to utter a word.

  Lily followed Fred into his house. The front door opened straight into the living room. She was surprised that it was so clean and tidy. In the polished black-leaded range a fire was burning. She immediately went over to it, turning her back to the flames, loving the warmth creeping through her clothes.

  When Fred lit the gas-lamp, she looked around at what was to be her new home. There was an old leather settee, covered in a bright rug. The linoleum on the floor, though cracked, was clean. In the centre of the room stood a table, covered in a maroon chenille cloth. Two armchairs were drawn up on either side of the range. The room was welcoming and cosy.

  ‘This is the scullery.’ Fred led her through the door. Then, opening the back briefly, closing it when Lily shivered, he told her: ‘There’s the lavatory and a clothes line where I hang me washing. In the bin is the coal for the range. If you come upstairs, I’ll show you the rest.’

  Lily followed him, thinking, Now we come to the real business.

  He opened one bedroom door, inside which was a double bed, a wardrobe and chest of drawers. ‘That’s my room.’ He walked over to the other door and pushed it open. It contained a single bed, with a small cupboard beside it. ‘This is your room, Lily.’

  She looked at him in surprise.

  With a sardonic grin he said, ‘Didn’t believe me, did you? I’ll leave it up to you which you choose to use.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lily sincerely. ‘Tomorrow I’ll have to get my things from my room.’

  He put his hand in his pocket and handed her a key. ‘This is the spare. It’s yours for as long as you like.’

  She looked at the key in her hand, then at Fred. She was still uncertain. It all seemed too good to be true and she wondered what was going to happen next.

  Fred meanwhile walked downstairs and put the brown kettle on the hob. ‘Take your coat off, my girl, and make yourself at home. I’ll brew us a cuppa before we go to bed.’

  Later, Lily and Fred sat either side of the range, not speaking, listening to the crackle of the burning wood and the soft whistle of the kettle on the hob, both lost in their own thoughts. Fred was wondering which room she would choose, and Lily was wondering what would happen when she went into the spare room.

  ‘You go on up,’ Fred said at last. ‘You look worn out. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Lily went into the smaller room, closed the door, got undressed and waited. She heard Fred’s footsteps on the stairs and held her breath, but he walked on and she heard him close the door to his room.

  That night, Lily slept more soundly than she had for several weeks.

  The following morning, she ventured downstairs somewhat nervously.

  Fred was already up and dressed. He smiled at her. ‘Good morning. Sit down, Lily. I’m just frying some eggs and bacon. I’ll get you a cup of tea in a moment.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I be doing that?’ she asked. ‘If I’m supposed to be your housekeeper, I should be waiting on you.’

  ‘Later, love. I’ve got to go out and do some shopping first. Did you sleep well?’

  Nodding she said, ‘Yes, thanks. Like a log.’

  They sat at the table together, Fred urging her to eat up. ‘You need to get some flesh on your bones, girl. Get rid of them dark circles under your eyes.’

  They sat companionably eating. She was quiet, a bit shy with the situation.

  ‘I’ve got to go out and see my mate Knocker. Will you go and fetch your gear, then?’ There was a note of uncertainty in his voice as he asked the question. And a look of relief when Lily answered.

  ‘Yes, I thought I’d pop over early, before anyone realises I’m not there and nicks my stuff.’

  ‘Right then, love. I’ll see you later.’ He gave her a quick smile as he opened the door and left.

  Lily sat drinking her tea, looking around her. Somehow she felt at home in these strange surroundings. She thought it odd that she should be living in a house with a man other than Tom. This had been their dream – a place like this. Where was he now? Pull yourself together, she thought. You could be on the street. This is a thousand times better than that and Fred hasn’t once bothered you or attempted to touch you in any way. It seemed she’d found a gentleman, and she knew to her cost that there weren’t many around.

  Days passed into weeks, and Lily didn’t return to her room. She and Fred got on well together, shared the same sense of humour. She enjoyed cooking for him and he was always appreciative of her efforts. It was an easy alliance.

  That Christmas was the happiest Lily could e
ver remember. Fred had been busy working steadily for Knocker Jones. He’d given Lily money to buy food for them both, and some extra, to do some Christmas shopping. She’d bought a small tree, put some soil in the pot and placed it in the corner of the room, lovingly decorating it with a few bright baubles she’d found in the market. Then she had sat admiring it, filled with childish delight at its festive look.

  It had been more than a month now since she had first entered the house, and Fred, good as his word, never approached her in any way. She cleaned and cooked for him, happily. They lived almost like an old married couple, walking around the market together at the weekend, going to the local for a drink, eating together. But they still slept apart. Now it was Christmas Eve.

  Lily heard his key in the door, and realised how much she had grown to look forward to the sound. ‘Hello, love,’ Fred said as he walked in.

  Then he espied the tree. ‘Oh, Lily!’ He stood back and admired it. Turning to her he said, ‘It looks lovely.’ Looking below it, he saw a small parcel, and smiled. He took a parcel of his own out of his pocket, walked over to the tree and put it beside the other.

  Lily jumped to her feet, ran across the room and picked up the parcel, shaking it to see if it would rattle. She was like a child and Fred, though happy to see such joy in her face, was struck by her youthful innocence. It made all his thoughts of holding her, making love to her, almost obscene.

  ‘What would you like to do tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Could we walk up the High Street, look at all the shops with their decorations?’

  ‘If that’s what you want. Then we’ll go to the pie and mash shop and get some supper, so you won’t have to cook.’