Dream On (48 page)

‘I can't believe it,' Yvette sniffed, her hand trembling as she tried to light a cigarette.

Ginny took it from her. ‘Here, let me.'

‘Take a deep breath, sweetie,' Leila said, stroking her hand.

‘I've been everywhere looking for you, Leila. I didn't know what to do. I just got in a cab and went round all the clubs.'

Simon appeared with the brandy.

‘Come on, Yve,' Ginny soothed her, ‘drink this.'

She half emptied the glass in a single gulp, not even noticing the burning in her throat. ‘Shirley's been murdered.'

‘She's what?' Ginny gasped.

Yvette stared down at the table top. ‘She was smashed over the head. Earlier tonight some time. In that poxy little room of her'n in Dean Street. The girl across the landing found her. She saw all this blood. It was on the stairs, when she was going down to start working for the night.' Yvette swallowed more of the brandy. ‘They reckon the bastard done her in with her own iron.'

‘Who? Who did it?' Leila could hardly speak.

Yvette swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, rubbing tracks of mascara down her cheeks. ‘There's all sorts of rumours going round. But it couldn't have been a thief, like some of them are saying. The poor cow didn't have a pot to piss in, everyone knew that.'

Leila hastily looked away.

‘I tried to tell the law when they turned up it must have been a punter.' Yvette buried her face in her hands and sobbed. ‘Not that they're bothered. Once they saw she was a working girl, they didn't wanna know. But I tried, Gin, I tried telling 'em. She was so broke she was going with anyone. She must have picked up some nutcase, and . . .' Yvette shook her head. She couldn't go on.

Ginny stood up again. She went to the bar and spoke to Flora. ‘Get rid of everyone, please. Quick as you can. I'll explain later.'

Within minutes, Yvette and Leila had been put into the back of a taxi instructed to take them to Leila's flat, and the club – apart from Ginny, Flora and three of the minders who'd stayed behind to deal with any latecomers – was cleared.

Over two hours later, Ginny was still sitting up at the bar, drinking her way to the bottom of a pot of tea that Flora had fetched from the kitchens. She couldn't bear the thought of going up to bed; there were too many bad thoughts spinning and churning around in her mind.

‘I'm telling you, she'll let me in,' she and Flora heard someone shouting from downstairs.

‘Ginny. It's me, Simon. Tell these chaps it's okay.'

‘Excuse me, Flora.' Ginny set her cup in her saucer and climbed down from the bar-stool. ‘I'll only be a minute.'

At the bottom of the stairs, Ginny saw Simon struggling with one of the minders. ‘The party's over, Simon. Go home.'

‘Look, Ginny, I know you must be angry, me running out like that, but my first reaction was to get the story. To get the scoop.'

‘Simon, I don't wanna row with you, but—'

‘Can't I come upstairs for a while? To talk?' He smiled winningly. ‘I'll even play my clarinet for you if you like. That'll make you laugh. I've got it out in the car. I'll go and—'

‘Simon. Stop. Please.'

‘Ginny, if I don't take chances like this. If I don't make my name and become a rich and famous editor' – his smile graduated to his cheeky grin – ‘how can I ever buy you your Tara?'

‘Simon. Not now.' Ginny turned and went back upstairs, leaving the minders to see him out.

It was almost half past two in the early hours of Sunday morning and Ted was downstairs in the kitchen of number 18, listening to the sound of Nellie snoring up above him. He was wondering how, at nearly thirty-five years old, he had come to this. He was living back home with his mum, but scared to be seen out in the street; stuck with a kid to look after; no money to speak of, but with a wife who was running a club and probably had plenty; knowing there was some Maltese arsehole after his blood; and enough tea inside him to float a sodding battleship.

He was just deciding whether he should go out into the yard again, to check whether the bonfire he'd started had at last reduced his gore-stained clothes to unrecognisable ashes, or whether he should make himself another cup of tea first, when he heard what was for him the familiar sound of a jemmy working away at the woodwork round the front door.

Shit! Dilys's brothers must have spotted him. And presumably they were hoping to give him a surprise.

Ted switched off the lights and crept upstairs to where Susan was sleeping in the front room. He lifted the corner of the curtain and peered down.

But it wasn't Sid and Micky; it was the Maltese bastard and two of his trained gorillas.

That big-mouthed whore, Shirley, must have blabbed after all.

Ted clapped his hand over his sleeping child's mouth. Her eyes flicked open in alarm. ‘It's all right, it's only me,' he whispered into her ear. ‘We've gotta go. Get your coat on as quick and quiet as you can and follow me on tiptoe down to the backyard. All right?'

Susan nodded in wide-eyed silence.

As they clambered over the back wall, Ted could hear Nellie screaming blue murder and the unmistakable sound of her enamel chamber pot finding its mark, as the Maltese apparently found his mother's bedroom.

‘Ain't you gonna ask me in?'

‘Ted, it's three o'clock in the morning. You turn up here when I ain't seen you for—'

‘Don't clubs stay open till late no more, then?'

‘Not tonight,' said Ginny, wishing she's never insisted that Flora and the minders took the rest of the night off. ‘I've had some bad news.' She didn't bother wasting her breath telling him what had happened to Shirley, he probably wouldn't even care, knowing the way he'd treated the poor cow, or worse, he'd say she'd had it coming to her. That's what everyone seemed to say when a tom got murdered.

Ginny was just about to slam the door in his face when Ted played his blinder. ‘At least let the little 'un in for a minute, Gin. To have a drink or something.'

‘What little 'un?'

Ted jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the waiting cab. ‘Susan. My little Susan.'

Ginny pulled her dressing-gown round her and ran barefoot down the steps to the taxi. She wrenched open the door and held out her arms to the pale-faced child.

‘Oi, before you take her, that'll be fifty-two and six, if you don't mind.'

Even Susan, huddled in the corner of the back seat of the taxi like a scared rabbit, couldn't distract Ginny from the shock of the fare.
‘How much
?'

‘Don't blame me, darling. It's that bloke o' your'n. He's a bit strange if you ask me. Had me driving all round the back doubles, going round in circles and back again, like he was on a treasure trail or something.' He leaned towards her. ‘Not trying to give someone the slip or nothing, is he?'

Ginny sighed resignedly. Ted Martin was back.

‘I've settled her down in the spare room, she's whacked out.'

‘Lovely. And thanks, Gin, I always said you was one in a million.'

‘Save it, Ted, I don't fall for that old madam no more. Now, how did you know where to find me?'

‘I heard on the grapevine, didn't I, babe.'

‘You do know you wouldn't have even got a foot through that door if it wasn't for Susan?'

‘I know,' he said honestly – that having been the only reason he had brought the child with him in the first place. He knew she was Ginny's weak spot.

‘What I don't understand is why she's with you.'

‘Gin, you wouldn't believe it, darling. Dilys just walked out and left the poor little thing to look after herself. Can you imagine? She's been begging scraps from neighbours. Laying in a filthy rotten bed. You wouldn't believe the half of it.'

‘But I've been sending money to Dilys regular, so she could buy stuff for Susan.'

‘Have you? That was kind.' That conniving bitch, Dilys, had never mentioned no money to him.

‘And to Nellie. Why didn't she make sure—'

‘Me mother's dead.'

‘Nellie's dead?'

Ted rolled his eyes towards heaven. ‘Yeah, Gawd rest her soul. That's why we came here. I wouldn't let that kid stay in that prefab a minute longer and there was no one else I could turn to.'

‘Where are you living then?'

He didn't hesitate. ‘A poxy little bedsitter in Notting Hill Gate.'

‘Notting Hill? If these are more of your rotten lies, Ted Martin, I'll—'

‘I swear on my mother's . . . On my life. That's why we're here. Susan can't stay over there with me. It's terrible, Gin. Honest, you should see it. There's all these fights between the local yobbos and them West Indian gangs.' Ted was getting into his stride and was rather pleased with his imaginative choice of fictitious address. ‘How could I take her over there? Poor little kid. Plus she needs a woman's touch. You know, she's nearly eight now. A proper little lady.'

‘There's no need for all your old flannel, Ted. Susan can stay here while you sort yourself out.'

‘I don't reckon I should leave her though, Gin. She'll be scared without her dad. It's bad enough losing her mum like this. And what with her old granny going an' all . . .'

Ginny sighed wearily. ‘All right, Ted, save it. You can stay. But just for a few nights. And I really mean it.'

‘I knew I could depend on you, babe.' He reached out and touched her shoulder.

‘Aw no,' she said, pulling her dressing-gown tight to her throat. ‘Don't even think about it.'

‘But, darling—'

‘And don't you darling me neither. D'you think I'm stupid? What d'you want me to do? Stand here like a punch-bag, waiting till the mood takes you, then let you take swings at me all night?'

‘But d'you think I'd have bothered hitting you, if I hadn't cared about you?'

‘Do what?'

‘And if you hadn't cared about me, you wouldn't have married me, now would you?'

‘You live in a sodding dream world.'

‘Anyway, I've changed.' He held out his arms. ‘Look at me. Here I am with me little kiddie—'

‘Bollocks, Ted, I've heard it all before. And I saw what you did to Shirley.'

He was suddenly alert. How could she know? ‘What're you talking about?'

‘What you did to her face with them fish hooks. That was disgusting.'

She didn't know. Thank Christ for that.

‘And if you wanna stay, you can sleep in the sitting-room. I'll fetch you some blankets and a pillow.'

‘You're still a tight-arsed bitch,' he muttered.

‘What was that?'

‘Nothing. Well, actually, I did say something. I said, I really have changed. You just see if I ain't.'

A whole week went by before Simon dared show his face at the club again; now it was Saturday morning and he had thought of a way to try and make amends, or at least to try and get himself back into Ginny's good books. He was surprised by how important her approval was to him, but he couldn't make up his mind whether it was the thought of getting a brilliant story about the lady club boss – that he could probably syndicate worldwide if he played it right – or whether he had actually fallen for her. It wouldn't be the first time he'd fallen so quickly for someone. But there was something special about Ginny . . .

‘I don't know that it's a good idea,' said Flora, when Simon asked if he could go up to see her.

‘It's okay,' he replied, running up the stairs. ‘It's a surprise.'

‘It'll be that all right, dearie,' Flora said, shaking his head at the terrible waste when you had such a good-looking hunk preferring the ladies.

Simon was only half-way up the stairs, but was already calling out to her. ‘Ginny. It's only me. Simon. Flora let me in. Hurry up and get your coat on. We're going out for the day.' He reached the top of the stairs. ‘To the beach,' he went on, pushing open the door and walking into the flat. ‘I'm going to cheer you up if it's—'

He stopped dead in his tracks. There was a man, sitting on the sofa in his trousers and vest, with his heavily greased dark hair sticking up all over the place, as if he had been sleeping. He was eating toast.

‘Hello,' Simon said politely. ‘Who are you?'

‘I think I should be asking you that, mate. But for your information, I'm Ginny's old man. Now piss off out of it.'

Simon left, slamming the door behind him.

‘Ted,' Ginny called from the bathroom. ‘Who was that?'

‘No one.'

A fortnight passed and Ted was still camping out in Ginny's sitting-room. She wasn't surprised, really. Nor was she surprised that Ted's claim that he had changed had been just another of his lies. Nothing about Ted had changed at all.

Not only did she discover from Susan that Nellie was very much alive and still living in Bailey Street, but she found out from Flora that Ted was at his old game of stealing money from her. Flora had actually caught him with his hand in the till and he'd still tried to wriggle out of it. Ginny had done her best to keep calm, for Susan's sake, and she had managed quite well, but then late one night, after the club had closed and Ginny was sitting in her booth entering different versions of the night's takings in the two sets of ledgers, one of the girls came stumbling into the bar. She looked a complete mess and was crying hysterically.

‘So he's been taking money off you?'

The girl was still weeping uncontrollably and Ginny was having trouble making sense of her story. ‘He made me,' she gulped.

‘Made you what?'

‘Said if I didn't go with the customers . . .' She shook her head wildly. ‘I didn't want to. He made me. I can't keep quiet no more.'

‘Try and tell me.'