Nobody’s Girl. Kitty Neale

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      The man nodded, saying nothing and, once again thinking he was a strange one, Nobby led him down to the street door, showing him out before going through to his shop.

      It wasn’t long before Kevin Dolby and Dick Smedley turned up, looking furtively behind them as they walked in.

      ‘Are we nearly set to do the job?’ Nobby asked.

      Dick answered, ‘I’ve seen a van and have been watching the driver’s movements for several days. He parks it up in the same spot every night, and as he’s got a ladder stashed on the top it solves another problem. I doubt he’ll notice the van’s gone until the following morning, so we’ll have done the job and dumped it before it’s reported missing.’

      ‘Sounds good,’ Kevin said. ‘And is it the usual buyer, Nobby?’

      ‘Of course it is. I daren’t offer it to anyone else – you know that. Anything that isn’t small time is always fenced through Vince.’

      ‘He must be raking it in.’

      ‘Yeah, but he ain’t one to cross. He’s got the borough sewn up, and if we offered it to anyone else his boys would turn us into mincemeat. I don’t fancy storing the booze overnight, so we’re to take it straight to his club. He’s gonna wait for us, and after unloading we can get rid of the van. Now it’s just a matter of deciding when we hit the warehouse.’

      Dick pursed his lips. ‘I reckon tomorrow night. They get a delivery today, and nothing gets sent out again until Monday morning.’

      ‘That’s fine with me. What about you, Kevin?’

      ‘Yeah, I’m in.’

      The three men went over the plans again. When they were satisfied, Kevin rose to his feet. ‘Right, how do you fancy a drink before we go to see the match?’

      ‘Good idea.’

      Kevin felt a thrill of anticipation as they left the shop. After the job he’d be able to take a trip to Soho, and if the haul was a big one more trips would follow.

      Pearl was pleased that another tenant was moving in, but had hoped it would be someone young, ideally a girl she could make friends with.

      Mr Bardington looked to be in his forties. He was a big man, overweight, with a grey unhealthy appearance, and cold blue eyes. She had looked forward to having someone else in the house, especially at night, but wasn’t sure she liked the look of the older man.

      Her bedsit was like an oven, stuffy, and even with the window open it felt airless. She wiped a hand across her brow as she perched on her bed. It was the third week in August, and with art classes starting soon, she wanted to check her savings.

      She’d been frugal, and with any luck there would be enough to buy paint and brushes. She checked her tips, a frown creasing her forehead. With fewer tables to work, her tips had gone down, but surely not this much.

      Mentally Pearl assessed the day. She had regulars who sat at her tables, and most tipped her once a week. Frank Hanwell always left her three-pence on a Saturday, along with the other costermongers who sat with him. Derek too was generous and he mostly left her sixpence.

      An awful suspicion began to fill her mind, one she wanted to dismiss but couldn’t. It was over three weeks since Alice had started work in the café, and despite her earlier trepidations, they were getting on well together. She’d assured Alice that she could manage, but the woman still thought nothing of clearing Pearl’s tables along with her own, and also took over behind the counter to give Bernie a break.

      Alice seemed to have boundless energy, and though the weather was blazing hot, she was rarely still. Yes, Alice cleared her tables for her, but what about the tips she found? Was she putting them in her own pocket?

      Pearl stood up and moved across to the window. Oh, surely she was imagining things. It was wrong to be suspicious, yet it had happened so many times at the orphanage. They had little, but still had to guard their tiny treasures from thieving hands. Pearl remembered a ribbon she’d been given by a departing teacher. It had been pink and she’d treasured it, but one day it had gone. She had never found out who took it, but suspected an older girl, a bully whom she’d never had the courage to confront.

      Now there was Alice, and if the woman was stealing her tips, what could she do? She daren’t accuse her – Alice would go mad – but was there another way? Derek!

      She could ask him to have a word with her, or maybe she could tell Bernard Dolby … Round and round her thoughts went until at last her mind calmed. Take one step at a time. Watch Alice, and if she really was pinching her tips, then maybe their employer would sort it out.

      At seven o’clock, Pearl was ready. Derek was boxing tonight and had invited her to the match. She had hesitated, hating the thought of the brutality, but Connie Lewis wanted to go, and had urged Pearl to join her.

      She still hadn’t made up her mind about taking the friendship with Derek any further, but as a regular visitor to his house she was growing close to his gran. Now, picking up her handbag, she went to collect Connie.

      By eight o’clock they were in one of the large function rooms at Battersea Town Hall, sitting in the front row and watching a match between two young men.

      Pearl found the atmosphere gladiatorial: the smell of sweat; the baying of the crowd; the boxers dancing around each other in the ring, exchanging flurries of punches that had the crowd rising to their feet yelling for more.

      A bell clanged, the round coming to an end, and as one of the boxers sat in his corner, Pearl’s stomach turned as he removed his gum shield, took a mouthful of water and then spat it into a bucket. Another man took a soaking sponge, running it over the young man’s puffy, red face, blood now visible and oozing from his nose. Oh God, it was awful, but as she glanced around, Pearl could see that she was the only one affected.

      ‘There’s only one more round to go and then Derek’s match is next,’ Connie said, gripping Pearl’s arm with excitement.

      Pearl fought nausea and the need to flee. A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around.

      ‘Watcha, Pearl,’ Kevin Dolby said. ‘Enjoying it, are you?’

      ‘Er … it’s all right.’

      ‘Your boyfriend is on next.’

      Pearl didn’t bother to correct him. Derek was just a friend, but in the crowded room it was impossible to speak without shouting. Instead she just nodded.

      ‘It’ll be a good match and I’ve got a few bob on Derek.’

      Pearl forced a smile before turning to face the front again. She looked up at the ring, wondering why it was called a ring when it was, in fact, square, but then the bell signalled the start of the last round.

      Both young boxers began the dance again, circling around each other, until one lunged forward. A gloved fist connected with a chin, a boxer bouncing off the ropes in front of Pearl before falling with a crash onto the canvas.

      The referee rushed over, his arm slicing the air as he counted the boxer out. ‘… Eight – nine – ten,’ he yelled.

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