The woman put the knife back in the window and took a packet of gum from
a shelf. “Six pence
Billy offered his handful of money, and the woman took some coins.
“Thanks,” Billy said. He went out into the street and opened the packet.
He liked to put it all in his mouth at once. He walked on, chewing with
enjoyment. For the moment, he had forgotten where he was going.
He stopped to watch some men digging a hole in the pavement. The tops of
their heads were level with Billy’s feet. He saw, with interest, that
the wall of the trench changed color as it went down. First there was
the pavement, then some black stuff like tar, then loose brown earth,
then wet clay. In the bottom lay a pipe made of clean new concrete. Why
did they put pipes under the pavement? Billy had no idea. He leaned over
and said: “Why are you putting a pipe under the pavement?” A workman
looked up at him and said: “We’re hiding it from the Russians.”
“Oh.” Billy nodded, as if he understood. After a moment he moved on.
He felt hungry, but there was something he had to do before he went home
for lunch. Lunch?
He had eaten a packet of biscuits because Pa was up the hospital. That
had something to do with why he was here in Bethnal Green, but he could
not quite make the connection.
He turned a corner, looked at the road name on a sign tacked high up on
a wall, and saw that he was in Quill Street. Now he remembered. This was
where Tony Cox lived at number nineteen.
He would knock on the door No He didn’t know why, but he felt sure he
ought to creep in by the back door. There was a lane behind the terrace.
Billy walked along it until he came to the back of Tony’s house.
All the taste was gone from his bubblegum, so he took it out of his
mouth and threw it away before quietly unlatching the back gate and
walking stealthily in.
TONY COX drove slowly along the rutted mud track, out of consideration
for his own comfort rather than for the owner of the “borrowed” car.
The lane, which had no name, led from a B-road to a farmhouse with a
barn. The barn, the empty, dilapidated house, and the acre of infertile
land surrounding them, were owned by a company called Land Development
Ltd.; which was in turn owned by a compulsive gambler who owed Tony Cox
a lot of money. The barn was occasionally used to store job lots of
fire-damaged goods bought at rock-bottom prices, so it was not unusual
for a van and a car to draw up in the farmyard.
The five-bar gate at the end of the lane was open, and Tony drove in.
There was no sign of the blue van, but Jesse was leaning against the
farmhouse wall, smoking a cigarette. He came across to open the car door
for Tony.
“It haven’t gone smooth, Tony,” he said immediately.
Tony got out of the car. “Is the money here?
“In the van.” Jesse jerked his head toward the barn. “But it never went
smooth.”
“Let’s get inside–it’s too hot out here.” Tony heaved the barn door
open and stepped in. Jesse followed him. A quantity of packing cases
occupied one third of the floor area. Tony read the labels on a couple:
they contained surplus Forces uniforms and coats. The blue van stood
opposite the door. Tony noticed that trade plates had been tied over the
original license plates with string.
“What have you been playing at?” he asked incredulously.
“Oh, blimey, Tony, wait till you hear what I’ve had to do.”
“Well bloody tell me then!”
“Well, I had a prang, see–nothing much, just a little bump. But the
geezer gets out of his car and wants to call the police. So I pisses
off, don’t I. But he stands in the way and I hits him.”
Tony cursed softly.
Now fear showed in Jesse’s face. “Well, I knew the law would be looking
for me, didn’t I. So I stops at this garage, goes round the back to the