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.
The boxer didn’t move, and signalling that he was out for the count the referee bounded over to the other man, grabbed his arm and raised it into the air to show who was the victor.
By then, Pearl and the defeated boxer were the only ones who weren’t on their feet, the cheers for the local lad deafening.
A couple of men scrambled under the ropes, kneeling beside the young boxer as they tried to bring him round. Pearl found she was holding her breath. Oh God, he still wasn’t moving. Was he dead? With a groan he finally sat up, eyes glazed as he was helped to his feet and led from the ring.
Pearl saw the winner dancing round, his body slick with sweat and his arms punching the air with delight. When the accolades of the crowd gradually diminished he too ducked under the ropes and left the arena, a satin gown covering his body and a towel draped over his head.
‘That was a good match,’ Connie said as she sat down. ‘Here, what’s the matter? You look as white as a sheet.’
‘I … I feel a bit sick.’
‘Gawd, you’re a soft one.’
‘I … I think I’ll have to leave.’
‘Don’t do that, love. Derek will be ever so disappointed. Look, go outside and get a bit of fresh air. His match won’t start just yet.’
Pearl rose to her feet, stumbling for the door. The air felt heavy as she stepped outside, and she could hear distant rumbles of thunder, a summer storm threatening. She leaned against a wall, startled when she heard a voice.
‘What’s up, Pearl? Don’t you like the sight of a bit of blood?’ Kevin asked as he nonchalantly lit a cigarette.
‘I … I think it’s awful.’
‘You’ve got Derek’s match to watch yet. It’s a heavyweight bout and more my cup of tea.’
‘I don’t think I can go back in.’
‘If you ask me, you ain’t the right type to live around here. You don’t fit in. Things go on – things you have to keep your nose out of, if you know what I mean.’
Pearl’s eyes widened, and with a menacing smile Kevin continued, ‘This is just a little warning. No matter what you see, or hear, keep your mouth shut. It’s safer that way.’
She couldn’t speak, managing only a small nod.
Kevin threw his cigarette onto the pavement, grinding it out with