chored locally. A, she’d never take from her own, and B, she was far too well known in the East End even to attempt it.
Dragging her shopping trolley behind her, Ethel entered the store. Tools always sold well and she needed to have a good day today. Her Maureen was taking James to visit Tommy and she’d promised to give them the train fare.
There were a few people standing at the counter and the man who was serving was far too busy to be noticing her. Filling her trolley with anything expensive and saleable, Ethel was just about to exit the store when she heard shouting.
‘Oi, stop, thief!’
Unaware that a second member of staff, posing as a customer, had been watching her, Ethel had no other choice than to leave her trolley and leg it. Running up Heathway Hill, she didn’t see the dodgy paving stone. Seconds later, Ethel was lying face down on the ground, writhing with pain.
‘Gertcha, cowson,’ she said to the shop worker, as she clutched her ankle.
The police arrived within minutes.
James pushed the pouffe towards the window. It was heavy, but he could just about manage to move it without any help. Standing on top of it, he pressed his face against the glass. The old woman who used to live next door had recently died and now there were new neighbours moving in. James was hoping there’d be a boy his age for him to play with.
‘Your sore throat seems miraculously better. Don’t be so bleeding nosy, come away from that window,’ Maureen ordered, as she handed him a tray with his egg and chips.
He’d jibbed off school earlier, saying he was ill, and she was sure he was playing a fast one.
James smiled as he dipped his bread in the yolk. ‘Do you think there’ll be some boys I can play with, Mummy?’
Maureen shook her head. ‘Afraid not son. I spoke to ’em earlier. They’ve got a little girl, same age as you.’
‘Aw, I wanted a boy to play with. I don’t like girls.’
Maureen ruffled his head. ‘You will do when you’re older. At least I hope you will.’
Hearing his favourite programme about to start, James forgot about the neighbours and concentrated on Mr Benn. The man in the bowler hat was a legend and today he was a cowboy.
Leaving him to watch his hero, Maureen smiled and left the room.
Ethel avoided arrest by lying and pretending to have a broken ankle. She seemed truthful and in so much agony that the police called an ambulance and decided not to prosecute her. She’d told them it was a one-off. ‘I swear, I’ve never nicked anything in me life,’ she insisted. ‘I only did it ’cause me poor daughter-in-law needed the money for train tickets to visit me grandson.’
‘Where’s your grandson living, then?’ one of the officers asked.
‘Norfolk. He’s retarded and they’ve put him in one of them homes – you know, a funny farm.’
The two officers had a quick chat among themselves. They’d retrieved the shopping trolley, the store had its goods back, so there was no harm done.
‘Poor old cow,’ the young copper said to the older one.
After hearing that she was being let off, Ethel waved at the two Old Bill from the back of the ambulance. As soon as the doors were shut, she cackled with laughter and did a wanker sign at them.
Arriving at the hospital, Ethel gave the doctors a false name. She refused to go into a cubicle, saying that her leg now felt better and she’d rather sit in the waiting room in a wheelchair.
‘I’m claustrophobic. I’ll wait ’ere for me x-ray,’ she lied.
As soon as the coast was clear, Ethel half ran and half hobbled out the door. She didn’t have a clue where she was or how to get home. Asking a passer-by, she learned that she was in Romford.
‘Romford. Fucking Romford,’ she muttered as she trudged towards a bus stop.
After a lot of wrong directions, Ethel finally got a 103 back to Dagenham East station. She knew her way home from there. The district line took her straight through to Stepney Green.
As she sat on the train, Ethel wondered how she was going to tell Maureen that she didn’t have the money for the train tickets. The poor cow had booked the visit and was going up there in less than forty-eight hours. With her shopping trolley confiscated, there was no way that Ethel could get the cash before then. Not only that, having a near escape and falling arse over tit had slightly unnerved her. She’d have to give it at least a week before she felt confident enough to go out on the rob again.
Maureen was sitting on the carpet, playing dominoes with James, when Ethel let herself in.
‘What a bleedin’ day I’ve had. Nearly got arrested, and I’ve been stuck at a fuckin’ hospital in the middle of nowhere.’
James listened to his nan’s antics with interest. He had never forgiven the police force for arresting Tommy.
‘You should have hit them, Nanny, and kicked them.’
‘Stay here and watch telly, James,’ Maureen ordered, as she shoved Ethel towards the kitchen. She’d had one son go off the rails and was now determined to keep the other wrapped in cotton wool.
Hearing her trip to Feltham was now in serious jeopardy, Maureen put her head in her hands.
‘What am I gonna tell the boys? I spoke to Tommy yesterday, he sounds so much brighter. As for James, his heart’s gonna be broken.’
Ethel stood up. ‘I’ll tell yer what we’re gonna do. Get yer coat, and we’ll go and find that no-good bastard son of mine. He never gives you a fuckin’ penny, yet he’s always got money to spend in the pub.’
Maureen hated her husband and despised asking him for anything. Tonight was different though. She was that desperate, she’d have gladly asked Jack the Ripper to fund her journey, if it meant she could get to see her son.
‘Put your parka on over your jamas, James. Quickly put your shoes on, we’re going to see Daddy.’
Usually, Maureen would rather go without food for a week than have herself or her family walking the streets looking like tramps, but this was an emergency. Anywhere else in the world they might have looked a funny sight traipsing down the road. Ethel’s back and ankle were playing up and she was walking like Quasimodo. Maureen had her curlers in and James looked like an orphan in his pyjamas, navy anorak and scuffed black shoes, but no one took a blind bit of notice of them as they headed towards the pub. The East End had a culture of its own.
Tommy senior was an easy chap to find. If he was skint, he was at his bedsit in Whitechapel. If he had money, he was either in the Horn of Plenty, or the nearest betting shop. Today, Tommy had had one of his better days. He’d won a score this morning on traps one and six. Now he had his arm around Shaking Sheila, and was in the process of worming his way back to hers for a quick leg-over.
Sheila had been a real beauty in her heyday. That was before the alcohol had ravaged her face and body. She now woke up like she had St Vitus’s dance every morning and it took her at least six drinks to stop the shakes, hence the nickname.
Tommy wasn’t in the habit of being fussy. She had big tits, and he wasn’t exactly Warren Beatty himself. Buying another round, he decided to go in for the kill. Grabbing her arse, he stuck his tongue straight down the back of her throat. Paralytic and virtually unable to stand, Sheila grabbed him and responded as if her life depended on it.
Ethel spotted her son immediately. ‘There he is with some dirty stinking whore,’ she said, as she dragged his family towards him.
Maureen didn’t give a shit that he was mauling some rough old bird. He repelled her and as long as he never laid another finger on her, he could maul whoever he wanted.
Seeing his mum approach, Tommy withdrew his tongue from Shaking Sheila’s