beef, a box of chocolates and a leg of lamb.
Maureen smiled. Ethel’s little gifts came in more than handy. In fact, without her help, she sometimes wondered how she’d manage to feed the kids.
Ethel stood up. ‘I’m off down the waste now to meet up with Glad. Do yer need anything off the market?’
‘You can get us some pickles, Mum,’ Maureen said. She always called Ethel ‘Mum’. It was the done thing in the East End to refer to the in-laws as you would your own parents.
Tommy opened his eyes and leaped out of bed. Yesterday seemed like a bad dream and he wished that it was. He usually loved Saturdays – he and the rest of the gang normally hung about down Roman Road market. The Roman was a buzzy old place on a Saturday and there were always a few bob to be earned. On a good day, they would treat themselves to pie and mash from Kelly’s. On a bad one, they’d share a bag of chips or two. Today he couldn’t face going to the market; neither did he feel hungry. Nervously, he slung on his clothes and ran down the stairs.
‘Oi, yer liberty-takin’ little fucker,’ Maureen shouted. Chasing him up the path, she grabbed his arm. ‘Where were you last night? Yer didn’t get home till half past one. How many times have I told yer, midnight at the latest.’
Tommy looked at her sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Mum. I was round at Lenny Simpson’s. We were listening to David Bowie records and having a few beers.’
Maureen looked at him in amazement. She could always tell when he was lying. ‘Since when have you been into David fucking Bowie? Listen, I don’t care if David turns up round Lenny Simpson’s to sing to yer in person, you get your arse back ’ere by midnight in future, do you hear me?’
Tommy nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’
Maureen tutted as she watched him sprint down the road. He’d be the death of her, that boy. He drank like a fish and the way he was going he’d have no liver left by the time he was twenty-one. The selfish little bastard hadn’t even wished her happy birthday.
James woke up, got dressed and fished in his drawer for his new-found wealth. It was his mum’s birthday today and he wanted to creep out and buy her the best present ever.
Maureen was busy preparing for her party that evening. She had dozens of eggs, plenty of cheese and, with Ethel’s leg of lamb, Spam and corned beef, she could really push the boat out for once.
James quietly let himself back in. ‘Happy birthday, Mummy.’
Maureen had tears in her eyes as her youngest handed her a card, a small cake and a beautiful potted plant. ‘Oh James, you little darling, you’ve made mummy cry now. Where did you get these from? Where did yer get the money, love?’
James had already prepared himself for this particular question. ‘I saved all my pennies that Nanny gave me for ages and ages,’ he said confidently.
Maureen picked him up and smothered him in kisses. ‘You are a very special boy, James, and your mummy loves you very much.’
James wriggled out of her arms. ‘I’m going to play on my space hopper now.’
Susan stood at the kitchen door with a sullen expression firmly intact. ‘I’m starvin’. Can I ’ave some breakfast?’
James turned to his sister. ‘It’s Mummy’s birthday today.’
Susan scowled at him. ‘So what?’
James squeezed past his nasty sister and ran into the garden. He’d had just enough money left to buy himself a gobstopper and he wanted to suck it in peace and savour every moment.
Tommy sprinted to his pal’s house in record time. Tibbsy shot straight out the door and the two of them ran round to Benno’s. Dave Taylor was already there, but no one said a word about the previous evening until they had reached the serenity of the park. Searching through the bushes, Tibbsy pulled out a bottle of sherry. His nan, bless her soul, was senile and he’d chored it from her house and stashed it a couple of days ago.
‘Don’t think bad of me,’ he said, as he unscrewed the lid. ‘Me nan don’t even drink, someone must ’ave bought it for her.’
All four lads took it in turns to swig from the bottle. None of them had slept well, and their nerves were shot to pieces.
Tibbsy stood up. ‘Right, what we gonna do? Has anyone heard anything yet?’
The other three shook their heads. ‘Me muvver had the telly on – there was nothing on the local news,’ Benno said.
Tommo took another large gulp from the sherry bottle. ‘What we should do is send someone down that way. Maybe Smiffy was just unconscious. He might not be dead.’
Dave Taylor shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ve never seen a dead person before, so none of us would know what one looked like.’
Tibbsy shook his head. ‘I’m telling yer now, the cunt was dead. Someone must ’ave found him by now, and I bet yer it’s swarming with police down there.’
‘Who can we send down there to ’ave a nose?’ Tommy asked. ‘We don’t wanna involve any of the other lads that weren’t with us last night. It’s a good job we kept the meet a secret, and never told any of ’em.’
Tibbsy agreed. Sometimes their gang consisted of about twelve but last night’s pre-arranged encounter was top boys only.
‘If we’re not gonna tell anyone else, the only one we can ask to go down there is Lenny Simpson.’
Tibbsy slapped Benno on the back. ‘Good thinking, Batman. We’ll finish this booze, then we’ll go and find him.’
Lenny Simpson was at home looking after his younger brother when the lads knocked. ‘I’ll go and check it out for yer, lads. I’m gonna have to take Matty with me though, there’s no one else to look after him.’
Lenny Simpson was one of the put-upon people of this world. His mother sold her body to fund her drug habit, and his two sisters were selfish and a complete waste of space. Lenny’s younger brother, Matthew, was fifteen and mentally retarded. It had been him that Smiffy had taunted and terrorised for years. Lenny looked after Matty almost twenty-four seven, and if it wasn’t for him, the poor little sod would have been stuck in care years ago.
‘Right, what’s the plan then?’ Tibbsy asked, as Lenny appeared with his little bro.
Lenny grabbed Matty’s hand. He had a terrible habit of running into the road. ‘I’ll go down there with Matty. You and the lads go to the park and I’ll meet yer back at the shelter.’
Tommo searched through his pockets and ordered his gang to do the same. Counting up the money, he handed it to Lenny. ‘Get us some cider, Old Man Tatler won’t serve us. Whatever’s left over, you can spend on sweets for Matty.’
Lenny went into the shop, handed the lads their booze and said goodbye. He couldn’t wait to find out what had happened to his brother’s tormentor. With a bit of luck Smiffy was brown bread and would rot in hell.
Tommy and the boys sat anxiously in the shelter, drinking and chain-smoking. The hour they waited for Lenny to come back seemed more like an eternity, and as they spotted him and Matty in the distance, they sprinted towards them. Tibbsy was the fastest runner and reached them first.
‘Well?’ he asked expectantly.
Lenny Simpson loved a bit of excitement. If it hadn’t been for having to take care of Matty, he would have been a gang member himself. Plonking himself on the grass, he relayed the full story.
‘Smiffy was found at ’alf six this morning, apparently. Old Mother Kelly said he was as stiff as a board. It’s swarming with Old Bill down there and they’ve even shut off part of the Mile End Road. I saw Graham Roberts, he said the Old Bill had been round his asking lots of questions. He reckons they’re doing loads of house-to-house enquiries. There’s tons of people hanging about, but the police ’ave put tape round.