All Fall Down by Jenny Oldfield Page B

resurface on the respectable streets.
    The Sally Army sergeant remembered Hettie. He saw the Parsons spirit in the niece, and the same spark in her dark brown eyes. He would have been glad to help.
    â€˜Who knows? Maybe he moved out into the country, to the hop fields. How old was he?’
    Meggie turned to her mother.
    â€˜In 1930? He’d be over thirty-five.’
    â€˜Then it’s not likely he’d get work. Men like this tend to wear out quick. But you could still try the docks.’
    So they’d gone on from the mission to the warehouses and wharves, where drifters clung to the riverside in their rags and filth like flotsam washed up on the tide. They muttered and swore at the two women, or ranted out loud to an invisible audience. Occasionally there was a word or two of sense. One tramp recalled an ex-mechanic who hung out when he could in the pubs around The Elephant. The Grown was his regular. No, he wasn’t sure where it was, only that it was this side of the river, and come to think of it, the mechanic’s name was Fynn, he was Irish, and definitely not the man they were after. Meggie’s hopes were dashed.
    All along the south bank Meggie and Sadie had dropped Richie’s name. The walls of the half-empty warehouses towered over the mean streets, young sailors spilled ashore on leave, dashing in uniform, kit-bags stuffed with cigarettes, chocolate and rum. Their high spirits made it impossible for the two women to continue their search and they often went home disheartened.
    Still, they usually managed to leave word in the pubs and eating-houses; if anyone knew anything of Richie Palmer, one time of Paradise Court, Southwark, would they please telephone the Duke of Wellington public house on Duke Street?
    Meggie and Sadie’s brief rest by the fountain took place on the same weekend Bill Morell finally got his shore leave.
    Edie. had been quiet all week, bunding up to it, and Tommy had kept his distance. He only picked up the news through Lorna, who invited Edie out on the town with herself and Dorothy. He heard the subdued reply, ‘Bill’s got his leave through at long last. He’ll want me at home.’
    Tommy had paid the wages that Friday and ran the shop pretty well single-handed on the Saturday; easy enough since no one’s mind was on home decorating these days. He swung through the double doors of the pub that evening determined to get blotto. He grimaced at the advert above the doorway; ‘Come to the pub tonight and talk things over. Beer is Best!’
    â€˜What’s it to be, Tommy?’ George Mann stood ready with a sparkling, empty glass.
    â€˜The usual and ten Woodbines.’
    He slapped the money on the bar and was halfway down his pint of bitter, head tilted back, feeling the froth swim against his lips, when he caught sight of Edie sitting across a table from her husband. Tommy only knew Bill Morell by sight; an upright, beefy sort who used to work out at the gym before he joined up and began his training down at Hayling Island. Now, by all accounts, he was a petty officer on a DBMS gunner, plying the Med. He certainly looked the business in his naval jacket with the braid and buttons, the blancoed cap. Unreasonably, Tommy caught himself disliking the square set of the man’s shoulders, the bristling, bull-like neck. He had his back to Tommy and Edie caught her employer’s eye over her husband’s shoulder. She gave him a brief smile.
    Straight away Bill turned and beckoned him across. ‘What’ll you have?’
    Tommy raised his glass. ‘I’m OK, ta.’
    â€˜No, what’ll you have?’ The sailor swaggered over. ‘From what I hear, I owe you one.’ He insisted on filling Tommy’s glass and taking him to their table. ‘Edie’s been telling me what you can get hold of under the counter.’ He winked. ‘Keep the girls happy, eh?’
    Tommy shifted uncomfortably on his