The Cockney Angel by Dilly Court Page A

me see me dad, or not?’
    ‘I suppose it won’t hurt, but you mind your manners in here, boy. You’ll keep out of Wally and Vic’s way if you know what’s good for you.’
    ‘Ta, mister.’ Irene hurried past him and made her way down the long, gloomy passage. That was a narrow escape, she thought, smothering a sigh of relief. It was just lucky that old Blackie was a bit slow on the uptake, or he might have worked out that Jim would be a man of twenty-four by now. She had never been inside the building and she had no idea where the gaming room was situated. She paused, straining her ears for the sound of voices. All was quiet on the ground floor, but as she ascended a rickety flight of stairs she saw a splinter of light beneath the door directly ahead of her. Taking a deep breath, she opened it slowly and was greeted by a wave of sound as she slipped unnoticed into the gaming room.
    It was dimly lit and fogged with tobacco smoke. The pungent odour of strong spirits and male sweat assailed her nostrils. The click of billiard balls drew her attention to the tables at the far side of the room, where men in their shirtsleeves concentrated their full attention on the game in hand. At first she could not see any sign of her father, and she was beginning to think that she had missed him when she spotted Wally who was acting as banker at a game of baccarat. Seated next to him with his back to her was Pa. She made her way between the groups of men, who barely raised an eyebrow at the sight of a young boy in their midst. She was nervous now and her palms were damp with sweat as she went to stand behind her father. She prayed silently that he would not overreact, and she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Pa, it’s Jim. Can I have a word?’
    Billy seemed to freeze for a moment and then he raised his head, turning very slowly to stare at her. ‘Jim?’
    Wally gave her a cursory glance. ‘Tell the boy to go home where he belongs, Billy.’
    ‘Jim?’ Billy struggled to his feet, taking Irene by the shoulders and giving her a shake that rattled her teeth in her head. ‘What are you doing here, boy?’
    ‘I got a message for you from Ma.’
    ‘What are you playing at?’ Billy hissed in her ear.
    ‘Call for Blackie and have him thrown out,’ Wally said, chewing on the end of a fat cigar and squinting malevolently at Irene through a column of smoke.
    ‘Please, Pa,’ Irene whispered. ‘It’s urgent.’
    For a moment she thought that Pa was going to send her away with a flea in her ear, but then he seemed to think better of it and he scooped the pile of coins from the table in front of him into his hat. ‘Family problems, Wally. I’ll have to go now, but I’ll be back.’
    Wally took the cigar from his mouth and his eyes were like chips of granite. ‘It ain’t gentlemanly to leave with half the bank, Billy. See that you do return.’
    ‘You know me,’ Billy replied cheerily. ‘I never could keep away from a good game.’ He seized Irene by the collar and dragged her out of the gaming room and down the stairs.
    Blackie was slumped in a chair by the door with a pint of ale in his hand. He looked up with an edentulous grin. ‘So your boy’s come home then, Billy?’
    ‘Looks that way, don’t it?’ Billy opened the door and thrust Irene out into the dark court. ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Grabbing her by the arm, he led her along the alley and out into Friday Street.
    ‘Let go of me, Pa. You’re hurting me.’
    Billy pushed her away from him so that she staggered against the window of a taxidermist’s shop where stuffed animals stared at her glassy-eyed. She righted herself and moved away from the grisly sight. Who on earth would want to buy a stuffed stoat or a red fox with sharp pointed teeth? But then maybe someone like Wally Sykes might want a ferocious, but deceased, animal to adorn his home.
    ‘Don’t stand there daydreaming,’ Billy said angrily. ‘We’re going home and I