As she trundled along, Shirley was beginning to feel more like her old self again. Her thoughts turned to having her hair done. Maybe she’d get some streaks and go a bit blonder, and maybe even have a nice massage...
Linda put her foot down on the Capri’s accelerator and watched the speedometer move quickly upward... seventy... seventy-five... eighty. It felt exhilarating, a quick look in the mirror and no one behind, so she put her foot down further: eighty-five... ninety. This motor was a good buy, she thought — and then, suddenly, a small plume of smoke wafted from the bonnet, and began to billow out, flowing over the windscreen so Linda could hardly see the road. She pulled the car over onto the layby, got out, kicked the front tire and swore at it.
As she perched on the bonnet of her smoking car, she couldn’t help but smile. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ she said out loud. One of Linda’s duties on Dolly’s list was to learn basic car maintenance — and here she was at the side of the road having just bought a shit-heap of a Capri.
Car after car drove by; men honked their horns but didn’t stop to help. Linda didn’t mind. As she sat there, she felt incredibly strong — she had money in her pocket and a brand-new second-hand car. She’d learn how to fix it properly, just like Dolly asked. She’d call Gino and get the name of his car mechanic mate from the pub. She’d learn hands-on, not from a book. She’d learn quick and she’d learn right. Not for Dolly’s stupid, pie-in-the-sky robbery, but for herself. Linda couldn’t remember the last time she achieved anything really — but that was all going to change.
Chapter 10
Boxer was sitting at Dolly’s newly cleaned dining table stuffing eggs and bacon down his face as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He wiped a slice of bread round the plate, put it in his mouth and slurped on his tea to wash it down before sitting back and pushing the plate forward.
Dolly came into the kitchen carrying a couple of old suit jackets belonging to Harry. ‘Stand up,’ she ordered. Boxer jumped to his feet, expecting to be ordered back to work. When he saw Dolly holding up one of Harry’s jackets for him to slip his arms into, he was almost overwhelmed and, just for a second, he choked back the tears.
Dolly put the jacket on him, instinctively brushing his shoulders and pulling the back straight — just as she’d done a thousand times for Harry. Boxer was about the same build as Harry, but his belly was bigger and the jacket looked a little tight. He thought he looked a million dollars though.
‘Eh, pure wool, very nice, very nice indeed,’ he said to Dolly as he brushed his hands up and down the material.
Dolly’s face was expressionless as she looked at Boxer wearing her dead husband’s expensive clothes. ‘There’s a couple of shirts and two pairs of trousers as well if you want them,’ she said, as if it didn’t matter either way to her.
Boxer paused. ‘I’ll treasure them,’ he said clumsily.
‘I’m sorry I can’t give you his best things, Boxer.’
Harry’s best clothes were impossible to part with right now and were hanging in his wardrobe, all freshly washed and ironed. Dolly had even polished Harry’s shoes and they too were in his wardrobe, as though he was simply away on business.
Emotions close to the surface, Dolly put the kettle on and brewed another pot of tea to regain control of herself so that she could do what she needed to do. While Boxer had been gobbling down his makeshift dinner, Dolly had been tidying the nursery. Tony Fisher had thrown the baby clothes around the small blue room and then trodden mud all over them. The cot was upside down, the tiny newborn nappies were ripped apart and the photos were smashed. There was no reason for most of the destruction; it was an act of pure evil and the thought of the Fishers taking over Harry’s patch made Dolly’s blood boil. As she’d stood in the nursery, she’d decided two things.
First, she was going to pack up everything in the nursery and give it to the convent this afternoon, for the underprivileged and orphaned babies and children to get some use out of. After her son was stillborn, Dolly had received great comfort from her religion. The convent doors were always open to her and she could come and go as she pleased, day or night. Some weeks, she was there every day. Her visits got fewer and fewer as her pain subsided, but by then she’d got to love the simplicity of it all in comparison to her hectic life with Harry. She’d spent hours painting and drawing and playing games with the children; all they wanted from her was love and she had so very much of that to give. And, in return, the children loved Dolly. In those initial months after losing the baby, Dolly would have fallen into a deep depression without her friends at the convent; she owed them so much and they never asked anything of her in return. So now, she’d pack up the nursery and take it all to them this afternoon when she did her weekly visit, to help the living instead of commemorating the dead. This would be closure and would allow her to move forward unhindered. Dolly kept only one toy from her son’s nursery — a small white poodle.
The second thing Dolly had decided was to implement her plan for getting the Fishers off her back.
Boxer sat at the kitchen table admiring his new jacket and waiting for his top up of tea. Dolly brought the pot to the table and poured two cups. As Boxer spooned three heaps of sugar into his mug, Dolly decided he was ready to hear what she had been up all night rehearsing.
‘I’ve got something to tell you, Boxer. It’s about the ledgers. You see, I lied to you. I do know where they are.’
Boxer looked dumbstruck.
‘The thing is,’ Dolly continued, feigning concern for this stupid lump of a man in her kitchen. ‘The thing is... Harry told me before he died that you’re named in the ledgers along with a long list of others. It could get you into a lot of trouble — even banged up if the Old Bill gets hold of them.’
Boxer felt a chill run down his spine. Lost for words, all he could manage was to let Dolly talk.
‘I worked out that Harry must have used four men in the robbery, one up front, three at the back. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I know it; the coppers know it.’ Dolly knew she didn’t need to explain her reasoning any further for Boxer. ‘Three are dead, but the fourth man is still out there somewhere. I think he’s either got the ledgers or he knows where they are.’ Dolly paused to take a slow sip of tea and leave Boxer’s little brain to think of the right question to ask. She didn’t want to tell him everything in one go, in case that might start to sound planned. Eventually, Boxer spoke.
‘Who do you think this fourth man is, Dolly?’
Dolly hesitated, pretending to be thinking hard about her next sentence. ‘You mustn’t tell no one, Boxer. If I tell you, it’s got to stay between us. You hear me? It could be very dangerous for you to know what I know.’
‘I swear it. You can trust me.’
‘The fourth man, the man that escaped from the robbery... was my Harry.’
Again, Dolly paused to allow Boxer to register what she was saying. It was incredibly important that he believed her. ‘He’s not dead, Boxer. I buried another member of the gang, genuinely thinking it was Harry, but I now know that it wasn’t.’
‘How... how can you know?’ Boxer asked, visibly shaking.
‘Because I’ve seen him alive. Harry’s hiding from everyone right now, but he wants you back on his payroll, just like old times.’
Boxer automatically sat bolt upright, like an army private who’d just been told he’s been selected for a secret mission. The fear on his face was replaced by an uncontrollably broad smile. He’s so easy to lie to, Dolly thought, it almost seems cruel.