Dolly never told Harry about the day she had called on Iris in the elegant St. John’s Wood flat her doting son had bought. Not exactly elegant in those days, Dolly was nevertheless not quite the brassy blonde that Iris had envisaged. She was attractive, broad for a woman and with hands that had seen hard work, but she was demure, feminine and quietly spoken. Iris had gathered herself and offered tea.
‘No thank you, Mrs. Rawlins,’ Dolly had replied. Iris winced at the girl’s East End accent. ‘I just want you to know that I love Harry and whether you like it or not, we are going to get married. Your constant disapproval and threats only drive us closer, because he loves and needs me.’
Dolly had paused for Iris to respond — to apologize if she had any sense. Instead, Iris slowly looked Dolly up and down, sneering at her ordinary clothes and unimaginative flat shoes.
Dolly shrugged and went on. ‘My dad was a dealer in the antiques business and he knew your husband, so don’t give me all your airs and graces. Everyone knows he fenced stolen goods and done ten years in Pentonville for armed robbery. Everyone knows you used the proceeds to run the business while he was inside. And let’s be honest, you were lucky to get away with it.’
No one had ever talked to Iris like that before. ‘Are you pregnant?’ she asked, gobsmacked.
Dolly smoothed her pencil skirt. ‘No, Mrs. Rawlins, I’m not, but I do want a family, and if you want to be a part of it then you should zip your mouth. Harry and me are getting married, with or without your permission, and threatening to cut him out of the business is just cutting off your nose to spite your face.’ Dolly turned to leave. ‘I’ll show myself out.’
‘If it’s money you want,’ said Iris. ‘I’ll write you a check here and now. Name your price.’
Dolly held out her left hand with its diamond solitaire engagement ring.
‘I want the gold band to go with this, cos you don’t have enough money to pay me off. He’s all I want and I am going to make him happy. Like I said, you can be part of our lives or not, it’s up to you.’
Once again, Dolly headed for the door. Once again, Iris’s words made her pause.
‘If you’re thinking of running the antique business with Harry you’d better lose that common East End accent.’
‘I intend to, Mrs. Rawlins.’ Dolly glanced over her shoulder and looked Iris square in the eyes. ‘Just as you managed to lose yours.’
Eddie Rawlins, the cousin Dolly couldn’t stand, breezed in with his cheeks flushed from the cold, and interrupted her thoughts. He was similar in looks to Harry, but whereas Harry had been strong and muscular, Eddie seemed like a weak version.
He rubbed his hands and gestured out of the window at the funeral cortege. ‘They’re all here,’ he said, beaming. ‘Hell of a turn out. The Fishers are here, not to mention the law watching in a car down the road. You can’t even see the end of the line, there must be fifty cars out there!’
Dolly bit her lip. She hadn’t wanted it this way but Iris had insisted: Harry was an important man who had to be buried in style. Dolly knew how much Iris must be hurting too, so she had given her what she wanted. She’d never be thanked for it, but it would make Dolly’s life less stressful in the long run.
Collecting her black leather handbag, Dolly stood and smoothed her skirt, checking herself in the hallway mirror on the way out. Just as she got to the front door, Eddie stopped her and took a small brown packet from his pocket. He leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice even though they were completely alone.
‘This is for you, Dolly. I know it’s probably not appropriate right now, but the law’s been sniffin’ round my place and Harry gave me this to pass on to you if anything ever happened to him.’
Dolly stared at the package. Eddie shifted his weight and moved closer.
‘I think it’s the keys to his lock-up,’ he said.
Dolly slipped the packet into her handbag and followed Eddie outside. She couldn’t believe she was about to bury Harry. All she wanted to do was lie down and die. Her little dog was all that kept her alive now.
The neighbors were out on their driveways and, as Dolly walked down her front garden path, she could feel everyone watching her. Car after car was lined up, waiting patiently to follow the hearse, which was weighed down with wreaths and bunches of flowers. Dolly had never seen so many hearts and crosses, the splashes of color standing out in contrast to the line of black cars.
Eddie ushered Dolly into the back of a black Mercedes-Benz with dark tinted windows. As she bent her head to step into the car she saw her mother-in-law in the Rolls-Royce behind. Iris mouthed the word: ‘bitch.’ Dolly ignored her, just as she had done throughout most of her married life.
Once she had settled herself, Dolly gave the nod for Eddie to follow the slow-moving hearse. Through the driver’s mirror, he saw the trickle of tears start to run down her ashen face. She made no effort to wipe them away as she spoke in a tight voice.
‘I hope you told them I’m doing nothing back at the house after the funeral... nothing. The sooner this is over the better.’
‘Yeah, I did,’ Eddie replied cautiously ‘But I think Iris is havin’ a few folks back at her flat. She asked me to go and said she’s paid for everythin’.’ Dolly closed her eyes and shook her head. Iris hadn’t been financially self-sufficient since retiring so ‘paying for everything’ actually meant that Harry was paying. Or, more accurately now, Dolly.
Harry Rawlins was buried in the style his mother wanted, with hundreds gathered at the cemetery, and even more flowers surrounding the graveside. Throughout the ceremony, Dolly remained solitary and unmoved. She was the first to leave the graveside and the nosy, intrusive crowd of mourners raised their bowed heads to watch her go.
Among the mourners was Arnie Fisher, in his navy cashmere coat, immaculately tailored suit and shirt. As soon as Dolly’s car moved off he nodded to a huge bear of a man standing at the back of the crowd. Boxer Davis pushed his way forward. Boxer’s suit, in comparison, was shoddy and threadbare and even his shirt was grimy and stained. His big stupid face appeared moved by the ceremony, and he wiped his flattened nose — dripping from the cold — with the back of his hand. Arnie Fisher flicked a look at Dolly’s slowly retreating Mercedes and nodded for Boxer to follow. Boxer shuffled, slightly embarrassed.
‘Don’t you think I should wait a few days, boss? I mean, she only just buried him.’
Arnie stared at Boxer for a couple of seconds, jerked his head toward the Merc again, and turned away. Conversation over.
Standing a few feet away from Arnie was his younger brother, Tony, who towered above everyone, making even Boxer look small by comparison. The cold sun glinted off the diamond in his right ear as he fingered it while he chatted to some friends. He came to the end of some joke he was obviously telling and they roared with laughter. Unlike his brother, Tony was a handsome man; in fact, the only similarity between them was their steely blue ice-cold eyes. Arnie was short-sighted so he wore rimless glasses — but there was something about those unfeeling, unemotional eyes they both shared. Boxer looked from Tony back to Arnie and obediently made his way through the dispersing mourners to follow Dolly back to the huge, empty home where she and Harry had been so happy for so long.