Nameless by Jessie Keane Read Free Book Online Page B

lived in fear these days: of being bombed to death in their beds, or of getting one of those much-dreaded telegrams telling them a loved one had been killed in action.
    ‘Mr Darke,’ said the landlord, then he lowered his voice and tipped his head towards the half-open door of the snug: ‘He’s in.’
    ‘Is he, by God?’ Charlie’s eyes followed the landlord’s.
    So did Betsy’s. She could see a thin, semi-bald bloke in there, laughing uproariously with a gang of his mates.
    ‘How’s Carol?’
    ‘Shattered, poor bint. Shook her up something rotten. Since Mr Tranter stopped drinking in here, it’s been bloody bedlam.’
    ‘Well, we can’t have that,’ said Charlie with a smile. ‘Can we?’ He looked at Betsy. ‘You stay here, darlin’, OK?’
    And what if it ain’t? wondered Betsy. But she nodded. When they were actually engaged to be married, she’d start to stamp her authority on the situation a bit more firmly; but for now, she wanted to be seen as the sweet little girlfriend, eager to please. Even if she wasn’t.
    ‘Come on,’ said Charlie, and together with Joe and the other man he pushed into the snug. Betsy stood at the bar, and the landlord put a sweet sherry down in front of her. She watched Charlie, his broad back, his casual elegance, through the open door of the snug. He was much more attractive than Joe, who was so bulky, so slow. And Charlie was the boss. She liked that.
    ‘You Bill Read?’ asked Charlie of a skinny balding man in there.
    ‘Who wants to know?’
    And then she saw it. A switchblade razor seemed to jump into Charlie’s hand and he lunged forward. Yelling and screaming and cursing started up in the snug and in horror she saw the dark spurt of blood just as Joe put his back to the door from the other side, cutting off the smaller room from view.
    People out in the main bar exchanged looks as the shouts and screams went on. The landlord continued pulling pints like nothing was happening.
    Suddenly, everything went quiet.
    Joe came out, closing the door swiftly behind him. There wasn’t a spot on him, not a mark. ‘You got the key to that other door in the snug?’ he asked the landlord.
    The man nodded and quickly fetched the key from a hook behind the bar. He came round the counter and went into the snug with Joe.
    Betsy thought she heard groaning when the door opened briefly. But then Joe closed it again, put his back against it. She could hear her own heart beating hard, and the sip of sherry she’d taken was starting to come back up in a sticky-sweet surge of vomit.
    Everyone was chatting and laughing now in the bar, as if nothing had happened.
    But something had.
    Charlie and Joe were gone for over an hour while the landlord kept supplying her with glass after glass of sherry. She drank a bit, forced the sickly stuff down, and noticed that no one came near her, not a soul. She was a pretty girl, surely some bloke would sidle up and chance his arm? They always had before. Betsy with her flirty eyes and her pert little figure always drew the men in.
    But no. She was stepped around like she was an invisible obstruction, like people would instinctively avoid a cold spot where a ghost hovered.
    She was a ghost.
    She was Charlie Darke’s girl.
    She was, quite suddenly, afraid.

13
     
    The legend of the Darke boys grew fast and furious after they did Bill Read over the Blind Carol incident. Where once Tranter had ruled the streets, now that task fell to the Darkes, and they relished it.
    ‘What was it about?’ Betsy asked Charlie one day.
    ‘What?’ He looked absent, as if his mind was elsewhere.
    That annoyed her. He rarely paid her proper attention, unless he was trying to get her legs open. And she’d said no more of that , after that first time. He’d taken her unawares, surprised her. That wasn’t going to happen again. Fortunately there hadn’t been any repercussions, she wasn’t up the duff. If she was going to get him up the aisle, she knew she was going