Paper Money by Ken Follett Read Free Book Online Page B

heart
    beat faster, and take it quick afore I change my mind."
     
    Tony had been shocked by the speed at which the old man changed after
    the one lung went. His hair turned white, the cheeks sank between the
    bones, and the fine voice went high and whining.
     
    The stall was rightfully Tony's, but by then he had his own sources of
    income, so he had let it go to young Harry, his dumb brother, who had
    married a beautiful White-chapel girl with the patience to learn how to
    talk with her hands. It took guts for a dumb man to run a market stall,
    writing on a blackboard when he needed to speak to the customers, and
    keeping in his pocket a plain postcard bearing the word THANKS in
    capital letters to flash when a sale was made. But he ran it well, and
    Tony lent him the money to move into a proper shop and hire a manager,
    and he made a success of that, too. But they ran in the family. The
    kitchen knife was sharp enough. He tried it and cut his thumb. Holding
    it to his lips, he went into the kitchen.
     
    His mother was there. Lillian Cox was short and a little overweight--her
    son had inherited the tendency to plumpness without the shortness and
    she had much more energy than the average sixty three-year-old. She
    said: "I'm doing you a bit of fried bread."
     
    "Lovely." He put the knife down and found a bandage. "Take care with
    that knife. I done it a bit too sharp."
     
    She fussed over his cut, then; making him hold it under the cold tap and
    count to one hundred, then putting on antiseptic cream, and gauze, and
    finally a roll of bandage held with a safety pin. He stood still and let
    her do what she wished.
     
    She said: "Ah, but you're a good boy to sharpen the knives for me.
     
    Where you been so early, anyhow?"
     
    "Took the dog up the park. And I had)o ring someone up."
     
    She made a disgusted noise. "I don't know what's wrong with the phone in
    the parlor, I'm sure.
     
    He leaned over the cooker to sniff the frying bacon. "You know how it
    is, Mum. The Old Bill listen to that one."
     
    She put a teapot in his hand. "Go in there and pour the tea out, then."
     
    He took the pot into the living room and put it down on a mat. The
    square table was laid with an embroidered cloth, cutlery for two, salt
    and pepper and sauce bottles.
     
    Tony sat nearest the fireplace, where the old man used to sit. From
    there he reached into the sideboard and took out two cups and two
    saucers.
     
    He pictured the old man again, overseeing meal-times with the back of
    his hand and a good deal of rhyming slang. "Get your chalks off the
    Gain," he would bark if they put their arms on the table.
     
    The only thing Tony held against him was the way he treated Mum. Being
    so handsome and that, he had a few women on the side, and at times he
    would spend his money buying them gin instead of bringing it home.
     
    Those times, Tony and his brother would go up the Smithfield market,
    stealing scraps from under the tables to sell to the soap factory for a
    few coppers. And he never went in the Army--but then, a lot of wise boys
    went on the trot in wartime.
     
    "What are you going to do--go back to sleep, or pour that tea out?"
     
    Lillian put a plate in front of Tony and sat down opposite him. "Never
    mind, I'll do it now."
     
    Tony picked up his cutlery, holding his knife like a pencil, and began
    to eat. There were sausages, hot fried eggs, a mess of canned tomatoes,
    and several slices of fried bread. He took a mouthful before reaching
    for the brown sauce. He was hungry after his morning's exertions.
     
    His mother passed him his tea. She said: "I don't know, we was never
    afraid to use the phone when your father was alive, God rest his soul.
     
    He was careful to stay out of the way of the Old Bill."
     
    Tony thought they had had no phone in his father's day, but he let that
    pass. He said: "Yeah. He was so careful, he died a pauper."
     
    "But an honest one."
     
    "You know bloody well he was, and never let me hear you