patience and told her to get out.
She composed herself and calmed down. Now unperturbed, she took off in the direction of Circus Street. Self-preservation was foremost in Betsy’s mind and the day’s events had strengthened her resolve. She wanted words with Lottie and Charlie Boyle but not necessarily in that order.
‘Fat heads, the two of them, him and that Freddie, I’ll bang their heads together when I see them for being so thick.’
Betsy hated walking through this litter strewn street, she could smell the poverty. The sound of crying children and barking dogs grated on her. She tried to hold her breath as she got a whiff of stale urine where someone had peed on the cobbles the night before. Nothing bothered Betsy, she was as hard as nails and now had the stomach for anything. She was just four doors away from number 10 when she began to hear shouting and bawling. Three young girls emerged from the house and scurried down the worn out steps. The steps had seen so many feet in and out over many a decade, they were bowed with wear.
They came down one behind the other, Rachel now twelve, (the girl she had designs on) Ruby, eleven and young Jessie was only six. They were all fair haired and pretty, even in the tumultuous state of Betsy’s mind, the sight of the three of them prompted a smile.
Her original idea was to see Lottie about Rachel. She wanted to see Charlie to find out the truth about this morning. Unfortunately, for Betsy, her plans had been scuppered. Even she didn’t have the nerve to go near the house that day. She glanced up at the slightly open door, she could hear a terrible row in progress.
The three young daughters of the warring couple had ran into a neighbour’s house. They often sought refuge when things got out of hand with their parents, especially when Lottie had been drinking more than usual. The neighbour, who was a kind pensioner’s widow, often took them in and gave them a hot drink. If they were lucky she would give them a bowl of thin soup and a piece of bread.
Betsy then spotted four year old Jim playing up the street with some of his bare foot friends. There was a girl who was now always with them, her name was Florrie. Betsy murmured to herself, ‘One day she will be of interest.’
Betsy arrived back at the house in Duke Street. She was worn out with the walk and coughing, her painful corns had been playing up too. She took off her shoes and threw them down in the lobby. She had a strong inkling that Freddie would be in the parlour drinking. She could read him like a book and she knew full well that he wouldn’t crack on about the lumber he’d got himself into. Much to the annoyance of Betsy, Freddie was sprawled out on her chaise longue, still wearing his boots.
‘Where’ve you been since five o’clock in the morning?’ Asked Betsy calmly.
‘Nowhere.’
‘Nowhere? You stupid sod, I know you have been lifted for buying stolen goods off Charlie Boyle. Your brain is addled with drink and that muck you smoke. You’ve been careless. Someone has seen you, probably jealous and reported you or the coppers have been watching you for some time.’
‘Shut up you stupid old cunt.’ Said Freddie through gritted teeth as he stifled a hiccup.
‘Don’t you call me a cunt.’
‘You are a cunt.’ Freddie stayed on the chaise longue clutching his glass.
A shaft of sunlight made her jet earrings and choker glisten, although not as much as the burning black coals of her eyes.
‘When are you up before the beak then?’ Asked Betsy harshly.
‘Next week, it will be an open and shut case though, so don’t worry your crabby old head about it, guess who’s sitting as ‘Stipe’ at Dale Street ‘Mags.’’ Freddie’s smirk was smug and devious.
‘I expect you mean the judge who likes having his arse whipped.’
‘Ha, ha, ha, ha.’ Freddie threw back his head and laughed a wicked laugh, although Betsy detected that his laugh was slightly forced.
Freddie had met up
She composed herself and calmed down. Now unperturbed, she took off in the direction of Circus Street. Self-preservation was foremost in Betsy’s mind and the day’s events had strengthened her resolve. She wanted words with Lottie and Charlie Boyle but not necessarily in that order.
‘Fat heads, the two of them, him and that Freddie, I’ll bang their heads together when I see them for being so thick.’
Betsy hated walking through this litter strewn street, she could smell the poverty. The sound of crying children and barking dogs grated on her. She tried to hold her breath as she got a whiff of stale urine where someone had peed on the cobbles the night before. Nothing bothered Betsy, she was as hard as nails and now had the stomach for anything. She was just four doors away from number 10 when she began to hear shouting and bawling. Three young girls emerged from the house and scurried down the worn out steps. The steps had seen so many feet in and out over many a decade, they were bowed with wear.
They came down one behind the other, Rachel now twelve, (the girl she had designs on) Ruby, eleven and young Jessie was only six. They were all fair haired and pretty, even in the tumultuous state of Betsy’s mind, the sight of the three of them prompted a smile.
Her original idea was to see Lottie about Rachel. She wanted to see Charlie to find out the truth about this morning. Unfortunately, for Betsy, her plans had been scuppered. Even she didn’t have the nerve to go near the house that day. She glanced up at the slightly open door, she could hear a terrible row in progress.
The three young daughters of the warring couple had ran into a neighbour’s house. They often sought refuge when things got out of hand with their parents, especially when Lottie had been drinking more than usual. The neighbour, who was a kind pensioner’s widow, often took them in and gave them a hot drink. If they were lucky she would give them a bowl of thin soup and a piece of bread.
Betsy then spotted four year old Jim playing up the street with some of his bare foot friends. There was a girl who was now always with them, her name was Florrie. Betsy murmured to herself, ‘One day she will be of interest.’
Betsy arrived back at the house in Duke Street. She was worn out with the walk and coughing, her painful corns had been playing up too. She took off her shoes and threw them down in the lobby. She had a strong inkling that Freddie would be in the parlour drinking. She could read him like a book and she knew full well that he wouldn’t crack on about the lumber he’d got himself into. Much to the annoyance of Betsy, Freddie was sprawled out on her chaise longue, still wearing his boots.
‘Where’ve you been since five o’clock in the morning?’ Asked Betsy calmly.
‘Nowhere.’
‘Nowhere? You stupid sod, I know you have been lifted for buying stolen goods off Charlie Boyle. Your brain is addled with drink and that muck you smoke. You’ve been careless. Someone has seen you, probably jealous and reported you or the coppers have been watching you for some time.’
‘Shut up you stupid old cunt.’ Said Freddie through gritted teeth as he stifled a hiccup.
‘Don’t you call me a cunt.’
‘You are a cunt.’ Freddie stayed on the chaise longue clutching his glass.
A shaft of sunlight made her jet earrings and choker glisten, although not as much as the burning black coals of her eyes.
‘When are you up before the beak then?’ Asked Betsy harshly.
‘Next week, it will be an open and shut case though, so don’t worry your crabby old head about it, guess who’s sitting as ‘Stipe’ at Dale Street ‘Mags.’’ Freddie’s smirk was smug and devious.
‘I expect you mean the judge who likes having his arse whipped.’
‘Ha, ha, ha, ha.’ Freddie threw back his head and laughed a wicked laugh, although Betsy detected that his laugh was slightly forced.
Freddie had met up
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