'And just to refresh our memories,' Ronnie continued, his gaze not leaving his brothers' faces. 'We'll keep this gaff ship shape, then. I don't want to find so much as a fag end under your beds – or anything else come to that. In other words, if the law was to shove its nose inside this house, all they'd find is a layer of dust and even that would be sweet smelling. Are you hearing me, you two?'
'Yeah, yeah.' Micky rolled his eyes.
Sean nodded in silence.
'And no outside jobs,' Ronnie added firmly. 'No creeping, no spotting, no fitting. Not even a touch at the market. No nicking wallets, bags or goods. Nothing goes down unless I say so. The Bryants think, act, even shit as one.'
Micky turned to face him and Ronnie was relieved to see a glimmer of humour return to his brother's eyes.
'What about them kids outside?' Sean asked suddenly. 'They've been kipping right on top of the stock.'
Ronnie had almost forgotten he'd allowed them to sleep in the shelter. After Mum's death he hadn't had the heart to send them back to Bow Street.
'They'll have to go,' Ronnie nodded.
'Lambs to the slaughter, I reckon,' Micky murmured, a glint in his eye.
'But they're not our problem,' Sean said anxiously. 'Are they?'
Micky shrugged. 'I reckon sending them back to Bow Street is like feeding mice to a cat. I'd like to see how handy the bastard is with someone his own size.'
It wasn't often Micky made sense, Ronnie thought, but this time he was in full agreement. He felt a grudging admiration towards Micky. More than that, he knew his brother was no coward and had taken his punishment on the streets as well as dolling it out. Inside him there was a vicious streak that was pure hate for authority of any kind. Ronnie knew that if this trait could be harnessed for the good of the family, they would have a valuable asset in Micky.
'You want to sort it out?' Ronnie asked.
Micky's dark eyes lit up. 'Now you're talking, bruv.'
But Sean was shaking his head. 'I don't like it. Those kids are bad news.'
Ronnie was under no illusions as far as Sean went. He was never cut out for the physical. Mum had spoiled him rotten, and him and Micky had understood why. Sean was the total opposite to Micky who, given the chance, would happily take a swing at a bull with a match up its arse.
'We'll start as we mean to go on,' Ronnie said without hesitation. 'Ask yourself this question, Sean. What would Dad have done if we had a sister and some lairy sod lifted a hand against her?' His face was set hard, its handsome proportions chiselled out in the broad daylight. 'This is our patch and we need the respect.' He paused, assessing his brothers' reactions. When no argument was forthcoming he continued. 'Now, are we all done?'
Ronnie looked at them again. Then he stood up and felt the smooth material of his trousers fall over his long legs. He liked that feeling. He liked the fact that he now had his brothers' undivided attention and made a vow to keep it that way.
Before leaving the room he picked up the newspaper. The polish of the table sparkled. He could remember his mum polishing it and the joy she took in doing so. It was a big, solid table, like the family he intended to cultivate. This was the first meeting he had called, but it wouldn't be the last. There would be many more to come.
Now he instructed Sean to change his clothes and put on his working clobber. Ronnie had already convinced himself that the action he was about to take to remedy a bad situation, would achieve a result that his Dad, if not his Mum, would sanction.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“Where there's muck there's money!"
If my family had a royal crest I'm sure those are the words that would have been hewn into the stone above it.
Mum and Dad were both East Enders who were born on the famous or should I say the then infamous Isle of Dogs. They were costermongers selling fruit, veg and anything else that would stand still long enough!
Their family were immigrants who travelled to the UK from Ireland and France, while others emigrated to America.
As a child I would listen to the adults spinning their colourful stories, as my cousins and I drank pop under the table.
I know the seeds of all my stories come from those far off times that feel like only yesterday. So I would like to say a heartfelt thank you to all my family and ancestors wherever you are now ... UK, Ireland, France and America, as you've passed down the magic and love of story telling.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am extremely grateful to ‘library resources’ for the many books, papers and scanned documents involving World War 2 events and 20th century historical facts made available to me for this novel.
Grateful thanks and deep appreciation go to the contributors who have afforded me their private diaries, recorded personal experiences, evocative memories, written reflections and intimate personal letters describing this unique time in our history.
Thank you - and I hope my story seen through nine-year-old Daisy’s eyes, does justice to your great and invaluable generosity.
COPYRIGHT
Girl with Secrets
First published in Great Britain by Carol Rivers
This edition published 2021
Copyright © 2021 Carol Rivers
All rights reserved
The right of Carol Rivers to be identified
