Free Rough Justice by Gilda O'Neill Page A

more convincing. ‘How did a clever man like you wind up in so much debt?’
    Solly shrugged. ‘Gambling, it’s a bok. You know what they say – better to be born lucky than to be born clever. But let’s be happy today.’ He took Stephen’s face in his hands, his ratty gloves rough on the younger man’s cheeks. ‘You won’t have no trouble now, Steve-o,’ he whispered into Stephen’s ear. ‘Everyone knows there’s no such thing as a poor market trader – except if you’re a fool like me, of course. Trouble is, my friend, you’re going to have to put in some very long hours. Or maybe you could get those twins of yours doing their bit for their father.’
    Now Stephen’s grin seemed forced. ‘Them two? Our George wouldn’t know a day’s work if it bit him on the arse, and as for Lily I’ve never seen the girl out of bed before dinnertime, let alone work.’
    ‘You’re going to be in for a shock then, Steve-o, I’m telling you.’
    ‘How hard can it be?’
    Solly looked at his dour assistant, and waved a hand at Stephen. ‘How long d’you give himbefore he learns how hard market trading really is?’
    That actually had the miserable lad cracking a snaggle-toothed smile.
    ‘Why don’t you give them a shake then?’
    ‘Never had any cause. Their mother left when they were kids, and they just got on with things in their own way.’
    ‘Believe me, I understand you don’t want your kids to suffer, but we’re talking about them helping you earn a living here.’
    ‘If I want advice on how to raise my family—’
    ‘I spoke out of turn, and I apologise, Steve-o, but give it a few weeks and I guarantee you’ll change your tune.’
    Nell didn’t know what was going on, but she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. How long was this going to take? She’d only just got used to all the noisy racket and banter in the pub, but at least in there she had Sylvie to protect her and – how did Sylvie put it? – to ‘kid her along’. She wasn’t used to all this row going on around her while she was left standing alone.
    But then, before Nell knew what was happening, Stephen had let go of Solly’s hand, and had taken her by the elbow – nothing too intimate, but sort of protective she thought – and now he was steering her towards the Ten Bells pub on the corner of Commercial and Fournier Street.
    ‘Where are we going?’ she said, skipping out of the path of a gruff-looking man with a handcart piled high with root vegetables.
    ‘I think it’s time to celebrate,’ he said, pushing open the pub door.
    ‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ Nell whispered, ‘but I have to get back to the Hope. I didn’t realise it was opening time. Sylv’ll be expecting me and I’d hate to let her down after all she’s done for me. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.’
    ‘Surely even Sylvia wouldn’t begrudge you a drink to toast your engagement?’
    She stopped dead. ‘My what?’
    ‘Your engagement. You and me, Nell, we’re getting engaged. I’m going to be right busy, what with having to sort out the new stall, so I thought we might as well get on with it. And sooner rather than later. Never saw any point in mucking around.’
    He lifted his hand to the barmaid. ‘Pint of mild and bitter and a lemonade over here, girl. Quick as you like, I’m spitting feathers.’
    Stephen kept his eye on the barmaid as she poured the drinks, watching to make sure he got his full measure and not a quick top-up from the slops tray. He’d seen her cheating people on a Sunday morning before.
    ‘The twins are bound to be off before long, so I thought you might as well move into Turnbury Buildings with me. Don’t see any point in hanging about. Never have. It’s not my way. And I’m sure you feel the same about me as I do about you. You’re a pretty girl, Nell, a right pretty girl, and I’ve seen you working – you’re a grafter and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Iadmire that. And I’m fed up with being lonely.