Paradise Court Read Online Free PDF Page B

for yourself.’
    Duke nodded. He drew from the barrel into a jug, then poured the beer with expert ease, giving each pint a good head. His own gaze was steady as he took Chalky’s money. ‘You lot heading somewhere special?’ he asked.
    â€˜Up the Palace,’ Chalky replied, smooth and easy.
    â€˜Best be quick. Show’s started.’ Duke slammed the coins in the till and turned back. ‘They won’t let you in if you’re late.’
    Chalky swatted the air and grinned. ‘I’m best pals with Fred Mills, the manager,’ he explained. ‘He always lets us in, no bother.’ He paused. ‘Reckon we can still get an eyeful of one of your girls up there without being flattened by your Robert. And very nice too.’
    Duke watched the froth from the beer stick to the sides of Chalky’s glass as he downed his pint. He stood his ground, like one of the cart-horses his father had driven. Scum like Chalkydidn’t deserve an answer. He lived like a pig in his filthy room so he could squander all his money on women, booze and clothes. Down any court, in any tenement block, you could find a bad penny. Chalky was that penny in Paradise Court. Only when he finally swaggered out through the doors and tossed a coin to the waiting gang of boys could Duke breathe freely in his own pub.
    Dolly Ogden glanced at the clock on the wall as her husband’s unsteady footsteps clattered down the passage towards the back kitchen. He fell down the three steps into the room. She didn’t look up again until she’d put the finishing touch to the seam on the stocking she was busy with, then she added it to the creamy pile on the table. By this time Arthur had staggered to his feet. ‘Gawd’s sake, man, stand up!’ she said, as Arthur flopped into the wooden rocking-chair she’d just vacated. But she sighed as she assessed his condition and gave up the struggle. Instead, she shook a pair of stockings free of the silky pile, rolled them up from the toes and tucked the top band of one around the whole roll to secure them together. Then she stacked them at the far end of the table for Amy to count.
    Amy, at seventeen, found her father’s drunkenness more difficult to bear. ‘He stinks of the pub!’ she whispered, standing with her back to him.
    â€˜Yes, and he’s your father,’ Dolly reminded her.
    Amy shook her head fiercely at this lack of logic. She felt a hairpin or two loosen and a broad swathe of blonde hair threaten to fall free. She fixed it back in place. ‘How can I ever bring anyone back when he comes home in this condition?’ she demanded in a high and mighty tone.
    â€˜Why, who do you want to bring back here?’ Dolly went to the fire to swing the battered tin kettle on to the hob.
    â€˜I’m just saying if. If I wanted to bring someone home!’ Amy said exasperated. She was a younger version of her mother, already slightly plumper than was fashionable, but with a developing sense of her own style and grace. She wore her waist nipped in tight, and made sure that her dark-blue day dress made the most of herfull breasts and hips. Her arms, which she considered too heavy, were carefully draped with full, lacy sleeves, but the plumpness showed at her wrists and ankles. Still, her blonde hair was naturally thick and wavy. She didn’t need to pad it out with wire frames like some girls did.
    â€˜Well, until you do,’ Dolly said with raised eyebrows, ‘just count these stockings for me and count your blessings while you’re at it.’ And she went across to bang about at the sink in the corner, rinsing cups, straining out tea-leaves from the cracked brown pot to see if they could be reused once more.
    Among the blessings Amy felt she could count were the recent attentions at work of the boss’s son, Teddy Cooper. She thought of him now as she stacked up the stockings.
    Teddy was always coming and poking