East End Angel. Kay Brellend

she’d sooner dive under the nearest bus than have anything to do with the swine romantically. She’d never liked him thirty years ago when they’d been kids at school together, and she certainly couldn’t stand him now they were middle-aged.

      He’d come in the shop a short while ago, reeking of booze and rambling on about old times, then tried to slobber on her. Charlie thought because she was a war widow, and wore a bit of powder and lipstick, that she was hungry for a man in her life. Lottie could have laughed in his face at his arrogance. He thought she kept turning him down because she was jealous of his wife. Lottie just couldn’t make the conceited fool believe that poor Ruby Potter had her heartfelt condolences, not her envy.

      ‘Who was it, Mum?’ Nick demanded, picking up an overturned bucket. ‘You know I’m gonna find out eventually. You might just as well tell me.’ He tried to wedge back in place a shelf hanging off its bracket.

      ‘Just a randy gorilla, son,’ Lottie said. ‘No need for you to worry. I can look after meself. You know that.’

      ‘He tried it on with you?’ Nick sounded astonished. ‘I thought he was after stealing from the till.’

      ‘Well, don’t sound so bleedin’ surprised,’ Lottie retorted. ‘I admit I’m no spring chicken, but I ain’t that long in the tooth either.’

      ‘Have you reported him to the police?’

      Lottie looked at her son as though he were mad.

      ‘Didn’t think so.’ Nick grunted a mirthless laugh.

      ‘He’s long gone now,’ Lottie said brightly. ‘No need to fret. I gave him what for and a slap in the chops and he took off.’

      Nick looked thoughtful. ‘Has he been in before?’

      Lottie mumbled something, disappearing to find a mop to soak up the water pooling on the lino.

      ‘He wouldn’t have come in just to lunge at you. I’ve heard that Wes has started sending thugs round local shops, fundraising for the Fascists. Or so he calls it. Sounds like a protection racket to me. I’ll pay Wes a visit and find out …’

      ‘He didn’t ask for nuthin’! Well, he did, but he weren’t getting that.’ Lottie flung aside the mop and shot after her son as he headed for the door. ‘I can tell you straight, Wes won’t know about it …’ She bit her lip, seeing her son’s expression change.

      ‘Something you haven’t said, Mum?’ Nick recognised his mother’s evasiveness.

      ‘Oh, all right, I did know him. It was Charlie Potter.’

      In a way, Lottie felt relieved to get it off her chest. The lecherous brute might return to do more damage, or wait for her outside when she shut up shop in the evening. She’d far sooner that her son sorted things out with Charlie than pay a call on Wes and create an almighty ruckus. Lottie didn’t want a feud now Nick was doing all right for himself. He’d bought the lease on this shop just six months ago and set her up in business. Although trade was slow, she was enjoying her little bit of wages, and being her own boss.

      ‘Potter?’ Nick scoffed. ‘He’s married and even if he weren’t, you’re way out of his league.’

      ‘I’ve tried telling him that,’ Lottie said drily. ‘He never has listened …’

      Nick gave his mother a quizzical look as she let slip that there was more to it than a solitary incident.

      ‘It goes back a bit, to when we was at school together.’ Lottie turned away, hoping Nick wouldn’t press her for any more information.

      ‘And?’ Nick sounded obstinately interested.

      ‘Charlie used to like me before me and your dad got together,’ she grudgingly relayed. ‘But I never had nothing to do with him. Then he got married to his first wife.’ Lottie shook her head. ‘She was all right, was Miriam, and seemed to keep him in check, but they’d only been married a few years when she died in the Spanish-flu epidemic after the Great War. Charlie dropped out of sight for a good while, then turned up again when you was about eighteen, I suppose.’ She frowned at the memory. ‘I bumped into him one day on Petticoat Lane and we did a bit of reminiscing. He told me he’d just got married again to a girl a lot younger than him, and was back living locally.’ Lottie shrugged. ‘Didn’t see no more of him. Then a few months ago, out of the blue, he was passing the shop and spotted me inside. In he came, so I put the kettle on and we had a cuppa. Since then he’s got it into his head that I’ve taken a fancy to him. I’ve never given him reason to think it.’

      ‘I’ll give you a hand to clear up,’ Nick said. ‘I’ll get Blanche’s old man to come over tomorrow and fix those broken shelves.’

      ‘Thanks, son.’ When Nick glanced at her grazed chin, Lottie touched the sore place, grimacing. ‘Better go and have a gander in the mirror and see what sort of state I look.’ She headed off towards the back of the shop, where there was a small washroom and kitchenette.

      ‘Put the kettle on while you’re out there,’ Nick called out. ‘I’ll have a cup of tea before I shoot off.’

      Lottie came out of the back room, teapot in hand. She’d suddenly realised that her son seemed to be taking things a bit too well, and that made her suspicious.

      ‘Promise me you won’t go stirring things up with Wes Silver; I’ve told you I’m all right. Probably it was me own fault for inviting Charlie in for a cup of tea.’ She nodded at the fragments of glass. ‘It was me broke the vase. I threw it at him to hurry him out of the door.’ Lottie frowned. ‘Have a word with Charlie if you like but don’t make a meal out of it,’ she said quietly. ‘He’ll take it out on his wife and kids if you do.’ Following her son’s nod of agreement, she added, ‘Bastard didn’t buy nuthin’ either.’

      ‘Not exactly the sort to buy his missus flowers, is he?’ Nick pointed out sourly. ‘Ain’t got all day to wait for that tea,’ he chivvied to get rid of his mother. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. He found the broom behind the counter and started sweeping.

      Nick knew his mother was rattled by what had happened and knowing she’d been upset made him livid. It had been just the two of them since he was five years old; his father had been one of the earliest casualties of the Great War. His mother had said she’d never wanted a second husband because no man would match up to the first. William Raven had volunteered to fight and gone off to France, never again to see his wife and son. Nick couldn’t recall his father clearly, no matter how hard he strained his memory to do so. To him, William Raven was a man in a faded photo who’d got a brace of war medals. Nick had those things in a drawer and still looked at them from time to time. Charlie Potter must be nuts to think he could ever replace somebody like that in his mother’s life. When Nick caught up with the bastard, he wouldn’t know what had hit him …

      ‘I don’t want you anywhere near Charlie Potter.’ David Goldstein was frowning. ‘Can’t another nurse do that district and see to his wife?’ He took Kathy’s arm as they approached the road to cross it.

      They’d just emerged from the Rivoli Cinema on Whitechapel Road, where they’d enjoyed seeing Errol Flynn swashbuckling as Captain Blood and were now on their way to get a bite to eat in a nearby café.

      It was the first time Kathy had seen her boyfriend in over a week as their work shifts had clashed. The incident at the Potters’ house had been some time ago but it had stuck in Kathy’s mind so she’d recounted to David a diluted version when they were queuing up earlier to watch the film. It had obviously stuck in his mind too for him to mention it again hours later.

      ‘It’s just Eunice and me covering the district, and she moans about taking over for me on my days off. The Potters couldn’t afford a doctor for emergencies, let alone anything else.’ Kathy added wryly: ‘Getting pennies out of some of the poor souls for their maternity care is more than they can manage. Their husbands don’t like shelling out to feed their own kids, never mind to pay for a midwife.’ She had not told her boyfriend