She was smiling at him, a slim, familiar figure against the lamplight.
‘I’ve been watching you for ages.’
‘I’m only here five minutes.’
‘Where are you off to?’
‘A bit of business,’ he said. ‘Union business.’
‘At this hour?’
‘It’s a bit of night work,’ Pat said grimly. She guessed what he meant.
‘Is it making trouble?’
He smiled.
‘You’re not to,’ she said.
‘A cartload of scabs,’ Pat said. ‘We have a plan to get at them.’
She came to his side and tried to argue with him, but found it difficult to pitch her voice above the roar of the water. She put her arm through his and drew him away. They walked.
‘Have you time?’ she asked.
‘A little,’ he answered.
She said she was angry with him for not coming to her for something to eat. He had promised to do so at least once in the week.
‘You look half famished.’
‘I’ve been doing all right.’
‘I know. Bread and tea. Or pints of porter. That’s no way to go on. Come home with me now and I’ll make something hot for you.’
‘I can’t, Lily.’
‘All right. Walk into town with me.’
‘I have this job to do.’
‘Pat. Suppose you get hurt. You’re not to go.’
‘I have to go.’
‘Then let me come with you,’ she suggested.
‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘You’ll get beaten up one of these days,’ she told him. ‘Why don’t you let the others do something for a change? Why is it always you?’
‘It isn’t always me, Lily—there are plenty of others.’
‘I haven’t met them.’
‘They don’t go around wearing badges,’ Pat said.
‘Pat, if you don’t come with me now, you needn’t ask to see me ever again.’
She was angry with him. But she was frightened too.
‘You don’t mean that, Lily.’
‘I do mean it. Try it and see.’ He disengaged his arm.
‘If I don’t go,’ he said, ‘about twenty decent men are going to be let down.’
‘Then, goodbye.’
‘Lily.’
‘I’m sorry I met you tonight.’
‘So am I,’ he said. She walked away. He had no alternative but to let her go. It was time to be about his business.
He pushed her image from his mind because the hurt it caused made it impossible for him to concentrate on his plan. Joe would be seated already in the pub; Mick and Harmless would be already on their way. His hand, exploring his coat pocket, closed about the stone he had hidden there. He would need it later.
There were two policemen on patrol duty, which meant the scabs had begun their night’s drinking. The other police were probably inside. He passed at an easy pace and a little later turned into the public house where Joe was sitting in a corner drinking on his own. Harmless was leaning on the counter, a pint in front of him. Giving no sign of recognition to either, Pat took a position near Harmless and ordered a pint.
‘Hardy night,’ he said generally, while he waited.
‘Fog on the river,’ Harmless said.
‘I heard the groaner at it,’ Pat answered.
‘Bad for the ships,’ said Harmless. The publican, who was drawing the pint, listened.
‘Are you a docker?’ Pat asked.
‘I used to be,’ Harmless said, ‘but it’s a long time since I worked.’
‘Locked out?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Same here,’ Pat said.
The publican brought the pint. Pat paid him.
‘You’re not busy tonight,’ Pat said, drawing him into the conversation.
‘There’s not much business anywhere this weather,’ the publican complained. ‘No money.’
‘There’s a big crowd down the road,’ Pat told him.
‘That crowd. I wouldn’t let them across the door,’ the publican said. ‘Scabs.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Pat asked.
‘With policemen guarding them,’ the publican continued. Harmless indicated that he wanted the same again and the publican went to the taps. He turned around to make a correction.
‘Did I say guarding them?’ he asked. ‘No. Drinking with them would be more correct. And after hours too.’
‘Is that the game?’ Pat said.
‘That’s the carry-on,’ the publican confirmed. ‘Bobbies how-are-yeh. It’s a bloody disgrace.’
‘Imagine that,’ Harmless said, shocked.
The publican brought the pint.
‘Your man that owns the place has one son in the police and another in Holy Orders,’ he said, putting the pint on the counter, ‘and if you were wondering why, out of all the pubs in this vicinity, the police should choose to patronise that certain particular premises—that’s your answer: the Clergy and the Castle.’
‘Influence,’ Pat remarked.
‘Pull,’ the publican asserted.
Someone knocked at the glass partition of the snug and he excused himself.
‘The scabs are in possession,’ Pat said softly to Harmless.
‘And the police?’
‘Two on duty outside. God knows how many inside.’
‘What about our own lads?’
‘They’re all ready. They gave the signal when I passed.’
‘Then we’d better get to work.’
‘We’ll call another pint first,’ Pat said, ‘if anything goes wrong, let it go wrong when I’ve had my few jars and not before.’
Harmless took a tolerant view.
‘That’s very reasonable,’ he said.
They chatted and drank for about half an hour. The money had been given to them for the purpose by the Actionist Committee when Pat pointed out that having some spending money for drink was essential to the plan.
‘With regard to our mutual butty—his jills with the apron,’ Harmless began.
‘You mean the publican?’
‘Just so,’ Harmless confirmed. ‘With regard to his views on serving scabs . . .’
‘He’d serve every scab in the country if he got the chance,’ Pat said, ‘all that oul talk of his is sour grapes because his neighbour down the road got the business.’
‘I know that,’ Harmless agreed, ‘but it’s a good lead-in to what we intend to do next—if you follow me.’
‘I was thinking that myself,’ Pat confessed, ‘but leave the talking to me.’
Harmless nodded benignly.
‘No better man,’ he said.
‘Joe,’ Pat said, while the publican was still absent, ‘the next time you call a drink, come up to the counter and stand beside us.’
Joe nodded and held up his right thumb.
When the publican returned they ordered again. Joe rose and came to the counter.
‘You can do the same for me,’ he told him.
They waited in silence. The publican whistled tunelessly as he operated the pumps. Above his head a gas-lamp made a hissing noise which was incessant yet barely audible.
He gave drinks to Pat and Harmless. Then as he was placing a third on the counter for Joe, Pat took it up and moved it so that it stood between Harmless and himself.
‘What’s this?’ Joe asked.
‘I wouldn’t take that money from him,’ Pat told the publican.
‘And why not?’
‘While you were away, this gentleman and myself had a little conversation.’
‘Just so,’ Harmless said.
‘And we found we both knew this man here. He’s a scab.’
‘Who’s a scab?’ Joe demanded.
‘You are,’ Pat said, becoming belligerent.
‘Now gentlemen,’ the publican appealed, ‘no violence—for the love of God.’
Harmless was polite about it.
‘We’d like him removed,’ he suggested to the publican.
‘Let him try,’ Joe said.
‘I can’t remove a man that’s not under the influence and is paying for what he orders in accordance with the requirements of the Innkeepers Act,’ the publican said.