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  Charlotte started the car and headed towards The Prince’s Head. Johnny lived in a flat nearby, above a haberdashery. He hadn’t been keen on taking the place at first as he thought it wasn’t becoming of his flashy image, but Charlotte had persuaded him. The rent was cheap and it had two entrances, one at the front and another at the back. Good for a quick getaway if needed. Johnny was no longer working for Georgina and made his living from stealing and dealing. He hadn’t long been out of prison, doing a year stretch for a bit of petty thieving. But it hadn’t taught him a lesson. Charlotte didn’t think that he’d ever go straight, but he needed to watch that he didn’t get caught again. Bless him, she thought. Johnny was a smashing bloke but without Georgina behind him, she’d seen his flaws and she didn’t think that he was the sharpest knife in the block.

  As Charlotte pulled up at the back, she spotted Johnny coming out. He was fastening his long wool coat, the wide fur collar now his trademark. She tooted the horn and when he looked up and saw her, he smiled widely.

  ‘What ’ave I told you about driving? I bet you still ain’t got your licence, have you?’ he said, talking to her through the open window.

  ‘No, not yet. Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

  ‘Your car still not fixed then?’

  ‘Nope. But it should be by the end of the week.’

  ‘Jump in, I’ll give you a lift,’ she offered.

  ‘No chance. I ain’t getting in that car ’til you get your licence, young lady. Have you heard anything from Miss Garrett?’

  ‘No, Johnny. She won’t let me send any letters in and she won’t send any out because she knows they’ll get inspected by the Old Bill. Molly receives the odd letter from her now and then but she never mentions any of us in them.’

  ‘She did a good job of protecting us all from going down with her. I hope she’s all right in there.’

  ‘Me too. I miss her and so does Dog. Battersea ain’t the same without her.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Battersea ain’t the same without her,’ Charlotte repeated with a grin.

  ‘You soppy mare. Anyway, what brings you over here?’

  ‘Nothing, really. I was at a bit of a loose end,’ she lied, hoping to have had the opportunity to discuss the problem she was having with the Naylor brothers.

  ‘It’s getting dark. You should go home. I’ll pop round tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, Johnny. See ya. Are you sure you don’t want a lift?’

  ‘I’m sure, now bugger orf.’

  Charlotte skilfully turned the car around and headed back to Alexandra Avenue where Dog would be waiting for her to take him for a walk. Her mind turned with thoughts of Georgina and how horrid it must be to be incarcerated. She’d once spent the night in a police cell so she understood what it felt like, but one night was nothing compared to the years Georgina had endured. Still, at least Georgina didn’t have to worry about finding the money to pay off Bert Naylor and his brother Len. Since they’d found out that Charlotte was collecting rents, they’d been on her back for a pound a week. She dared not pay up. She understood how these things worked. If the Naylors weren’t satisfied, Charlotte would end up with smashed windows and worse. She had planned on talking to Johnny about it but knew there was little he could do to help. The Naylors had a hold on Battersea and though they were just a couple of thugs, they commanded respect through fear, though not her fear. She thought they were pathetic, just big blokes with less than half a brain between them. But she had no doubt that they could throw a good punch and Charlotte didn’t relish the idea of a black eye. God, she wished Georgina was out of prison. The woman would put a stop to the Naylors and have them begging for mercy. But, just as Charlotte had said… Battersea wasn’t the same without her.

  2

  The next day, Johnny Dymond hopped off the trolleybus that took him to south-east London. He hated using public transport but had little choice until his car was back from the garage, but at least it was mild weather for the time of year. As he made his way through David Maynard’s old patch, three women in London Fire Brigade uniforms drove towards him on motorbikes. One of them caught his eye and he thought she was quite a looker. As they passed, he gave her a cheeky wink and she smiled back. An old boy on the street had paused, his back bent and leaning on a walking stick. He must have seen the flirtatious exchange and chuckled.

  ‘You’re in there, son,’ he said to Johnny.

  ‘Cor, fancy that, eh? Women on motorbikes and in the fire brigade. If they all look like her, I’ll consider setting me flat alight!’

  The old codger laughed and Johnny doffed his fedora hat and bid him good day. He carried on his way, thinking to himself how much the war had changed things. He’d never have believed he’d see women doing the jobs that men once did, but he knew they were more than capable. He’d learned how strong and accomplished women could be from working for Georgina Garrett. She’d been a force to be reckoned with, and Charlotte had hit the nail on the head when she’d said Battersea wasn’t the same without her.

  Reaching his destination, Johnny rapped heavily on the large, double wooden doors. The house, tucked away up a side street that led to a small park, was owned by the new governor of south-east London’s powerful criminal gang. David Maynard had once been the boss but since he’d been injured in a bomb blast, no one had seen or heard from him until a bloated and burned body had washed up on the bank of the River Thames near London Bridge. The ink on his ID papers had been mostly indistinguishable but the police had managed to work out that the body was that of David Maynard. Cor, rumours were rife after that! Who had the nerve to take down David Maynard? Turned out, it was this new bloke, The Top. He was a bit of a mystery. Johnny had never met him as all business transactions were done through one of his minions. But before Mr Maynard’s blokes had gone into hiding, they’d warned everyone not to cross The Top. Apparently he was Irish and had links with the IRA and, by all accounts, he enjoyed working with explosives. His reputation commanded even more respect than David Maynard and Johnny could feel nervous butterflies flitting in his stomach.

  A hatch in the door opened and a set of dark eyes peered through.

  ‘Ralph, it’s me, Johnny Dymond,’ he said, leaning in closer and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  Ralph pulled open one of the heavy doors and stepped aside for Johnny to walk in. The large reception area with a staircase sweeping up around the edge always impressed him. But the area was bare. No pictures, fancy statues or opulent rugs dressed the grand entrance, which made Johnny think the place lacked a woman’s touch.

  ‘Is The Top expecting you?’ Ralph asked.

  ‘No, mate, but I need some lead.’

  ‘Right, follow me.’

  Johnny climbed the sweeping staircase behind Ralph until they reached the landing. Here, there were several closed doors, one of them guarded by two thick-set men.

  ‘Wait,’ Ralph said, indicating to a maroon leather chesterfield near the top of the stairs.

  Johnny unbuttoned his coat and sat down, resting his elbows on his legs and interlocking his fingers. It stopped him from anxiously fidgeting and, with the two bouncers snarling at him, he could feel his heart pumping.

  Ralph went into the room. He came out moments later and motioned his head for Johnny to enter. The bouncers frisked him first, something Johnny expected. He hadn’t been foolish enough to bring his gun with him. Once in the room, he could see the silhouette of another man stood in front of tall windows covered in heavy drapes that were almost pulled shut. A small opening allowed in a slither of natural light, the rest of the room dimly lit by a desk lamp and one wall light.

  ‘Hello, Johnny, we haven’t seen you in a while,’ the man said and walked from the shadows towards him with his hand extended.

  Johnny’s tension instantly eased when he recognised Gary Lockwood, also known as Slugs on account of his preferred weapon of choic
e, a shotgun. He gripped the man’s hand and shook it eagerly.

  ‘Good to see you, Slugs. You’ve lost weight, you’re half the bloke you used to be.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear? I got popped in the guts, fucking nearly killed me. Some geezer trying his luck here, thought he could take down The Top.’

  ‘Bloody hell, no, mate, I never heard a thing. You all right?’

  ‘Yeah, I am now, but me days of scoffing a good fry-up are long gone. I hear you’re after some bullets?’

  ‘That’s right. Just a box or two.’

  ‘Sorry, Johnny, I’d like to oblige but you know the rules.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Slugs. I’m skint and I need to do a proper job, which means I’ll need bullets. I’ve got a lifestyle to maintain and I can’t do that flogging a bit of bent gear.’

  ‘You look like you’re doing all right, you flash bastard. Smoke?’ Slugs asked and held out a packet of Woodbines.

  ‘No, thanks, mate. About them bullets…’

  ‘The Top doesn’t want those idiots, the Naylors, getting their hands on any ammo so he won’t sell to Battersea.’

  ‘You know me, Slugs. I don’t have fuck all to do with those two wankers. The bullets are for my own personal use, I swear. Look, let me have a word with him. I’ll explain me situation.’

  ‘No chance. The Top doesn’t see anyone.’

  ‘You have a word for me then. Come on, do us a favour, mate, we go back years.’

  Slugs stubbed out his cigarette. ‘All right. Wait here.’

  As he went to another room through an adjoining door, Johnny craned his neck to try and get a glimpse of the elusive Top, but the door quickly closed and he was left in the room with a different set of two bouncers. The Top was well protected and Johnny was surprised to have discovered that someone had tried to take him down, though it was Slugs who’d taken the bullet.

  The door opened again and Slugs reappeared looking pleased with himself. ‘You’re a lucky fucker.’

  ‘Has he agreed?’

  ‘Yeah, two boxes and at a good price. But if he gets so much of a sniff that the Naylors or anyone else has got hold of the bullets—’

  ‘—It’s all right,’ Johnny interrupted. ‘You don’t need to drop any threats. I know the score. Nice one, cheers, mate. I owe you.’

  The exchange was carried out in another of the rooms and Johnny left a happy man. It had been a couple of years since he’d last shot his gun, and maybe he wouldn’t need to use it for the big job he had planned, but it was better to be safe than sorry. And when it came to the Naylors, Johnny had no intention of allowing the brothers to get their hands on his bullets. In fact, he thought, the only way the Naylors were going to get any of the bullets was if Johnny fired them into their ugly heads.

  *

  Georgina’s cell door was unlocked and she walked out into the grim corridor. She could still hear Linda’s howls from the floor below and then heard another woman’s voice shouting at Linda to shut the fuck up. She wanted to jump to Linda’s defence but Miss Kenny was ushering them along the corridor.

  ‘Come on, get a move on,’ the unsympathetic guard ordered.

  She looked behind her and glared daggers at the woman. At twenty-nine years old, Georgina reckoned she was probably about the same age as Miss Kenny, but narrow lips and sharp, pointed features made the guard appear older. Georgina thought the power of her position as a prison warden had gone to her head. She was a bully and didn’t care about the women she watched over.

  As they slowly ambled down the stairs, she managed to glimpse into Linda’s cell. The girl was hunched on the floor in the corner, her knees huddled to her chest as she rocked back and forth, crying and hollering. Georgina stood against the green iron railings and waited for several women to pass until she came face to face with Miss Kenny.

  ‘You can’t leave Linda in there in that state,’ she whispered.

  ‘Can’t I? Do you think you’re running the place now? This isn’t Battersea, Garrett, this is my wing and I’ll do as I see fit. Get on with it or you’ll be back in your cell for the day.’

  Georgina looked past Miss Kenny at the queue of prisoners waiting on the stairs. Desperate women, beaten down by the endless regime and monotony of prison life. She knew they’d love to see her challenge Miss Kenny. A fight would entertain them for a few minutes and give them something to talk about. And when Miss Kenny pushed Georgina, she was tempted to push her back. But common sense prevailed and she moved on, but not without a final empathetic glance in Linda’s direction.

  A short while later, she sat at one of the long tables in the dining hall with three slices of bread and a meagre amount of margarine. It wasn’t the tastiest nor healthiest of breakfasts but it would do to keep her going for six hours of work.

  Jinny joined her at the table. She’d been in the prison for seven years, though she’d never told anyone what her crime had been. She was tall, like Georgina, and had the same dark hair. But where Georgina’s violet eyes shone, Jinny’s brown eyes were overhung by drooping eyelids, prematurely ageing her. ‘Did you see Linda?’ Jinny asked worriedly.

  ‘Yes, I did. It ain’t right. She needs help.’

  ‘I saw you talking to Miss Kenny. That bitch couldn’t care less if Linda hangs herself. You’re wasting your breath on her.’

  ‘I know but I had to try. I’m worried about Linda’s state of mind.’

  ‘Can’t you have a word with Old Frosty Drawers? I’ve seen you and her in cahoots.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Georgina asked defensively.

  ‘Nothing. It ain’t none of my business if you’re bribing her or got something on her. All I’m saying is, you seem to get on all right with her. Maybe she can get Linda moved to the hospital.’

  ‘I think she would, if she could, but welfare ain’t down to her. It’s down to Kenny and she ain’t interested.’

  Their conversation came to an abrupt end when Miss Kenny screeched, ‘SILENCE!’ across the hall.

  ‘Bitch,’ Jinny spat under her breath, looking at Miss Kenny with contempt.

  Georgina finished her meal but couldn’t stop thinking about Linda and her unbalanced state of mind. Finally, she picked up her pint of weak tea before striding towards Miss Kenny, determined to make the mean woman listen to reason. As she strode across the hall, she was aware of the women nudging each other and whispers being exchanged. All eyes were now on her as she approached the formidable warden. Miss Kenny stood with her hands on her hips, staring hatefully at her.

  ‘Get back to your seat, Garrett,’ she ordered harshly.

  ‘I’m concerned about Linda. She shouldn’t be in that cell,’ Georgina replied defiantly.

  Miss Kenny smirked. ‘Isn’t that sweet. One filthy slut concerned for another.’

  ‘The doctor should see her.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, Garrett, you don’t run this place. I’m in charge and what I say goes. However, I’m a fair person. I’ll get her moved, and you can move with her.’ With that, Miss Kenny called to three other wardens who were quick to surround Georgina. ‘Take her downstairs and then take Linda Green down too.’

  ‘No,’ Georgina protested, ‘you can’t do this.’

  She dropped her tea as the wardens took each of her arms. Miss Kenny’s smirk was now a smug look and Georgina wanted to spit in the woman’s face. But she reminded herself of her plan. She had to behave. She couldn’t give them any reason to turn her down for domestic duties at Pentonville. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Kenny,’ she said begrudgingly as she was led away.

  Georgina didn’t struggle with the wardens even though she knew where they were taking her – the lower corridor. A stinking, damp row of windowless cells, each cell with nothing but a mattress on the floor. She’d spent the first few weeks of her confinement there when she’d arrived at the prison. Her heart sunk at the thought of being back there but she knew she’d have to accept her fate for now.

  After being dragged down a few flights o
f stairs and through several doors, a putrid smell hit her. Bile rose in her throat and she tried not to breathe too deeply.

  ‘Looks like you’ll be living down here with the other lowlife rats and conchies,’ one warden said as the other unlocked a cell and they pushed her in. ‘You’ve got Jewish scum next door to you. I hope her and her dirty brat contaminate you and bring you down a peg or two.’

  The door slammed shut and Georgina slumped onto the rotten mattress. She was grateful that the overhead light was low. At least she couldn’t clearly see the black mould on the walls and the bugs scurrying around her feet. Her jaw clenched and her hands made fists. She’d get Miss Kenny. One day, when she was free, she’d make the evil cow pay for this.

  The minutes ticked by slowly. She listened for the sound of Linda being brought down but heard nothing. Perhaps Miss Kenny had had a change of heart and had sent for the doctor after all. She doubted it, but she was relieved that Linda didn’t have to endure these awful conditions.

  Pushing herself up from the mattress, she went to the door and called to the prisoner in the next cell. ‘Hello… can you hear me?’

  A woman replied with a simple, ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Georgina Garrett. I’ve been here three years. What about you?’

  ‘I am Ester Gutfreund, with my eight-year-old daughter, Paula.’

  Ester spoke slowly and she had a distinctive accent that Georgina couldn’t make out. As she digested the words, she baulked at the realisation of a child being in the prison.

  ‘We are Jewish refugees from Düsseldorf, in Germany. We have done nothing wrong. We have no trial. They promise me, my daughter will stay with me. I do not know where my husband is. They say we will remain here until they take us to a holding camp on the Isle of Man. Please, what should I do?’

  Georgina swallowed hard. She hadn’t been expecting this response. She’d heard rumours that women who’d escaped the Nazis were being held in the prison but she hadn’t believed the gossip. But now she realised it was true and she supposed that anyone from Germany was considered to be foe and were feared. But a child… how could anyone fear a child?