The Baby and Fly Pie Page 3

  ‘We could get someone,’ said Sham. ‘We could get one of Mother’s Big Girls – they do us up all the time when we get hurt.’

  The man looked down at the ground and pulled a face as if he didn’t care.

  ‘You need someone to help you,’ said Sham. He finished up with the nappy and started to dress her again. I still couldn’t believe he knew how to do that.

  ‘You need us,’ said Sham.

  ‘Kids,’ said the man. He sighed. ‘Just a pair of kids.’

  ‘We’re all you got,’ said Sham. ‘I know about babies. We can do things – get things, make calls for you – get someone to look after you.’

  I wanted to shout at him, ‘Shut up!’ because the whole thing was too big for us. It was on television! It was seventeen million pounds. What we had to do was get away as soon as we could.

  ‘His sister.’ Sham nodded at me. ‘Your sister has done nursing for Mother, hasn’t she?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t want my sister in this,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Listen …’ began Sham, but I wasn’t having it.

  I said, ‘Look, mister – I did what you asked me, I got the stuff. Maybe I’ll do it again if you like, but how about paying me first?’ I nodded at the pile of money. My money.

  The man smiled and nodded. He took it up in his hand and held it out to me. ‘You did a good job,’ he said. ‘Take it. There’s more,’ he added. ‘Enough for everyone …’

  I reached out. I nearly had it in my hand.

  ‘Don’t give him that,’ said Sham suddenly and the man’s hand went back.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was half his!

  ‘He’ll run off and spend it and then they’ll want to know where he got it from. The place’ll be crawling in half an hour.’

  ‘No, I won’t!’

  Sham began talking quickly to the gunman, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘You need us. We’re all you got. You need me and you need him because someone has to look after the baby and someone has to do the errands. You pay him off now and that’s it, you’ll never see him again …’

  ‘You bastard,’ I said. But he didn’t even look at me.

  The gunman smiled. He raised his hand to hush Sham. Then he said to me, ‘Tell me, kid … What do you want? … What do you want most in the whole world?’

  My heart started going again. I got cold. I don’t know why that frightened me. He was smiling at me as if he was my friend.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me.’

  I glanced at Sham. ‘I got a friend, see …’

  It all came out. All about Luke and how he kept a little shop and always sold out of bread by lunchtime. I felt stupid. Sham was watching me the whole time.

  The gunman nodded. ‘That’s a good thing to want,’ he said when I’d finished. ‘How much? How much does it cost to buy a boy from his Mother?’

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe a thousand,’ I told him.

  The man smiled. He patted his pocket. I knew what he was going to say. ‘I have that much right here,’ he said. He smiled again. ‘I have thousands and thousands. You run some errands for me, make a few calls, and I’ll give it to you.’

  I nodded. I could have cried. This treasure wasn’t going to be easy to get rid of.

  ‘What about me?’ demanded Sham. He held the baby on his lap with the bottle still stuck in its mouth and he stared at the gunman intently.

  ‘You can have what you want, too,’ whispered the man. ‘You can have everything – both of you. There’s enough for everyone.’

  He was lying full out on the floor. He looked as if he was falling asleep.

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Sham eagerly. ‘Who do we get in touch with?’

  The man shook his head.

  I looked at the man. He’d closed his eyes. ‘It’s a kidnap,’ I said. His eyes opened. ‘I saw it on the TV,’ I said.

  The gunman smiled. ‘I was on the TV, was I?’

  ‘How much?’ said Sham. ‘The ransom, I mean?’

  The man looked at me.

  I licked my lips. ‘Seventeen million,’ I said. He smiled and watched us to see how we reacted. ‘That’s what the TV said,’ I said to Sham. He licked his lips.

  ‘Hey – this is the big time,’ he said.

  ‘You with me?’ said the gunman.

  Sham nodded.

  ‘Partner,’ said the man.

  ‘Partner,’ said Sham.

  ‘I just want enough to buy myself out – get into Luke Barker’s shop …’ I babbled. I wanted it to be clear to everyone – I was just running errands. Sham looked at me in disgust and I couldn’t meet his eye. I was a baby.

  The man stared at the boxes above his head. ‘Luke Barker’s,’ he said. ‘I know it. He makes good bread.’

  I nodded. ‘I want to make good bread, too, please.’ I was trying not to cry.

  ‘Wise kid,’ said the gunman.

  Sham snorted. That money was out of my league but it was right in his. Where did being wise get you? ‘Little baker’s shop,’ he sniffed.

  ‘You can be our messenger boy. You run the errands, fetch things we need,’ said the gunman. ‘First you bring your sister here to do me up. Tell her. Ask her what she wants. She can have anything …’

  ‘Just pay her,’ said Sham. ‘She doesn’t need to have whatever she feels like.’

  ‘It’s important,’ insisted the gunman, looking up at Sham from down there on the floor. ‘Everyone gets what they want, whatever they want. We stick together. We pay our way.’

  ‘It doesn’t cost a grand to buy him out,’ said Sham, nodding at me. He’d already left me behind.

  The gunman shook his head. ‘Don’t try to rob the whole world,’ he said. ‘We stick together. See? Everyone gets what they want – anything, everything they want. There’s enough. Seventeen million pounds. We stick together …’

  ‘Okay, sure,’ said Sham, nodding. ‘I see, of course. It’s safer that way.’

  ‘There’s enough,’ said the man. ‘Seventeen million pounds, partner …’

  Sham smiled. He cuddled the baby. ‘Partner,’ he said.

  3

  I KNEW RIGHT then I shouldn’t get my sister involved. Jane was different. She was a good girl, you know the sort. While the rest of us were out having a good time Jane would stay in and wash her clothes or do her hair. She was always trying to learn things – reading and writing or sewing or adding up. She was stupid. Who needs to read and write on a rubbish tip? But she did it anyway, and she kept herself neat and clean and did as she was told. She didn’t have big dreams about sailing away and getting rich. She just wanted to marry a man with a job, or get to work in a little shop and end up in a couple of rooms with kids of her own.

  I shouldn’t talk my sister down. The reason why I was a Mother Shelly kid and not on the streets was all down to her. For a street kid, getting to be a Mother’s boy is all you ever dream about. I don’t know how Jane managed it, because hundreds try it on and never make it. Maybe it’s impressive the way she always turns out in a clean dress with her hair brushed and her good manners, even when she’s had to walk through the dirt to get there.

  When I was small she was like my mother even though she was only a couple of years older than me. I used to think she was a superstar, I used to do everything like she did. I was a baby then. Things change – I grew up. No one was going to marry me because I wore clean clothes and said ‘thank you’ nicely. Don’t get me wrong, she was my sister and I was proud of her. If anyone had laid a finger on her I’d have given them a battering. But I didn’t like her around. She didn’t know the right things. She didn’t know how to pinch food or pick pockets or pull a fast one. Gangsters and guns – that wasn’t Jane. I didn’t want her in on it. She’d try to tell us off and I’d be embarrassed. But Sham knew what he was doing. I wanted my share of that money and he’d roped me in whether I wanted it or not.

  I was supposed to go straight to get Jane but I didn’t. I was hungry, so I lined up with the
others for supper. It was stupid, I wasn’t thinking. But there’s not much thinking gets between a kid and his supper.

  We middle kids have our supper at a row of trestle tables outside the office. In the morning, before you feed yourself, you have to find stuff to hand over to the Big Boys for supper that evening. That way everyone gets at least one meal a day. Today we had cabbages and carrots. I don’t know where Mother got them from but there were loads of them, spilling out right along the middle of the table. It was raw but there was lots of it.

  First we had to stand in front of our places to be counted. Mother counts her kids twice a day. You have to be there.

  That’s when they found out Sham was missing.

  Shiner didn’t take long to find out Sham had gone off with me. He was furious. Mother would take it out on him if one of his boys was missing.

  ‘Where’s he gone, Fly?’

  ‘I don’t know, Shine, I really don’t,’ I whined. I never thought! It was so obvious he’d pick on me. I was terrified because I still had money slipped away inside my shoe.

  ‘You better tell,’ he threatened.

  ‘We went over the commercial. He cleared off. You know what he’s like,’ I begged.

  Shiner looked into my face. I just cringed. He scared the juice right out of me. He was a big kid with scars criss-crossed all over his face like someone scribbled on him with a knife. He made those scars by cutting himself and rubbing ash in the wounds – just to show how mean he was. He stared at me in disgust while I cringed and everyone held their breath and watched.

  ‘You get on with it!’ he yelled to the other kids, hardly taking his eyes off me. They forgot about me and dived at the tables and began munching carrots and trying to break up the cabbages. That wasn’t easy because we had no knives. The best way was to beat them on the floor and jump on them. I felt sick. It wasn’t just the trouble. I was missing supper! I hadn’t eaten anything since that chicken leg and I was ravenous.

  Shiner grabbed my shoulder. ‘You’re going to see Mother,’ he said grimly.

  Mother Shelly was sitting at a desk by the telephone where she sells the stuff we collect or things we make – little animals out of scraps of soap, or pretty stars out of silver paper. She was a big women dressed in leather trousers and a leather jacket. You never saw her any other way. She had straight blonde hair and long crooked teeth. She was fat but she was as strong as a man and even the biggest boys were frightened of her.

  ‘One missing, Mother,’ Shiner said. ‘Sly Sham.’ He gave me a shake. ‘He was with him last.’

  Mother Shelly looked at me. ‘The baker,’ she said. She remembered everyone. ‘Fly Pie.’

  She gave me that name. When I had time off, Luke used to let me in the bakery to practise. Luke said I have cold hands and I work quickly, and that’s why I’m such a good pastry cook. He has warm hands, so we plan how when we finally get together, he’s going to make the bread and Danish pastries and all the yeasty things, and I’ll be the pastry cook.

  Sometimes I used to take things to Mother to try and get in her good books. Once, I made her a chocolate pie. Luke showed me how. It was difficult – fancy flaky pastry made with ground almonds and a thick chocolate cream inside. I was so proud! It was the most wonderful thing you ever saw and I’d made it.

  When I gave it to Mother she was impressed, too. She almost snatched it off me. It looked so good. She took a huge bite and I watched her eyes smiling at me over the top of it as she swilled it round in her mouth. She nodded at me; she was really pleased. I thought she’d let me go just because it tasted so good!

  But then her face changed. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue and there was something fat and black on the end of it. I could see her eyes crossing to try and see what it was.

  I don’t know how a fly got in the chocolate – I was stirring it for ages to make sure it didn’t burn and I never saw it. But there it was – a big, fat bluebottle.

  ‘Flies!’ she roared, spitting pie out across the room. I’d have eaten that pie even if it was full of flies – we never get chocolate. But Mother was disgusted.

  ‘Bloody fly pie,’ she bawled. She chucked the pie at me across the room and I ran for it. Everyone was hooting. She wouldn’t take anything off me for ages after that, but the name stuck: Fly Pie – Fly for short.

  Mother didn’t ask me straight off. She looked at me and she said, ‘I have a letter from Luke Barker. He says, if he can’t pay me money he’ll give me free bread and cakes.’

  I nodded miserably.

  ‘Luke Barker makes good bread,’ she observed. She leaned forward. ‘Tell Mother what you know, Fly – tell her everything.’

  ‘I don’t know, honest, I don’t know,’ I gurgled.

  I should have told her! I was so stupid that day! She’d have let me go to Luke. I know she’d have let me go but I just wasn’t ready to give up my treasure; not so soon.

  She looked disgusted. ‘He knows something,’ she said to Shiner.

  ‘It’s not that – I’m a coward, that’s all. Ask anyone …’

  Shiner snorted. ‘That’s true, ‘ he said.

  Mother laughed. ‘Not much good for anything but a baker, then,’ she said. ‘Listen, Fly Pie – you tell me what you know or I’ll sell you to the sewer men.’

  ‘Mother, but I don’t, I don’t … He just went off on his own …’

  ‘Where did he say he was going?’

  ‘He said … He said he had a deal. He wanted me to come in on it, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘It was the Marley lot,’ I muttered.

  ‘Ah!’

  Mother Shelly and Mother Marley were always fighting. They were always trying to poach on one another’s territory or get kids off each other. Mother was hard to fool, but she was always willing to believe that Mother Marley was after her kids.

  ‘So that’s it – he’s been set up, the little idiot,’ she snapped at Shiner. ‘Why can’t you keep your eyes open?’

  Shiner gave me a nasty look. ‘Sorry, Mother,’ he muttered.

  ‘Get round there now,’ ordered Mother. ‘Tell her I want my boy back. You can go back to your supper,’ she told me. ‘And next time tell Shiner!’ she bellowed at me. She swung at me and I ducked and went running. I could hear her behind me bawling at Shiner as I ran out of the building.

  I’d really messed it up. I knew I’d messed it up even while I was doing it. I’d wanted to hold onto my secret and believe for a few hours that I was going to be someone big. I’d lied to her and she’d find out and now she’d never give me to Luke.

  I didn’t go for supper. Shiner would only come to give me a battering anyway. I had to hurry if I was going to get anything out of this – it wouldn’t take them long to find out I was lying. I ran straight round behind the office and went to look for Jane.

  Jane was fourteen, ready for selling on. Street kids cost nothing, of course, but people are willing to pay for kids who will do as they’re told. Mostly the girls get sold on to brothels or factories where no one wants to go, but Jane was going to be one of the lucky ones. She could have served in a shop or looked after babies or anything – because you could trust her, you see. Right now she’d be on the second floor.

  You sneak up the back stairs. You can see into the kitchen through the service door. Behind the kitchen is the place where the girls sleep, and kids like to spy there, too – to see the girls undressing.

  I had a good ogle – at the food, not at the girls. Right next to me there was a girl I knew – Daffy, we called her, because she had a squeaky voice. She was cutting up vegetables and arranging them in a big salad bowl. There was everything. Red peppers and yellow peppers and green peppers, and onions and lettuces and tomatoes all wet and fresh and clean. I just stared. I was so hungry I even forgot the trouble I was in.

  Then she spotted me.

  ‘You – get out of here,’ she snapped, waving her little knife at me. But not so loud that anyone else could hear.
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  ‘Daffy, wait,’ I hissed. ‘I’ve got to find Jane.’

  Daffy cocked her head and frowned. ‘What do you want her for?’ she asked, glancing over her shoulder. She began chopping up a bright yellow pepper. ‘She’s not here, forget it,’ she quacked.

  I groaned out loud. I couldn’t believe it – Jane was always in, she never went anywhere. And then just when I need her she disappears! ‘Where’s she gone?’ I begged.

  ‘What’s up with you?’

  ‘Please, Daffy!’

  ‘Don’t you worry about her. Leave it till tomorrow,’ she advised. She glared at me. ‘Go on, clear off. You’re asking for trouble, Fly Pie.’

  ‘I’ve got to find her,’ I insisted.

  One of the other girls came across. I ducked down but she saw me.

  ‘He’s looking for his sister,’ explained Daffy in a flat voice. ‘Janey. You know …’

  The other girl sniggered. I poked my head back up. ‘I’ve got to find her – it’s important,’ I pleaded.

  ‘I don’t think she likes little boys any more,’ sneered the girl. She giggled.

  I stared at her. Daffy gave me a funny look. ‘Is it that important, Fly?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, really …’

  ‘Try Coulsdon – the High Street,’ she said, not looking at me. ‘Be careful, though.’

  ‘What’s she doing there?’

  The other girl snorted in amusement. Daffy shrugged. ‘There’s a street fair there tonight, don’t ask me,’ she muttered, chopping away at her pepper. She flung a handful into the salad bowl. ‘Scram, Fly Pie,’ she squeaked, suddenly angry. I turned and started down the stairs.

  ‘Better take some money with you,’ jeered the other girl. I didn’t think what she meant at the time. I was too full of the other thing.

  *

  It was six o’clock – rush-hour. The traffic jams last for hours. You can see the smog the cars make when you look in towards town and, when the wind blows out, you can see the murky air rolling up the street and over the rooftops. Out here on the edge of town the traffic wasn’t so bad but it was still almost as quick to walk. Even so I caught the bus. The bus is a treat. You ride up there above all the fumes and stink; you can see things in a different way from up high on a doubledecker.