Widows

Chapter 2

Dolly sat in the plush velvet chair watching Boxer carefully pour her a brandy. He was drinking orange juice, trying to make a good impression no doubt. Why on earth had she let the big stupid idiot in? Why him, of all people? But she found his presence strangely comforting; in his own funny way he seemed genuinely moved by Harry’s death. She slipped her hand down to touch Wolf, sitting as always close to her side. The tiny dog looked up and licked the tips of her fingers. She felt lonely, terribly, terribly lonely.

Boxer was a waste of space, but he’d thought a lot of Harry and considered him to be a friend. Harry wasn’t Boxer’s friend of course; Harry had simply chosen to look after Boxer and give him the odd handout, not because he liked him, but because he could manipulate him. Boxer followed Harry like Wolf followed Dolly; the difference was that Wolf was smart enough to realize he was truly loved back.

They drank in silence. Boxer, who was still standing, seemed ill at ease, as if unsure whether he should move his bulky body into one of the chairs. Dolly nodded and he sat down, holding his now empty glass on his knee. Dolly was tired, her head ached, she wanted him to go, but he just sat there. Eventually he coughed and touched his collar.

‘They want Harry’s ledgers,’ he blurted out.

‘They?’ Dolly hid her frown as she looked at him. She was giving nothing away.

Boxer got up again and paced the room nervously. ‘I’m working for the Fisher brothers now, Dolly... they... they want Harry’s ledgers.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.

‘They’ll pay good money for them.’ Boxer’s voice trembled slightly. He was trying to sound serious, but not demanding.

Dolly’s apparent lack of interest was making Boxer anxious. She knew him well enough to know that making him anxious also made him careless. He’d tell her everything without even realizing.

‘Harry’s ledgers,’ Boxer continued. ‘He was famous for them. He named names, Dolly, you know he did. Every lag he ever came across and maybe some he hadn’t yet, but knew he would. If the filth gets hold of them ledgers, there won’t be a decent villain walking the streets of London.’

‘I told you, I don’t know—.’

Quick as lightening, Boxer was beside her, bending down, his big moon face close to hers as he pointed at her with his index finger. Dolly didn’t flinch. He wasn’t angry — he was frightened.

‘Yes, you do! You do know! So, where are his ledgers, Doll?’

In a flash of uncontrollable anger, Dolly sprang to her feet. Boxer backed away. ‘Don’t you call me that, you hear me? Only Harry ever calls me that! I don’t know nothing about no ledgers! And what’s it got to do with the Fisher brothers anyway?’

Boxer gripped her upper arms as he desperately tried again. ‘The brothers have taken over his patch. They sent me and if I go back empty-handed it’ll be Tony visitin’ you next, so do yourself a favor and tell me where they are!’

Dolly stepped back, face twisting with rage as she clenched her fists, nails cutting into her palms. ‘I only just buried him, for Christ’s sake!’ For a split second, Dolly’s grief surfaced at the thought of Harry being replaced so quickly by lowlifes like the Fishers.

Boxer recognized her grief instantly because he felt it himself. Suffused by guilt, his face softened. ‘I’ll come back.’

‘I don’t want nobody round here! Nobody! Get out!’

‘It’s all right, Dolly, don’t worry. Just don’t go to anyone else, OK? The Fishers wouldn’t like it. I’ll come back.’

‘GET OUT... GO ON, GET OUT NOW, BOXER!’ she shouted and hurled her glass at him. He ducked just in time and it shattered against the door. Raising his hands in surrender, he turned and made a hasty retreat.

As soon as the front door slammed, Dolly went over to the record player. As the heavy beautiful voice of Kathleen Ferrier filled the room, she felt her anger calm. She sang along to the record: ‘What is life to me without thee? What is life if thou art dead...’ Suddenly she remembered the package that Eddie had given her before the funeral. Picking up her handbag, she tipped out the contents onto the floor in a jumbled mess. Dolly fell to her knees, scrambling to find the piece of paper wrapped round a set of keys, hoping and wanting it to be a message from Harry. Quickly unwrapping the note, she instantly recognized his neat writing.

There was more written below.

Dolly knelt on her plush cream carpet with Wolf by her side and clutched the paper to her chest. She read and reread it, trying to make out when it was written. There was no date, no message of love, just simple instructions. The bank vault contained the ledgers, she was sure of it. She’d always known they existed because Harry was always making lists. His mother had taught him that without the trust of contacts — criminal or legitimate — any business would fail. She had shown him how to keep a ledger, recording names, dates and purchases made, legitimate or illegitimate, and insisted he keep the ledgers safely locked away; they would be insurance against anyone who turned against him.

Dolly memorized the letter before burning it, and slipped the keys onto her own key ring. Harry would have been proud of her. As she carried Wolf up the stairs, she repeated the password over and over to herself: ‘Hungerford, Hungerford.’ The name was easy to remember and the sign-in at the bank was simple, too: ‘Mrs.,’ then Harry’s initials and then ‘Smith.’

As she got ready for bed she wondered how much money the Fisher brothers would give to get their hands on the ledgers. She brushed her hair and then went over to the bedroom window. An unmarked police car was parked a little way down from her front gate, waiting, watching. ‘Bastards,’ she muttered to herself, and pulled the curtains.