All is Fair Read online

  Dobson’s was a tiny operation compared to Grundy’s. It didn’t travel, but was a fixed affair on the seafront of a run-down town called Southsea on the south coast near Portsmouth. Cyril Dobson, the owner, was a huge brute of a man, who rumour had it was an ex-binman. He owned the majority of the rides and stalls, paying people to man them for him, and those he didn’t own he had no care how they were run as long as he got his pitch fee. Rides were only checked for faults and repairs undertaken when a problem occurred; Sonny knew that many of them were in a dangerous state, and how a serious accident had as yet been avoided was a mystery.

  Dobson’s only interest was how much money could be extracted from the pockets of the punters, and he didn’t take kindly to his workers thinking they could fleece him out of even a penny of it. Sonny had heard the stories of ex-employees being found on the beach or in a dark alleyway with injuries sustained from an unseen assailant, and it was his opinion that those men definitely knew who was responsible for the attacks but were too scared to finger him. Sonny was not a coward when it came to taking care of himself, but neither was he a fool, and he knew better than to tangle with a man like his present boss because as matters stood, his wages were his only source of income, unless he could come up with another way of obtaining any.

  He had believed that this was it for him forever now, the life of a poorly paid gaff lad with a third-rate fair, living in a damp, rusting van along with three other men, but then one night a week ago, good luck had condescended to pay him a visit.

  He’d been sitting on his bed as he was now, with two of his van mates, all of them eating chips out of newspaper on their laps. He had been in the process of making a sandwich on a stale slice of bread spread with margarine. As he piled the last of the chips on the bread, a photo in the newspaper was revealed. It might have been distorted by the chip grease, but nevertheless he would have known those faces anywhere. It was the boss man he was in hiding from and his main minder.

  He vehemently hoped that the reason for their appearance in a national newspaper was the one he hoped it was, but as he was illiterate, he was going to have to swallow his pride and ask one of his companions to do the honours and read the article for him. Only one of his van mates could read anyway, so his humiliation wasn’t that great. As he listened intently, excitement swirled in his stomach. It seemed that he no longer had to live in fear of being found by those men and made to pay, in their own particular style, for his failure to carry out a job he’d had been trusted to do, since the boss man and most of his gang were in jail and would remain there for a very long time. He stopped himself from thumping the air with joy, as his companions would be curious as to why this article had affected him in such a way, and they definitely weren’t the sort you wanted knowing your personal business. He explained away his interest by telling them that it was nothing more than nosiness on his part about what these men had done to get themselves in the paper.

  He had no time to consider the implications of the information as he’d had to get back to work, but that night in bed, ignoring the snoring of his van mates, his mind was filled with nothing else. He might no longer be in danger from the crime boss – such a tremendous weight off his shoulders – but he was still of interest to the police, and would serve a lengthy prison sentence if caught, so even now he wasn’t free to come out of hiding and get himself a better-paid job with a more reputable fair.

  The answer then was to go abroad, somewhere like Spain, where the British police had no authority and the chances of bumping into anyone who knew him were extremely remote, so that he’d be free to start again and build a new life. The idea excited him, but it was short-lived as other thoughts struck. Travel arrangements would prove a costly exercise for a fugitive like himself. And just how was he going to get hold of the money to fund his new life abroad?

  After thinking long and hard, it seemed his only option was to approach his brother for money. He had after all been bequeathed a ride by his father and could request the equivalent in cash. Big Sam had originally purchased the dodgem ride second-hand, but as the most popular fairground attraction, it must still be worth five or six thousand. But after what Sonny had done to Solly and his family, and the danger he had left them in when he had absconded, it was doubtful his brother would hand him a penny. Far more likely that he’d tell him to go to hell and call the police on him. Gem, his wife, certainly would, Sonny had no doubt of that.

  If he wanted a new life, then, he was going to have to steal the money from Solly. All he needed to do now was think of a foolproof way of doing so. And he wasn’t going to settle for a miserable couple of thousand either, but as much as he could get. He had no care of the consequences for his brother. This was his one chance to get himself out of this dire mess he was in and build a future to look forward to.

  For the last week, all his waking moments – his dreams too – had been filled with nothing else, but still he hadn’t managed to come up with anything that he felt would succeed. He was beginning to worry he never would. To think of a plan, he needed time on his own, which was virtually impossible living in such a small space with three other men, while during work time the noise of the loud music playing and the chatter of the punters filled his head. This afternoon he’d seen his boss going out, so telling the lads he was working with that he needed the toilet, he’d gone back to his van hoping that alone inside it an idea would finally surface. But he’d hardly had time to roll himself a cigarette and prise off the top of a bottle of beer when his solitude was invaded by the arrival of one of his van mates.

  Freddy Reynolds was a lumbering, slow-witted 30-year-old who was constantly made fun of by the other employees, who nicknamed him Dopey. Sonny had little time for the man as it was, and in his present mood, today was no exception. As Freddy stepped up into the van, Sonny shot him a disparaging look and snapped at him, ‘For God’s sake, can a man get no peace.’ Only then did he notice that Freddy seemed unhappy about something. ‘Who’s stuck a pin in your arse?’ he added.

  Freddy scowled, bemused. ‘Eh?’

  Sonny sighed and rephrased his question in plain English. ‘Who’s upset you, Dopey?’

  Freddy advanced into the van and perched on the bed opposite Sonny. ‘Oh, that Donkey Jackson. Boss is on the rampage, ’cos he noticed you weren’t manning the big wheel and sent me ter look for yer.’

  Sonny inwardly groaned at misjudging how long the boss would be out for. Knowing the way Dobson operated, this was probably a ploy to find out which of his employees he could trust. Sonny had failed miserably and wasn’t sure right now how to redeem himself.

  Meanwhile Freddy was carrying on. ‘I asked Donkey if he’d seen you and he said you was having a shag with the boss’s missus in the House of Horror and I’d better warn you he was after you or you’d end up in some dark alley battered to a pulp. So I went in the House of Horror and tried ter find yer, but someone locked me in and started up the ride, and yer know how scared I am of the dark and all them ghoulies in there… well, I started to scream blue murder. The boss let me out and gave me a right clip around the ear and told me he’d send me packing if he caught me capering around again.’ He tentatively fingered the side of his head, where a bruise was ripening. ‘He didn’t half hurt me, blamed me for larking around instead of doing what he’d asked me to. Anyway, he told me I’d better find you and quick, or he’d give me another thump.’ He paused, looking puzzled. ‘Why does Donkey call himself that?’

  Sonny smiled to himself. It was because he claimed his manly parts were as big as a donkey’s, but feeling that Freddy’s undeveloped brain wouldn’t comprehend that, he said instead, ‘’Cos he’s as ugly as an ass, that’s why. Anyway, you found me, so go and tell the big man I had a headache and I’m just trying to find some Aspro to take for it. I’ll be back at work in a minute.’

  Freddy eyed him, bemused. ‘But you ain’t looking for no pills but lying on yer bed having a beer.’

  Sonny scowled darkly at him and snarled
, ‘But that’s not what you’re going to tell the boss, is it? You’re going to tell him that you found me raking the van for a bottle of pills.’

  Freddy shook visibly. ‘Oh, he won’t like that, Steve. Paddy Connell broke his leg when he got it trapped in the carousel motor, and as soon as he was back from having it plastered up, Mr Dobson had him straight back ter work. Poor Paddy was in terrible pain but Mr Dobson said he either worked or could fuck off. You have to be dead before the boss will accept an excuse for not being at yer post. He’ll give me another kicking if I go back and tell him you’re skiving off with a headache, and you’ll be out on yer ear.’ He looked bothered for a moment before he offered, ‘I could go back and tell him yer ripped yer trousers really badly and were just changing ’em.’

  Sonny light his cigarette, pulled deeply on it and put away his baccy tin. Freddy wasn’t as thick as he pretended to be. Simple excuse as it was, even Dobson couldn’t risk his punters being put off by a member of his staff with his arse hanging out of his trousers.

  ‘If it’ll save you getting another thick ear, you’d better tell him that,’ he said.

  Freddy looked relieved. ‘Ta, Steve.’ Then he sighed and said forlornly, ‘I wish it was Mr Walters still owned the fair. He were a nice man. Took me in when I was a kid when he found me begging on the seafront. Me mam had died and them people from the council wanted to put me in an orphanage, but I weren’t going in one of them places so I’d run away. The fair was much better then and everyone who worked here was ’appy and looked out fer each other. Mr Walters was a one for making sure the rides were safe and was always getting us to paint ’em – not like they are now, all scratched and dented.’

  He looked around the interior of the van before he added, ‘Would have had this van set fire to long ago. Our vans weren’t that new, but they were far better than these dumps. Every week on a Sunday, Mrs Walters would cook all us workers a big dinner and we’d sit around a long table and eat together. She always gave me extra pudding, ’cos she said being the big lad I am I needed to keep me strength up. She was a lovely woman, Ma Walters. It was so sad when she died. Mr Walters wasn’t the same after that. It was like he’d died too. He didn’t care about the fair any more and he started drinking a lot and gambling. But even then he was still kind to me. I wish he was still boss and not Mr Dobson.’

  So did Sonny. Walters sounded like the sort of chap it would have been easy to fleece and get away with it. ‘Did Dobson buy the fair when Mr Walters died?’ he asked as Freddy stood up preparing to take his leave.

  ‘Oh, Mr Walters ain’t dead. He’s in one of them old people’s homes. Horrible place it is. Smells of piss and shit. The food looks like what you’d give ter pigs. I go and see him when I can. Tek him a jam Swiss roll when I’ve got the money as it’s his favourite cake and he don’t get no cake at the home – lucky if he gets an arrowroot biscuit. Anyway, he lost the fair in a card game. It was just him and Mr Dobson left in the game. I don’t understand cards, but Mr Walters told me he had three cards the same and he felt sure Dobson was bluffing that he had a better set. He’d no money left so he bet the fair instead. But Mr Dobson did have better cards than Mr Walters. He had… er…’ He frowned in deep thought. ‘I’ve forgot what it was called, but it’s something to do with a king or queen pulling the lavvy chain.’

  Sonny looked at him blankly for a moment before the penny dropped. ‘You mean a royal flush,’ he enlightened him sardonically.

  Freddy grinned and nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s it. Anyway, Mr Walters begged Mr Dobson to give him time to find the money, but Mr Dobson was having none of it and insisted the fair was his, so Mr Walters had no choice but to sign it over. A deal has to be honoured, don’t it?’ He noticed that Sonny was staring at him. ‘What you looking at me like that for?’

  In his innocence, Freddy had given him an idea of how he could get money – and a substantial amount of it – out of his brother without him knowing he was involved in any way. The scheme seemed to be unfolding like a flower, petal by petal, inside his brain, and the more it unfurled, the more he felt it had merit. He would need to explore it further, plan it meticulously to make sure nothing could go wrong. Solly would not fall for the same trick twice, so he only had one chance at this. There was just one tricky part that he could see, and that was finding the right person to carry out the job for him. But the person he would be seeking would very likely be in need of money and would jump at the chance to earn a good sum of it, and Sonny knew just where to make a start.

  The World’s Fair newspaper was the fair owners’ bible, how they kept abreast of what was going on in the wider showman community up and down the country. All stories relating to fairground matters were published in it, whether good or bad, along with births, marriages and deaths. If Sonny remembered rightly, his slovenly boss had a huge pile of them in his office, possibly dating back to when Walters had owned the fair. The first chance he got, he would help himself to some and start looking through them for the man he hoped to entice to work for him.

  But then another thought struck him. His mind raced frantically for a way to overcome the problem that had occurred to him, and his eyes settled on Freddy. He knew it was a long shot, but regardless he asked, ‘Can you read, Freddy?’

  To his shock, the man nodded proudly. ‘Mrs Walters teached me. Not great big words, though.’

  It was enough for what Sonny needed. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he jumped up and slapped Freddy on the arm. ‘You’re a bloody godsend, Freddy, that’s what you are. That daft brain of yours ain’t as daft as you make out. When I get my hands on what I’m after, I’ll make sure a couple of quid comes your way as a thank you.’ But in the meantime, he needed his job here, so he added, ‘Come on, let’s get back to work before Dobson bursts a blood vessel.’

  Chapter Seven

  After the cold winds of March, and April’s endless showers, the fair folk were relieved when May arrived and the first signs of spring began to show. Buds on trees began to sprout into leaves and an assortment of early wild flowers bathed their faces under a warming sun.

  Sundays were days of rest for most of society, but for the fair folk leisure time was only enjoyed when the men had finished any maintenance and repair work around the fair and on their living vans and the women had caught up with outstanding household chores. But when a move had taken place, they enjoyed very little time to themselves at all. The men would have made a start on dismantling the fair after it had closed at ten the night before, while the women began packing up their living accommodation; then, after a few hours of snatched sleep, they were all up again before the crack of dawn to finish off what they hadn’t managed the previous evening. Once they had travelled to their next port of call and reinstated the fair and living accommodation, it was time for bed, any remaining jobs to be dealt with on Monday morning before the two o’clock opening.

  The fair had arrived in Stockport for a two-week stay, and it was in the middle of their visit, on a warm early-May Sunday morning, that six women were sitting in a circle outside Gem’s living van. Gem was darning a pile of socks, a chore she had no love for: Jenny was helping her Aunt Fran to unpick old jumpers to re-knit into something else; Ren was sorting sweets from a large sack into cones that she sold for a penny each; while the matriarchs of the group, Betty Smith and Sadie Mickleton, both in their seventies, were peeling potatoes and scraping carrots for dinner.

  ‘No Velda today?’ Betty asked no one in particular.

  ‘She’s with Emily Dunn,’ Gem told her. ‘They’ve gone for a walk to collect leaves and flowers for a nature lesson Emily is giving the children tomorrow.’

  Emily Dunn was the community school teacher. She was an elderly woman who had been on the verge of retirement from her job as an assistant at a small school when she had witnessed how wickedly the teacher had treated the fair-folk children who had attended the school whilst Grundy’s was playing in the town. Outraged at the teacher’s behaviour and aware that this was how th
e children of fair folk were treated in most schools they attended during their travels, she offered her services to Grundy’s. Big Sam had taken some persuading by Gem to fund a school, but finally he had relented when she told him that by offering his community a basic education he would be considered a pioneer and would stand alongside the greats in fair history who had come to revolutionise the business in some way. In the nine months Emily had been with Grundy’s, she had taught the children far more than they had ever learned at outsiders’ schools and was now offering lessons to any of their parents who wanted to learn to read and write.

  ‘I was thinking of joining Miss Dunn’s lessons,’ said Fran.

  ‘You should,’ enthused Jenny. ‘I don’t know how I’d cope without my books to read before I go to sleep at night.’

  Fran looked doubtful. ‘Well I don’t know whether I’d reach the standard of an actual book, but I’d like to be able to read some of the articles in women’s magazines, and new recipes.’

  ‘You don’t know until you try, Fran. Solly is doing really well and he thought he’d never get the hang of it when he first went along,’ Gem told her.

  Fran thought about it for a moment before she said, ‘I suppose I could go for one lesson and see how I get on.’

  Silence reigned for several moments as each woman concentrated on her task. Then Betty spoke up.

  ‘Only seems five minutes ago that we was sitting like we are now having a good old natter and next thing we know war was declared when those brainless Teddy bear idiots rampaged us last year.’

  ‘Teddy boys, yer daft beggar,’ Sadie scoffed, slapping her friend playfully on her arm. ‘Yeah, yer wouldn’t think it was nearly a year back. Time flies so damned quick when you’re getting on. Only seems like ten minutes ago I married my Cedric, and here we are eight kids and twelve grandchildren later and about to celebrate our fiftieth wedding anniversary.’