The men dispersed. Edward watched with wary curiosity as Joseph beckoned Billy across to him. The two went outside into the yard, moving a few feet away from the entrance hut. Edward moved a little to the left so that he could see them through the open doorway. They were too far away for him to hear what they were discussing but it was evidently heated. He could hear an angry tone in Joseph’s voice and Billy’s monosyllabic answers. Billy started speaking and then Joseph interrupted him angrily, his posture slumping as Joseph spoke, his finger jabbing in angry punctuation. Edward fussed with his shoelaces, casually observing the conversation as it became less fraught and then, finally, ended with Joseph placing a hand on Billy’s shoulder. Edward did not know what they had said. Had they been talking about him? It seemed likely. He heard a laugh rising from the yard, and, as he looked back outside again, he saw Billy’s happy face as he turned to face him. What had Billy said about him? He fretted about that, the sudden weight of worry making him sweat. He would have to keep a close eye on him, he thought. He had made such good progress with the others. Billy, though, was proving to be more difficult to persuade.

40

THE FIRST JOB WAS SET FOR FRIDAY AFTERNOON. They agreed to meet at the scrapyard. Joseph picked Edward up and they drove down to Charlton Marshes and parked behind George Costello’s Daimler, chocolate and cream with the prominent chrome grille. The driver was running a chamois over the windscreen, his peaked cap resting on the canopy. It was a beautiful motor and it looked out of place, parked there in front of stacks of salvaged metal and debris. They made their way into the yard. The trucks were parked alongside the hut, freshly painted with “DRAGON TRANSPORT” written across the sides. Tommy Falco was a whizz with mechanics and had broken down and then reassembled the engines, replacing worn out parts and changing the oil, filling the tanks with moody petrol that Ruby Ward had provided. By the time he was finished they were running nicely.

The others were idling outside the hut, dressed in the blue overalls that Ruby had procured. George Costello gave them the once-over like a sergeant major inspecting a line of men. Georgie the Bull looked as out of place as his car. He was wearing a tie with a fist-sized knot and shoes so polished you could see your face in them. He wore a panama hat and carried a gold-headed Malacca cane. He walked past one of the trucks and rapped his knuckles against the side. “Good job,” he said. “You’ve done well, lads. Looks authentic. I hardly recognise them.”

Joseph followed him. “They just need to pass muster.”

“Aye.” George sauntered back towards them, running the palm of his hand over slicked-back hair. “How are you, Bubble? You alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Costello,” Billy said. The nickname suddenly didn’t seem to bother him so much when George used it.

“Fabian?”

Edward looked from George to the hut and his mind lingered on the stories he had heard of the things that had happened here. Had Butler been brought here, perhaps? An evening of ‘persuasion?’ It made him feel frightened and uncomfortable. “Very good, sir,” he managed to say.

He eyed him carefully. “You look nervous.”

“Just keen to get started.”

“Ready to make some money?”

“Of course.”

George said, with a noticeable sneer, “Not the two-bob you lot were making spinning drums. This’ll be proper dough.”

“Yes, sir.”

George looked again at Edward in that hungry, lazy fashion he had. He couldn’t help but think of the way the big cats in London Zoo address the dead sheep that are tossed into their cage. He didn’t say anything else and turned back to Joseph instead. “You know what you’re doing?”

Joseph was calm and collected. “We’ve been planning it all week. Driven up on a dry run, scouted the base, we all know what we’re up to. It’ll run like clockwork.”

“What are you taking?”

“Refrigerators today. Big ones––for hotels and restaurants.”

“You’ve got buyers?”

“Ruby’s sorted it.”

“Won’t be hard to move,” Ruby Ward confirmed. “People will pay top whack––couple of hundred each. Can’t get them otherwise.”

“You lot best get going, then––go on, bugger off. I’ll see you tomorrow. And bring the money.”

Joseph had divided them into teams. There were three trucks and five men. Jack McVitie and Tommy Falco were paired in one cab and Joseph had the middle one. That left Billy and Edward to bring up the rear. Edward was not keen on the arrangement, far from it, and it was obvious that Billy shared the sentiment, but Joseph had insisted. He said that it was important that they took the chance to get to know each other better. Edward couldn’t argue with the logic––they couldn’t afford ill-will––but the prospect of a long drive with him and his monotonous, tiring attitude was not something he faced with any sense of anticipation.

He cranked the starting handle, opened the door and hauled himself into the cab. Billy slid into the passenger’s seat. Edward made a great mental effort to be as friendly as he could be. “Alright, Billy,” he said. “Me and you, eh?”

“Looks like it,” Billy said glumly as Edward released the brake. He pulled out of the scrapyard, crunching through the gearbox, careful to leave plenty of space between the wagon and George’s DB18.

Edward turned onto the road and settled back into the seat. He grasped the gearstick awkwardly and tried to start a conversation. “Got any more bouts coming up?”

“Yeah,” Billy said.

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Couple.”

Edward persevered. “Who against?”

“Couple of chumps.”

“And when you beat them?”

“What?”

“When you beat them, you still plan to go professional?”

He gazed out of the window and said, in a faraway tone, “Eventually.”

The conversation was awkward, clumsy and unsatisfactory. Billy made no attempt to join in. He sat there, making no effort to hide his boredom, staring glumly out of the window. The atmosphere was tense and strained and there was no point in pretending otherwise. Edward gave up and they drove on in silence. The traffic was light and they quickly made their way beyond the suburbs and out into the countryside. Buildings give way to villages, fields and woods. He made sure they kept in touch with the others, maintaining their nose-to-tail formation. They made good time.

They were just outside Oxford when Edward noticed a change in the atmosphere. The feeling of awkwardness had become something more tense and, when he turned his head to look at Billy, he found that he was already looking at him. “All this,” Billy said vaguely, “you going to be alright with it all?”

“How do you mean?”

“The job. You ain’t going to be milky when they get there? Not going to piss your pants? We’re going to be able to count on you?”

Edward was nervous, certainly, but the suggestion that he might not be reliable was irritating and he let it get the better of him. “I’m not milky,” he snapped angrily.

“I wouldn’t normally say it, but there ain’t going to be no way we can afford it if you ain’t right in control.”

Edward hesitated while his mind ran over the welter of things he might have said: bitter things, recriminatory things, hostile. His mind went back to a similar question that had been put to him during the war, during a patrol in the middle of the monsoon, and to the way that the rest of the men had laughed at him. Richard Watson had joked that Edward was scared and he had been indignant, but the other men had found his reaction even more amusing, and eventually he had ignored them all and kept his own company. Watson and the others had died during the ambush that followed and Edward had been decorated so who was laughing now?