Chapter Seven
Prologue
Autumn 1965
Unable to make himself heard above Sandie Shaw belting out ‘Long Live Love’, Donald Walker made his way over to the Wurlitzer jukebox and turned down the volume.
‘Don’t do that! You know I like Sandie,’ Mary Walker said, as though she knew the singer personally.
‘There’s somebody knocking at the door,’ Donald informed his wife.
Mary walked over to the door and unbolted it. She was greeted by a sturdy-looking woman standing there in a dark-grey overcoat. At a guess, Mary thought she was probably in her mid fifties, but it was hard to be sure because of the curlers and hairnet on her head. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’ Mary asked, politely.
‘No, but I can help you,’ the woman replied, barging her way past Mary and into the premises.
Donald and Mary knew very little about the East End or its natives. They were North Londoners, having lived in Stoke Newington for many years, but this café in Whitechapel had been far too cheap to turn down, which is why they had decided to up sticks and move.
‘Hello, I’m Donald and this is my wife, Mary. As you have probably already realized, we are the new owners of the café. We officially open for business tomorrow but would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ Donald asked.
Shaking her head, the woman held out her right hand. ‘I’m Freda. Freda Smart. I live just around the corner.’
‘And how can you help us?’ Mary enquired. She had a feeling that Freda was about to ask for a job, but there was no chance of that as she and Donald had spent every penny they had refurbishing the rundown café and were in no position to employ staff just yet.
‘I can help you by telling you why this café has been empty for eighteen long months before you bought it and why you probably got it for peanuts,’ Freda spat.
Mary
