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Back Harbour Street Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Contents
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Chapter Sixteen
  18. Chapter Seventeen
  19. Chapter Eighteen
  20. Chapter Nineteen
  21. Chapter Twenty
  22. Chapter Twenty-One
  23. Chapter Twenty-Two
  24. Chapter Twenty-Three
  25. Chapter Twenty-Four
  26. Chapter Twenty-Five
  27. Chapter Twenty-Six
  28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  29. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  31. Chapter Thirty
  32. Chapter Thirty-One
  33. Chapter Thirty-Two
  34. Chapter Thirty-Three
  35. Chapter Thirty-Four
  36. Chapter Thirty-Five
  37. Chapter Thirty-Six
  38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  40. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  41. Chapter Forty
  42. Chapter Forty-One
  43. Chapter Forty-Two
  44. Chapter Forty-Three
  45. Chapter Forty-Four
  46. Chapter Forty-Five
  47. About the Author

He introduced himself and showed his warrant card.

‘You’re here about Maggie Krukowski.’ There was a rattle in her voice and she gasped for breath again.

‘And Dee Robson.’

‘Aye, well. I never knew her.’ She backed herself carefully into the corridor. ‘You’d better come in. Dee was after my time. I’d have left the Coble before she was a regular there.’

He made a pot of tea on her instruction. ‘I’m never my best in the mornings.’ She installed herself on the sofa that took up most of the tiny front room, hauling her legs onto a padded stool in front of her. ‘The carers are supposed to get here at eight to dress me, but they’re always bloody late. Most of them don’t speak English anyway.’

‘You knew Margaret in the Seventies and Eighties?’

She ignored the tea and biscuits he put beside her and lit another cigarette. The room stank of smoke and the ceiling was brown with nicotine stain.

Joe put the photo on the arm of the sofa so that she could see it without moving. She picked it up and stared at it.

‘That was 1975,’ she said, without turning it over to look at the date. ‘Billy Kerr’s birthday.’

‘Nothing wrong with your memory then.’ He was genuinely impressed.

‘It was the year I took on the licence.’ She paused. ‘We’d had a place in the West End of Newcastle before that, but it wasn’t easy. There was always trouble. It was tough, especially for a woman. The Coble was a step up. A bit more respectable.’

‘You were on your own with your son?’

She gave a sudden quick grin and the ghost of a wink. ‘On and off. There was the occasional bloke.’ She stubbed out the cigarette in her saucer and gulped the tea. ‘But always my name over the door. I stayed there until I retired.’

‘Margaret Krukowski,’ he said. It was time to get to the point.

‘Aye, the gorgeous Margaret. She could stop a conversation in the bar just by walking through the door.’ There was a niggle of resentment in her voice, which he realized was probably jealousy. Most women would have been jealous of Margaret Krukowski in her heyday.

‘You didn’t like her?’

‘I didn’t trust her.’

‘Tell me,’ he said, remembering advice given by Vera, one night at her house. Get them to tell you a story. It’s all about stories. It might be a pack of lies, of course. But that’ll tell you something useful too.