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The clink of glass bottles was the only sound cutting through the damp, grey fog at half-past seven. Mike the milkman moved with a brisk, rhythmic trot down the pavement of Dockside crescent, his electric crate-float humming a low, mechanical tune behind him. Mike had delivered to these streets since they were nothing but mud and scaffolding. He knew who took one pint, who took three, and exactly which households were skipping bills because the docks were quiet.
He stopped outside number four, sliding two pints of silver-top into the plastic holder by the door. As he straightened his blue bodywarmer, he noticed the front curtains twitch. Chrissie peeked out, her face still pale but her eyes less haunted than yesterday.
"Alright, Chrissie love?" Mike called out, his cheerful Scouse baritone echoing in the quiet street. "Hear you had a bit of a run-in with the council clerks yesterday. Jim Harrison sorted them out, did he?"
Chrissie opened the door an inch, shivering in her cardigan. "We got a reprieve, Mike. Thirty days. But I think Jim had to cash in a few favors to get it."
"Jim’s a good skin," Mike said, grabbing an empty bottle from the step with a satisfying clink. "But you watch out for the gossip, girl. Old Mrs Gallagher’s been over at the corner shop talking about Mikey being chased by some fellas from town. This road’s like a megaphone lately."
A few doors down, Sue turned her key in the lock of number eight, her leather briefcase slung heavily over her shoulder. As a history teacher at the local comprehensive school near Penny Lane, Sue spent her days trying to keep forty rowdy teenagers focused on the Tudors while their parents were striking on the waterfront. She adjusted her glasses, watching Mike chat with Chrissie. Sue knew the reality of the estate better than most; half the lads in Mikey Gallagher’s year were already skipping class to hang around the betting shops.
"Morning, Mike!" Sue called out, locking her gate. "Make sure you leave an extra pint at twelve. Mrs Gallagher looks like she’s had a rough week."
"Already done, Sue love! Have a good day with the kids," Mike shouted back, hopping onto his float and rumbling away toward the south dock road.
Sue walked down the crescent, her eyes catching Billy Harrison and Danny McCarthy standing near the corner lamp post. They were speaking in frantic, hushed whispers, completely ignoring the morning drizzle. Sue frowned. Billy had been a bright lad when she taught him three years ago, but lately, he carried the look of a boy who knew he was failing a test he hadn't studied for.
"Morning, Billy," Sue said as she passed, her teacher’s eye lingering on the canvas holdall Billy was clutching like a life preserver. "Your dad’s down at the depot already. Said the strike ballot is closing at noon."
"Morning, Miss," Billy mumbled, instinctively pulling the bag tighter against his leg.
Once Sue had rounded the corner toward the bus stop, Danny grabbed Billy’s arm. "You see? Even the schoolies are looking at you sideways, Billy. Give me the bag. I’m telling you, Greg’s working the warehouse shift at the Kwik Save down on Great George Street right now. He knows the fella who runs the security for the Mathew Street clubs. If we get the cash to Greg before his lunch break, he can pass it up the chain to Kevin’s people."
Billy looked down at the canvas bag. Inside was the three hundred pounds of student money. It was dirty, it was dangerous, and it was the only thing keeping Mikey Gallagher from getting his legs broken. "Greg’s just a shelf stacker, Danny. How’s he mixed up with Kevin’s crowd?"
"Greg stacks shelves by day, but he does the door security at the club on weekends, soft lad," Danny hissed, his accent thick with impatience. "He sees everyone. He knows how the cash moves. Now come on, before your old man finishes that ballot and comes looking for you."
Billy hesitated, looking back at the neat brick façade of Dockside. He could see Sandra stepping out of number four to collect the milk Mike had left. The community was holding its breath, balanced on a knife-edge between the old solidarity and a new, unspoken danger. With a heavy nod, Billy gripped the bag and followed Danny into the mist, heading toward the neon lights of the city centre.
