Robert Ryan - Signal Red

'He can be very useful,' Bruce went on. 'Ronnie's a big strong lad. Once we get the train to that bridge, we are going to need to get the bags down to the lorries.'

'Lorries?' asked Roy, dismay in his voice.

'I'll come to that,' said Bruce. 'And besides, Tony has worked with him before, haven't you?'

All eyes turned on Tony, but Tony examined Bruce's face. He had never even met Ronnie Biggs, let alone worked with him. 'Yeah. He's all right.'

'I can drive the bleedin' train,' said Roy, with a hint of petulance.

'What? You bought a Hornby Dublo?'

Roy glared at Buster. He had bought a train set, but hadn't told anyone about it yet. Besides, it was a Triang. 'No, I haven't got a bloody Hornby, but I've got the Railwayman's Handbook. Looks easy enough. I drive a racing car – how hard can a train be?'

Bruce flicked from face to face, gauging the mood.

'It would be nicer to keep it tight,' said Gordy. 'And not bring in too many outsiders.'

Bruce knew that wasn't going to be an option. On paper he had worked out they needed eighteen people to do this; sixteen at a stretch. They were still short. 'Well, we'll see if you can,' Bruce said to Roy.

'How do you mean?' asked the wheel-man.

'We'll go and find a train to drive. You lot have been doing the yards. You must know ways in.'

Several of them nodded. 'Security's piss poor,' added Gordy. 'Pair of overalls, you can walk right in and out, no questions asked.'

'And we've found the mail train,' said Buster with a grin, unable to keep the news to himself. 'Up near Wembley, in the sidings. As your man said, the HVP is not connected to the rest of the train by a door or corridor. It's self- contained.'

'Good. But I'll need to take a look for myself,' said Bruce. All they had to do then was figure out how to unhook it from the body of the train. But, as Roy would say, how hard could that be? Stan would know. If they brought Stan and Ronnie in, that is. 'And then we can let Roy play choo-choos.'

'Fuck that. Are we going to play football or what? It's going to rain soon.' It was Charlie who, as usual, had been listening without saying much. 'I paid two guineas for these.' He pointed down at his shiny new Puma Pele Signature boots.

Bruce picked up the ball. 'You're right. That's enough villainy for now. Twenty minutes, then half-time, another chat about the transportation we'll need, and change ends. OK? Right – my lads over here. I want to give you a proper talk without those dirty bastards overhearing.'

When Tony Fortune walked up the stairs to the flat, he was fully expecting a bollocking. Although he had changed after football – 4-2 to Gordy's team – his face was still mud-streaked and he smelled of sweat and beer. There had been two pints in the Plough and then most of them had adjourned to Bobby Welch's place in Camberwell for an after-hours session. Charlie, Bruce and Buster were still there. Tony, his head swimming with alcohol on an empty stomach, had headed back, no doubt to a ruined, cremated lunch.

'Marie,' he shouted as he came in, his nostrils twitching. Lamb. And it wasn't burned.

'In here, luv.'

His wife was in the lounge, watching television. 'Sooty?' he asked as he walked in, dumping his kit, just in time to see Harry Corbett get a squirt of water in his eye.

'Just waiting for Oliver Twist to come on.' She struggled to her feet, her belly weighing on her now.

'Sit down. Sorry I'm late.'

'Knew you would be. Didn't put dinner on till late. Be ready about six.'

'Lovely.'

'Shall I run you a bath?'

Even in his slightly befuddled state, Tony sensed something was up. A campaign was under way. 'What is it?'

'What's what?'

'Whatever it is that you have to tell me.'

She smiled at him, showing too much gum. 'Oh nothing, Tony. It'll wait. I'll run you a nice hot bath. There's a pale ale in the kitchen, if you fancy.'

He didn't really want the beer, but he dutifully sat in a soapy bath cradling it, going over what had happened that day. Although things had developed in fits and starts, some kind of shape was taking place to the tickle. Jimmy White was quartermaster, to source any gear needed for what Bruce was calling 'the mission'. Roy was, perhaps, to drive the train. Brian was to explore the possibility of establishing a base near the spot where the train was to be stopped, but not too near. Charlie and Gordy were to come up with ways to move more than a dozen men around without attracting attention. Roger was to go back and check the timings of the TPO mail trains and that the signals would present no unforeseen problems. And Bruce? Bruce was going to pull it all together.

'More hot water?'

His wife came in and turned on the Ascot, which ignited like one of the Americans' space rockets, spitting steam before a thin stream of scalding water came out.

She sat on the edge of the bath as it roared away. 'I have been thinking, Tony.'

Here we go.

'I've been thinking we should move. I know we were joking about the doctor saying we need a bigger place, for the baby. But it's true. A garden would be nice, wouldn't it?'

Well, he couldn't say he hadn't seen that one coming. She had been talking about a nursery for the boy or girl, been collecting colour cards from Woolworths. 'Y'know, when business picks up…' he began.

'Thing is, my sister Alice has heard about this place for sale.'

'For sale?' He sat up, sending water slopping over the rolltop, and switched off the Ascot. 'I can't afford to buy anywhere.'

'You could get a mortgage.'

'Not once they have seen the books. It's been a bad six months.'

Her voice hardened. 'Oh, I'll tell the baby that, shall I? "Sorry we are living in a shit-hole with a gas heater that might kill us all one day and one bedroom with a nasty patch of damp in the corner. Been a bad six months, see".' Her long- lost Irish accent always surfaced when she was angry. He saw her touch the bump and grimace slightly.

Tony blew out his cheeks and slumped back, sliding down until the water was up to his chin.

'I'm trying. Trying to make it right.'

She leaned forward, so her face was level with his. 'I know you are. I'm not daft. I know you have something in the works, something I am not to know about. Since when did you play football? On a Sunday? And go drinking with the lads?'

'It's all right. I'll knock it on the head. There're dozens of blokes who would kill for a sniff of this.'

She swirled her hand in the water. 'Don't be too hasty.'

'What?'

'I said, don't be too hasty. About knocking it on the head.'

'What about all that "I don't want my baby growing up with his father in pokey" stuff.'

'Well I don't, it's true. But maybe he won't. Maybe it's something worth taking a chance on.' She flicked some suds at his face. 'Is it?'

Tony suspected a trap. She was waiting for an admission of guilt, and then she would bring the house down around his ears. He kept quiet.

'Come on, I'm your wife. Shouldn't this be a joint decision?'

All he offered was a shrug.

'Look, this place, it's nothing too grand. Off the Holloway Road, not far from Alice. But she'll be able to help with the baby, and the landlord is willing to rent it for six months till we have enough of a deposit saved…'

'You've seen it?' he asked.

'Yes. You know those nice roads, on the left as you go down towards the cinema?'

He did. They were expensive, for that area at least. Neat

Victorian terraces with, as she said, gardens, albeit small ones. 'So who's keeping secrets now?'

'I was just waiting for the right time to bring it up, Tony. Just like you were waiting for the right time to tell me.' Her hands plunged into the water and he felt her grip his testicles and give a light squeeze. 'It's something big, isn't it?'