We were late getting up on Wednesday but as the morning wore on, various people came in to help tidy the place up ready for opening. Mamma Campanini sent in a selection of daughters and daughters-in-law armed with scrubbing brushes, brooms and floor polish, old Mrs Roberts came and so did Ronnie’s missis, Sally. There was a mountain of washing up to do, floors to scrub and tables and chairs to put back where they belonged. Things had got a touch out of hand before Dave and T.C.’s fight was relocated to the street. Varying degrees of hangover made progress slow but steady. I was given a bucket and a wet rag and told to empty the ashtrays, then wipe them round. No wonder no one else was rushing to do it. The smell of wet fag ash – yuk! Everyone else felt too queasy to handle it.
We were all still hard at it when Paulette and Madame Zelda tottered in looking like death warmed up. Everyone was a bit quiet as they worked, so it took me a while to notice that there was something funny going on. They weren’t looking at each other, or chatting away as usual. In fact they were distinctly sheepish as they doled out the salt and pepper shakers. What’s more, they would start as if they had been electrocuted every time their hands met over the pepper pots or they brushed up against each other in the aisles. You’d think that one of them was plugged into the mains or diseased or something. It was all very weird.
I was busy watching them when Uncle Bert yelled from his kitchen that I could do the honours and open the door for the dinner-time punters. There were plenty of them as people had hung around the pubs and clubs all night, reluctant to stop celebrating. We did a roaring trade in teas and coffees although the punters were a bit leery of actual food, due partly to their hangovers and partly to the fact that they’d blown all their money. It was probably just as well, as Uncle Bert wasn’t feeling much like wielding a frying pan anyway.
We were half expecting Charlie Fluck’s ugly mug to put in an appearance but he didn’t show. Maybe he was still poncing about in Brighton. It wouldn’t have mattered a lot even if he had turned up, as it happened, because the Perfumed Lady had disappeared in the early hours with the battered but victorious T.C. in tow. So we couldn’t have told him where she’d gone after she’d taken T.C. to hospital even if we’d wanted to, which we didn’t.
It didn’t take long for life to get back on its well-oiled track once the cafe had reopened. I went back to school on Thursday morning, grumbling every step of the way, but I was all right once I was there. It was always a toss-up. I loved skiving and hanging around with Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert at the cafe but, on the other hand, all my mates were at school.
We had already flogged the Coronation almost to death in class during the weeks before the big day. The aftermath could have been a bit flat but, as luck would have it, Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tensing had made it up Everest, which gave us something else to think about, much to the relief of our teachers. We spent a productive time copying sentences, maps and diagrams from the blackboard into our rough books and then we did it all again in our best books. Maybe I’m a bit thick, but I never could work out why we always had to write things out twice like that. I suppose the theory was that if you managed to get it right the first time, chances were you’d get it right and, more importantly, neat the second time.
Trust me to show up the flaw in this plan. My second efforts were rarely as good, let alone better, than my first. I’d be bored with whatever it was by the best-book stage and would rush to get it over with so I could begin something more interesting, or at least new. I was always in trouble for scruffy work.
Anyway, Miss Small could tell a good yarn when she felt like it and she managed to get us quite excited about the conquest of Everest. We heard all about previous expeditions being driven back by blizzards, avalanches and lack of oxygen. We oohed and aahed over the poor sods who’d frozen to death in snowdrifts or had stumbled into crevasses, and it seemed only right and proper that Everest should finally be beaten as we entered the New Elizabethan Age. The trouble was, the more I learned about it, the more confused I became. I couldn’t quite make out how a New Zealander and a Sherpa who had reached the longed-for summit managed to become our brave heroes. Of course, New Zealand was in the Commonwealth, so that probably explained Mr Hillary’s honorary status as a true Brit – but what about Mr Tensing? And if Mr Tensing was a Sherpa, where the hell was Sherp? I looked hard at my atlas. In the end I had to ask and, in case it’s been troubling you too, I can tell you that Sherpas come from a spot on the borders of Nepal and Tibet which is nowhere near either New Zealand or the British Isles.
Still, we all found it wildly exciting and me and my mates spent many happy hours scaling the table tombs in St Anne’s Square pretending that they were Everest. The paths were transformed into glaciers and the grass was snow. For some reason, I always wanted to be Sherpa Tensing. One of the Chinese kids might have been more convincing, but they all wanted to be Edmund Hillary.
We got bolder as time went on, and used the shed in the corner of the square as our Everest. That idea didn’t last long. Enie Smales fell off and broke her leg, the twerp, and ruined it for everybody, and Auntie Maggie threatened to have my guts for garters if she ever heard that I’d been seen prancing about on it again.
The only other thing of note that happened during that time was that Dave came round shooting his mouth off about Paulette getting out of her flat or going back to work. This set the cat among the pigeons. Paulette was desperate to stay on, but she really had had it with Dave and brassing for a living. There were several anxious days with Dave threatening and Paulette getting upset.
It finally came to a showdown about ten days after the Coronation. Dave turned up in a filthy temper, having just come from the dentist. He hated spending his own money, did Dave, and it seems his new crowns had cost him a pretty penny, so he decided that Paulette could pay, one way or another. He had somehow managed to convince himself that the fight was all her fault.
Anyway, there he was trying to get into Paulette’s building but Paulette and Madame Zelda had changed the lock on the street door. Dave was standing on the pavement, yelling fit to bust, when Sharky Finn ambled into view. I just happened to be staring out of the cafe window, so I saw it all.
Sharky stopped some distance away and weighed up the situation in a leisurely manner, his head cocked to one side, one eye closed against the smoke from his ever-present, evil-smelling cigar.
As he surveyed the scene, a small smile appeared around the butt in his gob. Then he strolled over to Dave, laid his hand on his shoulder and said something. After a moment or two, Dave shrugged and allowed himself to be led into the cafe by the still-smiling Sharky.
If I had been Dave, I think I would have noticed that smile and it would have worried me as there was something mildly sinister about it. I didn’t know the word then but I do now: Sharky’s smile was predatory. It was probably how he came to be known as ‘Sharky’, let’s face it, and it was probably what made him a sharp lawyer and an accomplished gambler. As they came through the door, Dave was so busy hooting and hollering, he had no idea at all that he was about to be shafted.
Sharky listened quietly as Dave told us what an ungrateful bitch Paulette was and that if she wasn’t planning to go back to work then she could just get the hell out of the flat. Then he got started on how his teeth had cost him an arm and a leg. He was waving both arms about as he ranted, so I checked under the table and sure enough, he still had two legs, so the toe-rag was lying. He went on and on, saying that as far as he was concerned Paulette owed him, he’d sue her to get the money and what did Sharky think?
Sharky took a minute or two to lean back in his chair and consider. Then, eyeing Dave as if he was something he’d found on his salad, he began to speak. ‘Don’t be a prat, Dave. The girl owes you nothing. You lived off of her for years, remember, or are you confusing being a ponce with working for a living?’
Dave began to rise, spluttering that he didn’t have to listen to this crap and that if Sharky didn’t have anything useful to say, he, Dave, was leaving.
Casually, Sharky hooked his foot around the leg of Dave’s chair and gave it a sharp tug. It hit the back of Dave’s knees and he sat down again, smartish. By this time I had alerted Uncle Bert to the drama and he was making his way towards their table. Luigi rose quietly from his seat and strolled over to stand in front of the door.
Auntie Maggie muttered in my ear that it might be an idea to get Paulette and Madame Zelda. ‘Nip next door, love. Ring Zelda’s bell and then stand on the pavement across the road so they can see it’s you. Ask ’em to come in here quick. This is going to be good.’
I headed towards the door and Luigi swayed sideways to let me through. Moments later I was back, Paulette and Madame Zelda hot on my heels. Sharky was speaking and Uncle Bert was looming behind the hapless Dave.
‘As I was saying, she owes you nothing and if you tried to sue her you’d get nowhere. Chances are, you’d end up being charged with living off immoral earnings before you could spit. In fact, I’ll make certain of it if you get up my nose any more.’
‘What do you mean, ‘‘get up your nose’’? What have I ever done to you?’
Sharky smiled that sinister smile of his and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘I’ll tell you, Dave, my boy. You’ve been coming round at all hours of the day and night, upsetting my neighbours and getting on my tits by yelling, threatening and being a general pain in the proverbial. That’s what you’ve done to me – and it stops, right now!’
Dave began to stand up again. ‘What makes you think you can stop me?’ he sneered. ‘If I wanna come round, I’ll come round. I’m going to get Paulette out of there and put my Theresa in instead.’
Uncle Bert moved forward slightly, grabbed the chair Dave had pushed back and shoved it hard into the back of his knees. Once again, he went down with a thud. Sharky leaned over the table, eyes glittering and his smile even more sharklike.
‘And how do you propose to do that? Surely Paulette’s been paying the rent? If I know you, David, and I do, you have never paid a penny. What makes you think you can evict her and let the flat to whom you please?’ His voice went very quiet. ‘What makes you think that you can do that, Dave?’
Dave began to bluster but Sharky held up a hand for silence. ‘No, David, I think not. Firstly, you’re not the tenant of the flat, Paulette is. I know in the normal run of things that would mean sweet Fanny Adams, but in this case her rights will be observed. Secondly, even if you could get her out, and you can’t, you may not move in whoever pleases you. That is not how it works, Dave, my boy, that’s not how it works at all. Thirdly, if you are hoping to charm the landlord into falling in with your plans, forget it. The landlord cannot be charmed, bribed or coerced – not by you, anyway. So, if I were you, and thank God I’m not, I’d give in gracefully and piss off and leave her alone. That’s what I’d do.’
By this time Dave’s face had gone the kind of red that would shame a beetroot. He was beside himself with rage and it took a while for him to find the breath to speak. At last he got it out in a sort of explosive gust that spread droplets of spittle all over those in the immediate area.
‘Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?’ He leaned forward so that his face was close to Sharky’s and bared his teeth, pointing at them with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘Look at this lot, just look at ’em. What do you think of ’em – ah, ah? They didn’t come cheap. They cost me a fortune, I can tell you. Someone’s going to pay and that someone, mate, is going to be that useless cow standing over there.’ With this, his yellow digit swung round to point at Paulette, who cowered behind Madame Zelda and tried to look defiant at the same time.
Sharky was unmoved. He took another long drag of his cigar and then peered closely at Dave’s teeth, using one slightly grubby forefinger to lift Dave’s lip as if he was a horse. Having carried out his inspection, he smiled a long, slow smile. ‘You were robbed, my man. They look like chips off a corporation pisshole, and personally I think you’d be better off suing the dentist. As to your other question, I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Paulette’s landlord. I won the place a while back from Maltese Joe. I’m also the man who, if you ever come sniffing around my door again or bother my tenants in any way – any way at all – will have your arse in the dock so fast your bollocks will drop off. You forget, David, that I’m the man who knows more about your business than you do. Now, haul your arse out of here.
You’re getting on my nerves. Luigi, would you oblige and help David to leave?’
Before Luigi could move Dave was on his feet and out of the door.
You could have heard a pin drop after he’d gone. Then into the silence came the sound of Madame Zelda clapping and pretty soon we’d all joined in.
Sharky rose a little from his seat and bowed to the assembled company. What a performance!