17
‘Quite honestly, I’m worried about her. Seriously worried.’
‘And she is . . . ?’
‘My good friend.’ After the picnic I felt I was justified in calling Lucy that.
‘And what is it that worries you about her exactly? Has she got what I suppose you’d call “a bun in the oven”?’
Mr Markby gave me a rare Scottish sort of a smile which flickered only for a moment.
‘No, it’s not that.’
‘What is it then?’
‘It’s her thieving.’ I’d taken a deep breath and told him. ‘I’m worried about her thieving.’
I’d called to make my routine visit to my probation officer. I sat opposite him and we talked across the desk in a cold office with a big filing cabinet, a pot plant that looked as if it hadn’t got long to live and, on his desk, a framed photograph of a determined-looking woman and a cross-looking small boy who was a Markby lookalike without, of course, the moustache.
As you know, I never liked Mr Markby, not since he robbed me of my parole, but I was stuck for someone to come to for advice and the fact I’d come to him seemed to be an unexpected point in my favour.
‘You’re worried about your friend’s thieving and you’ve come to tell me about it?’
‘I didn’t know who else I could tell.’
‘Quite right, come to the professional. I don’t suppose that girl from SCRAP’s any help at all in this situation.’
‘I’m afraid she’s not.’
‘Just as I thought. Now, let’s see.’ He turned over his notes. ‘You’re still living in Leonard McGrath’s accommodation?’
‘I’m still in the maisonette, yes.’
‘And working for Environmentally Friendly Investments?’ Mr Markby sounded far more friendly than usual.
‘I’m still working with him, yes.’
‘He’s a good man, Terry. He’s been a good man to you.’ Mr Markby was looking extremely serious, and I did my best to give him a serious look back.
‘He’s been a help to me.’
‘A force for good in the world. Gwendolen Gerdon was looking for a new chairman and I gave her Leonard McGrath’s name. I told her he’d shake the SCRAP organization up a bit. Don’t you think so?’ Mr Markby’s shoulders were now shaking as though he found this funny, although he had no idea how funny it really was. Then his shoulders calmed down as he said, ‘You’re really concerned about this friend of yours, aren’t you?’
‘Most concerned.’ I really was.
‘That shows how much the Probation Service has done for you. You were a comparatively young offender?’
‘Since I was a kid.’
‘Since childhood, yes. And now you’re genuinely concerned about your friend. What does she steal, by the way?’
‘Bits and pieces. Old coins. A gold pen. Snuff boxes she got. They might be worth a bit actually. Sort of glasses you take out racing, a good watch.’
‘The menopause?’
‘What?’
‘It happens to women of a certain age. Is she of a certain age, by any chance?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘Then the menopause has got nothing to do with it. Nor has kleptomania. I don’t call it an illness, Terry. Just plain, simple crime. And greed. That’s what it was, wasn’t it, Terry, when you used to do it yourself?’
‘When I used to do it, yes.’
‘Well, you can point this out to her. Where did it get you, all that thieving you did? Into prison for a long time, that’s where it got you.’
‘Got me in for a much longer time because of you,’ was what I didn’t say. Instead I told him, ‘I’ll try all that.’
‘Yes, you try all that. Make her think about it seriously. Really scare her. Tell her she wouldn’t enjoy Holloway, would she?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I don’t think so either. Be gentle with her of course. Gentle and understanding. But be perfectly clear. She’s committing crimes and she’ll end up in prison. Will you do that?’
‘I’ll certainly try it.’
‘Tell her that if you could give up stealing which had been going on since you were a young child, surely she can.’
I didn’t say I’d told Lucy that. I didn’t make any promises.
‘Oh, and stay close to her. Keep an eye on her. If she’s going to go straight and resist the temptation to steal things, she’ll need continued support.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ I told him.
Then he looked at me, sort of sizing me up. ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, ‘you’ve ever thought of joining the Probation Service, have you?’
I could quite honestly tell him that I hadn’t.
‘Pity,’ he said. ‘We could do with lads like you.’
Because Mr Markby had told me to keep an eye on Lucy, I agreed to move in to her flat in Notting Hill Gate. Anyway, I’d got a bit tired of the maisonette, what with Diane’s long suggestive looks and the future Sir Leonard ‘Chippy’ McGrath becoming more and more pompous after his name had been mentioned as the possible future chairman of SCRAP.
In the flat (All Saints Road, up a couple of floors) I could still go out on any of the big jobs when Chippy needed my help. Apart from that, I saw that Lucy got up in time for work and left thieving to the professionals. During the day I did the shopping, cleaned up and read some of the books Lucy had on the shelves in the lounge. In the evenings, Lucy either got me cooking with her or we went out locally for a Chinese or an Indian. Looking back, it was about the best time of my life, but nothing much happened in the story I’ve got to tell. Except perhaps I ought to just mention the evening Lucy said she was getting a bit bored with the Beau Brummell and she’d take me to ‘her club’, which was the Close-Up in Soho. Anyway, she said it was her club but it seemed that her ex, Tom Weatherby, was the member and she told the girl on the desk we were waiting for him, which of course we weren’t.
‘Well, well, I see you’ve got a new friend.’ A tall woman with a sort of commanding voice, bright red hair and permanently raised eyebrows came straight up to us with her hands in the pockets of her floppy trousers. She was with a thick-set, grinning man who I put down as Caribbean. Lucy said, ‘This is Deirdre,’ and told her that I was her new friend, Terry Keegan. Then Deirdre asked if Lucy had picked me up at SCRAP. When Lucy admitted it, Deirdre said that was where she’d picked up Ishmael. She seemed very proud of him. ‘He’s a terrific rap singer, you know.’
Then Deirdre went on to tell us that after the dinner at her Uncle Charles’s spread it was discovered that a few little things were missing, including two or three of his precious snuff boxes. The funny thing was that Deirdre’s uncle suspected Ishmael, although he was busy entertaining them all with his rap and never went off around the house on his own. They still suspected him - pure bloody racism.
‘How ridiculous!’ Lucy was saying, cool as a cold beer. At which little Ishmael started laughing until he shook all over. ‘Yes, it was. Very ridiculous!’ he managed to splutter out through his laughter.
I thought that another reason why Lucy should stop thieving was that professional blaggers like this Ishmael shouldn’t get blamed for all the crimes she committed.