IT WAS MONDAY evening, and Jackie, with fat, plastic rollers bristling from her hair, was struggling along the street after Angie, who was sprinting towards the Murrays’ house.
‘Hang on, Ange,’ gasped Jackie, clinging to the privet hedge. ‘I’m getting a stitch. Your nan’s flat’s not on fire. She only wants to speak to you.’
‘Nan’d never phone me at yours unless it was urgent.’
Tilly Murray was fretting, theatrically, on her doorstep. Incidents such as unusual telephone calls from grandmothers brought Tilly far closer to hysteria than any air-raid warnings of her girlhood had ever managed. Bombs were one thing, but family problems were quite another.
‘Angie, love,’ she wailed, ‘you’ve got to give your nan a ring. Quick. She’s so upset. Gawd knows what’s the matter.’
Angie nodded her thanks and made straight for the phone on the black, wrought-iron stand just inside the front door.
When she finally managed to get her fingers into the right numbers on the dial, she drummed impatiently until Sarah Pearson answered.
‘Nan, it’s me, Angie. What’s wrong? Are you ill?’
‘Sorry to bother you, love. I’m just being a silly old woman. I had to talk to someone, and I—’
‘Fifty-one is not old, Nan, and you are not being silly.’
‘I wondered if you fancied coming round tomorrow.’
‘Nan. Tell me. Please. What’s happened?’
‘I feel so useless, Ange. I don’t know where to turn. It’s Lily. She’s being chucked out.’
‘Who?’ asked Angie.
‘Lily Patterson.’
‘Lily Patterson?’
‘That’ll be Doris’s old pal,’ hissed Jackie’s mum, throwing her bit into the conversation.
‘We’ll be out the back,’ mouthed Jackie, ushering her mother into the kitchen.
‘Mrs Murray says she’s a friend of Doris’s,’ Angie said with a nod to her friend. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yeah. It’s terrible. Something to do with slum clearance.’
‘Nan, calm down, eh?’
‘They say they’re not doing up the terraces. Not like they did the Buildings. Instead of making them nice and letting people stay in them, some bloke’s bought them all up.’ Sarah started crying again.
‘And?’
‘He’s going to make all them little houses into flats. Right expensive they’re gonna be. No place for the likes of Lily. It’ll kill her if she has to move away, Ange. She’s got her life here. Her daughters round the corner. And her little job with Doris. And say I’m next? Say this bloke buys up the Buildings? Where would I go then? Who’d have me?’
‘Don’t cry, Nan. No one’s going to make you leave. I promise. I’ll come over tomorrow and see you. All right?’
‘You can’t miss work for me.’
‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll be over. I’m not sure when, but I’ll be there.’
‘Your poor nan.’ Tilly Murray, who had hovered in the kitchen doorway until she had heard Angie replace the receiver, was standing by the phone table, holding her face in despair. ‘And that poor Lily. She wouldn’t move to Dagenham when we all came, you know. Wouldn’t hear of it. Always said it’d kill her if she had to leave that house. Born there, she was.’
‘So Nan said.’
‘Stay and have a cup of coffee, love. You and Jackie go in the front room. I’ll bring it in to you. I’ll make it with nice hot milk and put in plenty of sugar for the shock.’
Angie didn’t actually feel so much shocked as saddened. She had never heard her nan so upset before. She had always been strong. She blew out her cheeks and pushed open the front-room door.
Jackie plonked down on the sofa next to Martin, who was watching a television programme that featured a man’s not very impressive efforts to make his voice come from out of a suitcase.
‘Your nan all right, Squirt?’ asked Martin pleasantly, twisting round so he could see her.
‘Yes thanks.’ Angie gripped the back of the sofa and stared, unseeing, at the black-and-white images flickering on the screen. ‘Just a bit worried about something, that’s all.’
‘Never mind all that, Angela Knight,’ bossed Jackie, without looking round. ‘You tell Martin what you told me on the way to work this morning.’
‘About what?’
Jackie turned her head and opened her eyes wide in exasperation. ‘About what? About your job.’
‘He won’t be interested.’
He twisted round to face her again. ‘I will.’
‘I’m thinking of giving in my notice.’
‘What? Got something better?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Tell him,’ demanded Jackie.
‘Someone I was talking to said I could do a lot better for myself than working in an office for slave wages.’
‘Actually,’ said Jackie to her brother, ‘she’s just got a rise and is earning very good money.’ Then she turned her attention back to Angie. ‘And tell him who that someone is who’s giving you all this good advice.’
‘Jackie. You promised.’
Jackie shrugged and said nothing, knowing that, in almost mentioning David Fuller, she had very nearly gone too far. ‘You try and talk some sense into her, Martin,’ she said airily to her brother. ‘While I go and fetch the coffee. Mum’ll be fiddling about with biscuits on saucers for bloody hours if I leave it to her.’
Once Jackie was safely out of the room, Martin patted the now empty seat beside him on the sofa. ‘Everything all right, Squirt? I won’t say anything to anyone.’
Angie just shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. You know Jackie. Doesn’t like to think she’s not got me under her thumb any more.’
‘So long as you’re sure I can’t do anything.’
‘I’m sure.’
He touched her gently on the shoulder, and Angie felt the same flutter that could almost have had her giving away her virginity in a grotty bus shelter in Clacton.
She closed her eyes, half-wanting Martin to pull her hard towards him, and half-repulsed at herself for being such a tart. She was already seeing David, for goodness’ sake, and was actually going with him tomorrow to see this ‘friend’ of his. So, how many blokes did she want?
It wasn’t easy being this new, trendy person.
‘I’m glad you’re not in trouble,’ said Martin briskly, and patted her as if she were a puppy. ‘You’re like another little sister to me. Do you know that?’
Angie’s eyes flicked open. Little sister? That wasn’t the right reaction.
‘Sorry I can’t stop and chat, Squirt. I’m meant to be meeting someone and I’ve not even had my bath yet. But if you need to talk about anything some other time …’
Angie did her best to smile brightly. ‘Thanks, that’s kind. Enjoy yourself, won’t you? Have a good time.’
He waggled his eyebrows to try and make her laugh. ‘I will. But, if not, I’ll be careful, eh?’
Angie giggled dutifully, and Martin almost knocked into Jackie coming back into the room. She set down a tray of coffee and the inevitable biscuits on the low table in front of the sofa.
‘He’s off to meet some girl from college,’ said Jackie.
Angie helped herself to a biscuit but made no attempt to eat it. ‘Is he?’
‘Do you care?’
‘Why should I?’
‘You cared in that bus shelter.’
‘We were all drunk. And, anyway, I’ve got a boyfriend.’
Jackie spooned sugar into her coffee. ‘Don’t you think he’s a bit old to be called a boyfriend, Ange? And you’ve only seen him a couple of times. That’s hardly a boyfriend, is it?’
‘Jealous?’
Jackie dropped her teaspoon on to the tray with a metallic clatter. ‘Angie!’
Angie stood up. ‘I’m not going in to work tomorrow.’
‘If you take another day off, you won’t have to worry about leaving, they’ll sack you.’
‘I can’t help that.’
‘Sit down, Angie. Please.’
Angie did so. ‘I’ve got to go out somewhere.’
‘Where?’
‘Just somewhere.’
‘Why won’t you tell me?’
‘It’s private.’
Angie’s words deflated Jackie as surely as a pin bursting a toy balloon. ‘I didn’t mean to interfere.’
‘That’s OK.’ Angie stood up again. ‘Look, I’d better get back home. I want an early night.’
Jackie followed her to the front door. ‘Is it your nan’s you’re going to? I could go with you if you like.’
‘Thanks, but I’m not going there till later. I’ve got something to do first.’
‘Is it an interview?’ Jackie was scratching around for a clue. She was hurt.
‘Sort of.’
‘You can tell me.’
‘You wouldn’t approve.’
‘Why not? What sort of job is it?’
‘Look, Jack, I can’t tell you. Not now.’ Angie flicked a glance towards the kitchen where Tilly Murray was trilling away like a songbird as she cleared up. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ With that, she let herself out and shut the Murrays’ street door behind her.
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said Jackie to the door.
‘Talking to yourself?’ asked Martin, brushing past her on his way from the bathroom to the stairs.
‘I might as well be,’ said Jackie.
‘So, what was the big emergency?’ asked Vi, jiggling one crossed leg up and down on the other. ‘Lost her false teeth?’
‘Nan doesn’t need false teeth.’ Angie was standing in the doorway to the front room, looking at her mother’s make-up-clogged face and stained, fag-burned housecoat. ‘You’d know, if you ever went to see her.’
Vi lit herself another cigarette after adding the remains of her last one to the pile of butts in the ashtray on the arm of her chair. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Because she’s your mum?’
‘And I’m yours, but you care far more for her than you’ve ever done for me.’
‘Don’t be selfish, Mum. She’s really upset.’
‘She’s a manipulative old cow is what she is. If only you could …’ Vi’s words trailed away as the Tom Jones record she had been playing on the radiogram came to an end. ‘Put that on again, Ange.’
‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Bed? But it’s only nine o’clock. What am I meant to do for the rest of the evening?’
‘Phone one of your blokes to take you out. I’m sure one of them will oblige.’
‘You little—’
‘Save it, Mum.’
‘If that’s your attitude, I don’t know why you don’t just get out. Find somewhere else to live if I’m so terrible.’
Angie shook her head at her mother’s childishness. ‘You know you don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I? Try me. Go on. Leave.’
‘Goodnight, Mum.’ She closed the front-room door quietly behind her and went upstairs to bed.
‘Sleep tight,’ Angie said to herself, as she climbed between the sheets. ‘See you in the morning.’
Detective Constable Jameson had parked his beaten-up, dull-grey Morris Minor opposite the staff entrance to the Canvas Club. Slumped as he was, low in his seat, he could get a clear view of the doorway without being seen.
He’d come straight from work and it was way past midnight, but he wasn’t tired, he was too revved up to be bothered about sleep, too angry with his boss, Detective Chief Inspector Gerald Marshall. Boss or not, Jameson couldn’t believe the man’s cheek. How could he have the bare-faced front to tell him, not even wrapped in some sort of nicety, but straight out, that he was releasing that raddled old tart from custody, and that he should leave David Fuller and his businesses, and all his associates, alone. As a favour. Jameson would show him favour. He was compiling a private file on every part of that thug’s enterprise he could trace, and he didn’t care how long it took. And he was going to show up the corruption in that station if it was the last thing he did.
Tonight, Jameson’s patience was rewarded. Within the hour, the man he knew to be Mikey Tilson had arrived. Jameson jotted down the time on his pad, and watched as the man first checked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed, then let himself in to the staff entrance of the club.
‘Hello, Jeff.’
Jeff, shocked at hearing a voice in the little office, spun round to find Mikey Tilson standing behind him. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’
‘Never you mind yourself about that, Jeffy boy.’ Tilson pointed at four thick piles of used notes and nodded approvingly. ‘Tonight’s takings? This place is doing well. And on a week night. With all them little pill-heads in buying gear of a Friday and Saturday, it must be like a bloody harvest.’
‘Don’t try anything stupid, Mikey.’ Jeff put down his glass of milk – he considered it a weakness to drink anything else when he was working: leave the booze and the pills to the punters – and scratched uneasily at his neck. He didn’t like Mikey Tilson, didn’t like him one bit, but he particularly didn’t like being surprised by the slimy, arrogant, little arsehole.
‘Who said I was trying anything?’
‘No one said anything about you collecting tonight. How did you get them keys?’
‘Never you mind that. That ain’t your business. I just come in to tell you that I’m going to be collecting every night over the next few weeks. A little tax. The five per cent you’ve been putting in your bin is going to stay in the safe till I turn up. And it’s going straight in my bin, not yours. Got it?’
‘Mikey. Don’t do this. It’ll lead to all sorts of trouble, mate.’
‘Mate? I’m not your mate, you black bastard.’ Mikey reached into his jacket and pulled out a Luger, one of the many souvenirs that were still to be bought all over London a full twenty years after the war had ended. ‘See this? This means you don’t start getting lairy. You just leave the five per cent in, and we’ll say no more about it.’ He held out his hand.
Reluctantly, Jeff counted out the minimum number of notes he thought he could get away with – he suspected, rightly, that Mikey wasn’t the brightest when it came to maths – and handed them over. He not only hated giving it to Tilson, he hated letting Dave down.
Mikey fanned out the money, waved it, sniffed at it, and smiled greedily. ‘Lovely. See you tomorrow.’ He put the notes away in his inside pocket, turned on his heel and walked over to the door. He took hold of the handle, then looked over his shoulder at Jeff. ‘Aw, and by the way, I’m also going to be collecting a nice big bagful or two of gear off you. French Blues and some Black Bombers’ll do for now. So, if you’ll have them ready bagged up for me.’ He smiled coldly. ‘See you.’
*
Bobby sat opposite David in the Greek Street office, with a glass of Scotch in his hand and a wide grin on his big, broad face. ‘No kidding, Dave? She’s really a virgin?’
David grinned back. ‘No kidding.’
‘Blimey, who’d have thought you’d have found one of them in a club nowadays?’
‘Not me, Bob, I’m telling you. And I nearly wasted the chance to savour it. If you know what I mean.’
Bobby’s grin wilted a little. He could talk about birds with the best of them, but nothing in too much detail.
‘All right, Bob, don’t go all shy on me. I’m getting her sorted out. Taking her to see that quack up Marylebone tomorrow morning.’
Bobby frowned. ‘What, the one who took the bullet out of Bill’s arm that time?’
‘That’s the feller. He’ll do anything for a few quid.’
Bobby really didn’t get it. ‘What’s she need to see him for?’
‘He’s gonna give her the once-over and stick her on the Pill for me.’
Bobby hid his embarrassment by taking a big swig of whisky. Too big. He started choking.
‘Calm down, Bob.’
‘I leave that sort of thing to my Maureen,’ he spluttered, his eyes streaming.
‘Good thing too, by the look of it.’
‘Why’re you getting involved with all this women’s lark?’
‘I’m not sure how old she is.’
‘So?’
‘Look, if she’s under age, I don’t want her getting up the duff and having her mother causing trouble for me, now do I? I know you can usually pay someone off, but it’d be my luck her old girl’s some sort of nutty churchgoer or something. I mean, why else would she be a virgin at her age?’
‘How old d’you reckon she is?’
‘Dunno. And I don’t much care, to tell you the truth. But I’m telling you, she’s got a body on her …’
They sat, finishing their drinks, each lost in his own thoughts.
Then David said: ‘Marshall did his job for Christina. She was back working tonight.’
Bob grimaced. ‘Don’t know for how much longer. She’s looking a right state.’
‘You’re right there, Bob. Still, as long as she pays her full whack every week. How’s Albert getting on in the caravan? All right?’
‘Sort of. But it’s making him a bit stir crazy. And all that countryside makes him nervous. I think we’re gonna have to move him.’
‘Time for a quick one?’ David stated, rather than asked, filling the other man’s glass almost to the brim.
‘Ta.’ Bobby sipped at the whisky – his fourth very large one in a row – and it began loosening his tongue. ‘Dave?’
‘Yeah?’
‘This Mikey Tilson business,’ he began, then added quickly, so that his boss would know he wasn’t talking about Tilson and Sonia. ‘What Jeff just said on the phone. About him binning that five per cent from the Canvas, I mean.’
‘What about it?’
‘No disrespect, Dave, and you know I’d never interfere, but, out of interest, why are you letting him do it?’
David’s face creased into a wide, handsome smile. ‘Bobby, my old son, it amuses me to see that idiot thinking he’s having me over, when all I’m doing is setting up the little prick for a really hard fall.’ He swallowed a drop more Scotch and winked. ‘Saves me from getting bored, you see, Bob. You know how much I hate getting bored.’
Bobby nodded, hoping he looked as if he understood. But, even though his boss had just given him the same sort of explanation he himself had tried to give to Maureen about Tilson, Bobby, in truth, didn’t have the slightest understanding of what Dave actually meant. But that’s why he was the boss.
Thank gawd.
‘Tell you what, Bob. Talking about being bored, how about a ride down Ernie’s spieler for a few hands of cards? I’m not tired yet. Are you?’
Bobby knew what his answer had to be.
‘Bob, get me Mikey on the blower.’ David Fuller didn’t look up as he spoke, he was too engrossed in the column of figures that he was checking off with a pencil. Despite their previous late night, David still looked immaculate, as if he’d had not only his full eight hours but had also had a soothing lullaby thrown in for good measure.
Bobby, on the other hand, despite Maureen’s best efforts, looked even rougher than usual. With his chin unevenly shaved, his tie askew and one of his shirt collar peaks standing up at an angle, he had a slightly comical, less menacing look about him than usual. But mistaking Bobby for anything other than the tough, bull-necked thug he actually was would have been a bad mistake.
It took Bobby some considerable effort to focus on the dial, then as soon as the number began ringing, he handed the receiver, gratefully, over to David.
‘Mikey? It’s Dave here.’
‘Right. Dave.’ Mikey’s voice was thick with sleep. He screwed up his eyes and stared in disbelief at his bedside clock.
Half past eight? Half past fucking eight?
He didn’t even think of waking up until noon. What was the bastard playing at?
‘You owe me some money, son.’
Mikey was suddenly wide awake. His heart and mind were racing. He’d been collecting his ‘tax’ from the Canvas for just one night and he’d really thought it had all gone so smoothly. He’d kill that bastard Jeff when he got hold of him.
‘You there, Mikey?’ David’s voice sounded soft, concerned.
‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.’
‘So, how about my money?’
‘Money, Dave? How d’you mean?’
David was enjoying the fear in the little runt’s voice, but he had too much to do to string his pleasure out for too long. ‘You had a sub on your wages a couple of weeks ago. Remember? Said you needed a new suit or something?’
‘Right. Yeah. Course. The sub. I’ll drop it round the office. End of the week, all right?’
‘Good. And, Mikey.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Did you know the takings went down at the Canvas last night? Five per cent or so, I’d say.’
‘Did they?’
‘They did. Why do you think that was?’
‘Dunno, Dave, but I’ll make sure I keep a special eye on that Jeff for you.’
‘Good kid.’
Kid? Mikey’s lips twisted into a sneer. He’d not only kill Jeff if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, he’d kill David fucking Fuller as well – once he’d creamed off enough to make a break for it. He was sick of all this. Sick of the lot of them. Jeff. Fuller. Sonia moaning on about babies. And even the little blonde sort in the coffee bar, who’d started whining on about not seeing enough of him. It was all doing his head in.
‘You still there, Mikey?’
‘What? Yeah. I’m here.’
‘Good. I mean, we wouldn’t want nothing happening to you, now would we?’
David replaced the receiver and shook his head in wonder at how someone as thick as Tilson could actually think he’d ever get one over on him, David Fuller. If the challenge was going to be this pathetic, then Mikey Tilson would soon begin to bore him again. And this particular game would have to be brought to an end.
As Mikey lay on his bed, smoking furiously and plotting revenge on just about everybody he knew, Angie was sitting at the kitchen table with her transistor playing softly, so as not to wake her mum, making up her face, transforming herself into Angel.
She was taking even more care than usual, doing her best to cover up the fact that, despite her early night, she had hardly slept. She had tossed and turned, fretting about what might be happening to her nan and to Doris’s friend Lily, and going over and over what was going to happen to her. This morning. When she went to see David’s friend.
As she looked down her nose into her magnifying mirror, painstakingly sticking on individual false eyelashes to her top lids, Vi suddenly appeared in the reflection behind her.
Angie, tweezers in hand, turned round to see her mum dragging across the kitchen to the other side of the Formica table with a cigarette dangling from her lips, her housecoat undone, revealing a sheer, black, baby-doll nightie and her hair scragged up in a nylon leopardskin scarf.
‘Why haven’t you gone to work?’ she asked, dropping on to the chair facing Angie.
‘Day off.’ Angie returned to her lashes.
‘Then why are you getting all done up?’
‘Interview.’
‘Liar.’
‘No, I’m not.’
Vi reached across the table and pinched her daughter’s cheek. ‘Angie darling, give me some credit. You can’t kid a kidder. You’re just hopping off. Being a lazy mare.’
‘Shame you don’t get a job.’
‘You nasty, ungrateful little madam.’
Angie tossed the tweezer aside and gave up. She would have to do. ‘If you weren’t so lazy, Mum, maybe you wouldn’t be putting on so much weight.’
Violet ran her hands down over her hips. She wasn’t putting on weight. Not at all. ‘I can tell you’ve been talking to your bloody grandmother again. I’ll have her one day. Poisoning my own daughter’s mind against me. It’s not right.’
‘Nan never says a word against you. Never. Only ever asks how you are.’
Violet snorted scornfully.
‘Anyway, what are you doing up so early?’
‘I went to bed at bloody nine o’clock. Remember? Because I had nothing to do.’
‘It’s not my fault you can’t entertain yourself for more than five minutes.’
‘You are getting such a mouth on you, Angela.’
Angie gathered up her things and shoved them into her make-up bag. ‘I’m just standing up for myself. And it’s about time, I reckon.’
‘It’s about time you learned some manners.’
‘I’ll see you later.’
‘Aren’t you even going to make me a cuppa tea?’
‘No, Mum. You can manage that yourself.’
Vi stayed at the kitchen table until Angie had left the house – there was always the hope that she might have given in and made her some. But she hadn’t.
Defeated, Vi made herself a cup and stomped grumpily back up the stairs to her bedroom. She pulled back the curtains, flooding the room with bright July sunshine, and sat at her dressing-table.
She leaned on her elbows, propped her chin on her hands and examined the dark rings under her eyes and the ever-increasing number of grey hairs that were threatening to dull her once-glowing chestnut tint to a miserable, muddy brown.
What had happened to her? How had she got to be like this? Her, a bright, beautiful woman, who had had everybody in the palm of her hand, and now she couldn’t even control her spiteful bloody scrap of a kid. It was all her mother’s doing.
‘Well,’ she vowed to her reflection, ‘if that little mare can change, then I certainly can. I can change anything I like. Be anyone I want to be. I’ll bloody show her. I’ll show bloody all of them.’
She stubbed out her cigarette in the slops in her saucer and stood up.
‘First things first,’ she announced brightly, and began to make the bed. Her interest, and efforts, soon waned and she merely threw the satin counterpane over the rumpled sheets.
She could finish that later. After she had been to the shops. She’d get in something for tea. Some ham. Then she’d get some chips later from the fish shop to go with it. That’d give her something to tell her precious grandmother.
Twenty-five minutes later, Violet was fit to face the world. Her hair was lacquered into place and her tired complexion had been brightened with make-up that she’d suddenly decided was looking just a little out of date compared to what her daughter Angie was wearing. She would have a word with her about all the stuff she used; go out and get herself a few new bits maybe. It wouldn’t do any harm to update her look a bit. Pep up her appeal.
But the first item on Violet’s shopping list wasn’t lipstick or mascara, it was cigarettes. She couldn’t even begin to think, let alone make plans, without knowing she had at least a spare packet of twenty in hand.
Vi sauntered along the street towards the small, local parade of shops, knowing that her short, tightly belted, floral print dress showed off her wiggle, her curves and her legs to perfection. Her earlier lack of confidence had immediately been dispelled the moment she had stepped outside the house and Reg, the man across the street, who was polishing his beloved car – he was a shift worker at Ford’s and was usually around during the day while his wife was at work in Peark’s the grocers – gave her his customary long, low whistle of approval.
‘Reg!’ she had chided him. ‘Good job your Betty’s not around. She’d have your guts for garters.’
‘It’d be worth it,’ Reg had growled in reply, blowing her a kiss.
She had then rewarded him with a flirtatious glance over her shoulder, a cheeky wave, and a pouting reply of: ‘Sauce pot.’
By the time she reached the shops, Vi was singing ‘It’s Not Unusual’ happily to herself, and swinging her handbag in time to the beat. As always, she had a quick glance at the postcards in the tobacconist’s window before she went inside. She had once, on a whim, bought a portable sewing-machine advertised there and, although she had never actually used it, it had been a real bargain and she didn’t like the thought that she might miss another such opportunity.
Today, one card stood out.
‘Smart lady assistant required. Afternoons only. Apply within.’
Vi had done little bits of part-time work before; she’d had to whenever there wasn’t a bloke on the scene, and before Angie had got herself a job. And the idea of being a ‘smart lady assistant’ was quite appealing, especially to the new, dynamic Violet who was changing her life for the better. A job. That’d rub all their noses right in it.
‘Twenty of my usual, please, Sam.’ She sparkled brightly, turning on the charm for the balding man behind the counter. ‘And, now what else was it? I know! How much are you paying the assistant?’
The man took down a packet of cigarettes from the shelf behind him, then leaned over the counter and looked at her legs. ‘Three hours a day, at five bob an hour. Seeing as it’s you, Vi.’
She slapped her hand on her chest, knowing that Sam’s eyes would follow its every movement. ‘Five bob? I’d need at least twice that to make it worth my while.’
‘Don’t suppose it does seem much compared to what she can earn laying on her back,’ muttered a woman in a dull serge coat, who was picking bad-temperedly through the racks of greetings cards.
Vi spun round. ‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’
Vi snatched up the cigarettes. ‘Never mind no jobs, Sam. If you go letting sour old bags like her in here, I might have to take my custom elsewhere. Put these on my bill.’ With that she stuck her nose in the air and marched out of the shop.
Sam followed her on to the street. ‘We could come to an arrangement.’
Vi stopped, plastered on a suitably friendly smile, turned and directed it straight at the hapless tobacconist. God, he looked exactly like a pudding with no currants. But he had a few bob.
‘Sam,’ she beamed. ‘I’d love that.’
Sam puffed up like a turkey cock. ‘Would you?’
‘Not half.’ She took a step closer and ran a finger up and down his chest. ‘You know, Sam, I think I know your wife. Cissie, isn’t it?’ Vi didn’t actually know her personally, but, like everyone else in the neighbourhood, she knew all about her. It was a good story. Cissie had married Sam years ago, when she’d been left a destitute young widow, and had taken him on as her husband not out of love but out of desperation. And now they owned a whole chain of shops all the way from the East End right out to Romford. What everyone else knew was that, despite the money they must have earned over the years, Cissie still made sure they both worked every hour God sent. Most people agreed it was because she couldn’t stand the sight of the man and wanted him out of the way, and that she had only ever loved her first husband, who, those in the know reckoned, had turned out to be some sort of crook, something to do with the underworld.
‘Runs one of your other shops, doesn’t she?’
‘That’s right.’ Sam took a step back. He looked far less pleased with himself. Where was all this leading? Was she trying to set him up or something?
Vi put her head on one side and looked up at Sam through her lashes. ‘Shame she works all them hours. You must get ever so lonely.’
This was more like it. ‘I do, Violet. Very lonely.’
‘Well, Sam, perhaps I wouldn’t exactly have to work for you. But be more like a sort of companion. Keep you company. You know. Stop you feeling lonely.’
Sam gulped. ‘A companion?’
‘Yeah. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sam?’
Sam nodded.
‘And a few quid would come in more than handy. And not having to worry about paying off my cigarette bill, that would be such a relief—’ She leaned forward, shrugged her shoulders prettily and smiled excitedly. ‘I’d be even better company than usual.’
Angie stared at the blanket-covered leather couch on which the doctor had just examined her. Even though she was now dressed and was shielded by the green cotton screen from his and David’s gaze, her cheeks still burned red. She had never been touched or looked at so intimately before, even by a doctor, and now she was listening as the very same doctor – who had introduced himself, charmingly, as the director of the clinic – discussed her with David.
She could just picture them on the other side of the screen, sitting in the grand, wood-panelled consulting room, facing one another across the gleaming partner’s desk, two successful, confident men. And they were talking about her, Angie Knight, as if she couldn’t hear them.
‘In normal circumstances, Mr Fuller, your niece would need to wait a full two weeks after beginning the first packet of pills.’
‘Wait?’
‘Before engaging in unprotected sexual acts, Mr Fuller. If she were taking them for contraceptive purposes, that is.’
‘If,’ she heard David reply.
‘Quite. But as your niece is merely taking them to harmonize her, let us say, her particular ladies’ problem, then that need not concern anyone.’
So that was it then. In two weeks’ time she could engage in ‘unprotected sexual acts’. It was all so, well, clinical. So unromantic. Part of her longed for the spontaneity of the bus shelter and a lemonade bottle full of vodka and orange, but David had explained how it was all for the best, that he really liked her a lot and that if she really liked him, if she trusted him, she would know he was only doing this to protect her. For her own good.
It was just all so new to her. Frightening.
But she was sure he was right.
‘You’ve gone quiet, Angel.’ David eased away from the traffic lights on the Commercial Road, knowing that the drivers of the cars he had so easily left behind were staring enviously after his big, shiny Jaguar. He liked that feeling. ‘Bit rough with you, was he, that doctor? I know they can be.’
‘No.’ Angie felt the flush return to her cheeks as she pictured the doctor standing over her, while David sat just the other side of the screen, knowing what the other man was doing to her. He might have been a doctor, the director of the clinic, but he was still a man.
But it wasn’t her experience on the blanket-covered couch that was upsetting her, that was all over with, thank goodness. As they gradually got closer to Poplar, all Angie could think about was the contrast between the elegant mansion block, where the clinic was sited, and the little terraces in Poplar that, despite their cramped rooms and outside lavs, meant so much to people like Doris’s friend Lily.
Angie could feel the tears. She turned towards the window and buried her face in her hands.
David pulled the car into the kerb outside the Star of the East, lit two cigarettes for them, then put an arm round Angie’s shoulders. ‘What’s up, Angel?’ He sounded concerned, and he was. This was the last thing he wanted, a bloody hysteric.
‘My nan.’ Angie puffed on the cigarette, then sniffed pitifully, as she scrabbled through her bag for her hankie.
‘She ill or something?’
‘No. It’s her friend, Doris. And her friend, Lily—’
‘Ssshhh. Now blow your nose and tell me all about it.’ David didn’t think he really needed all this, but at least she wasn’t throwing one over seeing the quack. She’d have been right out the door if that had been the case.
Angie did as she was told, took a deep lungful of smoke and then spilled out all her worries. ‘Someone my nan knows is getting thrown out of her house. It’s been her home for years and she won’t have anywhere to go. And Nan’s worried she’ll be next. Everyone’s really scared, and I’m going round there now and I don’t know how to help her. I can’t stand her being so sad.’
David rubbed his hand over his chin, and sighed inwardly. Why couldn’t he have found himself one of his usual hard-faced little whores, who didn’t give a shit about anything other than what they could grab off him? Because he was bored with them, that’s why.
‘This friend, Angel.’
‘It’s Doris’s friend. Lily Patterson.’
He took a moment to study the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘Do you know where she lives?’ He sounded thoughtful, as if he were working something out.
‘Burton Street. Poplar.’ Angie was no longer crying; she was looking at him, a man, who – she didn’t know why or how – would be able to help her. ‘Only a little way from here.’
‘I know it.’ He turned on the engine and pulled away into the light afternoon traffic. ‘Know it well, in fact.’
‘Do you?’
‘Very.’ He paused briefly. ‘Yeah, I, er, had an aunt who lived there. When I was a kid.’
Angie nibbled at her lip. Please be able to help. ‘They’re doing them up, you see, David,’ she used his name, forgetting her usual shyness about doing so, ‘but not so the people can stay in them. This bloke has bought the whole terrace, and he’s splitting them up into flats. The rent’s going to be so much money that Lily won’t be able to afford to live there. It’ll kill her if she has to move away, Nan said. She’s got her life round there.’
David wound down his window and threw his barely smoked cigarette into the gutter. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Would you?’
‘Leave it to me.’
‘But how?’
‘Let me worry about that.’
‘It wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?’ Angie realized David had powerful friends, who could probably do all sorts of things to help people, but, as much as she wanted to help Lily, she didn’t want to spoil things between her and David by making a nuisance of herself. She liked being Angel. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
‘Because if it did …’
‘I told you. Leave it to me.’ He drew the car to a halt at what had become the usual place where he dropped her off, chucked her under the chin, and reached across her to open the car door. ‘Now, don’t you worry. I’ll see you soon. OK?’
Angie stopped, half in, half out of the car. Soon? ‘When?’
‘In a fortnight.’
She felt her lip begin to tremble, remembering what the doctor had said. ‘Right. In a fortnight.’
David grinned. ‘Only joking, Angel. See you at the weekend. There’s a special party on.’
Angie felt her heart lighten. ‘That’d be great.’
‘And tell you what. Phone me at about half nine tonight. On the Greek Street number. And I’ll let you know what I’ve been able to do for your nan’s friend.’
‘It’s weird, Bob, how long this Mikey and Sonia business has been going on.’ Maureen draped the shirt she had just finished ironing over the clothes horse that stood in front of the coal-effect electric fire and took the next one from the pile in the plastic basket by her feet.
Bobby swallowed down the last of the bacon sandwich that Maureen had rustled up for him when he had turned up between jobs for a quick bite to eat – Maureen didn’t approve of him eating greasy café food, not if she could help it – and took a gulp of tea. ‘I reckon Dave’s going to out her soon, you know, Maur. Just like he done all the others.’
‘Yeah, but he never married any of the others, did he? And everyone knows he picked her out because she went with this new businessman image he’s gone mad on.’
The contempt in Maureen’s voice was echoed in Bobby’s thoughts, but his monotone never changed, although, for him, he was being astonishingly indiscreet. ‘Well, you should have heard the phone call he made this morning. Honest, Maur, he put the right shi … put the right fear of beejesus up Mikey.’
Maureen concentrated on pressing the creases from the shirt collar. ‘It’s got to end in tears.’
‘You’re right, babe. As usual.’ Bobby rubbed his hands over his big, shiny bald head, then got up and stood behind her. He put his arms round her waist and kissed her tenderly on the neck. ‘Thank gawd we’re normal, eh?’
‘Thank gawd.’
‘Here, and you’ll never guess this one. Some old girl he heard about in one of the terraces he’s just bought up. In Poplar. He told the boys this afternoon that they ain’t to upset her or nothing. He said she’s got to be allowed to stay there. Just as she is. Well, for three months. But it’s still three whole months’ rent you’re talking about.’
Maureen put down her iron and turned round to face her husband. ‘But I thought the idea was to drive everyone out of them places. To put the frighteners on ’em.’
‘So did I. But like I say, babe, don’t ask me what goes on, I’m just a normal bloke.’
Tilly Murray was going like the clappers at the oven with a Brillo pad and a good shake of Vim, while Jackie sat at the kitchen table watching her listlessly.
‘No phone calls for me today, Mum?’
‘No, love. Not today.’ Tilly stood back and stared at the gas rings through half-closed eyes, daring one more spot of dirt to show itself. ‘Were you expecting any?’
‘Not really.’ Jackie had, in fact, been expecting, well, hoping, that Angie might be in touch, that she had been bursting to tell Jackie where she had been and what she was up to. It didn’t seem right travelling to and from work without her again. And it didn’t seem right not seeing her.
Jackie was beginning to feel as she knew Angie had once done: that everyone else was out enjoying themselves, while she was sitting at home by herself. Jackie could still see all her old mates, of course, the ones she used to go out with before Angie became ‘Angel’ or whatever it was she said that bloke called her, but it wasn’t the same any more. Nothing was. Not now she knew that Angie was going to places that she, Jackie, had never even dreamed of going to. It was as if the shine had been rubbed off everything.
Jackie sighed, wondering if she would ever have a boyfriend who would take her to a restaurant.
Tilly, satisfied with her triumph over the mucky cooker, put her cleaning materials away under the sink and put the kettle on. She knew how to cheer up her daughter: a nice milky coffee and a slice of cake.
‘Apart from popping in last night to ’phone her nan, we’ve not seen much of Angie lately.’ Tilly spoke cautiously, not wanting to put her foot in it. ‘She courting, is she, love?’
Jackie slumped forward over the table, resting her head on her folded arms. ‘Don’t really know.’
‘She’ll be going out with you on Saturday, won’t she? For your birthday.’
‘Doubt if she’ll remember.’
‘Course she will.’ Tilly took down the cake tin from the shelf over the table and inspected the contents with a frown. She’d have to do some baking tomorrow. ‘She wouldn’t forget an important day like that.’
Jackie felt so choked she could have cried. Everything was changing and she didn’t like it. ‘I think she might, Mum.’
‘Never mind, love. You’ve got that nice Marilyn to go out with. You’ll have to bring her home for tea one night. You know I like to meet your friends.’
At half past nine that same evening, Angie was standing in the telephone box near Becontree tube station. She hadn’t needed to explain to her mum where she was going, as Vi had already gone out. She had gone with Sam to an Italian restaurant in the Leytonstone High Road, to discuss what he had called her ‘terms and conditions of employment’, and what Vi simply thought of as ‘a fair rate of pay for services rendered’. Although neither of them had any illusions about what they were really discussing, and, as they sat at the corner table, tucking into Veal Milanese, rosemary potatoes and a second bottle of Mateus Rosé, they were soon talking openly about the most convenient times and places for them both, and just how much Vi needed to get by these days, what with everything being so expensive.
Angie, on the other hand, was far more circumspect, and about a conversation she wasn’t even having yet.
While she had only had a glimpse of it, Angie realized that David was from a very different world from hers, and that she didn’t really know what sort of a person he actually was. And she wasn’t entirely sure she would like everything she discovered when, or if, she did know.
In simple terms, Angie was scared.
Things were all moving so fast: Angela Knight, an ordinary little seventeen-year-old girl from Dagenham, had transformed herself into a dolly bird; had gone on the Pill; had told all sorts of lies; was thinking about throwing in a perfectly good job that she would have killed for just a few months ago; and was seeing a man who was years older than she was – a man who had the power to fix things.
But, although it was a truly worrying idea that he might have such power, and that she was rapidly getting out of her depth, it also meant that he might be able to do something for her nan …
Angie picked up the receiver with one hand and crossed the fingers on her other, as though she were a ten-year-old making a wish that she might be picked to play in a game of Bulldog. She dialled the number quickly, before she lost her nerve.
‘Yeah’llo.’ It was him.
‘It’s me, Angel.’
‘Hello, sweetheart. Glad you called. Good news. The old girl in Burton Street’s all sorted.’
‘You mean she can stay?’
‘Sure. Now about Saturday.’
Angie was so flustered – could it really have been solved as easily as that? – she could hardly gather her thoughts. ‘Saturday. Errr. Right.’
‘Problem?’
‘No.’
‘Not got something better to do than go to a party with me, have you?’ David sounded amused by the idea.
‘No. Nothing better. Of course not. Saturday’s fine.’ As she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the coin box, it suddenly occurred to her. Saturday. It had been in the back of her mind for days. Jackie’s birthday. But it couldn’t be helped. ‘I’m really looking forward to it. What time?’
‘Earlyish. Around seven. But I’ll be over your way about five, so I’ll come round yours and pick you up.’
‘Right.’ How was she going to explain to him that he couldn’t come to her house, because she didn’t live where she’d said she did? Because she’d lied to him. ‘David. I’ve just remembered.’
‘Yeah?’ He sounded preoccupied. Angie could hear someone talking to him in the background.
‘I’ll be out all day.’
That got his attention. David laughed. ‘Here. Not trying to elbow me, are you, Angel?’
‘No. Honestly. It’s my friend. Marilyn. I promised to see her. I can come and meet you. If that’s OK.’
‘Fine. Chelsea’ll do.’
‘Right. What shall I wear?’
‘Anything would look good on you, Angel. Phone me Friday and I’ll tell you where I’ll see you.’
With that, David put down the phone. He smiled to himself. It was nice, keeping her happy. Made her grateful. And it was no skin off his nose, leaving some old girl in her house for an extra few weeks before he outed her. Plus he needed to grease a few more palms, so the work wouldn’t be starting for a month or so, anyway. And he’d probably be bored with the kid by then.
Immediately dismissing Angie from his thoughts, David picked up a plastic bag full of white powder that the man who had come in the office while he was talking on the phone had put down on the desk in front of him.
‘Right,’ David said, ‘let’s discuss price and quality.’