Charlie (45 page)

‘I used to be a boxer,’ he said without waiting to be asked. ‘My nose weren’t too pretty before that, but it weren’t as bad as this. That’s why they call me Spud. When I gave up on boxing I worked for a time in the market, someone said it looked like a spud and the name stuck. Me real one is John Joe O’Neill. Me mam and dad were Irish.’

His meal arrived at that point, a gigantic cottage pie with chips, swimming in gravy. Attacking it with a spoon, he carried on talking as he ate. ‘’Course Soho ain’t what it used to be,’ he said, giving Andrew a disgusting view of his mouthful of food. ‘It’s all foreigners now and bleedin’ tourists. The Fifties was its heyday. I used to stroll down through St Anne’s Court in me flash suit, and I was cock of the walk. No one messed with me. They’d all seen me fight, and I could walk in any bar or club and get a drink on the ’ouse. I knew all the working girls by name, and most of them,’ he paused to wink suggestively, ‘well, you know, I knew ’em a bit better.’

Spud then went on to speak of the same people his two friends in the market had mentioned. Andrew listened politely to repeats of violent stories, and a list of celebrities he’d known well. He held up two fingers and claimed to have ‘been like that’ with the Kray twins. The boxer Freddie Mills was one of his mates and he said how Freddie had opened a Chinese restaurant, then later changed it into a night-club where he was subsequently found dead in his car in 1965.

‘They said it were suicide,’ he said, leaning closer to Andrew conspiratorially. ‘That was tosh, he were a ’appy man, and ’appy blokes don’t shoot themselves. I reckon it were the Chinks what done it, because he moved in on their territory.’

Andrew was very glad Spud had brought the Chinese into the conversation, even if he was talking about an event long after the time Andrew was interested in. ‘Do you remember a club called the Lotus?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘I heard that was owned by a Chinese.’

‘Yeah. It were just along the street ’ere,’ Spud said. ‘I ’ad some good times there. They always ’ad big girls.’ He cupped his hands to his chest to show he meant big breasts.

Andrew wanted to laugh. He had never met anyone as odd as this man. His appearance might be utterly repellent, but there was a liveliness in his speech and facial expressions which made him fascinating. ‘Someone told me there was something dodgy going on there. Would you know anything about that?’ He was fishing in the dark, hoping to catch anything, however irrelevant.

‘There was something dodgy going on in all the clubs,’ Spud laughed cheerfully. ‘They weren’t like bleedin’ Sunday schools. They was all smoking those reefers long before it was even illegal. There was gambling and God knows what else.’

‘Was the owner Chinese?’ Andrew said.

‘Yeah, he was, decent bloke for a Chink. ’E ’ad a nice wife an’ all. Blonde woman, pretty as a May morning.’

A tingle of excitement went down Andrew’s spine. ‘Any idea if he’s still around?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to talk to him.’

‘’E’s long gone,’ Spud said. ‘I ain’t seen ’im in ten, maybe twelve years. I ’eard he went to live in the country. Funny you should ask about him, though, the boys in blue came around a couple of years ago asking questions. Seemed ’e’d disappeared.’

Andrew felt he ought to be pleased to have it confirmed the police really had looked around here; Charlie was of the opinion they hadn’t really bothered. But if the police had made inquiries and found nothing, then he was hardly likely to do any better.

‘Did you ever hear any more about him, you know, on the grapevine?’ Andrew asked tentatively.

‘A story went round that he was done in over in Holland. But then you ’ear all sorts round ’ere.’

‘Well, I hope that’s not true,’ Andrew laughed. ‘So when this man went off to live in the country, who took over his club?’

Spud frowned as if thinking hard. ‘A woman that run the place for him kept it going, she might even ’ave bought it off him,’ he said. ‘I didn’t go in there much then. Didn’t like her. She ’ad a face like a bag of arrows.’

‘Plain was she?’ Andrew asked. ‘And no tits?’

Spud burst into throaty laughter. ‘No, she weren’t plain, best-looking woman you ever saw in fact, and well stacked. No, what I meant about ’er was that one look from ’er was enough to send you running. She didn’t want men like me in ’er precious club, she wanted big-spending toffs.’

‘She sounds interesting,’ Andrew said. ‘What was her name?’

Spud said he couldn’t remember, but Andrew was certain he could.

‘It wasn’t DeeDee, was it? That was a name someone told me.’

For the first time in their conversation Spud looked nervous. His eyes narrowed and he didn’t answer.

‘Well, was it?’ Andrew persisted.

‘’Ow d’you expect me to remember someone’s name that long ago?’ he snapped. ‘Whatcha want to know about that poxy place for anyway? It weren’t famous.’

‘Well, every book needs a bit of intrigue to make it more exciting,’ Andrew retorted, wondering why the man should suddenly get needled by that question. ‘Besides, all the better-known places have already been written about. I wanted a new slant.’

Spud finished up his vast meal in silence, belched, then downed a mug of tea in one. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, son,’ he said eventually. ‘If you wants a good story you’d be better off taking a trip out to Spain and talking to Billy ’Ill, ’e cleared off out there once the Krays took over the West End. But ’e was the governor round ’ere for a long time, and a nicer bloke you couldn’t wish to meet.’

Andrew thought that meant Spud was trying to get rid of him. Whether that was because of his line of questioning, or just that the man had a low concentration span, he didn’t know. Either way he thought he’d better leave him in peace. ‘Well, thanks for your time. You’ve been very helpful,’ he said. ‘Can I pay for your dinner?’

‘That’s decent of you, son.’ The man beamed again. ‘It were nice to chat to you about the old times. I’m always in ’ere at this time of day if you want to talk some more.’

As Andrew was still wandering around Soho looking closely at all the clubs, and wondering if he dared go into any of them, Charlie was trying to telephone him.

‘He’s gone out. It’s his day off,’ she said glumly as she put the receiver down.

Rita sniggered. ‘Friday night you said you wouldn’t ever speak to him again, and now you’re cross because he doesn’t happen to be there when you want him. What a contrary person you are.’

‘You know why I need to speak to him. I want to warn him to be careful in Soho.’

Rita raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Charlie was very Chinese in her need to keep face. She’d spent most of the previous day writing a letter to Andrew, then tore it up because she said she was afraid it would give him the wrong signals. Now she’d changed tactics and was pretending her only interest in him was warning him of danger.

‘I wish I didn’t have to go to that course tomorrow,’ Charlie said after a few moments of reflective silence. ‘In fact I wish I’d turned the Hag down. I ought to be getting out and finding a better job, not learning something which will force me to stay there.’

‘Learning something new is always worthwhile,’ Rita said firmly. ‘Besides, York is supposed to be a beautiful place, so it’ll be a bit like a holiday. While you’re there you can think about what you’d really like as a career. But to put your mind at rest about Andrew, I’ll phone him tomorrow morning if you like.’

‘But what will you say? Martin told him I’d left Haagman’s.’

‘The truth. That you’re away on a training course. I don’t have to say who for, or where. I’ll say we’ve talked, and that you will speak to him when you get back, but he isn’t to go jumping the gun and thinking he’s forgiven. Then I’ll tell him to be careful.’

‘Will you tell him about Daphne Dexter?’

‘I can’t, it’s too complicated and delicate, and besides I’d rather he didn’t know about my connections. I’ll just tell him not to be too trusting with people. That’s enough for now.’

Charlie’s face brightened. ‘I’d better go and pack then,’ she said. ‘Do you think I’ll need my swimming costume?’

Rita chuckled. Charlie’s habit of leaping from something serious to something absolutely trivial was very endearing. ‘In my day a girl’s travelling essentials were just a spare pair of knickers, a cardigan and her mascara,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine why you’d want a swimming costume in York, but you never know.’

Andrew got to Lyons Corner House by Charing Cross Station soon after four. To while away twenty minutes or so, he went across to Trafalgar Square and sat watching tourists feeding the pigeons and taking photographs. Rita had phoned him this morning and he was feeling much happier. Two weeks seemed a long time to wait before he could speak to Charlie but with luck he might have some news about her father by then. He’d be moving into the house at Brent too. Maybe it was just as well she’d gone away, time was a great healer, or so his mother was fond of telling him. Perhaps they could start afresh when she got back.

Right on the dot of half past four, the woman arrived to meet him at Lyons, but Andrew had to look twice before he realized it was her. She looked completely different from the day before. She was wearing a floral dress, the kind his own mother would wear, very little makeup, and her blonde hair had just been neatly set.

‘You look nice,’ he said with a smile.

She tucked her hand through his arm. ‘I don’t advertise what I do for a living when I’m going somewhere posh.’

Andrew had never thought of Lyons Corner House as posh, but he was touched that she thought so. ‘I’m Andrew,’ he said. ‘And I forgot to ask your name?’

‘It’s Angie,’ she said and laughed. ‘Well, me real name’s Freda, but I like Angie better. I didn’t think you’d turn up. If I ’ad a pound for every fella that’s stood me up, I’d be able to retire.’

Andrew took her upstairs and over to a table by the window which overlooked Trafalgar Square. His parents had always brought him in here for a treat when they came up to London for a day, but he’d never seen it as empty as it was today. He thought it might be because it was so warm outside.

He ordered Knickerbocker Glories for both of them, then looked hesitantly at Angie, wondering how to start her talking as she was clearly a little nervous away from her own territory.

‘I didn’t ask you to meet me to poke my nose into your business,’ he said gingerly. ‘I’m just interested in Soho in general, and anything you might like to tell me will be in the strictest confidence.’

‘Where d’you wanna start?’ she asked.

‘How about how long you’ve been working in Soho?’ he suggested.

She sucked in her breath. ‘Mind if I have a fag?’ she asked.

Andrew got his out and offered them to her. He wasn’t a real smoker himself, only the odd one now and then with a drink, but he’d bought a packet today guessing she was a heavy smoker.

‘I’ve been working up ’ere for over twenty years,’ she said after she’d taken her first drag. ‘I came in the first place as a machinist at Cohen’s, that was a ladies fashion ’ouse just off the Charing Cross Road. I was seventeen then, so that would make it 1952. It was a bloody awful job, us girls would start work at seven and we didn’t finish until six, sometimes even later when they had a rush job on. We got paid piece-work and I weren’t quick enough for the boss’s liking. Some of the other girls started leaving to get jobs in clubs, and I followed them.’

Andrew listened as she gave him her views on Soho at that time. ‘See, after the war, London was full of ex-service blokes, and lots of them couldn’t really adjust to peacetime. They got jobs in insurance, banks and stuff, but they were bored silly. They used to escape after work to the little drinking clubs, meet up with mates they could talk to about the good old days and spin a few yarns.’ She paused and laughed. ‘Us girls used to hear some tales, every one of them was supposed to be a ’ero, but they was nice in the main, and it didn’t seem so bad to us girls to take the odd one home for a bit on the side.’

‘So that’s how you got started?’ Andrew asked, blushing scarlet.

Angie put one hand over his. ‘Don’t go bashful on me,’ she laughed. ‘Yeah, I became a tart, I’m not ashamed of it. I weren’t forced into it, I was picky too in them days. I’ad me looks and a good figure. It ain’t like that now, it’s a toilet out there. More weirdos to the square mile than normal blokes, and I can’t be choosy no longer. But I make a good living. I’ve got a few bob tucked away and a little council place. I ain’t complaining.’

The Knickerbocker Glories arrived and their conversation was halted. Andrew watched the way she ate hers and wondered at her almost childlike glee, suddenly aware how privileged he was. He broached the subject of the Lotus Club tentatively.

She stopped eating and looked at him in surprise. ‘Fancy you knowing about that place! I worked there for a bit.’

‘Did you?’ Andrew could hardly contain his excitement. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘A Chinese bloke owned it,’ she said without any hesitation. ‘It was one of the first clubs I worked in and it ’adn’t been open long. ’E were nice, always ’ad a laugh and a joke with us girls. I did me first strip there too.’

‘You were a stripper too?’ Andrew felt this woman must have been heaven sent.

‘Not really, only did a few turns. I weren’t any good at it. There was girls at that club who were the business, next to them I didn’t stand a chance. One of ’em – Sylvie ’er name was, she were the boss’s bit of crumpet – was the best I’ve ever seen. Even the young girls now, proper dancers and stuff, couldn’t hold a candle to ’er.’

Andrew gulped. For one brief moment he considered telling Angie that he’d found that same woman dead and that he loved her daughter.

‘Don’t suppose you know what happened to her?’ he asked.

Angie giggled. ‘She was the only girl I knew in those days who had her ’ead screwed on,’ she said. ‘Married the boss and turned respectable. That don’t ’appen too often. They usually turn up again, but she never did.’

‘What about her husband, your boss?’

‘Now that’s a funny story,’ Angie said, glancing around her as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. ‘I ’adn’t thought of ’im in years. Jin, ’is name was. Us girls used to call him gin and tonic. But a couple of years ago, the police came up ’ erelookingfor’im. Seems ’e’d done a runner owing a lot of money. I never spoke to the fuzz, I wouldn’t piss on them if they was on fire. But I ’eard the talk. Anyway, a mate of mine, who knows what’s what, said they wouldn’t find him however ’ard they looked, not in England anyway, because ’e’d been murdered over in ’Olland.’