Dream London (11 page)

Or frog.

T
IME WAS GETTING
on by the time I got back to the Poison Yews. I’d left Mr Monagan in the capable hands of Gentle Annie, who promised to show him my flat and Belltower End. I walked away smiling as I heard Mr Monagan refusing to speak about a possible Mrs Monagan because:

“... well, Gentle Annie, I wouldn’t like to tell a lady of your refined dignity about the behaviour of the women back at the pond. I fear it might distress you...”

The night was warm and indigo, the evening spices skewed towards cinnamon. I passed down the High Road, the Egg Market glowing palely against the purple sky. A man walked by me, his four children trailing behind him. Each of them carried a pale blue robin egg in their hand.

“But Daddy, we’re hungry,” said a little girl.

“I’m sorry, Nellie. That’s all we can afford now the rent has gone up...”

I turned into Hayling Road. The blue monkeys were hooting in the lime trees. I walked up the gravel drive of the Poison Yews and hesitated outside. Should I just walk straight in?

I rang the front door bell. It was opened by a stunningly attractive young woman of about sixteen or seventeen. She wore school uniform: grey pleated skirt, white blouse and tie. Her black hair was pinned up, her large brown eyes weighed me up in an instant.

“You’re Captain James Wedderburn,” she said. She turned around and called back into the house. “Mother! He’s returned!”

Alan bustled up, accompanied by the shockingly attractive black man.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I was beginning to think we’d have to send out to look for you.”

“I had some other business to attend to.”

Alan turned to the young woman.

“Anna, go and tell your mother we’ll dine in ten minutes. That should give Captain Wedderburn enough time to get ready for dinner.” He looked at me. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Fine.”

Anna cast me a last glance before turning and walking serenely into the depths of the house. I wondered how old she was. No matter, she’d earn a fortune working in Belltower End. Not that I’d let her work there, of course, a girl like her.

With her undoubted education she’d earn ten times as much up in the West End.

“Is everything okay?” asked Alan.

“No problems,” I said. The candy striped jacket I wore was getting grubby now, and it certainly wasn’t suitable attire for an evening meal. “I’ll go and change for dinner.”

I headed up the stairs.

Someone had been into my room to tidy up. The bed was made, two bottles of mineral water laid out on the side table, a little pile of books at their side. I picked up the top one and glanced at the title:
1984: An Erotic Story by George Orwell
. I looked at the back. “Big Brother just loves to watch...”

I replaced the book and went on exploring the room.

The window offered one of those impossible views that only Dream London could provide. Grey buildings ran down a valley, their windows red in the evening sun. Scarlet ivy was rising in a red tide, yellow leaves shivering in the breeze. Jewelled birds fluttered to and fro, nesting amongst the foliage. But my eye was constantly drawn to the bottom of the valley, and the tower that stood there.

It had started out as a glass skyscraper, that was obvious, but over the past year it had grown taller and taller. The top had started to bulge and had turned from glass and steel into something else. It looked like a plant budding. I wondered if those were vines or creepers I could see, spilling down from the top of the tower.

I couldn’t guess how tall it was now. Hazy waves undulated half way down the tower’s length, and I thought they might be birds. I turned from the view to see that a silver shaving kit had been laid out by the wash basin, and I watched as an orange spider pushed its way into the bristles of the shaving brush. I picked up the brush and tapped it on the side of the basin. Six orange eyes emerged from the bristles and looked at me for a moment before withdrawing slowly into their own home. I replaced the brush on the side and made my way over to the large wooden wardrobe.

There were a number of suits hanging up in there, all newly tailored by the look of them. I saw the strands of white cotton where the pockets had been unpicked. Three dull black suits hung there. Two plum jackets hung beside them, their collars and lapels shiny velvet. A number of grey ties hung on a rack on the door, five white shirts were folded on the shelves. And there, at the end of the rack, freshly laundered, hung my military jacket, the golden frogging gleaming against the emerald green of the jacket.

I quickly stripped down to my underpants and tried on a shirt. It was stiff and uncomfortable, but it fitted. Likewise the suit trousers. The shoes were my size, but the leather cut into the edge of my toes. The leather soles were slippery on the woven mat, even more so on the polished floor. This was what I would be wearing tomorrow, I guessed.

I slipped out of the suit and pulled on some more casual clothes, topping them off with my military jacket. I wanted to look the part for dinner.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Anna stood there, looking even more stunning in a grey dress.

“Mother said to tell you that dinner was ready.”

She turned and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the dining room, watching the sway of her perfectly rounded bottom through her dress.

The table was spread with a large white cloth. I counted the silver cutlery arrangements to see that it was set for five. Alan and Margaret were already there, along with Alan’s ‘friend’.

“Thank you Anna,” said Margaret. She gave me a brittle smile. “We’ve had drinks already, James. I hope you don’t mind, only we were beginning to wonder if you were coming.”

The room smelt of sweetness and gravy.

We sat down. Alan sat at the head of the table. I sat to his left, his lover to his right, facing me. Margaret sat on my left, Anna took her place across the table.

A maid dressed in a blue and white striped dress carried a large tureen into the room.

“Egg soup,” said Margaret, and then she added, rather proudly, “Well, we do have the best egg market in the city on our doorstep.”

The maid began to ladle clear soup into our bowls.

“We’ve got the best of everything on our doorstep,” said Alan. “Except for a cheese shop of course. That’s the only thing that Farringdon does better than us. What do you say, Shaqeel?”

Shaqeel didn’t say anything. He gave a louche smile and I guessed from the movement of his arm just where his hand was currently wandering beneath the table. Beside him, Anna kept her eyes fixed deliberately on her bowl.

A bowl of soup was placed before me, eggs floating within, both whole and sliced. Large hens’ eggs and tiny wrens’ eggs. Cautiously, I dipped my spoon inside. To my surprise, it tasted rather good.

“So,” said Alan, breaking the awkward silence that settled upon the table. “How was your day at school, Anna?”

“Very good, thank you, Father.”

“Anna is doing five A Levels,” said her mother, proudly.

“Really?” I said. “What are you doing.”

“English Literature, Music, History and Art.”

“That’s only four,” I said.

“Everyone has to do Sex and Sexuality as part of PSHE now,” said Anna.

“PSHE?”

“Personal, Social and Health Education. It’s all about sex.” She sipped at her soup, making perfectly clear the topic was at an end.

“Still,” I said. “All those subjects. You must be quite the artist.”

“I wanted to do Maths and Physics, but they are no longer suitable for girls. Even the boys study only Accountancy and Economics now, rather than any real science.”

“What did you study at school, James?” asked Margaret, obviously unwilling to listen to a familiar complaint any longer.

To my right, Alan and Shaqeel were playing footsy, oblivious to the conversation.

“I left school at sixteen,” I said. “Joined the army.”

“Did you kill anyone?” asked Anna, looking at me appraisingly over her spoon.

“Anna! I’m sure that’s not a polite question! I’m sorry, James. You were saying.” She leant a little closer to me, and I smelt her perfume. She smelt strongly of flowers, the sort my girls used to put themselves and their clients in the mood of a night.

“Well, that’s it really,” I said. “I left school. I went in the army. I left last year.”

“Why did you leave?” asked Anna.

“Anna!”

We finished our soup. The maid took the bowls away and replaced them with white plates decorated in a blue willow pattern. I touched the rim of the plate.

“I see that you’ve noticed our dinner service,” said Margaret. “It’s from Chinatown, you know.” I felt her hand stroke the outside of my thigh.

“Chinatown,” I said. “How nice.” I looked directly at Anna.

“I left the army because I slept with the Captain’s daughter. He wasn’t happy.”

Margaret choked on her wine.

“I don’t think you should be listening to this, Anna. I think James should change the subject.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” said Anna. “We hear far worse in PSHE. And English Literature.”

“Even so...”

Anna’s face remained impassive.

“Besides which, I don’t think the Captain is telling the full story...”

She held my gaze. Her eyes were dark, her dark brown hair fell in waves about her face. She truly was beautiful. And very self-composed.

“You’re right, of course,” I said, easily.

The hand touched my thigh again. To my right, Alan was being touched up by Shaqeel. To my left, Margaret was offering the same service to me. I pushed her hand away.

The maid cleared our places and then re-entered the room carrying a tray. She placed a plate before me. It bore a green egg the colour of a spearmint imperial and the size of my hand, sitting in a pool of brown gravy.

“Cassowary eggs,” said Margaret. “When you live this close to the Egg Market, it’s silly not to make use of it.”

“If only we had a decent cheese shop,” said Alan.

“You crack the egg like this,” said Margaret, demonstrating. “We’ve flummoxed it. It’s the new cooking process. Have you heard of it? You need boiling water and oodles of salt.”

“Which is bigger?” asked Anna. “Lashings or oodles?”

“There are three oodles to the lashing,” I said, and I winked at her. She looked away, unimpressed.

I cracked my egg and took a forkful of the grey meat inside. It was spicy, a little like a lamb dhansak.

“So this is a flummoxed egg, is it? Not bad.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” asked Margaret.

“Oh yes,” said Alan. “We’ll need to be up at six. I’ll get Anna to wake you.”

“What am I supposed to be doing?” I said. “I know I’m going to the City, I know that I’m to go to the Writing Floor of Angel Tower. What do I do when I’m in there?”

“Shhh!” said Alan. “The walls have ears, you know.”

“But...”

“Shhh...”

We ate our flummoxed eggs. The maid brought us the next course: caviar, and then the next: chocolate mousse.

“Made with egg yolks,” said Margaret.

“When you live this close to the Egg Market you may as well make use of it,” I replied.

“If only we had a cheese shop,” said Anna, dryly.

“Anna! Manners!” said Margaret.

Alan and Shaqeel whispered to each other. Margaret leant a little closer to me so that her breast pressed against my arm.

“Some more wine, Captain?”

“No thank you,” I said. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

Margaret filled her own glass to the top. She was beginning to sway a little, I noticed. Alan and Shaqeel were lost in their own private little world, Anna gazed at me without interest, and Margaret leant closer and closer. One of her breasts pushed into my arm.

“I like your jacket, Captain,” she said. “It makes you look so dashing.”

“It’s not real,” I said. “I bought this for show. These colours are a Dream London invention.”

“Still, it suits you.”

The final dish was brought through.

“Lemon sorbet,” said Margaret, touching my knee. “Cleanses the palate. Do you like it?”

“Needs more egg,” I said.

Her face froze, just for a moment, as she wondered if I was being rude. And then she laughed.

T
HE MEAL ENDED
and Anna said goodnight, heading upstairs to her homework, or so she said. Alan retired to his study with Shaqeel.

“Would you like a brandy, Captain Wedderburn?” A hand laid itself on the top of my thigh. Well, I say top of my thigh, but I’m being polite. To be more accurate, Margaret clasped my balls.

“No thank you, Margaret. I thought I might take a walk before bed. I need the air.”

“When you come back, I’ll probably still be up. Look for me in the drawing room.”

I left the house and spent half an hour or so walking the streets. I couldn’t quite relax, though. All the time I wondered if Honey Peppers was out there somewhere looking for me.

To the east, rising up into the purple night, I saw the bulging spires of the City. The place I was going tomorrow. The blue monkeys were whooping loudly. I heard the terrified yowling of cats and I touched my pistol for reassurance. Someday the monkeys would turn their attention from the cats to bigger amusements. When they did, I would be ready for them. I walked through the stillness of the evening, listening to the sounds of the city.

Eventually, I returned to the Poison Yews and slipped upstairs to my room.

I undressed and pulled on the blue and white cotton nightgown that someone had folded neatly on my pillow, then got into bed and picked up the first book from the pile by my side. It was a book of poetry. I turned to the first page.

The Foundation, by T. S. Eliot

April is the happiest month, laughing

Lilacs in the fresh wind, bobbing

Memory and Desire, awakening

Feeding roots with spring rain...

I didn’t recognise the poem, but that’s no surprise, as I don’t read poetry. It was enjoyable though, if rather long. Flicking through the pages I noted the poem was made up of several sections.