Playing Around (22 page)

Within a quarter of an hour, Mikey was up, washed and gone. He had work to do, he had explained to a blissful-looking Sonia. What he hadn’t explained was that he wanted to be out of there before Fuller turned up, which he might well do at any minute, to get ready for his usual Saturday-night tour round his businesses.

Sonia, all smiles and pecky little kisses, had assured Mikey that she understood how busy he was, how she knew he was only doing it all for their sake, and that she had to make some telephone calls anyway.

It had made Mikey feel a bit queasy, a woman of her age acting all lovey-dovey. She was probably going to call her mates, to tell them what she’d been doing all afternoon. Just like a bloody teenager. But he hadn’t said anything. It wouldn’t have been right: being honest after schtupping a bird. Mikey considered himself a gentleman like that.

She picked up the telephone twice before she actually dialled, and had almost finished the cigarette she had lit before she eventually allowed the connection to be made.

Then, when the number answered, Sonia had to swallow hard before she could speak, and, when she did so, it was in a broad, Dudley accent.

‘Sorry I’ve not called, Mum. I’ve been really busy. You know how it is. Did you get the money I sent you?’

She paused while her mother answered.

‘Good. Look, Mum, I wanted you to know I might be going away for a while, but I’ll be in touch.’

Another pause.

‘No, nothing to worry about. Honest. Bye, Mum.’

She put down the receiver and closed her eyes. Nothing to worry about.

Not so long as David didn’t find out.

When the taxi had dropped them outside the hotel in the discreet side-street, it looked so pretty that Angie forgot to be scared. Instead, she was enchanted by the window boxes full of scarlet flowers and glossy green leaves that glowed against the white stucco walls in the bright summer afternoon sunlight.

‘They do a nice little meal in here,’ said David, bumping her back to reality.

Angie looked crestfallen. ‘If it’s all right with you,’ she still felt shy about using his name, ‘I’m still really full.’

‘I suppose it is a bit early to eat. And we did have plenty at lunch-time.’ This was good. Exactly how it was meant to go. ‘We could just have a drink.’

‘Please.’

David nodded for her to go in through the revolving doors that were being steadied by a uniformed man with grey handlebar moustaches, and stepped in after her.

‘Don’t much fancy sitting listening to all them old crows over there,’ he said, raising his chin at the tables of middle-aged and elderly women who were tucking into the hotel’s lavish afternoon teas. ‘How about somewhere private?’

Angie could have clapped with relief. The hotel might have been very pretty, but the women who were patronizing it, groomed to within an inch of their glittering lives, looked terrifying. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Hang on, I’ll see what I can do.’

Within moments, Angie had been escorted to the lift and whisked up to the fourth floor, and was now
standing
outside a door marked 405.

‘Private room,’ said David with a wink.

‘Show me what you look like in some of that new gear,’ said David, handing her a glass of champagne, and one of the bags from Solar. He was enjoying himself. It was a long time since he had had to be so encouraging with a bird. They usually saw his motor, or his wallet, or realized who he was, and they had their drawers off before he was even ready for them.

‘Where can I get changed?’ Angie asked, looking around. Not having been in a hotel before, she had no idea that she was standing in what was described in the tastefully glossy brochure as a ‘well-appointed suite, complete with dressing-room and two full bathrooms’.

‘Not shy, are you?’ David stood up and took the glass and bag from her. Then he turned her slowly round so that her back was to him, and, even more slowly, began to lower the zip on her dress.

Angie closed her eyes. She wanted this.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t know what she wanted.

He bent his head and breathed into her neck, then whispered into her ear, ‘You are so beautiful. My little Angel.’

It was what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted.

She turned to face him, closed her eyes and stood on tip toes.

He kissed her, just as he had kissed her when they had been in his flat, then he lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing and carried her over to the bed.

As he undressed her, he kissed her again, gently, pressing his lips against her mouth, her throat, her shoulders, then – she could hardly breathe – her breasts.

She was naked, and he was looking down at her, smiling with approval. ‘You’re lovely,’ he said, pulling off his clothes and tossing them on the floor.

Angie knew she was blushing, but she didn’t care. This man’s approval was what she wanted. Although she couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere other than at his face.

Not yet. She was still far too shy for that.

But, as he stretched out on the bed beside her, and ran his hand up and down her thigh, she knew there was something she had to be really brave about.

‘There’s something I’ve got to say,’ she whispered.

‘Not your prayers, I hope, Angel.’

Unable to face him, Angie turned over, only to see herself staring back from the huge dressing table mirror. Come on, Angie, tell him. Tell him now.

‘David,’ she began. ‘You remember what I said when you took me to the restaurant?’

He frowned. Christ, what had she said? She wasn’t hinting she had a dose, was she? ‘You told me lots of things,’ he said cautiously.

‘About it being new to me, and me not knowing what I was supposed to be doing.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, this is sort of new as well.’

‘New?’

‘Yeah. I’ve never …’

A look of realization slowly spread over David’s face. ‘You mean you’ve never?’ His words came out in a mixture of disbelief, spluttering and amazement. ‘With anyone?’

She nodded, embarrassed by her own innocence.

‘I don’t suppose you’re on the Pill then?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

David twisted round and was on his feet and pulling
on
his trousers in a single, fluid movement. ‘Get dressed,’ he said firmly.

She turned over and faced him, forgetting her embarrassment. ‘David, please. I didn’t mean to spoil everything. Don’t let’s go yet. It’s only early.’ She glanced desperately at her watch. ‘Five o’clock. That’s all. And I want to. I really want to.’

He angled his head so that he was looking at her over his shoulder. ‘You’ve not spoiled anything, Angel. Nothing at all. You get yourself dressed and I’ll drop you round your nan’s.’

Resigned to her own stupidity, Angie did as she was told.

‘I’m going to make an appointment for you to see a friend of mine. Get you sorted out.’ He winked. ‘And don’t you worry yourself. We can continue with this education of yours at our leisure.’

And what leisure it was going to be. It was almost unbelievable. David could hardly keep the grin off his chops. He had found himself a real-life, genuine virgin.

Just wait till he told Bobby.

‘Here,’ he said, handing her one of the two cigarettes he had just lit from a single match. ‘Calm your nerves.’

Angie took it from him and began to smoke. She didn’t like to mention that was something else she had never done before.

David had just stepped inside one of his East End snooker clubs, off Shoreditch High Street, where he was meeting Bobby and Mad Albert Roper. The plan being that the three of them were going to collect a very large interest payment on a loan that Lukey Gold, a more than averagely stupid, mug punter had actually thought he could get away with not handing over.

Despite it being almost twenty minutes since he had
left
Angel in Poplar, David was still grinning – she was a virgin! – but when he saw the expression on Bobby’s face, as he stood alone, by one of the tables, filling a thick, fisherman’s sock with billiard balls – a favoured weapon of his – thoughts of Angel couldn’t have been further from David’s mind.

He stepped into the low pool of yellow light illuminating the green baize table and spoke to Bobby in a low, guarded voice. ‘What is it?’

Bobby looked over his shoulder, making sure no one could hear. ‘Albert’s had a tug.’

‘Not already?’

‘Yeah. Whole crowd of coppers burst in on him. When he was doing the business with a brass.’

‘They what?’

‘There was murders apparently. Did him for a list of charges long as your arm. Not even one or two, just to hold him. Some of them went back years. Tried to collar him for the lot.’

‘Fuck me, Bob, he’s only just got out. Where they holding him?’

‘They ain’t. He was lucky. The bird he was with, that Christina—’

‘The old tom who works the pitch opposite the Canvas?’

‘That’s her.’

David was taken aback. ‘Lucky? You sure?’

‘I know. She’s almost as potty as Albert. And pissed as a fart as usual. Can’t see how even Mad Albert could fancy—’

‘Yeah, all right, Bob. Get on with it.’

‘Well, she’s grabbed this box of matches and she’s only set light to the net curtains.’

David couldn’t help himself. He started laughing. ‘She what?’

‘Truth. Then she threw a bottle of Scotch on it and the whole lot went up. Heavy curtains and all. Like bonfire night. Then they’ve fell down, on the bed like, and the eiderdown’s gone up. Bloody nuthouse by the sound of it. And while they’re all fannying around trying to put the flames out, Mad Albert’s gone and jumped out the window.’

‘But she’s … What? Two floors up?’

‘Three. But he was so pissed, he was sort-of relaxed. Landed with hardly a scratch, and had it away on his toes like a fucking greyhound.’

‘How about the tom?’

‘Down the nick.’

‘I’ll get hold of Marshall. He’ll sort her out. Where’s Albert now?’

‘He turned up at the Blue Moon. And, as luck would have it, I was over there checking the drink stocks.’

‘And now?’

‘I took him over my brother’s and he drove him down his caravan. In Suffolk it is. Right hole. So fucking quiet. But it’s safe. For now, anyway.’

‘You did well, Bob.’ David thought for a moment, then took the sock from Bobby’s hand and poured the billiard balls out on to the green baize. He picked one up and sent it spinning into the far pocket. ‘I’d better go and see Marshall right away. Sooner Christina’s out the better. Don’t know what Mad Albert might have said to her.’

‘You can trust Albert, Dave.’

‘Bob, he’s only been out a few weeks after eight years. And if Christina was pouring Scotch down both their throats, who knows what’s been said?’

‘See what you mean.’

David jerked his head for Bobby to follow him. ‘Come on. Lukey Gold’s in luck tonight.’

‘You ain’t gonna let him get away with it, are you, Dave?’

‘Don’t be silly, Bob.’

‘You want me to take someone else go over there with me?’

‘And have me missing out on all the fun? No. I’ll pay him a visit another night.’

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.’