The Talisman (29 page)

He stroked her thick, curly hair for a moment, then said, ‘If it’s real silver, then you keep it.’

She turned her cheek and his hand brushed her soft, fresh skin. She kissed his fingers and he pulled his hand back sharply. He got up and kicked at the pew saying he shouldn’t be there, he should be at the station. He wondered what he was doing in the middle of nowhere, in a broken-down chapel with a child.

‘Harry, get on your goddamned horse and get out of here. Go on, be a good girl, just get the hell out of here. You drive me crazy, you know that? Oh, Christ, come here, come here, Harry.’

She went into his arms and he held her, held her tight, so tight she felt the breath squeezing out of her lungs and it was the sweetest feeling she had ever known in her life. He spoke into her hair, his face buried in the red-gold curls that still smelled of Sylvia’s Chanel No. 5. ‘I’m not much good, Harry. There’s a lot of reasons and I can’t tell you but . . . I have to succeed, I have to make it, and I’ll use anything, anyone, to get wherever it is I am trying to go . . . You are no use to me, in fact you’re a menace, because you make me feel, you touch some chord right down inside me . . .’

She felt he was smothering her, but she didn’t move, she couldn’t, he was holding her so tightly, but he didn’t frighten her. She looked up at last into his handsome face. ‘I belong to you, I do, I know it.’

He held her at arm’s length and said in a harsh voice that she belonged to no one but herself, least of all to him. He flicked up the collar of his black cashmere coat and smiled, but his eyes were holding on to her – dark, black eyes. ‘Maybe one day, when I’ve made it, I’ll come back for you, just don’t lose yourself, Harry, don’t grow into a woman.’

She spoke so softly, looking down at her old riding boot, ‘Everyone has to grow up, Edward.’

He turned away, faced the wall. ‘I have a brother, you know, younger than me . . .’

‘What about him?’

‘Well, I have to succeed for both of us, you see. I owe him . . . I owe him.’

She could barely hear him, and moved a little closer. His fists were clenched as he fought his emotion and she saw his face twist with anger. ‘Why am I telling you this, why?’ Neither spoke for long moments until he whispered, ‘I owe him his freedom.’ The word ‘freedom’ hammered inside his head and he struck out at the wall, his back to her. His voice was hoarse with emotion. ‘That was my father’s name – Freedom – he was a Romany gypsy, a gyppo . . . You see what I mean, you don’t know me.’

‘I think it’s a beautiful name . . . Freedom.’

Hearing her say it with such gentleness calmed him, but he still wouldn’t turn and face her.

‘He always loved my brother best. He bought him a dog once, I remember. I wanted a dog so badly, but I pretended not to like it. One night, one night, Harry, we had this argument . . . You wouldn’t understand, you couldn’t, I’m a liar and a cheat, I’m cheap . . . I come from the slums, Harry, real poor, you know? But I won this scholarship and . . . and . . .’

She remained standing, not moving closer, just standing there. He could feel her behind him. He pressed his head against the brick wall and the tears streamed down his face.

He turned to her, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. Her huge eyes looked deep into his. She was so different from all the women he had known – it was a direct gaze, innocent, and she wasn’t frightened by what he had told her. It was a terrible puzzle to her – his disconnected words showed his anguish and torment. She didn’t even lift her arms when he cupped her face in his hands. He kissed her gently, chastely, on her wonderful mouth, so soft and warm. A loving kiss. She loved him and he knew that he loved her. He held her face until his fingers marked her cheeks.

But Harriet was a child.

He turned on his heel and walked out. She stood staring after him. It was the most decent thing he had ever done in his life.

Dora had been in tears all day. Johnny Mask had been picked up for black marketeering. Not only that – when he was arrested they discovered that he had also skipped conscription. He chose to go into the army rather than jail, and so arrived at his tasteless apartment with his head shorn and wearing a corporal’s uniform.

He was philosophical about it all, reckoning that the war wouldn’t last all that long, and by the time they’d got him trained he would be back at the club. Dora wept buckets, she could see him opening fire on rows of Germans and being shot to pieces.

‘Darlin’, listen to me, I’ll be confined to bleedin’ barracks for three months before they can even ship me over. What you howlin’ for? I keep on tellin’ you I’ll be all right, for Chrissake . . . Dora, will you shut it!’

She gulped and mopped her tear-stained face. With Johnny gone, who was going to run the club? Who was going to look after her? She started up again, her face puckering, and he threw his arms up and threatened to slap her around, he had work to do and she was part of it.

‘They got me on a load of gin, but I got a warehouse full of stuff scheduled to come in tomorrow night. Now I can’t trust any of those sons of bitches I got workin’ for me, so I need someone on the inside.’

Dora started to think, her little brain teetered around and she tossed a few names to Johnny, who shook his head.

‘Yer not wiv me, are yer, you stupid cow? Look, you know the club racket – you should do, you’ve been runnin’ it wiv me long enough, even get the girls in for me, so . . .’

Dora suddenly felt the tears departing. Sharp as a tack, she picked up on what he was saying. She wasn’t going to be ditched, far from it.

‘I’ll be able to get out on weekend leave, right? All you gotta do is run the place until I’m fancy free again. I can even start a racket going down the barracks so I’ll need you even more on the outside, workin’ for me.’

Dora gaped, then threw her arms around his neck, kissing him, and he had to shove her away. ‘We got no time for that stuff. First I’ll take you over the accounts, the orders, who you got to bung a few quid to on the side so we don’t get any aggro from the law . . . Dora! Siddown and fuckin’ pay attention! Gawd almighty . . . I must be outta me head.’

Dora sat, attentive, and Johnny opened the safe, taking out papers, and to her stunned amazement, rolls and rolls of banknotes.

‘An’ another fing, Dora, you handle this right an’ I might even make an honest woman of you, when I’m out, like . . . Don’t start howlin’ again!’

She was over the moon, he was going to marry her – she asked if he really meant it? He relented and sat her on his knee, saying she’d never let him down, all the years they’d been together she’d never let him down and he appreciated it. Of course he meant what he said – when he got out of the army he would marry her. ‘Here we go! It’s not real, it’s what they call a zircon, but no one would know it’s not the real fing. You like it? I got it off Harry the Jew over in Paddington, does it fit?’

The ring, three sizes too big, sparkled as Dora held out her hand. She was so happy she danced around the bed. ‘Johnny, I love it, I just love it, and it’s perfect . . . Hey, I’m engaged, I’m engaged!’

He tossed his head and grinned. He liked the way she was so tickled, but he was also making sure she would tell everyone she was his ‘intended’. There were reasons behind it – he reckoned that if the lads knew this woman who was running the place was not just a tart they might leave her alone.

Dora sat at the reproduction antique desk and began sorting through the papers – who had to be paid off, who to order the booze from, who to welcome into the club and who to warn off. He had two good men for the door and the bar, and an ‘inside man’, who would be the one she would signal to if a customer was giving trouble.

‘Fing is, Dora, we gotta keep up the nice class of our customers. We can clean up, officers, you know – elbow the likes of me, we don’t want the riff-raff in, keep it classy. That goes for the girls too, an’ make sure they’re clean, any with a dose get ’em out quick.’

He went to great lengths to show Dora the bookkeeping. One set for the government, one set for Mr Mask. She was to bank only the takings from book one, everything else went into the safe. They didn’t want to be copped for taxes and busted, they had to keep it legal and straight.

Dora ended up with so many instructions and lists of arrangements that had to be made over the next month that her head reeled.

‘Another fing, gel – now we’re an official couple you don’t lay the customers. It don’t look right, you’re the boss, an’ you gotta act like one, so you get respect, understand me? So you stick to ginger ale. I hear one word you get yourself legless and I’ll be out an’ you’ll be for it.’

They spent the night together, Johnny so eager to get Dora clued up that he was unable to get a hard-on. She giggled and said it didn’t matter, they would have lots of time for that when they were married.

‘Johnny, we gonna have kids like normal people?’

He flopped back, still desperate for an erection, and gave up.

‘Gawd ’elp us, we only got engaged an’ you’re arranging the bleedin’ nursery . . . Go an’ get the baby oil, will you, and shut up?’

Johnny left the following morning, handing out instructions as he went. He had to come back as he had forgotten to kiss Dora goodbye. She started getting tearful and he gave her one of his looks that was usually followed by a slap. She forced a brave smile.

‘Thatta girl, I’m dependin’ on yer, so don’t fuck it up, all right, darlin’?’

She had only a few moments of doubt and sadness at Johnny’s departure. Returning to the satin-covered bed, the open safe, she suddenly perked up and flopped back on to the bed, laughing.

‘It’s all mine! Bloody hell, Dora Harris, you’re rich.’

The train from Yorkshire ground to a halt yet again, and Edward swore, went to the window and lowered the sash. ‘What’s the problem? What’s the delay?’

A guard, running down the track swinging his lantern, shouted something inaudible and kept on running. All the lights on the train went out, the signals, the station two miles up the track blacked out . . . The train remained stationary for about half an hour and was then shunted into a siding. The passengers heard the drone of planes overhead, but no bombs . . . the planes passed over and were gone. Looking up, they asked each other if they were ‘ours’ or ‘theirs’.

Miles away they saw the sky light up like bright red and yellow fireworks and they knew they were German planes. The train began a slow backward shunt and halted again. Crowds of soldiers began to board and filled the front carriages.

‘Got a light, mate?’ The soldier looked no older than Edward. He clocked the gold cigarette lighter and lit up a thin, hand-rolled cigarette. ‘Thanks . . . thanks, mate.’

The boy and four more soldiers were told by their commanding officer to get back up front. Their vacated seats were taken by officers who sat back, eyes closed. Edward put his glasses on and buried his head deeper in his jacket collar. It was the first time he had felt any form of guilt.

The young officers were all very well-spoken, their upper-crust voices loud. He listened to the conversation as one officer stared out of the window.

‘Rocket, I’d say.’

The other officer shook his head, said that the rocket sites were in Holland, too far away.

‘That was a rocket, I’ve seen them before.’

‘Wait, we’ll soon know if it was a rocket or not, only takes a few seconds . . .’

They were all silent, then suddenly they heard it, a huge explosion. They sat back again in their seats.

‘Told you it was a rocket, saw the flash.’

‘Our chaps are overrunning them now, don’t see many more coming. The Allied Forces are wiping them out, thank God.’

‘I knew it was a rocket, I knew it was one of those V2s. One landed near our chaps, centre of the road, smack on a junction . . . It was not long before ten-thirty and one pub had run out of beer so all the customers were moving on to a bar in McKenzie Road. Bloody place was jam-packed when the bloody thing came down. The bar-room floor collapsed, the poor fellahs were dropping through into the cellah, whole building came down around them . . . Foggy night, too, and a bloody one, we had to tunnel under the debris, poor bastards screaming . . . But every time we removed a part of the building the rest just crumbled on to those below. I still hear them, you know, still hear them screaming.’

The train began to move and Edward lurched in his seat, heard the soldiers in the front carriages give a cheer. The officers, all bomb-disposal experts, relaxed in their seats and slept for the rest of the journey. They were exhausted, their mouths open and snoring as the train made its slow, unsteady journey to Paddington Station. In the station buffet they heard a newscast of the latest report.

‘The Fourteenth Army is advancing through Burma, the Japanese in full retreat.’

The soldiers in the buffet let rip with a cheer, and stretched over the counter for mugs of tea and stale bread rolls. The newscaster ended his report with a rousing, ‘Let’s hope the longed-for end to these long years of war will soon be here.’

The soldiers raised their mugs of tea and cheered, and their officers barked orders for them to get themselves to platform three, they were on the move again.

Edward sipped his tea, watching the boys barging out of the doors towards the platforms. The woman behind the counter looked over the glass case. ‘Bastards hit the East End again last week, it wiped out my husband’s allotment, all his onions gone, not one left. Pulverized the whole onion bed and yer could smell it fer miles around. See, they was cookin’ in the fire, I dunno . . . Oh Gawd, ’ere they come, the Yanks are back.’

The buffet filled with American soldiers joking loudly with one another, and Edward walked out to wolf whistles and lewd remarks. He picked up a taxi, it was past eleven.

‘I can only take yer as far as Hyde Park Corner, guv, they got the road up round Marble Arch, crater in the road size of this station.’

They rattled through the blacked-out streets. The cab driver was an authority on German warfare, Hitler’s strategy. ‘I’m tellin’ ya, mate, he made a mistake. See, he was so close – Jersey, you know – they was that close, yes, fella in the cab yesterday hadda get out. See, if you don’t have actual documents sayin’ you was born in Jersey then you hadda get off the island, he’d left everything he’d worked for. But they occupied the bastard, an’ I’ll tell you somethin’ else, the Americans, if they hadn’t hit Pearl Harbor they wouldn’t have backed us up . . . Now then, with them behind us we’ll wipe those German buggers off the face of the earth . . . I’ve nothin’ against ’em, the Yanks, they may be shaftin’ all our girls, but my daughter’s got herself a lovely fella, he’s brought us the best corned beef I’ve ever tasted in me life, tins of the stuff. Works in the canteen, see . . .’