When Archie Met Rosie

by Lynda Renham

  Crabbers is harmless enough, blind as a bat and with a club foot. It’s never held him back though. He runs his own stall at Romford market. I’ve had some decent towels from him. People say women only go out with him for the free bedspreads and pillow shams. I’ve never had a bedspread or pillow shams, come to that. I’m sure they look lovely, but I wouldn’t go out with Crabbers just to get a free one. Everything has a price is my philosophy. He’s not wearing his glasses, so he’s talking to me but looking at Doris.

  ‘I’ll have you know my old man is still alive and kicking, thank you very much,’ says Doris.

  ‘I’m over here,’ I say.

  ‘Anyway, that’s not a nice thing to say no matter who you’re talking to,’ says Shirl wrinkling her nose in disgust.

  He stinks of aftershave. It reminds me of the cheap air freshener I buy for the loo except the air freshener smells better.

  ‘You and I should get together sometime?’ he says, curling his lip, in what I imagine is supposed to be a sexy way.

  ‘Me or her?’ says Doris. ‘You should wear your glasses. You’ll go blind straining your eyes like that.’

  He ignores her and turns so he’s facing me.

  ‘I got myself a new car,’ he says.

  ‘That’s funny. I’ve just had mine nicked. It’s not a Fiesta by any chance?’

  ‘Give over,’ he laughs, stepping forward and tripping over my holdall and almost landing in Shirl’s lap.

  ‘Blimey,’ says Shirl. ‘Mind where you’re falling.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ he asks, pointing at my holdall.

  ‘All her worldly goods,’ laughs Doris.

  I pull my purse from the holdall and hand Doris a twenty-pound note.

  ‘I’ll have a Pernod and orange,’ I say.

  She’s already had one too many. It will be just like her to open her gobby mouth and tell all about my winnings.

  ‘Make mine a pint,’ says Crabbers.

  ‘You can buy your own,’ Shirl says, shifting closer to me so Crabbers can’t sit down.

  ‘You’ll be needing a man around the house,’ he says.

  ‘Why? She’s never had one before,’ says Shirl.

  ‘Frank wasn’t that bad,’ I say.

  ‘Depends what we’re talking about?’ he grins.

  It’s a shame about his hair. He’s not bad looking if his hair wasn’t so greasy.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ says Shirl. ‘Saying things like that to a woman who’s just lost her husband.’

  ‘Fancy a little spin?’ he asks.

  He’s got to be joking. I must look stupid. He’s already had a tankful and can’t see further than his nose.

  ‘If I want a roller coaster ride, I’ll go to a funfair,’ I say, gripping the straps of the holdall. There’s a bit of a ruckus at the bar and I’m afraid someone is going to grab it. They’ll have to take me too. No way am I handing this over. This is my money and I’m damn well keeping it.

  ‘Not now,’ he laughs. ‘Another time, you know, like during the day.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Doris, pulling me up. ‘There’s a bloke at the bar with a knife. Who knows what he’ll do with it.’

  Slash through my holdall knowing my luck.

  ‘We’re too old for this malarkey,’ agrees Shirl.

  I couldn’t agree more, although I’d never admit it.

  ‘I’ll see you girls home,’ says Crabbers, swaying unsteadily.

  ‘Oh give over, Crabbers,’ Shirl says.

  I throw back the last of my Pernod and follow them out. I’m relieved to be honest. I thought it would do me good to come out with the girls, but quite honestly, I’d much prefer a quiet night in the flat, although Saturday in the flat is far from quiet.

  ‘Bill will be home from the footie by now,’ says Shirl, ‘so I ought to get back. I didn’t tell him I was going out. I only came because he was at an away game.’

  Doris spots our bus and we begin to run. It’s as we pass the alley that I see them.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosie

  Her soft whimper reaches my ears.

  ‘Let go, please.’

  I stop and peer into the alley. Doris and Shirl have already leapt onto the bus.

  ‘Rosie, what are you doing? Come on, hurry up.’

  I don’t want to shout back and draw attention to myself.

  ‘Oh, please help me,’ calls the young voice.

  I step into the alley and see the girl. One of her shoes lies nearby and on closer inspection I can see her breast is hanging out of her low-cut top.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask timidly.

  Stupid question really.

  ‘Piss off,’ replies a gruff voice.

  ‘Please,’ calls the girl.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I say venturing further in. Okay, you can call me daft, but I can’t leave a young girl at the hands of a drunken yob, can I? It wouldn’t be right. Besides, the bus has gone now. Some friends Doris and Shirl are. The man has the girl pushed against the wall. I pull my mobile from my holdall and switch on the torch. The girl’s mascara-streaked face stares back at me. The bloke is only trying to push her hand onto his penis.

  ‘You dirty little so and so. Let her go, you filthy paedophile,’ I shout.

  ‘You what?’ he yells, turning to face me. ‘I’m no paedophile.’

  ‘Up to no good though.’

  He’s an ugly little so and so too.

  ‘You’re at least ten years older than her. Paedophile,’ I shout again.

  I’ve never seen an erect penis turn flaccid so quickly. Well, I have. Frank’s often did but I’m not going to blather on about that.

  He rushes past me.

  ‘Old bitch.’

  ‘Hey, less with the old.’

  The girl sobs and throws herself into my arms.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she hiccups. ‘I didn’t, honest. He said he was going to show me his bike.’

  ‘Is that what he called it?’

  She’s trembling so much that I can barely hold onto her.

  ‘Where’s your coat?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  I’m surprised these girls don’t get pneumonia. I thought my tits were suffering. Hers must be getting frostbite.

  ‘Here, have mine,’ I say somewhat reluctantly. I lead her out of the alley. To be honest, I’m glad to get out of there and back to where there are street lamps. There’s no sign of Doris and Shirl. Just wait until I see them. I’m newly widowed. You’d think they’d have stayed with me, wouldn’t you?

  ‘Are you with your mates?’ I ask, feeling inside my holdall. You never know. He could have pickpocketed it. No, it’s all still there.

  ‘They’re in Heartlands. I don’t want to go back in there.’

  ‘There’s a burger stall over there, let’s get you a hot sweet cuppa and then we’ll phone your mum. Is she able to come and get you?’

  She nods.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Holly. Can you phone my mum?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Two teas, one with lots of sugar please,’ I order.

  ‘Hey Rosie girl, ‘old up.’

  I groan. It’s Crabbers.

  ‘What’s ‘appening?’ he asks, staring at Holly.

  ‘Some filthy whatsit tried to have it away with her in the alley.’

  He fumbles for his glasses, puts them on and gapes at Holly.

  ‘Blimey, how old are you?’

  ‘Seventeen, but I’m almost eighteen.’

  I hand her the hot plastic cup of tea and we walk to a nearby bench.

  ‘Where is he now?’ asks Crabbers.

  ‘He legged it,’ I say. ‘What’s your mum’s phone number, Holly?’

  Holly’s face creases and fresh tears stream down her cheeks.

  ‘She’ll blame me,’ she sobs.

  ‘Of course she won’t.’

  ‘To cheer you up,’ Crabbers says as he hands each of us a burger. Men have a funny i
dea of what will cheer you up, haven’t they? Nevertheless, Holly wolfs hers down.

  ‘I’ve had a lot of Prosecco,’ she admits.

  She hands me her phone.

  ‘Press 1 and it will go straight to my mum.’

  I sigh.

  ‘What shall I say?’

  ‘Don’t you want your burger?’ asks Crabbers, looking hungrily at it.

  ‘You can have it,’ I say, handing the burger over. It’s most likely a bap full of salmonella anyway.

  We’re surrounded by teenagers guzzling cider out of cans and frantically puffing away on cigarettes as if their life depended on the next drag. If only they knew what I now know. The wisdom of age and no one wants to listen to you, do they? The phone at the other end rings once and then a high-pitched posh voice attacks my eardrum.

  ‘Holly, what’s wrong? Are you on your way home?’

  ‘Hello,’ I say, my voice quivering. I’ve never been so cold. It must be zero degrees and I’m sitting on a bench in a holey bra and skimpy cardigan. I dressed for a night in the pub. I figured my coat would be enough to keep me warm. I didn’t for one minute think I’d be handing it over to a half-drunk seventeen-year-old.

  ‘Hello,’ I say again. Oh dear, do I sound common? How ridiculous. You can’t sound common just saying hello, can you? I can’t go putting on my posh phone voice with Crabbers watching me.

  ‘Who’s this? Oh heavens, what’s happened to Holly?’

  ‘I’m with her now. She’s okay, a little shook up. She had a …’

  ‘Shook up? Oh heavens … Dad!’ She screeches down the phone and I feel sure there is no way my ear avoided being perforated.

  ‘We’re coming to get her right now. Put her on please.’

  ‘Your mum wants to speak to you,’ I say, handing the phone to Holly.

  Holly’s face drops. She takes the phone reluctantly. I hope they get here soon. I swear it’s colder than the Antarctic. Even my hot flushes are doing nothing to heat me up. I see Crabbers looking at my erect nipples.

  ‘And you can take those glasses off, you dirty bugger. You could at least offer me your jacket. Call yourself a gentleman?’

  He drags his eyes away and rips off his jacket.

  ‘Here you go Rosie.’

  I wrap the jacket around me gratefully. Even the musty smell of his aftershave does nothing to mar my enjoyment of the warmth coming from it. Holly is trying to talk to her mum but all we can hear are the screams from the other end of the line.

  ‘I am …’ begins Holly. ‘No, she isn’t … I tried … she’s lovely … I’m grateful to her. Mum, don’t say that … Okay, see you soon.’

  She clicks off the phone and turns to Crabbers.

  ‘What’s wrong with your foot?’

  He looks down at his club foot as if he’s never seen it before.

  ‘Oh, it’s an ‘andicap. I ‘ad it when I was born.’

  She nods.

  ‘I’ve got a handicap too. It’s called my mum.’

  I fight back a gasp. My phone trills and I fumble around in the holdall to find it.

  ‘Why have you got such a big bag?’ Holly asks.

  She’s full of questions this one.

  ‘It’s me Doris, are you okay? Why didn’t you get the bus with us?’ she asks.

  ‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’

  ‘The bus only runs every half an hour, you know that?’

  Oh well, as long as there was a good reason.

  ‘I’m with someone. She was getting molested by some bloke in the alley.’

  Doris gasps.

  ‘Oh no, are you okay?’

  ‘He was molesting her, not me. Crabbers is with us. Her mum’s on her way.’

  ‘Hang onto your holdall.’

  ‘Don’t worry I have every intention of doing so.’

  What I wouldn’t do to have my little Fiesta. It might have a wonky door, but the heater was A1.

  ‘I’ll get us another cuppa,’ says Crabbers.

  I smile but the truth is, I’ve already consumed too much liquid and I’m dying for a pee and let’s be honest, when you get to sixty, holding it in is something of a mission. I only hope Holly’s mum puts her foot down.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alfred

  ‘His phone must be off,’ I say.

  The church hall is probably the only place Harry can get a break from Moira.

  ‘Of all the times,’ says Moira, swerving around a bus. ‘That stupid play, it’s taking him over. Why on earth would he turn his phone off? He’s most likely got no signal in the church hall. Typical.’

  I close my eyes and tense my shoulders. I don’t like being in a car with Moira at the best of times but right now it feels like she’s on a suicide mission.

  ‘No need to rush,’ I say calmly. ‘Holly’s quite safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ she yells, ‘What are you talking about Dad? Some maniac almost had her.’

  ‘Well fortunately, he didn’t, did he?’

  ‘Did you leave Harry a message?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Text him then please, Dad.’

  ‘I’m not good with that texting malarkey, Moira.’

  She sighs heavily.

  ‘You really must keep up with the times Dad. I hope Holly is alright. Who knows what kind of woman she’s with? I feel so guilty. It’s Harry’s fault, he should have stopped her from going out.’

  ‘Sounds like we’ve got a lot to be grateful for to this woman,’ I say, gripping my seat as Moira narrowly misses a cyclist.

  ‘She’ll probably expect money. We don’t give her anything Dad.’

  ‘Not even a thank you? That light is red,’ I say, pointing ahead.

  Moira slams on the brakes and I’m thrown forward. Luckily I don’t go through the windscreen. I miss my Cath, but I don’t want to be joining her just yet. The light turns green and Moira shoots forward, grinding the gears. We finally arrive, much to my relief, and Moira parks on a double yellow line and leaps from the car before I’ve even got my seat belt off.

  ‘Come on Dad,’ she snaps.

  ‘I’ve got to get me stick,’ I say, reaching into the back of the car.

  If there’s one thing I hate, it’s Romford on a Friday night. It’s full of yobs and drunks. Why Harry and Moira let Holly come here is beyond me. If anyone starts on me they’ll get a whack around the head with my walking stick. The place is full of scantily dressed giggling girls, swigging cider and taking selfies on their phones. No wonder our Holly got into a pickle, I mean, is it any wonder? Holly looks dead embarrassed to see us.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Moira asks anxiously, rushing to her. She roughly pushes past the woman standing beside Holly, knocking a steaming tea cup out of her hand.

  ‘Oy careful,’ says the man standing with her.

  Moira is so unaware of them, it’s embarrassing. I’m only glad she’s my daughter-in-law as opposed to my daughter. Cath always wanted a girl but after Harry it never happened. So we just had our Harry.

  ‘Still,’ Cath used to say. ‘We’ll have a daughter-in-law one day. So that will be nice.’

  Moira wasn’t exactly what we’d envisaged.

  ‘Let me buy you another,’ I say to the woman.

  She glares at me.

  ‘No thanks,’ she says briskly, wiping at her wet clothes. She’s huddled up inside an oversized jacket. The bloke with her is almost blue from the cold.

  ‘What on earth are you wearing?’ Moira demands of Holly.

  ‘It’s the lady’s coat,’ Holly says, inclining her head. ‘I was shaking a lot.’

  Moira looks at it in disgust.

  ‘Give it back now.’

  I can’t stand by and listen to this. This isn’t how we brought up our Harry.

  ‘Thank you so much for helping Holly,’ I say, stepping forward. The woman pulls her holdall over her shoulder protectively.

  ‘I’m Alfred,’ I say, holding out my hand. ‘And this is my daughter-in-law, Moira.’

 
; I don’t want anyone to think this rude upstart is my own flesh and blood. The woman looks at my hand and then puts hers into it,

  ‘Nice to meet you Archie, I’m Rosie.’

  ‘Alfred,’ I correct, but Moira has pushed herself between us.

  ‘Did you report it?’ she demands of Rosie with an accusatory tone in her voice.

  ‘Mum,’ complains Holly.

  ‘Your daughter …’ begins Rosie.

  ‘She’s seventeen. It’s not for her to …’

  ‘Moira,’ I warn.

  ‘I’ll handle this Dad.’

  ‘I’m not her dad,’ I quickly add.

  ‘No, I didn’t report it,’ says Rosie, ignoring me. ‘The little rascal ran off, so it didn’t …’

  ‘Didn’t you stop him?’ Moira asks the bloke standing next to Rosie.

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ he says.

  ‘We didn’t have to stay with your daughter,’ says Rosie calmly but I can see she’s trying to control her temper. ‘But we’ll accept your gratitude.’

  Moira scoffs.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ she says turning to me.

  ‘Okay, how much do you want?’ she demands.

  Rosie steps back in shock.

  ‘You what?’ she says.

  I wince and lean heavily on my stick. I can’t believe Moira is insinuating that the woman wants money.

  ‘Let’s get Holly home, shall we?’ I say.

  ‘It comes to something when people expect to be rewarded for helping someone. How insulting,’ Moira scoffs.

  ‘Now hang on a minute,’ Rosie retorts with her hands on her hips. ‘I’m the one being insulted here. I never asked for your money. Don’t try and put your guilt on me, just because you’re a bad parent.’

  ‘How dare you,’ spits Moira.

  ‘Right,’ I say, stepping between them. ‘Moira, we’re going home. We should be very grateful to Rosie and her chap …’

  ‘Johnny,’ says the man, taking my hand. ‘Johnny Crabtree.’

  ‘He’s not my chap, Archie,’ says Rosie.

  ‘Alfred,’ I correct.

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Moira, taking Holly by the arm.

  ‘Can we offer you a lift home?’ I ask.

  Moira gives me a filthy look. Well, there’s plenty of room in that car of hers. It’s the least we can do.

  ‘I really don’t think …’ begins Moira.