Playing Around

by Gilda O'Neill

  Bobby stared straight ahead as though he hadn’t heard a thing.

  David shifted his leg so that he could stuff the handkerchief into his trouser pocket, then, changing his mind, he wound down the window and tossed it into the gutter. He didn’t look at his wife as he spoke to her.

  ‘You’re not gonna start, are you, Sonia?’

  ‘Start? You leave me sitting out here with this moron for company while you go inside and—’

  ‘I ain’t having this. Bobby, where’s your motor?’

  ‘I left it at the Blue Moon, Dave.’

  David rolled his eyes. ‘Why?’

  ‘When you said you needed me to drive the Jag, that’s where I was. I got Terry to bring me over in case I couldn’t park and had to keep you waiting.’

  ‘All right, Bob, don’t give me earache.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday. You know what it’s like. Parking round here and that. I didn’t—’

  ‘What’s up with you? It’s either feast or flaming famine. You swallowed a dictionary or something?’

  ‘Sorry, Dave.’

  ‘Don’t worry, mate. She makes me nervous and all.’

  Sonia sneered from the back seat. ‘How touching, the organ grinder worrying about his monkey.’

  ‘Just take us back over there, Bob. Pick up your motor. Then take Mrs Fuller home to the flat. I’ve got business to see to.’ David thought for a moment, angled the rear-view mirror until he could see his wife, then said: ‘Tell you what, while you’re there, you can kill two birds with one stone. Pop in the Moon and tell the girls that, if they know what’s good for them, they’ll think twice about doing any business on the side. Right? Tell ’em I’ve heard some rumours. Just to keep ’em on their toes.’

  Bobby nodded.

  ‘It doesn’t do them any harm, reminding them who’s boss now and again.’

  Sonia sighed dramatically. ‘So I’ll be left outside again, will I? While this cretin gives your tarts a pep talk. Saturday night on the town. Oh, such sophistication. I know, why don’t Bobby and I tour all your most sordid little clubs? It would be such fun. I could report the evening’s festivities for the social pages.’

  David gestured for Bobby to pull away. ‘Shut your gob, Sonia. You’re really beginning to get on me nerves.’

  David stopped his car at the back of the hospital in a space marked ‘Doctors Only’ and reached behind him to get his coat and a brown paper bag off the back seat.

  It was a quarter to ten and could still have been quite light, but, from how dark it was, it looked more like midnight. The sky was heavy with the purple grey clouds of a summer thunderstorm, and the raindrops were coming down in fat, sploshing coins on the bonnet of the car.

  David opened the door, pulled his overcoat collar up to his ears, took a deep breath and made a run for the entrance.

  ‘Bloody pouring down out there,’ he said, flashing his eyebrows at the nurse who had held the door open for him.

  She smiled. At first sight, she had thought the big, well-dressed man might be a new doctor she hadn’t yet come across, but his voice had immediately given him away. No doctor, even at the London, spoke with a broad cockney accent.

  ‘Where can I find Lenny Tawse, darling? He’s in Turner ward.’

  ‘Second floor,’ she directed him in a singsong Caribbean lilt, and with an even broader smile. He really was handsome. ‘It’s a bit late for visitors, but tell sister up there that Nurse Bradley sent you. Nurse Coral Bradley. The one who gets off at half ten tonight, and who isn’t doing anything other than going home by herself to curl up with a good book.’

  David winked. ‘If I wasn’t a married man, Nurse Coral Bradley …’

  ‘Pity,’ she said to herself as she watched him stride away with as much confidence as if he were the chief consultant himself.

  ‘Hello, Len.’

  Lenny opened his eyes and stared up at the man hovering above him. ‘Dave.’

  ‘Don’t shift yourself, Len, I know how much you must be hurting.’ David flicked the back of his hand over the bedside armchair to remove any unwelcome fluff, and sat down, his immaculately cut navy overcoat draping in elegant folds about him. ‘So, how’s tricks?’

  ‘You know, Dave, fair to middling.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ Remembering the brown paper bag, David put it on Lenny’s locker. ‘Few grapes for you. Any idea when you’ll be out?’

  ‘Soon as the collar-bone sets. They’re still a bit worried.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard. Nasty that, the bone shattering in so many places.’

  Lenny said nothing.

  ‘Still, that’s the price. If you want to be on the firm, Lenny, old son, you have to behave yourself.’

  Lenny nodded, shame-faced. ‘I know, Dave.’

  ‘You’re silly to yourself. You could have been really hurt.’

  At that moment a woman with over-bright blonde hair covered with a luminous pink chiffon headscarf tottered into the ward on high, spiky patent leather heels. ‘Dave,’ she said coldly and sat on the chair that he vacated for her. ‘How’s Sonia? Busy, is she?’

  David didn’t flinch. ‘Sonia’s fine, thanks, Sylvie.’

  ‘Good. Me on the other hand, I’m knackered. I’m having to do extra shifts in the pub to make ends meet. Cos Len’s not working. Then I have to get over here to visit him. Then get home again. Nearly midnight it is when I get to bed. Good job they let me visit this late. As a favour. Or I’d never see my Len. Would I?’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to drop round and see you.’ David stuck his hand inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a wad of notes. ‘To help you get by till Lenny gets better.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She didn’t take it from him immediately, instead, she took her time, taking off the scarf and shaking the raindrops on to the dark green tiled floor, then opening the chrome clasp of her pink, pearlized-plastic handbag. Only then did she take the money and snap it safely away into her bag. ‘The kids could do with some new shoes. They cost a fortune.’

  David laughed at her cheek. She was a gobby cow, but she was loyal to Lenny. David approved of that. ‘You’re a one, Sylve.’ This time he took money from his trouser pocket, a thick roll, secured with an elastic band. ‘Here. Treat yourself and all.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He gave the thumbs up to Lenny. ‘Get well soon, mate, and we’ll see you back at work when you’re ready.’ With that he bowled out of the ward, knowing that, as in most places he found himself, all eyes were on him.

  As soon as he judged David to be out of earshot, Lenny, despite the pain from his cracked ribs and busted collarbone, rolled over and turned angrily on his wife.

  ‘Why did you do that, you big-mouthed mare?’ he hissed under his breath.

  ‘Do what?’ Sylvie asked, making no attempt to keep her words private from the others in the ward.

  ‘Ask him about Sonia?’

  ‘I was being polite.’ She picked over the grapes, selecting the plumpest.

  ‘No you weren’t, you stupid bitch. You were winding him up.’

  Sylvie, ignoring her husband’s abuse, took out the two wads of money and, shielding what she was doing from the other patients within the folds of her beige raincoat, began counting out the notes with accompanying breathy commentary. ‘Ten, fifteen, twenty—’

  ‘Sylvie!’ Lenny snatched the money from her hand. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? You can’t talk like that to David Fuller.’

  ‘Leave off, Len.’ She snatched the money back. ‘Everyone knows that stuck-up tart of his is schtupping Mikey Tilson.’

  ‘And everyone knows he had Mad Albert put me in here just because I forgot to lock up his bloody Jag.’

  Calmly and coldly, Sylvie leaned closer to her husband and spat the words into his face. ‘Well, why don’t he have Mad Albert put fucking Mikey in here and all?’

  Lenny flopped back on to the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain and the aggravation
of being married to a loud-mouthed simpleton like Sylvie.

  ‘Because David Fuller is a sadistic bastard who likes playing games.’ He almost laughed. ‘And when the games are played for stakes that include people’s lives and happiness, he likes them even better.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Angie popped her head out of the shop doorway and stared along the rain-slicked, Soho street. There was no sign of a cab, not a vacant one anyway. And it was pouring down.

  ‘I don’t know, Ange. I just wish we’d have gone to the Cubana. At least we could have walked home from Ilford.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re ever going to get a cab in this rain.’

  ‘I hope Mum don’t wake up. She’ll kill me.’

  ‘At least she cares about you.’ Angie stared at the tawdry neon lights reflected in the puddled pavement, the same lights that had, a few hours earlier, held so much promise.

  ‘Too flipping much.’

  ‘I might start smoking,’ Angie said, watching a tarty-looking middle-aged woman in the doorway opposite drawing on a long slim cigarette.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think it looks good.’ She was thinking of Martin and his ultra-cool girlfriend.

  ‘Looks good? Leave off, Ange. I’m too wet and cold to start arguing with you.’

  David dropped down into third gear. Here he was, supposedly one of the most powerful blokes in the manor, and what was he doing? Driving round the poxy streets by himself, while his old woman was who knew where, carrying on with fucking Mikey Tilson. He’d really thought he had been on to something, that he’d let their pathetic little affair go on for long enough for the pair of them not only to hang themselves but to provide their own sodding rope for the bloody execution. But, truth be told, he had lost interest in what they were getting up to. Sonia was still glossy enough when he needed a bit of arm-candy to show off to the likes of Burman, and she’d be bored with Mikey Tilson sooner rather than later – if he didn’t lose his temper with him first – but what had started as a game was beginning to bore him.

  But then that was David’s trouble. He had a low boredom threshold. Always had. And it was that, along with his miserable, poverty-stricken childhood, that had driven him, had made him the ambitious man that he was. And ambition in Bethnal Green didn’t have many outlets, other than boxing or crime, and David had never fancied getting his nose flattened or a cauliflower earhole. He was too proud of his looks.

  He looked up at the façade of yet another trendy club that had recently opened in Wardour Street. Despite all this new gloss moving into the area, Soho was still a seedy, bloody hole of a place. He laughed mirthlessly to himself. A bit like Sonia really.

  God he was pissed off.

  And look at them in that shop doorway by the Canvas. If regular girls saw amateurs on their pitch they’d have their knives out for them. Literally.

  He slowed down even more, to get a closer look.

  There was something familiar about the dark-haired one. The one who looked ready to burst into tears. She’d get herself into right trouble if she did. Even the amateurs didn’t dare show any weakness round these parts.

  Hang on. Wasn’t it? Yeah. It was that girl from the club. The one he’d rescued from that oily-haired little shit.

  David braked, sending a splash of water up from the gutter.

  ‘Great!’ Jackie held up her arms and stared down at her legs. ‘Mud! Just what I needed. I have had enough, Ange. I have really and truly had enough.’

  Angie gnawed at the inside of her mouth, refusing to release the tears that were making her nose prickle and her eyes sting. ‘So have I.’

  David wound down the window. ‘All right, girls. Need a lift?’

  ‘We’re fine thanks,’ said Jackie sharply, refusing to make eye contact.

  ‘What, in this rain?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jackie looked away into the middle distance, hoping that she was giving a convincing impression of someone waiting for her six-feet-six boyfriend to come along in the car he had gone to collect so that she wouldn’t get wet.

  ‘Got any money?’

  Angie flashed a look at Jackie. She didn’t understand what he was talking about. Was he begging? Not in that car, surely. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘For a cab.’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ said Jackie, forgetting the conscientious boyfriend.

  David took a fiver from his inside pocket and held it out of the car window. ‘Here. Take this. Get yourselves a cab. These streets are no place for two little princesses.’

  ‘Thanks ever so much.’ Angie took the money and brightened. It was the man from the club. Mr Fuller. David. ‘Can you tell us where we can get one, please?’

  ‘Hold on.’

  David got out of the car and trotted across the street to the doorway, where the tarty woman was still standing smoking. He said something to her, she nodded, and then followed him through the door.

  Angie noticed that the woman had laughed easily, as if they were friends.

  He returned almost immediately. ‘Christina over there. She’s called you a cab. It’ll be here in less than five minutes.’ He paused. ‘Or you can have a lift with me if you like.’

  ‘That’s really kind.’ Angie smiled. What a nice man.

  Jackie mouthed at Angie to shut up, then addressed the man, still without looking at him. She snatched the money off Angie and held it out at arm’s length. ‘Thanks for offering us the fiver. But we don’t need it.’

  Angie looked at the man’s kind, smiling face, and at his big shiny car, and wondered how long a student would have to save up to buy a car like that. How long a student would have to stop drinking vodka and orange to be able to afford to give a fiver away to a girl, just because he wanted to make sure she had the fare home.

  ‘You’re ever so kind,’ she said, stepping out of the doorway into the rain. ‘You won’t remember me but—’

  ‘Course I remember you. We met in the Canvas.’

  ‘That’s right. I think it’s fab.’

  ‘Glad you approve. I own it.’

  Jackie tapped Angie on the shoulder. ‘There’s a cab coming.’ Then she waved and the taxi drew into the kerb.

  The driver got out and went immediately to the driver’s door of the Jaguar. ‘You wanted a cab, Mr Fuller?’

  David handed him the fiver and raised an eyebrow at Angie. ‘Do I?’

  Angie turned to Jackie. ‘Does he?’

  ‘I’m not getting in that car with him.’

  ‘I am.’

  Angie ran round to the passenger’s door and jumped in.

  She lowered her head and spoke past David’s chest at her horrified friend. ‘See you later, Jack.’ Then looked up at David. ‘And the cab’s paid for.’

  Before Jackie could say another word, David had the car in gear and had pulled away.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Sacha.’

  ‘Your real name?’

  ‘Angela Sarah Patricia Knight.’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a bit of a mouthful.’

  ‘Sorry. People call me Angie.’

  ‘Angie. Angela. Tell you what, I’m going to call you Angel.’

  David surprised himself. This wasn’t like him, messing around with a girl of – what was she? Nineteen? Twenty? – but what the hell? He hadn’t had a bit of stray for months. Too busy being good to that whore Sonia. He could just imagine the look on her face if she knew she had to compete with this tasty little bit. It would have her rushing to her pots and potions and creams faster than finding another grey hair. And it’d make her fling with Tilson seem just a little bit boring. Schtupping your old man’s hired help, well, it was beneath contempt.

  This could turn into quite an interesting little adventure.

  ‘So, where’s home then, Angel?’

  ‘I’m staying with a friend.’

  ‘But where?’ He laughed. ‘I can’t keep driving round Trafalgar Square all night. We’ll get dizzy.’

  ‘Poplar.’ Angie
just hoped she wouldn’t wake her nan, or she’d have all sorts of explaining to do about where she’d been till this time of night.

  ‘My family’s originally from Bethnal Green,’ he said, peeling off along Northumberland Avenue and heading for the Embankment. ‘I’ve not lived there for years though. Since I was about your age. I took a look round the West End, and I thought to myself, that’ll do for me. I’ll have some of that, thank you very much.’

  He stopped smoothly at a red light. ‘What street does this friend of yours live in?’

  She ran through the possibilities. The last thing she wanted was this man driving up to Lancaster Buildings in his big flash car. Her nan had a sixth sense about these sort of things and she’d be out on the landing wagging her finger and shouting the odds about young girls getting into strange blokes’ cars, and what was a man of his age thinking, before she had even put a foot on the pavement. Angie felt herself blushing at the thought of it.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, could you just drop me off on the corner of Burdett Road? The East India Dock end.’ That should do it, she could double back and get to the flats over the back railings.

  David roared with laughter. ‘I might have known it. You’re all the same, pretty girls like you. This friend’s a feller.’

  ‘No, she is not.’ Angie was offended. ‘Actually, it’s my nan I’m staying with, and I don’t want to disturb her.’ Or have you knowing where she lives, Angie thought for no other reason than that her nan had always warned her to be careful what she told strangers about herself.

  If her nan could see her now …

  When the lights turned green, David didn’t move the car, instead, he turned to look at her. He reached out and touched her cheek. ‘You’re a strange little thing. You’d rather walk in all this rain than disturb your nan?’