Playing Around

by Gilda O'Neill

  ‘Blimey, news travels fast.’

  ‘What was it like? Fab?’

  ‘Better than fab. A bloke nearly caused a fight over Angie and the boss gave us free drinks all night. And Angie …’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Er … Really enjoyed it as well. We thought we might go again some time. Going anywhere this weekend?’

  ‘All right then, Peter. If they’re the terms, then the answer’s yes. You’ve got yourself a deal. The distribution in that area is now my responsibility.’ David held out his hand to Burman and they shook on it.

  ‘Is Sonia with you?’

  ‘What, here? What do you think?’

  Burman laughed. ‘Silly of me. But as you’re alone, please, join us, we’re having a few drinks. Then supper.’ He smiled, showing his gold teeth. ‘Not here, of course. In St James’s.’

  David flashed his eyebrows and lifted his chin towards the corner table where Angie was sitting, tapping her feet and shrugging her shoulders to the insistent, hypnotic beat of the music. ‘Who said I was alone?’

  Burman studied her for a moment. ‘Not a brass?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have good taste, David.’

  ‘Especially in business associates.’

  ‘I think so.’ Burman gave one of his stiff-necked little bows. ‘If you will excuse me.’

  David waited for Burman to leave with his entourage, who had reappeared from the shadows of the club as if summoned by a silent dog whistle, and then went over to Angie.

  ‘I have made, Angel, what is going to be a very satisfactory business deal. You brought me luck. I’m taking you somewhere nice to celebrate.’ He gave her one of his winks. ‘I’ve got to make a couple of quick calls first.’

  The barman lifted the flap and let David behind the bar to use the telephone.

  David called Bobby, to organize cover for the evening, then he spoke to Sonia.

  ‘Son, it’s me. I’m going to be back late.’

  ‘How very attentive of you to let me know,’ she sneered sarcastically. ‘But it makes no difference to me. I won’t be here.’

  ‘I want you to wait in. Till Bobby comes round.’

  ‘David, this is so inconvenient. You know Barbara’s having a bridge evening.’

  David knew no such thing. What he did know was that Sonia could barely play Snap, never mind keep up with this supposed new best friend, and the rest of her fictitious, card-playing mates, at the contract bridge evenings that had suddenly started to figure so centrally in Sonia’s busier than ever social life.

  ‘Sonia. I’m not messing about. Bobby’s coming over for my keys for the Canvas. I’m going to drop them back to the flat in about half an hour. He’s got to have them because I’m too busy to do the rounds tonight, and Half-a-lung’s got Jeff’s set. Understand? Or am I speaking too fast for you?’

  Sonia wanted to laugh out loud – the keys! – but, instead, she sighed wearily. ‘If I must. But I’m going to the hairdresser’s now, and I won’t be back until six. And remember, I’ve got to be at Barbara’s by nine.’

  ‘I’ll tell him to come round at eight o’clock.’

  ‘He’d better be here by eight.’

  ‘He’ll be there.’

  As Sonia dialled Mikey’s number, she was shaking with excitement. He would be so pleased with her.

  ‘Darling. I have a surprise for you.’

  ‘Aw yeah?’

  ‘I have no idea how one does these things, but if you come here after six, I will have a set of keys for you to copy.’

  ‘Keys?’

  ‘For the Canvas. You have them for two full hours to do your worst.’

  Detective Constable Jameson was sitting alone in the canteen, drinking a cup of foul, stewed tea, working his way through a greasy fry-up. He’d have to watch it, he’d only been at the station for a week and his trousers were already feeling a bit snug. Much more of this and he’d have to think about buying a new suit.

  On a table nearby, two older, uniformed officers were discussing the new arrival.

  ‘See the college boy picking about with his food?’

  ‘Surprised he’s not got them making prawn cocktails and chocolate gateau for him.’

  ‘It makes me laugh. What do these kids know about police work?’

  ‘It’s a piss-take, if you ask me. Straight from college and they’re on them wages. Disgusting.’

  ‘I heard how he reckons he’s read all the files on all the gangs. It’s going to be his special interest. Going to start at the beginning. Bring in all the old faces to answer for business from years back. Then start on the new stuff. Going to clean up the place.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Read all of them, has he? And cleaning up. That’s nice. That’s going to go down very well. The Old Man’s going to have that little git for breakfast.’

  Jameson heard the two uniforms laughing – wooden-tops was more than an appropriate nickname for fat buffoons like them – and knew it was at his expense. But their mockery didn’t rile him, it merely strengthened his resolve to show everyone that a good brain and a college education was just as valuable, no, more valuable, in police work than sitting around for hours in smoke-filled pubs mixing with villains.

  Not only would he prove them all wrong, he’d prove them so wrong they’d all be wetting themselves. He already had his eye on one old lag, Mad Albert Roper, who was due for release next week.

  The Old Man – Detective Chief Inspector Gerald Marshall – was far too preoccupied to think about eating graduate-entry officers, for breakfast or otherwise; he was sitting in a club in St James’s, where, in a couple of hours, he would be starting on the first course of what he knew would be a very impressive dinner.

  Marshall was the guest of Peter Burman, and was listening attentively as his host told him about his new business arrangement with David Fuller.

  ‘I would very much appreciate it, Gerald, if Mr Fuller isn’t bothered. While he gets this new enterprise off the ground.’

  ‘You know me, Peter,’ oozed the Chief Inspector. ‘Always glad to oblige a friend.’

  ‘And we are friends, aren’t we, Gerald?’

  Marshall raised his glass. ‘Very good friends, Peter.’

  David released the handbrake, but before he pulled away he looked at his watch: nearly four o’clock. ‘I’ve just got to drop something off at my flat first, but then we’ll go to this restaurant I know. They’ll do us either a nice late lunch, or an early dinner. Whatever you fancy. All right?’

  Angie nodded. ‘Sounds smashing.’ This was more like she had been expecting.

  He drove fast, confidently, and Angie enjoyed seeing people stare at the smart, sleek car as it pulled away, always first, from the traffic lights.

  All the time he drove, he was speaking to her, making her laugh, telling her stories about the restaurant they were going to, about Stefano, the man who owned it, and the evenings he had spent there.

  He didn’t mention who had spent the evenings with him.

  ‘Here we are. I won’t bother to go into the car park.’ David had stopped opposite a big block of flats in yet another area of London that was new to Angie. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  David smiled. She was an easy-going kid. He liked that. It made a nice change not being moaned at every time he opened his mouth. And she was a real little looker. He could imagine what Sonia would have to say if she looked out of the window and saw he had a passenger who wasn’t Bobby, and who certainly didn’t weigh sixteen stone, or have a broken nose and a cauliflower ear.

  He ran across the street and pushed the buzzer. No reply. He checked his watch again. Half four. Of course, she was at the hairdresser’s. Till six.

  Sod it. Why not? He felt lucky today. And he liked the idea of marking his own patch, like a tom cat proving his virility.

  He trotted back over to the car.

  ‘Come up with me. In case it takes me a bit longer than I thought.’

&n
bsp; Angie had to stop her mouth falling open as he led her across the impressive, communal hallway to the ornate brass lift that took them up, with a subtle ssshhhhhhh, to the top floor.

  Thank goodness she had put on the lilac suit after all.

  She barely heard what he was saying to her as he let her into the flat. If the rest of it was like the entrance hall, then it was massive.

  The sitting-room was more the size of a dance hall, with pictures on all the walls. Not of kittens and cottage gardens and green oriental ladies like her Nan had, but big, bold paintings – Modern Art – like you saw in the films.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing to one of the big white sofas, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of having one over on Sonia. ‘Fancy a drink?’

  Angie shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ She couldn’t say yes – say she spilled it on the carpet? ‘Do you’ – how could she ask him? – ‘live here? Alone?’

  ‘I’ve always thought it was a bit on the big side.’

  He hadn’t answered her. ‘So you don’t share with anyone then?’

  ‘No.’ He took a set of keys from his jacket pocket and put them on a glass-topped coffee table by one of the room’s many vases full of exotic blooms and strangely contorted foliage.

  ‘Who puts all these flowers everywhere?’

  ‘Sonia.’ Shit!

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My housekeeper.’ She’d love that. He walked over to the complicated-looking sound system and selected a record. ‘Dance, Angel.’ It was more of an instruction than a question.

  He was grinning and holding out his hand.

  Angie, dry-mouthed, stood up and let him put his arms around her.

  But they didn’t dance.

  As the Hollies started singing ‘I’m Alive’, David Fuller pulled Angie to him and kissed her in a way that made her realize she had never been kissed, not properly, before.

  Chapter 9

  ‘I’M REALLY SORRY we couldn’t stay up in the flat a bit longer.’ He was lying. Lying was easy for David. This time it was to cover up the fact that, despite feeling as randy as hell, he hadn’t wanted to hang around and have to confront Sonia. Not yet, anyway. The game he’d been playing with her was getting interesting. All over again. Thanks to the arrival of Angel. ‘But we’d never have got this table otherwise.’ He flashed her one of his smiles. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘It’s lovely.’ Angie nodded, eager to please, although she couldn’t imagine how anyone could have found it anything other than all right. This was a lot more than all right. It was fantastic. Here they were, in a romantic booth by the window, in a West End restaurant, with everyone who walked by looking in and wishing they were sitting there instead. It made her feel like a celebrity, a pop star or someone.

  The fact that when they had arrived at Stefano’s they had been the only customers and so would hardly have been fighting for a table – the owner had opened up early after David had called him – hadn’t occurred to Angie. All she knew was that David was amazing. He was rich, suave – suave! she would never have believed she’d have met anyone she could use that word about – and, at the flat, he had been really nice to her. He hadn’t tried to push her into doing anything. Not to get his hand up her skirt as Martin had done, not to maul or grapple with her. He had just kissed her.

  Just.

  That was a bit like saying the Beatles were just a pop group. And he had apologized for almost getting carried away, and had said they had better leave soon or he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Then he had told her how really attractive she was, how difficult it was for a man to resist her …

  Angie wriggled in her seat as the tingling sensations in her body came flooding back.

  If anything, and this was confusing to admit even to herself, she would have liked David to have gone further. A lot further. And not just to please him, as she had been willing to do with Martin, but because her body was telling her that it was what she wanted more than anything. More than she had ever thought possible.

  She felt herself blush.

  ‘I’ve got stuff to see to later.’ David looked at his watch and smiled. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll drop you off first. Staying at your nan’s?’

  She became suddenly interested in the bowl of pale yellow roses that stood between them. ‘No, not tonight. I’ve got work in the morning, so I’m going straight home.’

  ‘To your mum and dad’s?’

  ‘Mum’s.’ She raised her eyes for a brief moment then returned to her study of the flowers. ‘I’ve not got a dad.’

  ‘I lost my mum and my dad, both of them, by the time I was twenty. Still miss them. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if they were still around.’ He rolled his eyes and tutted at himself. ‘Hark at me going on like an old woman. So, Angel, where do you and your mum live?’

  Angie didn’t much like the idea of telling this man, who lived in such grandeur, that she came from a sprawling housing estate in Essex; an estate full of displaced cockneys who couldn’t wait for Saturday to come, so they could get away from the place and go shopping ‘up home’ in the Roman Road street market, or to the terraces at Upton Park to cheer on their team, West Ham. Where wouldn’t sound too horrible?

  David said his own roots were in the East End.

  ‘Poplar. I live in Poplar. Not far from Nan’s. Walking distance.’

  ‘So I can drop you off where I dropped you the other night. Is that what you’re saying?’

  It was as if he could read her mind. Was she that obvious? ‘Yeah. If you don’t mind.’

  ‘How could I mind? It just means we’ve got plenty of time to enjoy a nice glass of bubbly and some of Stefano’s grub before we have to go. You’ll love his food. Top notch, it is. Now, let’s see what we can have.’

  Angie sat silently, watching, as David chatted easily with Stefano: asking him first about his wife and children, then about what champagne they might like, then they discussed things that were listed in the menu, and finally Stefano explained to David a list of what he called the ‘specials’.

  By the time Stefano left them to think about what they fancied eating, Angie was panicking so badly, she was seriously considering replaying the nausea scene she had acted out that morning for Janet Shanks. Especially as the restaurant was now filling up with early, pre-theatre diners, who were so confident and loud, so full of themselves and their own importance, that they terrified her.

  Angie might have looked all grown-up in her fashionable suit, she might even be acting all grown-up, sitting in a restaurant opposite a sophisticated, older man, but she didn’t feel grown-up. She felt like the scared little girl who used to spend all that time alone, curled up in her bed, knowing her mum had gone out yet again and wouldn’t be back for hours.

  ‘David,’ she began, not quite knowing how she would finish the sentence.

  He looked up from the menu with a ready smile. God, this made him feel good. Almost like a kid again. ‘Decided yet?’

  She dropped her chin, unable to face him. ‘I don’t really understand what the food is.’ Her voice was about to crack, but she had to carry on. ‘I’ve not been anywhere like this before. And all these people. They’re so, you know …’

  He reached across the table and lifted her chin with his finger. There were tears in her eyes. He could hardly credit it. The birds he usually came across were so slick, so composed, so ready to grab whatever was on offer, and here he was with a genuine innocent. It was bloody marvellous. Made him feel all protective. Something he hadn’t felt for years.

  ‘What do you like eating?’ he asked. ‘You can have anything you like. Stefano’ll be only too pleased to make it for you.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘How about steak and chips? That always goes down well.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’ll get him to make it a bit special for us, eh? Few mushrooms and that.’

  She nodded again. ‘And will you help me with these, please?’ She pointe
d tentatively at the array of cutlery set out before her.

  ‘Angel.’ He swept all the knives and forks and spoons to one side and took her hand. ‘Let me tell you something. Till I was twenty-three years of age I had never been inside a gaff like this. Wouldn’t have known a bottle of wine from a bottle of light ale. I used to pass these places and think to myself – one day. Then a mate of mine said to me – I don’t understand you, Dave, you’ve got just as much money as all them in there, don’t you think your dough’s as good as theirs or something? So, you know what I did?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I came in here and said – I want to speak to the owner. Stefano came over to me, and I said to him – Here’s thirty quid. Me and Bobby here want a meal. We don’t know nothing about grub like your’n, so we need you to help us. And he did. And I’ve been coming here ever since. Plenty of other places as well, of course. Places that think they’re chic’ – he said the word with such contempt that, for a moment, Angie flinched – ‘Well, let me tell you something else. You, Angel, are as good as anyone in here. Better, because you’re not a phoney. You don’t pretend. You are who you are. Got it?’

  Angie stared down at the pure white cloth. She wanted to say, but I’m not. I’m no dolly bird, I’m just Squirt, a frightened kid from Dagenham, who wishes she could get up and run away. But he was being so kind. ‘Yeah. I’ve got it.’

  ‘Good. Now I’m going to make you a promise, Angel. I like you. I like you a lot. And I’m going to teach you all the things that Stefano taught me.’ He squeezed her hand harder. ‘And lots of other things as well.’

  Angie didn’t know why but somehow he had made everything seem all right again. Just like he had when they had gone into the club in Westbourne Grove.

  ‘I’d like that,’ she said, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze. ‘I know I’ve got a lot to learn.’

  ‘All the better, Angel. All the better. Self-knowledge, see.’

  He turned her hand over and looked at the marcasite watch her grandmother had given her for her birthday.

  She gazed down at it. Was it really only six weeks ago?

  ‘That’s a nice watch. A boyfriend get it for you, did he?’