Playing Around

by Gilda O'Neill

  ‘Runs one of your other shops, doesn’t she?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Sam took a step back. He looked far less pleased with himself. Where was all this leading? Was she trying to set him up or something?

  Vi put her head on one side and looked up at Sam through her lashes. ‘Shame she works all them hours. You must get ever so lonely.’

  This was more like it. ‘I do, Violet. Very lonely.’

  ‘Well, Sam, perhaps I wouldn’t exactly have to work for you. But be more like a sort of companion. Keep you company. You know. Stop you feeling lonely.’

  Sam gulped. ‘A companion?’

  ‘Yeah. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sam?’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘And a few quid would come in more than handy. And not having to worry about paying off my cigarette bill, that would be such a relief—’ She leaned forward, shrugged her shoulders prettily and smiled excitedly. ‘I’d be even better company than usual.’

  Angie stared at the blanket-covered leather couch on which the doctor had just examined her. Even though she was now dressed and was shielded by the green cotton screen from his and David’s gaze, her cheeks still burned red. She had never been touched or looked at so intimately before, even by a doctor, and now she was listening as the very same doctor – who had introduced himself, charmingly, as the director of the clinic – discussed her with David.

  She could just picture them on the other side of the screen, sitting in the grand, wood-panelled consulting room, facing one another across the gleaming partner’s desk, two successful, confident men. And they were talking about her, Angie Knight, as if she couldn’t hear them.

  ‘In normal circumstances, Mr Fuller, your niece would need to wait a full two weeks after beginning the first packet of pills.’

  ‘Wait?’

  ‘Before engaging in unprotected sexual acts, Mr Fuller. If she were taking them for contraceptive purposes, that is.’

  ‘If,’ she heard David reply.

  ‘Quite. But as your niece is merely taking them to harmonize her, let us say, her particular ladies’ problem, then that need not concern anyone.’

  So that was it then. In two weeks’ time she could engage in ‘unprotected sexual acts’. It was all so, well, clinical. So unromantic. Part of her longed for the spontaneity of the bus shelter and a lemonade bottle full of vodka and orange, but David had explained how it was all for the best, that he really liked her a lot and that if she really liked him, if she trusted him, she would know he was only doing this to protect her. For her own good.

  It was just all so new to her. Frightening.

  But she was sure he was right.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet, Angel.’ David eased away from the traffic lights on the Commercial Road, knowing that the drivers of the cars he had so easily left behind were staring enviously after his big, shiny Jaguar. He liked that feeling. ‘Bit rough with you, was he, that doctor? I know they can be.’

  ‘No.’ Angie felt the flush return to her cheeks as she pictured the doctor standing over her, while David sat just the other side of the screen, knowing what the other man was doing to her. He might have been a doctor, the director of the clinic, but he was still a man.

  But it wasn’t her experience on the blanket-covered couch that was upsetting her, that was all over with, thank goodness. As they gradually got closer to Poplar, all Angie could think about was the contrast between the elegant mansion block, where the clinic was sited, and the little terraces in Poplar that, despite their cramped rooms and outside lavs, meant so much to people like Doris’s friend Lily.

  Angie could feel the tears. She turned towards the window and buried her face in her hands.

  David pulled the car into the kerb outside the Star of the East, lit two cigarettes for them, then put an arm round Angie’s shoulders. ‘What’s up, Angel?’ He sounded concerned, and he was. This was the last thing he wanted, a bloody hysteric.

  ‘My nan.’ Angie puffed on the cigarette, then sniffed pitifully, as she scrabbled through her bag for her hankie.

  ‘She ill or something?’

  ‘No. It’s her friend, Doris. And her friend, Lily—’

  ‘Ssshhh. Now blow your nose and tell me all about it.’ David didn’t think he really needed all this, but at least she wasn’t throwing one over seeing the quack. She’d have been right out the door if that had been the case.

  Angie did as she was told, took a deep lungful of smoke and then spilled out all her worries. ‘Someone my nan knows is getting thrown out of her house. It’s been her home for years and she won’t have anywhere to go. And Nan’s worried she’ll be next. Everyone’s really scared, and I’m going round there now and I don’t know how to help her. I can’t stand her being so sad.’

  David rubbed his hand over his chin, and sighed inwardly. Why couldn’t he have found himself one of his usual hard-faced little whores, who didn’t give a shit about anything other than what they could grab off him? Because he was bored with them, that’s why.

  ‘This friend, Angel.’

  ‘It’s Doris’s friend. Lily Patterson.’

  He took a moment to study the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘Do you know where she lives?’ He sounded thoughtful, as if he were working something out.

  ‘Burton Street. Poplar.’ Angie was no longer crying; she was looking at him, a man, who – she didn’t know why or how – would be able to help her. ‘Only a little way from here.’

  ‘I know it.’ He turned on the engine and pulled away into the light afternoon traffic. ‘Know it well, in fact.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Very.’ He paused briefly. ‘Yeah, I, er, had an aunt who lived there. When I was a kid.’

  Angie nibbled at her lip. Please be able to help. ‘They’re doing them up, you see, David,’ she used his name, forgetting her usual shyness about doing so, ‘but not so the people can stay in them. This bloke has bought the whole terrace, and he’s splitting them up into flats. The rent’s going to be so much money that Lily won’t be able to afford to live there. It’ll kill her if she has to move away, Nan said. She’s got her life round there.’

  David wound down his window and threw his barely smoked cigarette into the gutter. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Leave it to me.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Let me worry about that.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?’ Angie realized David had powerful friends, who could probably do all sorts of things to help people, but, as much as she wanted to help Lily, she didn’t want to spoil things between her and David by making a nuisance of herself. She liked being Angel. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  ‘Because if it did …’

  ‘I told you. Leave it to me.’ He drew the car to a halt at what had become the usual place where he dropped her off, chucked her under the chin, and reached across her to open the car door. ‘Now, don’t you worry. I’ll see you soon. OK?’

  Angie stopped, half in, half out of the car. Soon? ‘When?’

  ‘In a fortnight.’

  She felt her lip begin to tremble, remembering what the doctor had said. ‘Right. In a fortnight.’

  David grinned. ‘Only joking, Angel. See you at the weekend. There’s a special party on.’

  Angie felt her heart lighten. ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘And tell you what. Phone me at about half nine tonight. On the Greek Street number. And I’ll let you know what I’ve been able to do for your nan’s friend.’

  ‘It’s weird, Bob, how long this Mikey and Sonia business has been going on.’ Maureen draped the shirt she had just finished ironing over the clothes horse that stood in front of the coal-effect electric fire and took the next one from the pile in the plastic basket by her feet.

  Bobby swallowed down the last of the bacon sandwich that Maureen had rustled up for him when he had turned up between jobs for a quick bite to eat – Maureen did
n’t approve of him eating greasy café food, not if she could help it – and took a gulp of tea. ‘I reckon Dave’s going to out her soon, you know, Maur. Just like he done all the others.’

  ‘Yeah, but he never married any of the others, did he? And everyone knows he picked her out because she went with this new businessman image he’s gone mad on.’

  The contempt in Maureen’s voice was echoed in Bobby’s thoughts, but his monotone never changed, although, for him, he was being astonishingly indiscreet. ‘Well, you should have heard the phone call he made this morning. Honest, Maur, he put the right shi … put the right fear of beejesus up Mikey.’

  Maureen concentrated on pressing the creases from the shirt collar. ‘It’s got to end in tears.’

  ‘You’re right, babe. As usual.’ Bobby rubbed his hands over his big, shiny bald head, then got up and stood behind her. He put his arms round her waist and kissed her tenderly on the neck. ‘Thank gawd we’re normal, eh?’

  ‘Thank gawd.’

  ‘Here, and you’ll never guess this one. Some old girl he heard about in one of the terraces he’s just bought up. In Poplar. He told the boys this afternoon that they ain’t to upset her or nothing. He said she’s got to be allowed to stay there. Just as she is. Well, for three months. But it’s still three whole months’ rent you’re talking about.’

  Maureen put down her iron and turned round to face her husband. ‘But I thought the idea was to drive everyone out of them places. To put the frighteners on ’em.’

  ‘So did I. But like I say, babe, don’t ask me what goes on, I’m just a normal bloke.’

  Tilly Murray was going like the clappers at the oven with a Brillo pad and a good shake of Vim, while Jackie sat at the kitchen table watching her listlessly.

  ‘No phone calls for me today, Mum?’

  ‘No, love. Not today.’ Tilly stood back and stared at the gas rings through half-closed eyes, daring one more spot of dirt to show itself. ‘Were you expecting any?’

  ‘Not really.’ Jackie had, in fact, been expecting, well, hoping, that Angie might be in touch, that she had been bursting to tell Jackie where she had been and what she was up to. It didn’t seem right travelling to and from work without her again. And it didn’t seem right not seeing her.

  Jackie was beginning to feel as she knew Angie had once done: that everyone else was out enjoying themselves, while she was sitting at home by herself. Jackie could still see all her old mates, of course, the ones she used to go out with before Angie became ‘Angel’ or whatever it was she said that bloke called her, but it wasn’t the same any more. Nothing was. Not now she knew that Angie was going to places that she, Jackie, had never even dreamed of going to. It was as if the shine had been rubbed off everything.

  Jackie sighed, wondering if she would ever have a boyfriend who would take her to a restaurant.

  Tilly, satisfied with her triumph over the mucky cooker, put her cleaning materials away under the sink and put the kettle on. She knew how to cheer up her daughter: a nice milky coffee and a slice of cake.

  ‘Apart from popping in last night to ’phone her nan, we’ve not seen much of Angie lately.’ Tilly spoke cautiously, not wanting to put her foot in it. ‘She courting, is she, love?’

  Jackie slumped forward over the table, resting her head on her folded arms. ‘Don’t really know.’

  ‘She’ll be going out with you on Saturday, won’t she? For your birthday.’

  ‘Doubt if she’ll remember.’

  ‘Course she will.’ Tilly took down the cake tin from the shelf over the table and inspected the contents with a frown. She’d have to do some baking tomorrow. ‘She wouldn’t forget an important day like that.’

  Jackie felt so choked she could have cried. Everything was changing and she didn’t like it. ‘I think she might, Mum.’

  ‘Never mind, love. You’ve got that nice Marilyn to go out with. You’ll have to bring her home for tea one night. You know I like to meet your friends.’

  At half past nine that same evening, Angie was standing in the telephone box near Becontree tube station. She hadn’t needed to explain to her mum where she was going, as Vi had already gone out. She had gone with Sam to an Italian restaurant in the Leytonstone High Road, to discuss what he had called her ‘terms and conditions of employment’, and what Vi simply thought of as ‘a fair rate of pay for services rendered’. Although neither of them had any illusions about what they were really discussing, and, as they sat at the corner table, tucking into Veal Milanese, rosemary potatoes and a second bottle of Mateus Rosé, they were soon talking openly about the most convenient times and places for them both, and just how much Vi needed to get by these days, what with everything being so expensive.

  Angie, on the other hand, was far more circumspect, and about a conversation she wasn’t even having yet.

  While she had only had a glimpse of it, Angie realized that David was from a very different world from hers, and that she didn’t really know what sort of a person he actually was. And she wasn’t entirely sure she would like everything she discovered when, or if, she did know.

  In simple terms, Angie was scared.

  Things were all moving so fast: Angela Knight, an ordinary little seventeen-year-old girl from Dagenham, had transformed herself into a dolly bird; had gone on the Pill; had told all sorts of lies; was thinking about throwing in a perfectly good job that she would have killed for just a few months ago; and was seeing a man who was years older than she was – a man who had the power to fix things.

  But, although it was a truly worrying idea that he might have such power, and that she was rapidly getting out of her depth, it also meant that he might be able to do something for her nan …

  Angie picked up the receiver with one hand and crossed the fingers on her other, as though she were a ten-year-old making a wish that she might be picked to play in a game of Bulldog. She dialled the number quickly, before she lost her nerve.

  ‘Yeah’llo.’ It was him.

  ‘It’s me, Angel.’

  ‘Hello, sweetheart. Glad you called. Good news. The old girl in Burton Street’s all sorted.’

  ‘You mean she can stay?’

  ‘Sure. Now about Saturday.’

  Angie was so flustered – could it really have been solved as easily as that? – she could hardly gather her thoughts. ‘Saturday. Errr. Right.’

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not got something better to do than go to a party with me, have you?’ David sounded amused by the idea.

  ‘No. Nothing better. Of course not. Saturday’s fine.’ As she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the coin box, it suddenly occurred to her. Saturday. It had been in the back of her mind for days. Jackie’s birthday. But it couldn’t be helped. ‘I’m really looking forward to it. What time?’

  ‘Earlyish. Around seven. But I’ll be over your way about five, so I’ll come round yours and pick you up.’

  ‘Right.’ How was she going to explain to him that he couldn’t come to her house, because she didn’t live where she’d said she did? Because she’d lied to him. ‘David. I’ve just remembered.’

  ‘Yeah?’ He sounded preoccupied. Angie could hear someone talking to him in the background.

  ‘I’ll be out all day.’

  That got his attention. David laughed. ‘Here. Not trying to elbow me, are you, Angel?’

  ‘No. Honestly. It’s my friend. Marilyn. I promised to see her. I can come and meet you. If that’s OK.’

  ‘Fine. Chelsea’ll do.’

  ‘Right. What shall I wear?’

  ‘Anything would look good on you, Angel. Phone me Friday and I’ll tell you where I’ll see you.’

  With that, David put down the phone. He smiled to himself. It was nice, keeping her happy. Made her grateful. And it was no skin off his nose, leaving some old girl in her house for an extra few weeks before he outed her. Plus he needed to grease a few more palms, so the work wouldn’t be starti
ng for a month or so, anyway. And he’d probably be bored with the kid by then.

  Immediately dismissing Angie from his thoughts, David picked up a plastic bag full of white powder that the man who had come in the office while he was talking on the phone had put down on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Right,’ David said, ‘let’s discuss price and quality.’

  Chapter 11

  IT WAS SEVEN o’clock on Saturday night, and when David drove up to collect her, Angie had been standing on the corner of Tite Street in Chelsea since five to six. She had been too nervous about being late to let a little thing like an hour-long wait bother her.

  She smiled hesitantly as he leaned across from the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door.

  ‘You look terrific, Angel,’ he said, appraising her slowly, taking in every part of her. ‘Pretty as a picture. But sophisticated with it.’

  And possibly young enough to get me sent to jail, if that quack at the clinic was even close about your age.

  Angie’s smile broadened. She’d been right: the simple, black chiffon minidress, with its doll-like elasticated bodice, had been exactly the right choice. She’d felt rotten at first, asking Jackie to help her decide what to wear, especially as it was her birthday, and all she was doing for her Saturday night was going to the Lotus, a fading dance hall over the shops in Forest Gate, hoping to be sized up by the local yobs. But it wasn’t all bad. When Angie had given her her present – a tiny pink handbag, covered in shilling-sized sequins – and explained she was going to a party in Chelsea, Jackie had become almost as excited as Angie. That really was Swinging London. No more messing about like a kid. Angie was part of the real thing.