So, a far cry from a few days ago when all you could manage as answer was 'Mmmm?' Oh it's sinking in all right I reckon there's no way anyone is going to be forgetting about Christmas around here.
Anyway, I didn't push it. I mean, it just wouldn't have been right to go depressing the girl too much. That's not old Larry's way. Besides, now that we'd dealt with Christmas, I had something else to talk about.
I'd found those cuttings, you see, the ones from the newspaper. It took that long in the end, I was beginning to think I'd got shot of them. Searched all through the drawers I did, not to mention the cupboards. I must have emptied the cocktail cabinet twice over and still no joy. Finally it was only by a bit of good luck that I found them at all. I was moving the wardrobe in the spare room, which was a job in itself. And there it was, the old brown envelope I'd forgotten about. I reckon it must have fallen down the back, and even then I only found it because the wardrobe snagged the carpet up and there it was, sandwiched between the lino and the rest. It couldn't have been more hidden if someone had put it there himself, but I wasn't surprised. You can't live in comfort in a small place like this unless you keep things tidy. I reckon I've got all sorts tucked away in surprising places and then just clean forgotten about them.
The point is, I was glad I found them. I can go on till I'm blue in the face about the dangers of stepping outside your own front door, but there's nothing like a bit of newsprint to hammer it home. Makes it more official. So purely to take her mind off Christmas a bit, I leaned over and picked the envelope off the coffee table and handed it to her.
'Look what I just happened to come across yesterday, Mandy love. I know you're always thinking I fuss too much. But take a look at what's in there and maybe you'll understand why your poor old Larry gets in such a state sometimes.'
So of course, being the sweet kid she is, she goes right ahead and opens it, didn't even seem to mind me getting a bit closer while she was at it. The truth was, I'd sort of forgotten myself exactly what it was inside.
Well, newspaper cuttings, naturally. That was the whole point. What I hadn't realized, or at least had forgotten, was how many. Not just the local stuff, but from all of the big newspapers as well. But then, it was hardly that surprising. When something like this happens practically on your front doorstep, you're bound to take an interest. I daresay Ethel's got a pile of her own twice the size.
Anyway, I let Mandy sort them out, separating the first lot from the second on the table in front of us while I tried not to breathe down her neck. Normally I wouldn't sit so close as to have to worry about something like that, but I had to be able to see, didn't I. What's more she needed a bit of help now and then. 'She was the first one,' I'd say, recognizing the photo, and hand it to her so she could put it in the first pile, then go on to find something for the second pile. But mostly I left it all up to her. Then we sat there and read, cosy as you like with not even the TV on to interfere, just the two of us and the gas fire popping in friendly fashion.
After a bit, when I was sure she'd read all there was and was just filling in time by looking at the pictures, I said, 'Well then Mandy, what do you think?'
For a second she didn't answer. Too busy staring at the photo of the older woman. Not that she could have seen much. You know what newspaper pictures are like. A blur of female, with hair much too fancy for her age, leering out at you with a glass in her hand. Why do they always show pictures of the deceased that must have been taken when they were at least one over the eight? One of life's mysteries, I reckon.
'So go on, what do you think?' I said again.
'Well,' Madam says at last. 'It's very sad. Both strangled like that, and no-one ever found. And of course it must have been worrying for you - and Mrs Duck especially. She must have been the same age as the older one when it happened.' Then she stops. 'Oh!'
'What?' says I.
'Nothing,' she says. 'I was just wondering if they knew each other, she and Ethel. That would have made it really sad, then, wouldn't it?'
'Well, you can stop wondering,' I tell her. 'Nobody knew her from Adam. Not a soul came forward. See it's all there, in writing. Ashamed you see.'
'Ashamed?' says Mandy, all innocent, just as you'd expect. Ashamed of what?'
Well, even I had to blush a bit. Still, an honest question demands an honest answer. 'Well, it's obvious isn't it, Mandy love. She was one of those, you know, women who are no better than they should be. That would have been why he caught her.'
'Oh, you mean a prostitute. She died because she was a prostitute. Oh Larry why?'
Well, there was no answer to that one. Last thing in the world you'd expect was Mandy coming out with a word like that so matter-of-fact. Twice. I was still coughing to cover up the embarrassment, when what must she do but carry on, and on the same theme, no less.
'The other one wasn't though,' she says.
'What other one?' says I. So you can see the state I was in.
'The younger one. The second one who died, all those years after the first. She was just a local woman on her way home from her friend's. No way was she a prostitute.'
'Oh no?' I was that surprised I forgot to blush any more. See, somehow or other I'd always thought she was. But Mandy was holding up the cuttings, the one from The Times on top, and sure enough, it didn't say anything there about her being one...you know, one of those.
Then I stopped being surprised. In fact it only went to prove my point. And I said as much. 'There you go, Mandy love. That's what I've been saying all along. The sort of person who did this wasn't to know that. All he saw was a woman out on the street when she shouldn't be, and made a perfectly natural mistake. So what did he do but go straight ahead and do her in anyway. Silly woman had it coming if you ask me.'
Well, she doesn't like this, you can tell from the way she shifts around a bit on the settee next to me and says, 'Larry, I don't think...'
But this is my chance, the opportunity to say what I've been trying to get across all along. 'No, Mandy love. You listen to me. Now can you see why your old Larry worries so much. You don't know what's out there, yet you waltz along those roads after dark like you owned the place. Someone, some day is going to get the wrong idea.'
'But Larry, it was such a long time ago. Look how old the cuttings are. I mean, it's not the sort of thing that happens every day, now, is it?' Then all of a sudden, she goes quiet, adds, 'Oh look, I never noticed. It happened at Christmastime, both times.'
Right out of the blue, you can see the fight has gone out of her. And what could be more fitting? It was that mention of Christmas you see. The conversation had gone full circle, and here was Mandy suddenly looking all mopy again, without yours truly ever having to mention the C word.
What more was there to say? Nothing, that's what. These things have a habit of sinking in by themselves, I reckon.
You know what? I'm going to have a good night's sleep tonight. I just know it.
Chapter Fifteen
In the end, I gave her the cuttings. Absolutely insisted that she have them, and you know, she's been in before eight every night for the past week. So there you are, I reckon the penny has dropped at last.
Having said that, maybe there is another reason after all. It's a proper routine with her now, looking for something in the post. She comes home, rushing through that front door as if she can't wait, only to stop by the hall table. Then, seeing as there's nothing for her there, it's a case of padding off down the corridor to the Ducks' kitchen to ask if there's been any mail at all. They're getting fed up with her already, coming in with the same question night after night. Yesterday I just happened to be in the hall myself when I heard Ethel tell her in no uncertain terms that if someone gets a letter, it's no concern of hers. It would be sitting there on the hall table, and Why Should She (Mandy) Think Otherwise? I don't think the old kid will be asking again.
But you know, it's a minor mystery. It can't just be Christmas cards she's looking for surely. So who is she waiting to hear
from? Keep ruling out Francis, is my opinion. You can learn a lot about a man from the way he spends his weekends, and he is not a writer, you take my word for it
Another time, it might be one more thing to keep me awake at night, but not now. It's the end of Week Two and Larry's been falling asleep the moment his head's hit the pillow. Hard work, that's what it is, but I'm not complaining. It's all gone like a dream - up to a point.
There's been the weather for a start - good crisp London weather, as if someone had taken the lid off the city and all you could see when you looked up was blue sky, pale and clear as a glacier mint. Even the traffic has a ring to it. Mind you, it hasn't half been cold. Open your mouth to speak and you can feel your gums dry up. Better not to say anything at all if you can help it. Not even when you start noticing faces you haven't seen for years popping up on the Holloway Road with Christmas carriers in their hands. It's got to be the weather, bringing them all out in their droves.
As for keeping to the timetable, nothing could have been smoother. Last night, Friday, I looked at my list and every mortal thing that was on it was sitting there in front of me, waiting to be put away. Not surprisingly I went to bed a happy and contented man.
And then, long before I was ready to drop off to sleep, it starts. The nagging doubt. And what begins as a niggle grows bigger and bigger, until I'm there, wide awake, tossing and turning like a nervous wreck.
It's been two weeks of serious shopping, but always at the back of my mind has been the thought of that one important object still to find. Mandy's present. But that's the trouble - two weeks and I haven't seen a thing. I've told myself I'll recognize it when I see it, that it's just out there, waiting, but nothing has even come close. So now the question is: how long will it take? Followed by: and what if I don't find it at all?
Needless to say, I didn't get a wink of sleep all night. The only thing I could do in the end was to promise myself that first thing this morning I would take myself off to the West End again, and forget about everything else.
Mistake Number One, though, was not stopping in long enough for a proper breakfast. If there's one thing I've learned today, it's that a couple of slices of bread and marmalade are not sufficient for a man with a mission. I'd no sooner stepped off the bus when the old stomach starts to growl. And so on to Mistake Number Two. Instead of popping right then into the nearest café for a snack, I just decided to keep going. Decide is the wrong word. It simply didn't occur to me to stop. All I could think of was Mandy's present, how I had to start looking, how time was getting short.
But then the problem was, where to start. The trouble with lists is that you get used to them telling you exactly what it is you're looking for. If suddenly you don't have one you can feel completely at sea - like I did. I mean, I knew where I was all right - in the West End - but without one of my little lists in my hand pointing me in the right direction, I might as well have been in the jungle.
Jungle - that's a good word, considering where I ended up first of all. Fifty yards from the bus stop I passed a record shop - you couldn't miss it. There was music blaring out on to the pavement in all directions, but at least it gave me an idea. Because there was June all those years ago nearly driving us out of our minds with the noise of her little portable she got after her Aunt Dolly. Mad she was about her records. Didn't have very many, but what she had, she played over and over again. I don't think we knew a moment's peace until finally it broke down under the strain. (It was only a cheap little thing, nothing like what I've got up there now.) But June was brokenhearted. The point is, if it was June as a young girl that I was buying for now, I'd know exactly what to get for her.
Well, it was worth a try, anyway. I reckoned I could at least step inside and ask for something to appeal to a nice quiet young person with refined tastes. Which brings me back to what I meant about the jungle. If the music had seemed loud on the street, here it was deafening, banging away like there was a war going on, around us. And as for the shop assistants - don't remind me. I took one look at them and walked straight out again. They were just a load of black kids most of them, straight off the street I'd say, standing around as if they owned the place. The thought of having one of them laughing in my face, or worse still, not taking a blind bit of notice when I talked to him was too much. Better to get out before I gave them the chance.
And it was only when I was outside that I remembered: in any case, Mandy doesn't have a record player.
You can see how this day was shaping up, then. Another experience like that and it would have finished me. As it was, with my legs beginning to wobble, I had the sense then to walk back to the Tottenham Court Road and find myself that café and a timely cup of tea. But even there, things were no better. I sat with the cup in front of me, imagining how it was going to be. Never mind the expensive tipple and Mandy and me in funny hats. It would still be Christmas without a present. Or to be more exact, a present like any other, that didn't tell her anything about what she meant to me, and me to her. Just an expensive bit of nothing wrapped up in fancy paper. Even Francis could do better than that.
Two cups it took before I started to calm down, but still I didn't feel any better inside. It was all I could do to get myself outside again. I had to tell myself there was Mandy to think about, and I couldn't let her down. Out on the pavement though it all hit me afresh. Here I was with only thirteen shopping days to go, and I didn't have a clue what to do next. For a minute I just stood there, watching the world go by, watching the youngsters especially. Honestly, I was in such a state that if I'd seen a girl who looked remotely like my Mandy, I might have gone up to her and asked straight out what she wanted for Christmas. Mad, that's what she would have thought of me. Probably would have run off to the nearest policeman and had me reported. But I didn't do any such thing, for the simple reason that I could have stood there all day and not seen anyone who was a bit like her. That's the thing about Mandy. She's a one-off. And all Larry wants to do is show her he knows it.
And then it came, a small miracle in itself. Illumination.
Nothing had changed. I was still standing there like an idiot, when out of the crowd there walked a woman. But not just any woman, none of your Doreens or your Junes or Ethels. The first thing you noticed about her was that she was smart - by which I mean beautifully dressed, hair done all nicely and held back by velvet band, and with a face that could have been any age between twenty-five and forty. A cut above the rest is how you'd describe her, definitely not the sort you see on the Holloway Road on a Saturday afternoon. But the next most noticeable thing about her was the way she managed to walk somehow without getting pushed and jostled like everybody else. It was almost as if she was creating her own space just so that for a few brief seconds she could stand out enough for me to notice her - and what she was carrying. A little plastic carrier bag, hardly bigger than her own hand. One look at it and you knew that inside was something small, and very expensive. A Harrods bag. A second later she'd passed me, and a second after that she was swallowed up in the crowd like everybody else. Another moment and I wouldn't even have registered her. But that was all I needed.
Harrods is where people like her always go at Christmastime. Where, I bet, Mandy's mum does all her shopping - when she isn't in Hong Kong. I mean it's supposed to be the place where you can find anything, isn't it? So where else should I look for Mandy's present?
Salvation, that's what it was. There had been two problems with Mandy's present - firstly where to look and only then what to get her. And here was the first problem solved.
And what that boiled down to was knowing, suddenly, that everything was going to be all right. So what did I do? I turned around and went straight back inside the café and had another cup of tea. Only this time I enjoyed it - and the custard slice that went with it. See, I had all the time in the world.
But when did I last set foot in Harrods? I tried working that one out on the bus on the way over. I reckoned it was years even before Doreen upped stic
ks. She never did like the place, and I'll tell you why. She never had the vision. She'd walk around the displays telling anyone who'd listen how she could get it all in Selby's on the Holloway Road, and cheaper. In the end, even June would have to grab her by the coat and beg her to put a sock in it because of the looks we were getting from the staff. When you bear that in mind, it's hardly any wonder that I've never been back. She was a woman who simply didn't have it in her to rise to the occasion.
So today was proof to end all proof that I'm better off without her. Do you know, it was a thrill in itself just walking through one of their great double doors and knowing this time I wasn't going to get shown up. And you could feel the difference straightaway. Welcome that's what the place was saying to you from the very first blast of hot air as you came into the shop. Welcome, you look like our sort of customer, the sort who appreciates the finer things in life, namely quality merchandise for quality folk.
Fanciful? Not at all. I tell you, that shop has an atmosphere of its own, and perhaps it's just that you have to be a special type of person to feel it. Nothing else could have explained the sense of - what's the word? - wellbeing that simply came over me as I stepped inside. I took one look around me, heaved a great sigh of relief, and said to myself, Larry my boy, you've come to the right place.
And after that? I just wandered, didn't even look for anything, not as such. Now that I knew where I was, there was no need to rush. This first visit could be an indulgence, I could stop and look at everything, or nothing, marvel at it all, like I was at a museum. Only the difference was, here, they don't charge.
The Last Girl Page 16
