Baron's Court, All Change

by Terry Taylor

  “How dare you — it does!”

  “Excuse my ignorance. But the main thing that would recommend you for the matrimonial stakes would be your other talent.”

  “What other talent?”

  “In bed!”

  “Naughty, wicked little boy!”

  I heard Mr Gold, the tailor that has his workshop underneath me, call up to me. It turned out to be that I was wanted on the phone downstairs that he let me use, and much to my surprise, it was my sister Liz on the other end. She told me she was just around the corner and would it be all right for her to pop in and give me a sisterly visit? What could I say? I couldn’t tell her it was impossible as I had a chick in my bed, and the pad was in such a state that she’d probably faint when she came through the door. I think I’ve already told you what a case she is for tidiness, so it gave me the horrors to think that my sis was coming around at the very worst moment she could have picked. So I put on my most natural voice and told her that it would be wonderful to see her, but to excuse me for receiving her in such an untidy room as I had a little party last night (it hadn’t been at my pad really) and I hadn’t had time to put things Liz-shape. Then I dashed up the stairs and told Miss Roach to jump out of bed and get dressed as quickly as she possibly could. I hadn’t mentioned Miss Roach to Liz.

  “Everything happens to me,” I said, helping Miss Roach to fasten her bra up at the back.

  “What a drag,” she said. “I always feel so damn sexy when I have a hangover. I thought you were coming back into bed.”

  We rushed around at supersonic speed, dressing and clearing up some of the rubbish that was ligging about the place. The room didn’t look too bad when we’d finished but Miss Roach certainly looked as if she’d been shacking all night with me; she wasn’t dressed as though she’d been for a Sunday morning walk and popped in for a visit.

  When Liz arrived she looked her same old self: underfed, unsociable and unhappy. The look that she gave Miss Roach reminded me of one a wife would give her husband’s secretary when catching them in a hotel room together. I introduced them and although she told her she was pleased to meet her, it was only because she had to; the expression on her face looked as if she meant quite the opposite. She was wearing her Russian peasant’s costume and Miss Roach gave her a good look-over, like women do, and I’m sure I saw a mickey-taking look cross her face.

  “I’m so glad you came, Liz, how’s things?” I said.

  “They’re just the same at home. Nothing very different seems to happen. In fact, I’m getting quite fed up with it all.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. She was talking in a very un-Liz like manner. “That’s not like you, Liz. I thought you were happy there.”

  “It’s different now you’ve left. I know I didn’t see much of you but it was a lot better when you were around. The house was always quiet but now it’s like a morgue. Mum’s always complaining about her nerves — she never stops — she’s making mine as bad as hers, and Dad does nothing but write in those dreary books of his and watch television. Even Rinty seems as if he’s getting old.”

  Miss Roach made the coffee and it was quite obvious that she was no stranger to the pad. “Do you take sugar?” she politely asked Liz.

  “One,” she told her without even saying thank you.

  “What on earth’s happened to your face?” she asked me.

  I told her that I’d fallen down the stairs (the same excuse as she’d made to the hospital), but as soon as I’d said it I realised you’d have to be an idiot to take that one in, as no one could acquire those brand of bruises that way.

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve really come here to tell you something that I think will surprise you,” Liz went on.

  “I hope it’s a nice juicy scandal. Has Young George got himself nicked for importuning or something?”

  Liz blushed and said, “No, don’t be terrible. It’s just that I’m joining the army.”

  “I don’t think I heard you right. You’re what?” I said.

  “I’m joining the army!”

  “You’re joining the army? She’s joining the army — oh man! What? You? Are you really?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for some time now, and at last I’ve decided on it. I’ve signed on for three years.”

  “This we’ll have to celebrate,” I said, getting up from my chair. “I think I’ve a bottle of VP hidden somewhere. Get the glasses, Miss Roach. We’ll have to drink to this.”

  Miss Roach said, “None for me, thank you. I never touch the stuff.”

  I found the necessary jaba juntz and poured three stiff ones out. “Go on, Miss Roach,” I said to her. “This is a special occasion. Force one down yourself.”

  “All right then. Just this once.” And she drank it right down in one dirty great swallow.

  “You didn’t even wait for the toast,” I said.

  “Oh dear, so I didn’t. I must drink a toast — so I’d better have another one!”

  “Here’s to Liz, and may she end up a general!” I said and down went another glass of plonk.

  Liz told us about the plans for her new career, and it was obvious that she was thrilled to bits with it all. It reminded me of the time when I was planning to escape from the things that Liz wanted to get away from. There was excitement in her voice and it made me happy to hear her talk like this. She told me that the drama at home, when she told our mum about it, was even worse than mine. I didn’t want to try and imagine it — it must have been awful. But I did it and she was determined to do the same. Mum wasn’t even talking to her now but she knew that she’d come around before she left, which was only three days away. I don’t know if it was the couple of drinks that Liz had but she seemed to loosen right up and talk like mad and was even friendly to Miss Roach. Before long they were talking together like they’d been firm friends for years. Liz had most definitely changed, even since the last time I’d seen her. It seemed that this army thing had really done the trick — she acted like a person would if they were coming out of the army — not going in. I knew that she was going to be happy because when I came to think of it, this was the ideal thing for her. She realised this too. We had a right old laugh and we pulled her leg about what she’d look like in her uniform and how she’d manage square bashing and what her sergeant would look like and a hundred other things.

  The girls hid their faces while I changed into one of the five suits that I’d bought myself since I’d changed my job. Liz made some comment that my new job must be good to be able to buy new drag, and I told her, quite truthfully, that it was indeed. Good prospects, too, I thought, if the law didn’t give me the sack.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “It’s Sunday, the time when people are supposed to go for walks and show off their new hats and have a ball.”

  But before we had time to leave, Dusty appeared on the scene. As soon as Liz saw him she went quiet again and the sparkle that was in her eyes was turned out, like she needed a new shilling in the meter. “I don’t think I have time,” she said, putting on her coat. “I’ll have to be getting back home. You know how mum nags if you’re not in time for Sunday lunch.”

  It was no use trying to change her mind. I knew Liz too well for that, so I let her go. I took her down the stairs to let her out and when we reached the bottom she pulled me to one side, and said in a very concerned voice: “Take care, little brother of mine. I don’t like the look of that friend of yours, there’s something about him that’s creepy.”

  “Don’t worry about Dusty, he’s all right,” I told her. “He’s been a very good friend to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nasty to him. But remember one thing: keep it in your mind all the time — if any time you want to see me about anything — anything at all — I’m at Guildford Barracks. I leave on Tuesday. Look after yourself.” I didn’t have time to answer; she was gone.

  Dusty Miller was full of enthusiasm. Why? I just didn’t know. He was jumping about the place tell
ing us what a lovely day it was and he thought it was wonderful to be alive in such a crazy world as this one we’d been sent to, and Ayo had an even better Charge up his sleeve (or in his toilet), green, great and gone-making, which he’d just bought a pound weight of and we’d soon be living in luxury and why was I so miserable-looking? He really was in a happy mood and he seemed anxious for me to have a smoke which he brought out of his pocket already made up. He lit it and passed it to me straight away. I didn’t complain about that.

  “What’s up, Dusty?” I asked him. “You’re in an unusually good mood today.”

  “Nothing, friend, nothing. Why can’t someone be happy if they want to. There’s far too many miserable people around as it is.”

  Miss Roach knew him better than that. “Don’t tell me there’s not a reason for it,” she said, “else I won’t believe you. You’ve something up your sleeve all right.”

  He sat down in the chair looking very contented indeed, taking his time over his words. “As a matter of fact, there is something. But I’m not going to tell you for a while. I’ll just keep you at it for a few hours. There’s nothing I enjoy more than keeping people in suspense — it does them good occasionally.”

  I realised the best way to get this information out of him was to play it cool and not sound concerned. “If that’s the way you feel — I don’t want to know.”

  He knew that I was just playing it clever. “Fine. If you don’t want to know — I shan’t tell you.”

  “Don’t be like that,” I pleaded with him. “I can’t stand the suspense. Let me have it, Dusty. Don’t be such an obstinate bastard.”

  “All right,” he said. Then he paused to light a cigarette. “I’ve got a very big deal coming off. My friend, we’re going into another branch of the business.”

  I couldn’t make head nor tail of what he was talking about. “What do you mean? Another branch of the business?”

  “It happened yesterday,” he told me slowly. “Quite by accident, too. I met this cat who’s a merchant seaman, and he told me that he’d picked up something abroad that he wanted to sell. Of course, nosey Dusty Miller had to have a look at it, and guess what it turned out to be?”

  “Fucked if I know,” I said.

  “Nothing less than five hundred grains of horse!”

  “What?” said Miss Roach.

  “Heroin, my dear. Enough to make us all rich. It’s a chance of a lifetime.”

  “Are you feeling all right?” I asked him.

  “I’m feeling marvellous. It’s true, man, so help me.”

  “I don’t doubt it’s true for one minute. But you’re not trying to tell me that you’re going to sell that stuff?” I said.

  I’m certainly not going to use it myself. One correction. I’m not going to sell it. We are. You’re my partner, remember? And we go halves in everything.”

  I had to swallow before I could speak. “You can count me out. I know I’m no angel but there’s a limit to everything. Listen, Dusty, forget it. The day I sell a fix to anyone you can spit in my face. I suppose you’re going to give the kids free samples so that they’ll be tomorrow’s clientele.”

  Dusty looked as mad as hell. It was pretty obvious that he’d taken it for granted that I was going to approve of the idea; you could tell by his face. When he dug that I didn’t want to know he changed completely — he looked vicious even and his pride was hurt because I hadn’t shown any enthusiasm about it. I’d rebelled against him and that was the last thing he expected me to do.

  “Do you dig what you’re going to miss? This is big loot, not just a few poxy pounds that we pick up on the Charge. This is it, Daddy-O, the big chance we’ve been waiting for. We can’t miss this opportunity. It’ll never happen again.”

  “I don’t want it to happen again,” I shouted at him. “I don’t want to hear any more about it, even if it means we split up. I wouldn’t even touch that rubbish! It’s not only dangerous, it’s fucking evil! I thought you knew better. Don’t you dig the junkie scene now, or something? Remember it was you who told me all about it, and showed me, too. You showed me that Popper was one of the lucky ones. You showed me them queueing up at John Bell and Croyden’s just before midnight, doing their nuts, waiting for twelve o’clock to chime so that they could pick up their poison and jab dirty needles in their arms and legs that were covered in sores. Spewing all over the gaff and living like animals. Man, you can count me out! I don’t want to know!”

  Miss Roach remained silent, chewing hungrily at her fingernails.

  Dusty wouldn’t give up. “You’re mad! You’re stark, raving bonkers! Why don’t you join the Salvation Army, they need new recruits! If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly. Do you think you’re doing a favour to society by selling Charge? Ask a policeman — he’ll tell you the answer. I’m talking about five hundred pounds — not a kick up the arse! Get wise to yourself, boy, you’re a drug pedlar as it stands. That’s all the judge is interested in. He won’t tell you that you’ve been a good boy and let you off just because you refused to sell junk. You’ll get it as heavy as anyone.”

  “I don’t care about that,” I screamed at him. “I’d rather forget about the whole thing if you expect me to help you sell that filth!”

  I couldn’t stand any more of It. I grabbed my jacket and rushed out of the building to get some fresh air.

  On the following Wednesday I received a letter from Bunty. It said:

  Sweetie,

  I was not only disappointed, but disgusted with you when you didn’t turn up for our little get-together the other evening. I’ve met a cute and cuddly young man of nineteen who’s training hard to be a dancer. In fact, he’s been working so hard that I’ve decided to give him a little rest down at Brighton for a few days. He’s a dream, my darling, and I’m sure that you’ll love everything about him. I’m bound to get my kicks as he’s so very ignorant about a lot of things, and I don’t mean Jazz.

  Bunty.

  I had to smile when I read it. And I spent a pleasant half hour trying to imagine what she’d be getting up to in Brighton. It brought a few memories flooding back to me as well. She’d taken me there once, and I felt a right cunt when I had to sign the register as her husband. Of course, everyone at the hotel dug what it was all about, but that’s not the point. There’s no sense in making yourself look ridiculous by trying to work that one over them, is there? She’s not exactly an idiot but she really believed that the hotel staff thought that we were married. She wouldn’t play it cool and let everyone forget about it, either. She constantly talked about when we went to the South of France for our honeymoon, putting in all the little details, and she raved for hours about the new house that we were going to buy, and all this was in front of the other guests and we received some very weird looks from them indeed.

  We met this old girl down there, she was even older than Bunty, who looked and spoke all kinky and she took a real interest in us, or should I say in me, and Bunty loved it and got this old girl really at it, telling her that I’d never liked young chicks, and she (the old girl, I mean) was just my type, and I got so used to this carry-on that in the end I didn’t even blush. Well, anyway, this person, whose name she told us was — wait for it — Matilda! (honest), trapped me in her bedroom one day after making some excuse that she wanted to show me a photo of her son who was supposed to look so much like me but turned out to be just about my opposite. When she got me in her boudoir, which stank to high heaven of some poxy smelling perfume, she only tried to make it with me. She came the real nonsense, she did. I don’t want to lie and tell you that I’m very fussy, but she was a bit too much. Seventeen stone she was, and a face to match as well. She didn’t give up easy, either. Practically chased me around the room, and for giggles I felt like reporting her to the law for attempted rape. But that’s not the end. When I went back and told Bunty all this, she wasn’t a bit surprised, in fact she knew it was going to happen. I ask you! It’s a bit much, isn’t it? Then she only turn
ed around and asked me, point blank, mind you, if I’d have some kind of orgy (she called it a party) with the two of them. I’m sorry, I can’t stand all that. Not having orgies with two women, I mean, but this hippopotamus of a woman? No! She pestered us all the time we were there and Bunts made arrangements for us to meet her in town when we returned, but I didn’t want to know.

  The trouble with Bunty is that she gets carried away too much. At this same holiday I was telling you about, we were on the beach frying ourselves up, when this chick, who was quite young and silly-looking, came over to us and asked Bunts if she appeared on TV. Guess what the lying cow told her? Right, first time. And before I knew where I was, I was on the tele also, yes, me, and I never look at the bloody thing, let alone act on it. Before a few minutes had passed Bunty was on the stage and films as well, but she was leaving the following month for Hollywood as the British entertainment industry ignores true talent and America would give her the break she deserved. Before I realised what had happened she had me carried away as well. It’s quite catching, you know, once one person gets started. So there I was telling this poor woman about all the different countries I’d visited and I’d never really been as far as Newcastle. Of course, I’d been to Swaziland, I told her. I nearly got myself eaten by cannibals there. It’s hopeless once you get started, you can’t stop. But as for myself I don’t mind people telling me lies, as long as I know they are lies. You’ve met the same kind of person yourself, you must have. I really get them at it, and land them right in the shit by getting them all complicated, so in the end they don’t know where they are.

  The trouble with that holiday was that it was pissing down with rain all the time, except for the day we met this lunatic woman on the beach, I was telling you about. And Bunty just wouldn’t come home. She kept saying that it was just a passing cloud. A passing cloud! When the whole sky for as far as you could see was full of those dirty black clouds and the sea smashed against the prom like it had the real needle with it. Even when the weather forecast told us there’d be rain for the next six months or so, she wouldn’t give up. Not Bunts. Only a passing cloud, she kept saying. Not that I didn’t enjoy myself stuck in the hotel room all the time, but even that can get a bit boring after a week.