by Echo Freer
Mercedes seemed distracted. ‘Sorry?’
‘Clothes - you know those things we put on, mainly to try and impress people but also so that we don’t get done for indecency?’
‘Oh yeah - sure.’ Mercedes tried to muster a smile but her voice was flat. ‘Can’t have you going on a hot date looking like Doris Day, can we?’
‘Come on, Merce - we’ve got a date with two blokes called Donovan and Zak and you’re sitting there like you’ve caught some terrible disease. What’s going on?’
Mercedes sighed. ‘Truth is, Jen, I think I might be out of my depth. That’s half the reason I wanted you to be there with me - for a bit of moral support.’ On the way home Zak had told her that he was not, as she had assumed, taking the conventional year out at eighteen while he waited to go to university. He was, in fact, only seventeen. ‘It turns out that he was some kind of a child prodigy or something. He got ten GCSEs when he was in Year 9 and, wait for this, he got four flippin’ A-Levels when he was only sixteen.’ She looked to her friend for sympathy. ‘And apparently his parents were disappointed with his GCSEs because he didn’t get very good marks in Technology and Spanish.’
‘Don’t tell me - he only got Bs!’
‘Worse! He only managed As for those but he got A* for all the rest.’
Jenny sucked her breath through her teeth.
‘I know!’ Mercedes said. ‘The more I think about it, the more I’m wondering what I’ve let myself in for.’
‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t let him talk you into meeting his parents.’
Mercedes smiled. It’d been a relief to be able to talk to Jenny about Zak but now she wanted to change the subject. ‘So, tell me about Kwik Fit. Was it?’
‘Huh?’
‘Fit?’
‘Oh - I wish! Wait till you hear this, right? There isn’t a bloke there that’s under about thirty. I mean they are so old they’re practically cremated! You’d think they’d have a couple of apprentices or something. And you should see these gross overalls I’m supposed to wear. I mean, pul-lease!’
Mercedes smiled as Jenny regaled her with her work experiences - then her attention was caught by a conversation which was drifting out of the café. There were two men, sitting by the door. They had their heads lowered, so it was difficult to hear what they were saying, but Mercedes was sure she heard the names, Frankie and Chubby, mentioned more than once. She shuffled along the bench seat so that she could hear more clearly.
‘I’m none too happy about Frankie naming Chubby as driver. Don’t get me wrong, I like Chubby but everyone knows what ’e’s like with flippin’ motors. What’s wrong with Tone? ’E done a good job while ’Orace was away.’
‘There was a bit of bother with ’im and Kev, or so I bin told.’
‘Kev and Tone? Nah!’
‘Yeah!’
‘You’re having a laugh, ain’t you? Canvey Kev and Tilbury Tone? They bin best mates since they was nippers. What sort of bother?’
‘A bit of trouble an’ strife, if you get my drift.’
There was some sniggering between the two men before the other replied, ‘Well Tone’s wife always was a looker.’ Followed by more laughter.
Just then Jenny tugged at Mercedes’ arm. ‘Are you listening to me?’
‘Keep talking,’ Mercedes mouthed. ‘I’m trying to catch what’s going on in there. Although, on the other hand, we could go inside so I can hear better. I’ll just call the dogs.’ Mercedes whistled loudly and the two dogs bounded over so that she could put on their leads. She tied them up outside the café and then the girls went inside.
‘Two more teas please, Jase,’ Mercedes said.
‘Here, do you know...’ Jason nodded in the direction of the two men by the door and Mercedes got the impression he was going to introduce her as Frankie and Chubby’s sister. The last thing she wanted was her cover to be blown. She was sure she’d be able to glean more information if she remained anonymous. Before he could finish, Mercedes narrowed her eyes and shook her head, silently warning him off.
‘Yes, I know,’ she completed his sentence. ‘Too much tea’s not good for you. You shouldn’t go spreading that around though, Jase, you’ll lose all your customers.’
She and Jenny took their mugs of tea and sat a few feet from the two men. One was probably about her brothers’ age and was wearing paint-stained overalls and a baseball cap. The other was slightly older and wore the heavy blue trousers and tailored shirt of a uniform. At first glance Mercedes thought he was a police officer but closer inspection suggested that he was probably a security guard of some sort. Neither of them looked as though they moved in the same circles as her brothers and yet they both seemed to be on first name terms with several members of her family.
‘There’s a meet tomorrow,’ she heard the younger of the two men say.
‘Where’s that then?’
‘Dunno mate.’ He tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Frankie says it’s on a need-to-know basis and the likes of you and me don’t need to know.’
The older man gave an irritated huff. ‘That flamin’ geezer’s getting above ’imself if you ask me.’
‘Well no one’s arxin’ you, is they?’
‘Orright! Orright! Keep your bleedin’ syrup on.’ There was a short silence while the two men drank their tea. ‘Who’s supplying the hardware? Or is that on a need-to-know basis an’ all?’
‘Nick the Bubble, far as I know.’
The other man nodded approval. ‘Sweet.’ Mercedes was puzzled. Why should Frankie need a driver when he could, and did, drive himself? Unless they meant a driver for the car firm, although she was sure that the punters test drove their own cars. More worrying was why anyone, let alone his own brother, would choose Chubby as their driver? Frankie knew, better than anyone else, Chubby’s record with anything on wheels. After all, it was Frankie who had to pick up the pieces - and there were usually many, many pieces after one of Chubby’s mishaps.
And then there was the whole Uncle Horace episode: how could Uncle Horace have been Frankie’s driver when he spent half his life away in Middle Eastern oil fields? And was ‘Nick the Bubble’ a name - or an instruction? Then there was the matter of the ‘hardware’ she’d heard mentioned. Were her brothers suddenly diversifying into computers? She hoped not - Chubby had only just mastered his mobile phone, there was no way he could handle anything more complicated than that.
Mercedes was starting to get an uneasy feeling - and it was just about to intensify.
‘You ‘eard ’Arry Spinks walked?’
Jenny kicked her friend at the mention of their arch-enemy’s father and both girls’ eyes widened.
‘You winding me up?’ asked the older man, incredulously.
‘Straight up! Every flamin’ witness failed to show.’ The older man ran his hands across the top of his head. ‘I tell you, that’s bleedin’ criminal, that is!
Should be a law against it.’
‘There is, mate, there is. It’s called pervertin’ the course of justice and you don’t get a bigger pervert in the courts of justice than ’Arry Spinks.’
Then both men rose simultaneously. ‘Cheers, Jase,’ they said in unison and left.
‘What was all that about?’ Jenny asked.
‘I haven’t a clue.’ Mercedes was thoughtful. ‘But believe me, I intend to find out.’ The younger man’s baseball cap was lying on the floor beside the stools where they’d been sitting and Mercedes picked it up and handed it to Jason. ‘They forgot this.’
‘Cheers, Merce.’ Jason took the hat and called out after the men, ‘Here, Gary - you’ve forgotten your cap!’ But it was too late. ‘Never mind.’ He handed it back to Mercedes. ‘Take it and ask your brother to give it to him at work tomorrow.’
So, Gary worked with Chubby - did that
make him Gary of the upside-down building plans?
‘Tell you what, Jase, you hang on to it. Chubby’s not exactly made up with me coming over here.’ That wasn’t strictly true, because no one knew where she went when she took the dogs out, but she’d lay evens on the fact that he’d get himself into a right state if he found out. ‘So, you haven’t seen me, OK?’
‘Seen who?’ he said, looking over her shoulder and out of the window.
‘Cheers!’
The two girls parted and Mercedes headed back across towards Snaresbrook with the dogs. It was all very confusing but there was one thing she was sure of: one way or another, she was going to get to the bottom of it.
Five
Mercedes didn’t know what to expect from her date with Zak but, based on the way he’d been with her on the journey home from the bank, she’d offer evens that it wouldn’t be the normal sort of date she’d seen other kids her age indulging in. She couldn’t imagine Zak fooling around in the park with a few cans of Coke and a bag of chips. And, although a stroll up the road to the cinema at Woodford would’ve been OK, a frenetic fumble in the back row over a tub of popcorn didn’t seem like his scene either.
‘So where d’you think they’re taking us?’ Jenny asked, as she peered over her shoulder trying to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror in Mercedes’ bedroom. ‘You don’t think this looks a bit too tarty, do you?’
Mercedes paused mid-mascara stroke. ‘Jen, that’s my Chloë blouse!’
‘I know, it’s just that it’s a bit... well, revealing, don’t you think?’
‘It reveals your shoulders, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Yes but it’s... sort of... well... sexy.’ When Mercedes looked up she saw that Jenny was pulling the top of the chiffon sleeves up to cover her shoulders.
Mercedes was nervous enough herself about going out on this date, the last thing she wanted was for Jenny to bottle out on her. ‘Jeez, Jenny! You’ve spent all year shortening your skirt and padding out your bra with tissues and cotton wool and old socks and God knows what to try and get off with Connor and now, when you’ve actually got a date, you’re acting like Mother-flaming-Theresa. What’s got into you?’ Jenny’s bottom lip began to quiver. ‘I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea, that’s all.’
Mercedes instantly regretted being so harsh with her friend. ‘He’s not going to get the wrong idea unless you give him the wrong idea,’ she said more softly.
‘I know, but-’
‘It’s your behaviour that makes you tarty, not your clothes. He is not going to think you’re tarty because you’re wearing that blouse. In fact, only someone who studied at the Woman’s Realm school of fashion design could possibly say that you were tarty for wearing a blouse like that.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘You look fabulous.’
‘Yeah, but my mum-’
Mercedes felt her patience running out again. ‘Jen - you are not going out with your mum. Now, end of!’
The girls continued to get ready in silence. After a few minutes it was broken by Jenny. ‘So, have you thought about where they might take us?’
Mercedes stood up and viewed her own reflection in the mirror. She smoothed down the Diesel denim skirt and straightened out her silver boob-tube. All it needed now was the silver Tiffany necklace Frankie and Cheryl had given her for Christmas and the outfit would be complete.
‘Haven’t got a Scooby,’ she said in reply to her friend’s question. Had she been running a book on where they might go, she thought a trip to Pizza Express would probably be the favourite. But without any previous form to go on she wasn’t going to commit herself.
‘Oh my God!’ Jenny squealed when the doorbell rang at exactly nine o’clock.
Mercedes sighed. Had she really told Zak that her friend was ‘cool’? She hoped his mate wasn’t going to take issue with her on that. She could hear Attila and Genghis charging the door as though they’d been starved for a week and dinner had just been announced.
‘Down!’ she growled at them as she went down stairs and both dogs sank to their bellies immediately.
‘Impressive!’ Zak said as she opened the door. He was holding a bunch of roses, he had his shirt open at the neck and was wearing a pair of chinos. Mercedes’ stomach did a backflip.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the flowers from him. ‘They’ve got certificates in obedience training,’ she explained, nodding in the direction of the dogs.
‘I was talking about you,’ he smiled. ‘You look fabulous!’ And he kissed her on the cheek.
She recognised his cologne as Issey Miyake, the same one her brother Frankie used. Mercedes felt a tingle run through her entire body as though she’d just been plugged into the National Grid.
‘Thank you,’ she said. Then, not knowing what was required of her next added, ‘You look nice too.’ She cringed. Nice? She couldn’t believe she’d said that. ‘I’ve just got to shut the dogs up and set the alarm and I’m ready.’
As luck would have it, Laverne had decided to spend the evening at Terry’s and Chubby had phoned to say that he was going out with Frankie that night so wouldn’t be home. It didn’t take a degree in maths to put two and two together and work out that Chubby and Frankie going out together must be the ‘meet’ Mercedes had heard being discussed the previous day in the caff. At that moment she didn’t give a monkey’s what her brothers might be up to, but she scribbled a note to the effect that she was going out with Jenny and might stay over, just in case Chubby came home early. Mercedes didn’t approve of lying but a certain economy of truth never hurt anyone. The fact that staying over at Jenny’s would have meant going to bed at about the time they were planning to go out was beside the point. Plus, she was about as welcome at Jenny’s house as a poker player at a Mother’s Union whist drive! But she’d only said ‘might’.
‘Cool, I’ll be in the car with Donovan.’ Zak shook the set of keys in his hand and gave her a smile that could’ve lit up the whole of East London.
‘You didn’t tell me he drove,’ Jenny said as they approached the brand new VW Beetle that was parked on the road in front of the house. ‘Hey, maybe they’ll take us to Southend and we can go paddling in the moonlight.’
Mercedes gave her friend an incredulous stare. ‘Jen, I’ve just lent you my Gucci sandals. Don’t even think about going anywhere near a beach in them. Just try to be cool - OK?’
Donovan got out of the passenger seat as the girls approached, introduced himself, then kissed Jenny on the cheek and moved into the back seat.
‘Where are we going?’ Jenny asked taking her place next to Donovan. ‘Are we going in to the West End?’
‘Nope!’ Zak replied. ‘Somewhere even better. We’re going to the East End.’
‘Huh?’ Mercedes didn’t want to sound ungrateful but, although Snaresbrook couldn’t really count as the East End, her Nan never ceased to go on about when her father’s family had lived in Stepney and the hardships they’d had to suffer. Returning to her family’s roots wasn’t Mercedes’ idea of a night out on the town.
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d go for something to eat first and then maybe have a mooch over to this club where Donovan’s brother DJs.’
‘Club? What sort of a club?’ From the way the boys were dressed, Mercedes thought she was on a pretty safe bet that he wasn’t talking about a youth club.
‘Ooo how exciting! We’re going clubbing,’ Jenny almost squealed from the back seat.
‘It’s not really like a night club,’ Zak explained. ‘Tell her, Donovan.’
Donovan sat forward and explained about the club they were going to go to in Wapping. ‘It’s more a sort of chillout joint, really. My brother does his set from midnight till about one thirty. There’s a nice vibe - intimate.’
‘How intimate?’ Mercedes asked, suspicio
usly.
Zak gave her a sideways glance and smiled reassuringly. ‘Not that intimate. It’s somewhere where we can talk and just chill, really. Donovan’s eighteen, so he’s going to get us in.’
‘I’ll sign you in as my guests, so you lot will have to keep shtum and let me do the blagging, OK?’
‘And strictly no alcohol, ladies.’ Zak looked into his rear-view mirror at Jenny as he said it. ‘This is not the sort of place where you want to cross the management.’
‘No problem.’ Mercedes knew that her mother wouldn’t give her any grief about going to a club when she was under-age. After all, she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on as she’d been precisely Mercedes’ age when she’d met her future husband in a nightclub. But, call it intuition, she thought it was a fairly safe bet that she’d be dead meat if her brothers ever found out.
‘So what’s the plan tonight then, bruv?’ Chubby hoisted himself up to sit on the edge of his brother’s large, leather-topped desk, which was in front of the window in Frankie’s office.
This was Frankie’s home office and it was on the ground floor, overlooking the garden of the house on St Drogo’s Avenue. Although there were some similarities between this and his office at the car yard, such as the metal grilles on the windows, a safe the size of a small house, not to mention the array of computers, photocopiers and fax machines, (in fact so much technology that neither room would have looked out of place in a corner of PC World), Frankie’s home office was just that: homely.
One entire wall was lined with bookcases: shelf after shelf of leather-bound classics - Dickens, Shakespeare, Hardy, Austen. Frankie felt a sense of pride when colleagues and business clients scanned his bookshelves. It made him look better educated than his expulsion from the local high school suggested. Not that either Frankie or Cheryl had read any of them. When they’d had the house decorated before they moved in, the decorator had simply bought a job lot by the yard to give the room a touch of class. And it had worked. Frankie loved it. It was his inner sanctum; his private place where he could go to escape the harsh realities of the children’s bathtime or Cheryl’s nagging. He found peace in this place - usually. Tonight, though, he was agitated.
