by Ken Blowers
LUNCH ON LOWESTOFT PIER
By Ken Blowers
****
Editing by Eagle-Eyes Editing Solutions
Cover Illustration by Paulien Bats
Copyright (c) 2014 by Ken Blowers
****
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
****
CONTENTS
1.Madeline Sweet
2.Uppers And Downers
3.The Secret Service
4.All At Sea
5.The Car Park
6.Emergency Ward Murder
7.An Indecent Act
8.The Wall
CHAPTER ONE
MADELINE SWEET
Alfy Archer sat tentatively waiting in the lounge bar of a pub in Denmark Road, Lowestoft. Now whether it was the Lord Nelson or the Royal Standard, or some other hostelry, I don’t really know, it’s quite immaterial. But he was more than likely drinking a Foster’s Lager. He always drank Foster’s Lager, a habit he’d picked up in Australia, but Foster’s was not imported here. It was brewed in Britain especially for the British palette. He most likely knew that too and damn them! Aussies and people who lived there tended to like their beer just a little sweeter.
Anyway, he was getting a few funny looks now again from the men in the lounge bar who were beginning to resent the way he sized up their female companions. Maybe he knew he’d have to knock-if-off soon or risk getting his teeth knocked out! I’ve been looking for the right bloody woman now for nigh on fifty years! What chance, what hope, have I got of ever finding her, he thought?
He was about to decide whether to order another beer or pack it in for the night, when he spied a man with a vaguely familiar face across the room. He picked up his glass and walked over. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Danny Glover? Yes! It is you alright, you old sod!’ He grabbed the short, rotund, elderly man by the shoulder and looked him up and down. ‘It sure is you alright!’
‘Why, ‘ullo, Alfy, boy. ‘Aven’t seen ya for awhile. Bin away on ‘oliday - ‘ave yer?’
‘Holiday? You bloody, ignorant, Pom! I’ve been away for nigh on fifty bloody years and if you were a hundred you’d still say “Been away on holiday – have you?”’
‘Oh, well, I knew I ‘adn’t seen you’s for awhile, like. ‘As it bin that long? Really? Whatcher bin up to, then?’
‘If you really want to know, let me buy you a drink and I’ll tell you.’ Alfy pointed to their glasses and held up two fingers to the watching barman. ‘I’ve been overseas.’
‘Overseas? Hmm, ‘ave you been out there a keeping them there colonial cousins in line, then?’ asked Danny.
‘Something like that, yes.’ The barman brought over the drinks and Alfy started into his tale. ‘Do you remember, Danny, the old days when we used to walk up the sea front to the Palais de Danse, with a sprung dance floor? Every Saturday night, you and Beryl and me and…’
‘Madeline! Or Mad, as we used to call her. Yers of course I do. Sweet girl Mad, a right little corker! Oh, I couldn’t forget her! But, yeah… yeah, we did have some great times together, back then, didn’t we? But I din’t see anything of ya after you got called up, back in the fifties. The Army was it? Or was it the boys in blue?’
‘The Navy. Royal Navy. Ya prick! Sadly, though I begged Madeline to marry me, she refused. We had some ding-dong rows over that and as a result, we busted up completely. I’ve never heard from her since. Near broke my heart, it did. But, how, er, how about you and Beryl, then?’
‘Beryl? Oh, yer, me and Beryl. We never married, but we’s still together. Nobody cares these days no more for marriage, like - do they? So why bother, eh?’
‘You’re probably right, there. No marriage. No divorce! What about kids then?’
‘Oh, yer! One or two; or is it three or four? I can never remember when I’ve ‘ad a pint or two,’ he chuckled.
‘And you? Did you marry? I bet, I bet you’s been busy; a populating all them there colonies, eh – if I know you, ha, ha, ha.’
‘No! Dam ya! Nothing like that! But yes, I’ve been married. Three times: once in Africa; once in New Zealand and once more in Australia, but no kids. I should have, but no. Too smart, I guess. Too smart for me own flipping good!’
‘That’s the Navy for yer, eh? Takin’ you away from yer ‘ome ‘ere, to all them there foreign shores. What’s behind it all then? All this switching-wives business?’ Danny supped his beer. ‘I get it, no! You couldn’t, you couldn’t be love-lorst over that there bust-up with Madeline. Not all them years ago, could you? You romantic old devil!’
‘Yeah. Well, I’m afraid so, mate! Somethin’ like that.’
‘Cor, stuff me! Is that why you’s come back ‘ere? Looking for her, yer old sweetheart, Mad? After all this flippin’ time? What is it, you say? Fifty odd years?’
‘That’s about it! Of course she could be happily married with a stack of kids and even more grandkids by now. I just don’t know, Danny. But, I have to face the fact I’ll never ever settle down anywhere with anyone else again, until the day I die. I know that much! I just have to keep on trying to find her. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Oh, boy! I wouldn’t want to be you, mate. I’ve bloody lived here in Lowestoft, nowhere flaming else at all; all me flipping life. I haven’t seen Madeline or heard of her, or know of anybody else what knows of her, since I last saw you. That’s a bloody long, long, time, mate. A bloody long time!’ Danny pulled out his cigarettes.
‘Want one?’ he asked.
‘No, thanks, mate. I gave it up, some time ago.’
‘Yeah? How long ago?’ Danny looks at Alfy’s nicotine stained fingers. ‘Don’t tell me. About as long as you’ve bin looking for Madeline? Nah, more like yesterday, I reckon, eh?’
Alfy nods in agreement. ‘Something like that.’
‘Oh yeah, I remember. I remember, mate, how she hated fags an’ wouldn’t touch ‘em no matter how. She was always, always chipping you’s about smoking, ain’t that right? Ain’t it possible that’s why she ditched you?’
‘I, I’ve never made the connection, but I guess you could be right.’
‘Too bloody right I’m right! My God, look at yer! You’re like a love-sick young dog lookin’ for a bitch on heat, you great big pillock!’ He shook his head in near disbelief. ‘An’ you’re getting on a bit too, like the flipping rest of us! In yer late seventies, I reckon? Got to be.’ Danny dragged hard on his smoke, then said: ‘You know your chances are next to nil, don’t cha? ‘Cause you don’t have a clue, a single clue as to wot ‘er name might be now, let alone what she looks like or even if she’s still alive. It’s a near hopeless case, mate. You know that, don’t cha?’
‘Yes well, I’m beginning to see that. I’ve been looking and asking around here now for, oh about six weeks or so. Everybody I know thinks the same as you. It’s odd. It’s as if she never was.’
‘Look, mate. I hate to mention
this, but have you thought that she might not welcome a visit from you? In fact, she may be doing her utmost to cover her tracks if she’s heard you’re, you know, here, a looking?’
‘Yes. I don’t like it, but I have considered that and I’ve dismissed it. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t run from me.’
‘No?’
‘No. Time heals old wounds, Danny. I think she would at least be curious to know what happened to me as I am to know what happened to her.’
‘Ah, but age makes a difference to the way people feel sometimes, Alfy, old boy and she’s no spring chicken either. What is she now, you know?’
‘About sixty-six or sixty-seven, I suppose. Something like that, I think. Yes, she must be all of that.’
‘Oh yes and…’ waving his finger, ‘‘er candle, if she’s got one, may not be burnin’ as bright or as ‘ot as yours, mate. Have you thought of that?’
‘Yes. All too true.’ Alfie finished his beer and wiped his thumb across his mouth.
‘Is that a hint?’ asked, Danny, looking at Alfy enquiringly. ‘Aren’t you goin’ ter have another? Come on.’
‘No, no. Better not. I’ve had a few already. More than a few. You see, I’m moving around town, living my life in pubs every day now, looking for old mates like you. You understand what that means?’
‘Yer, liquid lunches, liquid dinners and liquid suppers too, I s’pose! A bit dangerous that. You could come a cropper! But that’s life, eh?’ Danny played with his glass a moment. ‘Oh, come on, you old bastard. I can’t let you get off so lightly, after all these bloody years. You’re ‘aving another, if I have to pour it over yer bloody ‘ead!’
*****************************************
It had been a routine sort of a day, long and tiring as usual, for Senior Nurse Madeline Croft, née Sweet, as she approached the end of her shift at James Paget Hospital, in Gorleston; roughly ten miles north from Lowestoft.
She had about finished her day in Casualty or ER or whatever they call it there these days and she was about to leave when she heard a crash nearby and a young nurse swear, ‘Oh, damn!’
‘What is it, Betty?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I gotta clear up here before I go off. I’m on a hot date right and in my hurry, I dropped the damn kidney dish!’
‘I hope you’re not shutting everything down? This man’s still alive!’
‘Not for more’n a few more minutes, the Doctor said. They can’t do any more for him. He’s all busted up inside! Silly old bugger, had far too much to drink and bounced off two cars in some place called Denmark Road, wherever that is.’
‘Denmark Road? That’s Lowestoft, I know it well, or used to.’
‘Did you now?’
‘Alright! What about the patient, poor man. Where’s his teeth gone?’
‘Somewhere in Denmark Road, I ’spect, together with his glasses an half his face an’all! You know what? This will make you laugh! He’s been calling all the nurses “mad”! Yes! Every time a Nurse goes near him he’s says “You… mad!” A bit rude we all thought, but a pity he didn’t see you earlier, he would have got it right for a change!’ she said, laughing.
‘Shhh, Nurse!’ Remember your ward manners, please!’
‘Sorry, but he’s past caring, Mad. He really is.’
Madeline bent over the man and tidied his bedding; then picked up his right hand, feeling for his pulse, a very weak pulse, indeed. His eyes flickered, then opened as he tried to lift his poor battered head and move his torn lips.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m Mad, truly Mad. You can rest now. Go to sleep and God bless you, you poor man.’
Immediately thereafter, an alarm sounded as his heart stopped beating.
‘That’s it, Betty! You were right. He’s gone, just like you said he would. Tell you what, since, unlike you I’ve got nothing exciting on tonight, or any other night, I’ll stay and clean up. You can go.’
‘But do we have his next of kin details?’
‘The Police ain’t found one yet. He seems to be a total loner.’
‘Well, I guess we’ll have to worry about that in the morning, then. Off you go!’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. Go!’
‘Ta-rah then,’ said Betty, turning to hurry away. She stopped at the door and looked back. ‘You might be “Mad”, but we all love you here, you know that don’t you? What a pity you never found a good man to love you too. Somebody like your lonely friend there, eh? ‘Byee.’
‘Ain’t that the truth,’ sighed Madeline. Before she covered the poor man’s face, she kissed her fingers and touched his lips.
No it couldn’t be… she thought, switching off the lights and wiping her eyes as she turned to leave the room. He’s probably a great granddad in some God awful foreign land, or dead years and years ago.
CHAPTER 2
UPPERS AND DOWNERS
TJ needed a bird. Well, you know what I mean, a woman. In the way you might need an aspirin for a headache you might say. Only his ‘headache’ was more of a ‘manly nature’, get it? Far more demanding than any old ordinary headache could ever be! Of course, if you’d wanted to know more about that, you could have asked him yourself, though I wouldn’t have recommended it, ‘cause a short temper always goes with that kind of malady, right?
Anyway, he’d just sailed back into Lowestoft after three months at sea and was feeling ‘on the up’, as they say. Only later he was to find his long-term squeeze had bunked off! Ostensibly, she’d gone to tend her ‘sick mother’, only that didn’t ring true. Well he didn’t think so, based on the fact her flat was bare if not gutted. It rather suggested that perhaps she wasn’t coming back. With what he knew of her mother, well, tough as old boots, she was! So blooming tough she was incapable of falling sick to anything! Germs would never dare! ‘She’s the sort of woman what’s either alive or dead, nothing in-between,’ he used to say and he had never made any secret over which he preferred!
So now his mood had shifted and he was on a ‘downer’ after realizing that the drop-dead-gorgeous Bunny Billings had, unbelievably, got sick and tired of waiting for him and his passion. Her insatiable hunger for solace simply could not be contained for so long a time. With her notoriously short fuse something simply had to give! He could imagine her at that very moment working her way through an all-too-long list of past conquests back in her old Liverpool stomping grounds; with little or no interest in coming back to him or to ‘Lowie.’ He grimaced at that God-damn awful word she liked to use, as he always did. It had been ‘Lo’stof’ in his Mum and Dad’s house and he had often said he never would change that. A man had to have some principles to live by. If there was one thing that was wrong with the world, it was that men of principle were pretty thin on the ground these days. I agreed with him. In fact, in the mood he was in, I would have happily agreed with anything he said!
TJ turned his mind back to his more pressing problem. As far as he knew, there was no particular, well defined, ‘walk’ for working girls in this old town, not like Amsterdam (he smiled at the thought). His best bet was to check out some of the nightclubs that seemed to spring up anew every time he came back to homeport. The better and more expensive working girls would always be found inside such places and the rough edge of the trade would always be found hanging around out the back. Since he was just after a ‘quickie’, perhaps followed later by a fish and chips supper and a cheap bed, an ‘outside girl’ would do nicely, thank you! About then, he’d remembered a seedy little nightclub that had sprung up in the derelict or perhaps more kindly, one should say ‘developing’ part of Kirkley. It was not too far from the popular Capt’n Nemo’s fish joint that he planned to visit later and in an area where cheap digs abounded. So, without further ado, he headed off in that direction.
When he got to the club he was looking for, he walked around the back where the sole bright light ov
er the rear door, lit up the word EMERGENCY in red. It amused him to think that the word EXIT being broken actually made the sign even more practical and to the point.
Right, he mused, that’s what I’m here for!
The bright pool of light revealed a double door with a peephole, a short flight of bare concrete steps and an iron guardrail. It also illuminated a scattering of cigarette bumpers, gum and condom wrappers and other miscellaneous rubbish. There was about a half-a-dozen or so girls just visible in the gloom as they hovered at the extreme reach of the light and at a sufficiently discrete distance from the parked cars as to provide an acceptable level of privacy. No doubt it was the bouncer, who occasionally peeked out the door, that had warned the girls to keep the steps clear, or else!
