Dream London

by Tony Ballantyne

  ACCORDING TO ITS landlord, the Spotted Dog had originally been located in Barking. During the changes it had drifted west, passing through the Docklands before ending up in the maze of alleys near Belltower End. It had stretched itself as it travelled, its wooden floors ageing and cracking, its booths becoming deeper and darker. An ideal place to sit unnoticed in the shadows.

  “What is this?” asked Mr Monagan, holding up his glass.

  “Port,” I said, pouring myself a glass from the jug.

  “It’s very good. And such a pretty colour, too! It’s red when you hold it to the light, but dark in the shadows. We never had anything like this in Aquarius!”

  “What did you drink there?” I asked, vaguely interested.

  “Nothing. Why drink when you live in the water all of the time?”

  He sipped at the port and smiled.

  “Mmmm. It tastes warm.”

  “So, why have you come here?”

  “To be human,” said Mr Monagan in serious tones. I gazed at him in the dim light. His fingers were too thick; they seemed inflated by the fluid that lay inside. His skin shone oddly, and his throat constantly moved like a toad’s: galumph galumph galumph.

  “To be human?” I said. “And what’s so great about being human?”

  He smiled at that.

  “Oh, Mr James! You’re teasing me! What’s so great about being human? Why! To be human is to be able to live! To be human is to be able to be what you wish to be! A bird will just be a bird, it will live in the air! A frog is just a frog, doomed to remain in the damp, eating dragonflies or mice and snakes. But a human, a human can live where he will! In the air, in the swamp, in the fields! A human can be what he wants to be!”

  These words were spoken with such enthusiasm, his eyes were shining so, that I felt quite taken aback. Behind him, three whores shared a jug of port, resting before the evening’s work began, and I wondered how they would feel to hear Mr Monagan’s description of the joy of being human.

  One of them noticed me and held out a copper coin. I passed her a piece of striped candy. Her hand closed around it and she resumed her conversation.

  “Sounds wonderful,” I said, turning back to Mr Monagan. “Tell me, what do you expect to live on whilst you’re here?”

  Mr Monagan’s smile wavered a moment.

  “Mr James, I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “What I mean is, you’ll need to eat, you’ll need somewhere to sleep. Both cost money here in Dream London. A lot of money.”

  Mr Monagan smiled again.

  “There is enough food in the river for me,” he said, happily. “There are fish and crabs and eels, there are bugs and weeds and crustaceans enough for all! And as for sleeping, who needs to pay to sleep?”

  “You need a room to sleep in, or they’ll call you a vagrant and call the Dream London police to take you away to the cells. You can’t pay your bribe, they’ll send you to court. You can’t pay your fine, they’ll put you in the workhouse.”

  “Oh! But surely that would be a good thing. I want to work, Mr Jim. How else can I earn money to become human?”

  “You don’t earn money in a workhouse, Mister Monagan,” I said. “Not for yourself. You work to pay for your board and lodging, and you’re always in arrears. Your debt begins to mount the moment you pass the door, and you’re in there for the rest of your life. And then the debt will fall upon your children, and their children, and where will it end? The gates of the workhouse are the door to slavery...”

  He stared at me, eyes wide in horror.

  “But Mr James! That’s not fair!”

  I laughed at that.

  “Whoever said that humans were fair? There are the predators, and there are the herd. You choose where you stand.”

  He looked as if he were about to burst into tears. He looked so sad that even I felt a little pity for him.

  “Mr James,” he said, hesitantly, “do you know of a room where I could sleep?”

  I pulled the scroll from my pocket. It unrolled itself just where I expected it to...

  Go to the docks and meet your greatest friend, the one you will betray...

  I looked across at Mr Monagan, an idea forming. What was waiting for me back at Belltower End? I remembered the Daddio’s Quantifier from last night, the big man that had held a knife to my back whilst I was caught in the accordion trap. Honey Peppers might be back at Belltower End now, looking for me. She might have brought reinforcements. What if they were watching my flat, right now? It wouldn’t be wise for me to return there...

  “Do I know of a room where you could sleep, Mr Monagan?” I said, and the cruel businesslike streak of Jim Wedderburn was now ascendant. “Maybe I do. But I wonder if I should rent it to you?”

  He looked crestfallen.

  “I would be very grateful,” he said in a little voice.

  “Would you? Would you really?”

  I looked down at the scroll again. Captain Wedderburn had betrayed quite a few people in the past. Why should Mr Monagan be any different? After all, I’d only just met him.

  Your greatest friend... said the scroll.

  I felt guilty, and as so often happens when people think they are about to do wrong, I took it out on the person I was about to do wrong to.

  “So what are you, then?” I asked, unable to keep the question in check any longer. “A frog that got lucky?”

  Mr Monagan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes widened, and I saw the hurt look of horror that came over his face.

  “A frog! Oh, Mr James! How could you be so rude?”

  He was so utterly without guile that I felt quite chastened. Something about his innocence ducked under the layers of cynicism I had built up over the years and cut straight to my heart.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be...”

  “No matter,” he said. “No offence taken.” He looked down at the table as he spoke and it was quite clear just how hurt he was.

  “Mr Monagan, I’m sorry!” I was surprised myself at just how sorry I felt. There was something about his innocent trust that touched something inside me.

  “Listen,” I said. “I can let you have somewhere to live. And something better than that, too. Do you want a job?”

  “A job? Oh! Mr James!”

  Mr Monagan’s eyes were shining with wonder.

  I thought about the Moston girls who, even now, Honey Peppers should be settling into their new quarters at Belltower End. Second Eddie and the rest of them would be of no use around their precocious sexual charms. Perhaps Mr Monagan would be just the man to handle them.

  Or frog.

  TIME WAS GETTING on by the time I got back to the Poison Yews. I’d left Mr Monagan in the capable hands of Gentle Annie, who promised to show him my flat and Belltower End. I walked away smiling as I heard Mr Monagan refusing to speak about a possible Mrs Monagan because:

  “... well, Gentle Annie, I wouldn’t like to tell a lady of your refined dignity about the behaviour of the women back at the pond. I fear it might distress you...”

  The night was warm and indigo, the evening spices skewed towards cinnamon. I passed down the High Road, the Egg Market glowing palely against the purple sky. A man walked by me, his four children trailing behind him. Each of them carried a pale blue robin egg in their hand.

  “But Daddy, we’re hungry,” said a little girl.

  “I’m sorry, Nellie. That’s all we can afford now the rent has gone up...”

  I turned into Hayling Road. The blue monkeys were hooting in the lime trees. I walked up the gravel drive of the Poison Yews and hesitated outside. Should I just walk straight in?

  I rang the front door bell. It was opened by a stunningly attractive young woman of about sixteen or seventeen. She wore school uniform: grey pleated skirt, white blouse and tie. Her black hair was pinned up, her large brown eyes weighed me up in an instant.

  “You’re Captain James Wedderburn,” she said. She turned around and called back into the
house. “Mother! He’s returned!”

  Alan bustled up, accompanied by the shockingly attractive black man.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I was beginning to think we’d have to send out to look for you.”

  “I had some other business to attend to.”

  Alan turned to the young woman.

  “Anna, go and tell your mother we’ll dine in ten minutes. That should give Captain Wedderburn enough time to get ready for dinner.” He looked at me. “If that’s okay with you?”

  “Fine.”

  Anna cast me a last glance before turning and walking serenely into the depths of the house. I wondered how old she was. No matter, she’d earn a fortune working in Belltower End. Not that I’d let her work there, of course, a girl like her.

  With her undoubted education she’d earn ten times as much up in the West End.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Alan.

  “No problems,” I said. The candy striped jacket I wore was getting grubby now, and it certainly wasn’t suitable attire for an evening meal. “I’ll go and change for dinner.”

  I headed up the stairs.

  Someone had been into my room to tidy up. The bed was made, two bottles of mineral water laid out on the side table, a little pile of books at their side. I picked up the top one and glanced at the title: 1984: An Erotic Story by George Orwell. I looked at the back. “Big Brother just loves to watch...”

  I replaced the book and went on exploring the room.

  The window offered one of those impossible views that only Dream London could provide. Grey buildings ran down a valley, their windows red in the evening sun. Scarlet ivy was rising in a red tide, yellow leaves shivering in the breeze. Jewelled birds fluttered to and fro, nesting amongst the foliage. But my eye was constantly drawn to the bottom of the valley, and the tower that stood there.

  It had started out as a glass skyscraper, that was obvious, but over the past year it had grown taller and taller. The top had started to bulge and had turned from glass and steel into something else. It looked like a plant budding. I wondered if those were vines or creepers I could see, spilling down from the top of the tower.

  I couldn’t guess how tall it was now. Hazy waves undulated half way down the tower’s length, and I thought they might be birds. I turned from the view to see that a silver shaving kit had been laid out by the wash basin, and I watched as an orange spider pushed its way into the bristles of the shaving brush. I picked up the brush and tapped it on the side of the basin. Six orange eyes emerged from the bristles and looked at me for a moment before withdrawing slowly into their own home. I replaced the brush on the side and made my way over to the large wooden wardrobe.

  There were a number of suits hanging up in there, all newly tailored by the look of them. I saw the strands of white cotton where the pockets had been unpicked. Three dull black suits hung there. Two plum jackets hung beside them, their collars and lapels shiny velvet. A number of grey ties hung on a rack on the door, five white shirts were folded on the shelves. And there, at the end of the rack, freshly laundered, hung my military jacket, the golden frogging gleaming against the emerald green of the jacket.

  I quickly stripped down to my underpants and tried on a shirt. It was stiff and uncomfortable, but it fitted. Likewise the suit trousers. The shoes were my size, but the leather cut into the edge of my toes. The leather soles were slippery on the woven mat, even more so on the polished floor. This was what I would be wearing tomorrow, I guessed.

  I slipped out of the suit and pulled on some more casual clothes, topping them off with my military jacket. I wanted to look the part for dinner.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in!”

  Anna stood there, looking even more stunning in a grey dress.

  “Mother said to tell you that dinner was ready.”

  She turned and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the dining room, watching the sway of her perfectly rounded bottom through her dress.

  The table was spread with a large white cloth. I counted the silver cutlery arrangements to see that it was set for five. Alan and Margaret were already there, along with Alan’s ‘friend’.

  “Thank you Anna,” said Margaret. She gave me a brittle smile. “We’ve had drinks already, James. I hope you don’t mind, only we were beginning to wonder if you were coming.”

  The room smelt of sweetness and gravy.

  We sat down. Alan sat at the head of the table. I sat to his left, his lover to his right, facing me. Margaret sat on my left, Anna took her place across the table.

  A maid dressed in a blue and white striped dress carried a large tureen into the room.

  “Egg soup,” said Margaret, and then she added, rather proudly, “Well, we do have the best egg market in the city on our doorstep.”

  The maid began to ladle clear soup into our bowls.

  “We’ve got the best of everything on our doorstep,” said Alan. “Except for a cheese shop of course. That’s the only thing that Farringdon does better than us. What do you say, Shaqeel?”

  Shaqeel didn’t say anything. He gave a louche smile and I guessed from the movement of his arm just where his hand was currently wandering beneath the table. Beside him, Anna kept her eyes fixed deliberately on her bowl.

  A bowl of soup was placed before me, eggs floating within, both whole and sliced. Large hens’ eggs and tiny wrens’ eggs. Cautiously, I dipped my spoon inside. To my surprise, it tasted rather good.

  “So,” said Alan, breaking the awkward silence that settled upon the table. “How was your day at school, Anna?”

  “Very good, thank you, Father.”

  “Anna is doing five A Levels,” said her mother, proudly.

  “Really?” I said. “What are you doing.”

  “English Literature, Music, History and Art.”

  “That’s only four,” I said.

  “Everyone has to do Sex and Sexuality as part of PSHE now,” said Anna.

  “PSHE?”

  “Personal, Social and Health Education. It’s all about sex.” She sipped at her soup, making perfectly clear the topic was at an end.

  “Still,” I said. “All those subjects. You must be quite the artist.”

  “I wanted to do Maths and Physics, but they are no longer suitable for girls. Even the boys study only Accountancy and Economics now, rather than any real science.”

  “What did you study at school, James?” asked Margaret, obviously unwilling to listen to a familiar complaint any longer.

  To my right, Alan and Shaqeel were playing footsy, oblivious to the conversation.

  “I left school at sixteen,” I said. “Joined the army.”

  “Did you kill anyone?” asked Anna, looking at me appraisingly over her spoon.

  “Anna! I’m sure that’s not a polite question! I’m sorry, James. You were saying.” She leant a little closer to me, and I smelt her perfume. She smelt strongly of flowers, the sort my girls used to put themselves and their clients in the mood of a night.

  “Well, that’s it really,” I said. “I left school. I went in the army. I left last year.”

  “Why did you leave?” asked Anna.

  “Anna!”

  We finished our soup. The maid took the bowls away and replaced them with white plates decorated in a blue willow pattern. I touched the rim of the plate.

  “I see that you’ve noticed our dinner service,” said Margaret. “It’s from Chinatown, you know.” I felt her hand stroke the outside of my thigh.

  “Chinatown,” I said. “How nice.” I looked directly at Anna.

  “I left the army because I slept with the Captain’s daughter. He wasn’t happy.”

  Margaret choked on her wine.

  “I don’t think you should be listening to this, Anna. I think James should change the subject.”

  “I’m fine, Mother,” said Anna. “We hear far worse in PSHE. And English Literature.”

  “Even so...”

 
Anna’s face remained impassive.

  “Besides which, I don’t think the Captain is telling the full story...”

  She held my gaze. Her eyes were dark, her dark brown hair fell in waves about her face. She truly was beautiful. And very self-composed.

  “You’re right, of course,” I said, easily.

  The hand touched my thigh again. To my right, Alan was being touched up by Shaqeel. To my left, Margaret was offering the same service to me. I pushed her hand away.

  The maid cleared our places and then re-entered the room carrying a tray. She placed a plate before me. It bore a green egg the colour of a spearmint imperial and the size of my hand, sitting in a pool of brown gravy.

  “Cassowary eggs,” said Margaret. “When you live this close to the Egg Market, it’s silly not to make use of it.”

  “If only we had a decent cheese shop,” said Alan.

  “You crack the egg like this,” said Margaret, demonstrating. “We’ve flummoxed it. It’s the new cooking process. Have you heard of it? You need boiling water and oodles of salt.”

  “Which is bigger?” asked Anna. “Lashings or oodles?”

  “There are three oodles to the lashing,” I said, and I winked at her. She looked away, unimpressed.

  I cracked my egg and took a forkful of the grey meat inside. It was spicy, a little like a lamb dhansak.

  “So this is a flummoxed egg, is it? Not bad.”

  “Are you ready for tomorrow?” asked Margaret.

  “Oh yes,” said Alan. “We’ll need to be up at six. I’ll get Anna to wake you.”

  “What am I supposed to be doing?” I said. “I know I’m going to the City, I know that I’m to go to the Writing Floor of Angel Tower. What do I do when I’m in there?”

  “Shhh!” said Alan. “The walls have ears, you know.”

  “But...”

  “Shhh...”

  We ate our flummoxed eggs. The maid brought us the next course: caviar, and then the next: chocolate mousse.

  “Made with egg yolks,” said Margaret.

  “When you live this close to the Egg Market you may as well make use of it,” I replied.