Dream London

by Tony Ballantyne

  A nearby waitress came up, a smile playing across her lips.

  “Come on; eat up your oysters like a good young man.”

  I picked up another oyster as Alan placed his first on the crushed ice. The fleshy purse was quite drained.

  “Alan! Concentrate! We have a job to do!”

  Alan just smiled and sucked down more oysters.

  One, red, two, blue, journey, three... No! I shook my head. That wasn’t how you counted!

  “Alan!” I said, “How many oysters have I eaten?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that, old boy. The effect doesn’t last much outside the building. Come on! Get them eaten. You don’t want people thinking you’re gay, do you?”

  THE FIRST COURSE was quickly finished, and Carlotta cleared the dishes. The dining room was just as full as when we had entered, with new diners arriving at the same rate as the tables emptied.

  “Have you noticed?” I said. “There was a table waiting for us as we arrived. Every time someone leaves, someone else comes. They have you completely synchronised. You’re all dancing to their tune.”

  “Mmm?” said Alan. His attention was fixed on an approaching mound of sausage and mash. Nothing obscene this time, just a huge mound of white potato with sausages inserted into it at random angles, like something from an old children’s comic.

  Alan smiled and picked up his knife and fork. He suddenly remembered something.

  “Oh, Carlotta! You said I would get something nice if I ate all my oysters!”

  She smiled. “So I did,” she said. She produced two little gift-wrapped parcels for us.

  “Tie pins,” she said. “Set with diamonds and engraved with the Angel Tower crest. An elegant and stylish reminder of your visit here today.”

  Alan was beaming with delight.

  “Alan! Speak to me!”

  Alan wasn’t really listening, he was too busy unwrapping his gift.

  “What is it, James?”

  “I can’t do this, Alan! You’re not taking this seriously!”

  Alan was examining his tie pin.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” he said. “So classy!” He glanced across the table at me. “Come on, eat your dinner.”

  I ate my sausages and mash. They tasted surprisingly good, though with that vaguely spicy edge that everything assumed in Dream London. I found myself wishing for something plain and ordinary – a hamburger and fries. Something processed and greasy and salty, but entirely untouched by the changes.

  As I ate the thought of the numbers faded a little in my mind.

  “You’re looking better,” said Alan, rubbing a last piece of sausage in the rich ruby gravy.

  “You’re not.”

  “Ready to go back this afternoon?”

  “It’ll do no good,” I said. “I need to be upstairs.”

  “Shhh. Eat your desert.”

  Carlotta had the dishes ready. Chocolate blancmange, so runny it slopped around in the bowl.

  “That doesn’t look so nice,” I said.

  “Watch me,” said Alan, and he ran his finger around the top of the bowl. Gradually, the chocolate mass hardened and rose into a mound. It even had a nipple.

  “Lovely!” he said.

  Carlotta waited by our table as we finished our dessert.

  “All of your dinner eaten,” she said. “Well done, gentlemen.”

  “Thank you, Carlotta,” said Alan, blushing.

  Carlotta signalled to one of the other waitresses, who hurried over carrying a tray loaded with little treats.

  Carlotta selected two velvet grey jewellery boxes.

  “And now,” she said, kneeling down on the floor between us, “for doing so well and finishing your meals, some gifts, before coffee arrives.”

  She opened one of the boxes and held it out.

  “Diamond cufflinks,” she said. One blood red nail traced the edge of the jewellery. “Note the arrangement of jewels down the side,” she said. “You will both observe the quality of the craftmanship.”

  “Oh yes,” said Alan, knowledgeably.

  “Only 550 made,” said Carlotta. “A limited edition, to be restricted only to the most discerning of gentlemen. These cufflinks indicate taste and refinement. But subtly. They don’t shout it.”

  “Indeed not,” said Alan, taking the box from her. Carlotta handed the other to me.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Could I...”

  “And that’s not all, gentlemen,” continued Carlotta. “We have this hand painted, silk-washed and watermarked tie, decorated with a pattern inspired by the music of Francis Poulenc and the dot paintings of Australian Aboriginals. Scented with sandalwood and gingko it affords the wearer a measure of refined calm.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely...”

  “And of course, three tailored shirts from Messers Portolboy and Fugues. As you will no doubt be aware, Portolboy and Fugues shirts are triple stitched and double panelled. Their buttons are carved from tortoiseshell, the back panels are topographically shaped and the collars and cuffs are reinforced with thin bark strips of Amazon mahogany.”

  The shirts were handed across, neatly tied with a ribbon. The ties were placed on top, followed by the cufflinks.

  “And now,” said Carlotta. “Coffee. I shall fetch the coffee menu directly. In the meantime, would you like to scan the mint and biscuit card in order to choose accompaniments?”

  Alan rubbed his hands together.

  “Lovely!” he said.

  FIVE

  THE LAUGHING DOG

  WALKING BACK TO my desk that afternoon felt like slipping into delirium. The world reshaped itself in my mind so that a line of desks became green and a pair of chairs were yellow. I began to see other numbers between the colours, too, somewhere between red and blue. And there was something else, dripping down from the ceiling. Words from somewhere else, expressions that were warping out of true: the alkali test, the rough with the sheer, a license to print music. If there had ever been any doubt, I now knew for certain that the source of the changes was located in this tower.

  But what could I do about it? Nothing whilst I was sat at my desk, correcting the figures. I had to stop, put down my pen and go and take a look around. I would do it right away, once I’d finished the next sheet, but the figures got in my mind once more and the next thing I knew it was 5:30 and it was time to go home...

  I RODE THE lift down to the ground floor, feeling as if I was returning to earth in more than one sense. Numbers floated around in my head like butterflies.

  “Ah, Mr Sinfield! Your uncle asked me to let you know that he will be working late tonight. He hopes to see you at dinner later on, back at the Poison Yews.” The words were spoken by a beribbonned commissionaire in a scarlet peaked cap. He leant closer and elbowed me in the side.

  “He also suggested that a young man earning his first wages would probably wish to celebrate.” He winked conspiratorially. “A glass of beer, perhaps in the company of a young woman?”

  I nodded, understanding. Bill. I was being reminded to visit Bill.

  I left Angel Tower and found myself out under a yellow and pink sky once more. It felt so good to see the daylight. I followed the stream of dark men flowing back down the street towards the station, noting the men in suits who sat begging by the side of the road. There seemed to be more than there had been this morning.

  I made it to the railway station and climbed to the platform. The silver rails were silent, and my eye was drawn to the posters and adverts by my side. Each bore the same title in a sans serif font.

  Explore Dream London.

  The posters showed stylised pictures in bright colours, reminiscent of London Underground adverts from the 1920s and 30s. They showed scenes from around the city, each accompanied by a caption.

  Bathing in the River: the accompanying picture looked like something Seurat might have painted; men, women and children in long striped bathing costumes splashing in the blue water of the Thames by a yellow beach. On the opposi
te bank, scarlet vines writhed their way into the water from a yellow spotted factory.

  The Flower Market: there was no way of misjudging the look the mother and father were giving each other as they held each other’s hands in the middle of the riot of blooms. Their son and daughter innocently plaited daisy chains around each other’s necks.

  Snakes and Ladders Square: the artist had drawn the ladders in harsh perspective. A red and black serpent was reaching to eat the young lady who stood on the next square, a drink in her hand.

  Look into the Unknown: the picture showed the Spiral, and I was peering closer at the detail in the centre when I was distracted by a round of applause.

  A young man with a white painted face assumed a declamatory position on the opposite platform, one velvet-sleeved arm held high, a lace cuff drooping from his wrist.

  “Oh Gentlemen, I am sad!” he announced.

  There was more applause, and a few awwws.

  “For my love does not know my name! She is the dawn and the sunset to me, she is the sweet and the savoury, the laughter and the melancholy, and yet she looks at me as if I were naught but a stranger!”

  More applause.

  “I weep, gentlemen, I weep!” He produced a large white handkerchief and gently dabbed his eye.

  My train arrived, green as an alligator, humming with electricity. The train was full, so I was surprised to find an empty seat opposite a woman carrying a basket. I slumped into it, suddenly tired. I should have recognised that feeling, I should have realised I had been caught by one of the Daddio’s chair traps, but I was too distracted by the singing coming from the woman’s basket.

  “What on Earth have you got in there, madam?” I asked.

  “It’s my little Sammy. She gets nervous when she’s travelling.”

  Evil yellow cat eyes stared at me from the basket. I looked away, fumbled in my pocket. My hand touched the fortune scroll that Christine had given me, and I pulled it out.

  You will meet a Stranger

  You will be offered a job

  You will be offered a second job

  Go to the inn to meet a friend, one who will betray you

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

  Count the colours in the numbers, count the numbers in the words

  That was new. A thought occurred to me. Why did I never read the whole of the prophecy? Why did something always distract me from going on? I resolved to do so now.

  “Hello, Captain.”

  I recognised that voice.

  “Hello, Honey Peppers.”

  I rolled up the scroll and replaced it in my pocket. I would read it when I’d finished speaking to the psychotic little girl.

  Honey Peppers stared at the man sitting by me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, panic-struck, and got up and left. Honey Peppers sat herself down at my side. She was holding a balloon with the words Dream London Zoo written on it. A woman in a dove grey uniform sat down in a suddenly vacant seat opposite, next to the lady with the cat.

  “I need to speak to Captain Wedderburn, Nanny,” said Honey Peppers, shaking her golden curls. “You may read your book.”

  The nanny nodded and took out a slim volume of poetry and a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes as she read.

  Honey Peppers tilted her head and gazed at me.

  “Now, Captain Wedderburn. The Daddio isn’t happy with you.”

  “Not happy with me?” I asked, all innocence. “Why ever not? Aren’t I looking after his Moston girls, like he told me to?”

  “He told you to have nothing to do with the Cartel.”

  “What makes you think I have anything to do with the Cartel?”

  She frowned at me.

  “Don’t you know that it’s naughty to lie, Captain Wedderburn?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever actually lied to you, Honey Peppers.”

  I saw the two eyes in her tongue looking out from her mouth at me.

  “You realise,” said Honey Peppers, “that if I found out that you had deliberately lied to me, I would have you taken to Dream London Zoo to be fucked by the manatees?”

  Nanny looked up from her book.

  “I think you mean the mandrills, dear. They’re monkeys. The manatees are like big seals.”

  Something dark crossed Honey Peppers’ face.

  “Don’t contradict me, Nanny. I know what I mean. If I say I’ll have him fucked by the manatees, then I’ll have him fucked by the manatees.”

  Honey turned back to me.

  “Where did you go to last night?”

  “Where did I go last night? I went to bed.”

  “Where did you go to bed? I know it wasn’t at your flat. The Daddio sent the Greedy Quantifier around there to check up on you. There was some big orange frog sleeping in your bed. It took the Greedy Quantifier forever to wake him up. After he did he couldn’t get him to shut up.”

  “You must mean my friend, Mr Monagan?” I said. “He is chatty, isn’t he? Heart in the right place though. He’s working for me now. Working for us, I should say, looking after the Daddio’s Moston girls. Do you realise what effect they have on normal men?”

  Honey Peppers’ eyes widened in exasperation. She stamped her foot in annoyance.

  “Why do you think the Daddio had them imported? To do the laundry? The Daddio will make a fortune pimping those whores out.”

  The train was curving around a bend lined with swaying green willows. Long leaves dipped down in the water of a stream.

  “Are we passing through a park?” I said, but with a flick we plunged into a tunnel and emerged back into a tangle of red brick streets.

  “Never mind the parks, Captain Wedderburn. The Daddio isn’t planning on moving into them. He’s got his eyes on other things. Now, I want to know, where did you go last night?”

  “You’ll have heard of my reputation, Honey Peppers. Last night I had dinner with a seventeen-year-old girl. Does that answer your question?”

  She stared at me with clear blue eyes.

  “I can tell when you’re lying, Captain Wedderburn.”

  “Am I lying at the moment, Honey Peppers?” I raised my eyebrows and gave her the hurt little boy look that usually works so well on women. “Well, am I?”

  She frowned.

  “I suppose not,” she said, petulantly. “But there’s a cloak around wherever it is you went.”

  “A lot of the places I frequent like to be discreet,” I said, with perfect accuracy.

  Honey Peppers clenched her little fists together. She was angry with me, but couldn’t actually catch me out. And she knew I knew it. I tried to ease the situation.

  “Listen, Honey Peppers, I currently have the Daddio’s Moston girls living at Belltower End. I’m following the Daddio’s wishes. I don’t think that I deserve to be threatened.”

  “It’s not for you to decide what you deserve, Captain Wedderburn. Can I make this perfectly clear? The Daddio is not happy with you. If you return to the City to work tomorrow, then the Daddio will be unhappy. Very unhappy. So unhappy, it will make being fucked in Dream London Zoo by each of the animals in turn a positive pleasure.”

  “You mean you think it wouldn’t be?” I said, brightly.

  “You have been warned, Captain.” She looked startled. “What was that?”

  I didn’t know what she meant. The lady opposite, who had been listening to Honey Peppers’ language with barely contained disbelief, spoke up.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. That was my Sammy. He doesn’t like to travel.”

  Honey Peppers put her hand to her mouth. She had turned white.

  “Put your book away, Nanny,” she mumbled.

  “Oh, but it’s so sad! Poor Lavinia will never find love...”

  “Put that sentimental bullshit away!” said Honey Peppers, her voice quite shrill. “We’re getting off here. It’s our stop!”

  I RODE THE train back to the Egg Market, staring through the window as I put my thoughts in
order.

  I had lost control of the situation, that was certain. Two days ago I had been Captain Wedderburn, rogue and entrepreneur, a man who answered to no one. Now I seemed to be working for two sets of people. Three, if you counted Bill and the Americans as separate.

  As the train ran into Egg Market Station I found myself wondering who I was. It’s always easier to see the faults in other people. It always was. But Dream London played with the mind, it kept you looking away from yourself. Had I changed? Not as much as others, I was sure. Dream London operated best on the weak, the indecisive, the foolish, the pretentious. I was none of those things. But had I changed? What would the Captain Wedderburn of old have done in this situation, I wondered?

  I knew the answer right away: Take the money and run.

  But there was nowhere to run to in Dream London.

  The train halted, and I joined the other businessmen in descending the stairs. They flowed around the plum-coloured obstruction at the base of the stairs without pause, and I felt my spirits sink even further. Was I just paranoid, or was everyone taking an interest in Captain Wedderburn today?

  “Captain Wedderburn!”

  “Miss Elizabeth Baines,” I replied.

  “Captain,” she began, somewhat hesitantly, “I hope you don’t think this forward, but we are supposed to be having a meal together at the Tiger Tea House...”

  “I’m sorry Elizabeth, but I don’t have time. I’m going to the brothel, you see.”

  “Good for you, sir,” called out a passing gentleman with a red nose.

  She fixed me with a steely gaze.

  “Captain. I can assure you, there’s no need...”

  “Oh there is,” I said. “The urge is upon me.”

  She became quite businesslike.

  “What I mean to say is... you’re my one true love. I know that, the scroll said so. I trust you, Captain. I believe in you. So, well, what I’m saying is, why should we wait...?”

  That was enough to stop me in my tracks.

  “You’re saying you would sleep with me?”

  “I wouldn’t put it so crudely...”