by Martin Howe
“Cor, its bloody dark down here. Can’t see me own feet.”
“They must have come this way, unless they got into one of the houses, but I’m sure I didn’t see any doors opening, no lights or hear any voices, they must be around here.”
“Keep it down. See if we can hear anything.”
Silence. Scared, Tony and Emily held their breath. There were at least three trailing them, maybe more. As far as they knew none of their fellow Blackshirts had seen what had happened and followed them. They were on their own.
“Can you get out this way?”
“Dunno.”
“If you can, we’ll have lost them, the bastards.”
The men came closer, moving slowly, cautiously finding their way.
“Oh, what’s all this stuff?”
There was a rustling close to where Emily and Tony were hiding.
“That’s ivy. Come on, you idiot they could be anywhere.”
Tony couldn’t see their stalkers but could smell perspiration and strong tobacco. Were they as obvious? He was sweating profusely and his heart was beating noisily. He was sure they would hear and be on to them. Emily had let go of his waist and was resting her clenched fists on his back, alert.
“Aagh, what’s that?”
One man had passed them, Tony could now make out his faint silhouette. His nose itched, it was unbearable, but he daren’t move. The two other men drew level with the first.
“Are you alright?”
“I think so, caught my foot in a damned pot-hole.”
“Need a hand?”
“Yeah, just my luck, not a scratch brawling with those bastards. Do my leg in walking down a road,” he laughed, “Oh sod it, I’ve had enough of this. You want to carry on? We’ve lost them I reckon. Couldn’t catch them now anyway.”
“No you’re right,” the younger sounding man appeared relieved, “I’m knackered, Bert what about you?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Would have liked to have got my hands on them, though. Come on, give me your arm.”
Their disengagement from the chase was a relief. Aware that luck had been on his side all evening Tony entertained the notion of stepping out of the shadows and proving himself yet again to Emily, but after brief consideration chose caution. He had no real choice as their pursuers’ retreat from the alleyway was slow, measured and vocal.
“Do you think he’ll ever be able to see again?”
“Honestly, I dunno. It looked very nasty, blood all over the place. I couldn’t see the state of his eye.”
“Bastards, how could anybody do that? He reckons it was that woman.”
“Only seen something like that once before, years ago. It was in the ring, knuckle fight back of the George in Deptford, you know the place?”
“Yeh.”
“Old Stan Barrymore, it was, taking on all challengers. Some poor bastard gets up and fancies his chances. Total mismatch. Should have been stopped, but you know what it’s like. Everybody’s tanked up. Anyway, he got beat so badly his eye came out. Hanging by a thread it was. Honest, blood everywhere. Dunno turns my stomach even now to think about it. Old Stan didn’t get back in the ring for a bit after that, an’ he’d seen a few things in his time I can tell you.”
“What happened to the bloke’s eye? Was he blind after that?”
“I can’t remember the …”
Their voices faded away as they stumbled back along the alley. It was only when all was quiet that Tony and Emily relaxed. Sighing they sank to the ground with their backs to the wooden door.
“I need a drink. I hope I haven’t lost that flask.”
She rummaged around in her bag.
“Where is it?”
“God, that was close. Boxers!” Tony shook his head,“ Getting ideas above my station.”
“What?”
“Nothing, just mumbling.”
Emily shivered.
“Here it is, always right at the bottom.”
Unscrewing the top she raised the flask to the gibbous moon that was emerging from behind a cloud, its glowing outer rim kissing the roof of the factory block.
“We were very fortunate Mr Moon, that you stayed hidden away until now. Cheers.”
She passed it over to Tony, who drank deeply.
“Comrades in arms,” he said quietly and Emily rested her head on his arm. They sat and drank without speaking, watching as the alley materialized before their eyes. The chilling, silvery light illuminating the commonplace details of what had been not long ago a place of danger.
“E.J. Hancock – metalworking”, “Addison Saddlery”, the two-storied cottages opposite, numbers one, three and seven, the flower box with the wilting flowers outside the downstairs window of number three, the bedroom light flickering in number seven – they must have fallen asleep with it on, or was it a child’s room? – the weeds growing along the central ridge of the rutted track.
“What’s the time, do you think?”
“Must be way past midnight, but I haven’t got my watch with me.”
Emily involuntarily shuddered.
“I can’t believe I did that. It sounds like I really hurt him.”
Tony gently brushed her cheek.
“It was me or him,” he paused, “no two-ways about it.”
“I know, you’re right,” Emily’s response was tentative, “but it was a horrid thing to do.”
She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and resolved to drive it from her mind
“How long do you think we should wait before moving?”
“I could sit here for ever.”
Emily nudged him.
“Come on, we can try and find a cab. It doesn’t feel safe to me round here. What would my father say? His darling out all hours, brawling in the streets and with a man she barely knows to boot.”
“He need never know. I won’t tell, I promise.”
“Dead right you won’t, there’s lots he doesn’t know already, don’t want you spoiling things.”
She stood up and held her hand out to Tony.
“One last swig.”
“Finish it, there’s more at the Black House.”
He got unsteadily to his feet.
“Lead on.”
“Keep your eyes open, there may still be Reds on the loose.”
“Yes sir!”
They walked slowly hand in hand along the length of the alley, each stepping awkwardly between the ruts. At the top of the lane where it met Addison Bridge Place they stopped and peered cautiously towards the brightly lit Hammersmith Road. All appeared muted and subdued. There was little traffic, just the occasional pedestrian. A lone policeman leaned against the parapet of the railway bridge on the opposite side of the road. Tony glanced the other way. Darkness. The bright gleaming eyes of an animal stared back at him, otherwise nothing. As they approached the lights they let go of each other’s hand and the policeman watched them as they hesitated before turning right and crossed the bridge, heading towards Kensington.
Several taxis passed them by before they managed to flag one down. They sat close together during the journey to the Black House, arms entwined. Tony stared out at the near deserted streets. This was his first ever taxi ride, and he hoped Emily had some money. He seemed to have lost the little he had sometime today, or maybe he spent it all last night, he couldn’t remember and he didn’t care. A rare feeling of heedless freedom.
The Black House was a blaze of lights when they drew up.
“I don’t feel like going in just yet, do you? I fancy some fresh air.”
Emily looked at him as she paid the taxi-driver.
“Well, it’s a stroll with me or more male high-jinx, the choice is yours?”
“A stroll.”
Emily smiled.
“Good, come with me.”
Hand in hand they walked down Cheltenham Terrace, a gentle cooling breeze moving the branches of the plane trees, moonlight glinting on the sandy parade ground of the Duke of York’s barracks. A cat slunk across their path and disappeared into the basement well of one of the imposing Georgian houses on the other side of the street. All were shrouded and closed, basking in the weak glow of the street lamps that was dimly reflected on the black-painted iron balconies set at intervals along the terrace. Somewhere in the distance a milk train rattled into Victoria Station, the metallic screech of its wheels audible, as it slowed down, crossing points. At the end of the road Tony could make out an open space stretching into a misty distance, a line of tall trees barely etched in the haze. He nodded ahead of them.
“Is that where we’re going?”
“Mind your own business,” a little later she added, “isn’t this park lovely. If only London could be as quiet as this all of the time I could bear it then. I’m a country girl at heart. That’s why I always try to come here when I have the chance. You can look up at the sky, almost make believe you can see to the horizon, watch the weather sweep in and pass over you. All the things I’ve missed from home since being down South. Not that I’ve not enjoyed it here, but there are some things … the air even seems fresher away from the roads and the buildings.”
“I know what you mean. In the middle of that fight I found myself thinking of the sea back home, of terns fishing, ocean mists. It was very strange.”
She pressed herself closer to him.
“I swear you can smell the old briny here sometimes. Must be when it’s high tide on the Thames. The river is only just over there behind the hospital.”
“Having such feelings probably means I’m not cut out to be one of Eric’s Biff Boys. Fighting was never really my thing, even at school.”
“Oh, I don’t know, they’re not all the muscle-bound thugs they like to make out they are. Take John Blade, I don’t know if you’ve met him, he’s a published poet. Quite a good one actually. So there is always room for a more sensitive soul. But I expect they’ll want you working up north. Fertile territory there, you know. That’s where I’m going next. I’m in line for Women’s Organizer for the North, or something like that.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“Why?”
“Oh it would be good to … you know, keep in touch.”
“I’m only teasing, sorry, don’t get embarrassed.”
She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. They stopped and turned to face each other.
“I’m not very good at this.”
“Don’t worry. There are very few experts.”
She placed her hands on either side of his face.
“You’re very good looking, you know. Although I suspect you don’t realize it. I want to tell you something, I was attracted to you the first time I saw you in the mess room.”
She smiled, laughing to herself.
“Romantic eh? We won’t be the first or the last I wager.”
In a delightful reverie of his own, Tony said nothing.
“You can kiss me, you know.”
Hesitating, he leant forward and their mouths met. He grasped her firmly round the shoulders and pulled her close. Her flicking tongue gently moistened his dry lips, slowly prizing them apart, while her hands caressed his cheeks.
“Not here,” she said, “I know just the place, come with me.”
Taking his hand she led him across the road and through a narrow gateway onto a path that led diagonally across the open grassy parkland.
“Burton’s Court, where all good Blackshirts come to play.”
She giggled.
“Football, cricket, bowls, athletics, everything you can think of.”
Grabbing Tony round the waist, she started to push him firmly across the grass.
“I bet you can think of a few more, can’t you?”
Tony nodded and started to run.
“Catch me and I’ll tell you.”
With a shriek Emily chased after him. They weaved back and forth trailing dark intertwined tracks across the damp, moon-struck grass. Gasping for air Tony stopped, turned, his hands on his knees.
“I’m going to let you catch me.”
“You’re too kind, noble sir. Not much further now. See that ridge and the bushes?”
She pointed up ahead of them.
“My lair. That’s where you’ll catch me and not a moment sooner.”
With that she raced past Tony, who lunged desperately in her direction, before spinning round and sprinting after her. Seconds later she disappeared among the bushes. Tony followed into the undergrowth and was lost. Everything appeared the same in the gloom. He frantically circled looming clumps and peered into one of them, parting the leafy branches with his hands, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Damn it, Emily, where are you?”
Holding his breath, nothing stirred and he could hear the vast sounds of a senescent city, sense the echoing volume of concrete, bricks and glass, the flux of a great conurbation pressing in, filling him with disorientating joy. A new territory opened up before him – he noticed his shoes and trouser bottoms were soaking wet, mundane details trespassing – and his focus was precise, marred only by the stipple of laughter. She was close by lying against the sloping earthen boundary of the bowling-green, waiting for him.
“Isn’t this a more secluded spot? No one can see us. Come here Tony, are we still friends?”
Emily held out her arms. Tony walked slowly across, grabbed her round the waist, hauled her to her feet and they roughly embraced, their bodies colliding, mouths discordant as they kissed – her teeth gouging Tony’s lower lip – tasting blood. She pulled his shirt loose and ran cool hands over his back. He closed his eyes, his body charged.
“Touch me,” Emily whispered as she fumbled to undo Tony’s belt and unbutton his flies. Tenderly he caressed her breasts and through the fabric of her blouse teased her nipples. Absorbed he licked the corner of his mouth, savouring the warm metallic taste. Chilled air wafted around exposed legs as his trousers slid to the ground and bunched at his ankles. Emily lay back on the grassy mound and smiled up at Tony, who stood awkwardly exposed. Holding him at arm’s length with one hand, she blew him a kiss as she began pulling up her grey skirt with the other. Tony was transfixed as the hem rose higher. Her blanched calves, knees, thighs shimmered in the pale liquid light. Kneeling down he placed his hand on her inner thigh and slowly tracked the skirt as it crept upwards, the barely perceptible roughness of the silk charging his gliding fingertips. He was breathing heavily. Emily flinched – her bristling skin rough to the touch as his hand slid over the rim of her stockings – a faint spasm embracing a whisper. Hesitation – he wanted this to be the end – but apprehension was a spur. He sensed her presence for the first time and had to act. Then a rapid intake of breath as his fingers again brushed silk. He rested his head uncomfortably on Emily’s hip. He was beyond caring.
Grasping him gently by the upper arm she drew him on top of her. Spattering his face with kisses, she took his hand and guided it under the waistband of her girdle and down between her legs. She sighed deeply and laid her head back on the grassy bank, baring her pale fragile neck. Tony was unable to act, enervated by inexperience and the beauty before his eyes. Lying close to a woman, his first, was better than any imagining. Gazing at the dew-drenched bowling-green in a London park luminous in the moonset he saw a lake, a silvery grey mirror, reflections of his dreams. It was an earthly paradise. He had always believed he would find it.
Emily moaned as she moved her hips against his rigid, immobile hand. Staring through hooded eyes she whispered, “I need you,” and threw her arms around him. Tony kissed her bare neck, throat and mouth, he nibbled her ear before burying his face in hair, perfumed with sweat, tobacco smoke and a sweet essence unfamiliar to Tony. It was
, it seemed to him, the fragrance of Elysium.
“Tony, my darling move over a second, will you.”
He rolled off her pliant body onto the bank, feeling the chill of heavy dew soaking through his shirt. He shivered.
“I’m very damp,” laughed Emily as she lifted her hips, unclipped her stockings and pushed her knickers down to her knees. Leaning forward she rolled them to her ankles and eased one foot free. She let go and was about to lie back when she thought better of it, and reached out again to free the other foot. Lying back she waved her underwear in the air before tossing them aside.
“I’m yours.”
They embraced passionately, Tony eager, all inhibitions abandoned, Emily calming, controlling, guiding. It was a brief coupling. For Tony was diving into a vast tropical lagoon, he had no idea in which direction he should be swimming, no inkling of where the shore lay. For Emily it was not so profound, yet she enjoyed the excitement, relished the danger and was smitten by Tony, which by her own taxing standards was a surprise. Afterwards, they lay close to each other on the bank, the raw damp forgotten.
“Do you have a cigarette?”
“Yes, but they got crushed in the fighting. Only fit to roll your own now.”
“Ah well, you can’t have everything I suppose, although you can always hope.”
She leaned over and kissed Tony on the cheek. He stared at the sky. It was getting marginally brighter, a faint reddish tinge along the horizon bleeding into the blackness.
“What a perfect day,” muttered Tony, “what a perfect day.”
Chapter 5
GOD WILLING
13th June 1995
The office had recently been refurbished. Out had gone the old formal hardwood desk, the austere solid upright chairs, painted metal bookshelves and the functional brown carpet tiles. In had come a narrow pale pine desk complete with computer work-station, a high-backed black leather swivel chair, a wall of almost invisible shelving that could accommodate any combination of books, files, television screens and audio-video equipment. Banks of low comfortable seating were arranged around a glass coffee table with a permanent display of white lilies in an elegant twisted stainless-steel vase and the daily newspapers neatly arranged one on top of the other, their mastheads clearly visible. The walls had been painted a pale bluish-white and the framed certificates and pictures of past executives receiving awards, meeting local dignitaries, presenting employees with merit cups had all been replaced by two large original abstract paintings in narrow brushed metal frames. A blue deep-pile carpet and a new clear-fronted Tonelli drinks cabinet with its own fridge completed the makeover.