Playing Around

by Gilda O'Neill

  Anyway, he was here now and he might as well enjoy himself, have a few drinks and earn a few quid – he’d already heard who was going to win the first bout from a bloke he knew, Dodgy Pete.

  ‘I’m putting a ton on the Irish kid in the first,’ he told Sonia, as they filed through an anonymous-looking, black-painted door. ‘Same for you?’

  Sonia nodded, took the money from her gold mesh evening bag and handed it to him. ‘I’ll be sitting over there.’ She gestured with a lift of her chin, and smiled seductively at him. ‘I’ll make sure I save you a seat.’

  The seating, set round a central boxing ring, made the room look like a miniature version of a professional sports arena, which it was – except for the large, well-stocked bar that ran all along one wall – but outsiders would never have guessed. The building was a brick-built, single-storey affair on a parcel of waste ground at the back of a pub near Balaam Street. It had been built to look like a storage facility, a small warehouse, but had never served any other purpose than staging unlicensed boxing bouts, and was known to those privy to such matters as one of the premier illegal venues in East London.

  The crowd tonight were typical: men of all ages from youthful to quite elderly, mostly smartly dressed and prosperous-looking, with the occasional individual, attached to one or other of the fighters, in more casual clothes. The women, on the other hand, were generally much younger and, regardless of age, were dressed to the nines in outfits that would have graced a cocktail party – had they been the types to attend such functions. As for accessories, fur stoles seemed to be the favourite choice amongst the women, while the men sported large cigars; showy gold and diamond jewellery was favoured by both sexes.

  As Sonia made her way to one of the simple, straight-backed chairs closest to the ring, she took note of all the familiar faces, making sure she was on full view. She’d show David what indiscretion was all about and, with a bit of luck, she would force Mikey’s hand to go away with her sooner rather than later.

  As she sat down, she was a bit disappointed to see that David himself wasn’t there – that really would have got things going – but, if she was honest, she was also relieved. Mikey wouldn’t have had the bottle to stay if David was around. She shouldn’t have really expected him to be there anyway, not when he had his fancy piece to play with. But she was gratified to see that there were plenty of other people around who knew her, including Peter Burman and his entourage, and Jeff from the Canvas Club with his dozy, loyal little wife, Jean.

  As he made his way over to Sonia with their drinks, Mikey wasn’t sharing Sonia’s pleasure at seeing so many blokes who were friends of Fuller’s, and was feeling increasingly uncomfortable about being on show. Then he saw Jeff and his stomach flipped over. It was all very well Sonia saying that everyone would just think he was minding her while they were waiting for her old man to turn up, but that bastard Jeff had it in for him, and could cause him all sorts of trouble.

  Mikey edged his way along the row, and a slow smile spread across his lips. What was he worrying about? If Jeff grassed him up, he would tell Fuller that the lying bastard was just covering up for his own little private enterprise – all the pills he was knocking off from the club and selling on the side, and the five per cent he was pocketing every night.

  At the sound of the key in the lock, and David calling out that it was OK, it was him, Angie jumped up from the sofa where she had been curled up listening to the radio. She didn’t want him to think she was taking advantage.

  She heard him throw his keys on to the table in the hall, then his footsteps moving towards her.

  He was smiling broadly as he came into the room, and was holding a magnum of champagne and a bunch of flowers. He was enjoying himself. He hadn’t bought flowers for a bird in years. It was like starting courting again.

  ‘Hello, Angel.’

  ‘Hope it’s all right, I used the phone. To call my nan.’

  ‘No need to ask. You help yourself to whatever you want.’ He put the bottle on the table, went over to the long, low teak sideboard, took out two glasses and set about pouring them drinks.

  ‘Thanks. You’re ever so kind.’ Angie jumped as he popped the cork. ‘And this place is smashing.’

  ‘Shame you didn’t like the parrot.’

  ‘But I did. I loved it. Didn’t Bobby tell you? I was worried I wouldn’t be able to look after it properly, that was all. I’m going to be out most of the time during the day. Looking for a new job.’

  ‘Bobby’s a man of very few words, darling.’ He handed her a brimming, foaming glass, picked up the bottle, and led her through to the bedroom. ‘And I told you: you don’t have to work.’

  Angie took a small sip, smiled nervously, then knocked back the rest of it. ‘I’ll have to get something that does night shifts,’ she said, gasping as the bubbles prickled their way down her throat. ‘I’ll need double time if I’m going to find the rent for this place. Even if it is only for a few days.’

  David put down his own glass on the bedside table and then took Angie’s empty one from her. ‘Don’t you worry about rent, about work, about anything, Angel.’ He pulled her towards him, all the while looking into her eyes. ‘You’re my girl now and I’m going to look after you. You can stay here as long as you like. Right?’

  Angie swallowed hard. This was going to be it. ‘Can I have another drink?’

  David refilled her glass.

  ‘Bobby will look after the parrot, won’t he?’ she asked, backing towards the bed. She took two big gulps of wine, and coughed.

  David nodded. He took the empty glass off her again, then scooped her up in his arms. ‘His Maureen’s nuts about animals.’ He placed her gently on the purple satin covers, smoothing her hair on to the pillows. ‘They’ve got two dogs already.’

  Angie closed her eyes and David began the lesson.

  The young Irish fighter stood panting over his pummelled and bloodied opponent, who was trying, and failing, to rise to his knees; the crowd was on its feet roaring for him to finish off the job.

  With supreme effort, the already defeated boxer managed to stand up and then stagger sideways; calmly, the Irishman stepped forward, jerked his head sharply, and butted his dazed opponent squarely between the eyes, then, before he had a chance to crumple to the ground, the Irishman loosed a massive haymaker which sent the now-unconscious man crashing against the ropes, his blood and sweat spraying the whooping, yelling crowd.

  Sonia clapped excitedly. ‘We won! We won!’ Then without warning, she threw her arms round Mikey’s neck and kissed him full on the lips, raising her leg so that her thigh rubbed against his.

  Mikey, all too aware of being on full view, unpeeled her hands from his neck. ‘All right, Son, it’s only a few hundred quid you’ve won.’

  ‘We won.’ She pressed hard against him and kissed him again.

  A small, wiry man in a brown suit and matching suede pork-pie hat who was sitting next to them, grinned broadly. ‘The sight of blood gets you tarts going, don’t it, girl?’ he shouted over the roar of the crowd, giving his slightly tipsy, female companion’s waist a hard squeeze. Then he added, at full volume, and with a raucous, smoker’s laugh, ‘And us blokes and all. Go on, moosh, do her a favour. Take her out to the car park and give her one. Look at her. She’s gagging for it.’

  ‘Sex in the car park!’ cried Sonia in a loud, even posher voice than usual. ‘What a fab idea!’

  Much of the crowd were now as interested in the Sonia and Mikey show as they were in the victorious Irishman, and offered their own ribald suggestions about what exactly Sonia ‘could do with’ and how Mikey might oblige her, and, if not, who would volunteer to do it for him.

  Then, much to the amusement of everyone around them, Sonia clambered along the row, her already short skirt up around her thighs, leading Mikey by the hand towards the exit.

  He didn’t bother to resist. It was too late for that now, anyway, what the hell? With the extra dough he’d made from selling the
pills, he had enough money to piss off any time he liked. And that bloke was right, watching the fight had got him going. He might as well give Sonia one last treat before he left.

  At the sound of the street door opening, Maureen almost dropped the kettle.

  ‘Bob?’ she called out. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Maur.’

  She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried through to the hall. ‘Everything all right? What are you doing home so early? And what the hell’s that?’

  Bobby beamed at his wife and held up the parrot’s cage. ‘I got you a surprise.’

  ‘Surprise? I’ll say it’s a surprise. Whatever will the dogs make of it?’

  Bobby, still grinning, carried the cage through to the kitchen and put it on the draining board. ‘They just travelled with it in the car all the way from Chelsea, and they didn’t seem to mind it. Sniffed at it a few times and that, but nothing really. Pretty thing, innit, Maur? Lovely blue feathers.’

  ‘Bobby, it’s a parrot, and this is a prefab, not the flaming zoo.’

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  Maureen eyed the bird suspiciously. ‘Where did you get it?’

  This was the bit he had been practising. ‘Dave bought it and—’

  ‘I might have known. Another of madam’s castoffs.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t Sonia’s. Dave got it for that kid he’s seeing.’

  ‘Very nice. We have to have her rejects and all now, do we?’

  ‘No. She liked it. But she can’t look after it cos she’s got to go out and find a job. Up the City or something.’

  Maureen still staring at the bird, folded her arms tightly across her chest. ‘A bird of his looking for a job? That’ll be a first.’

  ‘She’s all right, Maur. You’d like her.’

  ‘D’you reckon?’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve got to learn to say no to him, Bob.’

  Bobby was still trying to think of something to say that would make the peace, when the phone rang in the sitting-room.

  ‘Go on, go and answer it and I’ll stay here with this thing to make sure it doesn’t start pecking the wallpaper.’

  ‘Bob, it’s me, Jeff. I don’t know how to put this, but I’m down at the boxing in Plaistow. I’m in Jim’s office. He’s let me use the phone.’

  ‘Very nice to hear it, Jeff. He’s a generous man. But what’re you telling me for?’

  ‘Sonia’s here.’

  ‘Sonia? She hates boxing.’

  ‘It’s not the boxing she was interested in. It was Tilson. She practically had his dick in her mouth.’

  ‘Not at it in the car again?’

  ‘No, Bob, in front of everyone. Including Burman. It was a right show-up. She was all over him. You should have heard the cheye-eyeking. I was going to call Greek Street and tell Dave, but I bottled out. I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘Dave’s not there anyway.’ Bobby rubbed his hand over his shaven head. ‘Leave it with me, Jeff. I’ll sort it out.’

  When he went back into the kitchen, Maureen was feeding an appreciative Denise, as the bird was now apparently called, with chocolate digestives, but Bobby didn’t even notice her change of heart.

  ‘Whatever’s wrong, Bob? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Make us a cuppa tea, Maur. Sonia’s just done something very silly, and I’ve got to think of a way of telling Dave.’

  Angie pulled the sheet up to her chin and took the glass of champagne – her fourth – from David who was sitting up in bed next to her.

  ‘Happy, Angel?’

  ‘More than I thought I ever could be.’ And she was. David was an experienced, skilled lover who had made her feel that she was the most important, wonderful, beautiful girl in the world.

  ‘Here’s to a very successful first lesson,’ he said, toasting her.

  ‘Was I all right?’ Angie asked softly, her cheeks and throat blushing scarlet from a combination of modesty, love-making and alcohol.

  David’s broad smile of satisfaction spread even further. ‘Angel, you are a genuine one-off.’ He put his arm round her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘A real breath of fresh air. And you were fantastic.’ As he kissed her, and she responded – still shy but less nervous – he felt himself stirring again.

  ‘Give me that glass,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘And we’ll start lesson number two.’

  David was about to pull her on top of him when the phone rang on the bedside table. He was immediately alert. Only Bobby knew he was there, and only Bobby had the number. Something must be wrong.

  ‘Hang on, Angel,’ he said snatching up the receiver. ‘Yeah’llo?’

  Angie watched as David listened. The look on his face, and the way the colour drained from his skin as though his blood had been siphoned away, frightened her. She had been so elated just a moment ago and now something awful had happened.

  David clenched his jaw and a vein in his neck began to throb.

  Angie had no idea what the person on the other end had said, but it must have been the most terrible news. He had put the phone down without another word.

  ‘Can I do anything?’

  He threw back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed, making her spill the dregs of her drink that she had been sipping absent-mindedly. Then he grabbed his trousers from the floor and started getting dressed.

  ‘I’ve got a problem. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘When will you be back?’

  He pulled on his socks. ‘Don’t know.’

  Angie didn’t know what else to say.

  Still buttoning his shirt, he hurried out into the hall. As Angie heard him pick up his bunch of keys from the hall table, then open the front door, she sprang out of bed, and stumbled tipsily after him. ‘David?’

  The door slammed shut. Something must be really wrong. She had to see if she could help him.

  She flung on her yellow oilskin coat, grabbed a pair of shoes and her bag and rushed out of the flat. Just as she stepped on to the pavement, David pulled away in the Jag without even noticing she was there.

  ‘David …’ Her shoulders drooped with disappointment. Then, as if on cue, just to make matters worse, a distant rumble of thunder announced the start of a heavy, drenching, summer downpour.

  Angie, balancing drunkenly first on one leg, then the other, pulled her shoes on to her bare feet, then opened her bag to look for her keys.

  Her mounting panic, as she realized that all she had in her bag was a couple of tissues, half a packet of cigarettes, and a few pounds’ worth of silver, meant that she didn’t give a first, let alone a second, thought, to the rather battered, dull-grey Morris Minor that pulled away at the same time as David. Neither did she register just how fast David had accelerated away, nor the look on the Morris driver’s face as he cursed furiously at the disappearing Jaguar when he stalled his motor at the lights.

  Angie wrenched her coat round her more tightly and shivered. How bad did a problem have to be to have made David run out like that?

  And what was she going to do now?

  She had no choice. She’d have to go to Jackie’s.

  ‘Hello, Squirt.’ Martin looked at the damp, slightly dishevelled girl standing on his doorstep and smiled – she looked terrific, if a bit pissed. ‘Everything all right? It’s nearly eleven o’clock.’

  Over his shoulder, at the top of the stairs, Angie spotted Tilly’s bare legs and carpet-slippered feet. ‘Is that you, Jackie?’ she called.

  Angie signalled urgently for Martin not to say she was there.

  ‘It’s no one, Mum. I just thought I heard someone messing around with my scooter that’s all. Go back to bed. I’ll wait up to let Jackie in.’

  Tilly Murray didn’t approve of youngsters having keys, it encouraged them to take liberties. ‘All right, love. Night, night. Don’t study too hard.’

  Angie mouthed her thanks and followed Martin into the front room.

  She sat on the sofa, carefully pulling her coat down as she did so
. ‘Didn’t expect to see you in of a Friday night, Martin.’

  ‘My girlfriend’s gone to see her parents in the country. I couldn’t make it. Term’s over but I’ve still got college work to finish.’

  Despite her predicament and the befuddling effect of the booze, Angie managed a smile. ‘Jackie told me you didn’t like it down there.’

  ‘Understatement,’ he said flatly. ‘So, what’s your story?’

  Angie gave him a censored version of events, that left him with the correct impression that she had left home and had moved into a flat, but which made no mention of the champagne, David, or his unceremonious exit almost immediately after she had made love for the very first time.

  ‘Chelsea, eh? You must be earning plenty.’

  She shrugged non-committally. She was feeling a bit sick.

  Martin thought about the two more years he had at university before he would even begin earning proper wages. ‘How did you get locked out?’

  ‘Went down to the milk machine on the corner,’ she lied. ‘So I could make some coffee. Must have left my keys on the table.’

  ‘I’m not thinking. Fancy a cup now?’

  ‘Martin,’ she put her head in her hands. ‘I could murder one.’

  He stood up. ‘Want me to take your coat?’

  Angie looked up at him through her tear-dampened lashes. ‘Better not, Mart. Me coat and shoes are all I’m wearing.’

  The thought of Angie travelling on the tube all the way from Chelsea, surrounded by other passengers, with nothing on but a short oilskin coat, made Martin gulp. No wonder she hadn’t wanted his mum to know she was there.

  He was still staring at Angie, and was seriously considering whether she would respond as favourably as, according to Jackie, she had apparently done in the bus shelter at Clacton, when there was a knock at the door.