by Liz Evans
‘I came round here for a bit of tea and sympathy. If I wanted to be insulted, I’d have gone to work.’
‘CID still giving you a hard time?’
‘I meant the crooks would ... oh yeah, very funny.’
‘Don’t sulk. You got the tea, didn’t you?’
As a sort of stand-in sister in Annie’s absence, I felt it was my duty to carry on with the Smith tradition of bullying, upbraiding and running the baby of the family’s life for him.
I watched him slumped on my bed gloomily dunking a tea bag in a mug of hot water. He looked like the end of the world was, if not exactly nigh, certainly expected to make the long-range forecast within the next few days.
Which I guess, from Zeb’s point of view, it was. Annie was on her way home.
He gave me an appealing look from beneath a floppy brown fringe. Appealing, that is, if you happened to be a labrador with strong maternal instincts. Since I didn’t qualify on either count, I held back on the there-theres and passed over an ashtray for the sodden tea bag, and a bottle of milk.
‘What are we going to do, Grace? I mean, she’s going to go stark raving bonkers if she finds out we let squatters into her flat.’
‘What’s with this we, Zeb? This one is strictly down to you.’
‘But you know them.’
‘I know lots of people. They’re not all crammed into Annie’s flat. At least they weren’t last time I looked. Unless you’ve been handing out keys wholesale this time ...?’
‘I didn’t hand ... Oh hell, Grace, can’t you talk to them? Get them to leave? I mean, there’s dozens of empty flats around, why can’t they ...?’
‘Break in somewhere else?’
‘Well ... yeah ...’ He tried the puppy look again. ‘Be a mate, Grace. Help us out. You know how Annie’s only just decorated. Think how upset she’ll be if she gets home and finds a couple of tossers have wrecked the place.’
‘I doubt if they’ll do that. As a matter of fact, I rather got the impression it was Annie’s interior decorating that was the major attraction. They didn’t want one of those nasty damp places with the plaster peeling off the walls. Annie’s suits them very nicely.’
‘Well, it suits Annie very nicely too. And she’s paying for it!’
‘How true. Why not put this argument to them, instead of spluttering tea all over my laundry?’
I got up and moved the piles of washing I’d done the day of Kevin’s unexpected visit last week. It was one of the major drawbacks to laundry; if you wash the damn stuff, you have to iron it. I supposed I’d have to get round to it soon - once I got fed up shifting it from surface to surface.
Zeb had apparently tried sweet reason on Figgy and Mickey already. ‘But it’s not easy when you’re bawling through the letter-box. They wouldn’t even open the door to me. I hung around a bit, thought I might be able to follow the bloke ...’
‘And do what?’
‘Well, you know ... squatters ... bet he’s got a record ... don’t happen to know his full name, do you? Or the woman’s?’
‘You mean you were hoping to nick one ... or both.’ But not for squatting, since that would mean Annie getting involved at some point, which Zeb was desperate to avoid.
‘There’s no need to sound so flaming self-righteous. I’m not talking about fitting anyone up. But if they break the law, I’m entitled to arrest them. In fact, it’s what I’m paid to do.’
‘OK, OK ... now who’s getting self-righteous? And no ... I haven’t a clue what they’re really called. Why don’t you ask them?’
‘I did. Apparently Annie’s playing hostess to Miss Naff-Off and Mr Get-Stuffed-Copper.’
‘In that case, Zeb, I suggest you put in for some leave, starting tomorrow, and leave Annie to sort out her squatters.’
‘I’m due in court Friday. I can’t get leave.’
I grinned. ‘You mean you’ve already asked?’
Reluctantly he nodded and gave a faint smile. ‘I’m not like this at work. I got commended once, you know? Talked down this bloke with a gun who was trying to hold up a shop.’
‘Annie mentioned it. Water pistol, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, I didn’t know that, did I?’
‘No. No. OK. Put your feathers down. I’m not denying you’ve got bottle, Zeb.’
‘Yeah.’ He sighed heavily. ‘But soon as it gets to one of my brothers or sisters throwing their weight around ... especially Annie ...’
‘Well, let’s face it, she’s more to fling around than most.’
‘I won’t tell her you said that ... if you’ll just go talk to those two. Please, Grace.’
Maybe I had a dash of canine blood in me after all. This time the puppy eyes worked. I heard myself agreeing to have a quick chat with Figgy and Mickey.
‘If you could do it first thing,’ Zeb said eagerly as I shooed him out, ‘I could get the flat cleaned up before Annie arrives. And then she need never know.’
‘I don’t do anything first thing, Zeb. The dawn and I have been strangers to each other for years ... and I’d like to keep it that way. I’ll ring you.’
As things turned out, I didn’t get around to Figgy and Mickey until lunchtime. The combination of sitting around in the Jersey sun without a hat, followed by three hours of traffic jams and exhaust fumes, hit me after Zeb left.
Dragging off my jeans and top, I’d fallen into bed with the intention of having a quick snooze - and remained dead to the world until a couple of gulls and a cat started a noisy fight over a packet of dead chips outside my basement window in the middle of the following morning.
Now that the Bank Holiday was behind us, the weather had started to pick up again. Having walked into the town to bank Bridgeman’s cheque, I’d come back along the prom with the intention of letting the sea breezes blow away any lingering headache before heading for Annie’s; but turning back inland, I found fate had decided to rearrange my schedule.
‘Henry! Yoah!’
It was odd the remembered responses we retain. It must have been years since Henry’s eyes had sent any messages to his brain, yet the bottle-green lenses were still sweeping from left to right trying to locate the source of the shout.
It was nearly as daft as me waving frantically at him. At least the dog appreciated my efforts. I got a tail wave and a brief flick of a wet tongue.
‘Hi, Beano. Morning, Henry. I was just on my way to see you,’ I lied glibly.
‘You’ve found Kristen?’ he asked eagerly.
‘In a manner of speaking. Do you fancy a cup of coffee?’
I steered Henry to an empty table in Pepi’s whilst vaguely registering the fact that there was something odd about the place.
It took me a second to identify what was missing: noise.
Apart from a subdued murmur of voices from half a dozen customers, and a deep-bellied rumble from the hot-water urn, there wasn’t a doo-wap, yeah-yeah or shoo-bop to be heard.
The situation was partly explained by the ‘Out of Order’ notice on the juke box and partly by the appearance of Shane’s wife, wriggling out from the back kitchen in one of the too-short, too-tight, multi coloured polyester sheath dresses she favoured.
She was barely half her husband’s weight, and her strawberry-blonde beehive only tickled his chin when she balanced on her four-inch stilettos, but she knew exactly who was boss in that partnership. So did Shane. Which was why he was spending this morning digging out the fish pond she wanted in their back garden.
‘He’s a little treasure, that bloke. So what can I get for you and your mate, Smithie?’
‘Two coffees, I guess.’
I’d sat Henry near the counter to give him plenty of opportunity to call across that he’d get these. He didn’t.
‘Can you stick them on account?’
‘On account of what, darling? We ain’t Harrods.’ Scarlet nails unfolded like lily petals around an empty palm.
Reluctantly I counted out one pound and twenty pence.
‘Ta.
I’ll bring them over. Does your dog want some water, love?’
‘That would be most kind. Thank you, madam.’
I waited until she’d wriggled across with the two cups before bringing Henry up to date on my search for Kristen.
‘Dead?’ he repeated for the third time. ‘Dead.’ Resting his elbows on the Formica, he dropped his head into his hands. The bowed shoulders trembled slightly. I wondered if his damaged eyes were capable of producing tears, or did the hurt just build up inside with no way of release?
To my relief, I didn’t get to find out. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up and took a sip of coffee. The cup rattled as he attempted to replace it in the saucer. Putting my own fingers over his, I gently guided them in.
‘I can manage,’ he said sharply. ‘I’ve had to.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, it is I who should apologise. Didn’t mean to ... still get ... wake up some mornings and forget ... think it’s still dark ... even after all these years. Think I’d be used to it by now ...’
The appearance of Beano’s water bowl brought us both a much-needed interruption. To give Henry time to pull himself together, I asked Shane’s other half why the jukebox wasn’t working.
‘It’s got an Out of Order notice on it.’
‘I can see that. But why isn’t it working?’
‘Because it’s got an Out of Order notice on it, of course.’ With a wink of one much-mascara-ed set of lashes, she tottered back to the kitchen on thin tanned legs, the dress clinging to a bottom as flat as a chopping board.
‘Are you quite certain?’ Henry asked. ‘About Kristen? Perhaps there is some kind of mistake? Duff info ... you know ...?’
‘No mistake, Henry. Kristen Keats has been dead and scattered this past year. The girl you met was Julie-Frances Keble.’
I gave him a brief rundown on what I’d found out on Jersey.
‘So now you’re going to work for this Bridgeman chap instead of me? Offered you more money, did he? There’s no honour anywhere these days.’
‘Not instead. As well as, Henry. Assuming you still want me to, that is? Now you know Kristen isn’t the girl you thought she was?’
‘Of course she is. She’s still the same person who spoke to me on the promenade, isn’t she? Still the same young woman who borrowed my Little Dorrit tapes. What does the name matter? She’s still my Kristen ... whatever the name on her birth certificate might say.’
‘So we’re in business?’
‘What about Bridgeman? Perhaps he won’t wish to share your services.’
‘He doesn’t seem to object, and it would be bloody tough luck on him if he did. I’ve got a living to earn.’
‘So you’ve told him about me?’
‘Just that you exist. Don’t worry, Henry, I kept the faith. Your identity is safe with me.’
His shoulders relaxed. ‘Thank you so much, m’dear. It’s just that ... the older one becomes, the more it seems to matter that one is the butt of other’s laughter. I daresay it shouldn’t ... but I suppose there are so many more things to ridicule as the old frame falls to pieces. It’s hard to keep your dignity ...’
‘Hey ...’ I reached across and took one of his hands. ‘There’s nothing ridiculous in being concerned about a friend. The world’s full of people no one gives a damn about. I think it’s great you care about Kristen ... or Julie-Frances.’
‘Kristen,’ he said shakily. ‘She’ll always be Kristen to me.’
‘Fair enough. Well, I’ve got to go and sort out a friend of my own ... Do you want me to see you back to the promenade?’
‘Thank you, m’dear, but Beano and I have been navigating the town for many years. I believe I shall stay here and enjoy another cup of your friend’s excellent coffee. If you’d call her over for me ...?’
‘Sure.’
I got out of there before I had to fork out another sixty pence and headed for Annie’s flat.
Figgy was out when I arrived.
So was I. Stranded on the landing talking through the damn letter-box.
‘Look, come on, Mickey, I just wanted a chat. It was OK last time, wasn’t it?’
‘I guess. But Figgy says I mustn’t. Not when he’s out.’
I could see knees, thigh and a section of stomach. ‘You’re not showing much yet, are you?’
Ten fingers linked protectively over the bottom of her jumper. ‘It’s early yet. Last time I never ...’
‘Wotcha, your Graciness.’
I glanced round as Figgy’s grinning face appeared over the hall banisters and informed him I was sick of kneeling on this floor conducting a conversation with eight square inches of his girlfriend.
‘So beat it.’
‘You certainly know how to make a girl feel welcome,
Figgy-’
‘I know how to make a girl feel plenty of things, Grace.’
‘Including homeless.’
‘Hey, this going to be another lecture on my anti-social habits? ’Cos if it is, I’ve had it all from that copper.’
‘Can I come in? I’ve got something to tell you.’
Instead of answering, Figgy returned to the stairs and looked down.
‘I haven’t brought the heavy mob with me.’
‘Just checking.’ Inserting a key in the lock, he gave two shrill whistles through his front teeth and rat-a-tatted twice.
The safety chain was withdrawn and he opened the door and ushered me in with a low bow. ‘Welcome to our humble abode, your Graciness.’
‘Actually it’s Annie’s abode. Hi, Mickey ... how are you? Still chucking up?’
‘A bit. But I’m fine really, ta.’
There was a slight glow to her face which hadn’t been there before, and the rat’s-tail hair-do was soft and gleaming, exuding the perfume of Annie’s shampoo and conditioner. It mingled with other, more interesting smells, drifting from the kitchen.
‘Been baking?’
‘Sponge pudding. And I’m doing this Thai fish thing ... not out of a packet, I’m learning to do real cooking, Figgy.’
‘Magic. But don’t you go overdoing it, you hear.’
‘Er, speaking of overdone ...?’
I detected burning oil two seconds before the smoke alarm blared into action.
We all charged for the kitchen. Since Mickey was closest she got there first - and made a grab for the flaming pan.
‘No!’ Figgy shouldered her aside just as her fingers closed round the handle. Reaching past her, he flicked the cooker’s power off.
I hastily ran the hand towel under the cold tap, wrung it out and flipped the wet cloth over the blaze. The flames died with a sizzling shush. With a howl, Mickey burst into tears.
‘Heh, come on, kid, it’s not that desperate.’ Figgy hugged her fiercely.
‘It is ... it ... I’m so useless. I can’t do nothing by myself.’ She locked her arms round his waist and buried her head deeper in the black T-shirt. ‘You won’t ever leave me, will you, Figgy?’
‘Course I won’t, babe. We’re stuck together for life.’
So was dinner. I chipped at carbonised lumps of fish and vegetables that had welded themselves to the base of Annie’s non-stick designer frying pan.
‘It’s all her f-f-fault,’ Mickey hiccuped into the gradually spreading damp patch over Figgy’s chest. ‘If I hadn’t been t- talking to her, I wouldn’t have forgotten the pan was on.’
‘Well, that’s a bit rich.’ I dumped the pan in the sink. ‘I didn’t ask you to move into my best mate’s place and burn it down.’
‘It ain’t her fault. It’s her hormones. Making you a bit forgetful, ain’t they, babe?’
‘Well, if you’re planning a big family, I’d break into a flat near the fire station on your next move. Which incidentally is going to be pretty soon. That’s what I popped round to tell you. She who pays the mortgage of this slightly singed des res is on her way home.’
Figgy shrugged. ‘So?’
‘So it’s time to r
oll, Figgy. How long do you think it will take her to get you out of here?’
‘She can try.’
‘She’ll do more than that. She’ll succeed. Now, do you really want Mickey arrested for squatting? What if she lost the baby or something?’
I felt rotten as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Mickey gave a little wail, let go of Figgy and hugged both arms across her stomach.
‘It’s OK, babe. Nothing’s going to happen. I promised, didn’t I? Now you go have a lie-down. I’ll clear up in here. Starting with her.’
He took a grip on my arm. I could have put him down easily, but I didn’t want Mickey caught in the middle of a punch-up.
We circled each other in an awkward waltz, both trying to give the impression we were in control of the situation as we shuffled back into the hall.
‘Let go, Figgy,’ I murmured, ‘or this baby is going to be an only child.’ I moved a knee up.
He thrust me against the hall wallpaper and pushed his face near mine. ‘Listen, don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you say nothing about her losing that kid. You understand me?’
‘It’s not me causing her all this hassle, Figgy. Why don’t you take the Social up on their offer of a bed-and-breakfast place? It would be a start.’
‘You seen the creeps they get in those places? Wrinkly weirdos wandering around with their trousers round their ankles; druggies shooting up in the loos; bloody kids and dogs whining and crapping all over the place.’
‘So that excuses you bumming a free ride at Annie’s expense?’
‘You never taken something you wanted?’
He opened the front door with his left hand whilst propelling me towards it with his right. Behind us the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up into the sink drifted from the kitchen.
‘Now look what you’ve done.’
‘Me!’ I twisted free and turned to face him. ‘Listen, buster, perhaps if Mickey didn’t wake up every morning wondering if she’ll still be looking at the same ceiling come bedtime, she’d be having a less stressful time of it. Why don’t you shape up; find a career that doesn’t have a slightly lower number of job vacancies than being one of Santa’s elves and stop thinking the rest of the world owes you a living. We all have to do jobs we don’t like sometimes.’