This Lovely City

by Louise Hare

  ‘Don’t you have some cheap tart to impress?’ Evie spotted a gap and slipped through but he followed.

  ‘No, but I am getting a drink for a lovely young woman I’ve been dancing with,’ Aston said, raising his voice. ‘She’s a real lady. Don’t go in for no fakery, acting all chaste and innocent when she’s anything but.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Evie tried to laugh but it faltered in her throat.

  ‘Don’t you look down your nose at me, Miss Coleridge. I never been less than a gentleman where you’re concerned. I know when to keep my mouth shut.’

  She bristled. ‘It seems to me you’re just doing what suits you best. You keep your mouth shut because you have to, so don’t act like you’re doing me any favours.’

  She spat the words over her shoulder before ordering her drink from a hot and bothered barmaid. She paid but when she turned to leave Aston had vanished. Logic told her that he’d do as he said and continue to keep silent but that didn’t stop her from feeling anxious. She was stupid to have reacted to him at all but she could never help herself when he taunted her.

  Sid had managed to entice Delia onto the dancefloor so she made her way towards the stage. She caught sight of Aston but he was deep in conversation with his lucky lady, a tall brunette, both older and more stylish than Evie had imagined. They stood face to face but so close that their hip bones touched, their lips brushing as they talked. It didn’t look likely that Aston would be coming back to Brixton with her and Lawrie at the end of the night.

  The set came to an end, the crowd roaring their disapproval as Johnny placated them with promises of a return. Someone switched on a recording but the music sounded tinny after the luxury of a live band. Evie discarded her half-full glass on a table and pushed on past the last few revellers who stood in her way.

  ‘You staying up there all night?’ she called up to Lawrie, basking in the curious gaze of those around her.

  He grinned and jumped down to the dancefloor, pulling her against him, kissing her. She relaxed into his hold and was disappointed when he soon released her.

  ‘Let a fella catch his breath,’ he joked, seeing the look on her face. He kissed her again. ‘Where’s Delia?’

  ‘She met a chap. Seems like a decent sort.’

  ‘So we don’t need to worry about her?’ He steered her towards the door that led backstage and the noise of the crowd faded as it closed behind them. ‘You want a drink?’

  ‘No, I’m all right. I suppose we’ve only got ten minutes or so.’

  The band were in the green room, sharing out the rest of Aston’s whisky and lighting their cigarettes. Evie poked her head in to say hello before Lawrie pulled her along to an empty dressing room. Kept for the few occasions that the Lyceum had a famous singer, the room was set up with dressing table, mirror and chair. He closed the door firmly behind them before sitting on the rickety wooden chair and pulling Evie onto his lap. He kissed her, hard, and she felt his hand on her thigh, working its way beneath her skirt.

  ‘You feeling all right?’ She pulled away and held the back of her hand against his forehead. ‘You seem rather amorous this evening.’

  ‘Well, if you will wear a dress like this…’ He plucked at the hem with his fingers and smiled. ‘You look beautiful. And it’s not often we find ourselves alone somewhere your mother won’t come bursting in. You did want me to be more forward, didn’t you say?’

  ‘I know, I shouldn’t complain,’ she said, ‘only I do get the feeling I’m just a distraction.’

  His smile faltered. ‘I was talking to the boys earlier and they’ve all had visits from the police. To do with…’

  ‘Ophelia,’ Evie finished, even as she felt her throat constrict at the name. ‘But isn’t that good news?’ she asked. ‘It means they’re not just looking at you.’

  ‘I had to tell them,’ he said. ‘That it was me who found her. Somehow I can’t help feeling it’s all my fault. I know how ridiculous that is but I can’t help it. I felt so relieved when I found out they’d been round to everyone, even though they scared Johnny’s wife half to death.’

  Someone, probably Johnny, started up a tune on the piano next door, the others lending their voices to the melody. They all seemed in good spirits, none the worse for wear. Surely the whole thing would blow over soon enough. Evie knew what desperation was but murder just didn’t add up. She was convinced that when the inquest was finally held it would be written up as a tragic accident, the unfortunate disposal of the body the only unsavoury element. Funerals weren’t cheap, everybody knew, and for a person already struggling to put food on the table…

  ‘And now you’re the one worrying,’ Lawrie accused her, taking in the expression on her face.

  She hung her head in mock shame and took hold of his hand, sliding it until it rested on her inner thigh. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

  They didn’t have long. She dared to unbutton his shirt, just halfway, and bent her head to kiss the soft skin, feeling his breath catch as his chest pushed out to meet her lips. Her boldness left her light-headed, exhilarated and triumphant. She had wanted this for so long, to know that he desired her. To pull away and hear a soft sigh of disappointment on his lips. To give him permission when he leaned forward and pursued her once more. She was in safe hands that pushed boundaries that he had set in his own mind, his fingers causing her heart to pound as they patrolled the area a strict inch below her knicker line, his kisses keeping to the cotton lines of her bra when his mouth strayed south. They made good use of the time they had, Lawrie cursing when Johnny rapped on the door.

  ‘Give me a minute,’ Lawrie called.

  Johnny chuckled. ‘You got two.’

  Evie shook out her skirt and buttoned the bodice of her dress as she stood. She held out a hand to Lawrie but he shook his head: ‘You go ahead.’

  She opened her mouth in query but then saw his fluster and felt her own cheeks heat up as she realised his problem. ‘I’ll see you later? I have to be out of here by eleven else I’ll be late home.’

  ‘Should be done by half ten. I can’t let my girl go home alone.’

  ‘Prince Charming.’ She kissed him and left, feeling lighter as she skipped back out to the ballroom.

  Delia and Sid were sitting down at a table now and Sid had bought them all a drink.

  ‘Delia tells me your chap’s in the band.’ Sid looked impressed.

  ‘He’s ever so nice,’ Delia informed him. ‘Treats Evie like gold, don’t he?’

  ‘As he should,’ said Sid.

  Evie sat down and took a sip of her gin and orange, wondering if the glow in her cheeks was visible in the dim light. Lawrie would be free in less than an hour. Three was a crowd but then it was also her job as best friend to look out for Delia and make sure Sid didn’t get ahead of himself.

  ‘So I was wondering, Evie,’ Sid asked her, leaning forward as Delia beamed at the interest he was showing to her friend. ‘Where is it you’re from? Originally, I mean.’

  Best behaviour, she reminded herself, plastering a false smile across her face.

  Extract from the Daily Mirror – Saturday 18th March 1950

  OPHELIA KILLER STILL AT LARGE

  Police in London confirmed that they have released the man they were questioning over the death of baby Ophelia, though they have stated that the investigation has thrown up several new leads – police believe they have a list of potential male suspects with a connection to the area. The identity of the mother is still unknown.

  DS Kenneth Rathbone spoke to the press on Friday afternoon, making the following statement: ‘We would like to remind the public that any information, any tiny detail or suspicion, could be vital. Please contact the police immediately if you think you may have seen or heard anything on the night of Wednesday 15th March, or since. Our investigation is of course centred on the Clapham Common area but enquiries have also led us to Brixton and Stockwell. We believe it likely that the perpetrator of this crime lives locally.’

  A spec
ial service was held at St Mary’s church on Thursday evening. In attendance was Mrs Gladys Barnett, the dog walker who made the gruesome discovery. She was reluctant to speak to the press but did make a short statement, to the effect that the police had asked her to keep certain details to herself, and that she was uncertain whether the man questioned by police on Thursday has a connection to Ophelia or not. Police have maintained that Mrs Barnett is not a suspect in this case.

  Members of the public can contact their local police station with any information regarding Ophelia or if they were in the Clapham Common area on the evening of Wednesday 15th March or early hours of Thursday 16th. All information will be treated in the strictest confidence and anonymity is assured.

  7

  ‘I just don’t see why we have to fit our lives around his.’ Evie glared at him from the other side of the wall, both of them with a mug of tea in hand to help keep warm as they leaned against their respective front doors.

  ‘We don’t, but this is his first time living in London. Properly I mean, not just visiting. Having to find a job. Somewhere to live. Wouldn’t you do the same for Delia?’

  Lawrie was too tired for this. After getting home from the Lyceum he’d managed less than two hours sleep, tossing and turning as he wrapped himself up in blankets like a cocoon against the weather, needle-hard rain pelting the thin glass panes of his bedroom window. Then he’d been back out onto the dark pre-dawn streets that always felt less real on a Saturday, the usual early risers of the weekday safely tucked away in bed. His mood had worsened once he’d seen that morning’s paper left out on the kitchen table. He was on that list of suspects the article talked about, that much was certain.

  Last night he’d thought that she understood how confused and unsettled he felt, but today she’d pulled a face as soon as he said that he couldn’t take her to the pictures. He wanted to wait for Aston to return and, no, he didn’t know when that might be. Yes, usually they did go to the pictures on a Saturday afternoon, but to call it a tradition when they’d been doing it for a few months was ridiculous. Maybe he’d been asking for trouble to say it in that way but she had to understand that he wasn’t going to change his mind.

  ‘He’s a grown man. And it’s not like Mrs Ryan can’t let him into the house if you’re not here.’ Now she was pouting.

  ‘She would if she was home but she’s not,’ he pointed out, trying to keep his voice calm. Derek had gone out for the day, probably to the football or to the pub, Arthur was at work and Mrs Ryan had popped out to the shops which, on a Saturday, usually included catching up with her friends at one of the cafés on Atlantic Road. Those ladies could chat for hours. ‘He’s not got a key.’

  ‘He could bear to wait outside for a little while. Might teach him a lesson. Teach him that he can’t just treat Mrs Ryan’s house like a free hotel,’ Evie told him. ‘He’s the one who chose to stay out all night. Look at the time! It’s the afternoon and he’s still not shown his face. He’ll be all cosy in some trollop’s flat somewhere.’

  ‘Trollop?’ He knew it would end badly but the sound of the word made him chuckle.

  ‘Oh, it’s funny, is it?’ Evie’s expression was thunderous. ‘You say you love me but you never put me first, not even ahead of Aston bloody Bayley. It’s not fair, Lawrie, not when we only have the weekends together.’

  ‘Come on, Evie.’ His whole body felt heavy and try as he might, he just couldn’t summon any words he thought might placate her.

  ‘Fine. You’ve made your choice. I hope he stands you up.’ She stood on the doorstep, one hand on the frame. She was giving him one last chance to change his mind even though they were far too late for the main programme at the cinema.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His shrug was lacklustre. It was all he had the energy for.

  The door slammed behind her and he was surprised to feel relieved. At least it put an end to the argument for now. He went back inside and headed towards the kitchen, leaving the front door off the latch just in case Evie came round. She was always quick to react but she usually calmed down just as rapidly and she wasn’t one to hold a grudge, though Aston would probably say different.

  He sagged into a kitchen chair and laid his crossed arms on the table, resting his head down upon them. Maybe they should have just gone to the pictures. Aston could have fended for himself and Evie was right, there was no guarantee he’d make an appearance. He’d done it before, arrived in town on a Friday and then disappeared until the Sunday, only tempted back by the prospect of a free roast dinner.

  With time to kill he should write to his mother, but he didn’t know what to tell her. She’d be appalled if she knew what had happened to him but he didn’t feel he could lie. Not when there was every chance that Mrs Ryan would want to add a postscript of her own.

  He heard the front door open. ‘Evie?’ Hope lifted his head.

  ‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Arthur called out and Lawrie could hear the scuffing sound of him wiping his feet on the doormat. A moment later he appeared having shed his heavy coat but not the cloud of cold air that followed him inside like an invisible shadow. ‘I take it you’re expecting Miss Coleridge.’

  ‘Not really. We fell out.’

  Arthur examined Lawrie’s expression before laughing, throwing his head right back. ‘Man, I don’t miss this misery. The rest maybe but not this.’ The older man carried a brown paper bag, cradling it like a child. Like a baby. Lawrie’s gullet burned as bile rose up.

  He took a gulp of his tea, now lukewarm, and winced. ‘What you talkin’ about?’

  ‘Love!’ Arthur laughed again. ‘You think I’m too old for such craziness? Let me sit myself down. I must say, I take more pleasure these days in lifting the weight from my feet than you young fellas take in chasing the girls.’

  ‘Arthur, you talk like you’re old enough to be my grandfather.’ Despite his bad mood he felt a smile flicker on his lips.

  ‘No, boy, only old enough to be your father.’ Arthur sighed as he sank slowly into the chair, savouring the feeling of each individual muscle as it relaxed, enjoying the lightness as his body weight lifted from swollen ankles that were finally done with his long shift.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ Lawrie offered.

  ‘You read my mind, boy.’ Arthur’s eyes were closed now, his head tilted back. ‘What happened anyway? Just a lover’s tiff, I hope?’

  Lawrie filled the kettle in lieu of answering. There was only a dribble of milk left in the bottle on the windowsill but he knew Arthur preferred his brew dark. He struck one of the long kitchen matches and lit a ring on the stove, keeping his back turned as he tried to keep his voice light. ‘Just Evie wanting everything her own way as usual.’

  ‘Typical female. You may as well get used to it.’

  Even with his back turned he knew that Arthur was watching him. Lawrie busied himself, straining the cold tea from the pot in order to reuse the leaves.

  ‘She’s got a bee in her bonnet over Aston. She wanted us to go to the pictures but I thought I should wait in, case he comes back. She thinks I put him first, ahead of her.’

  ‘I see why she might think that but he’s your only friend from back home. Your only connection to your old life,’ Arthur pointed out. ‘Besides, you let her walk all over you now, what happens when you get married? You can forget about seeing Aston then, especially once you got children to think of.’ Arthur paused. ‘He does treat this house like his own personal guesthouse, turning up when he likes. It might teach him a lesson if you did just get on with your own life ’stead of waiting around for him to turn up.’

  ‘So are you saying that Evie is right or I’m right?’

  ‘You can’t both be?’

  ‘And that helps me how?’

  Arthur shrugged. ‘Was I sent here to solve all your trivial problems, boy? Just saying things as I see them.’

  The kettle began to whistle, giving Lawrie an excuse to keep his silence.

  Arthur placed his hands against the tea-cosied sides of
the teapot as Lawrie placed it down, warming his icy palms. ‘I prayed for you last night, Lawrence. This just a trial, you know? You being tested is all. You stay strong.’

  ‘You been listening too much to Mrs Ryan and her bible stories.’ Lawrie saw the reproach in Arthur’s eyes and regretted his harsh tone. ‘Sorry. I know you just want to help. It’s not just me suffering, though. The police have been knocking on doors.’ He sat, exhaustion overtaking him once more.

  ‘I hadn’t heard that. They haven’t spoke to me.’

  ‘Then you’re the only black man they haven’t spoken to.’ Lawrie pulled a face.

  Arthur’s sigh was heavy. ‘They decided what the culprit looks like already then? Sounds about right.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Maybe they think me too old for such a caper. No woman goin’ look twice at an old fella like me, they think? More fool them!’

  Lawrie couldn’t smile. ‘What about at work? Are people talking?’

  ‘A little. I mean, some fellas was saying that it must be the mother did it. There’s that home up on the other side of the Common, you know, for unmarried mothers. Some young girl in a moment of desperation. Maybe they tried to take the child away from her.’

  Lawrie nodded slowly. Evie had been born in that home. She’d told Lawrie one day as they’d walked barefoot on the grass, not far from the home on Cedars Road, and he’d just built up the courage to take her hand, feeling the soft warmth of her palm against his.

  ‘There is something quite strange about seeing a body when the life has gone from it,’ Arthur said. ‘When my wife died, I could see right away she had left me. Moved on as they say, nothing but flesh left behind. The child was a different matter. He barely lived a minute or two but I wanted to see him. Stupid, but I thought that if I held him I’d discover something about the man he should have become.’

  Lawrie’s throat was blocked, as though the stopper from a glass jar had been jammed down tight. He had no meaningful words to offer, just frivolous and empty placations.

  ‘I suppose I’m telling you this because bad things happen. All the time. Not just to you but to everyone. I’m not trying to compete with you, you understand, but I can imagine a little of how you’re feeling. Wondering, why you? When will things get back to the way they were? All of that is normal, you know. And if you need help then just ask. Myself and Mrs Ryan at least,’ Arthur qualified. ‘I cannot speak for Derek. God only knows what goes on in that boy’s head.’