He needed two hands to pick his overcoat up from the adjoining chair. It had been raining and the coat was porous, doubling its already considerable weight and bulk. It was like pulling a wet walrus on to his back. He went out, raising a heavy hand to the sergeant on the desk. His Lagonda stood, as ever, open to the rain but Kitty had crawled below the green tarpaulin. The dog lay in the back seat like an ominously covered cadaver. Davies got in and started the engine and Kitty growled with it. The great headlamps of the car careered grandly through the drizzle and the dreary streets as Davies drove towards The Lame Elephant. He wondered why, if Ena Lind despised her husband so much, she talked about them having people around to dinner.
She was waiting, in the saloon bar, enfolded in a coat of dyed rabbit, the space on the knee-high table before her cleared suggestively.
‘Double port and single lemon,’ she said. ‘You’re all wet. You look like a sponge.’
‘My car leaks,’ he explained, going to the bar. He got her double port and single lemon and a scotch for himself and carried it back to the table. ‘No crème de menthe?’ he said.
‘They wouldn’t know what that was in here,’ she sniffed, ‘If the masses don’t drink it, they get confused. They’re all bloody Irish anyway.’
Davies rolled off his coat again, considered the reliability of a coat-hook on the wall and decided not to burden it. He hung it on the chair next to him. Ena Lind regarded him doubtfully.
‘You’re a bit of a mess, one way and another,’ she sniffed. ‘Haven’t you got anybody to look after you?’
‘Well,’ he said drinking his scotch, ‘I do have a sort of wife. We live in the same house—it’s a kind of boarding house—but we don’t live together, if you understand what I mean.’
‘I understand all right,’ she said. ‘Very well indeed.’ She studied the inside of the saloon bar. It was the period of the evening when it had begun to swell with people and with smoke.
‘If people had homes,’ she murmured, ‘the pubs would be out of business for a start.’
‘True, true,’ he agreed. ‘But if there was a vote on it, homes or pubs, I bet the pubs would win. Will you have another?’
‘You’ve soon swallowed that.’
‘Yes, I tend to get through the first one quickly.’
‘I can see.’ She disposed of her drink. ‘Right-o then. But this one’s on me. No arguments.’ She pressed a pound into his hand and closed his fingers around it. Her hand felt dry on his damp skin.
‘All right,’ he nodded. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘Have a double,’ she suggested. ‘I expect you’d have got a double for yourself, wouldn’t you? Might just stop you getting pneumonia.’
He grinned gratefully and ordered the drinks. He returned to the table and raised his glass.
‘Cheers, Ena,’ he said.
‘Here’s to Celia Norris,’ she replied soberly.
He looked at her on the sharp angle. ‘Well,’ she said, catching his askew eyes. ‘Why not? It’s been a long time. She’s still dead. Maybe, wherever she’s got to, she’ll like us to drink her health.’
‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘I thought it was a bit late for that, that’s all.’ He pushed his glass upwards. ‘To Celia Norris, then.’
‘Yes,’ she affirmed. Her glass ascended a few inches. ‘Our lovely Celia.’
‘What’s that mean?’ he inquired quickly. ‘Saying it like that?’
‘Well she was,’ replied Ena Lind with assumed conviction. ‘Lovely. Nice little figure, pretty little face, suffered spots, but still pretty. Tiny bottom. The boys used to enjoy to watch her playing table tennis, or better still netball, so they could get a glimpse at her arse.’
‘Only the boys?’
‘And some men, of course. That’s what you meant, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Men. Like who?’
‘Let’s have another drink. If I’m going to tell you I don’t want to hold myself responsible for it.’
‘That’s a good excuse. All right. Same?’
‘Same,’ she smiled. She looked quite attractive in a full, forty-year-old way. Her teeth were large and splendid and her face rounded and smoothed with the wrinkles well subdued. The stitched and tinted rabbit skins looked plush on her. She sensed his thoughts and opened the fur down to her middle so that her breasts lounged indolently against it. She smiled and he turned and went to get the drinks. He bought himself another double scotch.
‘Do you always drink that?’ he asked, putting the double port and single lemon on the table before her.
‘That and crème de menthe,’ she said. ‘Mostly when I’m out I drink this. It warms me up. Green’s very cold, don’t you think?’
He sat down. ‘Now tell me,’ he said, turning towards her. ‘About the men?’
‘There was only one really, one who did anything,’ she said ‘Could you guess who that was? Come on, let’s see if you’re really a good detective.’
‘Ramscar,’ he guessed.
Her etched eyebrows jumped with genuine surprise. ‘Fancy you saying that,’ she said softly. ‘Ramscar. Blimey I’d forgotten all about him.’ She thought about it. ‘Yes…I suppose you could be right, too. I must say I hadn’t thought about it like that. He used to hang around Celia a bit. Flash bugger. Wandering Hands Society, you know what I mean. He was a friend of her father’s, and he was a crook you know. Still is, I expect. No, I wasn’t thinking of Ramscar.’ Her voice trailed as though she had conjured new possibilities from old memories.
‘Boot then,’ prompted Davies. ‘He’s runner-up.’
‘Right, second time. Dave Boot. He’d had Celia.’
‘Had her? Sexually?’
‘Is there another way? He’d had her and he’d had me and some of the other girls as well. We were all fifteen when we joined there, at the youth club and I reckon he got around us all in a couple of years. We used to think he was terrific. Terrific. I don’t mind telling you now. It’s all gone a long time ago for me.’
With blunt wistfulness she added: ‘I could do with him now, these days. Instead of that dud sod I’m married to. Oh, he was manly, Dave Boot. You know, sports singlet, muscles, fair hair, tanned. He used to go up and lie in the grass by the Welsh Harp every day in the summer because he only worked in the evenings, see. I came across him up there one day when I was mooching along by the water. He had pieces of tin, sort of squares, like the sides of a biscuit tin all around him. He told me it was to catch every bit of sun, reflecting it.
‘We used to think he was great. And there wasn’t many of us he hadn’t fucked by the time he’d finished. He only left the really pimply girls or the fat ones alone. And we all knew who he was having. We used to fight about him.’
‘Dave the Rave,’ murmured Davies to himself.
‘That’s what they call him now,’ she nodded. ‘I’ve seen his picture in the local papers. He’s got this disco at Finchley. I’ve fancied calling in and surprising him. But he wouldn’t know me now. I bet he’s still having them as young as ever. Could I have another drink? Here I’ll pay for this one. I don’t want to cadge. Please.’
He nodded, reluctant to break her story, and took the money to get the drinks. The barman winked at him, looked across at Ena, her prow heaving like an ice-breaker, grinned and gave the thumbs up sign. Davies ignored him.
He had another double for himself and found the short journey back to his seat took slightly longer than before. He would have to watch it. He didn’t want to lose her now. For a moment, after regaining his seat, he thought he had lost her. She sipped at her drink then leaned back and closed her eyes. Her face was set and passive. He gave her a nudge.
‘What’s the matter?’ she inquired, curiously opening only one eye.
‘Oh, sorry, Ena. I thought you’d dozed off.’
‘No, no. I was just thinking about it. About Dave.’
‘He…he definitely had sex with Celia then? You’re pretty sure of that?’
‘Not pretty sure. Ve
ry sure. I was there, mate, I was there. He had us both at the same time. The first time, anyway.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, we were only kids, and we thought he was Mister Wonderful.’ She had closed her eyes again, as though trying to recapture the immensity of Boot’s muscles. ‘The two of us, Celia and me, being friends, used to giggle about it and make out what we’d like him to do to us. And then, one day, he did it. Just like that. It was a bit of a shock, but a nice shock, if you see what I mean.’ She glanced at him to ascertain if he had seen what she meant. His whiskeyed eyes were attentive. He nodded her on.
‘Funny thing was, it was afternoon. It must have been in the holidays because we was at school then. We’d gone around to the church which was where the youth club was, as you know, to do something or other, like help getting things together for a church fête. We helped to put a sort of sideshow together and Father Harvey, who’d just got there in those days, was helping us, farting about like he still does, but eventually he want off to pray or something and suddenly, in the vestry Dave put his arms around our waists. Celia had been bending over getting something and he gave her a pat on the bottom, just playing, and I bent over, laughing like, so he could do the same to me. I remember saying something like: “Not one without the other, Dave.” So he smacked me too. That seemed to start it. We went out of the vestry and all three of us ran across the grass to the youth club, where he had a key to a storeroom. I remember being so hot and excited. I felt like I was flying. I was scared too, of course, petrified. But I could see Celia was just the same, excited but frightened, and I thought then, “She’s not having anything I’m not having” and that’s how it was.’
She had given the appearance of reciting to herself. Now she waited and looked at Davies. He leaned towards her like a peckish dog. Her returned expression indicated that she required him to say something.
So he said: ‘I’m glad he didn’t do it in the vestry.’
She shrugged seriously. ‘He thought Father Harvey might come back, I suppose. It was nothing religious. He wasn’t all that religious, Dave wasn’t.’
Davies felt weary because of the drink but he still managed to raise his eyebrows. ‘Do you want me to go on?’ she inquired mischievously. ‘I bet you do.’
‘I’d like you to,’ he admitted.
‘I’ll need another drink, I think,’ she said apologetically. ‘I’m under a bit of a strain.’
Davies got up carefully as though not to disturb her train of thought. He had run out of money but the publican knew him and told the barman to go ahead with the drinks. ‘Another copper in his pocket,’ said the man caustically as he poured them.
‘Piss off,’ muttered Davies and returned equally clumsily to Ena.
‘Really,’ she said. ‘It does me good to talk about it. It’s years since I was able to talk about it to anyone. In detail.’ She smiled expansively. The port on her breath met the whisky on his half way between them in an invisible but potent alchemy. He intended only to nod to her, signalling her to recommence, but his head seemed overweight and it dropped forward and collided with her shoulder and her cheek. She patted him affectionately. ‘Now don’t you doze off before I’ve finished. This isn’t a bedtime story.’
He forced himself away from the rabbity comfort of her shoulder and cursed the curse of drink. ‘I’m listening,’ he mumbled. ‘Very carefully, I’m listening.’
‘You’d better. We’re getting to the really wicked bit now. Where he fucked us.’ She giggled. ‘Not that we would have used a word like that then. Not in those days.’ She almost bit into the double port and single lemon. Davies had the nous to reflect that it appeared to have a less wearing effect than scotch. ‘You want me to go on?’ she said.
‘I can’t wait.’
‘So, as I said, we went across to this storeroom and there he undressed both of us. We just stood there like a couple of nits, hands hanging down by our sides, not daring to look at each other or move, and he took our clothes off for us. First he took one thing off Celia, then he turned to me and took something from me. Celia was wearing her first bra, but I was already two cup sizes ahead, I remember feeling quite proud of mine. He took his time over it, that Dave, the devil. I remember the sun coming in the window, watching it, because I was too nervous to even look at his face. Then we stood there, stark naked, Celia and me, sort of shivering like you do. Nervousness. I could feel goose pimples all over me. We both felt a bit stupid just standing there with him looking us over. Celia—she couldn’t help it—started to giggle and so did I. But he told us to stop laughing and he was serious, very stern, so we did. We would have done anything he wanted. I remember wondering what was going to happen next and whether I could get pregnant. But I didn’t think about that for long. He hadn’t touched us, not our skin, not sexually, only to get our clothes off, but then he suddenly took down his track suit trousers—he always wore a track suit, sometimes a blue one, sometimes red, and then his support whatsit, his jock strap, and out came this great thing. It seemed enormous to us then, and even now, allowing for always remembering the good things, you know, even now I reckon it was something frightening.
‘We still didn’t know what to do. I could see Celia was scarlet and I could feel my face burning. Then, bold as you like, she reached out and touched it. I was bloody amazed, I can tell you. But she did. She put out her hand and sort of patted it on the end, and then she caught hold of it in her fingers, wrapping them right around it. I thought: “Right, you’re not being left behind, Ena.” So I grabbed hold of his whatsits.’
‘Whatsits?’ asked the bemused Davies.
‘Oh God, you know. Underneath. Testicles. Is that clear enough?’
‘Yes, yes. Very clear.’
‘Right, well I did. And I grabbed hard, all eager not to be outdone, and Christ, he nearly went through the ceiling! I mean, I didn’t know, not at that age, that men are tender under there. Poor Dave. He tried to screech, but he had to keep his voice down at the same time in case anybody heard. You should have seen his face. It was like a horror film with no sound. You can imagine. I was really ashamed and embarrassed, especially as Celia was doing so well. But after a bit, he felt better, and water went out of his eyes, and he started playing about with us, and us with him and eventually he got us over to the club trampoline and had us both on that.’
‘Trampoline?’ uttered Davies from his fog. ‘Trampoline?’
‘Right. He had a few minutes with Celia first and then a few minutes with me. It didn’t half kick up a dust too, on that thing. I remember all the bits of dust floating in the sunshine coming through the window.’ She paused as though remembering particularly the sunshine. ‘And that was that,’ she said. ‘The first time. After that it happened on and off. Not regular. Just on and off. And never me and Celia together again.’
‘When did it stop?’ Davies remembered to ask.
‘After Celia. After she’d gone. He never did it with me again after that. I suppose he thought it was unfair, sort of thing. One without the other.’
Their glasses were empty. Davies, confident of the publican’s cooperation, rolled to the bar for a last refill. It was a minute to closing time. He returned to her. She had her painted lids closed again and once more he thought she might be asleep. He had some difficulty in focusing her. But the sound of the glasses clunking on the table caused her to open her eyes again.
‘Did you think that was interesting?’ she inquired in the manner of a popular lecturer.
‘Most informative,’ he said cautiously. ‘And there were others?’
‘Lots,’ she agreed. ‘Celia and me saw him having it with a girl called Potts, Roxanne Potts, one night. He had her across the vaulting horse in the club.’
‘He used all the equipment then?’
‘Dave was a trained gymnast,’ she said seriously. They drank their glasses quickly and went towards the door. Shakily she helped him to get his ponderous overcoat over his arms and shoulders. Then, to his astonish
ment, she said: ‘But you don’t suspect him, Dave, of course, do you? Not of murdering her. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.’
It had ceased raining, but the night air was smeary and damp. He drove her to the foot of Gladstone Heights and she rolled herself close to him in the front of the Lagonda. ‘Doesn’t the top go on this thing?’ she inquired hazily.
‘Not since the war,’ he said. ‘It’s stuck and I haven’t had time to fix it.’
‘What’s that lump under the canvas thing in the back seat. It’s not a dead body, is it?’
‘Sort of. It’s my dog, Kitty. He might as well be dead. He hardly ever stirs. Only his bad chest and jawbone when he’s eating.’
‘How old are you?’ she decided to ask.
‘About thirty-three or five,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘I’m older than you,’ she grumbled as though it were his fault. ‘At least three years.’
‘It happens to everybody,’ he said to comfort her. He stopped the Lagonda at the foot of the mountainous path to the council flats. He did not feel inclined to walk up but he could not let her stagger the gradient alone. They rolled drunkenly out of the car, and like old pals, their arms about each other, they trudged up the climb.
‘Is that a light in your window?’ inquired Davies, looking up to the rearing buildings against the watery stars.
‘He leaves it on,’ she sniffed. ‘To guide me home. He ought to have been a bloody coastguard.’
Talking was an effort. Their spirited breaths puffed into the night air like the snorts of dragons. They reached the entrance to the flats gratefully. Davies kissed her on the plump cheek. ‘Night, Ena,’ he said. ‘I’ll be trundling down.’
‘Wait,’ she insisted quietly. ‘See me up to the lift. Just to the door. He’ll be asleep. He leaves the light on but he goes to sleep.’
He eyed her with what suspicion he could muster, but her face was as roundly innocent as before. He took her elbow and then went to the tin lift. It arrived at a quick rattle and they stepped in. She pressed a button and the door closed but the awaited sensation of ascent did not follow. He looked at her, puzzled, and saw she was opening her coat and quickly her blouse. A protest engulfed his throat but she worked like lightning. Her big pink brassière was hooked in the centre of its cups and she had flicked it open in a moment, her voluminous breasts tumbled out, and without waiting, she caught hold of the back of his head and violently smashed his face into them. His cries were smothered by warm, scented flesh, but he could hear her making short gasping requests. ‘I want you. I’ve got to have a real one! A real one!’
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