Alfie

by Bill Naughton

  ‘Not yet,’ says Lacey.

  Lofty gives Lacey another look. ‘That’ll be enough from you, mate,’ he says. This Lofty isn’t a geezer to get on the wrong side of. Actually he’s a decent bloke, and you can’t blame him being a bit sharp, because it makes you edgey if you’ve got a bird in tow and they’ve all got big eyes for her.

  ‘I didn’t mean it that way, Lofty,’ says Flo. ‘I just meant she looked unhappy.’

  ‘Small tea and a bit of cake, Flo,’ says Lacey. He watches Lofty going back to the table with the teas. ‘Old Lofty is getting very possessive,’ he says.

  ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen him bring a girl in,’ says Flo.

  ‘Here, I picked one up last Friday night,’ says Lacey, ‘near Jack’s Castle. It waved me down it did and when I stopped it couldn’t get into the cab – its skirts were that tight, see. I had to go out and lift it in, just like it were a bleeding mummy. The same when it was getting out.’

  The door opened and in came this mate of mine called Fatchops.

  Hey, Alfie,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here? You’re not back trunking are you?’

  ‘What, in this get-up?’ I said. ‘Nah, I’m doing a turn on the private hire.’

  ‘I believe Sharpey had you working the smudge with him,’ said Lacey.

  ‘What’s the smudge?’ said Flo.

  ‘The old street photographer’s lark,’ said Lacey.

  ‘I did a week on it,’ I said, ‘but the rain killed it.’

  ‘I expect you’d pick up plenty of cracker on that game,’ said Lacey.

  ‘The odd bit,’ I said.

  Matter of fact, come to think of it, I’d got myself a marvellous bint called Ruby. She’s a mature woman, see, a woman who’s got on in life, and she’s in her early thirties and quite mumsie, very warm and generous upstairs if you see what I mean. Not fat, mind you, but solid. Here, when I first laid hands on this Ruby I definitely knew I’d got hold of something. And when she ran her fingers over me I could feel a lifetime’s experience in them. She’s what you call a career woman and she’s been very successful at it. Only owns three hairdressers’ shops and got her own flat on the sixth floor overlooking the river in a block called Thompson Court. Admitted it’s a bit poncey, what with porters and one thing and another, but she’s got a cocktail cabinet, a big refrigerator, a Colston dishwasher, a twenty-one inch telly, handsome thick red carpet and mirrors you can see yourself in all over the place. In fact she’s almost too good for me – with a set up like that.

  Now I’ve still got my eye on this bint that’s come in with Lofty. It’s the sort of bird nine out of ten blokes won’t even see, but it’s got this waiflike look, and I find I often go in for that sort of thing, because a bird like that only needs drawing out of itself, and there’s often a hidden treasure underneath. Besides which they’re inclined to be more appreciative and much less demanding.

  Lofty was trying to put her at her ease in his clumsy way, offering her fags, but it seems she doesn’t smoke. That says something in her favour, I thought. Then he came up to the counter for the grub.

  ‘They’re almost ready,’ said Flo. ‘I’m putting you grilled tomatoes on, OK?’

  ‘Eh? Oh sure, sure Flo,’ said Lofty. He’s just that bit slow on the uptake. Flo put both plates on the counter.

  ‘It’s going to be a chequebook order,’ said Fatchops.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Lofty.

  ‘Where d’you pull it, Lofty?’ said Fatchops, ‘– and don’t tell me it’s the landlady’s daughter.’

  ‘I didn’t pull it,’ said Lofty, ‘I gave the young lady a lift from Bury. Owt else you want to know?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fatchops. ‘Is that your load outside with the prefabs or chicken houses or whatever it is they are on?’

  ‘Yeh. What about it?’ said Lofty.

  ‘Well it was just coming on heavy rain when I came in,’ said Fatchops, ‘and I thought that the bloke whose load that was, was going to have a hell of a job with it if he didn’t loosen up his loading ropes on account of the wet.’

  ‘Ta, mate,’ said Lofty, ‘I’ll attend to it.’

  I was going to say that he’d better not forget or else he’d have a load of trouble later but I didn’t because I thought it might make him suspicious, which he’d have been quite right to feel. So he goes back with the two platefuls of grub to this little bird sitting at the table. Then one or two drivers join in the chat about what things can happen to your load in wet weather if you get your ropes shrinking and they pull your load to one side. Then this leads on to one chap telling about a load of sheepskins he’d had and how they began to slip. Of course another driver has to top this with how he’s going up the Shap in winter with fifteen ton on and he has to stop and the whole thing starts slipping back.

  Now if there’s one thing gets on my wick it’s drivers talking about their wagons and their jobs. All an engine is to me is a block of metal under a bonnet, and its only purpose, so far as I can see, is to get you from one place to another. So there I was joining in but not taking a blind bit of notice and thinking to myself what a pity it was I didn’t have any company for my little ride back to London, whilst here is this quiet little bint noshing it away with Lofty.

  Anyway he gets his grub down in record time – he’s got a terrific twist on him – and tells his lady companion that he’s going out to ease off his loading ropes. At least that’s what it looks like to me the way he’s talking to her and the signs he’s making with his hands. He’s a very slow thinking sort of bloke and talks to you like you were deaf and dumb. Now when I see him go off I say: ‘This place is getting into a real clutch-and-gear-joint. I think I’ll go across and have a little tune on the old juke-box to brighten things up.’

  Now as luck would have it the juke-box chances to be up against the table where this Annie is sitting all on her todd. So I look down the list and I happen to remark, more to myself than to her, ‘Blimey, they’ve got a load of old ’uns on here.’

  I looked out of the corner of my eye to see what its reactions are and it gives me a little smile. It looks dead lonesome in its own little way. ‘Did you come in with Big Lofty?’ I said.

  I’ve only watched her come in haven’t I. But I find that a very good approach with a bird to say something dead ordinary at the start. It wasn’t well timed because she’s chewing a mouthful of sausage so that all she can do is give me a nod. Still it makes it think maybe I’m not so bright. Always keep your best lines tucked away for the right occasion.

  I keep on looking down the list of records because a bird like that is like a child, they’re soon overfaced if you go for them, you’ve got to let them come to you. So without turning to it I start singing Lofty’s praises. ‘He’s a good bloke is Lofty,’ I said, ‘a real good mate, one of the few drivers you can rely on in these days. He’ll never let you down. You’re in good hands with Lofty.’

  ‘Yes, he seems nice,’ she said.

  ‘Oh a good-hearted geezer is Lofty,’ I said. ‘He’ll give you anything. He’d share his last cigarette.’

  ‘Yes, he seems generous,’ she said, a nice smile coming to her eyes.

  ‘He’s his own biggest enemy,’ I said, ‘he’ll even share his girlfriends with his mates.’ I took a gander at her and another through the window at old Lofty who I could just make out going round his wagon easing off his ropes in the dark. ‘I suppose I’m fussy, but I never fancy that sort of game,’ I said. ‘One bloke told me that he’d even lend you his wife, like the Eskimos do – I wouldn’t fancy a thing like that, for one thing she’s as big as he is—’

  ‘I didn’t know he was married,’ she said.

  ‘Oh he’s got at least one wife,’ I said, ‘being a trunker, see, a long-distance driver, away from home every other night. They usually have a wife at home and the landlady or her daughter at their digs. Well you can’t blame them. It’s not the sort of life I’d fancy. What was I saying now? Here, but aren’t some blokes funny, I
’d hate anything like that, sharing a bint – I mean a gal. Where are you making for, Annie?’

  ‘London,’ she said. ‘How did you know my name?’

  ‘Lofty was talking about you,’ I said. ‘Where are you making for in London?’

  ‘Well no particular part, I’d like to get a place to stay and a job if I could,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t stay at one of these hostels whatever you do,’ I said. ‘You get an odd class of women in there, you know the sort I mean. You’ve got to look after yourself. What kind of job?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve worked mostly as a packer in a mail order firm.’

  ‘What kind of males?’ I said. Same as I always say, you’ve got to make ’em laugh a bit. ‘Here I might be able to help you,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a mate whose a foreman at one of these sweet factories in London. You can earn about fourteen quid a week and come out with your pockets full of toffees.’

  ‘Oh, how nice,’ she said. ‘Could I see you there?’

  ‘I could run you down there,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a car standing out there, a Daimler with heater, radio, the lot. Come on if you’re ready. Finish your sausage.’

  ‘Oh but I’d have to tell the driver who went out first,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t take that risk,’ I said, ‘he’d knock your block off, mine too, come to that. He’s a very funny tempered geezer. Listen, can you see that door there, well if you go out by that door you’ll come out at the back. Now about fifty yards down the road you’ll see a phone kiosk, slip off and wait for me there.’

  ‘Oh I couldn’t do that,’ she said. ‘Not go off and leave someone who had been so kind to me.’

  I took another peep through the window and I could see Lofty was almost done roping up. ‘If you tell him he’ll never let you go off with me,’ I said. ‘Now don’t be frightened of me, gal, I ain’t a wolf, I won’t do you no harm.’ Whatever I might do to a bird I don’t seem to frighten it – and whatever I might be I’m not kinky looking. It’s not just being fresh-faced it’s the look in your eyes. ‘You’d better make your mind up, gal,’ I said, ‘you don’t want sharing, do you?’ And I put my hand in front of her face with three fingers sticking up.

  She looked up at me, and then at my three fingers, and then she picked up her bag and made out by the side-door I’d told her to go by. I had the tanner in my hand ready to pop into the juke box in case Lofty should have turned up unexpectedly, so now I pushed it in and pressed the number of the knob for the record I wanted. Out came blaring an old tune called the Tennessee waltz. I knew there was no time to waste, so I slipped across and paid Flo. Lacey and Fatchops had tumbled me and they warned me what Lofty would do if ever he laid hands on me. I nipped out the proper door just as he was coming in. ‘Everything all right, Lofty?’ I said.

  ‘Eh? – oh sure, sure everything’s all right,’ he said. I could just hear the record on the juke box My friend stole my sweetheart away. I nipped across and into the car, started up and raced off down the road, where I could see this little bird called Annie standing so pathetic with her holdall in her hand beside the telephone kiosk.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It’s come Sunday morning round and there’s a bit of sunshine coming through the kitchen window, and I’m at the kitchen sink, see, having a good scrub down, a top-and-tailer as they call it, and if there’s one thing I enjoy it’s having a good scrub and swill down of a Sunday. Preferably with an old towel on the floor under my feet. To be quite frank, I always feel a lot cleaner after a good sluicing down at the sink than I do if I have a hot bath. I mean you get into a bath and with all that water coming up under your chin you get a feeling you could easily drown; on top of which when you stand up all the dirty scum on top of the water goes on to your body again.

  I find I’m not going in for these cold salt-water rub downs the same since little Annie came to stay with me. And it’s the same with my Royal Canadian Mounted Police exercises. Well, the fact is, you can easily become a crank if you don’t watch yourself, with all that exercise and cold water. I’ll admit you feel better for it, but Annie seems to have got me into the habit of an early morning cup of tea. Well, I reckon you can’t beat it, I mean give yourself a bit of comfort in this life.

  As I’m drying myself I look through the door into the next room and there it is, down on its knees scrubbing away, and to be quite honest, and though I say it myself who shouldn’t, it hasn’t come up bad. Its little face looks quite content as it scrubs away, its hair’s come up quite nice after washing – I mean, you never see the natural colour of a woman’s hair in these days with all these tints and bleaches, but Annie’s hair has come out auburn or whatever they call it, and its little skin has come out in a nice little glow too.

  It’s quite dainty, and I no sooner take off a pair of socks than it washes them – the same with shirts. It doesn’t allow things to pile up. There’s nothing a man enjoys more than seeing a woman slaving away for him. I suppose what it boils down to is that at heart every man is a bit of a ponce. ’Course you’ll never get one of them to admit it. Sometimes I think it’s a bit too quick. I mean you don’t want a bird grabbing your socks the minute you take them off and washing them. You begin to wonder what’s behind its mind.

  Of course it’s turned my little gaff into a palace compared with what it used to be. It can cook too, bit limited on the menu, goes in mostly for Lancashire hot-pot, Irish stew, and steak-and-kidney pudding – they blow you up a bit – but it do make a marvellous egg custard. Three eggs to the pint of milk, sugar, a twist of lemon peel, and a couple of hours on a very low flame in the gas oven with a grating of nutmeg. I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s quite fair on the other too. It’s a bit on the shy side, and it would never make the first move, but I find all that quite a change in these days.

  As I stop drying myself and watch it, and it doesn’t know it’s being watched, I can see it almost talking to itself as it listens to this old record it’s got playing away on the record-player. I know that one day you’ll want me to love you, when I’m in love with somebody new. What a bleeding hope, I thought, as I watched it. I had a feeling to go up to it and say: ‘Annie, why don’t you grow up – or bleeding waken up, and tell him to get stuffed, whoever he is.’ But I didn’t. I find as I’m getting older I’m getting more considerate. Anyway, it don’t do to take away a bird’s daydreams if you ain’t got new ones to put in their place. If it’s a crumb of comfort to it, I thought, what harm!

  I knew it was in love with some geezer. I knew from the day I took it in. In fact I knew from the first look I gave it. And I know all this scrubbing and cleaning and cooking it’s doing is only to keep him out of its mind. Now I’ll ask any man something: which would you sooner prefer, to have a bird slaving away for you, cooking, cleaning and scrubbing and even sleeping with you, with another bloke in its heart – or to have a bird around all day and night who never stops telling you how much it loves you but is too bleeding stupid to boil a kettle? Do you see what I mean?

  I give myself a good going over with Yardley’s Eau-de-Cologne for Men, with a good rubbing up of the deodorant stick under my arms – I do love to smell fresh I do – and I watch Annie, scrub, scrub, scrub. It takes some birds like that. Not all of them. In fact very few in these times, they seem to mope about rather than work it out of their systems. Here, I had a bird at one time, a great big fat thing it was, called Iris, got crossed in love or something – well the bigger they are the heavier they fall – used to sit in front of the fire all day smoking Park Drive and drinking tea, its shins burnt red raw. So one time I called out to it: ‘Give’s a cup of tea, Brackenshins.’ So it looked up at me and it said: ‘What, you bleedin’ paralysed?’ Know what, I had a hell of a job throwing it out. They’re like cats in that respect – if they find a cushy gaff they never want to move.

  ‘You’ve made a lovely little job of this shirt, Annie,’ I said. Terylene and Egyptian cotton mixture and it’s my opinion you can’t b
eat it – drip-dry of course but always come up better for a touch of a not-too-hot iron.

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Annie, smiling up at me. ‘Are you going visiting your friend at the sanatorium?’

  ‘Old Harry? Yes, I thought I would.’ I looked down at it wringing out the mop in the bucket and I don’t know whether I’m getting soft-hearted or something but I heard myself say: ‘Do you fancy a run out, gal?’

  She looked up at me and I got a feeling that she had sensed I’d been a bit hasty in asking her. I might be wrong, of course, it might have wanted to stay home. ‘I’ve some washing to do,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve never done washing,’ I said, ‘why don’t you rest yourself a bit?’

  ‘I feel better if I’m doing something,’ she said.

  ‘If it makes you feel better, gal,’ I said, ‘I ain’t going to stop you.’ Never stop a woman from working. If you do you’ll get her frustrated. It was punishing itself, see, then life couldn’t get at it the same. Poor bloody women, they don’t half suffer one way or another, but what can you do? You can’t argue with nature. They seem born to suffer.

  ‘Alfie, what time will you be back?’ I heard her ask.

  Now, if there’s one thing I hate it’s a bird asking me – or anybody asking me, come to that – what time I’ll be back, before I’ve even gone out. ‘I’ve told you never to ask me that, haven’t I, Annie?’ I said. ‘When I go out that door I don’t even know what day I’ll be back let alone what time. I’m what you call a free agent.’

  ‘I know that, Alfie,’ she said, ‘but I just thought it would give me the chance to have a nice meal ready.’

  ‘Make one of those meals that’s always ready,’ I said, ‘you know, a stew or an ’ash or something.’ With a woman you’ve got to make it clear at the start what comes first – her meals or your freedom. If you don’t you’ll never have a minute’s peace when you’re out. Nothing a woman loves more to tyrannize a man with than the table.