Alfie

by Bill Naughton

  ‘I thought I’d do something special,’ she said.

  I felt a bit humpty as I began to put my tie on – to think that little Annie could start asking that – when I’d be back. A chance remark like that could be the writing on the wall – and we’d been so cosy those few weeks. It’s not what a woman says you’ve got to take into account – but what’s behind her words. They never say a thing in the way a bloke takes it. They’re deep I tell you, very deep are women.

  Mind you, I hadn’t taken little Annie straight in and set her up living with me after lapping her up that time from Lofty. What I had done was this. I took her to my gaff, but I didn’t take any advantage of her or put her under any obligation, because if there’s one thing takes the edge off my enjoyment it’s the feeling that a bird is doing it because she feels obligated to you. I mean, I could’ve started something in the car, couldn’t I. Same as I say, it’s only a Daimler, big seats, a heater, everything, but I didn’t. Why not? I don’t know.

  We went the two of us very quietly into my place and I carried her little hold-all bag for her, but any gentleman would have done that. Now, the first thing I did when I got her into the room, well, not the very first, but next door to it, I pointed to the bed and I said, ‘This is my bed, Annie, but if you want to come in with me, you’re welcome. And if you don’t want to come in with me, you’re still welcome – you can sleep on that little sofa. To be quite frank I sleep better on my own but if you want to come in, come in. Anyway, by the looks of you you’ll want a little wash and whatnot just to freshen yourself up. I’ve got some lovely soap – costs two-and-threepence a tablet and you’re welcome to use that. I’ll make a nice pot of tea, and I can promise you you won’t be disturbed or looked at over your toilet.’ All nice and civilized, see.

  So little Annie has this wash and I make this pot of tea and some toast. Another thing, I put some clean sheets on the bed. Now that’s a handy little tip – whatever else you haven’t got, always have an extra pair of clean sheets at one side: you’d be surprised how handy they come in. Then I made up the sofa for Annie. Here, now that’s a funny thing – I’ll tell you why – what with heating her water, letting her use my soap, making her tea and whatnot, something I hadn’t realised began to come into it. I was looking after her. She was a little guest under my roof, you could say. So there, you never want to start waiting on a bird and looking after her if she’s in your gaff. Let her find her own way about. Otherwise you’ll find the mood changing, same as it did with me until it seems like liberty-taking to sleep with her after that.

  So same as I say, I put her down to sleep on the sofa – I couldn’t tell some of my mates that – but about four to five in the morning, and the light from the street lamps has gone out, and that cool light you get at dawn has come sneaking in, well anybody can feel a bit ribby if they’re awake at that hour. So I chanced to wake up and I could sense Annie was wide awake. She was lying dead still and her eyes were closed but you can always tell whether somebody’s asleep or not. So I called across to her: ‘Hey, mate, why don’t you come in beside me?’ Now she hesitated. She hesitated for about two full seconds, as though she was working it all out in her mind, then she got up and came in beside me. Somehow I find love has got a more tender flavour to it about that hour of the morning, dropping in as it does, quite sober, between one lot of dreams and another.

  Now comes the morning – things always look different by the morning light – I told her after we’d had our cup of tea that I had to go off and do a day’s grafting. I explained that she’d have to come out with me as I couldn’t leave her behind. Safety first.

  I’d once let a mystery stay the night with me, and out of kindness left it in bed when I nipped off at 9 a.m. to do this little job collecting the effects of a gent’s wardrobe from one geezer’s widow in Montague Square, W.I., who had flogged them to a dealer I know. And so I’d given it the warning – this bird I mean, – it came from Nottingham, the city of lace – to be up and have breakfast ready by 11 a.m. when I’d be back. After all it had swore its undying love during the night, three or four times in fact. Breakfast! – it’s only blown – blown and took with it most of the effects of my wardrobe – three suits, four shirts and all my ties. So after that little experience I’ve learnt my lesson and I’ve turned Annie out for the day, ain’t I, telling her I’ll be back at five o’clock, and if she hasn’t found a better kip she’s more than welcome to return. Same as I say, you must get things on a proper business-like footing with a bird at the start – let them know where they stand – or you’ll mislead them, and end up bad friends. And I hate anything like that. I turned her out and sure enough she’s there waiting for me at five o’clock. The same the next day. So on the third day I took a risk, I thought what the hell, and I left her in possession. Though naturally I locked her in. I mean I ain’t all that trusting.

  I could hardly believe my eyes when I got back and opened the door. It had transformed my little gaff. I’d never realised what the colours of things were under the dirt. It had cleaned the windows, washed the curtains and scrubbed the kitchen, and it looked dead happy after all its exertions. I always say a happy woman is a woman you find work for. Providing, of course, you see she does it.

  I went on dressing and thinking when I heard it dowsing the floor-cloth into the bucket of sudsy water. ‘Annie,’ I said, ‘why don’t you wear those rubber gloves I bought you – the yellow ones? You’ll ruin your hands with all that scrubbing and whatnot.’

  She looked up at me and gave me one of her pale smiles: ‘They don’t matter, Alfie,’ she said.

  ‘They might not to you, gal,’ I said, ‘but they do to me.’ Nothing puts me off more than a woman getting hold of me with hard, horny mitts. Or stroking my face with that kind of hard, dry, shiny skin they get from keeping on washing-up. I’m very touchy about those sort of things. I stooped down over her and took hold of her hand. ‘Those are real pretty fingers you’ve got, Annie,’ I said, ‘they’re like a child’s. Do look after ’em for me.’ Then I kissed her hand and kissed her cheek. After all it’s little enough to ask. I mean you shouldn’t have to tell ’em. Know what, the sight of a woman’s worn-out hand can bring a lump in my throat.

  I felt this little spasm of sympathy I sometimes get when I looked into her eyes. I thought of how the poor little thing gets this dead ghostified look creep over its little face, as if it was all sick and weary inside itself, if you see what I mean, with love or something, and its poor mind was stumbling about looking for a quiet corner to rest in. Love can be quite a horrible little thing once it gets itself knotted up inside a bird’s heart.

  Here, that reminds me of something. The night before, Saturday, Annie and I were together – you know what I mean – when I saw this tear or something on its cheek, and it opened its eyes and I spots a real far-away look there. It’s not often I look into a woman’s eyes at that precise time. Now I’m not a touchy bloke, I mean that up to a certain point I don’t mind what a bird has on her mind, after all that’s her business, but come certain moments and even I can get quite niggly. So I took my hand from between the sheets and I gave it a quick belt across the kisser. I don’t know what made me do it, because I’m not the sort of bloke to raise a hand to a woman. I mean I’d sooner pack her in altogether than do that sort of thing. After all, you don’t want to get that intimate that you’re on striking terms. ‘Forget him, gal,’ I said. ‘I’m here and in the flesh.’ Come to think of it, I was. True enough she was only thinking, but after all, there’s a time and place for everything, and even your thoughts have their proper place.

  ‘Sorry, Alfie,’ she said, and her face came over real guilty. She’d a kind of oval face – you don’t see so many of those sort of faces around on working girls. I was sorry I’d spoke. She looked upset at being found out. I said to myself: Alfie, she’s as sensitive as you are! Yet no doubt the shock must have done her good.

  ‘Annie, I’m nearly ready,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll g
ive you a brush down, Alfie,’ she said, ‘not be a tick.’ That’s what I like to see – a willing woman. One volunteer is worth four pressed men. She wiped her hands and took hold of the clothes-brush and began to brush me down. That’s the beauty of a gal like Annie, the light touch. I’ve had some birds brush me down and it’s been like being birched in a Sauna bath – you’re black and blue when they’re through.

  ‘Shall I say you’ll be back about seven, Alfie?’ she said.

  ‘You can say what you want, gal,’ I said, ‘no harm in that. But whether or not I’ll be back is another matter entirely. You have something ready and if I’m here I’ll eat it, and if I ain’t here I won’t. It’s as simple as that.’ You’ve got to make yourself clear with a bird – it’s always on the watch-out for doubts. I didn’t want to carry it too far because as soon as I get uppity it seems something brings me down.

  ‘Know what, Annie,’ I said, ‘you’re quite a nice looking gal, you are straight, only you need to brighten yourself up. You don’t want to mope around scrubbin’ and washin’ and thing’ all the time – thinkin’ that’s a way out. That’s nearly as bad as anything else. You can dope yourself with work like some people do with drink. You want to shake yourself right out of it.’ That was as far as I wanted to go with what I knew about her. ‘So long, gal.’

  ‘Take care of yourself, Alfie,’ she said.

  ‘Make yourself a nice little pot of tea,’ I said, ‘and get your feet up.’ I thought how that must be the only bird in my life I’d had to give that advice to.

  ‘Yes I will,’ she said, ‘as soon as you’ve gone.’

  But I could see she wouldn’t. She’d put that record on again, about the geezer who’d want her when she didn’t want him, and she’d start scrubbing and polishing and washing all my socks and shirts. Still, I suppose we’ve all got to get through life the one way we know. You’ve got to have a bit of charity in your outlook on others.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I drove off in this second-hand Vauxhall Velox I’d bought handy. You never want to buy a doctor’s used motor-car, because they’re in and out of the car all the time, out visiting patients, and though the mileage might be low on the clock, the doors and driving-seat are worn out. You can always replace an engine but you can’t replace them.

  As I was driving over Lambeth Bridge the sun was shining and there was a lovely little view of Westminster and the City, so that even I stopped to have a look, and I thought what a cracking little place London is on a sunny Sunday morning.

  It was a pity I’d had to leave little Annie behind, but of course I couldn’t have taken her with me, because I’m off to visit this Ruby. I don’t know any feeling much nicer than you’re saying good-bye to one bird to go off to meet another. Whoever said a change was as good as a rest must have had birds in mind. It sort of re-charges all your batteries. Now Ruby’s one of these women who go in for Sunday lunch-time drinks. It seems quite a number of these toffs go in for that sort of lark, having a few mates call in and knocking back these gin cocktails made up of Martini, then eating a few nuts and seeing ’em all off about half past one in the afternoon and going to bed with the Sunday Express and the News of the World. But she don’t seem to want me to meet her friends, so she just makes it a party for two.

  I got past the porter all right, and then went up in the lift to the sixth floor, and along the corridor to Ruby’s flat. I rang the bell and waited. She always makes me wait. She thinks I don’t know her game but I do. She likes to keep me in my place, see. For myself I would prefer not to mix with birds from a different station in life – because sooner or later they’re going to let you see it – if they don’t do it in touches along the way. I rang it pretty quick again and kept my finger on it. It doesn’t do to let a bird go too far. She opened the door sharp: ‘What are you so impatient about?’ she said.

  She was wearing a new pink frilly housecoat with a low front and she hadn’t too much on underneath. ‘What do you think?’ I whispered into her ear. Knowing her weakness I thought it best to get steaming in at the start, so I put my arms round her and start kissing her quietly, putting the tension on when I feel the current’s got going inside her.

  Did I say early thirties? Well, on much closer inspection up and down I think I’d put her in her late thirties. She could be thirty-seven or thirty-eight, in fact she could be forty, top-weight. But she’s in beautiful condition. And when I say beautiful condition I don’t mean she’s in hard condition, like you get a good little working pony, but in perfect soft condition, like you get a filly that’s been out to grass, not overworked, and is sleek, fat, round and has got a lovely glossy coat and is in good nick and rearing to go.

  ‘Don’t kiss me on the ear,’ she said, in a funny throaty voice, ‘you know what it does to me.’ One minute she’s a big woman keeping me waiting at the door and the next she melts like a child in my arms. I mean at times she’s like a child with a lollipop – she’s no sooner coming to the end of one than she has one eye open for the next. No man – if he’s human – can accommodate that. Well, up to a point I can. But only up to a point.

  ‘I can handle it,’ I said.

  ‘Give yourself time to take your jacket off,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t need to get my jacket off,’ I said.

  I was just breaking free in a crafty way to get my breath and my bearings when she got hold of me and gave me one of her long passionate kisses. I won’t go into detail, except to say that the feeling it left me with was almost exactly the same as I used to get when I was on the Preston run with a big lorry one time, and my landlady up there, Mrs Bickerstaffe, used to give me a great feed of cow-heel pie for dinner. You get a feeling of being full up right to the tonsils.

  ‘I think I’ll have a drink first,’ I said, when I did get my breath.

  She went straight to the cocktail cabinet. I will say this for Ruby – she’s not a dawdler. She knows what she wants and if there’s any going she’s going to get it.

  ‘What will you have?’ she said in her best cut-glass voice.

  I could see she wanted to get the formalities over and get down to business. I felt a large tumbler of egg flip wouldn’t have been out of place. ‘I think I’ll have a whisky,’ I said. ‘A Dimple Haig, if you’ve got it.’ I knew she hadn’t. And to be quite frank I wouldn’t know Dimple Haig from Long Tom except for the shape of the bottle, but I find I like reeling off a name now and again.

  ‘I’ve got no Dimple,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got a Grant’s.’

  ‘A Grant’s Standfast?’ I said, ‘That’ll do nicely.’ I know it’s a lot of play-acting but I get a kick out of throwing these little names about.

  She poured me out what she must have thought was a generous whisky, but I find they never give me quite enough. But to be honest I’ve never met a woman yet who could be said to be liberal with the old whisky. I had a taste of it and it struck me that whisky wasn’t what I wanted just then. I had this cow-heel pie taste. It must have been her tongue or something.

  ‘Here, you ain’t got a beer have you?’ I said, ‘a light ale or something – I’d fancy a chaser.’ A Scotch word that, chaser; it’s catching on down here.

  ‘I’ve got some canned Pilsner in the fridge,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a gal,’ I said as she went into the little kitchen. Having got her hooked I felt I could play my cards easy. I looked round the flat – all off business expenses, I’ll bet, and yet the working man has to pay his own bus fare. She came in pouring the beer into a long glass. She just didn’t want to waste any time.

  ‘Good health,’ I said.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said, lifting her glass of brandy and ginger ale.

  Here, that brandy reminds me of a funny thing about women in general, but more about Ruby, and I may as well get it out now whilst it’s on my mind. The first time I took her out I says to her: ‘What you having?’ So she says, ‘A brandy and ginger ale. A Hennessey if they’ve got it.’ That’s going to set me back a
bit, I thought. Still I’ll do anything once. So I go up to the bar and come back with a brandy and ginger ale and a light ale for myself. Now when we’d drunk up, I wait a minute to see if she’s going to dip into her bag and at least offer to pay. But she don’t. So I says to her: ‘What you having?’ and she says: ‘Same again – a brandy and ginger ale.’ She’s coming it a bit strong, I thinks – so I more or less cock a deaf ’un, and I go up to the bar and this time I come back with two light ales. I put one in front of her and one in front of me. So she stares at them and she looks at me and she says: ‘What’s that?’ and I says: ‘A light ale.’ And she says: ‘But I’m a brandy drinker.’ So I says to her: ‘That might be, but I ain’t a brandy buyer. If you want a brandy and ginger ale, you go and get yourself one.’

  Now it was touch and go for a minute, if you see what I mean. But then she saw where she stood. The light must have dawned on her. She drank her light ale and we got on beautifully. In fact she got her hand into her bag and paid the next round – and had her brandy and ginger ale, to which she was entitled. In fact, I had one too to keep her company. With women like that you’ve got to know your own mind. And I’ve always said that most women don’t mind paying, what a woman doesn’t like is being under obligation. They start growing resentful under it.

  ‘Know what, Ruby,’ I said, after I’d had a drink of this ice-cold Pilsner, ‘I think them fridges take the taste out of everything. Things taste more of cold than they do of what they should taste of.’

  A mate of mine bought his wife a fridge and he reckons his stomach hasn’t been right since. He wants a drink of milk and he takes a sup from the bottle out of the fridge and it chills his stomach. Matter of fact, I do believe anything too cold paralyses your taste buds, if you see what I mean. I reckon you can’t beat the old-fashioned box larder with perforated zinc round for keeping things at the right temperature. Ruby wasn’t going to be drawn.