No Peace for the Wicked

by Pip Granger

  I smiled to myself. A stranger could look through my living-room window at that moment and see a typical little family scene, mother, father, daughter. A closer inspection would reveal that father was wearing a tweed skirt, an understated pair of pearl earrings and a little subtle make-up and that, although the daughter looked Chinese, the couple did not.

  ‘A penny for them,’ Sugar said as he saw my smile.

  ‘I was thinking that we felt like a family, albeit a rather strange one,’ I told him.

  ‘There are all kinds of families, sweetie. The main thing is to be loving and loyal, and the rest – well, that’s just the window dressing.’ Sugar laughed and I joined him. The sound of my laughter came as a bit of a surprise to us both. It had been such a long time since either of us had heard it.

  11

  It was Wednesday; three days since Peace had moved in with me.

  Winter Wednesdays were popular round our way because it was steak and kidney pudding day at the cafe. Freddy, Antony and I always closed the shop promptly on Wednesday lunchtimes and hotfooted round to Old Compton Street to get in before the rush. Madame Zelda usually saved a table for us and any other regular who cared to join us. T.C. was sitting with her on this particular Wednesday.

  I stopped dead in the doorway in confusion, causing Freddy to crash into me. I didn’t know quite what to do. The last time I’d seen T.C. had been when he had tried to kiss me and I’d managed to ruin the whole thing by choking him off. My heart hammered so hard, I thought I’d be sick, but Freddy, unaware of my mortification, simply gave me a shove and muttered, ‘Get a move on, ducky, I’m freezing my goolies off here.’ He barged in and strode purposefully towards our table.

  ‘Wotcha, Zelda, T.C. Nice day for it.’

  ‘Wotcha all.’ Madame Zelda grinned. ‘Nice day for what?’

  ‘I dunno what. It’s just a nice day – but a bit parky,’ Freddy answered.

  ‘I see, or rather, I don’t, but then I don’t really need to. Your puds are on order. Should be here in two shakes of a lamb’s wotsit,’ she reassured us.

  ‘Hello, Freddy, Antony, Lizzie.’ T.C.’s eyes crinkled pleasantly as he smiled but I noticed that he didn’t quite catch my eye when I returned the greeting, and my heart sank.

  A blast of air told us that the door had opened again, and Peace hurried in from the cold. There was a general shuffling about of chairs and tables and finally we wound up with a table for eight, leaving two chairs for any latecomers.

  Maggie approached the table smiling and took the new order, but she needn’t have troubled because Peace opted for steak and kidney pudding. ‘One more please, Bert,’ she roared across her counter and through to the steamy kitchen at the back.

  ‘Right you are, Maggie, my love,’ Bert roared back. ‘Mrs Wong’s on her way with the first five plates.’

  Maggie returned to our table and beamed at Peace, the latest recruit to ‘the Wednesday pudding club’ as she called us. ‘Hello, dear. What’s this I hear – that you’ve moved in with our Lizzie? Settling in, are you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Featherby,’ Peace answered shyly. ‘I am very happy to be staying with Auntie Liz.’

  ‘Ah, here comes Mrs Wong with the first of your dinners. Yours won’t be long, dear.’ Maggie stood aside to allow Mrs Wong near enough to the table to serve the steaming plates from her tray.

  Silly of me, I know, but it had never occurred to me that Mrs Wong and Peace might have met before, but a look of recognition flashed between them as Mrs Wong approached the table. She smiled and bowed slightly to Peace, who bowed her head respectfully in return. Mrs Wong said something in rapid Chinese while she doled out the contents of her tray, and Peace replied, in equally rapid Chinese.

  I felt absurdly proud of her, for being able to speak a foreign language. But then, it wasn’t a foreign language to her; she’d been brought up with it. I was always impressed by local children being able to speak French or Italian, even when they were French or Italian. I suppose it was because I could only speak one language myself and found it wonderful that children could be so clever.

  Not that Peace was a child exactly, I reminded myself sternly. She was on the brink of womanhood, not eleven as my Jenny would have been. It was important not to mix the two up in my mind, however tempting it was to pretend that Peace was my own daughter, especially as nobody else seemed to want her. Peace was simply on loan to me, perhaps only for a short while. That was all.

  Mrs Wong withdrew to the kitchen and Peace appeared much more relaxed than she had been when she had sat down. Politely, she translated their brief conversation for the rest of us. ‘Mrs Wong welcomed me to Soho once again and said she hoped I would have a happy time.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘She said that I had fallen among good people and that I was a very lucky person. It was very good to speak Cantonese once again, no one spoke it at school. It is good that Mrs Wong and I speak the same language, because I know hardly any Mandarin at all.’

  ‘Well I think you’re a very clever girl to be able to speak two languages, let alone three,’ Freddy said between his first and second mouthfuls of pudding. ‘God, this is good, Maggie, you’ve outdone yourself. Hasn’t she, Ant?’

  ‘She certainly has, Freddy dear, she certainly has. Delicious, Maggie, absolutely delicious,’ Antony assured her with a blissful smile. Maggie returned to her counter, blushing at the praise. Approval from Freddy and Antony was praise indeed, because they adored good food and spent many happy hours pottering about in their kitchen.

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Madame Zelda muttered as she swallowed a mouthful of cabbage and took a swig of tea to wash it down. The assembled company looked towards the door to see Sugar, dressed immaculately in what he called his ‘civvies’, or street clothes, standing on the threshold laughing with Luigi. Sugar bade him farewell with a wave of his hand and finally entered the steamy cafe.

  ‘The usual please, Maggie,’ he sang out gaily. ‘I’ll join my friends if you would kindly deliver it to their table.’ He smiled broadly at us, put the brown paper parcel he was carrying and his tailored camel hair coat on one spare seat and sat down on the other, carefully hitching each striped trouser leg as he did so. ‘Hello, sweeties,’ he said to the table in general. ‘Freddy, Antony, that little commission you delivered will do very nicely, very nicely indeed. I’ve added the finishing touches, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll hand it over now.’ My bosses grinned in unison and gave their consent. The rest of us at the table looked on in bewilderment.

  ‘Oh very enigmatic,’ said Madame Zelda. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but as you’re here, you nosy old bat, you’ll find out soon enough,’ Sugar answered with mock severity. He turned to me. ‘This is for you,’ he said, handing over the parcel. ‘Bandy and I thought we couldn’t have you lowering the tone of the bar with that black top and skirt you keep trotting out, so we commissioned the boys here to knock you up a decent frock to work in.’

  I was flabbergasted. I could hardly wait to tear the paper off, but T.C. smiled a caution at me. ‘Watch it, you’ll dip it in that gravy if you’re not careful.’ His voice and eyes were warm and I felt the knot in my stomach that had been there throughout my lunch, loosen slightly.

  ‘You’re right, of course, T.C.,’ Antony said sternly. ‘Contain yourself, Elizabeth.’ He sounded just like my mother when she was cross. ‘When we’re back in the shop, where there are no gravy hazards, you can try it on in safety. I hope it fits. We didn’t dare spoil the surprise with a fitting; that would have been no fun at all.’

  ‘But how are we going to get a look at it if she waits till she’s back at work?’ Madame Zelda complained.

  ‘I second that,’ said Maggie from so close behind me that I jumped and almost dropped the precious parcel. I put it down safely and tried to be patient. But it wasn’t easy; I wasn’t used to getting presents.

  Sugar stood firm. ‘You’ll just have to drop in to Ba
ndy’s Place on Friday or Saturday night when she’s wearing it for work. So, how’s it going with you two sharing a flat?’ he asked Peace solicitously. ‘Working out so far, is it? I certainly hope so. No offence, but I like having my own room back.’

  Peace was too shy to answer for us both, but she managed to reassure him on her own behalf. ‘I am very happy, Mr Sugar. It is good that you are happy too.’

  ‘Well happier, certainly. I’ll only be truly happy when we’re shot of that oily poet – or should I say greasy?’

  ‘Ooh, meow!’ Freddy sniggered slightly.

  I hastily changed the subject. Sugar could be tetchy about Malcolm, very tetchy indeed. ‘I’ve been thinking, Sugar,’ I said, as if I had never entertained the idea before it struck me at that meeting of the pudding club, when in fact, I’d talked it all over with Peace during the last few days. ‘Don’t you think it’d be an idea if Peace enrolled in a local day school? She’s hanging around with nothing much to do. That’s never good for anybody and her brain needs stretching, otherwise it’ll get sloppy from under-use.’ I smiled across the table at the girl, my co-conspirator. ‘And what about a Saturday job? It’d help her to buy her own stockings, and things like that. She is sixteen, after all. It’s time she learned some responsibility for her own money and some of her own needs.’

  Sugar grinned amiably at me, then at Peace. ‘Let me guess: you two want me to broach the subject with Bandy.’ He shook his head in wonderment. ‘If you were any more transparent, we could call you windows and have done with it. I’ll have a go, that’s all I can promise.’

  He turned to T.C. ‘That woman I told you about says to meet her at some place in Sloane Square tomorrow morning. I’ve written it all down. Looks like you’ve got a job, mate. Two in fact.’ He shut up abruptly as the questions began to form on Madame Zelda’s face.

  ‘Just doing a favour or two for friends, Zelda,’ T.C. assured her, ‘Looking into one or two private matters.’ He tapped his nose with his forefinger.

  Did I hear the words “Saturday job”?’ Maggie asked, coming to the rescue. ‘Because if I did, me and Bert have been talking about getting a Saturday girl in, to help Mrs Wong when it gets so busy with all the trippers in from the sticks for a day up West. It’d give us a longer break too, by adding an hour or so to our Saturday evenings.’ She looked at Peace. ‘So if you fancy it, the job’s yours. But only if your Aunt Bandy says it’s all right.’

  Peace’s face was radiant as she thanked Maggie for her kind offer. She had allies at last: me, Sugar and now Maggie and Bert. Every little helped in her campaign to stay in Soho.

  I fingered my parcel. I could hardly wait to get back to the shop and get a look at it. I checked my watch. ‘It’s time I got back to work. I’ll open up if you want to linger,’ I told my bosses.

  ‘Not on your nellie,’ said Freddy. ‘I want to see the frock on.’

  ‘Me too,’ Antony chipped in. ‘It may need some altering before it’s fit to wear.’

  ‘I’ll wait until Friday’ – Sugar waved an airy hand – ‘when I expect you to make a grand entrance to the club, Lizzie my sweet. Anyway, I want to finish my Kate and Sidney pud. Peace can stay with me if she likes.’ He looked towards her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘I want to see Auntie Liz in her dress,’ she said, slipping out of her seat to join the group forming by the door and getting into coats, scarves, gloves and hats.

  T.C. laughed. ‘I’ll keep you company, Sugar.’ He looked straight at me. ‘And I’ll see you in all your finery over the weekend, I expect. I’m looking forward to it.’

  12

  Rosie was flushed with excitement when she came to tea on my Thursday afternoon off. She’d made a habit of having tea with me every now and then. It had started when we had both missed Jenny so much, we thought we’d never be able to bear it, and we had continued the practice ever since. It was an arrangement I certainly enjoyed and I’m pretty sure that Rosie did too. Unlike most young girls, Rosie didn’t seem to find adults boring; quite the opposite in fact.

  It probably had something to do with her not having any other children in the family, no brothers or sisters or cousins to play with when out of school. However, in compensation she was bright enough to understand a lot of the doings of the world about her, the people in it and the conversations that they had, so she was rarely bored. And, of course, the cafe meant she was surrounded by an endless parade of people, some fascinating, some not. Not many children have that much stimulation. I thought it added an unusual richness to the pattern of her daily life.

  ‘So what’s it like living with Peace?’ Rosie asked almost as soon as she saw me when I answered her knock. She was peeping round me, hoping to see my house guest, no doubt. ‘Auntie Maggie says she’s coming to work at the cafe on Saturdays,’ she announced as she rushed through my front door, shedding her cherry red, woollen winter coat with the black trim and buttons as she did so. I retrieved the coat from the floor, where it had slipped from the chair, and hung it carefully on a hanger on the hook behind the door. ‘Thank you, Auntie Lizzie,’ she said. ‘I would have picked it up, honest.’ She sounded slightly ashamed of her carelessness with her mother’s recent Christmas present.

  ‘It’s not settled about the Saturday job yet. Sugar’s got to ask Bandy about it first, and she may not agree,’ I warned.

  ‘Where is she?’ Rosie asked as she landed with a thump in an armchair. ‘I was sure she’d be here.’ Her face was red as her coat in all the excitement and the cold air of the streets. ‘I asked Auntie Maggie if she’d be here and she said she thought that she would, unless she’d started at a new school already and had homework to do, like me. I thought Peace might be excused homework if she had a proper job, but Auntie Maggie says definitely not. Doesn’t seem fair to me!’

  Rosie kicked the table leg lightly, to emphasize her point. The dreaded homework was obviously still an issue in the Featherby household. ‘I know that Auntie Bandy can be a tough lady, but surely she’d let her off some of it! If she lets her take the job, that is. Do you think she will?’

  ‘I think Bandy may still be cross that Peace ran away from school and refuses to go back,’ I said, putting it mildly for the sake of young ears.

  ‘Cross! Uncle Bert says that Bandy’s still eyeing Peace’s guts, to see if she can turn ’em into a decent set of garters.’ She seemed hugely amused. ‘So where is she?’

  Rosie’d lost me for a moment. Then the penny dropped and I smiled. ‘She’s nipped round the corner for me, to get some milk. How about we start the tea so it’s ready for when she gets back?’ We settled on scrambled egg on toast followed by the jam tarts I’d baked earlier. ‘We’ll scramble the eggs when Peace gets back, but we can toast the bread in front of the fire and get it buttered ready,’ I suggested.

  We settled down in front of the fire to gossip while Rosie made toast on the end of my long toasting fork and we waited for Peace. ‘You seem pretty excited to have Peace in the cafe. Why’s that?’

  ‘Well, you’ve got to admit, she’s interesting. The only other Chinese person I know is Mrs Wong, and she’s very quiet. She doesn’t chat at all, and you never hear hardly anything about Mr Wong and all the little Wongs. Of course, Mr Wong died years ago, but that’s all I know about him.’

  ‘Are there little Wongs?’ I asked, fascinated. Rosie was right. None of us knew much about Mrs Wong, except perhaps Maggie and Bert. And if they knew anything, they certainly never discussed it in any depth, if at all. All I knew about Mrs Wong was that she was a hard worker, that she was a widow, that she could throw a knife with deadly accuracy – according to the Featherbys and several others who had witnessed it – and that keeping ‘face’ was very important to her.

  ‘She has three,’ Rosie replied, ‘but they’re not little any more. Lucky’s twenty-two, Jackie’s twenty-one and Bubbles, her baby, is seventeen.’

  ‘What unusual names. How do you know about them?’

  ‘I asked her when I was little. Yo
u can get away with all kinds of things when you’re young,’ Rosie explained, sounding like Old Mother Time. ‘’Specially with people who really like children. And Mrs Wong really likes children. She dotes on hers. You can tell if you know what to look for. The names are nicknames. I don’t know what their Chinese names are; Mrs Wong did try to tell me once, but I couldn’t take them in. I was too young and I don’t understand Chinese at all.’

  ‘Have you met them?’ I was intrigued.

  Rosie shook her head sadly. ‘No. They never come to the cafe. I’m not sure why. It’s something to do with it not being kosher for a Chinese lady to be working in an English cafe, or something like that.’

  Rosie examined her thumb for a moment and took an exploratory nibble of her nail, then frowned and dropped her hand sharply. ‘I’m giving up nail-biting. It was my New Year resolution; that and not squandering all my pocket money on comics and sweets.’

  ‘Why isn’t it right for a Chinese lady to work for English people?’ I asked. I knew very little about the Chinese, except that I’d noticed some of the run-down shops in Gerrard Street, just on the other side of Shaftesbury Avenue from Soho, had been taken over by Chinese businesses in recent years. Another Chinese laundry had opened up, along with two tiny cafes, a larger restaurant and a grocery store selling all sorts of exotic foods I had never seen before. I’d tried to shop there once, and the lady behind the counter, although bowing politely, seemed not to understand a word I said. I couldn’t read a single label on the cans or recognize any of the shrivelled, dried foodstuffs in jars, so I finally gave it up. It had been fascinating, though, that dark little shop with the bowing lady in black behind the counter and the small group of women waiting silently and watchfully for me to leave.

  There were also several blank store fronts in Gerrard Street, with discreet notices in Chinese on the doors, but no welcome for strangers. I had no idea what went on behind the curtained, whitewashed or boarded windows, and neither did anyone I’d asked. It suddenly occurred to me that I could ask T.C. when I saw him next. If anyone would know about the mysterious blacked-out shops, he would. He had got into all kinds of places as a bobby on the beat, I was certain. It went with the job.