by Pip Granger
Bandy’s voice was thin with tension, ‘But I’m her guardian, I should read it – it’s my right.’
I shook my head again. ‘I’m sorry Bandy, but had Peace wished you to read it, she would have addressed it to you and she didn’t.’ Desperation was making me bolder than I had ever thought possible.
T.C. spoke before Bandy could get a word in. ‘That’s fine, Lizzie, but can you just tell us if there’s anything relevant that may help us to find her?’
‘Not really,’ I said, ‘just that’s she’s run off with someone who loves her. She doesn’t say who and she doesn’t say where. The rest is mainly thanking everyone for their kindness and she’s asked me to give Rosie her red, padded silk jacket – that’s more or less it. Except for the personal bits and they’re between Peace and myself,’ I said firmly.
‘Right! In that case, all we can do is wait for a chat with Rosie,’ T.C. said decisively and we all trooped downstairs to wait with Sugar for morning to come.
18
T.C. and I were at the cafe door by eight, leaving Sugar and Bandy to hold the fort in case Peace came back, field telephone calls and speak to the police when they turned up – T.C. had rung his old chum Smiley Riley, desk sergeant at the nick, the night before. Maggie let us in.
‘She ain’t up yet, it being Sunday, but I’ll give her a call now you’re here. I’ll get us a cuppa while we wait.’ Maggie turned and yelled through the kitchen door, ‘Bert, get a couple of breakfasts going, will you?’ I muttered a half-hearted protest, it was supposed to be their day of rest, but Maggie would have none of it. ‘A couple of extra breakfasts ain’t nothing, he’s cooking for us anyway,’ she assured me firmly.
‘What’s your pleasure, darlin’?’ Bert’s voice called back very good naturedly for a man who had found himself working on his one day off a week.
‘A couple of full doings for Rosie and T.C., tomatoes on toast for Lizzie here and some toast for me. Thanks, love.’ Maggie carried on to the door beside the counter; it led to the stairs to the flat above the cafe. She pulled the door open, stuck her head into the dark stairwell and roared, ‘Rosie! Rise and shine! Your dad’s here.’
She turned and took her place behind the counter and began loading a tray with cutlery, sugar, milk, strainer, saucers and cups. This done, she went back to the stairs and shouted again, ‘Rosie! Your dad’s here. Do get a move on, there’s a good girl.’ She hefted the tray, carried it over to our table and unloaded its contents with practised ease. The table was laid in seconds and she returned to the counter, issued the still invisible Rosie with more instructions to heave her lazy little carcass to the table – and collected a large, steaming teapot while she was at it.
‘Tea?’ she enquired, pot raised ready to pour.
We nodded and said ‘Please’ in unison.
Maggie poured and then sat, ready to relieve us of all the details of Peace’s disappearance, Bandy’s reaction to it and our opinions as to the cause and the outcome. We told her all we knew as we waited.
Our breakfasts arrived a smidgin before Rosie galloped down the stairs and rushed into the room, and Maggie laughed. ‘I swear you’ve got radar, missy. You always arrive with your grub. It’s a gift.’
Rosie was quiet, the memory of her early morning inquisition with Maggie obviously still upon her. She looked sheepish and she wouldn’t catch T.C.’s eye, or mine. She definitely knew something.
‘Morning, love,’ T.C. said mildly, shovelling egg and toast into his mouth and chewing slowly. For once, I couldn’t really fancy my tomatoes on toast and I had to force myself to take a bite.
‘Morning, Dad,’ replied Rosie, a shade too politely, and tucked into her breakfast, eyes downcast.
T.C. took a sip of tea and eyed his daughter’s curls reflectively, then took another sip before he spoke. ‘You know that Peace has run away from home, Rosie.’ His voice was quiet, gentle, unhurried. ‘What we need to know is, do you have any idea where she went, or why? Did she go on her own? Can you answer any or all of those questions, Rosie?’
Rosie kept her eyes lowered, her fork stalled halfway to her mouth. She shook her head. The fork continued its journey. She began to chew her bacon as if it was sawdust.
T.C. waited. You could have heard a sparrow cough in Berkeley Square. Then he waited some more; we all did. Rosie began to fidget and stopped eating. Still T.C. waited. I noticed that both Maggie and I were holding our breath. Only T.C. seemed relaxed as he chewed, swallowed and sipped his tea. At last, when I felt I’d burst, he spoke again in the same quiet, unhurried tone.
‘Look at me please, Rosie.’ Reluctantly, as the expectant silence drew out, Rosie raised her head and looked across the table into a pair of eyes very similar to her own. ‘I need you to tell us everything you know. We’re very worried about Peace. We know she’s upset, and that might make her do something silly.’
Rosie’s voice was small, tearful. ‘I promised,’ she whispered.
‘I know, dear, but there are times, and this is one of them, when it’s all right to break a promise because it will be best in the long run.’
Rosie didn’t answer right away; she looked at her Auntie Maggie instead. Maggie smiled ruefully. ‘I’m sorry love, but he’s right. Peace could get into serious trouble. We know she had a fight with Bandy and Bandy’s very sorry, but she can’t say so until we find Peace, now, can she?’
Bert made everyone jump by adding the weight of his opinion. We hadn’t heard him come from the kitchen, as we’d been so wrapped up in Rosie. ‘Tell him, Rosie. If your pal’s in trouble, best we get to her quick.’
Rosie shook her head and wailed, ‘But I don’t know where she went.’
T.C. nodded. ‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Is there any possibility that you might know who she went with?’
His daughter stiffened; he’d hit a mark. He pressed his advantage, still in a quiet, measured voice. ‘So she has friends. Do you know who they are?’
Reluctantly, Rosie’s eyes were drawn to her father’s face. They stared at each other for a moment. ‘She’s friendly with Bubbles, Mrs Wong’s daughter. They go to the milk bar together. I’ve seen them there.’
‘I see. Do you know if they planned to meet there yesterday, after Peace had finished work?’
Again, Rosie seemed to hesitate, then said nothing.
‘Is that a yes or a no?’ T.C. probed.
‘I don’t know.’ Rosie looked at her plate.
‘I think you do,’ T.C. told her. Then he struck, voice hard and sharp: ‘Who did you take the message to?’
Before she could stop herself Rosie had gasped, ‘How did you know?’
‘You popped out somewhere after talking to Peace, then half an hour later, she walks out of here and nobody’s seen her since. So, who did you take the message to?’ T.C. insisted.
‘Bubbles,’ Rosie whispered.
‘I didn’t know you knew Bubbles,’ Maggie said sharply.
‘I don’t, not really. But I’ve seen her.’
‘What did you tell this Bubbles?’ T.C. asked, dragging the interrogation back to the point.
‘That Peace would meet her at the usual place.’
‘Where’s the usual place? The milk bar?’ T.C. asked, still keeping his eyes firmly on his daughter.
‘No, not after six. The coffee bar in Berwick Street.’
‘The place that belongs to Luigi’s cousin?’
Rosie nodded silently.
T.C.’s voice was gentle again. ‘Was there anything else you told them, besides setting up the meeting?’
Rosie hesitated a shade too long.
‘I see, there was. Best to spit it out now, Rosie, along with anything else you know,’ T.C. told her.
It all came out in a rush. ‘Peace gave me the key to your flat, Auntie Lizzie, to give to Bubbles so she could nip along there and collect Peace’s suitcase. She’d packed it but she hadn’t wanted to bring it here. In case there were questions.’
T.C. looked around
him, deep in thought for a moment. ‘Have you any idea what she was planning, or where she was planning to go? Was she going alone, or was Bubbles going with her?’
Rosie’s clear eyes began to fill with tears as she shook her head. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is that Bubbles was to collect the suitcase and meet Peace at the coffee bar. That’s it! That’s all I know.’
Maggie grew restive and began to fidget. Something was bothering her and, after a moment’s thought, she seemed to come to a decision.
‘No it’s not, Rosie. Didn’t you tell me a week or two back that you thought Peace might be interested in some boy she’d met? Do you know who that is?’
‘I told you in secret!’ Outrage filled Rosie’s voice.
‘I thought we’d established that now is not the time for secrets,’ Maggie snapped back. ‘That’s a luxury we can only afford when all our girls are safely tucked up in the bosom of their families, not when they’re wandering about Gawd knows where.’
‘She’s right, Rosie, and you know it,’ Bert informed her. ‘Cough it up right now if you know anything, or you’ll fall foul of me – and that ain’t wise.’
Bert adored Rosie. As far as he was concerned, she could walk on water and he’d not be surprised, so it was unusual for him to come the heavy-handed patriarch. It certainly shook poor Rosie up; she went pale at Bert’s sombre tone.
‘I think it was one of Bubbles’s brothers. But she never said. Just said he was handsome and clever. I can’t think who else it could be; she doesn’t know any boys her own age round here. What with school, work and homework, she hasn’t had much time for meeting them. She hasn’t been here long enough.’
T.C. stood up and walked around the table and gave Rosie a little hug. ‘Don’t feel too bad, sweetie-pie. I know you promised, but if Peace is in trouble, she’ll thank you for it later.’
‘And what if she’s not in trouble?’ Rosie cried. ‘Will she thank me then? She’ll just think I’m some baby who can’t keep her mouth shut.’ She sprang to her feet, rushed to the door and stormed up the stairs. We heard a door slam, then we heard it slam a second time.
Maggie, Bert and T.C. looked at each other in a stunned silence. Then Maggie tutted. ‘I’m sorry, one and all, our Rosie’s got a bit of a temper on her nowadays. I reckon it’s her glands. She’s coming up to that age.’
Bert chuckled. ‘Well, maybe we asked for it. How would you like everyone having a pop at you before you’d had your first cup of tea? I know I wouldn’t. Go to her, Maggie, and see what you can do.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Rosie, Rosie love,’ we heard her calling, as she disappeared up the stairs.
19
‘So, what do we know?’ T.C. asked, then answered himself. ‘We know that Peace planned to leave home, possibly with a boy she’d met recently. We know that she left a note saying that she was leaving with someone who cared for her, but that’s the only clue in it; the rest is personal stuff. We know that Bubbles Wong helped her, and there may be a connection with one of the girl’s brothers. It’s not a lot. Do you know where I can find the Wongs, Bert?’
‘Yes. Well, sort of. I think they live above Chang’s Chinese Emporium in Gerrard Street, the one with all the pots and chopsticks, fancy silk jackets and little black shoes in the window. It’s on the left. If not, then they live next door, above one of those places that are boarded up but seem to be busy all the same. I had to drop her wages in once and an old biddy in the shop took ’em off me. But I know Mrs W. got the money, so there’s a connection there somewhere.’
T.C. started towards the door. Bert stopped him on the threshold. ‘Perhaps you’d better wait for Maggie. Mrs Wong knows her, and it might make things easier. You ain’t seen no one close ranks till you’ve seen those Chinese folks do it.’ T.C. nodded, came back in and sat down. Bert disappeared upstairs.
‘I’d better go,’ I told T.C., though I was deeply reluctant to leave. I felt responsible for Peace because she’d gone missing from my home, and I just couldn’t shake the feeling, however much my friends reassured me, that it was all my fault. If only I’d kept the meter pig topped up!
T.C. could see that it was a struggle to tear myself away and took pity on me. ‘If you’ve got nothing else on, you could help me make sense of what I find out.’
I agreed immediately. Anything was better than sitting around waiting for news. I’d done enough of that to last a lifetime already. I hated feeling helpless.
‘I could use some help to canvass the railway stations, cab ranks and the bus station as well,’ he added.
‘Won’t the police do that?’ I was puzzled; it seemed right up their street.
‘It’ll take them a while to get going, despite my good offices. They’ll take the view that Peace has got a strop on and will come around in her own good time. That’s what mostly happens in these cases. So they’ll take the particulars, then give it twenty-four hours or so to see if she comes back.’
T.C. thought for a moment. ‘And I’m not sure it’s wise to tell them she may have left with a boy. If they think she’s eloped, even as young as she is, she can still be married without parental consent across the border. The police will drag their feet and suggest Peace’s guardians rush to Gretna Green to head ’em off at the altar. By the time the police take it seriously, the couple could be on their way back, man and wife.’
T.C. paused, thought some more and came to some rapid decisions. ‘It’ll be best to cover some or all of the exits while the trail’s still warm. And although the Wongs certainly seem to be involved, I’m not that certain we’ll find out much from them. As Bert says, they close ranks and nothing penetrates if they don’t want it to. We used to call it “The Great Wall of China” at the station. We came up against it whenever we had to question the Chinese about anything. I don’t think we ever solved a single crime that involved them. Not that there were many; well, not that we heard about anyway.’
The moment we walked through the Emporium’s doorway, it was as if we were in a foreign country. A tiny, wizened lady appeared from a doorway behind the counter and waited silently for us to approach. Her dark eyes were wary and watchful and her expression was utterly blank. Maggie and I waited by the entrance as T.C. took a few steps towards the counter. I took the opportunity to look around. Like the other shop I’d been in, this one was packed to the rafters. Every possible inch was taken up with something. Piled around the edges of the room, on the floor beneath some shelves, were large parcels wrapped in thick, white cotton cloth. Others were wrapped in hessian or heavy paper. There were also some wooden crates. Each was stamped with Chinese characters, in red, or black or gold. One or two had fierce-looking printed dragons wrapped around them as if for protection.
Shelves held china, tea bowls, teapots and a wide variety of mixing bowls, serving dishes, saucers and eating bowls. On others there were large jars and tins containing dried goods I couldn’t even guess at, and there was one long shelf devoted entirely to what I thought were different kinds of tea. There were also some brown slabs, stamped with characters and designs that I couldn’t identify. Piled in wooden boxes were lots and lots of knives and wicked-looking cleavers, some of them wrapped in brown paper.
Hanging from hooks in the ceiling were bundles of cooking pots, and brushes of various shapes and sizes, from twiggy besoms right down to small jobs that looked as if they were meant for brushing crumbs off tables or dandruff from mandarin collars. There seemed to be a brush for every possible occasion. Several bundles hanging from the ceiling were made up entirely of cloth shoes tied together in pairs, so that they hung like bunches of strange fruit. There were plain black ones and others that were embroidered with flowers or friendlier looking dragons than those on the parcels.
Another bundle was of plain, padded jackets of thick cotton, in a variety of sizes from tiny children’s ones up to man-sized. The colours were dull, dusty blue, grey or black. Along one whole wall ran a garment rack filled to bursting with tops, tunics and tro
users. One end sported plain, cotton garments for day-to-day wear, very similar to Mrs Wong’s working clothes. At the other end of the rack there was an explosion of silk in jewel-like colours, turquoise blue, amber yellow, red, emerald green, sapphire blue, gold. These were the clothes for high days and holidays, those special occasions like wedding parties, betrothals and births.
Almost blinded by the sudden brilliance, I wandered over to a glass cabinet beneath the counter top, the better to listen in to the conversation between T.C. and the lady. The cabinet held smaller items, like combs and pins to keep long hair tidy – some fancy, some plain – and bundles of chopsticks, from plain wooden ones right through to splendid ones decorated with mother-of-pearl. The cabinet was a whole lot more fascinating than the conversation, which was distinctly one-sided.
‘We are looking for Mrs Wong,’ said T.C., only to be met by an unblinking silence. He tried a little louder. After all, she was elderly and she could be deaf. ‘We are looking for Mrs Wong.’ Still there was no response. It was unnerving, as if she couldn’t see or hear us. I could tell that T.C. was getting a touch irritated and was doing his best not to show it. He tried for a third then a fourth time. He just had his mouth open for the fifth attempt when Maggie’s voice made me jump.
‘That’s her!’ she said urgently. ‘Over there, just going into that shop.’
T.C. and I retreated to the door, the unwavering, dark gaze of the woman still directed at the space between us. ‘Where?’ T.C. asked.
‘There.’ Maggie pointed. ‘In that shop. I swear it was Mrs Wong.’
We wrenched open the door. T.C. turned to the little old lady, smiled and thanked her, although what for, I really couldn’t say. We ran across the road and piled into the grocery shop I’d visited once before. Sure enough, there was Mrs Wong talking to another woman as they waited to be served.
The talk stopped dead the moment we were spotted. For a second, Mrs Wong stared at us as if she’d seen a hippo in her wardrobe, definitely recognizable but way, way out of its proper place. Then she murmured something to her companion and glided over to us as if she ran on castors. I’d noticed that before. Mrs Wong didn’t appear to walk like the rest of us, as if she actually made contact with the ground. There seemed to be no friction at all. It was eerie.