No Peace for the Wicked

by Pip Granger

  ‘Good idea, you look all in. Grab some sleep and then you’ll be all the fresher to lend us a hand later,’ T.C. assured her.

  Bandy nodded wearily. It was eerie. She’d been unnaturally quiet and withdrawn ever since Peace had disappeared. All her normal impatience and irascibility were gone. Her voice was husky. ‘I’ve been thinking while I’ve been sitting here. I’d better alert the family. You never know, she may have tracked my sisters down.’ She laughed a graveyard laugh. ‘That’ll put a nest of hornets amongst them.’ She paused, and looked puzzled. ‘Do hornets have nests?’

  ‘I think so,’ I answered warily.

  Bandy sighed. ‘I’d better get to it, I suppose,’ she said as if she’d suggested ritually disembowelling herself before her nap.

  ‘Why don’t you have the bath, nosh and kip first, Band?’ Sugar urged. ‘A few more hours won’t make a great deal of difference.’

  I agreed. ‘I’ll come up with you and whip up an omelette or something while you bathe, how about that?’ I was rewarded by a tired smile and a nod.

  While Bandy ran her bath, I checked my flat. It had that unmistakable air of having been untouched since the door had closed behind me early that morning. It had taken me a long time to get used to that feeling when first I’d lived alone. Now I was going to have to get used to it all over again. A lump formed in my throat and I made an effort to pull myself together. I simply couldn’t keep on bursting into tears. People were depending on me to do my bit.

  Some of my stiff-necked resolve must have showed, because Bandy greeted me with, ‘Good God, gel, has some blighter shoved a poker up your fundament?’ as I walked through her door.

  ‘No. I shoved it up myself,’ I snapped – rather more sharply than I had intended. Normally I’d have considered that being sharp towards Bandy displayed definite suicidal tendencies.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Bandy, genuinely puzzled.

  ‘I keep blubbing, and it does no good,’ I explained tersely.

  Bandy nodded. ‘Ah. I see. I understand it relieves tension; some people swear by it. Wouldn’t know myself. Tension just gives me a blinder of a headache. Fancy a slug of strong coffee? It’ll give you a spurt of the necessary for your afternoon’s sleuthing.’

  I accepted gratefully. I was flagging after my lunch, and could do with a jolt of energy.

  I was surprised that Bandy knew what to do with the coffee pot and the gas ring. I had only ever seen Sugar making drinks or cooking. I don’t think I’d ever seen Bandy nearer to the stove than the table. But she was surprisingly efficient. A few minutes later she announced ‘café au lait’ and placed two large, dark green coffee cups on the table, filled to the brim with strong, bitter coffee and creamy, warm milk. She lit a cigarette with a gold lighter and offered the packet to me. I shook my head. I’d never really liked the habit much. I’d tried it once, but it made me dizzy and sick, and that put me right off.

  We sat down and I plucked up my courage. ‘Which sister is it – you know, who is Peace’s real mother?’ I asked. The subject had been taboo over recent weeks and months, and it had been one of the reasons Peace and Bandy hadn’t got along.

  Bandy blew out a long stream of smoke and stared at the floor for so long, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. ‘Charity,’ she said finally. ‘Charity’s Peace’s mother. There are three of us, Faith, Hope – that’s me – and Charity, the baby of the family. And my God, is she the bloody baby! Everyone’s still cleaning up Charity’s messes for her,’ she said bitterly, then added, ‘Not that I’d call Peace a mess, exactly; she’s a nice enough kid. It’s typical that although Charity had her, it’s the rest of the family who look after her.’

  ‘Where is Charity?’

  ‘Buggered if I know. She married some Foreign Office johnny with a family seat somewhere in Gloucestershire.’ Bandy coughed and I thought I smelt whisky. I sniffed my coffee suspiciously. I didn’t want to be drunk on the job. Bandy laughed huskily. ‘You don’t think I’d waste the Almighty’s blessed brew on you, do you? You’re a comparative virgin, sweetie. I’ve seen you reeling after a sniff of the sweet sherry cork. You’ll not cope with this stuff.’

  I smiled in relief. She was right. I wasn’t brought up to it, any more than smoking. I’d never really acquired the taste – though I had tried quite hard with booze when I was younger.

  ‘And where’s Faith?’ I asked, taking a sip of coffee and enjoying it.

  ‘Northants. She’s married, too; a farmer. It’s appropriate: she yaps like a bloody sheepdog. Always trying to get people back into line. She hates slackers, stragglers or renegades. Made my life a bloody misery when we were at school.’ Bandy sounded sad rather than angry, which was unusual. Losing Peace was definitely having a strange effect on her. I would have expected all bossy action, barked orders and much dressing down of the troops if they didn’t live up to her exacting expectations. Instead, Bandy seemed to have collapsed in on herself. She’d grown reflective and melancholy.

  ‘Are your parents still alive?’

  Bandy shuddered and her eyes were bleak. ‘My father is. He lives in Shanghai nowadays, I believe, with my wicked stepmother. We used to live in Hong Kong when I was a gal. Father was in business. I expect he still is. He’s not the sort to retire.’

  I whispered, ‘You don’t like your family much, do you, Bandy?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I loathe them. My father’s a glacial bastard and my sisters are … Well, they are who they are.’ Her tone was so bitter, it would have made lemons pucker. ‘Charity’s as thick as pig shit and half as useful, and Faith could bore for England. That’s when she takes a rest from ordering it about, that is. Great organizer, Faith, or so she’d have you believe.’

  ‘Can I help in any way?’ I asked tentatively. ‘I could telephone to your family for you, if you like. After all, Peace was in my care when she flitted,’ I said.

  ‘Good of you,’ Bandy said heavily, ‘but the gal was my responsibility, not yours. I simply didn’t make much of a fist of it, that’s all. I’ll do the calling. But I’ll have a swift dunk in that bath first. It’ll be getting cold by now. Next I’ll have that omelette you promised me and a drop of shut-eye. Then I’ll tackle the damned relatives.’ She headed for the bathroom but stopped in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Thanks for everything, Liz,’ she said awkwardly. ‘The chat, the legwork, the omelette.’ As she disappeared into the bathroom, I got busy with the eggs and an omelette pan. It was a distinctly odd feeling – feeling sorry for the usually terrifying Bandy. I had never expected that at all.

  24

  The club was more or less empty when I came back downstairs. Bandy was asleep in her flat, and Sugar was off asking questions at the local tube stations. The place looked forlorn, so T.C. and I decanted ourselves into my flat, leaving a note on the door so that the others would join us.

  We toasted crumpets in front of the fire, not because we were hungry, but because it was a warm and cosy thing to do. Spring was really nippy that year, and there was an arctic wind in the streets outside. We stared quietly at the yellow and orange flames as they hissed and bubbled and sent off little jets of blue. T.C. turned the crumpet on his toasting fork, to brown the other side. I waited with a knife and some butter to spread as each crumpet arrived hot on the plate.

  When we’d divided the crumpets between us, T.C. asked whether I knew where Peace kept her passport; it had a picture of Peace to show to anyone who might have seen her. I went to her room and returned with her passport, a recent photograph and her birth certificate all tucked safely in a crimson silk bag with a chrysanthemum embroidered on it.

  ‘Well at least she’s not in a position to go abroad,’ I remarked as I handed it over. ‘That’s something to be grateful for.’

  T.C. smiled. ‘It depends on who she’s with. It’s not difficult to get a passport if you really, really want one. It depends on your connections. There’s no shortage of dodgy paperwork left over from the war, and some of the me
n who produced it for King and Country are now producing it for all kinds of other people.

  ‘The Chinese have their own lively trade in bent documents as well, doubtless. The Triads are very well organized, according to that inspector from Hong Kong, and maybe half the Chinese workforce over here are illegal.’

  It took a moment for this to sink in. Suddenly I sat bolt upright as a thought occurred to me. ‘We haven’t tried her old school,’ I said, awed by our stupidity. ‘She had that friend, the one who left last term. We haven’t checked her out either. We should get her address from the school, in case Peace decided to get in touch, or at least ask for help.’

  T.C. slapped his forehead. ‘Of course. What a bloody fool I am! Do you know the name of the school and where it is?’

  I rapidly supplied what information I could, and T.C. charged downstairs to the club to use the telephone. I cleared the plates, washed them up and waited for his return.

  He was gone for an age. When I could stand the suspense no longer, I followed him down. It would be ironic if Peace had simply taken herself back to her hated school. I thought it doubtful, but it had to be checked. If she’d decided to contact her school chum, she still might have needed to get in touch with her school for the address. It was definitely worth a try.

  I heard slightly raised voices before I’d reached the last step, and paused outside the door. It was open a crack but I could see no one through it, which meant that I couldn’t be seen. One voice was T.C.’s and the other was a woman. I paused, telling myself that I didn’t want to interrupt. ‘Don’t give me that nonsense, T.C. You left without a word, a by-your-leave, nothing. I’m not some tart you can use, then forget about, you know.’

  T.C.’s laugh sounded just a touch bitter. ‘Oh, I know that, Cassie love, I’ve never been able to forget about you for very long. Apart from anything else, Rosie’s a constant reminder, bless her cotton socks.’

  ‘The fact remains that you can’t use me up and then toss me aside when you feel like it. I won’t have it.’ Cassie’s voice was getting shriller and louder as she worked herself up.

  This time, T.C.’s laugh was more sad than sour. ‘Cassie, I didn’t “use you up” as you so delicately put it. Neither did I throw you aside when I’d finished. The truth is, we never got started – you passed out cold more or less the moment your head hit the pillow. I’m not such a cad as to take advantage of an unconscious lady. I prefer the lady in question to be awake, consenting and taking notice. It’s like dancing – far better with both parties conscious.’

  But Cassie was not to be mollified. ‘Then why didn’t you wait around? You know I like making love in the morning. It’s when I’m at my best.’

  ‘Because, Cassie my sweet, your morning is usually mid-afternoon by the time you’ve had something to help with the shakes, and I simply couldn’t spare the time.’ T.C. spoke briskly, but not unkindly.

  Cassie’s voice was sulky. ‘Don’t you love me any more, T.C.?’

  T.C. sounded exasperated. ‘I’ll always love you, Cassie. You’re the mother of my only child, after all. I’ll always love you.’ There were shuffling noises then, as if they’d moved closer together. My heart was in my mouth, but it had stopped beating.

  I waited, knowing that I ought to make it clear that the pair had an audience. T.C. stepped into my line of vision, and then so did Cassie. They were standing close together, but not touching. T.C. reached out and stroked her hair briefly. ‘I’ll always love you, Cassie, but equally, I’ll always hate your drinking. I can’t cope with your drinking or the things that it makes you do.’ He paused. ‘And the things it stops you from doing. You’re a gifted person, Cassie, but you’re throwing your gifts away.’

  ‘Oh, don’t start on that again, T.C.! Boring old fuddy-duddies like you and my aunt are always on about it. So I enjoy a little drinky now and then. So what? There’s nothing wrong with that. I rarely start before noon and I hardly ever drink alone. Isn’t that what drunks are supposed to do: nurse their bottle all by themselves? Do I look like one of those shambling wrecks you see in the parks, down the dark alleys?’ Cassie’s voice was getting shriller by the second. ‘I’m well turned-out. I take pride in my appearance. It’s a well-known fact that real dipsomaniacs do not!’

  T.C. sighed deeply. ‘Have it your own way, Cass. I’m not your keeper. Right now, I’ve got things to do and I can’t waste time arguing the toss with you. I left before you woke up again because Sugar and Bandy sent for me. Peace is missing and they wanted my help to try to find her. So, if you don’t mind, I’d better get back to it.’

  ‘And if I do mind?’ Cassie sounded belligerent.

  ‘It’ll be too bad,’ answered T.C.

  My heart started beating again, painfully and hard. I moved at last, plastered a smile on my face and stepped into the room.

  ‘Hello, Cassie, T.C.,’ I said, with false heartiness and just a touch too loud.

  ‘Oh bloody hell!’ Cassie muttered just loudly enough for me to hear. I ignored her.

  ‘Did you speak to the school?’ I asked T.C.

  ‘Yes. They haven’t seen her or heard from her. But they did tell me that her friend, Sally N’kozi, had gone home to Africa, due to some family crisis. Peace may have written, I suppose.’

  ‘Who wrote what?’ asked Sugar from the doorway. Freddy was with him. I looked at my watch. T.C. and I had been so busy, I hadn’t realized that the working day was over.

  ‘Thank Christ for that!’ said Cassie with feeling. ‘Get me a drink will you, Sugar? Make it a large one.’

  T.C. shot Cassie a look of such sadness, tinged with something that looked remarkably like contempt. ‘Have you found anything?’ T.C. asked Sugar as he passed on his way to the bar to fill Cassie’s order. Old habits died hard, obviously, even in a crisis.

  Sugar poured a large shot of gin into a glass. ‘Anyone else fancy a drink while I’m at it?’

  ‘I’ll have a teensy little whisky,’ Freddy answered. ‘I’m fair frozen. That wind cut through me like knives, duckies, knives! We trolled up and down Oxford Street and Regent Street, doing all the tubes, buses and rattling coves we could find.’

  ‘Rattling coves?’ I was mystified.

  ‘Cabs, Liz. “Coves” as in friends, “rattling” as in, well, rattling along,’ Freddy explained.

  ‘Yes, but did you find anything out?’ I demanded, a shade testily. I was thoroughly rattled myself, as it happened, by the scene I’d so recently witnessed and my unsettling reaction to it.

  ‘Yes and no,’ Freddy answered. ‘Dennis, the bloke with the news-stand outside Piccadilly Circus, saw a little party of Chinese youngsters hanging about at a bus stop, three of them, two girls and a bloke. It was on Saturday night, when the hordes were coming in from the sticks for a night on the tiles.

  ‘It was damp, dark and miserable and everyone was huddled up in their coats and scarves, but he noticed the youngsters because one of the girls seemed to be arguing with the bloke. The other girl was saying nothing and was so bundled up in her scarf, all that was showing was her eyes.’

  T.C. looked thoughtful. ‘Did he see if they got on a bus? If so, did he happen to notice which one?’

  ‘That’s the not so good part. There was a bit of a stampede at his stand and when he’d finished dealing with an awkward bugger with no change, the trio had gone. He didn’t see where or how. They could’ve walked away, jumped on a bus, or they could have caught a rattler or they might have gone down the tube. He said he really couldn’t say which,’ Freddy answered sadly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’ve done really well.’ Freddy looked pleased and T.C. carried on, ‘I know the stop you mean; it’s by Dennis’s pitch.’ He thought for a moment. ‘The number 15 goes from there, doesn’t it?’

  Freddy looked baffled, but I knew the stop. ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘The bus to Limehouse,’ said T.C. ‘It’s worth checking out. I’ll ask around. Can I use the phone?’

  ‘How about calling it a day and ge
tting some food down us before the club opens?’ Sugar suggested.

  ‘Good idea,’ Bandy answered for us all. ‘How about convening round at the cafe and taking advantage of Maggie and Bert’s good offices?’

  We all agreed, except for Cassie, who was casually pouring herself another gin at the bar.

  25

  That night at the cafe, Freddy and Antony had given me leave to help T.C., Bandy and Sugar as and when T.C. thought it necessary.

  ‘We’re on top at the moment, ducky, so you take all the time you need,’ Freddy told me earnestly. ‘Bandy’s even offered to pay some of your wages, but for the time being, we’ve said it’ll be our contribution to the cause. We like the kid, don’t we, Ant?’

  ‘We do indeed, Freddy dear, so all the help we can give is freely given.’

  Bandy had been duly grateful and so was I. I found that working with T.C. in the search for Peace was the only thing that stopped the misery and guilt from overwhelming me. I could not shake the feeling that I should have seen that Peace was troubled, and kept a better eye on her.

  ‘But you couldn’t know that Bandy was going to lose her marbles and accuse Peace of theft,’ pointed out Sugar reasonably when I told him how I felt. ‘If anyone’s to blame, poor old Band has to carry that particular can. And I, for one, wouldn’t fancy being in her shoes.’ He paused and his face split into a gleeful grin. ‘Well, just this once I wouldn’t. Normally, of course, I’m your man …’

  So, on Tuesday morning I was lying in bed and thinking things over. T.C. was due early and we were going to follow the lead Freddy had got from Dennis the paper-seller. I was putting off getting up. Ever since Peace had disappeared, I had found the breakfast table unbearable. I had taken to gulping down a piece of toast and a cup of tea in bed, just so that the gaping hole across the table wouldn’t stare accusingly at me.