No Peace for the Wicked

by Pip Granger

  ‘It’d be the act of a philistine to put plastic where plaster should be,’ Antony explained.

  ‘Take no notice, ducky, he’s from Tunbridge Wells. He can’t help it. What he means is, when we have a Georgian building here, it seemed best to us to do it in that style. It sort of lends itself to that more than all the nice pretty plastic.’

  ‘And we’ve had a lovely time collecting the furniture and finding the fabrics and paints,’ Antony added. ‘We’ve wound up in some wonderful places. Do you remember that wallpaper printer in Hoxton, Freddy? Still used the old hand-block printing methods, so that the stately homes of old England can be refurbished. There’s paint-makers, fabric-weavers, rugmakers, all beavering away in little workshops in the most peculiar places. We’ve been all over the place, haven’t we, Freddy?’

  ‘Yes, and we’re always adding bits to it. We’re haunting the auctions when we get the chance at the moment. We want a couple more dining chairs to make the set, and some china.’

  The effort was worth it. The flat looked like a stately home in miniature, with its fine furniture and fittings. It could have been a set from an historical film, except that it looked and felt lived in.

  The evening went with a swing. Ronald proved to be good company and, as Freddy said, ‘a demon riah shusher’. He set to immediately he arrived. I had to sit through dinner with a head full of curlers, but nobody seemed to mind. It must have looked incongruous, pink plastic curlers in a Georgian Yellow dining room.

  The talk flowed easily between the three men and I felt a bit like a spare part until I gave myself up to the delights of the food, the half-glass of wine I allowed myself and the freedom of being a spectator. As the wine bottle emptied and another took its place, I ceased to understand more than one word in ten of the conversation anyway. All three spoke fluent Polari. ‘Trolling’, ‘Lily Law’ and ‘rattling cove’ were about the only phrases I understood.

  I drifted off into a daydream as I waited for the curlers and the setting lotion to do their promised magic. I was just replaying the time when T.C. had been in my kitchen and had been about to kiss me – except this time I didn’t freeze, but melted into his arms instead – when I heard his name spoken. Jolted out of my daydream, I was back into the dining room and the assembled company.

  ‘Sorry, what was that?’ I asked. ‘It’s the wine; I was away with the fairies.’

  ‘What, on three sips?’ asked Freddy incredulously.

  ‘I’m not used to it,’ I answered a little defensively. ‘What were you saying about T.C.?’

  Freddy rolled his eyes. ‘And you say you don’t fancy him. It’s love, I’m telling you, or a thumping great crush.’

  ‘Don’t tease the poor girl, Freddy,’ Ronald scolded. He stood up, walked around the table and unrolled a curler to see if my hair was dry. It was, so we all repaired to the living room to see what he’d made of it when the curlers were removed and it had been brushed out. Ronald placed me in a chair beside a small table with the tools of his trade laid out neatly upon it. ‘So, tell me all about this man. Is he handsome?’ His fingers deftly whipped out the pins and the curlers.

  I blushed deeply. ‘There is no man,’ I answered, voice barely above a whisper. My face was so hot, I thought I’d scorch the wallpaper.

  ‘My dear, nobody goes that shade of crimson unless they have someone on their mind. Tell Uncle Ronald all about him and ignore these two awful old queens. They’ve been together so long, they’ve forgotten what it’s like to yearn,’ Ronald told me, briskly plying his brush and comb.

  ‘If you don’t tell him, we will,’ Freddy threatened. Antony nodded lazily, smiling gently at his friend. ‘She’s got the hots for T.C. Do you know him?’

  Ronald paused and gave it some thought. ‘I don’t think so. Tell me all.’

  ‘Well, he’s a handsome cove, but naff,’ Freddy explained.

  ‘He’d have to be naff,’ Antony pointed out. ‘There’s no point in her setting her cap at one of us. She’d wouldn’t get very far; she’s got the wrong equipment.’

  ‘I expect her equipment’s just fine, as long as you like that kind of thing.’ Freddy laughed. ‘You describe him, Ant. I’ll make the coffee.’

  ‘He’s taller than average and well put together, and he has a good face. Think Kenneth More crossed with a touch of Richard Green and a smidgin of Trevor Howard thrown in for good measure and you’ve more or less got him: except he’s fair, with curly hair. Freddy’s right; he is a good-looking cove, in a craggy sort of way.’

  Antony’s description of T.C. set me thinking about him again, but I was disturbed by an excited cry from Freddy, who had returned with a tray full of cups, milk, cream and sugar.

  ‘Oh, ducky! What a job you’ve made. She’s gorgeous, or she will be when we’ve got some slap on her. Lizzie, nip into the bathroom and have a blimp in the mirror. You won’t believe the transformation.’

  He was right. Ronald was a magician. My mousy hair gleamed with the blond rinse he’d put through it. It didn’t turn me into a blonde, but it brought out highlights in my hair that I hadn’t realized were there. As Freddy had said, it ‘lifted’ the colour and made it richer; there was no better way to describe it. And he’d cut my hair so well that it framed my face with feathery little curls and wispy bits that softened the edges. He’d added height at the crown and the whole shape took your eye away from my weakest feature, my chin.

  I gazed for a long time and decided, for the first time in my entire life, that I had quite a nice face. I had really pretty eyes, I thought; they were large and so dark a blue, they looked almost violet, like Elizabeth Taylor’s. The men had been right about my eyebrows, though. They were too heavy for my face. I raced into the living room to ask if anyone had any eyebrow tweezers.

  ‘No dear. It’s not something I’ve ever felt the need for,’ Antony answered. ‘And as far as I know, neither has Freddy. How about you, Ronald?’ Ronald shook his head sadly. I was just thinking it’d have to wait until I got home when Freddy had a brainwave. He pushed up the bottom half of the window, and stuck his head out.

  ‘Ruby, have you or any of the other girls got any eyebrow tweezers that we could borrow by any chance?’ he called to the little group of prostitutes standing under one of the street lamps, advertising their wares to the few men who hurried past.

  We heard women consulting one another and finally Ruby replied, ‘Yes, we have. What’s it worth?’

  ‘Don’t you slappers ever give anything away for nothing?’ Freddy called back. ‘Or even loan it out for five minutes?’

  ‘Nope,’ came the answer.

  ‘How about a nice hot drink and a rest of your poor plates while you drink it? You must be bloody frozen out there, and in this weather, business has got to be slow.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it, mate. When blokes get the urge for a quick one, a little thing like the weather don’t stop ’em. A shag’s a shag, whatever the climate, and there’s fellas who just have to have it, no matter what. And thank Gawd for that, or we’d starve come winter.’ There was a brief pause. ‘We’ve voted for the little rest and the hot drink. Sling your key down, there’s a love.’

  Freddy duly wrapped the front door key in a clean sock specially kept for the purpose – to muffle its landing – and threw the small parcel into the street. Moments later we heard heels clacking on the stairs and two frozen ladies of the night piled into the living room, bringing the heady smell of perfume with them.

  ‘Good evening all,’ Ruby grinned. ‘The others decided to carry on working. This here is Brenda. Who needs the tweezers?’

  ‘Me,’ I answered.

  ‘Ooh, your hair looks lovely. Who did it?’ Ruby sounded really impressed.

  ‘It was Ronald here, he did it,’ I told her.

  Ronald looked modestly at the carpet.

  ‘Cor! Can you do mine some time?’ she asked.

  They swiftly made a date while I took the tweezers from Brenda and hurried back to the bathroom wi
th them. Fifteen agonizing minutes later I returned to the living room with a slightly lighter step and tidy, slender eyebrows, although the skin around them still looked angry from the plucking. I gave Brenda her tweezers back.

  ‘Ta,’ she said in a tiny voice.

  ‘Don’t you worry, love, all that red will go back to normal soon. It’s the shock,’ Ruby assured me. ‘You won’t notice it tomorrow, and you look a lot better for it, so it’s worth the suffering. Come on, Bren, time we was back at work. There’s blokes getting away out there. I haven’t earned me money yet, and the old man will go spare.

  ‘Thanks for the tea, boys,’ she sang out as she headed for the door, trailed by Brenda, who didn’t look keen to leave the warmth and safety of the roaring fire. I couldn’t say I blamed the poor girl. It was very cold for spring and it looked and smelt as if a fog was forming; the air had that distinctive smell of sulphur. I decided to leave before it really got set in and ruined my hair on the walk home. Ronald joined me. We departed in a flurry of thanks and goodwill and found ourselves on the street.

  ‘Goodnight,’ we called to the girls huddled under the street lamp and they called their farewells back. ‘I’ll walk you home,’ said Ronald.

  ‘Thank you for the hairdo,’ I said shyly. Now that I was alone with him, I realized that I didn’t know anything about Ronald or what he liked to talk about. I needn’t have worried. He was content to gossip.

  ‘Think nothing of it. It was good to see Freddy and Antony again. It’s been a while. They can both cook, I’ll give them that. They’ve been together for quite a stretch, now, haven’t they?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘I never thought old Antony would settle down. He liked to put it about a fair old bit in his younger days, I can tell you. I never thought he’d stick to just the one, but he has, for years now. Old Freddy must have talents we can only guess at.’ He paused and looked at me for a second, then amended the statement. ‘That I can only guess at.’

  I raced up the stairs when I got home, to have another look at my hair. It still looked wonderful. Before I went to bed, I tried some make-up on. I was astonished at the effect. The combination of the hair, the eyebrows and a little make-up made me look quite pretty, even I could see that. I turned this way and that and sighed with satisfaction.

  That night I dreamed about T.C. They were silly dreams, like films where the hero falls for the beautiful stranger who turns out to be the girl next door, all grown up. But I woke up happy, and when I looked in the mirror the next morning, I was overwhelmed all over again. Freddy was right: Ronald was a magician.

  29

  Maggie noticed my new hairdo immediately when she saw me the next morning. I’d also powdered my nose, added a little mascara and just a touch of pink lipstick.

  ‘Lizzie, love, you look lovely. Off somewhere special, are you?’ she asked, eyes wide and her dear face alive with smiles.

  I tried for nonchalance, but failed because I was so thrilled with the new, improved me. ‘No, I’m just off to work,’ I answered, as I heard the door to the cafe open behind my back. For a second, my heart stopped. I was hoping it was T.C., like in my dream, but it wasn’t. It was Freddy, closely followed by Antony.

  ‘Doesn’t she look a dish?’ demanded Freddy.

  ‘Isn’t it a vast improvement?’ seconded Antony.

  ‘She looks lovely,’ Maggie said comfortably.

  ‘Well, let’s hope old T.C. thinks so. It’s time he got his mind off Cassie. That’ll never come to anything; there’s too much in the way. Whereas Lizzie here is just the job, in our opinion. And what’s more,’ Freddy finished triumphantly, ‘she fancies him like mad.’

  I turned to clout him for his cheek – just in time to see Rosie’s stricken face in the doorway that led to the flat above. It was the merest impression, but it sunk in deeply in the moment between Freddy’s outburst and Maggie’s reply, which I didn’t hear because I was rooted to the spot, looking towards the place where I’d seen the pale, unhappy little face. Nobody seemed to have noticed but me.

  The conversation carried on around me as I willed my feet to move. At last I was able to shift them. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘May I go upstairs, Maggie? I’d like a little word with Rosie.’ I walked towards the doorway at her nod. I had no idea what I was going to say to her, but I couldn’t bear the memory of the look I’d caught on her face.

  Rosie was in her room, sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest and her slender arms wrapped around them so she made a tight ball. She was staring blankly ahead of her.

  ‘Rosie,’ I croaked from the door. She made no sign that she’d heard me. I tried again, louder. ‘Rosie.’ Still nothing. I upped the volume again and accompanied it with a brisk rap on the door, then followed up by walking into the room and standing in her line of vision. At last she moved and spoke.

  ‘Did you want something, Auntie Lizzie?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Yes, I’d like to talk to you.’

  ‘What about?’ She wasn’t planning to make it easy for me, then.

  I took the plunge. ‘About your dad and me,’ I answered, knowing that there was nothing much to talk about in the way of facts, but also that this left the more difficult subject of feelings and I had no idea where to begin.

  ‘What about you and my dad?’ she asked, voice hardening and eyes growing wary.

  ‘That’s just it. There is no me and your dad. Freddy was simply gossiping. There is absolutely nothing between me and your dad besides friendship. We are friends – at least, I like to think that we are, I can’t speak for your dad.’ I looked her in the eye so that she knew I meant what I said. It had always worked with Jenny, so I hoped that Rosie would know I wasn’t lying to her.

  Rosie looked at me for a long time, breaking my heart with her resemblance to her father and the sadness in her face. Then she smiled and I was aware for the first time that it lit up her face in just the way a smile lit up her father’s. It was like the sun coming out. I felt tears start to well up, and pushed them down again. This wasn’t about me and my feelings, it was about Rosie and hers. The trouble was, nobody had told her that.

  ‘Do you love my dad?’ she asked, never taking her eyes off my face.

  I was cautious, not because I wanted to lie to her, but because I simply didn’t know. ‘I certainly like him very much. Your dad is a very special person, good company, intelligent and a decent man. What’s not to like?’ I asked, trying to make a joke of it. But Rosie was no fool either, and would have none of it.

  ‘Auntie Lizzie, I didn’t ask if you liked him, I asked if you loved him. I know you like him and that he likes you. I can tell,’ she told me, her face solemn.

  There was to be no escape, I could see that. I made a snap decision to be as honest as I could be and hope for the best. I thought I probably owed her that. To be frank, I think children usually do better with the truth, as long as it’s pitched at the right level. They can sense lies and prevarication in much the same way that dogs pick up fear. And it frightens them, whereas the simple truth often doesn’t. At least, that’s always what I had found with my Jenny, and I had had to tell her some terrible truths in my time. I had been amazed how that child had taken things in her stride. She had put me to shame.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure, Rosie, and that’s the honest truth.’

  Rosie nodded. ‘But you do fancy him, as Freddy the Frock says?’

  Again I paused. It served me right for bringing the subject up, I supposed. ‘Well, I certainly look forward to seeing him.’ I struggled to find the words to describe how I felt. The trouble was, I wasn’t used to talking about such things, and especially not to a child. And not being sure of myself made it even more difficult. ‘And I enjoy his company very much,’ I finished lamely.

  Rosie was impatient. ‘Yes, but does he make your heart thump, do you get butterflies in your belly, the way they say that you should?’

  ‘Now where on earth did you hear all that?’ I asked.


  ‘Peace told me. Now, answer the question please, Auntie. He is my dad and I like to know who he’s with in his spare time,’ she said, sounding more like his mother. ‘I worry about him,’ she added, sounding more like herself.

  I nodded slowly. Now that she came to mention it, I suppose that I did. ‘But I’ve never heard violins, if that’s any comfort to you,’ I said, trying for a lighter note. ‘I know you’re hoping that your father and mother will marry now that Pat’s gone, but honestly, Rosie, I don’t think it’s necessarily on the cards. They are very fond of one another, but there are some serious problems …’ My voice trailed away as it dawned on me that I was heading into very tricky country.

  Tears glistened on Rosie’s lashes. ‘I know. There’s my mum’s drinking for a start. He hates that and so do I. But I thought if she was happy, it might stop her,’ she said.

  The poor darling child, I thought, having to worry about such things. ‘I don’t think it’s as simple as that,’ I said carefully. I didn’t want to squash her optimism, but on the other hand, false hope can be devastating. ‘I was reading in a magazine that I found at the doctor’s the other day, that there’s some people who think drinking is an illness. Even doctors seem to think so nowadays.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Perhaps she’ll get better then, like chicken-pox.’

  I groaned inwardly. ‘Perhaps she will. But as I understand it, the only real hope is giving up alcohol altogether, every drop, and I don’t think your mother is willing to do that just yet.’ I was still feeling my way very carefully.

  ‘You see, there is no cure as such, or so they think, but there is control by total abstinence. Or so I understood from the article. There’s an organization that helps people. It started in America, and apparently it’s arrived here. Funnily enough, I saved the piece to show one or two people and your parents were among them. Your dad was very interested, but I’m sorry to say, Rosie, that your mother wasn’t. Not at the moment, anyway.’ I blushed at the memory of Cassie telling me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business.