by Pip Granger
Next thing I knew, it was a bright, shiny morning and Auntie Maggie stood beaming beside my bed.
‘Wakey-wakey, rise and shine. Time you was getting up, my girl. It’s Saturday, no school today and I need your help this morning.’
I was up and dressed in very short order, stopping only for a lick and a promise on the way. I knew something was up and vague memories of the late night rumpus were coming back to me. However, if I had hopes of seeing the visitor, I was disappointed. There was no sign of her.
The Saturday morning routine carried on as normal. Uncle Bert was already in his kitchen, getting ready for the breakfast trade, Auntie Maggie had the urn going and my breakfast was waiting for me on the corner table. I skipped to the cafe door to perform the morning ritual with the signs. Auntie Maggie shot the bolts and I turned the key.
The first customer that morning was Luigi Campanini, not so much an early riser as a late to bedder. In an attempt to mend his wicked ways, Mamma Campanini had a tendency to lock the door on him if he was out late at night. Of course, this fazed Luigi not at all; he just camped out somewhere much more undesirable until the morning. If he was in the money, he hung out at a club or at a poker game. If he was broke, he merely called on one of his many female admirers and put up there for a night. Luigi had no shortage of admirers.
He strolled into the cafe, whistling through his teeth. Luigi’s teeth were lovely, I thought, as they looked white and strong against his dark skin. According to my teacher, Italians were Mediterranean types and they often had dark skin which helped guard against getting sunburn in their hot summers. ‘Olive’, she called it. Olive suited Luigi, and not just because it showed off his gnashers. It went with his large brown eyes and glossy black hair.
‘Morning, Bert, Maggie, Shorty.’ (That was me.) ‘How you diddling? Give us the usual and a coffee to be getting on with.’ He flipped me a two-bob bit. ‘Run across and get me a Mirror, Shorty, and buy yourself a sherbet dab or something.’
‘You ain’t goin’ nowhere, young lady, till you’ve got yourself on the outside of that breakfast. Morning, Luigi.’ Auntie Maggie changed tack. ‘Out on the razzle again last night? Coffee coming up.’
Luigi sat at his favourite table by the window. He liked to keep an eye on things. ‘Has wassname turned up here yet?’ He indicated me with a nod of his head and a conspiratorial roll of the eyes. ‘I saw her last night in Frenchie’s with some geezer. She’d had a few, but I told her you was looking for her and she said she’d heard and that she’d look in later.’
Auntie Maggie made her way to his table, coffee cup gripped in one hand, a plate of bread and butter in the other. She placed them carefully on the table in front of him and sat down opposite.
‘Yes, we seen her. Matter of fact she’s sleeping it off upstairs. Couldn’t get much sense out of her, to be honest. She wasn’t in any state to talk things over. I doubt if she knew who she was, let alone being able to see or hold a pen. We thought we’d have a go today, when she comes round. You reckon you could ask your mum and dad to do the necessary if we need witnesses?’
I listened carefully as I munched my egg, bacon, fried slice and tomatoes and slurped my milk in the corner. So it was my mum who came last night. My stomach lurched as all my insecurities came flooding back. Suppose she wouldn’t sign the paper? Say she dragged me away with her and I never saw Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert again? I slunk over to where Auntie Maggie was sitting and clamped myself to her side.
Her beefy arm wrapped itself around me and gave me a squeeze. ‘Don’t you worry, love. It’ll be all right. You nip across now and get Luigi’s paper and your dab. Be careful of that road and don’t hang about. Come straight back here.’
When I got back with Luigi’s paper, the cafe had filled up a bit. There were a few strangers who had obviously sampled the nightlife of the West End a little too enthusiastically the night before and were nursing hangovers and empty wallets. You could always recognize them: they tottered in gingerly, wincing at every sound and they had to search their pockets very, very carefully to find the price of a cup of tea. Sometimes they couldn’t scrape it together but if Maggie liked the look of them, she let them have it on the house.
Paulette and Madame Zelda were settled over steaming cups of tea at a table next to Luigi’s. They stopped talking abruptly as I joined the little group, paper clutched in one hand, dab and change in the other, then resumed their conversation quietly, on account of the strangers. There was an air of tension about the place as we waited for my mum to put in an appearance. Discussion of possible strategies had been exhausted and it was agreed that we could only wait and see.
‘Anyone know where Sharky is?’ Auntie Maggie asked the assembled company as she arrived with a tray of fresh teas, coffee and a glass of milk for me. ‘We could do with him here when she gets down.’
There were several theories as to the possible whereabouts of Sharky. One was that he was sleeping it off somewhere, another was that he was still in the clutches of an all-night card game. One thing was certain: he wouldn’t be at home, wherever that was, not on a Saturday morning. Friday nights were far too good to waste in front of the fire, listening to the wireless.
Paulette was just running through a list of possibilities when everyone’s head turned to the back of the cafe. We were all suddenly aware of the dishevelled figure framed in the doorway that led to the flat above. Her long blond hair was all over the place, and under the smeared make-up left over from the night before her skin had a green pallor between a mass of bruises. She was wrapped up in what looked like a bedspread, her feet were bare and her voice was husky and cracked.
‘Has anyone got a hair of the bastard that bit me, and a fag?’ The Perfumed Lady’s hand shook as she pushed a lock of hair away from her swollen eyes.
Maggie’s voice was gentle as she rose from her seat at the table. ‘Morning, love. Let’s get you back upstairs and find you a dressing gown. Then we can think about breakfast and seeing to that face of yours. You look as if you’ve been run over by a train.’ We heard Maggie’s voice coaxing softly as they disappeared up the stairs. ‘Come on now, dear, up we go. That’s it, gently does it. Here’s the cotton wool and witch hazel – you’re not cut, so it shouldn’t sting. There! That’s better. Now I think we’ve still got a drop of brandy in the cupboard and there’s some fags in the drawer.’
We were still staring at the empty doorway when Uncle Bert appeared from his kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. As I said, the cafe closed for nothing and nobody, so you can imagine my shock when Uncle Bert started to shoo everyone out. That, more than anything, showed the gravity of the situation, and I was afraid.
‘Right folks, we got business to attend to, so if you would kindly finish up as quick as you can I’ll close the caff and get stuck in. Luigi, could you put the word out for Sharky to show up here as soon as possible? Paulette and Madame Zelda, could you keep your eyes peeled and all? Mind you, judging by the state of her this morning, it’ll take a while to get her in any condition to line up behind her eyes, let alone attend to what’s being said. Has anyone got any brandy, or vodka maybe? We only had a drop left after Sharky gave it a bashing and it looks as if she’ll need a bit to settle her guts and stop the shakes.’
‘I got a bottle of brandy next door you can have,’ Madame Zelda spoke up. ‘Purely medicinal, of course. I ’spect Paulette’s got some too for that pimp of hers, haven’t you, Paulette?’
Paulette nodded cautiously. ‘Yes, I got some malt whisky but I’d better keep a bit by in case Dave comes. You know what ’e’s like when he wants something and I ’aven’t got it.’ Her eyes held a funny expression that I didn’t understand.
No one liked Dave. He was a runt of a man, dark with bright, glittering blue eyes that darted this way and that. He was restless and given to knocking Paulette and his other tarts about just for the hell of it. He was ‘a greedy little sod’ as my auntie Maggie put it. Even then I understood that he wanted things, did Dav
e, and plenty of them – flash clothes, enough gold tom to stock H. Samuel’s and a motor, but he didn’t want to work to get them. Oh no! He had a string of girls ‘who worked their arses off’ for that. Funny what you remember. I can still hear the bitterness in their voices whenever Auntie Maggie and Madame Zelda talked about him. They hated pimps, especially Dave, but we all liked Paulette.
Everyone trailed out. The casual punters were encouraged to hurry up and go, Luigi went in search of Sharky, Paulette and Madame Zelda went next door to find their contributions of booze, and I went with them to bring the bottles down.
5
I loved Paulette’s rooms and would use any excuse to go up to see her. There were mirrors everywhere, even on the ceiling in her bedroom. There were frills and fringes and satin all over the place. The air smelt of smoke and Evening in Paris.
The really special thrill came when she let me dress up. Both of us would get wildly excited as we turned over drawers and rummaged in the wardrobe looking for the outfit. Once dressed in one of her satin dressing gowns or a frilly petticoat, with a pair of gold stilettos engulfing my tiny feet, I would search through boxes and drawers looking for the right jewels. Long dangly earrings would soon glitter at my earlobes, bright bangles would adorn my upper arms and ropes of twinkling beads or fake pearls would be wound around my neck.
Next, I would perch on the little gilt and velvet chair in her bedroom and she would make me up. On would go powder, rouge, eye shadow, lipstick and, as finishing touches, an eyebrow pencil ‘beauty spot’ and a liberal dousing of perfume. Then I would strut my stuff with a wobbling, mincing step and put on an impromptu show for her. She would clap and laugh and yell ‘Bravo!’ and ‘More, more!’
Sometimes, if things were slack, Madame Zelda and Sharky joined my audience. At Christmas and birthdays I was whisked up to Paulette’s rooms and dressed, ready to give a command performance for Auntie Maggie, Uncle Bert and everyone at the knees-up in the cafe. I have always been a terrible show-off.
It would take what felt like hours of Auntie Maggie’s scrubbing and tutting to get me clean after one of these sessions, but it was worth it. Still, on this particular Saturday the mood was sombre and tense and even I realized that dressing up was out of the question. Paulette solemnly decanted some of Dave’s precious whisky into a spare bottle.
Impulsively she bent down and hugged and kissed me. ‘Good luck, sweetheart. It’ll be OK, you’ll see.’
The next stop was Madame Zelda’s place to pick up the brandy. Her flat was identical in layout to Paulette’s but two floors down, Sharky’s office being wedged between the two apartments. Madame Zelda’s consulting room was almost as good as Paulette’s as far as I was concerned, but in an entirely different way. Madame Zelda went in for drama and plenty of velvet. The walls were stiff with moons, stars and astrological symbols painted in gold. But my two favourite things were the endless caches of sweets in coloured glass bowls that crowded every surface and the stuffed, moth-eaten monkey that climbed the standard lamp, whom I loved. The light was always dim in there and the sweet smell of incense warred with the heavily medicinal smell of Madame Zelda’s foot cream.
Madame Zelda carried one of the bottles down for me. The stairs were dark and steep and the front-door lock was high. She saw me to the door of the cafe, which was now closed, and waited with me until our knock was answered by Uncle Bert.
‘Do you want me to look after the little ’un, Bert?’ she asked. ‘I can always take her to the cartoons in Piccadilly Circus if you like.’
Uncle Bert stepped back to let us in and relieved us of our respective bottles. ‘Hang on a tick, I’ll ask.’
We waited in silence and listened to his footsteps on the stairs and the murmur of voices. Then we heard his footsteps again, coming closer this time.
‘Maggie says that would be very kind, Madame Zelda, very kind indeed. P’raps you could give us a couple of hours to get her ladyship cleaned up a bit and to settle her stomach. She’s heaving at the minute. Not nice for the kid to see that.’ He turned to me. ‘You go with Madame Zelda, Rosie, and see some cartoons. Her ladyship should be feeling a bit better in an hour or two.’
We stuck our heads in next door to yell up the stairs to Paulette to ask if she wanted to come. She did, so we waited for a bit until she was ready and then we walked round to Piccadilly Circus.
I was worried about what was happening at home. Maybe Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert wouldn’t be able to get the Perfumed Lady to sign. Would she take me away with her? I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay where it was safe and familiar. I wanted Auntie Maggie. I was so miserable the cartoons were a blur, and it didn’t even occur to me to wonder where Paulette disappeared to in the middle and why she was counting money when she came back.
By the time we got back to the cafe, Auntie Maggie, Uncle Bert, Luigi and a rumpled Sharky were gathered round the corner table. Nobody appeared to be speaking as Madame Zelda rapped on the cafe door to get their attention. They all glanced towards us and Auntie Maggie got up heavily and waddled across the room.
Once she got the door open, she took one look at my face and gathered me into her arms. Oh, the relief of it! All the tension seemed to leave me as I melted into that soft bosom and got a whiff of her familiar Auntie Maggie smell. I began to cry as she carried me to the table and set me down gently. I clambered on to her lap and the only sound was the odd sob that escaped around the thumb in my mouth. Paulette and Madame Zelda pulled up some chairs and joined the group.
The sound of the toilet being flushed drifted down to us, footsteps sounded on the stairs and the Perfumed Lady appeared in the doorway and walked across to the table. She sat down. She was dressed now, her hair was brushed and there had been some attempt at make-up, but her eyes were still black and puffy. Her lovely clothes had been pressed but nothing could disguise the fact that they were torn in places. As her long fingers wrapped themselves around a glass of brandy, I noticed that her red nail polish was badly chipped and her glass shook. She took a long gulp and looked at me above the rim of her glass. Her lovely eyes filled with tears. She set her glass down among the cups, plates, bottles and the brimming ashtray, reached across and gently stroked my hair.
‘So, sweetheart, I understand you have been upset, and that you are afraid that I will come and take you away with me? Would that be such a terrible thing?’ Her voice was husky and sad. She didn’t wait for an answer, but carried on talking as if there was no one else in the room, just her and me.
‘Yes, I suppose it would be. Cruel, really, after all these years. You’re happy here. I know you’re happy here and that is all that really matters.’ At this, the tears that had been welling up slowly spilled over her lower lids and ran down her face. She made no attempt to wipe them away, as they gathered under her small, pointed chin and dripped on to the table and got lost among the clutter. She let her hand fall from my hair and took another gulp of her brandy.
‘Sharky, have you got that agreement?’ She seemed to be having trouble breathing and her voice grew harsher. ‘Better get it over with, before I change my mind and convince myself the poor little sod can save me. I’m not the stuff of which decent mothers are made. God knows, I should know that. I can’t even look after myself.’
She reached over and took the paper and the pen that Sharky offered. Madame Zelda cleared her a space on the table, and she began to read the paper silently, tears dripping steadily on to it, smudging the ink. When she finished she looked first at Sharky, then at Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert and then at me.
‘I will be able to see her though, won’t I, Maggie, Bert? You’ll let me see her from time to time, won’t you?’ She was pleading, and her voice, which had changed again, was almost too soft to hear.
‘Of course, love. Of course you will see her. Nothing’ll change. It’ll be just the same as it’s always been. This is only to make Rosie feel more settled, like. Not to hurt you. We don’t want to hurt you, do we, Mags?’
I felt Auntie Maggie nodding vigorously and looked up to see that she was crying too. ‘You have my word on it,’ she said, and then let out a loud tearing sob and squeezed me hard.
With shaking fingers the Perfumed Lady signed and, almost before her hand had finished moving, Sharky had whipped the sheet of paper away and flourished some more.
‘Sign these two as well. They’re copies. Maggie, Bert, you sign too, and then Paulette and Madame Zelda can be witnesses. Luigi, you’re too young, not being twenty-one yet.’
Everyone was busy writing and Luigi got up and ambled over to the counter and fetched some clean glasses. He sloshed some fizzy orange into one and brought them all over on a tray and poured the last of the brandy into the rest. Then he walked round the table and put his arm around my mother. She turned her face into his narrow chest and, like Auntie Maggie, began to sob loudly. He held her for a long time while we all watched silently, then when at last the crying slowed and finally stopped he patted her gently on the back and fished out a snowy white handkerchief from his pocket.
‘Here you are, love, have a good blow and a good wipe round. You know you’ve done the right thing for Shorty and for you. Drink up, you’ll feel better. Shorty, pass the drinks round. It’s like a bleeding morgue in here.’
Everyone seemed to let out great shuddering sighs, and Madame Zelda, Paulette, Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert all wiped their eyes, joined in an orgy of nose blowing and settled down with their drinks.
Madame Zelda’s voice broke the silence. ‘You’ll never guess – Paulette only went for a quick knee-trembler with one of her reglars right in the middle of Mickey Mouse. Shoulda bin Donald Duck if you arst me.’
The room exploded into hysterical laughter and the tension vanished.
Paulette spluttered into her drink, her face red as she shrieked, ‘Ooh, you sod, Madame Zelda. Fancy letting out my trade secrets like that. Anyway, you shouldn’t talk so dirty in front of little Rosie here.’