by Pip Granger
Huddled in a corner towards the front of the shop were a few tables opposite a gleaming counter dominated by a hissing coffee machine. Bolted firmly to one end of the counter was a heavy green metal contraption which had a jaunty red trim, a large wheel with a brass handle and a big funnel on top. The funnel was attached to a bulbous body that housed a grinding mechanism and there was a sliding drawer below. This was the coffee grinder, idle during the war, but coming back to life now that some precious beans were filtering through from South America. Soldiers home on leave flocked to Mamma Campanini’s to buy packets of fresh coffee beans to take back to Germany with them where they could be flogged for a month’s wages.
The beans were stored in large black and gold tins that stood on a sparkling glass and chrome shelf. Exotic names like Costa Rica, Brazil and Continental Roast were emblazoned on their fronts. I asked Auntie Maggie what all the names meant and she told me they were places, so I fetched an atlas and spent a few happy hours trying to track them all down. I couldn’t understand what had happened to Continental Roast though I did find Continental Shelf, but that seemed to be in the sea. It was ages before I found out that Continental Roast was a description and not a place.
A lot of shops hadn’t troubled to open on Coronation Day but Mamma Campanini was behind her grocery counter as usual when I flew through the door. Not that she wasn’t patriotic, it was just that she was coming to our place later on and had nothing much to do before she came. The younger Campanini women were seeing to the grub that was their contribution to our party, so Mamma opened the store for a couple of hours for the benefit of the disorganized who needed last-minute supplies before the royal kick-off at about half past ten.
Mamma’s face split into a huge grin at the sight of me hurtling through her door, puffing and panting and full of self-importance. Her two gold teeth flashed and gleamed among the regulation white ones. I loved those gold teeth and thought they added a note of distinction.
I was definitely one of Mamma’s favourites. It was the blond curls, blue eyes and my passing resemblance to a certain princess that did it. Under normal circumstances I would have been offered a huge bowl of cassata ice cream as soon as I appeared. However, there must have been a sense of urgency about me because there was no such offer that day, much to my disappointment. I especially liked the glacé fruit, the nuts, and the green bits which were my favourite.
Mamma’s grin turned to a look of enquiry as I blurted out Uncle Bert’s request for Luigi. She trundled over to the door at the back and roared up the stairs. ‘Luigi, getta down ’ere. You have a younga lady a waiting for you.’
There was a muffled reply and she bade me wait a minute. He’d be down, she told me, and slipped me a handful of almonds coated in a sugary sort of stuff to munch while I waited. Mamma Campanini could not bear the thought of anyone being peckish, however briefly. I chewed and shuffled from foot to foot as she continued to serve her customers.
Eventually I heard footsteps on the stairs and the door opened and there was Luigi, comb in hand. As usual, I noticed his large brown eyes, sparkling with the joys of life, and realized perhaps for the first time that he really was tall, dark and handsome. He gave his mother a resounding but affectionate whack on the backside as he passed her and came round the front of the counter. She giggled, and thumped his shoulder playfully.
‘Yes, Shorty, what can I do for you?’ ‘
Uncle Bert says can you come? It’s important.’
‘OK, I’m on me way.’ He turned to his mother. ‘Tell Alberto where I am if he asks for me. Ciao, Mamma.’
The street was getting even busier as we made our way to the cafe. There was a feeling of anticipation in the air and people were bustling to get things done so that they could go home and huddle around tellies and wirelesses with family and friends. Everyone knew that they were about to witness a piece of history that had nothing to do with bombs, mutilated bodies or shattered lives. It made a wonderful change. The Coronation was a hopeful thing and reinforced the feeling that British was best. Not that anyone had any real doubts. We’d won the war, hadn’t we? We had the Empire. Of course British was best, but the Coronation rubber-stamped it somehow.
Luigi heaved me on to his shoulders for the short trip from the deli to the cafe. We arrived with me giggling fit to bust and we had to duck to get me safely through the door. I was so thrilled with my ride that I completely forgot to look out for Charlie on the way back.
Once I had been delivered to ground level again, it was all business. Uncle Bert didn’t beat about the bush.
‘I’m glad you could come, Luigi. Madame Zelda’s old man has been hanging about all morning. We think he’s looking for Rosie’s mum, but we don’t know why. One thing Madame Zelda is sure of, though, is that the little bastard’s up to no good. Whatever he wants our Cassie for, you can bet your life it won’t be to her advantage. Madame Zelda told him yesterday that she’d never heard of this Cassandra person, but he obviously really believes she’s round here somewhere, otherwise he wouldn’t be skulking in doorways. Trouble is, she’s due here any time. I’ve been trying to get her on the blower but I can’t get no answer. Have you any idea where she is?’
Luigi shook his head. ‘Who knows? You know what she’s like. She’s probably holed up in a hotel with some geezer. The place is stiff with tourists here for the Coronation. The clubs was bursting at the seams last night and the girls was so busy they hardly had time to get their drawers back on between punters. Blokes from the sticks think they’ve died and gone to heaven when they get up to the Smoke and see all them lovely girls.’
Uncle Bert nodded and looked grim. He scratched his head and pondered for a bit. Auntie Maggie bustled past with a huge plate of fairy cakes and dumped them on one of the tables, then joined the two men in their discussions. Luigi offered to go hunting for the Perfumed Lady but Auntie Maggie was practical.
‘Don’t be daft. Where would you start? You said the place was heaving. Anyway, there’s no time. Even with a motor you’d be hard pressed. The streets are already choked with people. They said on the wireless no one could remember ever seeing such a mob. No, we’d be better off doing something about him rather than looking for her.’
Both men looked at her with admiration. It was so simple when you thought about it. Uncle Bert slipped his arm around her huge waist and gave her a squeeze. Auntie Maggie blushed and leaned into him a bit, looking pleased.
‘Good thinking, Maggie my love. You ain’t just a pretty face. You got brains an’ all. Of course that’s the answer. Now, any suggestions as to what we can do with him?’
I still hadn’t entirely recovered from being hissed at, so I shoved in my two penn’orth at that point. I remembered the bunches of sausages and salami at the deli and danced around the little group. ‘We could chop him up and turn him into salami,’ I suggested helpfully.
Three pairs of eyes turned on me with a faint air of astonishment. Only Uncle Bert joined in the spirit of the thing. ‘A good idea, Rosie, but the bleeder’s too scrawny. He’d never make a decent sausage, not enough meat on him. Suppose we clobber him and shove him in the cellar for the duration? We could always leave him something to eat and drink.’
Auntie Maggie was not keen. ‘Say he has to go to the toilet? I don’t want to have to clean up after him. Anyway, he’d make a row, yelling and that. We don’t want him spoiling the Coronation for us, do we? Old Bill might not understand, either. You never know, the slimy little git might make a complaint. Even with your connections, Bert, it’d take some getting out of. Ain’t that kidnap or something? Could cost a fair old bit in back’anders, kidnapping could.’
There was silence as everyone considered the implications. Then Auntie Maggie roared, ‘I’ve got it! Couldn’t we send him on a wild-goose chase? Somewhere a nice long way away.’
Once again the men eyed her with unconcealed admiration. ‘Make it far enough and we could be shot of the little sod all day,’ she continued. ‘It’d give us tim
e to warn our Cassie if she shows up here.’
A lively discussion followed. It was decided that Luigi should do the honours by offering to sell the information as to Cassie’s whereabouts to Charlie. The general opinion was that Charlie was so bent, he’d never believe in a freebie. The stumbling block was how to explain away Luigi’s knowledge of Charlie’s quest to find my mum. He hadn’t been there when Madame Zelda told us about it and Charlie knew it.
Madame Zelda provided the answer in person when she rapped imperiously on the cafe door.
Auntie Maggie let her in. ‘Watcha, Zeld. Have you seen your Charlie this morning? He’s been hanging about since first thing. We’ve just been discussing how to get shot of him. We don’t want Cassie showing up here while he’s on the lookout. We’ve tried warning her by blower but there’s no answer.’
Madame Zelda was indignant. ‘Don’t call him ‘‘my Charlie’’. He ain’t been mine for years now, I’m pleased to say.’
‘We decided that Luigi here should tip him the wink that Cassie’s in Brighton or somewhere with a rich punter, but we can’t decide how Luigi’s supposed to have found out that Charlie’s looking for her,’ Uncle Bert told her.
Madame Zelda came up with the solution in a flash. ‘That’s easy. If Charlie’s watching, then he saw Luigi come in and now he’s seen me. I could be telling you all about it. When Luigi heads for home, he could spot the toe-rag, lure him to a quiet spot and flog him the news.’
In less than an hour, Luigi was back, mission accomplished. Charlie was happily on his way to Brighton, Luigi was a few quid richer and Madame Zelda was cackling like a regular army of hens. She liked the idea of getting one over on Charlie – she liked it a lot.
10
The Coronation was lovely even though the weather was lousy. Some said that it was the coldest June day they could ever remember, and that the poor sods sleeping on the pavement the night before certainly earned their glimpse of the Queen.
My mates were suitably impressed by our telly. We sat close up, noses almost mashed against the screen. The grown-ups had to keep telling us to sit back a bit, that they couldn’t see. We scrutinized every last detail of the Queen’s frock, crown, coach and all. We got fits of giggles during the procession out of the abbey when they started to talk about ‘Mistresses of the Robes’. ‘Ladies and Women of the Bedchamber’ had us in hysterics and not one of the adults could tell us why some were ‘ladies’ and others were just ‘women’. Still, Auntie Maggie, Madame Zelda and Paulette had a fine old time speculating about what these females got up to in the Queen’s bedroom and if there was any room for her old man with that lot cluttering up the place. Mamma Campanini and old Mrs Roberts contented themselves with pretending to be shocked, pursing their lips and shaking their heads between outbursts of merriment.
Food and drink flowed freely and there was a general air of rejoicing. The Perfumed Lady, my mum, managed to miss the ceremony altogether of course. She rolled in an hour or two after, when the party was in full swing. She had a bloke in tow and they were both lit up like the Blackpool illuminations, having been on the razzle all night. Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert tried to tell her about Charlie, but it was a pointless exercise as she was in no condition to take it in. I was charged with keeping an eye on her, and if she tried to leave I had to tip Uncle Bert, Auntie Maggie or Madame Zelda the wink. They had decided that the best thing to do was to hang on to her until she sobered up a bit. Then they could explain about Charlie and all.
My friends went home once the new Queen was safely back at her gaff. We’d watched the great occasion, eaten and drunk until we felt sick and were well satisfied. There was a sort of a break after my mates left when people drifted in and out and it all went a bit quiet. Auntie Maggie put me to bed for a nap, promising that I could join the party later when things got going again. I slept like the dead.
It was getting dark by the time I came to again. I could hear music and the rise and fall of voices. There was smoke in the air, cigars, cigarettes and Uncle Bert’s pipe. Every now and then there was a thumping noise as people stumped up the stairs to go to the toilet. The piano that usually stood in the corner of the cafe under an old flowered curtain was tinkling away. It sounded like a good party with the hum of conversation competing with the sounds of singing and dancing. I sat up, put my bedside light on – and there on a chair was a dress I had never seen before.
It was really beautiful, just like the ones the Italian girls wore at Christmas and on saints’ days. It was dark blue satin, all shiny with delicate bits of creamy lace around the collar. It had a waistband that could be tied at the back in a huge bow and short, puffed sleeves, and a neat row of tiny pearl buttons down the front of the bodice gleamed against the dark satin, the skirt was full and there was a petticoat to put underneath it. This was almost better than the dress. It was made of layers and layers of stiff net, with frothy lace at the bottom that matched the lace on the collar of the frock. Once the whole thing was on, the skirt of the dress stood out proud with a hint of lace peeping out from below the hem. Beneath the chair, a pair of black patent-leather shoes with a crossbar and tiny holes set in a pattern of flowers stood neatly side by side. God knows where Auntie Maggie got such a gorgeous outfit. Fancy gear was still difficult to find and clothes still tended to be practical and rather sombre. I leaped out of bed and was about to dive into my new stuff when I remembered my training, and slid into the bathroom for a wash first.
I got dressed very carefully and even dragged a brush through my curls. At last I was ready except for tying my bow at the back. I couldn’t manage that by myself. I was only just getting the hang of bows and then only frontwise. I gave it up in the end and left it as a loose knot. I could always get some friendly grown-up to do the honours before I made my entrance downstairs. A fairly constant stream of possible volunteers were coming up and down stairs to use the facilities.
Before joining the party, I crept along the passage to Auntie Maggie’s and Uncle Bert’s room as I wanted to have a dekko at myself in the long mirror on their wardrobe. I sidled in and had just turned round to face the room when I realized that I was not alone. Madame Zelda was standing by the edge of the big bed cradling something and rocking gently back and forth. She was murmuring softly, almost crooning, the way you do with babies and I had to strain to hear, her voice was so quiet.
‘There, there, love. Don’t carry on so. The little shit was never worth it, you know that. Be honest with youself, petal. He was never worth it. Better you should find out now than carry on keeping the bastard. There now, you have a good cry. It’ll do you good.’
There was the sound of muffled sobs and choking hiccups coming from somewhere in the region of Madame Zelda’s bosom. I was just about to beat a hasty retreat – you get a sixth sense about these things when you’re the only kid in the place – when Madame Zelda caught sight of me. She straightened and gave the hiccuping figure a gentle pat on the back.
‘Well, look what we’ve got here, Paulette love. Doesn’t she look a picture? You stay put, Rosie, and show Paulette your nice new frock. You look lovely, dear, you really do. Take a gander at her quick, Paulette.’
The heaving shoulders began to subside and after much snivelling Paulette straightened and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. She turned round and gave me a watery smile. Her hair was all over the place and her nose was red and oozing. Black mascara tracks meandered down her puffy cheeks.
‘Ooh, Rosie, that blue suits you, it really does. Shows up your eyes something wonderful.’ Paulette’s chin trembled but she took a deep, wrenching breath and smiled at me as the tears ran steadily down her grubby face.
I am an old hand at grubby faces and tears and knew exactly what to do. Luckily, the bathroom was empty and I was back in a trice with a wet flannel and a dry towel. Silently, I handed them to Madame Zelda who began tenderly to wash and wipe Paulette’s face. I went to Uncle Bert’s drawer and came back with a clean neatly ironed and folded handkerchief a
nd handed it to Paulette. She took it absent-mindedly, then crumpled it into her fist and stuffed it into her mouth as another wrenching sob rose up in her.
‘Blow hard, Paulette, that’s what Auntie Maggie always says,’ I told her. ‘It helps clear your head and things look a bit better when your head’s clear.’
Paulette made a valiant attempt at a laugh. It wobbled a bit, then, suddenly, she was all business. She sat up straight, struggled free of Madame Zelda’s comforting arms, took the flannel off her and gave her own face a thorough wipe round. Next she dried it on the white towel and gave her nose a gigantic blow into Uncle Bert’s Christmas hanky. She stood up, smoothed her skirt down her thighs and fumbled in her cheap white plastic clutch bag for a compact and a comb. She gazed long and hard into the little round mirror, sniffed and then began to dab her shiny red nose with the powder puff. Finally she pulled the comb through her tangled hair and applied a liberal coating of lipstick. Compact, comb, lipstick and hanky were stuffed back into her bag. She tucked her chin in, straightened her shoulders and smiled wanly at Madame Zelda and me.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Time to show those bastards what’s what. Come here, Rosie love, and I’ll tie your bow.’
‘That’s my girl, you shove yer best foot forward,’ Madame Zelda encouraged. ‘No point in shedding any more tears over that slimy little git. I always thought ’e came in on yer shoe anyway. Let’s escort this little gel in her nice new frock down to the party. Then we can bask in a bit of her glory.’
I led the way down the steep stairs to the cafe where the party was in full swing. I located Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert straight away. Auntie Maggie was doing a soft-shoe shuffle with Papa Campanini and Uncle Bert was doling out a drink to Sharky Finn at the counter. Reassured, I took in some of the rest of the action. Luigi was dancing with Gina, one of his many sisters, and Mamma Campanini watched her husband and children from the sidelines, gold teeth glinting in the yellow lamplight as she smiled indulgently.