by Pip Granger
‘And how do you propose to do that? Surely Paulette’s been paying the rent? If I know you, David, and I do, you have never paid a penny. What makes you think you can evict her and let the flat to whom you please?’ His voice went very quiet. ‘What makes you think that you can do that, Dave?’
Dave began to bluster but Sharky held up a hand for silence. ‘No, David, I think not. Firstly, you’re not the tenant of the flat, Paulette is. I know in the normal run of things that would mean sweet Fanny Adams, but in this case her rights will be observed. Secondly, even if you could get her out, and you can’t, you may not move in whoever pleases you. That is not how it works, Dave, my boy, that’s not how it works at all. Thirdly, if you are hoping to charm the landlord into falling in with your plans, forget it. The landlord cannot be charmed, bribed or coerced – not by you, anyway. So, if I were you, and thank God I’m not, I’d give in gracefully and piss off and leave her alone. That’s what I’d do.’
By this time Dave’s face had gone the kind of red that would shame a beetroot. He was beside himself with rage and it took a while for him to find the breath to speak. At last he got it out in a sort of explosive gust that spread droplets of spittle all over those in the immediate area.
‘Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?’ He leaned forward so that his face was close to Sharky’s and bared his teeth, pointing at them with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘Look at this lot, just look at ’em. What do you think of ’em – ah, ah? They didn’t come cheap. They cost me a fortune, I can tell you. Someone’s going to pay and that someone, mate, is going to be that useless cow standing over there.’ With this, his yellow digit swung round to point at Paulette, who cowered behind Madame Zelda and tried to look defiant at the same time.
Sharky was unmoved. He took another long drag of his cigar and then peered closely at Dave’s teeth, using one slightly grubby forefinger to lift Dave’s lip as if he was a horse. Having carried out his inspection, he smiled a long, slow smile. ‘You were robbed, my man. They look like chips off a corporation pisshole, and personally I think you’d be better off suing the dentist. As to your other question, I’ll tell you who I am. I’m Paulette’s landlord. I won the place a while back from Maltese Joe. I’m also the man who, if you ever come sniffing around my door again or bother my tenants in any way – any way at all – will have your arse in the dock so fast your bollocks will drop off. You forget, David, that I’m the man who knows more about your business than you do. Now, haul your arse out of here.
You’re getting on my nerves. Luigi, would you oblige and help David to leave?’
Before Luigi could move Dave was on his feet and out of the door.
You could have heard a pin drop after he’d gone. Then into the silence came the sound of Madame Zelda clapping and pretty soon we’d all joined in.
Sharky rose a little from his seat and bowed to the assembled company. What a performance!
13
Needless to say, Paulette stayed put. Dave disappeared but his new girl, Theresa, moved in over the greengrocer’s on the corner of Frith Street. She tried to rub Paulette’s nose in it for a while, as if she believed that Dave was some sort of prize that she had managed to snatch from her. But it didn’t take long for her to cut that nonsense out as Paulette was so obviously delighted with Dave’s new arrangement. She had always been distraught in the past when he’d taken up with someone new but this time she seemed genuinely happy to be rid of him.
About a fortnight after Sharky told Dave the news, Madame Zelda asked us and Luigi if we could help her swap floors with Sharky. He had agreed to move into Madame Zelda’s so that he would no longer be sandwiched between her and Paulette. This was a lot trickier than it sounds. Although Sharky’s possessions were few – a couple of desks, some chairs, filing cabinets and a bed that he used when he couldn’t find somewhere else to sleep – Madame Zelda had tons of stuff, including the moth-eaten monkey I loved so dearly. Then, of course, the rooms had to be redecorated as Sharky could hardly conduct his law business surrounded by moons and stars. Ten years of cigar smoke and no paint hadn’t done a lot for his place either.
It was a complicated business and there were several planning sessions between Paulette, Madame Zelda and Auntie Maggie. Meanwhile the men hit the woodwork, stating that the women could let them know what they had to do when they had to do it. There was also the ritual of choosing wallpapers and colour schemes. I was allowed to join in with this and we spent many happy hours looking at pattern books and schlepping around various shops.
Then Paulette decided that her place could do with a once-over too as she wanted to get rid of any last traces of Dave and her old job. It was turning into a major operation and Auntie Maggie, who loved to organize, was like a pig in whatever it is that pigs like to be in. Uncle Bert was less enthusiastic as he said he’d be the poor sod who did most of the work – well, him and Luigi. He also said you could bet your life that Sharky would be nowhere to be found when the time came, and he was right about that too.
We decided to do Sharky’s and Madame Zelda’s rooms at more or less the same time and to leave Paulette’s until they were finished. We had to do the work at a weekend because Sharky and Madame Zelda really needed to be open for business on weekdays, and so did we.
As soon as we’d closed the cafe on Saturday afternoon, we were hard at it. We began with humping cases and boxes down the stairs and into the cafe for storage. Next came the furniture. Finally, when the places were empty, all the women, including Ron’s missis, Sally, and the odd Campanini, went to work with scrubbing brushes, cloths and sponges. I was given a scraper and charged with removing some of the old wallpaper. It was great! I was allowed to get as filthy as I liked. Once one room had been prepared, Uncle Bert would move in with his wallpapering table, Luigi and Paulette would begin the painting and the rest of us would move on to prepare the next room. By Sunday evening, Madame Zelda’s old place had been transformed into Sharky’s new offices and looked really smart.
Auntie Maggie, Madame Zelda and Paulette had decided on a masculine no-nonsense Regency stripe for Sharky’s waiting room-cum-secretary’s office-cum-bedroom. Auntie Maggie donated some plants for the window sill so that Muriel – Sharky’s long-suffering secretary and longest-serving mistress – would have ‘something better-looking than Sharky’ to brighten up her working hours. Muriel worked three days a week, typing up the stuff that Sharky felt was safe enough to be committed to paper. Rumour had it that she also kept secret files, stuffed full of more dubious information, as insurance in case Sharky’s more bloodthirsty clients were to decide that he knew too much. But back to the decorating: the inner sanctum, Sharky’s office, boasted pale grey wallpaper with stripes in blocks of three, a thickish dark grey one flanked by two narrow maroon ones. I thought it was very boring but everyone else thought it was smart. Muriel was delighted with her new surroundings but was gloomy about the prospect of keeping them nice, Sharky being something of a world-class slob.
Madame Zelda’s was next. Her consulting room ws made more or less the same as before and I had a lovely time drawing and then painting stars, moons and suns on the freshly painted dark walls. I loved the glittery gold and silver paints and Madame Zelda even let me write my name in the corner, saying that an artist should always sign her work. My chest was puffed with pride for days. I was an artist like the ones who made chalk pictures on the pavement or set up their easels in the squares and showed off their pictures on the railings on Sundays.
When Madame Zelda had lived downstairs, her second room had been a sort of bed-sitting room, cluttered with things that I had grown to love. This time, the second room was transformed into a living room with pretty flowered wallpaper, a table, chairs both upright and easy, a radiogram and a settee. But there was no bed and no stuffed monkey clinging to his lamp. Where was Madame Zelda going to sleep, I wondered. More importantly, where was the stuffed monkey? I began to ask searching questions but Madame Zelda and Paulette lo
oked flustered and eventually Auntie Maggie told me to mind my own business. It worried me though, especially the fate of the monkey.
Last but not least, we began work on Paulette’s rooms. We didn’t have time that first weekend, being up to our eyebrows getting Sharky’s and Madame Zelda’s working rooms sorted. The second weekend was taken up with finishing things off on the first two floors, so it was well into July by the time we got to the top floor. This time the decorating was much simpler as all Paulette’s stuff could be moved downstairs to Madame Zelda’s and, because Paulette no longer worked from home as it were, it was OK to work on the two main rooms at the same time. Once again I had a field day ripping off wallpaper, and Luigi found a screwdriver and removed the mirrors from the walls and the ceiling. Once the rooms were stripped and prepared, Uncle Bert went into action with his wallpapering kit.
By the time we’d finished, it was really hard to imagine that the place belonged to the same person. Instead of all the froth and frills of her brassing days, Paulette had plumped for a jungle in her bedroom. We got up really, really early one morning and raided Covent Garden for some likely-looking plants to enhance the effect. In fact we managed to get so many that Paulette had to flash a bit of cleavage to encourage one of the blokes to wheel her instant jungle home on a cart. I am thrilled to say that the monkey reappeared at this point. Instead of clambering up a standard lamp, he seemed to be about to swing from the corner of the room with the aid of an artificial creeper. I helped to make this by cutting out leaves from dark green, glossy paper and attaching them to a length of rope, which after much work on both our parts looked really convincing. We were so taken with our success that we produced a whole lot more and pretty soon the ceiling was festooned with the things. Later, during my school holidays, Paulette and I haunted junk shops searching out stuffed birds, small animals, artificial flowers and butterflies so that they could lurk among the dense foliage that had replaced the ceiling mirrors. We had a wonderful time.
While we were all working up there, though, I was getting more and more confused. Paulette’s living room disappeared and another bedroom took its place. It took me a while to work it out. Finally, the light dawned. Of course! The second bedroom was for Madame Zelda.
14
Hooray! The summer holidays had arrived and school was over until September. We kids poured out of those school gates on the last day of term, hopping, skipping and whooping our joy, completely oblivious to the fact that within a few short weeks we’d be kicking our heels and whining that we were bored. Come September, it’d be quite a relief to get back to the familiar routine once again. Still, on that day in late July when we were officially free, getting back to school was the furthest thing from my mind. I was one of those lucky few whose birthday fell in the summer holidays and I was wild with anticipation. I was always spoilt rotten on my birthday.
It was round about this time that I noticed Charlie Fluck lurking in doorways again, odd eyes peeled. I had a love-hate relationship with phrases such as ‘keeping your eyes skinned’ or, worse still, ‘keeping them peeled’. If I wanted to make myself feel sick, I’d give the idea serious thought and within seconds I’d turn a fetching shade of green. I could see it all: first, I’d select a really sharp knife from Uncle Bert’s kitchen. Then I’d test the edge by splitting a hair with it like they did in those cowboy or gangster pictures. Next, I’d pop the eye out, holding it firmly between thumb and forefinger, preferably with the business side turned away so that it couldn’t stare reproachfully at me. A vicious little stab with the point of the knife would get things started, then slowly and deliberately I’d run the knife around the eyeball so it peeled like an apple. Careful concentration would be necessary to avoid slicing my thumb or cutting too deep. The trick would be to get the skin off in one long, satisfying spiral.
Another option was the orange method, where I’d gouge a bit out with a thumbnail and then peel the skin away, segment by segment, although if my orange-peeling experiences were anything to go by this would be a lot messier. You may be wondering why I would want to feel sick. Well, it was a very handy knack if there was a visit to the dentist in the offing, for instance, or a tables test at school.
Anyway, I saw Charlie Fluck and reported it straight away to Uncle Bert. I knew the Perfumed Lady was far from reliable but chances were she’d put in an appearance some time around my birthday, and there Charlie would be, lurking. He could lurk for England, could Charlie. He wasn’t particularly good at not being spotted but he seemed able to lurk for hours and hours without getting bored and wandering off. As Auntie Maggie said, he should have been born in a doorway as they seemed to fit him like a glove. Every now and then he’d flit to another one, just to ring the changes, but he always kept the cafe in clear view.
Uncle Bert was not unduly concerned but he told me to keep an eye on the bleeder while he tried to get my mum on the blower. Luckily it was morning, so if she was home she’d still be in bed. He nipped next door to Sharky’s and came back grinning from ear to ear. She was home, apparently, and ‘compos mentis for a change’, whatever that meant. She had completely forgotten being told about Charlie on Coronation Day and how we’d sent him off to Brighton, but then she forgot a lot of things when she was on the bevvy, did my mum. According to Auntie Maggie, this was probably the point, but I didn’t really understand that. Anyway, we had managed to establish that her name really was Cassandra Loveday-Smythe, poor thing, so we knew Charlie was on the right track but we didn’t know why. It had been arranged that she’d come over, heavily disguised, and get a good look at Charlie and see if she recognized him. Perhaps, if she knew him, she’d have some idea as to why he was trying to find her. She might even confront him, but that decision could be left until she’d given him the once-over.
For the rest of the morning there was an air of expectation as we waited for my mum to turn up. Even Mrs Wong seemed interested. It was hard to tell of course, but I don’t think she liked that Charlie either. Dinner time came and went and still no Perfumed Lady.
As the hot, sticky afternoon wore on, it became apparent that there’d been some kind of hitch. Uncle Bert nipped next door to ring her again, but this time there was no reply. Charlie had disappeared into the Coach and Horses for half an hour at dinner time, but apart from that he hadn’t left his post.
‘You’d think he’d need a pee at least, wouldn’t you?’ Auntie Maggie asked no one in particular.
There was still no sign of the Perfumed Lady when we closed the cafe for the day, but Charlie was still there, leaning against a wall, eyes peeled.
* * *
Charlie took up his vigil again the next day and the next but my mum didn’t show or answer her phone. She seemed to have disappeared into thin air yet again. Uncle Bert and Auntie Maggie were philosophical; after all, it wasn’t the first time she’d failed to show up as promised and it undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. I was a bit anxious myself. If she forgot to come and see Charlie, chances were she’d forget my birthday as well – a far more serious matter as far as I was concerned. She’d never forgotten before, although sometimes she’d been a bit late.
I asked Auntie Maggie what she thought had happened to her.
‘I ’spect she was ambushed by a vat of gin somewhere between here and there. Don’t you worry, love. She’ll show when she sobers up. Meanwhile, we’ve got a birthday to organize; I just wish I could remember whose.’
My wail of protest brought a wink and a huge grin to her beloved round face and I was reassured.
I can remember vividly what I got for my birthday that year because I still treasure it today. It was a truly beautiful doll’s house lovingly built by Uncle Bert and decorated by Auntie Maggie. Uncle Bert had spent months and months working on it in secret during lulls in business while I was at school and after I had gone to bed. They had hidden it in the cellar, happy in the knowledge that nothing on this earth would induce me to go down there on my own. Madame Zelda, Paulette and the Campaninis were i
n on the secret and each contributed something to it.
Uncle Bert had made a three-storey, Georgian-type house, not unlike some of the buildings round Soho. The front was covered in paper that looked just like real bricks and there were steps up to an elegant porch and a panelled door with a handsome fanlight above. The whole frontage was hinged so that it opened to give access to the interior. The first two floors had a hallway with two large rooms on each side, and there were six little attic rooms on the third floor. These were for the servants, my auntie Maggie said.
There was a kitchen, complete with a tiny black range, a white butler’s sink and a built-in dresser with shelves and cupboards. The floor was covered in the lino that we had in our own kitchen. The living rooms were much more luxurious, with wallpaper, carpets, fireplaces and tiny electric lights that really worked. The battery that operated them was housed in a sort of lean-to attached to the back of the building. I was mesmerized by them and knackered the battery in double-quick time by switching them on and off constantly. Luckily, Uncle Bert had anticipated this and thoughtfully provided a spare. Uncle Bert had an uncanny knack of thinking just like a child when the occasion demanded.
Auntie Maggie, Madame Zelda, Paulette and Mamma Campanini also did me proud. Madame Zelda provided a lovely little settee and two armchairs for the living room. Paulette gave me a bedroom suite, complete with a four-poster bed, a wardrobe and a dressing table. Mamma Campanini’s contribution was a hamper full of food for the kitchen. The bright pink ham joint and the leg of mutton were made of plaster, and so was a minute loaf of bread complete with bread board. There was a bottle of wine, made of real glass, and packets labelled sugar, flour, suet and tea. The tinned stuff looked just like the real thing – tomato soup, baked beans, red salmon and peaches. There were even tins of custard, Oxo cubes and cornflour in miniature. Sheer magic!