Not All Tarts Are Apple
Page 17
‘Worry not, dear lady, I have not forgotten,’ I heard him say. ‘Neither would I miss it for all the tea in China or, better still, all the brandy in France.’ He mumbled something about how all the brandy in France was maybe going too far but that Chinese tea certainly wouldn’t keep him away. Then he joined the others in the living room and I nodded off.
It was funny waking up in a strange bed in a strange room. I had just got used to being home from Aggie and now I was away again. It took me a minute to realize that I was merely next door. I lay quietly for a while, trying to hear what was going on, if anything. Judging by the noises from the street, the world was awake and doing, but there was no indication that Paulette and Madame Zelda were. I was thinking about this when my bladder urged me into action. I crept out of my room and was hailed by a cheery Paulette.
‘Morning, sweet’eart. What do you fancy for your breakfast? Toast and egg do you? Why don’t you join that lazy old bag when you’ve had your pee and I’ll bring it in to you?’
I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that the ‘lazy old bag’ was Madame Zelda. When I opened the door to her bedroom, she was leaning back against a whole mound of pillows and looking smug.
‘Hello, Rosie dear. Jump in. Paulette won’t be long. We heard she got the job at Joe Lyon’s. Letter came first thing. So she’s practisin’ her waitressin’ on us. Do you reckon she can get it all in ’ere without spillin’ a drop? I bet her she couldn’t and now she’s tryin’ to prove me wrong. I ain’t as daft as I’m cabbage lookin’. Can’t remember the last time I had breakfast in bed.’ She gave me a huge wink and patted the bit of bed beside her and heaved a contented sigh. I didn’t hang about. I jumped in with her and waited like Lady Muck in miniature.
Paulette won the bet. She didn’t spill a drop or misplace a crumb. But when I demanded that Madame Zelda pay up, they both turned bright red. Paulette began to giggle when I went to get Madame Zelda’s purse, but when she tried to explain I couldn’t really understand because of all their huffing and puffing. Paulette tried to say something about not betting actual money but Madame Zelda hit her with a pillow and I joined in. In the end there were crumbs and tea all over the bed, so we reckoned that nobody had won the bet after all.
* * *
Paulette had to go to Joe Lyon’s to be fitted for her uniform and to watch the others so that she would be ready to start work on the following day. They told her to be there for half past eleven so that she could watch the busy dinner time. She was really nervous but we helped her choose her clothes and do her hair so that she would arrive looking smart and confident.
We also promised to go to her Corner House for our dinner so that she would see some friendly faces. At least, Madame Zelda promised and I said I’d come too if Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert would let me. Paulette thought it would be better if Madame Zelda did the checking next door, ‘just in case’. I didn’t trouble to ask what she meant by that. I knew. It was in case my mum was performing again. I didn’t need persuading to stay behind. I made myself useful clearing up the wreckage from our pillow fight and Madame Zelda washed, dressed and went next door.
She was gone about half an hour and returned with clean clothes, permission for me to spend the day with her and the latest news. It seemed that my mum had finally settled down and that they had managed to get her sober enough to understand she had an appointment that she couldn’t get out of with Charlie Fluck at four o’clock. To make sure that she stayed put and sober, everyone except Madame Zelda, Paulette and Mr Herbert was taking it in turns to stay with her. Mr Herbert had his shop to run and Madame Zelda had me to look after.
We went with Paulette to Marble Arch, left her at the corner and promised to be back at one for our dinner. Then we headed to the park, stopping only long enough to buy some bread to feed to the ducks. We had a lovely time, and so did the ducks.
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We didn’t see much of Paulette at Joe Lyon’s as she was made to lurk in odd corners so that she didn’t get in the way of the Nippies. Joe Lyon’s waitresses were always called Nippies, Madame Zelda told me, because they were supposed to nip about very quickly, and they couldn’t do that if Paulette was getting under their feet. We didn’t see her at all at first, then we noticed her peeping from behind a screen and later she darted behind a potted palm. One poor lady, who was staggering under the weight of a tray piled high with knickerbocker glories, pots of tea and apple pies, was almost decked by Paulette as she flitted to a better lookout.
Madame Zelda and I choked with laughter and sprayed an innocent bystander with sardines on toast. Then we had a fine old time thinking up new names for Nippies now Paulette had joined their ranks. We came up with ‘Crashers’, ‘Crunchers’ and ‘Bashers’ but my favourites were ‘Trippies’, ‘Dodgems’ and ‘Bruisers’. I really enjoyed that outing; it took my mind off what was going on at home. It also meant that when I thought about Paulette at work, I could picture her in my mind darting between tables and potted palms. It was important to me to be able to ‘see’ my favourite people when they were away, which was difficult to do if I didn’t have a clear picture of where they were.
We dragged out our dinner as long as we could, but this bloke in a really starchy white shirt, black jacket and smart pin-striped trousers kept glaring at us so we left. It was time to head back to the cafe to find out what was going on anyway. For once in my life I wasn’t the slightest bit curious. I just wanted it all to go away. Madame Zelda, however, was itching to be around when her ex started shouting the odds. I think she wanted to be the one who slung him out if it came to that. We walked back to the cafe, which took ages because we kept bumping into people we knew. It must have been gone three by the time we arrived.
Things appeared to be normal, but I could tell that Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert were jumpy. Soon after we arrived, Sharky turned up looking very businesslike; he had brought Muriel with him. She had her notebook in one hand and several pencils, clutched like a bunch of headless flowers, in the other. They sat at the corner table and Uncle Bert joined them. Auntie Maggie and Mrs Wong carried on clearing the decks behind the counter and dishing up the odd cuppa on request. I noticed that Sharky made do with plain coffee for a change; things were obviously very serious.
Madame Zelda and I took a window table so that we could keep an eye out for the first sign of Charlie. The clock’s hands crawled round the dial and every time the cafe door opened, heads snapped round to see who it was. At about a quarter to four, the Perfumed Lady and Luigi appeared from upstairs. Someone must have gone to get her some fresh clothes. Instead of the cocktail dress she wore a smart navy-blue suit with a pencil-slim skirt, tailored jacket and a crisp white blouse. Her blond hair was clean and glossy and swept back from her small, pointed face into a French plait. Her nails were freshly painted, not Jezebel this time but a subdued pale pink. She looked a bit like Grace Kelly, sort of cold but good all at the same time.
Her blue eyes seemed huge, with rather fetching smudges of shadow underneath. They weren’t the shocking great black patches she deserved after the night or nights she’d had; they just looked as if she’d had a spot of bother sleeping. I was relieved to see that there wasn’t the slightest hint of sick or imaginary snakes and bugs about her. Here, I thought, was a woman who seemed well behaved, efficient and in charge of her life. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn that someone had substituted a ringer at the very last minute. Then I noticed that her hands trembled slightly and her eyes had a faraway look as if they were focused on some distant horizon. Closer inspection revealed that they glittered unnaturally, like clean, empty widows. The lights were on but there was no one in.
Later I discovered that Auntie Maggie, Uncle Bert, Luigi and Great-aunt Dodie had had hell’s own job to keep her topped up enough to stop the screaming abdabs but not so topped up that she fell over, hurled abuse or dropped her drawers – and not necessarily in that order, according to Auntie Maggie when I heard her telling Paulette about it.
We all knew that Dave was an evil bugger, and there was no love lost between us and him. Uncle Bert was expecting trouble and this was a show of strength. However, it was decided not to be blatant about it and the crowd was quickly supplied with drinks and tables in the faint hope that they could pass for ordinary punters. I changed the ‘closed’ sign back to ‘open’ to complete the stage setting.
The bugger was late.
It was well gone five o’clock and the cafe was still stiff with suspiciously muscular punters, but there was no Charlie Fluck. The troops sat around in groups depending on whose boys they were: the Campanini lot were camped around Luigi, Mamma and Papa; Maltese Joe’s sat at two tables, bickering about some bet or other; Auntie Maggie had given up all pretence of working and sat with Sharky; Muriel, the Perfumed Lady and Uncle Bert were at the corner table; and Madame Zelda and I had our window seats. We had been joined by Great-aunt Dodie and Mr Herbert. I noticed that the Perfumed Lady was staying well clear of her formidable aunt.
Mrs Wong carried on with her chores as if nothing was happening, but I noticed that she was in no rush to leave. Mrs Wong was like that; you never really knew what she was thinking. She carried on through everything as if she hadn’t seen what was going on. She didn’t smile much, or scowl for that matter. In fact she rarely spoke, but I’m pretty sure she understood English as well as anybody; she just didn’t let on. Mrs Wong and I both knew that people talked much more freely if they thought you didn’t understand them.
The only way to find out anything abut Mrs Wong was to watch her carefully. Her actions told you what she was thinking. I always knew she was fond of me, for instance. Whenever I was poorly, she’d bring me little Chinese treats like paper flowers that opened as if by magic when you put them in water, or sparklers or a tin of lychees. But she was never a hugger or a kisser like Auntie Maggie, Madame Zelda or Paulette. It just wasn’t her way.
If she didn’t like you, there was no telling what she’d do. I saw her spit in Dave’s tea once when he’d called her a ‘Chinky slag’ and told her to hurry up. I never told a soul. It was our little secret, and he deserved it. She rarely looked directly at anyone either. In fact it was the way she didn’t look at you that told you what she thought of you. If you were one of those people she really didn’t like, like Dave, then she looked right through you as if you weren’t there, and she didn’t seem to hear you either. If she was indifferent to you, it was as if she was looking at someone over your shoulder. She would hear you, though, and give you your order soon as you asked. If she liked you, then she’d sort of look at you but not straight into your face and her lips might twitch very slightly. You’ve heard of a half-smile? Well, Mrs Wong’s twitch was a hundredth of a smile, and you had to be quick to catch it. Once, when I was crying fit to bust and Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert were temporarily missing, she stroked my hair and made funny little clicking noises. It is the only time I ever remember her touching me unless it was to wipe my mush or put a plaster on my knee.
When Charlie finally did turn up, it was a bit of a let-down. It was just on six o’clock. He came alone so the troops were unnecessary, as it turned out. He sort of sidled in the door as if he knew the punters were no ordinary punters, and he looked nervous. His odd eyes darted from group to group, his Adam’s apple kept bobbing up and down as he swallowed anxiously, and he made straight for the corner table and Uncle Bert. He noticed me sitting with Madame Zelda and Great-aunt Dodie, but he tried hard to ignore us all. I think seeing Great-aunt Dodie gave him a bit of a start, and confirmed his suspicion that I was Cassandra’s mysterious child.
Uncle Bert eyed Charlie with obvious dislike and reluctantly introduced him to my mum and Sharky. Without discussion, Madame Zelda and Great-aunt Dodie – those two formidable women – went to stand each side of Charlie, who shrank visibly. He hadn’t reckoned on a reception committee and was not a happy man. I got up from my seat too, walked around the table and planted myself on Mr Herbert’s lap. I watched from there, thumb in mouth. I really didn’t want to get too close.
There was a bit of shuffling around to make room for Charlie to sit down. Great-aunt Dodie and Madame Zelda remained standing. There was a murmur of conversation that went on for some time and then, to the astonishment of the rest of us, my mum began to laugh. She literally rocked backwards and forwards and tears streamed down her face.
Charlie went red and blustered. No one else at the corner table even smiled.
Once she’d subsided, Charlie said something else and my mum burst out so we could all hear loud and clear, ‘Don’t be such an idiot. Do you really think I give a damn what that lot think? Let you have my shares? Are you mad? And if you manage to get your greedy hands on them, what then? Planning to sell them to Godfrey, are you? Over my dead body! Why don’t you just bugger off back to the hole you climbed out of, there’s a good little man. If you want to blackmail someone you really ought to find out if they care about their secret for a start. You should’ve done your homework, sweetheart, then you’d know I am utterly indifferent to my mother’s opinion, or that of her friends for that matter. You can tell the world for all I care!’
She threw back her head and began to laugh again. There was something very scary about that laugh; it had a touch of the nutter about it. Charlie, however, was not amused. He leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over as he did so, and made for the door, red-faced and blowing like an asthmatic weasel. He almost knocked Madame Zelda over in his charge for the way out.
He wrenched the door open, then delivered his parting shot. ‘You can laugh now, but you’ll be laughin’ on the other side of your kisser when I’m finished with you. Let’s see how you feel when I tell your mum and stepdad that you’ve gorn and given their only grandchild away. Let’s face it, that raving iron of a brother of yours ain’t going to be breedin’, now is he?’ He took a familiar-looking sheet of paper from his pocket and waved it in the air. ‘You reckon this bit of bog paper will stand up in court once your lot start chucking their money at it, do you? Well, we’ll just see about that!’
Just then, a knife whistled through the air and pinned the paper to the door frame. Charlie was left, white as a sheet, with only a torn corner of the paper in his upraised hand. Everyone looked at one another, bewildered. Who had thrown that knife? It had happened so fast that no one had seen it coming. We’d all been too busy looking at Charlie.
‘I s’pose you think you’re clever. Well, you can’t frighten me,’ said Charlie, looking thoroughly frightened. ‘I’ll be back with another copy of that paper so you wasted your bleedin’ energy chuckin’ shivs about.’
He slammed the cafe door as he left. There was silence for a few moments and then all hell broke loose. Everyone was talking at once. Frankie asked Uncle Bert if he wanted Charlie brought back, beaten up or what? And the Campaninis were checking with one another to see if any of them had thrown the knife.
The Perfumed Lady was still laughing her head off in that weird way when the door opened again. Paulette was back from her shift at Joe Lyon’s. She stood in the doorway looking in bewilderment from us to the knife and the paper flapping gently in the breeze. Eventually she gave herself a little shake, as if coming out of a trance, and yanked the blade out of the door frame. With the knife in one hand and the paper in the other, she asked with a smile if they belonged to anyone.
Uncle Bert pulled himself together and collected the knife and the now-tatty adoption agreement from Pau
lette. ‘Ta for being here, all of you. I’m sure your ugly kissers helped the toe-rag to see that he was outclassed as well as outnumbered. Now if you would be so kind, I reckon it’s time to close up for the day. We’ve got some serious thinking to do.’
With that, the mob of borrowed heavies trailed out, promising to be on call for any future run-ins with Charlie Fluck and pals, assuming he had any.
Only our nearest and dearest were left clustered around our corner table and nobody had much to say for a bit, especially me. I was frozen, numbed by a combination of fear and guilt. It was really difficult to grasp how I had managed to cause so much trouble for everyone. It seemed to me at that moment, and for the first time in my short life, that it would have been better if I’d never been born.
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Once Uncle Bert had the knife in his horny mitt, it became obvious who must have thrown it. It was one of our kitchen knives, used for slicing stuff thinly, and had been sharpened so often that it was worn almost to a stiletto. The point was, only Mrs Wong was still behind the counter and in a position to lay a hand on the thing. Uncle Bert and Auntie Maggie had both been sitting at the corner table when it had whistled through the air, almost parting Charlie’s barnet for him.
Uncle Bert looked in awe at the knife in his hand and then at the space where Mrs Wong had been. She’d managed to glide out when everyone else had left and we hadn’t noticed.