It was two thirty. He finished the brandy, took the glass into the kitchen and washed it under the tap. The extra drink had made him unsteady. He admonished himself as he fumbled with his shoes in the bedroom. His clothes seemed heavy, difficult and oddly shaped, and he pulled on his pyjama jacket inside out. After thinking about changing it he decided not to but, grumbling again, climbed into bed and slept at once and deeply.
Half an hour later Korky returned. She stumbled and grumbled. ‘Fucking Freddie,’ she told the lift gates at the bottom. ‘Or not, more like it.’ Noisily she opened them and then, realising the hour, hushed herself, and without getting into the lift, closed them again with inebriated softness. Leaning against the wall assisted her ascent of the stairs and the exposed lift shaft was the recipient of her soliloquy. ‘Oooh, Lord Plonker, this is a most desirable residence,’ she mimicked. ‘And, Lady Plonker, so convenient for ’Arrod’s.’ She made a face on the landing but then carefully steadied herself and smiled knowingly as she went towards the apartment.
She opened the door with excessive caution. It scarcely breathed as it brushed the carpet. She allowed herself a stifled giggle and went on her toes to Savage’s bedroom door. It was ajar and, even without applying her ear to the aperture, which she did anyway, his regular breathing could be heard plainly. Good. He was home.
Korky retreated to her own room. She patted the gerbil with her foot which made it snuffle with pleasure. It began to inspect her shoes, continuing to do so when she had taken them off. She went to her window and peered out speculatively. Miss Bombazine had neglected to pull her curtains again. With an anticipatory sigh Korky sat on her bed and watched.
A set of buttocks were in full view, a young man’s athletic bum. He was standing legs hard apart in the attitude of a soldier and Miss Bombazine was kneeling in front of him. As Korky watched, jaw slackening, her breath almost arrested, she saw the woman’s arms move in a clasping circle around the man, hanging on to him. ‘That’s it, girl. Give it to him,’ muttered Korky. She studied the strong male back then, on the thought, pulled her own pants down, keeping her eyes on the scene, and tapped herself with her thin fingers, quietly at first but with more and more energy. The client opposite half-turned away from Miss Bombazine towards the window. ‘Blimey,’ Korky sighed aloud. ‘What a beauty. And she’s getting paid.’
As if the pair had detected her, they both looked towards the window. Miss Bombazine’s cheery breasts were lolling from the top of her negligee like enthusiasts hanging over a balcony. Unceremoniously scooping in her bosom Miss Bombazine went to the window and briskly drew the curtains. Korky sighed: ‘Spoil sport.’
Suddenly sad in the darkness of her room, she took off the rest of her clothes, dropping them on the floor, at first on top of the gerbil who scuttled from beneath. ‘Sorry, John,’ she murmured. She sniffed at him. ‘If I give you a kiss will you turn into a prince, or a bloke like the one over there?’ Something was stopping her getting into bed and decent sleep. Freddie could not handle his drink at the table let alone after, that was certain. So much for him and his desirable properties.
She heard Savage stir in the other room. She sat up attentively, briefly lapsed into her drooping pose, but then straightened with a daring smile. He could only throw her out.
She put a finger to her lips as a warning to herself. She was naked. At first she thought she would go like that but halted and pulled on her long cotton nightdress. She could always say she had been sleepwalking.
Tapping the gerbil with her toe as she left the room she wished him: ‘Nighty night.’ Then unsteadily she crossed the shadowy floor and, an inch at a time, pushed Savage’s door. He was lying on his side facing outwards. Heart pumping, she eased herself into the opposite side of the bed. Beneath the sheet she could feel his maleness, sense the solid, warm workings of his body, his heart, his breath. She wanted to crush herself into his backside but she stopped, instead lying close but barely touching him. She was near enough. Happily she closed her eyes for sleep.
Both were awakened by the ringing of the apartment doorbell. Savage swiftly sat up in bed as he felt the girl beside him. The bell sounded again. Korky stirred. ‘Oh, Savage,’ she mumbled. ‘What are you doing here?’
He glared and snapped: ‘That’s it.’
‘The doorbell, you mean?’
Muttering he rolled from the bed, pulling his dressing gown over his pyjamas. ‘Would you mind going back to your own room,’ he said harshly.
She stared around her. ‘I must have lost my way.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ he grunted. The bell ring was repeated. He turned on her. ‘Come on, I mean it,’ he said.
‘You don’t want anybody to see,’ she suggested with a wry expression. She put her feet on the carpet. ‘It might be your Jean.’
Firmly he pushed her out and towards her own room. There were two more sharp spasms from the bell. He shut the door on her and opened the front door. Standing supportively close together on the landing were a nervous-faced man and a woman with a determined stare. Their expressions apart, they were a picture of ordinariness. He was short and stout, half-strangled by his collar. His eyes flapped behind his spectacles. The woman adjusted her hat, her face moving grimly below it.
‘Yes?’ asked Savage.
The pair looked briefly at each other; then the man, taking responsibility, said: ‘We’ve come for our daughter.’
‘Our girl,’ reinforced the woman. ‘Kathleen. Kathleen Wilson.’
Savage almost fell down on the mat. ‘Your . . .’
‘Daughter,’ finished the man. ‘We know she’s here.’
‘She’s only sixteen,’ the woman snapped.
Savage could scarcely get the name out. ‘Korky?’ he whispered.
The man’s mouth sagged, his glasses filled with bewilderment.
‘Korky?’ he managed to enquire. ‘Who is Korky?’
Fifteen
‘She even made up a new name,’ he said to Jean. Again he shook his head. ‘Korky.’
‘So she wanted a new life.’ Jean did not care. ‘They all do. That’s why they scarper. Kill off dad, dispose of mum, bring in wicked stepfather, call yourself Korky.’
He fingered through the magazine spread on her ceramic table. ‘And they get all the attention,’ she added still bitterly. She blew a think skein of smoke then doused the cigarette. ‘All those kids take the easy road. They don’t need to work, they don’t have to get up in the morning, they chuck all responsibility.’ She looked straight at him. ‘They use people.’
‘It’s not exactly a comfortable life,’ he pointed out. He pictured the back yard of Safeways, with the lumped figures under the trailer on that windy night but she dismissed the objection. ‘Not for you and me it wouldn’t be,’ she said. She had been pouring drinks. ‘But they can put up with a bit of cold and hardship. They’re young. The old ones, the tramps and the bagwomen, they’ve got it worked out. They hunt alone. You get better pickings like that. And some privacy. But the kids all stick together in packs. You’ve seen them. Slinking around together or shouting at each other as if they’ve got a sort of madness.’
She faced him as though she had decided she might as well tell him. ‘Her parents came to the nick,’ she said. ‘They’d been searching.’
‘And somebody told them where they could find her.’
‘Yes, me.’ Her tone became crisp. ‘I’m a copper. Remember? I couldn’t not tell them. They brought a photograph of her. The desk sergeant knew she’d been around. I propelled them in your direction. I couldn’t do anything else.’
‘No,’ said Savage in a dull voice. ‘I suppose not.’
She put the drinks on the table. They were both drinking Scotch. ‘Anyway, now she’s gone home sweet home with mummy and daddy,’ she said. Her eyes came up acusingly. ‘Do you want to hear about my problems?’
Savage turned his glance sharply. ‘Brendan?’ he said.
‘Yes, Brendan,’ she retorted. ‘Are you interested
?’
‘Of course I’m interested.’
‘That’s one thing with your little Korky gone. At least I can come around to see you.’
‘She wasn’t my Korky. She was her own person.’
Jean said sharply: ‘I don’t want to talk about her any longer if you don’t mind.’
‘All right. She’s gone. Finished, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘You wanted to get shot of her.’ She got up and took short strides about the carpet holding her drink at her waist. ‘There’s been an objection to Brendan’s parole,’ she said. ‘I’m hoping to God it’s sustained. Keep that bugger inside for a while.’
‘Who objected?’
‘I don’t know. It wasn’t me although, shit, I’d have done it like a flash. There are plenty of people who would rather he was the other side of the bars. Someone has put their spoke in.’ She gave a grim smile. ‘Whoever it is, is going to have to watch out when he does get out. I know how they feel.’
He telephoned her three times over the next few days but there was no answer. Then he walked to Westbourne Grove in the late afternoon thinking he might call at the flat. As he approached he saw her coming from the lower door accompanied by a man. They were quarrelling. They walked to a car and were still arguing across the roof as the man unlocked it. They got in. She slammed her door and the car drove jerkily away into the traffic. Savage went home.
‘But Korky was going to teach us to cheat at cards,’ complained Wilhelmina. ‘And help me at the seances.’
The eyes of the snow-haired Miss Weiz and the thin-necked Miss Cotton trembled. ‘And now she’s gone,’ they said together.
The trio were ranged in his doorway. Already a dusting of talcum powder was lying on the doormat. Mr Prentice, of the metallic teeth, appeared on the stairway as if late for a rendezvous. ‘We said eleven,’ Wilhelmina admonished him. They then entered the flat without invitation, almost hustling Savage aside, Wilhelmina in the van, fanning out as soon as they were within as though performing a reconnoitre raid. With no further words they surveyed the apartment, one looking one way one another, and Miss Cotton tottering across and bending like a bird to peer into what had been Korky’s room. Mr Prentice remained standing awkwardly and silently. ‘She’s gone,’ concluded Wilhelmina when they had clustered again. ‘There’s little doubt about that.’
‘There’s no doubt at all,’ Savage pointed out patiently. He realised they were regarding him accusingly. ‘Her parents turned up and she went back home with them.’
‘Not without a fight I imagine,’ said Miss Weiz stoutly. ‘She wouldn’t.’
‘How do you know they were her parents?’ demanded Miss Cotton. ‘They could have been imposters.’
‘She had no parents,’ put in Wilhelmina loftily. ‘Only a naughty stepfather.’
‘She told us,’ confirmed Miss Cotton folding her arms in front of him. ‘And we believe her.’
‘Implicitly,’ said Miss Weiz.
‘Implicitly,’ said Wilhelmina, last for once. Mr Prentice showed his silent teeth.
‘Ladies,’ responded Savage patiently. He spread his hands. ‘I can assure you that nobody could abduct Korky. Nobody would take her away without her consent. It’s not possible.’ As though they thought he might be speaking for an extended time, the trio, one after another, sat down to listen. All three fitted easily on the sofa. They remained upright, still interrogative. Mr Prentice stood at ease behind them. Wilhelmina, in the centre, shifted her legs and loosed another shower of talc. None of the ladies seemed to believe him.
‘She put up no resistance?’ asked Wilhelmina.
‘No resistance?’ echoed Miss Cotton and Miss Weiz as one.
Savage sighed. ‘She did not want to go at first,’ he said. ‘But she knew very well that these people were her mother and father, they had done her no harm . . .’
‘Why then did she leave home in the first place?’ demanded Wilhelmina. She seemed pleased with the interruption and further stiffened her back. Miss Cotton clapped her hands and Miss Weiz joined in. Mr Prentice nodded as if it were getting beyond him.
‘Yes, why?’ asked Miss Cotton.
‘I don’t know,’ Savage admitted. ‘It seems it was not for the reasons she originally gave. She made a lot of things up, I’m afraid.’ His eyes travelled along the three implacable expressions. He ignored Mr Prentice. ‘It seems that her name is not even Korky,’ he told them helplessly.
‘Nonsense!’ they hooted together.
‘What utter rubbish,’ added Wilhelmina vehemently. ‘Of course her name is Korky. We all know that.’
Miss Cotton and Miss Weiz agreed so vigorously he had a momentary horror of their heads falling off.
‘All right, all right,’ said Savage spreading his hands. ‘She’ll always be Korky to me as well.’
‘Are you sad?’ asked Miss Weiz a little timidly.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘You wanted her to go,’ pointed out Miss Cotton but with no aggression. Wilhelmina, taking a respite, only nodded. Miss Cotton pursued: ‘You wanted to be by yourself. But it’s miserable by yourself. We know.’
The trio of heads wagged. Mr Prentice joined them belatedly. Savage sighed. ‘I felt that it was not right that she should live here, that’s all. In the first place I came here because I needed the privacy, the isolation.’
‘You went potty at one time, didn’t you?’ enquired Wilhelmina.
‘Potty,’ echoed the others.
Savage swallowed. ‘I was psychologically ill,’ he pointed out as calmly as he could. ‘I had been wounded in the army and some other men had been killed and it upset me. That was all.’ He glanced at Mr Prentice who nodded understandingly.
‘Did it hurt?’ asked Miss Weiz with new interest. ‘Being shot?’
‘It always hurts,’ said Mr Prentice, the first words he had spoken.
Savage had to smile. ‘It did a bit,’ he said. ‘And later I wanted time to be by myself and to write. Then Korky arrived. She was very ill, as you know, but when she recovered and got a job and more or less sorted herself out we had an agreement that she would find somewhere else to live.’
‘You were not in love then?’ Disbelief strained Wilhelmina’s face.
Savage dropped his head in his hands. He was walking up and down in front of them like a losing lawyer with a jury. ‘No, there was nothing, I promise you,’ he said. ‘My God, I’m forty-three, she’s seventeen, or sixteen, I’m not sure. We had nothing in common like that. I was like her father.’
‘Korky already had a father,’ pointed out Miss Cotton. She glanced at the others for approval of her astuteness and they nodded.
‘I didn’t know that. No one knew, except Korky.’
‘Fancy her father refusing to call her Korky,’ mused Miss Weiz sadly. ‘It’s such a jovial name.’
‘It suited her,’ asserted Wilhelmina.
‘It did,’ confirmed the others.
They appeared to be in danger of running out of words. Wilhemina recovered. ‘So she went of her own free will?’ Her friends regarded her gratefully.
‘Absolutely. Her father pleaded with her and her mother cried buckets. I had to tell her that I thought she should go.’
‘Which is what you wanted in the first place,’ accused Miss Cotton. She picked out Wilhelmina who looked at Miss Weiz who completed the circuit.
‘I had such plans for her,’ mumbled Wilhelmina privately. ‘Her skin was quite ethereal.’
‘Whatever. She’s gone home to Swindon and I think it’s the right thing,’ said Savage. ‘I am sad, as I told you. I was very fond of her. But, in the long run, I don’t think she should have lived here indefinitely. Perhaps in a couple of years she’ll come back and live in London. Properly.’
Miss Weiz asked: ‘Will you marry her then?’ She giggled and the others, after a moment’s proprietary sternness, giggled too.
‘Ladies,’ he said retaining his patience. ‘It’s very good of you to be so concerned but I thi
nk that is unlikely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’
They knew an ultimatum when they heard it and together they rose. Wilhelmina banged at her skirt and a small avalanche of white descended on to the carpet. None of them noticed. ‘You do have another lady,’ mentioned Wilhelmina.
‘We’ve seen her,’ said Miss Weiz tightly.
Miss Cotton appeared put out that she had been left behind. ‘Several times,’ she said sulkily. ‘Since Korky’s been gone.’
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded Savage. He was ushering them towards the door. ‘She’s a police lady I know.’
‘Does she know you’ve got a gun?’ said Wilhelmina. Savage was speechless. Mr Prentice appeared to be awaiting a cue.
‘We were quite shocked and afraid,’ said Miss Cotton primly.
‘Afraid,’ confirmed Miss Weiz. ‘And shocked.’
Savage tried to recover. ‘There’s no need,’ he said his shoulders drooping. ‘It doesn’t work. It’s a souvenir.’
‘There,’ said Mr Prentice.
Wilhelmina pushed him forward. ‘We’d like to see it,’ she suggested sombrely. ‘That’s why we brought Mr Prentice. He was a soldier.’
‘Royal Engineers,’ Mr Prentice confirmed as if he thought Savage might have forgotten. ‘Explosives.’
‘We’ve never seen a gun,’ said Miss Cotton.
‘Never,’ said Miss Weiz in a deprived way.
Grimly he turned and went towards his bedroom. They followed him and stood clutched together apprehensively around the door. Mr Prentice came to attention, his chin rose expectantly. Savage took the sub-machine gun from below the bed and held it in a professional grip which made them back away. They hesitated, regarding him unsurely. ‘Here,’ he said holding it out. ‘It’s harmless. The magazine . . .’ He tapped it. ‘. . . Is empty.’ He handed the weapon to Mr Prentice who pretended to look at it professionally. Timidly Wilhelmina put out her hands to take it from him. ‘It’s jolly weighty,’ she said trying to hold it. She handed it first to Miss Cotton who made a strained face. Miss Weiz almost dropped it. ‘We’ve never seen a gun,’ repeated Wilhelmina.
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