England's Lane (27 page)

Look—I know she were being wotsit—sarky. I do know that—I ain't a bloody idiot. But sometimes you just got to let it go by. Else I would've been up there half the morning arguing the toss, wouldn't I? So I bung her the keys to the shop—and yeh I could just be sticking a “Back in Half an Hour” sort of a notice in the window, yeh I could do that, but nah—I don't like to. Never done it, see? Not in all the time I been here. And I'm known for it, ain't I? Opening up bright and early. Famous, you could say. Always the first of a morning to be open for business in the whole of England's Lane: it's a bit of a tradition. Yeh but about Mill—don't get me wrong: it's me what's going to go down and put out all of the gubbins on to the pavement, I ain't asking her to do none of that. Hang up the bath—the brushes and the brooms. Pile up them galvanized buckets before that toffee-nosed Barton bastard can come and have the bleeding lot off of me. Yeh because I wouldn't want no one to turn round and catch a butcher's of my wife humping
stuff about like that. I'm the man, after all. Ain't I? Got to be. Can't have your missus doing nothing like that. Wouldn't do. That's the way it go in England, and quite bloody right too. Island Race, that's us. Just ask Churchill, you won't take my word for it. They maybe do it different in Frogland, I'm not saying—and yeh I wouldn't put nothing past them Wops and the bloody Krauts … blimey, in bongobongo land they maybe get their wife to, I don't know—build their bleeding houses for them, and then when they finished cook her up on the fire there and have her for their tea, what do I know? You want to know all about that, you be best asking them sambos down the woodyard. Anyway—bugger all that: I's off now. Yeh and just before I does that, Mill, she says to me: still hurt …? And just for a mo there, I don't know what she on about. Then I gets it. Yeh it do, I goes to her: it hurt something terrible. And it do, it do—yeh but it won't for much longer. Daisy—she soon sort me out. Yeh—she a good girl, Daisy is.

It were Charlie in the Washington that one time, the bugger—it were him what put me on to her. I were just off, pretty much had it, but Charlie, he get hold of me by the arm and he go to me—here, what's your game? Your round, ain't it? And I says to him listen to me, Charlie mate—we had so many pints tonight I couldn't tell you my bleeding name let alone whose round it is. But here—never let it be said, son: you want another, that's all right by me. So I gets them in—can't have been much off closing, but Reg, he's a good lad: always give Charlie and me a little bit of leeway. And so he bloody should: what I ain't spending on hoity-toity Pauly's bleeding la-di-da girls' school, it all go to the Reverend Stan Miller of this parish for me ton of bleeding fags—and the rest end up with Reg here. But be fair—he do keep a good drop, Reg. A very fair pint. Bass, course. There's a Charrington's house down Haverstock Hill, but nah—bloke there, he don't know how to keep his ale:
watered down with piss, is what it taste like. One place up Hampstead Village way, Charlie were telling me, they gone over to all of that fizzy sort of keg muck. Watney's Red bloody Barrel? Do me a favor: must be joking. Young people, he were saying—it's them what go for it. Yeh well they would wouldn't they, stupid little bastards.

So anyway, there we was in the Washington that time, Charlie and me, propping up the bar over in our usual little corner, having a fag, enjoying a jar. I like it in there. Dead lucky really, having it right on my doorstep. They still got all that fancy woodwork and all them big mirrors and that. Sort of boozer Sherlock Holmes is going to go in—and he have a glass of whatever it were he were drinking, nice big glass of opium, something like that, and then he can go to his mate Cheers, ay? Elementary my dear wossname! Yeh. It all old-fashioned, is what I getting at, and Charlie and me, that's the way we likes it. And there ain't never no kids nor women in to bugger it up.

“You off after this lot then, or what?”

“Yeh Charlie. Course. What else I going to do, eleven of an evening?”

“I know what I'm going to do.”

“Yeh? What? Fill in your pools coupon?”

“Nah. Here—talking of that, how you get on last week?”

“Nothing. Not a bleeding dicky bird. Why? You got lucky, did you?”

“Were looking like I got eight draws …”

“Yeh?”

“Yeh.”

“But you didn't, did you?”

“Nah.”

“Nah. So what you up to then, Charlie?”

“Aggie. That's what I'm up to. She's a bit of all right, Aggie is.”

“Who the bleeding hell's Aggie? Christine, your missus, ain't it? What—you got something going, have you? Dirty old bastard.”

“Nothing dirty about it, Jim. Here—got a fag?”

“Blimey. Why you always run out? Ay? Always of an evening round about closing time, you go and run out of fags. Reckon by now you owe me about a hundred bleeding packets.”

“Pay you Friday, chum. No listen—Aggie, she's a very accommodating woman. Classy lady, Jim, I ain't kidding you. Adelaide Road. She got a friend. Nice girl. They're in the basement there, right opposite the bus stop. Made it all real cozy. They got a orange bulb in the wossname.”

“A orange bulb …?”

“Yeh. Real cozy. So what you say? Aggie, she don't fleece you nor nothing. She got reasonable rates. Daresay her mate's the same.”

I would've gone. I would've. Because comfort I do need. Always I'm wanting that. And like everything else what I does for myself, I shouldn't be too surprised if it end up costing me. Got to pay for the lot in this life, ain't you? The bleeding lot. Learn that early on. But I'm telling you, I'd had a right bleeding skinful that night and no mistake. I weren't even fit company for Cyril, never mind no floozy. But I do remember next morning down in the shop, and I were thinking to myself: Adelaide Road, ay? Nice and handy. Right opposite the bus stop. And Aggie, she got a friend. Nice girl, according to Charlie. And so the following Sunday once Mill gone out with the boy, I got myself down there, didn't I? And that's when I first come to meet her. Daisy. My Daisy. And floozy she ain't, let's be getting that straight right at the off. She got lovely manners. She a big girl, I'm not saying—but ever so dainty with it. Yeh and so it's her little side door what I'm knocking on now. I already give her a ring. She know I'm coming. And okay—only early in the morning,
but still she going to get herself all done up nice for me. Only one whatever did, my Daisy. Because Mill, well … when we was first married, I got to say, it weren't too bad at all. Never forget that first time. Well, weren't actually my first time: there was a couple of fat old scrubbers up Minehead who was popular with all of the lads. But the first time with Mill, I mean. A proper lady. Wedding night. On leave, I were. Still a war on. Didn't have much time. That were the feeling then. Whatever you was up to, there were always this feeling at the back of your head that you better get a move on son, because you didn't have a lot of time. She were lovely-looking in them days. Still is, I suppose. Yeh—suppose she is, but I don't never look at her like that no more on account of I ain't meant to. Well—made that pretty clear early on, didn't she? She were keen on it, first off. And I were grateful. Tried to be nice. Never took up too much of her time, because I knowed how she were always so busy. Couple of minutes is all—can't have been a hardship for her. Anyway, she didn't never complain. One time I remember—well, couldn't hardly forget it, could I? Only time we never done it in a bed. She were rolling out pastry on the kitchen table. Just had her hair done—smelling lovely, she were. Little pinny on her. And yeh all right—I were just in from the Washington, granted … but I come up behind her bold as brass, I did … and, well … just done it. It were lovely. I think we was both surprised. She never said nothing. Didn't even stop rolling out the pastry.

What happened then though was them tests. Them tests what I had down the hospital. She done them before, some other sort of women tests. And then I had to. Weren't too happy about it. Who would be? Anyway—turns out I ain't no good. Can't do it. Bloody useless. So no kids for Mill then, and it all she were ever wanting. Wasn't for young Pauly coming along, I reckon she would've … well, don't know what she would've done. Anyway—she didn't
want it no more after that. So I got to cope with it myself. Years I done it. Art photographs I got. That's what they calls them—art photographs. Black and white. Some bird with her tits out and holding up a vase or something and there's this sort of curtain or a Roman ruin behind her. Between her legs though, it's a bit of a puzzle: she got no doings. It's all just white and painted over. Not really what you're after, is it? But they help you out a bit, them pictures. Bleeding daylight robbery what they're charging—don't get me on to it. Little shop down New Oxford Street it is, where they got rubbers and trusses and that. Years I done it. So when I met my Daisy—yeh, I were well pleased, I can tell you that. She ain't no art photograph, not my Daisy. Real, she is. Flesh and blood.

“Coo—we're up with the lark today, aren't we Jimmy boy? Come in quick, will you dear? All the cold's getting in.”

“Hallo Daisy, love. Keeping well, are you?”

“All the better for seeing you, my Jimmy. Been a little while, hasn't it? Come on through, that's it. That's the way. Let's all be as quiet as a mouse though, will we? Aggie—you remember Aggie, don't you dear? Course you do. Well she's still in her room, dead to the world. Had quite a night of it, poor love. Exhausted, she was—should've seen her. Now I've only just put the fire on so it's still a bit parky. Got your milk on the stove, though—I didn't forget. Ready in a tick. Haven't ever seen you of a morning before, have I Jimmy? Let alone a Tuesday. Could have knocked me down with a feather when I twigged it was your voice on the telephone. Only just had my Corn Flakes. Everything all right, is it?”

“Right as ninepence, Daisy. Now it is, any road. Don't reckon them, you know. Corn Flakes. My missus, she started getting them for the boy on account of they got submarines in. You bung in this … what is it? Baking powder or something, she were saying, and they goes up and down. What they think of next, ay?”

“I know. I got a blue one today. Your boy got a blue one? You can have it for him, if you like. I haven't got any baking powder else I'd give it a go.”

“Couldn't tell you. He got a red one, that I do know. Yellow I think I seen knocking about. Might not be baking powder … could be flour, or something. But I'll leave it, Daisy, that all right with you. They're only going to want to know where it come from. Blimey—you're right though, ain't you? Bleeding perishing in here. I can always fetch you down one of them Aladdin heaters, you fancy it. Two gallons of Pink Paraffin, last you a week easy. Make it ever so snug. Do pong, but after a bit you won't hardly notice. Here—that remind me: got you a nice big bottle this time, see? You looking proper lovely Daisy, I got to say. I go for that red on your mouth. Favorite, that is.”

“Done special for you, Jimmy my love. Now let's have a look … what bottle you got …? Ooh—Parozone, lovely. Ta Jimmy ever so much. I'll bung some more on that bloody wall of mine right this minute, if you don't mind, dear. It's got ever so bad with all this rain. Creeping right up to the pelmet, now it is.”

“Yeh but bleach, it only get rid of the marks, Daisy. It ain't going to stop the damp coming in, is it? You want to get it looked at.”

“Yeh well you try telling my buggering landlord that, the swine that he is. Lost track of the number of times I been on at him. Once they got your rent, they just don't want to know. Bastards. Every landlord I ever had has been a right bloody bastard. Yeh but if you kick up a fuss, you're out on your ear without so much as a by your leave. Place I had before, up Belsize Park—I come home one evening and all my things is on the pavement. Said I hadn't paid the rent. Bastards the lot of them. Here, Jimmy—you sit beside the fire nice and cozy and get yourself all sorted, all right? Back in a just a jiff. Lovely to see you, dear. Sight for sore eyes, you are.”

“You could've had him for that, couldn't you? Landlord?”

“Well not really dear, no. Because I hadn't, you see—paid him his bloody rent. Not for near on three weeks. Bit of a lean time, it was—going through a bad patch. People wouldn't think it, but it's up and down, this business. Ooh—listen to me …! Kept my deposit though, didn't he, the sodding bastard. So that was a fiver gone west. Towel's on the tallboy, look. Shan't be a mo, Jimmy.”

Lovely, ain't she? Ay? Just what I like. See how you can talk to her nice and easy? Always up for a little bit of a natter, Daisy is. Make me feel right at home. Which—you got to face it—is more than I ever does at home. Only other time I talking is with little Cyril. Apart from going on about the weather all the bleeding time with every Tom, Dick and wossname what's coming in the shop. “Raining, Mr. Stammer,” they're going. Yeh well I can bleeding see that, can't I, you berk? I ain't blind am I, you stupid old sod. “My it's a scorcher today, Mr. Stammer!” Oh yeh well I'm right glad you telling me that mate, else I'd be putting on my mink bloody coat, wouldn't I? Blimey, I don't know. If it weren't for the dosh, I'd be happiest in my little shop if no one ever come through the bloody door again. Just me with my fags, a nice bottle of Bass and chatting away with little Cyril: do me perfect.

It only a little basement, this—but she got it real cozy. A orange bulb. And she got red on the wall both sides of the fireplace, what you don't see often. We got magnolia. I says to Mill one time—here, I says: how about we slaps up a bit of red distemper either side of the fireplace there? She says to me “I don't really think so Jim, unless of course you are contemplating the conversion of this building into a fire station—or conceivably a jazz club …?” See? Not nice, is it? Always that little dig she got for me. Always got to make me know I'm a pig in the shit and I ain't got no class. Ain't got no taste. Yeh and about that—another time she says to me in
that voice she got “Oh no on the contrary, Jim—you have plenty of taste, I do assure you. It's just that none of it is good, do you see.” Snide. Ain't it really? Putting me down, that's all she ever do. Up go Pauly and that Barton butcher bastard, and down go Jim. Happen all the bleeding time. Not nice, is it? Ay? Yeh but my Daisy, she don't do none of that. Care for me, Daisy do. Like this big white towel she got for me, look—all clean and fluffy it is. She done that for me. So I put the thirty bob under the candlestick there, and what I'm going to do now is, I'm just going to get my duds off and slip the towel on to me. Tuck it in neat around my doings. Then when she done bleaching that back wall of hers, she come along with this great big safety pin she got and make me all tidy. Then she bring my milk, nice and warm the way I likes it. And she don't mind it when I sits on her lap nor nothing—because like I say, she a big girl, Daisy. Take it in her stride, don't she? And the bosom what she got on her, it's a right lovely thing—proper homely, it is: something a bloke can proper get to grips with. Come to mommy, is what she say. Yeh. Come to mommy. And when I got the rubber thing on the bottle in my gob, she go and stick her tongue right down my lughole—and that … can't kind of like explain it really … anyway, it make me go all sort of funny. She sing me a little bit of a song, then. She got different songs, quite a lot. Baa Baa Black Sheep I like—always do like that one. Incy-Wincy Spider, that's a good one and all—because then she go all tickly on me. Always have a right laugh, the both of us does, if she go and do the Incy-Wincy Spider on me. And she stroking my hair, see—and then she get to stroking my other bits, like … and it's prime, that is. Prime. And she say Do you like that little Jimmy? And I goes yeh. And then she do her tongue thing again and I get all shivery with it and she say Do you like that little Jimmy? And I goes yeh. Then she go all serious and she say have you been a naughty boy little
Jimmy and I goes yeh and she say Well let's have just a little bit of a look then, shall we? And I goes yeh. And I gets up off of her and I lies on the settee there and she undo the pin and the towel and she patting me all dry with another towel she got there and she do it real nice and slow and soft, like—and she say Do you like that Little Jimmy? And I goes yeh. And then I gets that lovely feeling all sort of bubbling up and right inside of me and I looks at her, see, and she smiling down at me ever so kind, and she kiss my brow and then she bring over this bowl of warm water and a little bit of soap what smell of lavender and she make me all clean again and then she put on all of this powder and she go There now, my boy—thanks to Mommy you're all nice and clean again, aren't you? Did you like that little Jimmy? And I goes yeh. Oh yeh, Daisy—I did. I did. Yeh I bleeding did.