Playing Around (28 page)

‘Stan. Are you listening to me?’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘I was outside sweeping the front path – you wouldn’t believe the rubbish that gets blown under that gate from the street of an evening. But I know who the kids are, the ones who drop all them sweet wrappers. They’re out there, hanging around by the lamppost. I’ve a good mind to go and see their mothers.’

Stan, more interested in an article on the evil threat of drug-pushers moving in on the housing estates than in the provenance of discarded Jamboree Bags, kept on reading. But, knowing his wife’s persistence when it
came
to putting the world to rights, he kept up the pretence of having a conversation with her.

‘Really?’ he offered non-committally.

‘Anyway, according to Pauline Thompson, Violet Knight is having
an affair
.’ As she said the last two words, she banged her broom down twice for added drama. ‘Affair’ wasn’t part of Tilly’s usual vocabulary and her using such a word, along with the broom banging, had the effect of getting Stan’s full attention.

He let the paper drop to his lap and took the pipe from his mouth. ‘An affair, Tilly? Are you sure?’

‘Positive. And with Sam Clarke, if you don’t mind. Whatever would that poor wife of his have to say if she found out? There’s her working all hours and there’s that hussy, Violet Knight, flashing around the presents he’s buying her and bragging about all the fancy places they go to. No better than a Cable Street trollop, if you want my opinion. No wonder her Angie’s running loose. Our Jackie said she’s never in of a night. Never. And you won’t believe this, she’s handed in her notice. And her with that good job and all. A disgrace. That’s what it is.’

The conversation, or rather his wife’s monologue, had lost its sparkle for Stan. Affairs were one thing, any man would be interested in the idea of Violet Knight … well, of Violet Knight, full stop. She was a fine-looking woman. But what some kid was getting up to at work? Stan could easily get by without knowing the details of that, thank you very much.

‘You know, Stan, I feel like going up to Poplar and having a word with Sarah Pearson. That girl’s nan would be shocked if she knew what was going on.’

Stan picked up his paper and began searching for his place in the article.

‘Don’t get involved, Tilly,’ he said, knocking out his
pipe
in the ashtray. ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘But poor little Angie. She’s like one of our own.’

‘You’re too good, love,’ Stan said, closing his part in the proceedings. Then added ambiguously, ‘That’s your trouble.’

At the other end of the terrace, there was rather more than a bit of sweeping, gossiping and reading going on. Angie was watching television in the front room, singing along with the Byrds’ ‘Mr Tambourine Man’; Vi was in the kitchen, fresh from the bath, with just a towel wrapped round her, checking her hair in the small mirror over the sink and looking forward to a Friday night on the town; and Craig was standing behind her, running his hands up and down her hips.

‘Don’t jog me, Craig,’ Vi said, batting at him playfully, ‘or I’ll never get these flick-ups right.’

‘Don’t bother with your hair, Vi,’ he murmured in his soft, Scottish drawl, nuzzling into her damp neck, and breathing in the scent of talc and hair lacquer. ‘We don’t have to go out.’

‘Oh yes we do.’ Vi twisted round in his arm and pecked him on the lips. ‘I want a very large gin and tonic, followed by a slap-up meal and a bottle of wine. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll show you how grateful I am for such a smashing night out.’

Resigned to paying for his pleasures, Craig slumped down on to the kitchen chair. ‘You win. As usual.’

Vi used one hand to trace his lovely, sculpted mouth and the other to tuck in her towel more securely. ‘Of course I win. Now I’ll just go up and get dressed. I’ll be five minutes.’

Craig looked sceptical.

‘OK, ten. Fifteen at the most.’

Craig rolled his eyes and slapped her on the backside.
‘I
know you, Vi. I’ll see you in about half an hour. When you’ve tried on every frock in your wardrobe.’

As she ran giggling up the stairs, Vi called out to Angie, ‘Make some coffee, Angie. The kettle’s almost boiled.’

Rather than going through the rigmarole of having yet another row – her not going in to work every day was becoming almost an obsession with her mum – Angie did as she was told.

Still singing at the top of her voice, Angie stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. ‘Oh, you’re here.’ She gave Craig nothing more than a passing glance as she went over to the cooker where the kettle was whistling loudly. She turned off the gas and took a moment to compose herself. She couldn’t stand the cocky so-and-so. He was so full of himself. And the way her mum swooned over his every word. It turned Angie’s stomach. Why she was going out with him again was beyond Angie.

No it wasn’t.

He was good-looking, at least five years younger than her mum, and he earned good money. What more could she want?

Angie gritted her teeth. He was acting just like he used to: as if he owned the place – feet stretched out under the table, flicking through her mum’s copy of
Weekend
and waiting for her to make him coffee.

And she was sure he was ogling her. Even with her back to him. It made her flesh creep.

Angie was right, he was.

Craig hadn’t seen Vi’s daughter for months, and he was, to say the least, very pleasantly surprised. She looked sensational. He tossed the magazine on to the kitchen table and looked her slowly up and down.

‘Very tasty, darling. Very tasty indeed. I have to say, it
is
a very striking improvement. Been to the beauty parlour, have you?’

When she ignored him, he tried another tack. ‘Smoke?’

Angie would have loved to have said yes to a cigarette, she was gasping for one, but she wouldn’t dare risk smoking in front of her mum, it would just give her another excuse to have a go at her. ‘No. I don’t.’

She bit on her lip and spooned Nescafé, crossly, into two mugs, one for her mum and, grudgingly, one for him. ‘I can’t remember, do you take sugar?’

Craig stood up and moved so close to her, she could feel his breath on the back of her hair.

‘No. No sugar. But I like my girls sweet, Angie. Just like you.’

She could hardly believe the cheek of him.
The creep was actually touching her leg
.

Angie spun round to confront him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re—’

Before she could finish, Craig’s mouth was covering hers and his hand was grabbing at her breast.

Angie struggled and kicked out at him, but it was useless, he was too strong for her; he had her pinned against him and was forcing his tongue between her lips.

He might have been strong, but his timing was lousy. He had just torn two of the buttons off Angie’s top, in a fumbled attempt to get inside her bra, when Vi came back into the kitchen.

‘Angela! Stop that! Stop it now!’ Vi grabbed Angie’s arm and wrenched her out of Craig’s grip.

‘Me?’ Angie staggered back, stunned, against the table. Not only had her mum’s boyfriend just attacked her, she was being blamed for it. She rubbed the back of
her
hand roughly across her mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of him. ‘You should ask that … that
thing
what he thinks he’s doing. Not me.’

Vi poked Craig in the chest. ‘Well?’

‘Don’t get excited, Vi.’

‘Don’t get excited?’ Vi’s hands trembled as she snatched up her cigarettes from the window ledge. ‘I come in the kitchen—’

‘Just look at her. Throwing herself at me, she was. Begging for it. Dirty little slut.’

‘Mum,’ Angie pleaded. ‘He ripped my shirt open.’

‘For Christ sake!’ Vi, having just noticed that her daughter’s nipples were showing through her exposed, lacy bra, was becoming almost hysterical. ‘Cover yourself up.’

Angie, with tears spilling down her cheeks, pulled the torn blouse around her.

Craig curled his lip. ‘If my daughter—’

‘Your daughter?’ screamed Angie. ‘How old’s she then? Can’t be more than, what, five or six? Because, let’s face it, Craig, you’re not much older than me.’

‘Angela,’ Vi’s voice was now low and menacing, ‘if you think you can carry on like this under my roof.’

‘Like what?’ This was so ridiculous it was almost funny. It was like watching a farce on the telly, when everything gets confused and people pop in and out of the wrong doors and girls’ dresses just fall off and men run around in their underpants. ‘Mum …’

Vi dragged on her cigarette. ‘Get out.’

‘Me?’

‘Get out of my sight.’

Angie suddenly felt very calm. ‘You’ve said that too many times.’

‘Well, I mean it this time.’

‘All right then. I will.’

Vi blinked rapidly. ‘It’s not as easy as that, young lady.’

‘Let go of my arm, Mum.’ Angie pulled away and ran out of the room.

Vi caught her at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Angie, I’m warning you.’

Craig joined them in the hall. ‘I don’t need all this bloody drama.’

Angie started up the stairs. ‘What? Get enough of that in Scotland, do you, Craig? From your wife and kids?’

‘I’m going back to my hotel,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks and shaking his head. ‘I’ll see you sometime, Vi.’ He undid the front door, turned, smiled up at Angie and winked. ‘And I hope to see you again too, sweetheart.’

Vi’s eyes were blazing. She had spent nearly two hours getting ready to go out and now she was being elbowed. ‘Don’t think you can come running back here any time you like!’ she shrieked.

Craig stepped outside and closed the door quietly behind him.

‘Good riddance,’ shouted Angie, running up the stairs.

‘How could you do that to me?’ Vi wailed. ‘Chucking yourself at him. It’s disgusting. You’re meant to be my daughter.’

Angie stopped on the landing. ‘And you’re meant to be my mother.’

‘I just don’t understand you any more.’

‘No, you don’t, do you, Mum?’ She held on to the banister, leaned forward and stared down into her mother’s face. ‘You know this was nothing to do with me. It was your snake of a rotten boyfriend. He could have raped me. But you couldn’t care less. So long as you get what you want. And you have, yet again. I’m leaving. Satisfied?’

Vi slapped Angie, hard, across her tear-stained face. ‘You spiteful cow. I’ll be glad to see the back of you. And don’t think you can go running along the street to Tilly Murray. Cos I’ll tell the old bag exactly what you’re like.’

‘What I’m like?’

‘Yeah. A bloody Lolita. That’s what you are. Nothing more than a grubby little whore.’

Angie said nothing more. She turned round, went into her bedroom, shut the door behind her and pulled out all the glossy carrier bags from her shopping trips with David. She stuffed as many of her things into them as she could carry and left the house to the sound of Vi screaming that she never wanted to set eyes on her, ever again.

When she heard David’s voice, Angie took a deep breath and pressed the sixpenny bit down into the slot; she could barely move for all the bags packed around her in the phone box. ‘It’s me, Angel.’

‘Everything OK?’ He sounded busy, distracted.

‘Fine. I know it’s late, but—’

‘Angel, I’m a bit tied up at the minute.’

‘Sorry, I know we’re not meeting till tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you those two weeks are up. The two weeks the doctor said I would have to wait, if I …’

‘So they are.’ David motioned for Bobby to close the door to the outer office so that he could hear her better. ‘Now, what are we going to do about that then?’

Angie could hear the smile in his voice. She only hoped he would be as happy when he heard what she had to say next. ‘You know the other week, when you told me you had more than one flat?’

She thought she heard a slight pause before he said ‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I’ve sort of fallen out with my mum. And I need to ask a favour.’

‘Go on.’

‘Would it be a real cheek if I asked to stay in one of them? Just for a day or two. Until I sort something out. I wouldn’t need much space, and I’m really tidy.’

‘Angel, don’t say anything else.’

She closed her eyes. She had gone too far. Asked too much. Why had she chucked in her job? At least she would have had some money. Where could she go now? Her mum wouldn’t think twice about telling Tilly Murray all sorts of lies. And that would mean getting Jackie caught up in the whole rotten mess. And if she went to stay with her nan, how would she explain being out with David till all hours and not going in to work any more? Angie almost laughed. Shame she didn’t have Marilyn’s number on her.

‘Angel? You there?’

‘Sorry. I was miles away.’

‘I said, have you got a pen?’

‘I think so. Somewhere.’

‘Well, find it. I’m going to give you an address. It’s the top floor of a nice little house. You jump in a cab and you can move in tonight. I’ll meet you there in about an hour.’

While Angie was writing down the address, Vi was banging on the door of Sam’s shop. It was all shut up and the main lights were off, but she could see him through the glass door, in the pale light of the desk lamp that stood by the till. She banged harder. She was buggered if she was going to spend another evening by herself.

After much sliding of bolts and turning of locks, the door was eventually opened.

‘Violet, what a lovely surprise.’ Sam was almost drooling at the sight of his unexpected visitor, as if he was a big, pink, hungry baby and she was his next feed. ‘I was thinking about you, while I was cashing up.’

‘Were you, Sam?’ Vi lifted her chin and looked into his watery, almost colourless eyes.

He nodded eagerly. ‘I was. Come in. Please.’ His mouth was so dry he could barely spit out the words.

‘Thanks,’ she said sweetly, following him through to the back of the shop.

He wasn’t Craig, but any port in a storm.

It took Sam a lot less time to get her out of her clothes than it had taken Vi to get into them. Within moments they were writhing around on the sofa he had installed in the stock-room – her naked, him with his trousers round his ankles – and it took Sam even less time to reach a gasping, breathless climax.