Playing Around (32 page)

‘Jackie.’

‘Just take what you like.’

‘Thanks. Then I’d better be off.’

Jackie turned over and faced the wall. ‘All right. See you.’

Angie lifted the curtain and looked out at the sky. The storm clouds had cleared and the sun was shining brightly again. She pulled on a pair of Jackie’s tiny, lacy knickers, then took a daffodil-yellow linen shift from the wardrobe and slipped it on over her head. ‘Jack.’

‘What?’

‘You couldn’t lend me the tube fare, could you?’

‘In my bag.’

‘Any plans for tonight?’ Angie asked, rummaging through her friend’s bag for her purse.

Jackie rolled over to face her. ‘Not sure. How about you?’

Angie held up a pound note to show Jackie what she was borrowing, then leaned over the bed and hugged her. ‘How about meeting up with Marilyn?’

‘I miss this, you know, Ange. I miss you.’

‘Me too.’

‘You will be careful?’

‘I told you, I’m on the Pill.’

‘I’m not talking about you getting up the spout.’

Angie stiffened. ‘So what are you talking about?’

‘This David bloke. He’s so much older than you. And where did he rush off to like that? What do you really know about him?’

‘I know that he’s kind, generous, good-looking, and that he cares about me.’

‘If he cares so much about you, how comes he let you get so drunk last night?’

Angie turned away from her friend and looked in the mirror again, smoothing and primping her hair. She laughed carelessly. ‘Drunk? I was practically sober by the time I got here. You should have seen me a few hours earlier. The trouble is, champagne goes right to my head. It’s all those bubbles. You should try it some time.’

‘It’s not funny, Ange. And just because it’s champagne, it doesn’t make it any better.’

‘You are such a hypocrite.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are.’ Angie folded her arms and stared levelly at her friend. ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t jump at the chance of doing what I’m doing?’

After a moment, Jackie said, ‘Yeah, you’re right. Course I would.’ She sounded as if she meant it.

Angie pulled on her shoes and her oilskin. ‘Fancy coming over to the flat? You can try some champagne.’

‘Won’t he mind?’

‘No. Course he won’t.’ She paused, then added lightly, ‘I’ll ask him.’

David and Bobby were driving along in stony-faced silence – their practised ability to deal calmly and practically with events having proved a life-saver on
more
than one occasion – even though Bobby had been closer to panicking than David had ever seen him when he had arrived at the Greek Street office and had found Bobby waiting anxiously for him to turn up.

That wasn’t usual either, him being at Greek Street on a Saturday morning. Bobby always took his wife out in the car to do her weekly grocery shopping, and only showed up at the office for the racing on the telly some time in the afternoon. And then, when Bobby had flashed a nervous, sideways glance at Bill and George, who were taking bets over the phones in the outer office, and had said in a low voice that he needed to speak to David urgently, somewhere more private, David knew something was really up. So, at David’s suggestion, they were driving over to the flat that Angie had moved in to the night before.

He needed a bath and a change of clothes, anyway.

David went through the flat calling for Angel, but the place was empty and the bed was still unmade.

‘She must be out shopping or something.’ David ushered Bobby into the main room and gestured for him to sit at the table. David remained standing, leaning on the back of one of the dining chairs. ‘What’s all this about then, Bob?’

Bobby gnawed at the inside of his lip, giving his speech one final rehearsal in his head, then said, ‘I don’t know if someone’s trying to send you a message, Dave, but the word is, Mikey’s been done in. Right outside the Canvas. Last night.’

David’s expression was blank, but his mind was working overtime. How the hell had it got out already? Then he said flatly, ‘I know. It was me. I got rid of the slimy little cowson.’

‘You?’

‘Yup.’

‘Dave, tell me you mean you got someone else to get rid of him.’

‘No. I did it. Knocked him out cold, then used the stupid bastard’s own Luger on him. Didn’t even have to use my own tool.’ For the first time that morning, David unbuttoned his raincoat. His shirt was spattered with blood.

Bobby drew in a deep breath. ‘Where is he?’

‘You just drove over from Greek Street with him. He’s downstairs. In the boot of the Jag. I drove him down to the marshes earlier, but it was still too wet, didn’t want to leave no tyre marks, did I? Then we had a trip down to a pig farm in Black Notley. Same story. Been all over the place, that boy has, this morning.’

Bobby stood up and went over to the phone. ‘I’ll call Toby.’

As Angie neared the house, she was thrilled to see David’s car parked outside. She had been fretting all the way back on the tube from Becontree to Sloane Square and all the time she was walking along the King’s Road to Flood Street that David would simply have locked up the place and disappeared, bored and with no further use for her now that they had actually ‘done it’. At least she’d have the chance to explain where she had been all night.

The door opened and she was just about to fling herself into his arms, but it wasn’t David standing in the hallway, it was Bobby.

‘Hello, Bob,’ she said sheepishly. ‘Can I come in?’

Bobby opened the door wider and stepped back. ‘Course. He’s in—’

‘It’s OK.’ Without waiting for him to finish, Angie dashed down the hall to the main room where she saw
David
sitting at the table with a skinny, mopey-looking man dressed in an ancient black suit. There was a Scotch bottle and three, almost empty, glasses between them.

She stood in the doorway and smiled happily. ‘Hello, David.’

He looked up as if she were interrupting him. ‘I’m a bit busy at the minute, Angel.’

Bobby squeezed past her and went and joined the other two men at the table.

‘Right,’ she said, feeling hurt, like a child being dismissed by the grown-ups. ‘Sorry.’ Hadn’t he even realized she’d been out all night? She had to get his attention somehow. She couldn’t leave it like this. ‘I was wondering if I could have a friend over.’ The moment the words had left her lips, she regretted coming out with such a genuinely childish question. Talk about botching things up.

The dark-suited man made a noise that was probably a laugh but could as easily have been a hacking, tubercular cough. ‘Not a boyfriend, I hope?’

‘No.’ Angie was offended. ‘My friend, Jackie. Jacqueline.’

‘Ignore Toby,’ David said kindly. ‘Course you can have her over.’

‘When?’

Toby rolled his eyes. ‘For gawd’s sake. Look, sweetheart, we’re trying to do business here. Birds keep their traps shut, right? They don’t ask questions and they don’t butt in.’

David said nothing to the man about being so rude to her, he just poured three more drinks and said, ‘Go through to the kitchen, Angel, and make yourself some coffee or something. I won’t be long. Me and you’ll shoot out later.’

Without a word, Angie did as she was told.

As she opened the cupboards to look for the cups, she could hear David saying that there was some rubbish that had to be got rid of, and while it was obvious he wasn’t talking about dusting round the flat, she couldn’t really figure out what he did mean. It was as if he was talking in secret code.

But even if she didn’t understand the details of what David was going on about, it was obvious from his tone that it was serious. Very serious.

She was just revving herself up to go through to them, to ask if they fancied a cup of coffee or some tea maybe – anything that might cheer up that miserable Toby – when Bobby came into the kitchen.

He strode over to the transistor on the window ledge and snapped it on at full volume, drowning out David saying something about Toby remembering he owed him a favour.

As the Yardbirds exploded into the opening lines of ‘For Your Love’, Angie grabbed him by the sleeve and wailed, ‘Bobby, what are you doing? You’re rattling the windows.’

Bobby said nothing, he just frowned and stared down at her fingers that were still gripping his jacket – they looked pathetically small against his big, meaty arms – and waited until she had let go and had backed away from him. Then, with a disappointed shake of his head, he left, slamming the kitchen door firmly behind him.

If Angie had not been frozen into wide-eyed shock by Bobby’s mute belligerence, she might have had the courage to have lowered the volume, then she would probably have understood the rest of the men’s conversation quite easily, as it was, in its own macabre way, relatively straightforward. David was negotiating with Toby, who was an undertaker, the rate for what he was referring to as a double burial, in order to rid himself of
potentially
incriminating evidence: the mortal remains of Mikey Tilson. The exchange between them would further have revealed that, in his final resting place, Mikey Tilson would be sharing a coffin with Arthur Cedric Baker, the late, not-much-liked, landlord of the Nag’s Head in Canning Town.

‘Make sure you don’t let Mr Baker’s family know nothing about all these arrangements, Toby,’ David had said, with a wink, as he let the undertaker and Bobby out of the flat, ‘or they’ll be expecting me to go halves, and I ain’t laying out for no boiled ham tea for people I don’t even know.’

Within moments of Bobby and Toby leaving the flat, Angie’s and David’s bodies were entwined on the big, still-unmade, double bed, and all Angie’s fears about David no longer being interested in her were completely forgotten, and Bobby’s behaviour was not even a vague worry somewhere in the back of her mind.

When they eventually emerged from the bedroom, David wouldn’t let Angie tidy up, but instead had taken her shopping for something to wear that evening, while a team of caterers and cleaners he had hired organized the little Flood Street flat for the party that Angie and he were apparently throwing there that evening.

‘So, you are Angel.’ The olive-skinned man, with the slightly lisping, foreign accent, who had introduced himself as Salvo, smiled winningly at Angie as he took her hand and shook it gently.

‘That’s right. I’m a friend of David’s.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

Angie wasn’t sure what to say next. She was getting a bit better at speaking to strangers at parties, but it was still really hard, especially when they were as sophisticated and stylish as this lot. She was on the
verge
of fleeing to the lavatory when a magazine article she had read recently – had read particularly carefully – popped into her head.
Ten things to keep your man interested. Number three: smile and ask him about his work

‘Do you work with David?’ she asked brightly.

Salvo raised his eyebrows and looked at her with ill-concealed surprise at being asked such a question. ‘I am involved with the import-export side of commerce, so I work with many people.’

Another silence loomed. ‘David persuaded me to give up my job.’

Salvo inclined his head to show interest.

‘But I think it’s a bit boring doing nothing. You can only do so much shopping, can’t you?’ She forced out a tinkly laugh. ‘He was so surprised earlier, when I started clearing up the flat. He said that Sonia, you know, his housekeeper, could learn some things from me. Although she does do lovely flower arrangements.’

‘I see! Your English sense of humour.’ Salvo was now laughing heartily. ‘Asking about my work. And Sonia being David’s housekeeper. You are very funny.’

Angie thought he was probably a bit bonkers, but at least she’d amused him.

‘No wife would care to be described as her man’s housekeeper. But one with Sonia’s looks? Very funny. How angry she would be.’

‘Wife? No, Sonia’s not his wife. David’s not married. She’s his housekeeper. Honest.’

Salvo smiled coolly. ‘David is a fortunate man to have a friend as lovely as you. Now, if you will excuse me.’

Angie managed a tiny smile in return. He must have misunderstood. He was foreign, after all. And a loony. The way he’d laughed like that.

‘You all right, Angel? Enjoying yourself?’ It was David.

She nodded, looking up into his handsome face made her feel the usual flutter of excitement, but, this time, it also made her feel queasy. Say that Salvo was right? Say David really was married? ‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly.

‘You don’t look it. Salvo not upset you, has he? I know what them Italians are like.’

She felt the tears begin to prickle. ‘No. It’s not Salvo. Well, not him exactly. I’m still not used to people like this. That’s all.’ She was babbling, but she didn’t care what she was saying.

‘Like what?’

Had she really been had by one of the oldest tricks in the book? A bloke pretending he was single? ‘You know,’ she said, distractedly. ‘Posh people.’

David threw back his head and laughed. ‘So that’s it. I told you before. You’re special. And you’re certainly better than any of this lot, darling. Miles better.’

Angie sipped at her champagne, but the glass was empty.

David took it from her and replaced it with a full one from a passing waiter.

She knocked back a big swig, noticing, incongruously, that it no longer seemed to make her cough or tickle her nose as it had once done. She must be getting used to it.

‘I’m going to introduce you to each and every person in this room, Angel, and they’re all going to love you. But, before I do, I’m going to teach you another lesson. A very important lesson. OK?’

‘OK.’ Her hands were shaking, it was all she could do to stop spilling her drink.

‘Look around this room. There’s all types. And, one way or another, they all fit into this crap you hear about the so-called London scene, where duchesses mix with dustmen, and they all go to the same clubs and parties,
sharing
their drugs and beds. But, when you get down to it, it’s just a load of old bollocks.’

Angie was too preoccupied to even wince at, let alone be surprised by, David’s foul-mouthed hostility.