Playing Around (35 page)

When he had turned up at the flat thirty minutes ago and had told her to hurry up and get ready to go out, Angie had almost wanted to protest that she would much prefer staying in with a cup of tea and the telly, and a nice cuddle on the sofa. She was so exhausted. But at the sight of Albert dragging his disgusting carcass from the spare room to the kitchen, she was grateful for the chance to get away for a few hours. And for the chance to tell David how horrible Albert was. But when they had gone downstairs to the car, Bobby had been sitting in the driver’s seat, and, knowing David’s obsession with privacy, she’d thought it better to wait until they were alone to discuss her unpleasant flatmate and his even more unpleasant suggestions. So, now they were in the Canvas Club and Bobby had disappeared into the office, she had her chance.

‘David. I need to talk to you about Albert.’

‘Yeah, hang on, Angel.’ David nodded at Rick, the head barman, for him to fetch them a couple of bar
stools
. ‘Let’s get some drinks in first. Relax and have a good time.’

‘Right, but this Albert. He’s really—’

‘Dave, sorry to interrupt.’ It was Bobby, he had appeared at David’s elbow. ‘Jeff said Half-a-lung thinks he’s got a lead on Lukey Gold.’

David stood up and began walking to the exit, with Bobby close behind. ‘Look after Angel, Rick,’ he said. ‘Be back later.’

‘Certainly, boss.’ The chief barman smiled at Angie. ‘Busy man, David Fuller. Now, what can I get you?’

‘Rick?’ Angie mumbled. She had been sitting at the bar for almost two hours, waiting for David to return, and had managed to get through almost a whole packet of cigarettes and was already on to her second bottle of champagne. She beckoned floppily at him, trying to focus through red-rimmed eyes. ‘Over here.’

Rick gestured for one of the other barmen to take over serving his customers.

‘Yes, darling?’ Christ almighty. The boss had told him to look after her and she’d gone and got pissed. What idiot had let her drink this much?

Before he could find the culprit amongst his stupid, unthinking morons of bar staff, Angie had reached across the bar and was flicking him – very annoyingly – under the chin. ‘Do you want to have sex with me?’

‘What?’

‘Albert does.’ She smiled in what she thought was a provocative, sex-kittenish sort of way, but which actually made her look as if she had toothache.

‘Right.’

‘He’s staying with me. At the flat. Horrible.’ She folded her arms on the bar and rested her head on them.
‘Do
I look sexy?’ she mumbled into her sleeve. ‘Like a tart? Like my mum?’

Shit. What was the answer to that little lot? ‘Course not,’ he ventured. He’d have to get some water down her. ‘Here. Drink this. You must be really thirsty.’

She lifted her head. ‘Thanks. You looked after me before. Remember? David told you I was a princess. Am I a princess, Rick? Am I your own, special princess?’

‘Yeah. That’s right. Finish your water, eh, Angel?’

She sipped at the pint glass. ‘Rick. What’s an eight stretch?’

Blimey, she really was well and truly rat-arsed. ‘It’s when someone gets sent down. For eight years.’

‘Prison?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I thought it was something like that. That’s what Albert said. Eight stretch.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘My head aches.’

‘I’ll get you something.’ Rick searched around under the bar until he found a brown pill bottle. ‘Try a couple of these,’ he said shaking two white tablets into the palm of his hand.

When Angie eventually focused on what he was offering her, she threw up her hands in disgust, knocking her water all over her lap. ‘I don’t use that junk,’ she slurred.

Rick sighed wearily. ‘They’re aspirins.’

She shook her head, and wished she hadn’t. ‘Just more water. Please.’

She swallowed two glasses straight down. ‘You got a phone, Rick?’

‘You’re not calling Dave, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Mmmm.’

Rick brought out the phone from under the counter.

‘Can’t see. Too dark in here. Can you dial?’

At least he’d know if she was calling the boss, and could pretend he couldn’t get through.

‘Sure.’

‘Dominion 5483.’

A Dagenham number. Definitely not Dave.

‘There you are. It’s ringing.’

‘Jack? It’s me.’

‘Who?’

‘Angel. Angie. Angela Sarah Patricia Knight.’

‘What’s up with you, Angie? Have you been drinking again?’

‘Why’re you whispering?’ Suddenly, she sat up very straight. ‘You don’t want to talk to me, do you. You don’t want to be my best friend any more.’

‘Angie, I’m whispering because it’s half past eleven. I’ve only just got in. And the phone started ringing as I was creeping up to bed. Do you want me to get in trouble with Mum?’

‘Sorry.’ Her shoulders slumped again. ‘Ever so sorry. You still my friend?’

‘You’re drunk, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you sound it.’

‘It’s the Canvas. It’s noisy.’

‘Right.’

‘Jack. Will you come to see me tomorrow?’

‘I can’t. I’ve got to go to work.’

Angie started snivelling. ‘You’ve got to, Jack. I don’t want to be by myself.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

‘There’s a horrible man.’

‘Someone’s bothering you?’

‘No. It’s nothing. Jack?’

‘What?’

‘Please. Come over.’

‘I’ve got to go. I can hear Mum. I’ll try and get over tomorrow morning some time.’

With Angie safely out of his way – draped across the back seat of a cab on her way back to Flood Street – Rick set about dialling some phone numbers of his own. He eventually tracked down his boss in a cubicle-sized office at the Starlight Rooms, a coyly romantic name for what was considered, even by Soho standards, to be far and away one of David Fuller’s more squalid clubs.

‘This had better be important, Rick.’

David, in his search for Half-a-lung Cassidy and his lead on Lukey Gold’s whereabouts, had been sidetracked at the Starlight, where interviews for potential ‘performers’ were being conducted. He wasn’t carrying out the interviews personally – he was too mindful of his health and far too fussy about matters of hygiene for that – but he had been watching the selection process, which consisted of two young women being put through their paces by four of his less fussy employees, most appreciatively.

Until Rick had called.

‘It’s Angel, boss.’

‘What about her?’

‘I’m not saying you can’t trust the girl, Dave, but Albert seems to have been a bit indiscreet. Mentioning his form and that. I think she was a bit freaked by it all.’ He considered mentioning how pissed she was, but was worried Dave would think it was his fault. ‘Thought you’d want to know. Sorry again about interrupting you.’

‘Don’t worry. You did well. I’ll arrange something. And Rick.’

‘Yeah?’ Please don’t ask how drunk I let your stupid little whore of a bird get tonight.

‘I like it when my staff use their brains. I’ll make sure there’s a nice drink in this for you.’

‘Thanks, Dave.’ Rick closed his eyes, gave silent thanks, and put down the phone.

When Angie woke up the next morning, David had already left.

She groaned pathetically, closed her eyes tight and covered them with her hands, trying to block out the shaft of sunlight that had found its way through the bedroom blinds. Her head was pounding.

She had a vague recollection of being in bed with David the night before, but it slipped out of her reach as she tried to focus it more clearly. And she remembered something about her annoying him, when she had wanted to talk about … Something or other. And all he had wanted to do was …

What had she wanted to talk about?

As she slowly gathered together the slippery strands of her wayward thoughts, she groaned again.

She’d wanted to talk to him about Albert. That was it. Getting rid of Albert. But all David had wanted to do was tell her about what he’d seen two girls doing at some club, and how he really fancied the idea of her …

She flushed scarlet at the memory of his words, and rolled over into the pillow with a wail of self-pity.

How had she let herself get in this state again? She couldn’t even remember what she and David had wound up actually doing.

Was she turning into a tart? Was she just like her mum?

The sound of the doorbell blasted through those
distressing
thoughts. All she could hope was that Albert hadn’t invited anyone over.

Invited?

She sat bolt upright and stared at the bedside clock. Half past eleven. She had invited Jackie to the flat. And she hadn’t even had a wash.

‘Jackie. You didn’t have to do all this.’ Angie, showered and freshly made-up, looked round the neat and tidy kitchen.

‘I know I didn’t, but what are friends for? And you didn’t look fit enough to lift a dishcloth, let alone clear up this lot.’ She held up two carrier bags. ‘Do you know how many empty bottles and fag ends are in here?’

Angie gingerly took the bags from her and, holding them at arm’s length, stowed them out of sight behind the door. ‘I don’t want to even guess.’ She smiled weakly and checked the kettle for water. ‘I’ll make us some coffee, and then I’ll show you the rest of the flat.’

‘Lovely.’

‘You’re not kidding,’ said a gruff male voice.

Jackie looked round to see a dishevelled-looking man, wearing nothing but a pair of dingy, greying underpants. He fiddled uninhibitedly with himself as he leered at them from the kitchen doorway.

‘Two of you today. This is getting better and better. My own private harem. David Fuller is a very generous feller.’ He laughed coarsely. ‘Just going to the bog. But don’t worry, I won’t be long, girls.’

‘Explain the mess?’ Angie asked, getting on with making the coffee to stop herself from screaming.

‘Who the bloody hell’s that?’

‘Sort of friend of David’s.’

‘Right.’

Loud, unpleasant noises started coming from the bathroom.

Angie handed Jackie a mug. ‘I’ll just get my fags.’

While Angie was in the bedroom looking for her cigarettes, she heard the kitchen phone ringing. Before she could get back to stop her, Jackie had answered it.

Angie hadn’t mentioned to David that Jackie was coming over and – she didn’t know why – she thought he wouldn’t be very happy about having guests he didn’t know about. And especially not with Albert there.

Jackie had her hand over the receiver, and was trying not to laugh. ‘Some nutcase says he wants to talk to,’ she went cross-eyed and pulled what she thought was a scary, loony-scientist face, and said in a horror film, cod-German accent, ‘
Mad Albert
.’

‘Put it down,’ hissed Angie. ‘Now!’

Jackie’s smile disappeared and she dropped the phone as if it were on fire.

‘Let’s go into the other room and drink our coffee, eh?’

Jackie followed her through to the sitting-room, and Angie shut the door and turned on the radio to drown out the sounds from the bathroom.

The Rolling Stones were singing ‘Play With Fire’.

‘Angie?’ Jackie was speaking to her friend but she was looking anxiously at the door, as if it might burst open at any moment.

‘What?’

‘That bloke in the bathroom. His name’s Albert, isn’t it?’

Angie nodded.

‘And that phone call wasn’t a joke. That’s Mad Albert Roper. It’s been all over the papers.’

‘Don’t be silly, Jack.’ Angie’s hands shook as she lit a cigarette. ‘I’m glad you came over. Do you like the flat?’

‘Angie!’

Angie started crying. ‘Jack, I want to come and stay with you. Just for a while. Just till he goes.’

Jackie put her arm round Angie’s shoulders. ‘How about your mum?’

‘I can’t go back there.’

‘No. I mean it’d be awkward. Her being just a few doors away.’

‘It’d be fine.’ Angie’s voice cracked. She was sounding desperate. ‘With the hours she keeps, she’d never see me. Never even know I was there.’

‘How about your nan’s?’

‘She wouldn’t understand about me and David. She’s old.’

Jackie wanted to say that
she
wasn’t old, but she didn’t understand either. Why would Angie put up with a bloke, no matter how much money he had, who expected her to stay in a flat with a nutter like Albert Roper?

‘And I don’t want to upset her.’ She puffed on her cigarette. ‘Honestly, Jack, it won’t be for long. As soon as David knows how he’s been behaving, he’ll get rid of him.’

Jackie stared into her coffee. How would anyone
expect
a bloke called Mad Albert to act? ‘I’m sorry, Ange. You can’t. Mum’s heard some things. Off Pauline Thompson.’

‘What things?’

‘You know what she’s like.’

‘No. Tell me.’

‘Look, Ange, Mum’s already said it might be better if we don’t see each other for a while.’

‘So what are you doing here?’

‘She thinks I’m at work. But I pulled your old trick and told my supervisor I had a bilious attack.’ She paused. ‘Sorry.’

Angie rubbed away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘That’s all right,’ she said a bit too brightly. ‘Tell you what, let’s go out. Let’s go shopping.’

‘I think going out is a very good idea,’ Jackie said as they heard the sound of the lavatory flushing. ‘But it’ll have to be window shopping. I’m skint till the end of the month.’

‘Don’t worry about money, Jack. I’ve got plenty. David’s really generous.’

They were standing outside Sloane Square station, without a single carrier bag or shoe box between them. No matter how hard Angie had tried to persuade her otherwise, Jackie had turned down all her attempts to buy anything. Angie had guessed, rightly, that she didn’t want to explain to her mum how she could afford to buy stuff this close to pay day. But she hadn’t mentioned it. She hadn’t wanted to start a row, hadn’t wanted Jackie to get angry and go off and leave her. But now she was insisting it was time to go anyway.

‘Sure you don’t want to go to the Canvas later? Rick, you remember him, the chief barman, he’s a really nice bloke. And he really likes me. We’d get VIP treatment all night.’

‘I told you, Ange. I can’t. I’m due in from work at six. And it’s gone four already.’