The Suburbs of Hell (17 page)

Harry, swigging from his pint pot, made a sudden decision. He planked down the mug beside Taffy’s and began to manoeuvre his way through the bodies.

The door of the Gents faced the door of the single cubicle, which was standing open when Harry went in. He passed round it to the urinals behind, where Taffy stood in thoughtful flow.

‘Thought it might be you,’ Taffy said, turning his head for a moment, and then went back to studying the white porcelain.

Harry leaned against the tiled wall and began to roll a cigarette. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to be careful what I say to you.’

‘Adamant,’ mused Taffy. ‘Adam Ant. This is where the pop-singers get their names from.’

‘Could you promise me,’ Harry asked, ‘that this will be in confidence, like?’

‘Up to a point,’ Taffy said. ‘But think what you’re doing, Harry. I’m not in a position to promise a lot.’

‘It’s a question,’ Harry said. ‘It’s what they call a scenario, like. S’poose there’s this fella whass got himself mixed up in something. Something more serious than what he knoo, with people a lot brighter than what he is. S’poose he think he’s dealin in marijuana, and on’y that, and the truth is his partners are usin him to deal in heroin, or cocaine, without him knowin anything about it. I know he’d be in dead trouble, but how much trouble, Taffy?’

‘A junior partner?’ said Taffy to the wall. He zipped himself up, sticking out his backside to negotiate the contours of his body, and turned to face Harry. ‘As you say, he’d be in trouble. Very difficult for me to tell you anything, Harry, without more details. The chap—the junior partner—is a bit cheesed off, I imagine?’

‘I should imagine so,’ said Harry.

‘Do you think he might be in a mood to cooperate with us?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Harry said. ‘Just now, no, I know he wouldn’t cooperate. But like I said, he int a very bright lad, this one; what he need is advice. And I don’t reckon he ought to suffer too much for bein silly. Thass the others is the bad guys, thass them what ought to suffer.’

‘You aren’t too pleased with them,’ Taffy remarked, ‘are you?’

‘No, I int,’ said Harry. ‘I int always been on the beach, you know, I sin a bit of the world. I don’t like what that stuff do to young people. Thass evil, floggin that stuff to them. Thass unforgivable, to my way of thinkin. And playin that trick on a partner—thass unforgivable, too, I reckon.’

Taffy was fingering his pepper-and-salt beard. ‘When you told me you wanted advice,’ he said, ‘I had no idea you were going to bring up anything so serious. You see how serious, don’t you? I can’t just forget about this, Harry. I can bide my time, but I can’t put it out of my head.’

‘Yeh, I know that,’ Harry said. ‘That just come to me in a flash, like, when you went out of the bar, that I’d goo just so far with you that I couldn’t goo back. Yeh, I know you got to hear more. But not tonight, Taffy—thass enough for one night.’

‘All right, then,’ said Taffy. ‘Well, let’s not neglect our beer.’

As he moved there was a slight and sudden sound in the room. It was like the squeak of rubber soles turning on a tiled floor. Then a door banged, to be followed immediately by another.

Taffy’s rather watery blue eyes looked gravely into Harry’s. ‘That cubicle was wide open and empty,’ he said, ‘when I passed it.’

‘Yeh,’ agreed Harry.

‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘Yeh. For tonight, like I said.’

The door banged again, and went on banging as the room was invaded by half a dozen men in blue denim. ‘Gregarious lot,’ murmured Taffy, navigating around them. ‘Harry, I will give you a lift home, I insist.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Harry said, with a shrug. ‘I don’t reckon that make any difference. But thanks, boy, yeh, thank you kindly.’

On the winding road following the estuary the old grey van took the corners sharply, jolting the passenger. Dave, at the wheel, stole a sideways glance at him. He lolled back and stared straight ahead, looking pale, indolent.

In the winter sunlight ploughed fields, chestnut-coloured, had a sheen of barley-green. Beyond them the water lay flat as ice, and icy blue.

‘Tomorrow,’ Dave said, ‘I shall be standin in that up to the top of my water-boots and shovellin muck. What did I do to deserve such a shit-job?’

‘It might not be for long,’ Frank said. His voice was apathetic, his eyes still on the road. ‘What will you be doing, exactly?’

‘Shovellin muck,’ Dave repeated, ‘like I said. Shingle and stones and such. We’ll load that on the barge, take it to Gorse Creek, unload it on trucks, build the sea-wall. Harry fink the money’s ever so good, he don’t understand why I int chuffed about it. He goo to bed early, weekdays, and get up about four. Thass the sort of job I landed myself. So, we int had any more chats, him and me. Ah,’ Dave said, slapping the steering wheel, ‘I’m sorry about that. When I hear them startin to goo out, I panicked and made too much noise. They’re proper hair-trigger jobs, them doors. So he know I heard him, and he’ll be lyin in wait, like, to give me a talkin-to about it. What am I goonna say, for fuck’s sake?’

But Frank did not answer, seeming hypnotized by the road.

‘Cor, what a wally,’ Dave said, trying to entertain him. ‘He dint even realize Taffy Hughes fought it was himself he was talkin about. Taffy fink this “junior partner” Harry tell him about, he fink thass Harry. You got to laugh, really.’

‘Not me,’ Frank said. ‘I don’t.’

However, Dave was determined to look on the bright side. ‘Look, mate, you could buy him off. People like him and my dad, they’re quite interested in money, and they don’t have big ideas, not at all. Yeh, I know, there’s Taffy Hughes, but Harry could get round that somehow. I mean, they don’t torture you in this country, they don’t put you on the rack no more. That don’t matter about Taffy suspectin, bein as he don’t know nofing. Anyway, I int goonna be around here much longer. One of these mornins I’m goonna just jump in this van and goo.’

‘It won’t be like that,’ Frank said.

‘What do you mean?’ Dave turned his head, and at the expression in the other man’s set face became serious. ‘No, Frank, don’t keep on wiv these ideas, they’re daft. He dint do it, mate. I told you, I know that.’

‘How?’ asked Frank languidly.

‘After I cleaned the rifle—’

‘That was a stupid fucking move,’ said his friend, more in his normal manner. ‘If you hadn’t done that, we could tell if
he
had cleaned it.’

‘Frank, that int been moved since I put that back Sunday evenin. Stoopid I may be, but I had an idea when I was doin that. After I stacked the wood the way it was, I put some bits of cotton, free freads, acrost it. They int been touched. He never had a fing to do wiv that, I’m glad to say.’

‘Yes, he did,’ Frank said, without emotion or emphasis. ‘I know that. I know it. He saw the threads, of course he saw them. He’s wary, he’s canny. And I bet the crappy thriller that you got that idea from is one that belongs to him.’

‘Thass true,’ said Dave, a little out of countenance.

‘Pull up here, will you,’ Frank said, ‘at the top of the hill. I want to look at the view.’

From the rise, long fields of winter-bitten grass sloped down to the saltings, and to a line of bare trees hiding a sandy beach. Dave pointed at a tall shape among them. ‘Thass our crane there, I mean Charlie’s crane. I went wiv ’em yest’day, so Harry could show me the ropes. I mean literally, like, show me the ropes. Goo-to-hell, boy, that was somefing cold at four or five o’clock in the mornin.’

Frank’s mind was on a different tack. ‘Don’t you get nervous, alone in that little house with him?’

‘Ah, you’re off again,’ Dave sighed. ‘Well, I lock my door at night, since you give me the idea. But funny enough, last night he done the same. I was awake when he got up this mornin, and I heard his key in the rusty old lock. Thass a laugh, innit? He must be finkin I’ll do for him before he can let it all out to Taffy.’

‘I could guess that,’ Frank said. ‘That’s why I asked if you weren’t nervous. There’s a lot more cause for it now, when he thinks he’s got reason to be nervous of you.’

There was uneasy silence from Dave. Then he said: ‘Well, you and me, we just don’t see fings alike, mate. The way you see him, thass just unbelievable to me, and I’ve told you that. Less drop the subject.’

‘Sure of that, are you?’ Frank asked. ‘Quite, quite sure?’

‘I don’t fink—I don’t fink you’re really sane about him, just now. No, I int sure, o’ course I int sure, I can’t see what goo on inside him. But I int scared, neither.’

‘You can’t see anything, can you?’ said Frank, listlessly. ‘You can’t see outside yourself. You can’t see me, and what’s ahead for me. Oh Christ, I can, and I’m shaking inside.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Dave, low.

‘I know you don’t, I’ve just said that you didn’t. But I can see what’s coming. I always was a bit of a favourite with our bobbies, on account of a couple of horse-pistols I owned. Now they’re convinced; they’re not trying to hide it; and I think Donna is somewhere at the back of this. And because I didn’t do it, it’s unlikely that they’ll ever be able to charge me, let alone get a conviction. However, along rides Harry Ufford to their rescue. Imagine the joy at the nick when Taffy Hughes breaks the news. De Vere is nailed—not for what they’d like to see him nailed for, not for the big one, but nailed. Well, I hear that murderers have a high social status in gaol, and I suppose I’ll take that reputation with me. Maybe some of my glamour will rub off on you.’

Dave was staring. ‘But—that weren’t all that serious, was it? Not my part of it.’

‘Ah, don’t go all innocent on me, Dave. It was always serious. And to get me, they’re going to talk it up, pull out all the stops. Which means that for you it’s going to be made as tough as it could possibly be.’

Dave’s black beard moved as he munched on his lip. He was scowling, but looked more hurt than angry.

‘Down there,’ Frank said, ‘do you see, down there, there’s a bit of a roof just showing through the trees. I used to know that place well. That’s where Black Sam was found.’

‘Oh-ah,’ Dave muttered.

‘Poor old Sam. Now I know the feeling. It comes all of a sudden. It breaks like a storm. Suddenly you know that what’s been threatening all your life has happened at last. For the first time, there’s no choice, no way out, no hope of recovery, no free movement ever again.’

‘Hey,’ Dave said, and reached out a hand and laid it tentatively on Frank’s shoulder. ‘Hey, don’t,’ he pleaded. Frank’s face was turned away, pressed to the cold glass. His weeping was a series of gasps of pain.

‘Frank, don’t,’ Dave begged. ‘I’ll do somefing. Thass goonna be all right, you’ll see. Frank, don’t talk like that about not havin no free movement no more. Frank, when—when she dies—I’ve got to mention that—when that happen, less goo away from Tornwich. I mean, together, like. I need a partner, I’m that sort of bloke. I mean, I know I int very bright, but I’ve stuck to you, ant I? Bloody Tornwich, there int nofing there, never was; but somewhere else we could make somefing of ourselves, you and me.’

‘We’ll be leaving Tornwich, all right,’ Frank said. ‘For Her Majesty’s Prison at Norwich.’

‘No!’ said Dave. ‘I told you, I’ll do somefing.’

‘Have you seen a way out of this?’ Frank asked. His tone was sardonic. When he turned his head, his face was strained, but calm.

‘Yes,’ said Dave, in a low voice. He was looking down at his hands, clasped on the steering wheel. ‘There is a chance. A serious chance, I reckon. Serious.’

Harry Ufford opened his front door, and his animals, from the yard, came bursting through the cat-flap in the back door and rushed on him. He squatted to fondle them, murmuring endearments and praise. All Harry’s geese were swans. They were the most remarkable cat and dog in the world, because they were his own.

He switched on an electric fire, and took off the canvas bag that hung on his shoulder, then the heavy coat. He was cold without it, but soon would have a real fire, winking in the polished horse-brasses and in the sides of bottles containing ships. He would have an hour or two of warmth and lassitude among his friendly possessions, listening to the tick of the cuckoo-clock, before the early bedtime his work imposed upon him.

He was always comforted by his house, the familiar composite smell of it. He loved the peaceful frame of his middle years.

But a thought came into his head and gave him a sudden look of sternness, a look which was always potentially there, in the broad cheekbones and lean weathered cheeks. He went to the door on the stairs, and shouted: ‘Dave! Dave, you there?’ When no answer came, the forbidding expression passed.

He went to the canvas bag and took out of it a bottle of whisky in a cardboard box. Looking at it, his face brightened, and he was genial once more.

From the drawer of a bureau he excavated some Christmas wrapping paper and coloured string, and on the flap of the bureau he made a neat, bright parcel of the whisky. He looked at it with pleasure. Then he went to his coat and took an envelope from its inner pocket. He produced a birthday card, and in his awkward hand wrote a message inside it.

He went into the kitchen, and opened a high cupboard, whose lower shelves were crammed with tins of pet food. Reaching high, he stowed the parcel away behind some cleaning gear.

‘You better promise to be a good boy,’ he said to nobody. ‘Don’t, you shan’t have it.’

Harry stood on his front doorstep and looked at his two animals sitting gazing at him from the middle of the floor. Their eyes were sorrowful. ‘I shall be back,’ he told them; ‘I int gone for ever.’ He switched off the light, and slammed the door against their mourning approach.

In the street behind him Dave was waiting, massive in donkey-jacket and sea-boots, hunched against the black cold. It was a quarter to five on a gusty March morning.

They passed side by side through the narrow streets and narrower alleys, companionable to appearance, but awkwardly apart. They had hardly exchanged a word for two days, and could not begin to speak, with so many questions and so much pretended ignorance hanging between them.

On the wall at the top of Gorse Creek the slap of the low water rose to them, spiteful with wind, white-capped in the light from the waiting barge. In the blackness of land, sea and sky the little wheelhouse below them glowed yellow and warm.