Hearts of Stone (13 page)

30

K
ylie was a little late. I imagined she'd had a harder job than she thought she would getting a cab to venture this far into the black hole of south London. I swear taxi drivers think they're going to drop off the edge of the earth if they venture past Waterloo Station. Mind you, I was surprised. Looking the way she looked as she came through the door of the bar, if I'd been a cabbie I'd've volunteered to drive her to Tibet, or someplace even more remote. I suppose she arrived at JJ's at twenty to eleven or thereabouts, near closing time, and the place was Saturday-night busy. Buzzin', as you might say. But she managed to lower the volume of conversation, if not the worn-out, original 45rpm Top Rank single recording of
Quarter to Three
by US Bonds that was booming out of the mighty Wurlitzer jukebox.

Her hair was loose, and fell to her shoulders, and it was the shade of blonde that was in TV commercials for Sunsilk Shampoo. If you'd asked me, I'd've said she was wearing minimal make-up, but that was a trick. She'd just made it look that way. She was wearing black high-heeled patent-leather court shoes, black fishnets and a little black dress that she filled to within an ounce of overflowing. But it was that ounce that she and every man in the room lived in. Over one shoulder was a black leather handbag on a long strap, and over the other arm was a black cloth coat. She ignored the stares and the dropped jaws and interrupted conversations that preceded and followed her path, and made straight for me.

‘Hello, Nick,' she said as the record faded into the scratchy run-out. ‘Sorry I'm late.'

‘It was worth it for that entrance,' I said.

She cocked a look at one of our regulars who was sitting next to her on a bar stool. He resisted her gaze for a nanosecond before offering her his seat. Previous to that moment, I'd have doubted that he would have made the gesture to a nine-month pregnant woman whose water had just broken.

‘Thanks,' she said, and perched up on the vacant seat, showing enough fishnetted thigh to give any man ideas of trawling as a career. ‘So where's that drink you promised me?' she asked.

‘Lager and lime, wasn't it?' I said.

She nodded, and the next record started to play.
Pretty Flaming
' it was, by Manfred Mann. Perfect, I thought, and went to the fridge for a bottle of Sol.

When I fetched her the beer, with a slice of lime in the neck, I could see and feel most of the eyes of the customers in the place still on us. ‘Do you always cause such a stir?' I asked, under the sound of the music.

‘I try to.'

‘You succeeded. My charisma count just went up a point or ten.'

‘That's exactly what I wanted.'

By then the next-to-last-order merchants were clamouring to be served, so I had to leave her. As I poured drinks, I saw one or two of our likelier lads trying to put the bite on her, but she deflected them like a heavyweight boxer taking on a six-year-old.

I called last orders at eleven, and herded the reluctant punters out as quickly as drinking-up time allowed. By half-past the place was virtually empty, and JJ put in an appearance. He pulled the sort of face that people do when they want to know if the other person was someone I was involved with, and I pulled the sort of face back that said yes. He tossed me the spare keys I'd need to open up the next morning, and told us to go. I didn't need to be told twice. I helped her on with her coat and we split.

Outside she turned to me and said, ‘Where's this class Indian you were telling me about then?'

‘Just down the hill,' I said. ‘Come on, I'll race you.'

‘Not in these heels,' she replied, and attached herself to my arm and we walked down slowly.

As it goes it's not a bad Indian, as Indians go in that neck of the woods. Not exactly subtle, but not bad. And they served Kingfisher lager. Freezing cold in bottles.

When we'd got a table, I asked her what she wanted to drink and she said beer, so I ordered two, plus a stack of papadums and the chutney tray. They don't serve the spicy tomato thing, so that was a point against them. But, as I've noted before, nothing's perfect.

When the beer had washed down a couple of the big crisps, and the most urgent hunger pangs had been sated, I said, ‘I'm glad you came over. It's good to see you.'

‘I thought you weren't going to ring.'

‘Like I said, I've been up to here.' I put up my hand and touched the top of my head.

‘Business?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Funny business with Roy and Pat?'

‘Don't ask.'

‘OK, I won't. But, Nick, be careful. Those two are no good.'

‘I will. Now, can we talk about something pleasant?'

‘Course. Sorry.'

‘Right. We're here.
They're
not. Let's forget about them.'

So we did, and the meal was a great success.

Afterwards I drove her back to my place. It was after one in the morning by then, and she seemed in no hurry to go anywhere else, so I just rode with the flow. I let her into my flat and switched on the light.

‘Nice,' she said. ‘If a little – how can I say – cramped.'

‘Bloody cramped,' I agreed. ‘Even poky, runty or puny. But also compact, bijou, snug or cosy. Depends how you look at it. It suits me. Like I told you, I'm usually on my own.'

‘I remember. But not tonight.'

‘That's true, and is it going to be all night?'

‘Of course. If you think I'm going to go out and find a cab at this hour…'

‘You know I'd drive you home if you want.'

‘But I don't want. Now I'm in Tulse Hill, I'll stay here.'

‘Are you sure you haven't been here before?'

‘What?' She looked confused.

‘You know this is Tulse Hill.'

‘You told me.'

‘Did I? I thought I said West Norwood.'

‘The other night. You told me you live in Tulse Hill.'

‘Then I forget. Never mind. It doesn't matter. Drink?'

‘Please,'

‘Beer? Gin? Vodka? Jack Daniel's?'

‘Jack Daniel's sounds good.'

‘A woman after my own heart,' I said, and got a pair of drinks together.

When I took them through from the kitchenette, she was still standing in the middle of the room, coat on, like she'd changed her mind about staying. I put the drinks down on the low table next to the sofa that converts into a bed.

‘Let me take your coat,' I said. ‘Sit down.'

She took it off. That dress. Boy, that dress.

She sat down demurely, pulling her skirt lower on her thighs. I sat next to her and she passed over my drink.

‘Cheers,' I said.

‘Cheers,' she replied, and we both drank.

‘Want some music?' I asked.

‘No. I like it like this. This time of night in the city. It's like it's closed down. Or maybe not that at all. It's as if you could open the curtains and just see deserted countryside for miles.' She looked embarrassed. ‘Or is that silly?'

‘No,' I said. ‘You have a very lyrical turn of phrase.'

‘But you know what I mean?'

I nodded. I did. I've walked hundreds, no, thousands of miles through the streets of London in the night-time. When the orange sodium lamps give colour to the wet streets. Not real colour. Just a veneer of colour. A sheen, like oil on black skin.

‘I knew you would,' she said and came closer to me. I touched her, and the touch turned to a caress. And the caress to something else. And the something else to something else again.

We woke up in bed as close as two spoons. She smiled and I smiled, and it was great just to be there. I told her I was due to open up the bar, and we got up and took turns at the bathroom, and I made breakfast. When we'd finished eating she said, ‘I forgot. I've got something for you.'

‘What?' I asked.

She got up from the table and fetched her handbag. She took something out and placed it next to my plate. It was a chromed Zippo lighter.

‘What's this?' I asked. Stupid question, really.

‘What does it look like? You're always lighting your cigarettes with that horrible plastic throwaway thing. I saw this and bought it for you.'

‘You shouldn't have.'

‘Why not?'

I didn't know. ‘I don't know,' I said.

‘Well, there you go. Take it. It wasn't expensive.'

‘Cheers. It's nice to know how much I'm worth.'

‘You know I didn't mean it like that.'

‘I know. I'm only teasing. But I always lose lighters. That's why I use a disposable. Perhaps I should put it somewhere safe.'

‘No, don't do that. Please.'

‘OK, I won't,' I said, and got up from my seat and kissed her. ‘Thanks. That was kind of you.' If I hadn't had to go to open up the bar, the kiss might have lasted all day. ‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I've got to go to work.' I looked at my watch. ‘I've just got time to get you home.'

‘Don't worry about that. I'll get a cab.'

‘No,' I said. ‘It's OK. After all, you did give me this.' I held up the lighter.

‘Promise you'll use it.'

‘I'll never go anywhere without it again.'

She smiled and I dropped it in my pocket, got my keys, took her down to the car and up to town.

‘When am I going to see you again?' she asked.

I'd considered asking her to Brady's party, but thought better of it. I really didn't think that Kylie and Jools in the same room would be a good idea, considering.

‘I'll ring you,' I said when I dropped her off in Brewer Street.

‘That's what you said last time.'

‘This time I will. Promise.' And I kissed her again.

The kiss lasted quite a while, but eventually she disengaged herself and got out of the car. I missed her straightaway.

31

I
drove straight to the bar. Being Sunday, it didn't open until twelve, and there were no deliveries, and JJ did the honours on the cleaning stakes. So it didn't matter if I didn't get there until dead on the appointed hour. The church clock opposite was striking as I pulled up, and there was already a couple of thirsty-looking customers standing outside, clutching newspapers. I sleepwalked through the day, not saying much. At six-thirty I handed over to JJ.

I went home and made a sandwich and washed it down with a glass of milk. I wasn't that hungry, but eating passed the time. I sat around until about eight, then showered and changed into a fresh shirt and a newly dry-cleaned suit straight out of its clingy film of plastic. I put a few quid into the back trouser pocket, cigarettes and lighter into the jacket, picked up the keys to the Cosworth off the table, and got on my merry way. Not that I was feeling particularly merry. I wasn't looking forward to the evening ahead at all.

I arrived outside Brady's place at nine-fifteen precisely. There were already a couple of expensive cars parked at the kerb, including a familiar-looking Jaguar XJS. Interesting. My brisk rat-a-tat-tat on the door-knocker was answered by Alfie looking adorable in a baggy rainbow-coloured shirt and black jeans.

‘Do you have to knock like that?' he asked crossly.

‘What do you mean?' I asked innocently.

‘It has connotations.'

Connotations of Old Bill turning over some previous drum of yours, I thought. ‘Sorry,' I said. ‘I'll try to remember.'

‘If you wouldn't mind. Well, you'd better come in.' He opened the door all the way, and closed it firmly behind me once I was inside the hall. From deeper inside the house I could hear
Joanna
by Kool and the Gang on the stereo. Real hairdresser's music.

‘What's it all about, Alfie?' I asked. But he didn't get it. Too young, I expect.

‘There's a few people here.'

‘Lead me to it,' I said.

‘Straight through into the living room,' he said. ‘I've got to check the food.'

I followed the sound of music and found the party, what there was of it so far. The living room was next to the kitchen, and also looked out on to the tiny garden at the back. The furniture was modern. All black wood, smoked glass, chrome and leather, and it had been pushed to one side and canapés had been put out on plates on top of a low unit. Enough booze, mixers, ice and glasses to stock a pub were lined up on the dining table next to the patio door, which was open a crack to let in some air.

Brady was standing talking to Pat Hughes and a mean-looking individual wearing a pink double-breasted jacket, black shirt buttoned to the neck without a tie, baggy black slacks and polished black lace-ups, with a long-legged blonde hooked on to one arm. It was the guy I'd seen a few days before coming out of the house. The one with the Jaguar XJS. If he had been playing house with Alfie that afternoon I saw him coming out of the place, and now he was with the blonde, he had to be AC/DC. As Jools had put it, he swung both ways. Interesting.

When I entered, Brady immediately abandoned the trio and came towards me, hand outstretched. ‘Nick,' he said, too effusively and too loudly, and grabbed my right hand and pumped it hard. By the sound of his voice, and the look in his eyes, he'd been at the goodies already. ‘So glad to see you,' he went on. ‘There's someone over here I want you to meet.'

He led me back to Hughes and the geezer in the pink jacket.

‘Hello, Pat,' I said.

Hughes nodded to me. ‘How are you?' he said.

‘Fine,' I replied.

‘And this is Gregor,' said Brady, introducing me to pink jacket, who close-up looked even meaner than he had from a distance. ‘Nick, Gregor. Gregor, Nick.'

His name fitted him like a glove. Gregor raised one hand in a sort of half salute, half wave. ‘Nick,' he said.

‘Gregor,' I said back.

‘I'm Fanny,' said the blonde, in a high-pitched, little girl's voice.

I'll just bet you are, I thought. ‘Hello, Fanny,' was all I said, and smiled a neutral smile. ‘It's very nice to meet you.'

‘You too,' she replied, and stuck out her hand like a duchess. I didn't know if I was expected to kiss it, or what, so I just gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘Gregor is cool,' said Brady. By that I assumed that Brady meant he was a villain. I think I could have worked that one out for myself. ‘Let me get you a drink,' Brady continued. ‘Champagne?'

‘It gives me a headache,' I said. ‘Got any vodka?'

‘Of course. With?'

‘Orange juice.'

‘One screwdriver coming up.' And he went over to the table and started clinking bottles and ice and a glass together.

‘Where's Roy?' I asked Hughes.

‘He'll be along,' he said. As if on cue, the doorbell rang. ‘That might be him now.'

A few seconds later Roy and Jools, led by Alfie, came into the room. Roy was wearing a very expensive-looking pinstriped suit, and Jools wore a little black dress that showed off the tops of her breasts to perfection, and strappy high-heeled shoes. She was carrying a tiny black velvet evening bag in one hand. Brady gave me my drink and be-bopped over to welcome them.

‘Hello, you two,' he said. ‘Glad you could make it.'

‘Hi,' said Roy, who looked like he'd snorted half of Bolivia before coming out to play, and appeared somewhat the worse for wear for it.

‘Let me get you something to drink,' said Brady. ‘Champagne?' There it was again. The worst alcoholic drink ever invented by man, wheeled out like it was a big deal.

‘Yeah,' said Seeley. ‘But I've got something better in me sky rocket.'

‘Groovy,' said Brady, like a schoolboy who'd just heard that gobstoppers had come off the ration. He went over to the table and poured two glasses of champagne, and gave one each to Seeley and Jools, then dragged them over and introduced them to Gregor and Fanny. After the introductions were complete, they excused themselves and made for the food.

Then Seeley came and buttonholed me. ‘Hi, Nick,' he said. ‘Listen, I've got some business to talk with Brady and Pat. Look after Jools for me for a minute. We won't be long.' He winked. ‘Don't worry, I'll look after you later.'

I knew just what business he was on about. ‘No problem,' I replied.

He went over to Brady and whispered in his ear. I saw Brady nod in affirmation, and Seeley tapped Hughes on the shoulder, and the three of them left the room together. Seeley took the bottle of champagne with him. They passed Alfie at the door, who gave Brady a dirty look and then waltzed over to Gregor and Fanny to check how the food was going.

‘Seems like I'm always being left to look after you,' I said to Jools.

‘The booby prize,' she said, but she didn't specify which one of us was the booby. ‘This looks like being a riotous affair,' she went on.

‘A real jolly up,' I agreed.

The front-door bell rang again, and Alfie broke off his conversation to answer it. He reappeared with a pair of junior hitmen for the mob dressed in sharp navy-blue suits, white shirts and narrow black ties.

‘Who's this?' said Jools. ‘The Blues Brothers?'

‘In their dreams,' I said. ‘Want another drink?'

‘Yeah, and something to eat.' We got re-fills and wandered over to the canapés, and I held both glasses whilst she loaded two plates. The food wasn't bad, as it goes. Either Alfie was as good a cook as Brady had said, or else he had a charge card at Harrods. There were six different kinds of smoked meat, prawns and caviar with slices of hard-boiled egg, lobster vol-au-vents and pâté.

‘Very nice,' I said through a mouthful.

‘A bit like a tart's tea party,' said Jools. ‘But not bad.'

When we'd finished she said, ‘I'd better go and find Roy – see what state he's in.'

‘OK,' I replied. ‘I'll mingle.'

By that time a few more faces had shown up. A couple of the blokes had young women in tow. Good-looking they were, too. But strictly property to be bought and sold like meat on a rack. There were a few men on their own, too, or in pairs, like the Blues Brothers, but nothing overtly gay. Nothing that would upset the sensibilities of the real hard men present.

As I circulated, I got snatches of the conversations. You know the sort of thing: houses, cars, clothes, holidays. I didn't mingle. Just drifted. Nobody paid me much attention and that was just the way I liked it.