Rebuilding Coventry (20 page)

‘Mary,
do you know what the population of London
is?
We’re talking in
millions.’

‘It’s
worth a try though, isn’t it?’

‘S’pose
so, but don’t get your hopes up. She’s not such a dibbo as to be standing about
in Trafalgar Square or anywhere famous, is she?’

‘I can’t
imagine Mum in
London,
can you, John? You know —walking about and
sleeping somewhere different from home. She’s too shy and quiet.’

‘She’s
not all
that
shy,’ said John with heavy-hinting emphasis. He was
thinking about his mother’s secret diary, which he was carrying about in the
inside pocket of his bomber jacket.

‘She
is
shy. What about that time she won at bingo but she daren’t shout out?’

John
said, ‘She’d been brought up not to shout in public. It wasn’t her fault, was
it?’

‘But
she sat there and let thirty-five pounds be added to the accumulator! All she
had to do was shout “House!”.’

‘There’s
more to Mum than you think,’ said John. ‘There’s more to her than meets the
eye.’

‘You
don’t think her and Gerald Fox were in love, do you?’

‘I
know
they weren’t.’

‘How would
you know?’ Mary was infuriated by John’s smugness. John said: ‘Look, I’m not in
the mood for arguing now or ever again, so let’s just
not
argue, eh?’

‘What,
never?’

‘Yeah,
I’m sick of it; it does my head in.’

‘But
what if I’m right and you’re wrong, or you’re right and I’m . .
.?’

‘Then
just
say
something and I’ll do the same, agree? But let’s not
argue.
And
…’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’ve
got your gold chain in your mouth again. It drives me mad. Sorry, but it does.’

‘Oh!
John?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m
not doing your washing any more, or your ironing. Sorry, but I’m not.’

‘Fair
enough.’

They
were each amazed at how calmly the other took these remarks, and for the first
time in their lives they almost liked each other and, for no reason they could
explain at the time, they felt what it must be like to be grown-up.

They
took their places on the periphery of the crowds waiting at the Arrivals
barrier, and watched for Uncle Sid and Aunty Ruth to emerge from the Customs
Hall. They both hoped that Sid was in a good mood and would be amenable to
driving around London. You never knew with Sid; he was a very perplexing
person.

39
Beautiful Children

There had been continual
announcements on the airport public address system, and although I’d heard them
I hadn’t listened to what they were saying. But now my ears strained to catch
every word.

‘Will
John Dakin please go to the Information Desk. John Dakin to the Information
Desk.’

‘That’s
my son’s name,’ I said to Dodo.

‘There
must be
thousands
of John Dakins,’ she replied, but she looked
apprehensive.

‘Where
is the Information Desk?
Where is it, Dodo?’

‘I’ll
show you, but please, Jaffa, keep your distance; and don’t do anything silly,
promise, darling?’

We left
the cafeteria and looked over the balcony. The Information Desk was directly
below us. My daughter Mary was standing at the desk looking worried. She was
wearing her best coat and her fair hair was arranged in a new spiky style and
appeared to be covered in a sticky substance.

I said,
‘What has she got on her pretty hair?’

‘Gel,’
said Dodo; then, ‘She’s astonishingly like the old you, isn’t she?’

As we
watched, my golden-haired son walked through the crowd and tapped Mary on the
shoulder. She turned round and they smiled at each other. They looked relieved.

‘If you
go to them now you’ll end up in prison and you’ll break their hearts. Don’t go,
Jaffa!’

I
couldn’t take my eyes off my beautiful children.

‘Dodo,
quickly, go and tell them I’m here … please, Dodo.’

Dodo
walked slowly down the stairs and joined my children. It was a bizarre sight,
one I had never expected to see; these people belonged in different
compartments. Now Dodo was
talking
to them. They were looking around.
They saw me. Dodo spoke sharply to them and they looked away at once. I
strained towards my children. I wanted them so strongly that I felt weak and light-headed
and had to stop myself making silly whimpering noises of desire.

John
and Mary walked away, stiff and self-conscious; and Dodo rejoined me and said, ‘They
are going to get into a black cab. It will drive around the airport perimeter
once and then return to the cab rank and pick you up. Here’s your cab fare.’
She gave me a twenty-pound note. She looked sick with fear.

She
said, ‘I never had a child, apart from Geoff. Now that he’s dead, I wish I had;
though you’re never free again, are you? Am I right?’

I said
that yes, she was right. Once you’ve had a child you’re never free.

Dodo
asked if I was still interested in escaping. I said I didn’t know. A silence
fell between us. Eventually I asked Dodo why the announcement had gone out asking
John to report to the desk. ‘They lost each other in the crowd, then wandered
around looking for each other. They’re here to meet Sidney — like you.’

40
Inspector Sly Gets His Man

Sidney had been at the
buzzer again.

The
stewardess hurried down the aisle and bent her Max Factored face over Sidney.

‘We’re
delayed because of a technical fault, sir,’ she lied. ‘Please keep in your
seat.’

‘But we’ve
been on the ground for over an hour. What sort of technical fault?’

‘They
know what they’re doing, Sid,’ said Ruth. This mild rebuke from Ruth surprised
Sidney; it also frightened him. He remembered that Ruth had refused to have sex
with him yesterday and that she had answered the telephone against his wishes.
True, there had been no more evidence of Ruth’s insurgency — until now.

‘They
obviously
don‘t
know what they’re doing, Ruth; somebody has cocked
something up. I’m getting off this plane, now!’

‘Please
sir, we’ve got our orders to let nobody off the plane.’ Sweat bubbled through
the stewardess’s pancake foundation. A tendril of hair escaped from her
chignon. She now looked human, like a real person, instead of a public
relations cipher. A large, bulky man made his way, sideways on, down the narrow
aisle. Inspector Sly was about to get his man. The stewardess pointed at
Sidney, then stood aside to enable the law to take its course.

‘Sidney
Lambert? I’m Detective Inspector Sly. Come with me please, and don’t ask why,
or where or what for. I’m a busy man so let’s skip the details. Stand up now
and come with me.’

Sidney said,
‘Why? Where? What for?’

Ruth
said: ‘They know about the ring, Sid!’ Ruth took off her new gold and diamond
ring and gave it to Inspector Sly, who turned it over in his hands, said, ‘Very
nice’ and, to her surprise, gave it back.

‘It’s
to do with Coventry then, is it?’ said Sidney, as he and Sly and several
extraneous policemen tramped down the aluminium steps from the aeroplane.

‘Yes,’
said Sly. ‘I’m going to keep you in custody and squeeze your head now and again
until you tell me where she’s hiding. I’ve got a short break due to me next
week, bird-watching in Norfolk, and I want this ease wrapped up and nice and
tidy before I pack my binoculars.’

Sidney
shivered in his thin white clothes. After Portugal, England looked dull and
washed out; the lousy weather was in one of its in-between moods: a bit cold, a
bit wet, a bit misty, a bit depressing all round. As they walked across the
tarmac Sidney looked at the shut-in English faces around him. ‘They’re all
sexually repressed in England,’ thought Sidney, temporarily distancing himself
from his compatriots.

‘What
will happen to my wife?’ he asked Sly.

‘Dunno
and don’t care, Sid, my boy. She’ll either go home to the Midlands or hang
about here waiting for you, won’t she?’

‘All I
can tell you is that Coventry is in London,’ said Sidney.

Sly
asked: ‘Would that be Greater London, Mr Lambert, or the City of London?
Perhaps you’d like to give me her address now? You needn’t bother with the postcode.’

When
they got inside the airport terminal, Sidney searched for his cigarettes, then
cursed the vanity that had resulted in him buying skin-tight trousers and
shirts with no pockets. Sly noticed Sidney’s agitation.

‘Smoker
are you, Mr Lambert?’

‘Yes,
you got one?’

‘No, Mr
Lambert, I am a member of ASH.’

Sly was
very pleased. ‘Shouldn’t take long to break him down,’ he thought. ‘Couple of
hours of nicotine withdrawal should do it.’

41
Coventry Says Goodbye

The taxi had
circumnavigated the airport three times. ‘Round again, please,’ shouted
Coventry.

‘Bleedin’
hell, I’m goin’ dizzy!’ moaned the driver.

‘Oh,
stop whining and drive. You’re getting paid for it, aren’t you?’

She
slammed the sliding window shut. The children were astonished at the authority
in their mother’s voice. Where had it come from? A week ago she would have
apologized to the driver for causing his vertiginous bout. Now, here she was
involved in a clandestine meeting arranged by a mysterious, posh woman dressed
entirely in black.

Coventry
sat between the children, with an arm gripped tight round each of their
shoulders. In ten minutes she had to return to the airport. She explained her
dilemma to the children.

‘I
promised Dodo I’d go back. I
think
she’s planning our escape route, to
Wales.’

‘How
long would you get in the nick — if you gave yourself up?’ asked Mary.

John
answered, ‘I asked Dad. He reckons ‘bout four years; with time off for good
behaviour.’

‘Mum
would
behave, wouldn’t you, Mum?’

Coventry
kissed her daughter’s neck, but said, ‘I’d
die
in prison, Mary.’

‘You
could carry on going to art classes in prison though, couldn’t you?’ blurted
John.

‘You
read my diary! Oh John, you didn’t, you didn’t read my diary?’

‘Sorry,
Mum, but I didn’t want the law to find it.’

‘No,
you’re right. You must think I’m mad.’

‘No I
don’t,’ insisted John.

‘What
diary?’ asked Mary.

‘Bradford
Keynes thinks you’re a magic painter.’

‘Does
he?’

‘Who’s
Bradford Keynes?’ asked Mary.

‘He was
a friend of mine,’ said Coventry, who had stopped being infatuated with
Bradford on her second visit to the art classes at the Workers’ Educational
Institute.

Mary
was crying. ‘Mum, can we come with you to Wales or wherever you’re going?’

Coventry
said, ‘You can’t miss school.
You‘ve
got to get your exams; and Dad
needs you!’

John
said, ‘What will we do without you?’

Coventry
said, ‘You’ll grow up and then we’ll be together again somewhere.’

It was
a dreadful moment for them all when the cab arrived back at the rank. After
Coventry had paid the driver they clung together in a tight-knit family group,
each one reluctant to let go of the other two.

Detective
Sergeant Horsefield watched them with great sadness. He had been watching them
since he’d heard the announcement calling for John Dakin. His own cab driver
had been thrilled to be told to ‘follow that cab’. It was a cliché he had
waited seventeen years to hear.

Horsefield
should have approached Coventry immediately, arrested her and then sat back and
waited for the congratulations, the admiring publicity and the inevitable
promotion; but the longer he watched the little group, the more reluctant he
became to break it up. He prayed to God for guidance and strength.

God
advised him to leave the police force and apply to join the priesthood. So
Horsefield turned his back on his career and went back to the Arrivals lounge,
where he found Ruth Lambert sitting on a bench surrounded by luggage and broken
Portuguese folk art plates. She looked exactly like the photograph he carried
in his pocket. Small, anorexic build and snaggled teeth.

‘She
must have
something,’
thought Horsefield charitably, for he also had a
photograph of Sidney’s dazzling features secreted about his person.