Threat Read online

  Further along the pavement there’s a row going on between two men among a group of drinkers outside the pub on the corner. One of them’s older with a moon face and a pot belly. His pint’s splashing on the pavement as he shouts abuse at a young, good looking bloke in a dark grey suit who’s smoking a cigar and snarling back at him. As we make a detour round them, the fat one chucks his pint in the young bloke’s face and tries to grab him round the neck. They roll onto the pavement and thrash about a bit while the rest of the group from the pub have a laugh at them. Finally, a couple of them pull the men apart and stand them up. As we walk away Lizzie says, ‘That fat one’s a painter.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want him doing my living room,’ I say.

  ‘An artist, silly.’

  ‘Piss artist.’

  ‘The other one’s his boyfriend. They’re always at it.’

  We get to the Flamingo, push through the crowd around the door and go down the stairs to the basement. It’s six bob to get in and Lizzie gives the bloke a quid, gets the change and asks what time Zoot Money’s on. The bloke says it should be about midnight.

  We walk in to a wall of smoke, sweat and dancing bodies. It’s mostly black men and white girls and a few groups of mods standing by the walls. We push through the crowd until we can see the stage at the far end. There’s a young bloke in a grey suit with short blond hair blowing a really gutsy blues harmonica and the band behind him are well away. He sings a couple of verses about some evil woman who’s given him the runaround and the organ player swoops in with a solo that gets me and Lizzie dancing in among the crowd. Then the organ’s swapping breaks with the guitar and the harmonica’s in there as well, and they build it up to a great finish before going straight into a fast rocker. We’re jiving and twisting and giving it all sorts until the song finishes and a bloke comes to the mic and asks for a big hand for Chris Farlowe and The Thunderbirds.

  While the roadies are shifting the gear around on the stage a couple of black men come up to us and say they like the way we dance. They’ve got American accents and Lizzie asks them where they’re from. They say they’re from Texas but they’ve come from the American Air Force base at Greenham Common in Berkshire. There’s no R & B down that way and that’s why they come up for the all-nighters at the weekend. We ask them if they fly planes and they tell us they’re bomber pilots. They’re telling us about the different types and how big and heavy they are when another black guy, who’s been laughing and grinning behind them, butts in and says they just repair trucks and stuff and they couldn’t fly a kite between them. They start joshing and pushing each other around and we slip away through the crowd.

  We find a quiet corner and watch the band wander onto the stage and plug in guitars and switch on amps. The guitar player diddles around a bit and the sax players are firing off a few notes, until the drummer clicks four times with his sticks and Zoot Money runs on, grabs the mic off the stand and powers into Sweet Little Rock and Roller. He’s shaking himself about and leaping up and down and the crowd whoop it up. The dancing’s wild and me and Lizzie are out there jiving up a storm and there’s nothing but the music.

  After they’ve nearly rocked the roof off, Zoot sits down at the organ and leads the band into a slow one and I want to do a smooch with Lizzie but we’re in the wrong club for it so we move off to the side and let the straight couples get a good feel of each other. While we’re leaning against the wall a mod comes up to me.

  ‘Any pills at all?’

  I look at Lizzie and she shakes her head. ‘No thanks sunshine.’

  ‘I’ll do you a dozen dubes for a quid. You won’t get cheaper. I’ve got blues, bombers, green and whites…’

  ‘We’re all right thanks,’ I say.

  As he wanders off Lizzie says, ‘Fancy a drink at the Huntsman?’

  ‘Yeah go on,’ I say.

  As we’re moving through the crowd to the door a scuffle breaks out in front of us. There’s an older Jamaican bloke smacking a dark haired girl in a black dress. He knocks her down and as he goes to kick her a couple of men pull him off and hustle him away through the crowd. Lizzie goes to the girl and helps her up. She seems to be all right and Lizzie has a few words with her and takes her off to the exit. She’s slim and willowy with a lovely face and a great figure and I feel jealous for a second as I see Lizzie put her arm round her, even though I know it’s daft considering I’m never bothered by what she does for a living. There’s a load of people jamming the doorway and when I get up the stairs and into the street the girl’s getting into a taxi and Lizzie’s closing the door for her. The taxi drives off.

  ‘Who was that?’ I ask.

  ‘She’s a showgirl from Murray’s.’

  ‘Why did he set about her?’

  ‘She’s knocking off some politician and he wants to put the black on him and she won’t play.’

  ‘Sounds dodgy.’

  ‘She’s not been in town for long.’

  ‘Needs protection.’

  ‘You volunteering?’

  ‘I’ve got enough problems.’

  We walk round the corner into Peter Street. The Huntsman’s behind a grey doorway with peeling paint, next to a tailor’s shop. Lizzie rings the bell and the door’s opened by a woman in a man’s pinstriped suit, stiff collar and a club tie. Her hair is short and swept back in a Tony Curtis. She looks us over and then she nods and stands back to let us pass. We go along a passageway to the back of the building and down a flight of stairs to the basement. The room’s bathed in a low pink light and there’s a photograph of Marlene Dietrich in the top hat and tails on the wall, next to one of Edith Piaf, looking tortured. Paul Anka’s singing Tonight My Love on the jukebox and clinging couples are moving slowly round the floor. I follow Lizzie to the bar at the far end and we order whisky from a tall blond boy in a pair of Bermuda shorts and nothing else except a gold chain round his neck. I turn round, look at the dancers and spot the sales assistant from Perry’s Uniforms smooching with a big muscly bloke with a shaved head. He sees me, gives me a smile and a wave and when the song finishes he peels himself off Charles Atlas, comes over and leans on the bar next to us.

  ‘You should be in your school uniform.’

  ‘I’ll lock you in a trunk,’ I say.

  ‘Promises, promises.’

  I introduce him to Lizzie and he tells us his name’s Aubrey. He asks me what I thought of Miss Stewart at the shop and he gossips on about how mean she is to everyone and how he reckons she’s a muff diver only she won’t admit it, and she beats up her husband instead and bullies everyone who works for her while she’s arse-licking the posh customers. He asks me if Georgie’s my little sister and says how much he liked her. As he’s blathering on, muscle man comes up behind him, gets him in a head lock, drags him back on the dance floor and starts feeling him up. We finish our drinks, move onto the floor and dance while the Everly Brothers dream, dream, dream. The music gets slow and smoochy again and we’re in a clinch and kissing and when we glide over near the bottom of the stairs I notice the woman in the pinstripe suit run in and dart over behind the bar. Two men in grey macs and fedoras come down the stairs and have a look over the dance floor before walking to the bar. They’re taken into a back room by the pinstriped lady.

  ‘The Dirty Squad come for a taste,’ Lizzie says.

  ‘Slimy bastards,’ I say.

  ‘Did you know Gerry Mann got done for men dancing together at his club?’

  ‘Wasn’t he bunging the plod?’

  ‘He was but some professor or some such followed his son to the club one night, and when the kid told him to get stuffed he marched into Bow Street, got hold of an inspector and kicked up a fuss about clubs that encourage gross indecency, so they had to take Gerry to court.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The prosecution said that plain clothes police had entered the club and witnessed men dancing with each other. Gerry’s brief said they were dancing the Madison in which people of the same sex have to form
a line.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘He got two years.’

  ‘Bad luck.’

  ‘He does all right inside, does Gerry.’

  I look over towards the bar and see the topless barman being summoned into the back room by the pinstriped woman.

  The Pretty Police coming into the club have taken the shine off the evening and I want to get out. Lizzie looks at her watch and puts an arm round me.

  ‘Home James?’

  Up in the street Aubrey and his tough guy boyfriend are arguing hammer and tongs in a doorway over the road. Aubrey’s pirouetting about on the pavement, waving his arms and slinging insults at muscle man, who’s standing in the doorway with his arms folded and his feet apart, saying nothing. We slink away before he sees us, turn the corner into Wardour Street and hail a cab.

  17

  I get Georgie’s new school uniform out of the wardrobe and lay the blazer, blouse and skirt out on the bed for her. We went and put some fresh flowers on our Jack’s grave this morning and then we had a walk on Hampstead Heath before lunch at the Two Blues in Heath Street. She didn’t say much except to name some of the birds we saw on the Heath, and now she’s at the bookshelf deciding what books she’s taking with her. I’ve told her that there’ll be a library with all sorts of books but she says she wants to have some of her own there. I get her school shoes out of the bottom of her wardrobe, decide they could do with a clean and take them into the kitchen. I’m wondering if I should have bought her new ones to go with the new uniform but once I’ve polished them and buffed them up a bit they look good enough, and she’s got her sandals for the summer as well.

  When I go back to her bedroom she’s already got her skirt on and she’s buttoning up her white blouse. I tie her tie for her and help her on with her blazer. She looks at herself in the mirror then she turns to me, looking a bit forlorn.

  ‘Do I look all right?’

  ‘You look lovely,’ I say.

  Even though it’s Sunday we’ve decided on the weekday uniform rather than the cloak and the boater for her to arrive in. I tried to ring Miss Simpkins to check but there was no reply.

  I pick up the books she’s chosen to take with her and put them in the tuck box along with the sweets and biscuits and fruit that I’ve got for her. I remember her toothbrush and go into the bathroom to get it. While I’m there I unscrew the bath panel with a nail file and take out five tenners. I go back into Georgie’s room and she’s sitting on the bed reading. I look at my watch, see that it’s past three o’clock.

  ‘It’s time to go.’

  She stands up and puts the book in the tuck box and I shut it, lock the padlock and give her the key and the money. She looks at the notes and puts them in her purse.

  ‘At least I’ll be rich.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  She looks down at the floor. I can see how frightened she is and I want to go to her but I decide we ought to get moving.

  ‘Miss Simpkins said there’s another new girl arriving today and she’s in the same class as you and the same house as well so you won’t be the only one.’

  Georgie nods and I go into the hall and wait while she unlocks the front door. She opens it and as I follow her into the corridor Lizzie comes out of her flat.

  ‘I was just coming to say goodbye.’

  She gathers Georgie into her arms and says, ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving us!’

  ‘I’m only going to school,’ says Georgie.

  ‘Well when am I going to see you?’

  ‘It’s the end of term in six weeks.’

  ‘Can we come and visit?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well you be sure to write to us.’

  Georgie nods and I can see she’s about to cry.

  ‘We’ve got to go or we’ll miss that train,’ I say.

  Lizzie gives her a kiss and says, ‘You take care now my love.’

  • • •

  We get to Victoria in good time for the train. I park beside the Victoria Palace Theatre and we walk past a poster for the show that’s on there called Rose Marie. There’s a photograph of a curly haired girl in a dirndl skirt singing a song to what I think are a bunch of boy scouts but which Georgie tells me are Canadian Mounties. I wish I was taking her to see the show instead of sending her off on a train to I don’t know what. I remind myself that it’s for her own good and to keep her safe and away from the people I’ve got myself caught up with. She’ll get a good education and be able to mix with anyone and do what she wants in her life.

  We cross the road at the traffic lights, go into the station and a porter takes the tuck box and puts it on his trolley. I look up at the big board and see that the train to Dover stops at Leavenden Halt and it’s the first station out of London. I leave Georgie with the porter while I go to the booking hall and buy one single and one return ticket. As we approach the platform I can see a large group of Leavenden schoolgirls and I’m glad to see that they’re not wearing cloaks and straw boaters. I tip the porter a shilling, tell him to put the tuck box in the guard’s van and we walk along the platform to where the girls are waiting. The grown-ups with them are nearly all women. Most of them look too old to be their mothers so I guess that they’re nannies. They sit on benches while the girls stand in groups talking and laughing and I can hear by their voices how posh they are. A couple of the girls turn round and look at us when we get near them and then turn back to their friends.

  We go to a bench and one of the women smiles at us as we sit down. I want to say something to her but I can’t think what. A few minutes later the train puffs in and stops with a squeal of metal on metal. Doors are opening and there’s a crackly announcement over the speakers that I can’t understand except for the word ‘Dover.’ The girls are saying goodbye to their nannies and getting on the train. Georgie and I follow them, move along the corridor and go into a compartment with four girls about the same age as Georgie. The girls stop speaking and look at us as we sit down. The doors bang shut, the guard blows his whistle and the train huffs and puffs away from the platform. We pick up speed as we go through a tunnel and then we’re going past the backs of factories and then we’re on a bridge and the Thames is stretching out to the left and the right of us and the sun is glinting on the water. The girls are still looking at us and the one sitting opposite, who looks about the same age as Georgie with her hair in plaits says, ‘Are you new?’ Georgie nods and the girl says, ‘Which house are you in?’

  ‘Richmond,’ says Georgie.

  ‘Witchy Wainright,’ says another girl and the others laugh.

  ‘That’s your housemistress,’ says the girl with the plaits.

  ‘Watch out for her broomstick,’ says the girl sitting next to her. ‘She flies over the dorm on it every night. She boiled a girl in her cauldron once when she caught her out of bed.’

  The girls find this hilarious and Georgie does her best to smile. After they fall silent and look out of the window at passing south London, I ask the one with the plaits if she’s in Richmond House herself and she indicates the other girls and says, ‘We’re all in Edenbridge. We beat Richmond at lacs last term.’

  ‘Is that lacrosse?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ she says and looks at me as if I’m from another planet. One of the other girls giggles.

  ‘Are you in the team?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m cover point,’ she says.

  ‘Do you all play?’

  The others all nod with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The girl in the plaits asks Georgie if she plays lacrosse. Georgie shakes her head.

  ‘What do you play?’ asks the girl.

  ‘I’ve done netball,’ says Georgie.

  A girl sitting by the window imitates the way Georgie says netball and the one girl next to her giggles.

  The girl with the plaits sees them laughing, turns to Georgie, and says, ‘We don’t have netball but lacs is really easy to learn.’

  Georgie nods and looks down
at her hands in her lap.

  ‘We were told there’s another new girl arriving today. Do you know if she’s on the train?’ I ask.

  The girl with the plaits shakes her head. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’ She looks round at the others, who also shake their heads. ‘She might be coming by car.’

  The train starts to slow down and the girls stand up and move into the corridor. We follow them out of the compartment and while we wait behind them for the train to pull into the station the girl who was sat by the window turns round and looks at Georgie, then turns to her friend and whispers something to her which makes her laugh.

  When the train stops and the doors are opened we move forward. I reach for Georgie’s hand but she pulls it away. On the platform the girl with the plaits turns to us.

  ‘We go in a coach now. Have you got anything in the guard’s van?’

  ‘Only her tuck box.’

  ‘You’d better tell one of the porters to get it.’ She points to a couple of men in overalls who are wheeling trolleys towards the guard’s van.

  ‘Will you make sure Georgina gets on the coach please?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ she says.

  ‘What’s your name love?’

  ‘Annabelle.’

  I can see the porters have started unloading luggage from the guard’s van and I turn to Georgie. ‘I’d better get along there before your tuck box goes to Dover.’