The Exciting Life (16 page)

‘
Where you off to love?’ he smiled.

‘
I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘Is there a train station around
here?’

‘
I’m driving past Barking Station,’ he said. ‘Hop
in.’

Whilst
the elderly man was very personable and not at all intimidating,
the smell of potatoes from the back of the van was overwhelming and
made Annie feel quite nauseous.

‘
You got lost?’ he asked in his broad cockney
accent.

‘
Sort of,’ she replied. ‘I had a row with my boyfriend. I’ve
left him behind. I didn’t want to be around him a minute
longer.’

‘
You sound a bit posh for these parts? You from Up
West?’

‘
Sort of. Although sometimes I don’t feel as though I’m from
anywhere.’

The old
man dropped Annie off at Barking Station and she caught the
District Line back into London. It was a long, rattling journey and
it gave her time to think. She felt guilty for Eddie guessing her
true feelings for Patrick, but she was positive that it wasn’t
reciprocated. Patrick always seemed really hung up on Iris, and
although he flirted with Annie, it was half-heartedly and there
never seemed to be any feeling in it. But despite this, she longed
to see him. He’d been away for over a week and she’d missed him so
much. That was why she knew she couldn’t sell Bruno’s and sever all
ties with him. He may not have felt the same way, but he was like a
drug to her and she couldn’t take away the only chance she had of
seeing him on a regular basis. She would just have to convince
Eddie that he was wrong, and that nothing was ever going to
happen.

She got
off the train at Victoria and took the Victoria Line to Green Park
and changed onto the Bakerloo Line, up to West Hampstead. It was
only as she travelled that she realised she had no means of getting
home. Her only shilling had paid for this journey. If Patrick was
out, or busy, she’d have no choice but to catch a cab and promise
the driver she’d pay him at the other end.

Patrick
lived in a smart mansion block five minutes from the underground
station. When his mother had been alive, they’d all lived in
Kilburn, but now Bernie and his twenty-two year old girlfriend
lived in a country pile in Uxbridge. Patrick, however, liked to
stay close to his old stomping ground and Annie knew he often went
to the Irish pubs, where members of his extended family would buy
him drinks and sing rebel songs. When he’d told her this, it made
him seem even more attractive to her. On the surface he seemed so
well-cultured - his public school education had given him a posh
accent and good manners. But under it all, he was still a
working-class boy of Irish extraction who could be rough and ready.
Maybe it attracted Annie, because it was a reflection of herself.
Was she not the poor girl who’d been taken in by rich guardians and
made into a lady? Perhaps somewhere under it all, that Battersea
girl still lurked.

As soon
as she rang the bell and he answered the intercom, she breathed a
sigh of relief. At least he could give her a lift home, or lend her
the money to get a cab. Her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough up
the steps to his flat on the top floor, and when she got there, she
found him waiting for her in the doorway, looking very casual in
just a white shirt and black trousers; the neck open on his shirt
and his cuffs undone.

‘
Have you come for the shortbread Miss Holland?’ he
smiled.

‘
Something like that,’ she replied, stepping up to him. He
smelled of soap and aftershave and she could see his hair was
slightly damp.

‘
Were you going out?’ she asked.

‘
I was just going to pop into Bruno’s, see how things were
going,’ he said. ‘But I don’t have to. Not if I’ve got
company.’

He
stepped back and let her into the flat. It was very smart - all
open-planned and obviously belonging to a bachelor. There were no
family photographs, or chintz furniture. A brand new record player
took pride of place on the sideboard, and the doors to the cupboard
in which the television was, were wide open. Most women Annie knew
preferred to keep the doors closed and for the television to remain
hidden. Patrick followed her in and went over to the tortoiseshell
covered bar in the corner.

‘
Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

‘
A gin and tonic please,’

She sat
down on a black leather sofa that still smelt very new. Patrick
made the drinks and came over to sit beside her.

‘
You look as though you've got the weight of the world in your
shoulders,’ he said.

‘
I had a row with Eddie,’ she sighed.

‘
Oh yes? What about?’

Annie paused, wishing he was single and she could tell him the
truth. Eddie was right, she
did
love him. She realised that now. She felt so happy
being with him. She’d last felt that way about Mario. She’d never
felt it about Eddie.

‘
He's found a big factory in Barking that he wants me to buy
with him. When I told him I wasn't selling Bruno's and that I was
going to ask my cousin Max for money instead, he went
mad.’

‘
What's it to do with him?’ Patrick asked, sipping his
drink.

‘
He's under the impression that I'm clinging to Bruno's because
of some strange loyalty to Mario, but I'm not. I want to hang onto
it because I met with Lewis Finkel and he went over the books and
said how brilliantly it was doing. The profits have really turned
around since you came on board. I don't know what you're doing but
it's working.’

‘
I think it's partly down to having Eric and Jim on the door.
People are scared to go into Soho clubs because they’ve heard of
all the trouble that goes on due to the Maltese gangs and so on.
Now they feel safer because the two guys are there to stop trouble
coming in.’

‘
Well I'm grateful, but I suppose I shouldn't be telling you
how well it's doing; your dad will want to start getting rid of me
again.’

‘
Nah, I told Dad what a sweetheart you are and he's backed off.
Your old man was a waste of time but you're sound as a
pound,’

Annie
blushed. She wished he'd stop talking like this. It was as though
she was special to him.

‘
Iris is back soon isn't she?’ she asked.

‘
Yeah on Monday. God knows what's she's been up to.’

‘
What do you mean?’

He
looked down and smirked slightly.

‘
How can I put this without sounding horrible about my
girlfriend? Iris isn't the sort of model who gets offered
high-level fashion shoots in the South of France.’

‘
So you're saying I employ cheap-rent models to show off my
shoes?’ she giggled.

‘
No,’ he laughed. ‘But you only employ her for her feet. What I
mean is that she isn’t classy. Usually they want classy girls
who’ve been to finishing school for those sorts of shoots. I can’t
help but think she’s off with another bloke.’

‘
I wouldn’t have thought it,’ Anne said, although she agreed
with him. ‘I think she knows she’s onto a good thing.’

‘
Is that a compliment?’ he smiled.

‘
Take it as you will.’

He put
down his drink and suddenly grasped Annie’s hands, making her jump
slightly.

‘
Why don’t we go out somewhere?’ he said. ‘I could take you to
a pub. Show you the other side of life.’

‘
I have been in a pub before Patrick!’

‘
Not anywhere like The Fiddle on Kilburn High Road. What do you
say?’

In truth
Annie didn’t care where they went. She just liked being with him,
and if that meant spending the evening in a rough Irish pub, so be
it.

‘
Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m hardly dressed for
Quaglinos.’

As they
walked the short journey to Kilburn High Road, Annie held onto
Patrick’s arm. She’d already had three gin and tonics and felt a
bit tipsy. The Fiddle was a particularly dingy-looking pub in the
middle of the busy high street, sandwiched between an ironmongers
and a shop selling strange coloured milkshakes and ice creams. As
soon as Annie entered the pub, she felt her shoes stick to the
floor, and the smell of Guinness was overwhelming. As her birth
name was Brady, she was obviously of Irish stock, but she felt no
affinity with the country. In the corner a man was playing a banjo
and singing a tradtional song. Annie couldn’t quite make out what
he was saying, as his drunken slurring was making it
indecipherable, but it was amusing all the same.

Patrick
led her to the bar, where behind it hung an array of wooden sticks
of various lengths.

‘
What are they?’ Annie asked Patrick.

‘
Shillelaghs,’ he replied. ‘Seamus the landlord uses them to
see off anyone causing trouble.’ He looked to the tired old barman
and whistled. ‘Brendan, a pint of Guinness and half for the
lady.’

‘
Guinness,’ she groaned. ‘I hate Guinness.’

‘
Nonsense woman,’ he said in a broad, Irish accent. ‘That’s
only because you haven’t had it poured for you
properly.’

Annie
had to admit that there must have been something in the way the
drink was poured, as it tasted different to how Guinness had in the
past. The man playing the banjo started singing some song about
being in prison, and Annie guessed this was a rebel
song.

‘
I feel awfully naughty listening to this,’ she giggled,
draining her glass. ‘Uncle Michael’s cousin is Simeon Wright, the
MP. He hates the Irish.’

‘
Simeon Wright? Was he the one calling for the Death Penalty
for all rebels?’

‘
The very one. We had little to do with him. But I do remember
him coming to Elliott House one Christmas and boring us
all.’

‘
But your birth name was Brady. You must be Irish.’

‘
I guess so. I know so little about my family. All I can
remember is living in a scruffy house with my mum and Kenneth and
our dog. Then Mum got pneumonia and died and we were taken into an
orphanage. Uncle Michael and Aunt Nesta took us in and that was it.
I suppose I’ve got family out there, but I don’t know who they are
or where they live. Battersea I suppose.’

‘
Well there’s obviously a Colleen in there somewhere. So come
on, you’re having another Guinness.’

Two
glasses later and Annie could barely stand. Everything was hazy and
it was as though her conscious, sober brain was watching what she
was getting up to and disapproving. She was aware of dancing for
the men who stood by and watched her. She stumbled a bit, but she
found she could do Irish dancing and she had no idea who’d taught
her this. The men all clapped and she remembered enjoying the
attention. Soon it was closing time and Patrick had to help her out
of the pub. The fresh air hit her and made her feel even worse. She
giggled and clung onto Patrick, and even though she was drunk, she
enjoyed the feeling of his body close to hers.

‘
You need fish and chips to sober you up my lass,’ he said.
‘Otherwise your head is going to feel as though it’s been put
through a mangle tomorrow.’

He
pulled her into a small, brightly-lit fish and chip shop and
ordered two rounds of cod and chips. Annie wondered how she was
going to eat such rich food with a belly full of Guinness. But it
smelt so good - wrapped up in newspaper and covered in vinegar -
she found it easy to eat. As she and Patrick walked back to his
flat. She gradually started to feel a bit more sober; but was still
too drunk to find her way home to Regent Street.

‘
I think I should stay with you tonight,’ she said to Patrick,
snuggling in close to him.

‘
Might be an idea. I’ll put you up on the sofa.’

They got
into the flats and every time Annie tried to put her foot on a
stair, she kept tripping and giggling. In the end, Patrick scooped
her up and carried her up the stairs. Annie put her arms around his
neck and nuzzled her head close to his.

‘
Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know you were so
strong.’

‘
My back’ll pay for it in the morning,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t you
worry!’

He took
her up to the flat, easing her down as he opened the
door.

‘
Come on, let’s get you a glass of milk.’

‘
I don’t want milk,’ she purred, wrapping her arms around his
neck. ‘I want a kiss.’

Patrick
darted his head forward and kissed her briefly on the lips. He then
pulled away and pushed her in the door, shutting it behind them. He
went to walk off, but Annie grasped his sleeve and pulled him back
to her. He paused for a moment, then kissed her. Annie knew it was
wrong – she was Eddie’s girlfriend and Patrick was with Iris, but
she couldn’t help herself. She was drunk and contented and didn’t
want her time with him to end.

Making
love with Patrick wasn’t as romantic as Annie had imagined. It was
all very rushed and fumbled, and the drink made her feel queasy and
a bit dizzy. Afterwards Patrick just rolled off her and went to
sleep. Annie too was exhausted - it had been an eventful day and
she now felt drunk, sick and confused about everything. She hoped
when she woke up the next morning, everything would seem
clearer.