The Velvet Trap: A Tale of Love and Rejection

By R.F. Wilson

Isolation, boredom, heat and sand: a crew of expatiate oil workers in the Libyan desert, the high light of their working week the arrival of the company truck with supplies and letters from home bringing in the mundane outside world to this small cluster of porta-cabins.The arrival of a Dear John, there has never been a Dear John sent to this tiny dot in this vast Libyan desert.Dear Alan it is very hard for me to write this letter, Alan the youngest member of the crew the only single bloke.The trauma of a single page letter, the walk into the desert, the search for a kind of self destruction: the destruction of the illusion of love in the arms of whom ever woman he paid. And the unexpected love of a young woman in a terraced house in North London whose husband is serving a prison sentence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467879316

R.F. Wilson

R.F.Wilson has been involved in the start-up and operation of oil refining and gas plant facilities for 40 years. He has worked in remote and at times dangerous locations. His assignments have covered Australia, U.S.A. Asia, North Africa, Africa and Europe. He is marrried and lives in Antwerp, Belgium.

Book preview

1

It was a late Friday afternoon. He finished washing the car and looked at the sky. It was going to rain. He picked up the bucket and emptied the water into the gutter. He threw the wet sponge into the bucket and walked across the sidewalk. She was coming down the road, he could hear her shoes on the pavement, he glanced in her direction. It was the one his brother called the young one. She had on a short black coat with silver buttons. Her hair was long and dark brown. She walked with a jaunty saucy air.

He sat on the front steps and placed the bucket between his knees and picked up the sponge and squeezed it out into the bucket. He was aware of her footsteps coming nearer. He did not see her swing into the pathway but he knew she was there by the sound of her footsteps upon the grit and gravel of the path.

He dropped the sponge into the bucket. She had arrived at the bottom the step. He was sitting on the middle step and he became aware that there was very little room for her to pass, before he could move he heard her high-heeled shoes click-clack upon the first step.

He made a move to shift his behind to the left to give her space. She had reached the step upon which he was sitting. He waited for the moment when she would pass.

He was sitting crouched down his head lowered looking at the step between his knees. He could see her black high-heeled shoes out of the corner of his eye. He felt the edge of her short coat brush his hair, the faint scent of her floated in the air. She moved passed him.

He turned his head and looked upward. He could see her bare legs underneath her short coat. She was standing upon the step above him and letting him have a good look. Her legs were tantalizingly inviting going beyond his vision. He had the temptation to place his hand on the inside of her calve and run his hand up the inside of her thigh. He knew that if he moved his head down a little he would see to the top of her legs.

She was fully aware of the position in which she was standing. He lifted his eyes to her face. He saw her smile and her steady gaze. The moment seemed endless. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He tried desperately to think of something to say but he remained dumbly mute; there was nothing that he could think of.

She shook her head a movement that swung her long brown hair, still holding his gaze, she stepped from the top step and disappeared into the hallway the scent of her cosmetic lingering in the air. He had let her go without saying a word.

It started to rain he could hear it pattering into the privet hedge. He picked up the bucket and stood watching the rain for a moment seeing the gravel stones of the pathway darkening with splashes of rain.

He stared into the deepening rainstorm. He could still see her image, her bright coquettish glance at him, her provocative pose full of promise. What did it mean, a missed opportunity, a missed invitation? He stood up and walked down the empty hallway. What in the hell was he thinking about?

She had hoped that he would say something. She had given him the chance. She had seen him as soon as she had turned the bend in the road. He was washing his car. She could not help it as soon as she saw him she felt her heart give a little beat, a pulse of pleasure at seeing him. She hurried her footsteps as if she was approaching an unaware lover and she would call out and give him a surprise.

She had some distance to walk and she took pleasure in watching him as she drew nearer. She became aware that he had almost completed his work and without thinking found herself increasing her pace.

He straightened up holding a bucket in his hand, as he walked across the pavement he glanced in her direction and for one hopeful moment she thought that he was going to wave to her. She readied herself to return his wave and had an urge to call ‘Alan’, but he turned his head away. She saw him disappear beyond the privet hedge that ran in front of the house.

She was surprised to see him sitting upon the front steps. He had his head down looking into the bucket that was in between his knees. He did not appear to hear her approaching. She saw him squeezing a sponge completely absorbed in watching a trickle of water falling into the bucket.

She felt a flicker of irritation at his absorption; he must hear the sound of her footsteps. She let her shoes drag a little on the gravel pathway. He continued to squeeze the sponge into the bucket. She would make him look up.

She made an exaggerated stamp on to the first step, a clack of her shoes on the second step upon which he was sitting. She allowed her short coat to brush the side of his face.

He turned, his head was held up to her looking into her face. She saw the tan of his skin and the blue colour of his eyes. There was no expression from him in which she could take advantage; he was expressionless, looking at her in complete indifference.

She felt a bloody fool but she could not help herself she was tempting to the last moment. She gave a toss of her head as she moved from the top step and into the hallway.

She longed to hear the sound of his voice, say something, anything and she would have a reply. She would love him to try to chat her up. His silence had unnerved her and she moved on into the shadows of the hallway whispering silently to herself say something, why don’t you say something? An unreasonable anger took hold of her and in exasperation she said aloud, ‘I’ll make you sit up and see me, you will know I’m here. I’ll make your bloody head spin.’ What did she really hope for?

She had gone into the kitchen and dumped the shopping bag on to the table with a loud thump, the load of potatoes crashing down, and the cabbage bouncing out of the bag and falling to the floor rolling under the table. Why was she making a fool of herself.

The first thing that she noticed about him was how sun-tanned he was, she had never seen anyone with a suntan like that. She had looked at her arms, an automatic glance, comparing the paleness of her skin that looked whiter than ever in the light of the hallway.

He was with his brother. She stood in a dark corner of the hallway near her kitchen door, still and silently watching. They were laughing as they stood for a moment at the foot of the stairway. She heard his brother say, ‘We could have had another one, Nora won’t be ready, anyway’.

‘Nora said seven o’clock on the dot and don’t be late.’ she heard Alan say.

‘We could have had a swift one, though Alan. She won’t mind, she knows I am with you.’

‘I don’t want to get off-side with Nora, not the first night here,’ he said.

‘You’re OK with her,’ his brother said, ‘She’s got a soft spot for you. You can do what you like.’ They were moving up the stairway, she heard Alan’s voice, ‘Be on time, that’s what she said.’

‘I bought her a couple of Guinness, that’s all she wants, and her fags. She’ll be up there smoking her head off,’ said his brother.

They passed beyond her vision, the angle of the stairway hiding her view. She could hear the bustle of their movement on the landing above. They had left behind an aroma of male presence, the smell of beer, cigar smoke, and a boisterous animation that remained in the air as tangible as the cigar smoke. She heard a voice say, ‘We can have a couple of swift ones, dart down after dinner.’ It was his brother’s voice.

She heard a door slam and the silence of the hallway enclosed it’s self about her and held her motionless. She released her breath, almost a sigh. She shivered. Holding her arms crossed, her hands holding her elbows, she stepped back through the kitchen door. For the first time in a long while she closed the kitchen door shutting out the hallway and the steep ascending stairs to the floors above.

She stood with her back to the closed door seeing his face. He was another world, somewhere where she could never go. He was free, she could see it in his face, and the way he was; he had gone up the stairway two steps at a time in front of his brother.

She heard a cry and a voice saying, ‘Give it to me. It’s mine. I found it first.’ It was Charlie at it again with Annie. She walked slowly through the kitchen shouting, ‘Charlie, Charlie, give it back to her. Stop tormenting your sister. Leave her alone.’ She was back in the world that she knew.

‘Don’t fuck with the young one,’ his brother had said. ‘I don’t want no bother this is my gaff and I live here. Her old man is a hard bastard and he’ll get to know.’

His brother puffed on his cigar then he held the cigar four inches from his mouth and looked at the opposite wall. ‘Hard bastard, he’ll get to know,’ he repeated. ‘His mates outside will give him the word I seen Harry looking at her. He fancies her.’ He stuck the cigar in his mouth and took another pull. He blew the smoke out in a pale gray jet and then looked at the ash at the end of his cigar.

‘He’s done about twelve months I don’t know how long he’s got to go. I never got to find out. If he got eighteen months he could be out in fourteen for good behaviour.’

He flicked the ash from the end of his cigar. ‘You never know he could be out in a couple of months and Harry’s looking at her.’

‘What’s he done, what’s he in for?’

‘Resisting arrest this time round.’

His brother looked at him and pointed the cigar at him and said, ‘Done a bit more than resisting arrest has our Jack, I should say.’ He looked at the white ash at the end of the cigar deciding if he was going to flick it into the dinner plate on the table. He said, ‘Done a bit of GBH has our Jack.’

‘GBH?’

‘Grievous Bodily Harm brother, it means don’t fuck with Jack, or his missus.’ His brother had another look at the ash at the end of the cigar. ‘Remember this is my gaff and I don’t want no trouble, you and Harry go off and you come back and you stay here, as guests.’

He stopped for a moment and then said, ‘Guests in my place that’s what you are, and most welcome, if you obey the house rules. Number one, don’t screw around with the young one.’ At that moment the cigar ash left the end of the cigar and fell in a crumbly powdery ash down his brother’s shirt-front, he brushed it further down into the fly of his trousers without looking at it.

‘Not worried about you, Alan,’ he said. ‘It’s Harry sniffing around her. I’ve seen him, then he fucks off back to sea, shipped out, and the next thing a couple of Jack’s pals is coming round looking for him, they are coming up the stairs knocking at my door looking for him, putting the frighteners into me and I done nothing—nothing to do with me.’

‘You know what Harry’s like,’ Alan said, ‘No way,’ his brother said, ‘She not going to do it for him. She might cock her arse at him but she not going to give it to him, not to Harry.’

‘Yes, but Harry’s like that. If he fancies the bird he thinks the bird fancies him,’ said Alan.

‘Not with the young one,’ said his brother. ‘She’s a saucy one though. She knows how to take it around. Fancy her myself I’ll tell you.’ He stopped talking and stuck his cigar in his mouth, his elbows leaning on the table his hand holding the cigar to his mouth. ‘Jack’s a hard bastard,’ he murmured.

‘Anyway, I don’t have to worry about Harry for sometime now he’s off back to sea. Her old man should be out by the time Harry gets back.’ He glanced at Alan. ‘See them two kids she has, got that boy he’s about five or six, looks like his old man and the girl, little flirt she is, four years old and a little flirt.’

Alan remained silent thinking about her standing on top of the steps letting him look right up it and the last words of his brother in his ears, ‘Four years old and she’s a little flirt.’ Alan watched the cigar smoke leaving the end of the cigar and drifting up into the ceiling. ‘Don’t think about it,’ said his brother as if he could see Alan looking up at her, ‘This is my gaff,’ he repeated, ‘And I got to live here when you lot are gone.’

Alan could see her standing there, her mouth curved in a smile of amusement, he was almost touching her bare legs and he had never said a word. Why couldn’t he say something. He should have said how nice her legs were, cheeky as hell. She wouldn’t have minded, none of them would mind, they like it, they like to be told they have nice legs or a nice arse or good tits.

His brother lived on the top floor of a Victorian terrace house in Carlton Crescent. The front door opened into a common hallway: doors led off the hallway into her place, a bedroom, the kitchen and a lounge room. The hallway was part of her space. A dark oak stairway led up to the second and top floor. Whenever Alan walked up the stairs and glanced down he would see her kitchen door ajar.

One evening he had looked down the stairway and she was there looking up at him. She was standing in the hallway by her kitchen door. He was taken by surprise, she lifted her head a little back and he could see the soft curve of her throat. She lifted her arm upwards and her hand grasped her long hair. She held it bunched together, her arm bent backwards. The movement lifted her breasts. They gazed at each other in a silence.

He heard a child’s voice, and a cry, she glanced sideways, the moment was broken. He took a step forward and caught his foot on the edge of the stairway and stumbled. The child’s cry echoed in the hallway. He looked down. She had gone.

Her expectant expression and the lift of her breast as she had grasped her long hair aroused in him an unbidden desire. Why did she have to be there looking so bloody good. He resented what she had provoked. There was nothing that he could do about it. He walked slowly up the stairway.

He arrived at the third floor landing and stood in the narrow silent hallway. Nora was not home. He would hear her banging pans and the radio going full blast, and the smell of the chip pan. He glanced at his watch; it was six o’clock, Jim would be in the Black Bull. He would be expecting him to come down to the pub.

He leaned on the banister rail staring across the landing at the stairway wall and the faded rose patterned wallpaper—was it too late—if she heard him would she come to her kitchen door. He moved to the top of the stairway, don’t be a bloody fool, hurry down, open the front door and go on to the Black Bull and meet his brother and have a pint and forget his fantasy. The vision of her remained, tantalizing in its promise, her silent gaze, her uplifted arm and the smooth ivory whiteness of her throat.

He stood in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs: twilight had arrived, a street light gave a soft orange glow through a frosted glass window high above the front door. He saw his shadow thrown across the black and white tiles elongated and menacing a shadow head resting at her doorway. His shadow head moved along the floor and slide up the end wall of the hallway. He was at her kitchen door. He heard faint sounds, the chink of a cup and a plate being put down. He heard her voice and the voice of a child.

He stepped forward into the half open door. He could hear a radio playing. He gently placed his hand upon the kitchen door. At that moment he heard a rattle, the struggle of a key being inserted into a lock, he turned and silently went back down the hallway. He arrived at the foot of the stairway as the front door opened. He stood with his hand upon the banister post watching Nora come through the front door.

She was carrying a string shopping bag. She placed the shopping bag on the black and white tiled floor and took a breather. She had a cauliflower on top of five pounds of spuds, a carton of milk and two bottles of Guinness.

‘Bloody shopping,’ she said, ‘Place packed out at this time of night, should have been ‘ere ages ago.’ She gave herself a little wiggle and a laugh and said, ‘Got me-self a couple of bottles of Guinness to ease the pain. What are you doing ‘ere, anyway Alan, on a Friday night, you should be down at the boozer with Jim.’

‘Just going out,’ he said. ‘Here, let me give you a hand with that.’ He reached out to take hold of the string shopping bag. ‘Bugger off, Alan, Jim is waiting’. Tell him to bring a couple back, I’ll have sunk these two by then.’ Nora picked up her shopping bag and headed for the stairs. As he opened the front door he heard her voice drifting down the stairs, ‘Din, dins in about an hour, let Jim know and get the bastard home on time.’

He walked down the steps and onto the gravel pathway. If Nora had not shown up he would have stepped into her kitchen. He would be there now, with her. He was plunging into the pleasures of her welcoming embrace.

He had not been with anyone since Margaret had gone; he had made no effort to diminish her memory, the days drifting by on each leave. He could not have said what he had done on any one day.

The night air received him with cold sensible fingers chilling his face, he heard himself talking aloud to an empty street, ‘What in the hell am I thinking about, she’s married, two kids and her old man doing time.’ The images refused to fade. He heard himself saying, ‘Stupid bastard, its trouble keep away.’ He hurried himself onwards to the Black Bull, get inside doors, get a pint down and have a laugh with his brother, and forget all about her. He carried his fantasy into the chattering throng of the Black Bull.

He had been back a week. She saw him the first day that he arrived back. She knew it was about this time that he would return. She never knew the exact day but she knew that he would be coming soon. She could not help herself she knew she was being foolish. If there was someone entering the front door she would hurry to the kitchen doorway to see who was coming in. If it was not Alan she would step back into the kitchen and wander about for a minute or two nursing her disappointment, maybe it would be him next time.

It gave her something to look forward to, him coming back, her being alone all day waiting for the time to go and pick up the kids from school. Only Jack’s mates came to see her, they could show up at any old time. They were the minders they came because Jack said so. ‘Keep an eye on her, make sure she is OK.’ She sometimes felt that she was in prison, in the bloody pokey. I may as well be with Jack, couldn’t go out nowhere really, who with?

It was like having a boy friend, someone you waited to see all day long, someone you could talk to; she couldn’t talk to Jack’s mates, couldn’t have a chat with one of them, not the way she wanted to.

Someone you fell in love with. Dear God, what was she thinking about! What would Jack do if he knew what she was thinking?

She had tried it on with him, shown out a bit to him. He should have known, taking a hint: give Danny the nod like that and he would be climbing right in, climbing all over you. He didn’t seem to notice what she was doing, like the other day. She saw him looking down the road. She was hoping he would say something and she could have said something back to him.

She should have given him a wave dead cheeky like, would have done it but he’s not like the rest of them. She sometimes thinks he is somewhere else. He was standing by his motor staring across the road looking at nothing, miles away. Then he’s gone, picked up the bucket and disappeared, could have knocked her over when she came round the corner, and there he was sitting on the steps his head down looking in his bucket. She had waltz up the pathway with the shopping bag in her hand, ten pounds of spuds and a cabbage.

He had looked up into her face; he was miles away, he didn’t see her. One look at him and she knew he wouldn’t do it. She gave him the chance of a good eye full to let him think about. He never moved. She felt a real prick, she could say, showing out to him. He could have said something like, ‘It’s a nice day, been shopping,’ something daft like that, a bit of chat. He was in another world. He was somewhere else.

She wondered if he had a bird she had never seen him with one. One time he hardly came here, if he did he would only stay a day or so and then he’d be gone. He must have had someone he was going to see regular, because he was in and out.

He had a hire car. She was always having a quick look to see what was inside, never nothing there except one time he had a map of Kent on the passenger seat. He must have a bird down there; why else would he have a map of Kent?

One time his brother was really pissed off with him. They were in the hallway and she was listening by the kitchen door. His brother had two tickets for the fights at Shoreditch Town Hall. Joe Bugner was fighting some feller, heavy weight fight, first time at Shoreditch. It was a sell out and his brother had two tickets. His brother got them three weeks before he came back, ‘Almost ring side,’ she heard his brother say. She heard the reply, ‘I can’t go she’s made arrangements, it’s all set up.’

‘All set up’, she heard his brother shouting. ‘What arrangements! Cancel them give her a call and tell her, say you can’t come.’

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t call like that and say he wouldn’t be there. He didn’t know the fight was on, how could he. He was away.

‘You daft bastard Alan, you didn’t know because I didn’t tell you. It was a surprise, two tickets, here!’ His brother had two tickets in his hand; he held them up in the air and waved them about.

She could see them discussing it and his brother shouting, ‘Give her a ring and tell her you’re sick you’ve got the shits, anything. Your motors broke down. She’ll believe you Alan,’ Alan didn’t reply.

‘I’ll do it I’ll give her a bell.’

‘Can’t,’ Alan said. ‘It’s all arranged. We are going out, she set it up. She did it. She got the reservations and everything. I can’t just say I’m not coming.’ His brother was looking at the two tickets in his hand. He was talking to the two tickets, looking down at them.

‘Once in a life time,’ he said, ‘Once in a life time Joe Bugner at Shoreditch Town Hall. Good supporting bouts. That geezer you fancy, middleweight from South London, he’s on. What’s ‘is name.’

‘Watson.’

‘Great night out, have a couple of pints at the Bull bit of Indian nosh and down to Shoreditch all on me, all down to me.’ Alan made a reply but she could not hear what he said.

‘Great night, great tickets, almost sitting in the ring,’ his brother was not shouting, he was talking in a nice voice explaining how the night would be as if they were both going ‘Couple of cigars and all the chat you know how you like all the chat at the fights.’

His brother was smiling and shaking his head at Alan little nods from side to side. There was a moment of silence. Then his brother said, ‘Ruby will be there, you know how you like to chat up Ruby.’

Alan laughed and said, ‘Ruby, you’re the one that likes to chat up Ruby, can’t get near Ruby when you’re about, you’re the one that gets the programs, here darling two for us and have a drink on me and how is Ruby then. All right Ruby, got anything on tonight Ruby. Wouldn’t you like to know, ask Lenny over there, ask Lenny what I got on, and that’s Ruby with her big lips and big smile and poking her tits out for you. And I’ve got to drag you away and into the hall.’ They were both laughing.

‘You’re not going then,’ said his brother.

They were moving down the hallway and almost at the front door and he said, ‘You know I want to go, I can’t go, you know I can’t bloody well go. You know how they are. She’s been planning this for ages. Even wrote it in a letter when I was out there. Italian restaurant, how she found this Italian restaurant out Canterbury way, Venetian Castle or something, she’s into this Italian thing. She’s done the booking. Shit will fly if I don’t show up.’

The door was closing and their voices faded into the night, she heard his brother saying, ‘You’re not going then?’

She was hoping that he would go to the fights with his brother and not go to this Italian restaurant with this bird. That was months ago, she remembered it because it was the first time she knew that he had someone.

Things go round and round in your head, they come up without you thinking about it, can’t stop them, I’m talking to myself half the time, walking about in the kitchen and in the bedroom.

Well, she’d make him look up, she’d make him bloody well see her. She’d not tried it out on him, not really. She’d make his suntanned head spin. You see if I don’t, it will be a bit more than him sitting on the steps. He would know she was there, that’s for sure.

‘What did you say mum?’ She heard Charlie say. ‘Nothing Charlie, talking to myself.’

‘I heard you mum,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing Charlie I live in a fantasy world.’

‘What’s that mum?’

‘Something you make up and don’t believe in Charlie, and something you believe in and you know won’t happen.’

Charlie’s upturned anxious face pained her heart. She drew him to her and pressed him close and stroked his hair to quell the guilt that came and clung to her with persistent fingers. It deepened her loneliness. What was she thinking? This was her life, waiting to welcome the return of a stranger, excited at his approach. Dear God! Why was she looking at this man? She had never looked upon another man her eyes had been only for her Jack.

2

Jack had been gone nine months. They had him locked up. He’d done time before, got twelve months and she had managed OK, but this time it was different. She could see no sense in it. She hadn’t got married to be alone the days dragging by in an endless procession of waiting. She had given up counting the days, the day when Jack would come home. The thought had occurred to her, I’m getting old. She smiled wryly to herself. It was true everyone is getting old.

He got eighteen months this time, resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. It was really thieving, car theft, stealing motors, doing them up, new paint job and then flogging them.

The police had come here one time and said he was up to his neck. He had quite an organization they said. What did she know about it? ‘Bugger all’, she said. Jack never told her anything, Jack was real tight mouth about what he was up to. He was always out and about, and sometimes he was away for a few nights, gone on business he said. She knew that he was in the nicked motor trade. He did a few deals on the side that came up with the nicked motor trade, deals that she knew was deep stuff, she closed her mind to it, she did not want to know this stuff.

When he came back he’d have a wad of the readies as big as a shit house roll. He’d have money stuffed all over him. He’d stick his hand in and come up with a bundle, and he’d say, ‘Here ducks, go and buy something for yourself,’ and he’d shove a roll in her hand. It was a laugh for him, he loved it: he was having a bit of a show-off, showing off for her.

When he came home he’d come in whistling and go whistling all over the house. He’d be in the loo sitting down whistling and singing pretending he was Tony Bennett, she liked it when he was about whistling and singing the place was alive and he was fun. It was like the place was lit up.

He was real generous, was Jack. When he had it he liked to throw it about, ‘What is it for ducks,’ he would say, ‘I’m not leaving it about for someone else to piss it up a wall.’

He would get in his motor, he had one of them big Ford motors, and take her down to the Bull all done up, him and her. His mates would be in the Bull standing at the bar, dark suits on, short haircuts, just like Jack, real smart. They would be drinking double scotch and a pint on the side and really pleased to see Jack, and nice to her, like gentlemen. ‘Same Jack, and what’s the missus have in,’ real polite. They were all in it together you could see that.

If Jack was in the mood they would go to one of the clubs in the West-End. Jack knew all the clubs. Everybody knew Jack, everybody coming over and giving Jack the nod, ‘All right Jack, having a drink Jack, one on me Jack,’ and slapping him on the back and putting an arm round his shoulder.

Then it was down to one of them flash restaurants: champagne all round that was the first thing Jack had them bring. He could handle them waiters; there was always a big tip on the plate from Jack. It was a laugh, he was great for a laugh; he had these stories he could tell, he could go on forever.

Jack had a thing about steaks the best for Jack—prime rib. He would have the waiter bring one on a wooden board and Jack would take a look. Jack didn’t take the first one, not Jack he would he have them bring a few out, medium rare for Jack, that’s how he liked it.

Then it would be cigars. Jack would look them over and take one out, and give it a sniff, and roll it around in his fingers, and if he didn’t fancy it, it would go back in the box and he’d have another one. The bloke holding the box would be all attentive and listening to Jack and nodding his head. She loved to watch him, she was real proud of him—her Jack.

Jack would order a round of brandies and they would be sitting there with big glasses of brandy swirling it around and smoking cigars. They never let on what they were up to: it was never mentioned. They could have been a bunch of pals come up on the horses, or won a bit on the pools, all high spirited.

Jack would get on the dance floor and dance with her. Jack was a good dancer. He knew how to do it real smooth. He knew how to hold a lady, he’d hold her real close and round they would go, and she would put her head on his shoulder and she could smell the cigars and his aftershave.

It was her Jack, and all she wanted was to be with him, and for him to hold her like this forever and go round and round with that dreamy music. She loved him. She really loved her Jack.

Then, he got banged up. Eighteen months, that’s what they gave him, resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer. He came into court with a real shiner. But, Jack never resisted arrest. Jack said he was not that bloody stupid: he never assaulted a police officer. It was a set up, Jack was having a night off and going down to the dog track to watch the dogs run. Jack was driving a legitimate motor. He was on Blackfriars Road and there they were, one in front, one up his arse, blue flasher going. ‘Pull over driver.’ They got out mob handed, four of them. Jack was stepping out the car when they rushed him; they had Jack over the bonnet. ‘Have a word with you Jack.’

They took him down to the local nick, looked Jack over, tried to get him to say what they wanted to hear. They were right choked off when they found it was a legitimate motor. Jack was driving a hire car. His own motor was having a new clutch job. He was fixing it up himself. It was one of those things, he didn’t have a spare nicked motor.

They couldn’t get anything out of Jack, they knew Jack was into it, they knew his lark, they knew what Jack was up to. ‘No incriminating evidence, only circumstantial stuff never stand up in court,’ said Jack. He said that before they ever collared him. ‘I’ve got it all squared away. I’m the mover, the organizer, that’s what I do like any business bloke—the Managing Director.’

Some of this stuff she heard when she went up to the court and listening to the general chat from his mates. She knew most of it. She never got it from Jack, not direct, kept listening, that’s what she did, kept her ears open. A word might come out when they were chatting over their cigars and brandy, or when they were having a pint, and the stuff you hear when you’re hanging around being his wife.

She’d heard them standing in the boozer talking, laughing, making jokes. She heard them on about a bit of violence, they had fixed up some bloke, broken arm, bust up leg, used a razor on some one once, never heard what they had done, what they had been done over for. Intimidation that’s what she’d heard Jack say one time, ‘Got to do the business, don’t hang about else you’ll loose it, or they’ll be coming at you, climbing all over your arse and you’re the one that gets the stick, jump in first, real quick.’

She’d stand there listening to it, pretending not to hear it. They forgot she was there, bits of conversation came to her through the smoky air and the babble of pub voices, bits she put together, joined up, couldn’t make sense out of it sometimes. The one about the razor got a laugh, she heard the word effective, better than a broken leg.

Someone said something she could not hear and there was a burst of laughter, they laughed all together, all at once, five or six of them, Jack’s mob. People turned round in the pub to look at them. There was Jack, happy, his face flushed, a bit sweaty, with his mates. He was pleased with himself you could see that.

Most time they never gave out anything, never hear any direct talk about what they were doing, it came out here and there. She was standing about, not taking any notice, more interested in her over there, interested in what she had on, what she was wearing, having a look at her hair do, and where she had it done, and which feller she was with. She didn’t want to hear what they were saying it scared her.

Jack might say something in bed, a bit of macho from Jack. He didn’t need to say things like that, Jack didn’t need to be mister big in bed he didn’t need that. It was only once in a while when a good one came up and he was feeling good and he had to show a little pride, showing off to her. But, when Jack was Jack he was bloody closed mouthed and never said nothing. They put a lot of work on fixing up Jack but it all came unstuck.

This jock police sergeant came up with the idea that Jack was resisting arrest: Jack had assaulted one of his officers in the course of his duty. They roughed Jack up a bit and the next morning when Jack showed up in the magistrates court he had a lovely shiner to prove that he had resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer. The magistrate read the riot act. It was all sown up and Jack got eighteen months.

Jack says, ‘Bit of good behaviour ducks, don’t worry be out in fourteen months.’ Fourteen months if he was a good boy!

Jack says, ‘They’ll look after you, they’ll keep an eye on you. The firms still in business, a new office that’s all, change of address courtesy of Her Majesty,’ and Jack gave that carefree laugh of his as if it was all bloody fun and he was going down to a new job in the Strand and he’s coming home every night. Then, he says, ‘Don’t worry about the readies Liz. Johnny will get you what you want, make sure you have a quid and the rent is paid. Johnny will keep in touch, keep an eye on things, make sure you are OK.’ Jack gave her that look that took all the anger out of her and all she wanted him to do was for him to get hold of her and put his arms round her. She heard Jack say ‘I could fix a bonus, never know, we all might get lucky and hit the jackpot. We’ll get out of that dump and buy a real