Life Goes On by Alan Sillitoe Page B

‘Bloody hell, so it is.’
    â€˜We’ll hide you in Blaskin’s flat, just behind Harrods. Very good for shopping. Their Chelsea buns are second to none. Not to mention the sausages. You can even buy a dressing gown if you want to go for a walk.’
    He was impatient. ‘Will your old man mind?’
    â€˜If he does though, you’re made. He’s an eminent novelist.’
    â€˜I know. I’ve met him, though I don’t suppose he’ll remember the occasion. It was in the railway station at Upper Mayhem the first time he came to see you there. He nearly went mad with pleasure when he climbed the iron ladder to get at the railway signal. He set it to derail the London express because he thought his publisher was on it, then burst into tears when you told him the line had been closed two years. I’ve never heard such language about poor old Beeching. It was all your fault though that he was so upset. I don’t think I’ve known anybody as callous as you. The things you’ve done.’
    â€˜He wasn’t upset. He’s a novelist, don’t forget. He was just dying with chagrin, but he wasn’t by any means upset. If he got upset he wouldn’t be able to describe the situation in a novel. He’s far too canny to get so upset that he couldn’t write about it.’
    Bill looked worried. ‘I hope he doesn’t write about me if he catches me hiding in his flat.’
    I squashed a bug on the table. Bill dropped one in his vodka and it died immediately. ‘He may write about the situation in ten years. But he won’t know you’re there. He’s got the top flat these days, and there’s an attic he never goes to. With a bed and a pisspot, you can hide there for as long as you like.’
    He gripped my elbow as though to break it. ‘Michael, I know that some poor Jews had to hide like that in the war from the Germans, but I couldn’t take it.’ He pointed to his temple. ‘I’ve seen that house in Amsterdam where Anne Frank lived. I’m not that strong. I’d go ga-ga after half an hour.’
    â€˜All right,’ I said. ‘Die. I suppose I’ll be sorry if you do, but I’ll have done my best, so you won’t be on my conscience when I read about them fishing ossobuco from Battersea pond, Peking duck from Putney Reach, and searching vainly for the plain roast beef.’ I stood up to go. ‘I know Blaskin’s loft isn’t Claridge’s, but at least it’s central and you can almost stand up in it. Try it for a few days. What have you got to lose?’
    I was bored with the situation and wanted to get back to Upper Mayhem to see if there was any sign of Bridgitte and the children. I was missing my pall of misery, because I thought, in my superstitious fashion, that being steeped in agony for lack of her might bring her back quicker than if I stayed to have a good time in Soho.
    He squashed another bug, then pulled me back into my chair. ‘All right. I’ll do it. And I appreciate it. But I’ve got a request to make, and I hope you’ll say yes.’
    â€˜The answer’s no.’
    â€˜You haven’t heard it yet.’
    â€˜You’ve got several score of the most ruthless mobsters in London after you, and you’re making conditions.’
    â€˜No,’ he said, ‘I’m finding you a job. I heard a couple of blokes say yesterday that Moggerhanger wanted another chauffeur. Why don’t you apply for the post? He’s good to his employees. You worked for him before, didn’t you? No, don’t take it like that. Sit down, old son.’
    I did, before I fell. ‘That was ten years ago, and I ended up in prison.’
    â€˜Didn’t we all? You got mixed up with Jack Leningrad. And you shagged Moggerhanger’s daughter. I don’t know which was worse in his eyes. But Polly’s married now, and Jack Leningrad’s moved to