page.
‘No way,’ Peg said, smiling.
At last, things were beginning to look up.
With sherries drunk, glasses washed up and put away, and Jean visited, Peg finally left the bungalow. She studiously ignored Mrs Cairns, who came out of her front door as she passed, her nagging gears clearly engaged and ready for action.
The unfamiliar sensation of a springy step carried her all the way to the station, fuelled by the knowledge that she had a Flamingos drinks mat and the old A to Z in her rucksack.
She had a lead to her father. At last she had a lead. And she knew where she was off to in the morning . . .
As she stepped out into the road, a white van cruised past. All she could see of the driver in the dark was that he was bald, big and black. But those three features stirred something inside her and she paused for a minute, trying to work out what on earth it could be.
Seven
The shabby, cut-out flamingo cast a supercilious eye down on her. The door he straddled with his long legs was locked and unresponsive to her knocks. He seemed to be mocking her for the naive hope which had propelled her to this grimy alley off Tooley Street.
Perhaps she should’ve come the night before, straight from Tankerton. Nightclub: the clue was in the name. But it had been late, she had wanted to get back to see Loz, and, with her DMs, hairdo and lack of ID, she wouldn’t have got past the doorman anyway.
Besides which, this place looked as if it was not only closed, but closed down.
She sat heavily on the dog-end-littered steps and put her head in her hands. Having made the mistake of allowing herself a shred of hope, she had really thought she was on to something. The cold of the concrete bit into her, and she shivered with uselessness.
‘Are you all right, love?’
Peg looked up and saw a middle-aged woman peering down at her, puffing on a cigarette. Swamped by a big puffa coat, she was too skinny and had a front tooth missing. But above their sunken dark circles, and beyond a taint of sadness, her eyes were warm and brown. Motherly, Peg thought.
Like my mother’s eyes?
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Peg said, embarrassed at being caught out at a low ebb. She rubbed her cold, blue fingers together, regretting that she hadn’t brought gloves with her. ‘Thanks.’
‘Well you’ll have to move, girl, because I got to get in there.’ The woman ground her cigarette into the pavement and gestured at the doorway with a bunch of keys she had pulled out of her canvas shopper.
Peg jumped up, propelled partly by a small leap of hope. ‘Are you something to do with Flamingos?’
The woman stood back and looked Peg up and down. ‘Yes. But I can tell you here and now, if you looking for a job, don’t bother. You’re not the Flamingos type. Not by a long shot.’
‘Oh no,’ Peg said, touching her shorn head and smiling. ‘I’m not looking for a job, thanks.’
‘What you want then?’ the woman said, one hand on the door. ‘I gotta get in there and get it clean for tonight.’
The woman was nearly as tall as Peg, and behind her air of damage there was a remnant of something more commanding about her – something that made Peg feel she could trust her. Besides which, she was the only thing standing between her and a wasted journey.
‘I think my dad works here. Or used to.’
The woman looked at her through the corners of her eyes. ‘So?’
‘I haven’t seen him since I was little and now my nan’s really ill and I want him to see her before—’ Peg didn’t know why she was telling all this to a complete stranger, but the relief of doing so brought the tears to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to force them back and failing. She hugged herself and stamped on the icy pavement.
The woman sucked her teeth and glanced up and down the alley.
‘Look, it’s freezing out here. Come on in and I’ll make us both a cuppa and you can tell me all about it. And you can give me a lift with the bar shutters.
‘No way,’ Peg said, smiling.
At last, things were beginning to look up.
With sherries drunk, glasses washed up and put away, and Jean visited, Peg finally left the bungalow. She studiously ignored Mrs Cairns, who came out of her front door as she passed, her nagging gears clearly engaged and ready for action.
The unfamiliar sensation of a springy step carried her all the way to the station, fuelled by the knowledge that she had a Flamingos drinks mat and the old A to Z in her rucksack.
She had a lead to her father. At last she had a lead. And she knew where she was off to in the morning . . .
As she stepped out into the road, a white van cruised past. All she could see of the driver in the dark was that he was bald, big and black. But those three features stirred something inside her and she paused for a minute, trying to work out what on earth it could be.
Seven
The shabby, cut-out flamingo cast a supercilious eye down on her. The door he straddled with his long legs was locked and unresponsive to her knocks. He seemed to be mocking her for the naive hope which had propelled her to this grimy alley off Tooley Street.
Perhaps she should’ve come the night before, straight from Tankerton. Nightclub: the clue was in the name. But it had been late, she had wanted to get back to see Loz, and, with her DMs, hairdo and lack of ID, she wouldn’t have got past the doorman anyway.
Besides which, this place looked as if it was not only closed, but closed down.
She sat heavily on the dog-end-littered steps and put her head in her hands. Having made the mistake of allowing herself a shred of hope, she had really thought she was on to something. The cold of the concrete bit into her, and she shivered with uselessness.
‘Are you all right, love?’
Peg looked up and saw a middle-aged woman peering down at her, puffing on a cigarette. Swamped by a big puffa coat, she was too skinny and had a front tooth missing. But above their sunken dark circles, and beyond a taint of sadness, her eyes were warm and brown. Motherly, Peg thought.
Like my mother’s eyes?
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Peg said, embarrassed at being caught out at a low ebb. She rubbed her cold, blue fingers together, regretting that she hadn’t brought gloves with her. ‘Thanks.’
‘Well you’ll have to move, girl, because I got to get in there.’ The woman ground her cigarette into the pavement and gestured at the doorway with a bunch of keys she had pulled out of her canvas shopper.
Peg jumped up, propelled partly by a small leap of hope. ‘Are you something to do with Flamingos?’
The woman stood back and looked Peg up and down. ‘Yes. But I can tell you here and now, if you looking for a job, don’t bother. You’re not the Flamingos type. Not by a long shot.’
‘Oh no,’ Peg said, touching her shorn head and smiling. ‘I’m not looking for a job, thanks.’
‘What you want then?’ the woman said, one hand on the door. ‘I gotta get in there and get it clean for tonight.’
The woman was nearly as tall as Peg, and behind her air of damage there was a remnant of something more commanding about her – something that made Peg feel she could trust her. Besides which, she was the only thing standing between her and a wasted journey.
‘I think my dad works here. Or used to.’
The woman looked at her through the corners of her eyes. ‘So?’
‘I haven’t seen him since I was little and now my nan’s really ill and I want him to see her before—’ Peg didn’t know why she was telling all this to a complete stranger, but the relief of doing so brought the tears to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to force them back and failing. She hugged herself and stamped on the icy pavement.
The woman sucked her teeth and glanced up and down the alley.
‘Look, it’s freezing out here. Come on in and I’ll make us both a cuppa and you can tell me all about it. And you can give me a lift with the bar shutters.
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