Charlie

  She picked up an abandoned tee-shirt from the bed and sniffed it. It still held a faint whiff of Brut aftershave, and the poignant smell was one she recognized as one which often clung to her skin after bouts of love-making. As she held it to her cheek, tears welled up in her eyes. Carol, Stan and John might think he was off somewhere sleeping off a hangover. She knew better. A sixth sense told her he was in some sort of danger.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Charlie was up in Andrew’s room for some time. She found his diary, but the only entry for the previous day merely said 3.00 Shepherd’s Bush. For today, however, he had drawn a heart with the words Charlie’s coming home inside it. Firm evidence, she thought, that he wouldn’t disappear intentionally.

  His home telephone number was in the front of the diary, but she was loath to rush into phoning his mother just yet. Then she found a notebook under the edge of his bed.

  She might have just shoved it back imagining he was trying his hand at writing a play, for the first thing she read was: ‘Alf – fruit and veg stall. 60ish. ex-bookie’s runner’. But as she read on she realized this wasn’t a fictional character, but someone he’d interviewed in Soho.

  When she got to ‘Spud’, the ex-boxer, and discovered this man not only drank in the Lotus Club but knew her father and Sylvia, she felt elated. But Andrew’s notes were too cryptic to follow, many names mentioned by ‘Alf’ being repeated. But, ‘Didn’t know DeeDee’ and ‘Holland’ seemed to be of some importance to him because he’d underlined them. She wished he’d been more specific.

  The next two pages were about ‘Angie’. Judging by her potted history, from seamstress in Charing Cross Road in the early Fifties to finally ending up working as a prostitute in Soho, Andrew had spent some time with her.

  Charlie had the feeling he’d liked this woman, even though his description – forty-plus, bleached blonde, blowsy, with missing teeth – sounded appalling. He’d even mentioned she had three children and her home address in Mornington Crescent.

  His notes then went on to a list, clearly things Angie had told him which were particularly relevant. She knew both Jin and Sylvia. Worked at the club for a while. At the club on the night of Charlie’s birth. Sylvia was the best stripper, better than any of the trained dancers. Said police came looking for Jin two years ago. Heard from a friend he’d been killed in Holland. DeeDee got her the sack.

  The part about Holland made her turn back to the notes on Spud. She thought if two people had both specified the same place there had to be at least a grain of truth in it.

  But when she saw the last underlined item on Angie’s page, ‘DeeDee calls herself Miss Dexter now’, her elation turned to a chill.

  During her stay in York Charlie had thought carefully about everything Rita had told her and she’d decided that Rita was probably letting her imagination run away with her, thinking DeeDee and Daphne Dexter were the same woman. It seemed too far-fetched, even a little hysterical. But now, faced with this confirmation, she was stunned.

  Andrew had written a few footnotes at the bottom of the page. ‘Angie described Miss Dexter as an octopus with a tentacle in everything. Doesn’t know where she is now. Refused to discuss her further. Afraid of repercussions.’

  The only other thing of interest in the room was a badly written and misspelled letter from someone called Julie. Charlie thought it was almost certainly the one John said was from a crank. As he had said Andrew had received two letters, and she couldn’t find the second one, it seemed likely the appointment he had in Shepherd’s Bush was with the sender of the second. She was just about to go back down to the bar when she spotted his A to Z of London lying on top of the pile of books.

  Andrew had once joked that London’s A to Z was his bible, and she’d often seen him marking places he had to go to with a small cross. Turning to the Shepherd’s Bush page, she scanned it quickly. There were three crosses on that page, one on the junction of Askew and Starfield Roads, one in Hammersmith Road and one in a tiny turning off the Goldhawk Road called Tittmus Street.

  ‘Damn you, Andrew,’ she said aloud. ‘How am I supposed to guess which one you went to?’

  Charlie went back downstairs with Andrew’s notes and the A to Z in her handbag. Carol was busy behind the bar but she looked up as Charlie came in. ‘Any luck?’ she called out.

  Apart from the fact that Carol was rushed off her feet, and probably would remain so until closing time, Charlie had already made up her mind that it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to explain anything she’d found upstairs. Andrew might turn up, and if he did he wouldn’t be pleased to discover his private business had been bandied around.

  ‘I’ve found his mother’s telephone number,’ Charlie said, handing over a piece of paper with it written down, along with her own. ‘I’m going to see a friend of his now, then I’ll go on home. If you do hear anything, could you ring me?’

  ‘I’m quite sure he’ll be back this evening, so I won’t attempt to phone his mum before that,’ Carol said. She didn’t look unduly troubled, perhaps because she’d been through this kind of absenteeism with other staff before. ‘Andrew’s normally a sensible lad, so I’m sure there’s a very good reason he hasn’t phoned in. So stop worrying about him. I’ll get him to ring you the moment he comes in.’

  Half an hour later Charlie was in Mornington Crescent climbing the stairs of a dismal block of council flats. The flats were relatively new, built in the early Sixties, but the lift was out of order and the stairs were rubbish-strewn, stinking of urine and stale vomit. From every direction her ears were bombarded with noise: children running up and down the concrete landings, loud music, people yelling, babies screaming. She was just stepping out on to Angie’s landing when a small group of young louts came hurtling by her, pushing her hard against the concrete balustrade. She thought it must be a nightmare to live in such a place. Even looking down from the landing there was nothing to cheer her, just a view of many more huge tower blocks identical to this one, and bald, brown grass in between.

  A little girl of about eight answered the door at number 140; she was a skinny blonde with blue eyes and a slight squint. She smiled shyly and revealed her front teeth were missing.

  ‘Could I speak to your Mummy?’ Charlie asked.

  The girl didn’t go back into the flat, but yelled to her mother from the door. Seconds later a woman appeared in the narrow hall, cigarette in hand, a questioning expression on her face.

  Although Andrew’s description of this woman had made her sound like a stereotyped ageing prostitute, to Charlie’s surprise she looked no different to any other working-class mother. Her hair was in rollers, she wore no makeup, and her stretch ski-pants, slippers and shirt were comfortingly ordinary.

  ‘I’m very sorry to call on you like this,’ Charlie said. ‘But I’m looking for my boyfriend Andrew Blake. I know he spoke to you just recently because I found your address among his things and I hoped you might know something which might help me to find him. He’s gone missing, you see.’

  ‘Whatcha mean, gone missing?’ the woman said, staring hard at Charlie. ‘Two days, three, or longer?’

  ‘He went out yesterday afternoon to see someone, and he didn’t go back to the pub where he works last night,’ Charlie said. She felt nervous faced with the woman’s hostile stare. ‘I know that’s not long, but it’s a bit strange. You see, he’s always very reliable.’

  The woman didn’t speak immediately, just drew deeply on her cigarette and frowned at Charlie. ‘You look familiar,’ she said at length, then quite suddenly and unexpectedly chuckled. ‘I know! You gotta be Jin Weish’s daughter. So that’s why Andrew wanted to know all that stuff about his club! I thought it were a bit funny. Well I never!’

  Charlie blushed. Her Chinese appearance was unusual enough to focus anyone’s mind very quickly, but she hadn’t for one moment expected that someone who knew her father some eighteen years ago would instantly connect that she was his daughter. Yet it pleased her; judging by the wa
rmth of the woman’s smile, she must have liked Jin and known him quite well.

  ‘You’re pretty quick,’ she said admiringly. ‘I am Charlie Weish. Can you spare me a few moments?’

  ‘Of course I can, ducks,’ Angie said, then taking a step nearer to Charlie she whispered, ‘But just mind what you say in front of the kids.’

  Once inside the living room Charlie’s nervousness vanished. It wasn’t the kind of squalid place she’d expected, but clean, bright and very homely. The little girl was playing with a Barbie doll on the floor, a boy of about eleven who also had blond hair was doing a jigsaw at the table by the window.

  ‘This is Tina, and that’s Karl,’ Angie said. ‘There’s Keith too but he’s out playing football. He’s fifteen and you can’t keep them in at that age.’

  Charlie sensed by that statement that Angie did her best for her children, and warmed to her. Before saying anything more she knelt down by Tina and admired her doll, then went over to Karl and told him she loved jigsaws too.

  ‘Your mummy used to know my parents a long time ago,’ she said, ruffling his hair. ‘So I hope you don’t mind me butting in this afternoon.’

  ‘Of course they don’t,’ Angie said. ‘Come out in the kitchen with me while I make some tea, love, we can ’ave a chat there.’

  They went into the kitchen. Angie put the kettle on and then sat down opposite Charlie at the table. ‘Now, before we go any further,’ she said sternly, ‘suppose you start by telling me the real reason Andrew asked me all those questions.’

  Faced with someone who was clearly as sharp as razors, Charlie saw no point in prevaricating. She stated simply that she and Andrew had wanted to know the truth about Jin’s disappearance and then went on to explain the events of two years earlier.

  Angie looked stricken as she heard about Sylvia’s legs being crushed by the men. When Charlie finally reached the point of her mother’s suicide, she wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I’m so sorry, love.’ Reaching out she took Charlie’s hand and patted it comfortingly between her two. ‘That’s just about the worst thing I’ve ever heard. But I ’ave to say right now, same as I told Andrew, I did ’ear a rumour that your dad got done in, in ‘Olland. I really ’ope that ain’t true for your sake, but to my mind that’s far more likely than ’im running off with another woman. Your dad weren’t the kind to do that, and he wouldn’t run from trouble either.’

  Charlie didn’t really know how to take that. Was it worse to hear he’d been killed, or that he’d cast off his responsibilities and family to start a new life?

  Angie seemed to sense what she felt because she patted her shoulder. ‘There’s always rumours in Soho, love. If I weren’t seen for a coupla weeks they’d say I’d bin done in an’ all. So don’t take that as gospel. But to get back to yer mum! Well, I’m ’eart-sick about ’er. I always liked ’er. She didn’t deserve such an end. And you, you’re just a kid yerself. ’Ow you been managing?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ Charlie said, touched that the woman had so much compassion when her own life fell very short of being perfect. ‘I’m working and living in London now. But you see, I was away in York when Andrew started this, I suppose he wanted to surprise me, and now he’s disappeared. I’m really worried about him, Angie. Did he mention anyone else he was going to see?’

  ‘No love, ’e never.’ Angie shook her head. ‘’E said when I first met ’im that ’e was on ’is way to see someone. But ’e never said who it were. I met ’im again the day after. He took me to Lyons Corner ’Ouse for an ice cream and we chatted. Lovely lad he was. ’E did ask if ’e could some ’ere to talk to me again. But that’s all.’

  ‘He had written some notes about you, that’s where I found your address, and it said you got the sack from the Lotus Club because of DeeDee. Then he’d written that she’s now known as Miss Dexter.’

  Angie looked very uncomfortable suddenly, her eyes narrowed and she seemed to tense up.

  ‘I’m sorry to bring it up. He’s written too that you didn’t want to talk about her. But was it Daphne Dexter?’

  Angie looked startled. ‘’Ow on earth did you know that? I never told Andrew her Christian name!’

  ‘A friend told me,’ Charlie said.

  Angie lit another cigarette and offered one to Charlie.

  ‘I don’t smoke, thank you,’ Charlie said. ‘Was Daphne Dexter my father’s mistress?’

  Angie got up to make a pot of tea and as she didn’t answer the question and seemed very nervous, Charlie surmised she was stalling purposely.

  ‘Anything you tell me is just between us,’ Charlie reassured her. ‘All I care about at this moment is what’s happened to Andrew. I’m just trying to get the full picture because the friend who gave me her Christian name told me Daphne was dangerous.’

  ‘So she is. My life wouldn’t be worth tuppence if it got out I’d been talking about ’er,’ Angie said sharply, putting the teapot on the table. ‘When I first met yer mum, she and DeeDee, Miss Dexter, whatever you want to call ’er, were mates. Good mates, real close. So when I ’eard a whisper that yer dad was ’aving it off with ’er later on I didn’t believe it. But then when he gave ’er his club, it seemed it could be true, and from then on she was off like a rocket, a finger in every piece of action going.’

  ‘Is she still around? I mean, in Soho?’

  Angie gave a hollow, humourless laugh, and took two mugs down off a hook. ‘’Er spies are still there,’ she said. ‘But she ain’t got no business left in Soho now. Mayfair’s more ’er scene.’

  Charlie sensed Angie had no intention of telling her any more about the woman, so she thought she’d try another tack. ‘Do you know someone called “Spud”? He’s an ex-boxer. I think that’s the person Andrew was going to see when he met you.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Angie exclaimed, clattering the mugs. ‘I ’ope ’e didn’t tell ’im too much. Spud’ll grass up anyone for a fiver. ’E’s a drunk, a loser and a slimy bastard.’

  She poured out the tea in silence and Charlie sensed she was mulling something over in her mind. She thought she knew what it was.

  ‘Look, Angie,’ Charlie said in a small voice. ‘Andrew didn’t know about Miss Dexter, not until you told him, and that was the day after he’d seen Spud. In Andrew’s notes he’d put that Spud didn’t know DeeDee. Do you think Spud was lying?’

  ‘’Course he was!’ she exclaimed. ‘’E were in the Lotus most every night in those days.’

  Charlie mulled that over. ‘Well, if Spud denied knowing her, perhaps that was because he didn’t want to get in Miss Dexter’s bad books either?’

  ‘Sounds about right,’ she said.

  ‘Well then. Might he have gone to her and warned her someone was asking questions?’

  ‘Very likely. Like I said, ’e’s the sort to do anything for a fiver.’

  ‘Do you think it might bother her enough to get hold of Andrew somehow?’

  There was a moment or two of silence when Angie just stared at Charlie, her pale blue eyes suddenly darker with anxiety.

  ‘I can’t ’elp you. Go to the police.’ She made a despairing gesture with her hands. ‘Tell ’em everything you’ve told me. Once you’ve bin to the station, go ’ome and stay there. Don’t you even think of wandering around asking any more questions. It ain’t safe.’

  Charlie was stunned. Although she knew nothing about London’s underworld, she was aware women in Angie’s position weren’t normally inclined to suggest visits to the police. Was this because she knew Daphne Dexter had a hand in Jin’s disappearance?

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed, struggling to keep her composure. ‘But if you hear anything more on the grapevine, will you ring me and tell me?’

  Angie shook her head. ‘No, I daren’t. I’ve got my kids’ safety to think of. Forget you ever spoke to me, don’t come ’ere again, and don’t you dare tell the fuzz you’ve bin ’ere either.’

  As Charlie looked into Angie’s frightened eyes, all at once she understood why Andrew had written
that phrase ‘having her tentacles into everything’ in his notebook. Daphne Dexter had got Rita’s silence by threatening to hurt her son. Angie knew her children could be in danger too, because that’s the way Miss Dexter controlled people. She was certain then that the woman had got hold of Andrew.

  ‘I promise I’ll never mention your name to anyone,’ Charlie said in little more than a whisper. ‘I can’t thank you enough for your help.’

  ‘I ain’t done nothing to ’elp,’ Angie retorted, finally pouring the tea.

  ‘You have,’ Charlie said. She was on the verge of tears now, because at last a shaft of light had been shone on the events of two years earlier. ‘You see, Mum used to have these black moods, I always thought she didn’t care about me much. When those men hurt her she made out she knew nothing, not who they were, or why they did it. I always thought she was protecting Dad. But she wasn’t, was she? She was protecting me?’

  ‘’Course she was,’ Angie said without any hesitation. ‘I don’t think there’s a mum in the world what wouldn’t fight to the death for her kids. And your mum put you first right from the start. She never worked in the club after you was born, she made sure you was kept right away from all that stuff. She wanted sommat better for you than what she ’ad.’

  ‘I never realized that,’ Charlie said, and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I always had the idea I kind of spoiled her life.’

  ‘That’s rubbish, you made her life,’ Angie said fiercely. ‘I don’t know what went on after ’er and Jin moved away from London, maybe she ’ad the black moods ’cos of what Jin were up to. But I can tell you she ’ad a good ’eart. See, I did see you when you was a baby, only once, but I ain’t forgotten it.’

  ‘Will you tell me about it?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘It were outside Dickins and Jones in Regent Street. Yer mum was pushing you in yer pram, you was about fourteen months. I was in a bad way then, drinking ’eavy, not looking after meself. I’d lost me first child, you see, just a few months before. Stillborn she was, they reckoned it was from a kicking I got from me old man, anyway I went up to yer mum and asked if I could ’old you. I thought she’d tell me to get lost, most would. But she didn’t. She lifted you out and put you in me arms.’