Before and After by Laura Lockington Page A

that odd, but you wouldn’t leave a stack of cash lying casually around, would you? I left the bedroom and sailed downstairs, already fancying I could feel the wind under my tail so to speak. Maria was glancing longingly at the kitchen clock, no doubt counting the seconds till we were gone and she could fall down in joyful devotion at the altar of the architecturally challenged Church of the Penitents in St Johns Wood. I gather the priest there, a certain Father Absolom, made a small fortune in selling communion wine to local Polish restaurants, and also had a nice line in passing on the rosaries that Mishka, Maria’s religious artefact pimp, dealt with. Father Absolom had been moved from pillar to post in his calling, the move usually came about when some of his parishioners heard about some of his peculiarities with choir boys. I knew all this and still did not tell Maria. Breaking her faith would have been as easy as removing a cherry stone from a pot of her jam. No fun in it at all.
    The rest of the Ambles were collecting accoutrements for the journey, so I sat on the stairs consoling Marmaduke.
    “Don’t worry, I’ve left some salt beef for you in your bowl, and I think that the poodle next door is about to come into season. With all of us gone you can indulge yourself, hmm?” I whispered, stroking his ears. Marmaduke’s heartbreakingly kind but admittedly rather daft eyes lovingly stared back at me. He very nearly winked, I swear.
    “Don’t worry Marmaduke, I’ll send them back home safe and sound. Well, some of them anyway.” I whispered into his golden ruff of curls. Being a dog he responded as dogs tend to do. He licked my hand.
     

 
     
    Rule Number Eight
     
    “ When moving from one place to another — whether through a room or across a continent or ocean — it is vital to keep your insides still . Composure is the key to successful travel . Which is why public transport must be avoided — at all costs .”
     
    Victoria Station was the usual awfully crowded mayhem composed of harassed families, amiable and not so amiable drunks, business people, and the early morning shift of unprofessional rent boys out and about on a Saturday morning. Sylvia looked more than nervous and stood as close to Archie as she could get without actually touching him. A Big Issue seller practically gave her the screaming abdabs. Hal took on the swaggering assurance of the young middle class male who truly believes that because they have a few urban rap CDs in their collection that they are down with the homeboys. He condescendingly explained to his mother what it was the Big Issue seller was selling, and Sylvia immediately scrabbled in her bag for some change, but Archie put a manly stop to that nonsense by giving the vendor a lordly note from his wallet. Bella clutched her multi coloured woollen hat to herself and gazed longingly at the freshly baked cookie stand.
    The train was at platform seventeen, and we all trooped on board, Sylvia bravely facing the rigours of a classless carriage. A huge family of Africans were negotiating an impressive array of battered luggage, bearing Gatwick tags that got tangled up in Archie’s legs, causing him to flush with annoyance. I soothed the situation by talking to the matriarch of the family with the few words of the ‘click’ language that I knew.
    “ Nclick, nooclick, ng?” I asked pleasantly.
    A delighted beam of amazement lit up the faces of the Africans and we clicked our way out of the station. Literally. Anyone eavesdropping would be forgiven for thinking that we were a troupe of tap dancers heading out for a provincial tour.
    To be absolutely truthful with you, all I had said was the bland comment that it was hot in the desert, but they seemed so taken with the idea that I could in fact speak anything at all in that delightfully bonkers tongue that I got by famously with nodding for the rest of the journey all the way to Gatwick. The Amble family were agog with my