leaning over the table. He speared a rollmop and reached out, with impatient fingers, for two bite-sized pork pies.
‘Why’s Mr Drago called “One Mile”?’
Crunching his way through a mouthful of pickled onions, Lionel explained. Jayden Drago’s cars were very cheap; but ‘One Mile’ was as far as anyone ever got in them before they broke down.
‘Sorry – but how’s he stay in business?’
‘Ah you see, Dawn, one mile’s a uh, an exaggeration. It’s more like five miles. Or even ten,’ he said through the gingery crumbs of a Scotch egg. ‘I bought one off him once. It’s worth it if you going all the way across town. Same as a cab.’
‘Your speech, Uncle Li. You were going to dictate it to me. But you never.’
His head tipped back, Lionel negotiated a ziggurat of salt-and-vinegar crisps, dusted his palms, and gave his brow a sharp knock with his knuckle. ‘It’s all up here, son. It’s all up here … Beautiful ceremony this morning. No, it was,’ he went on, looking lost and wistful. ‘The little bridesmaids with they bouquets. The stained glass … Gina. Gina, she took me aside in the garden. All in white, with them little white ribbons in her hair. And she said, Lionel? Thank you, Lionel , she said, thank you for helping to make this the most perfect day of me life . And her smile was like a little ray of sunshine. I tell you, it warmed me heart. It warmed my heart.’
The string quartet withdrew. After a skirling volley of whoops and yells, and then a gurgling hush, the groom, the bride, and the best man approached and mounted the low stage. Lionel and Marlon embraced; Lionel and Gina embraced, and, as she too lingeringly stepped back and to the side, he kissed her hand (a nice touch).
And Lionel Asbo began.
‘Can you all hear me, my friends?’ A mutter of assent. ‘… Marl and me? What can I tell you. We been best mates’, he said scathingly (as if settling the hash of anyone who claimed otherwise), ‘since we was babies .’ The womenfolk led a soft chuckle. ‘Sometimes, for a hoot, our mums’d take it in turns to feed us both at once. Didn’t you, Grace. Didn’t you, Auntie Mercy. That’s how close we were, me and Marl – he was the bloke on the next tit along.’ More maternal mirth. ‘So the months passed. Then, when we stopped brawling over the next bottle of formula, well, we started putting ourselves about like normal little boys. All right. We was so-and-sos. There’s no other word for it. We were right so-and-sos. Scallywags, if you like.’
And Des thought, He’s found a style, Uncle Li. There’ll be some rough edges, but he’s found a style. Dawn was watching with her arms intently crossed.
‘Bunking off day care and sneaking into X-films through the fire escapes.’ Male laughter. ‘Ringing all the neighbours’ doorbells and giving them the finger. Aged two.’ Female laughter. ‘And, when we was taller, pissing through they letterboxes.’ General laughter. ‘We had a specialty, me and Marl. It started one Bonfire Night, when we was three, but soon we were doing it all year round. What you looked out for was a big heap of wet dogshit near a nice smart car. You’d ease a fat cherry bomb in under the slime, light the fuse, then nip round the corner.’ Affectionate tut-tutting. ‘Bang! You come back, and it’s all over the paintwork. Every inch. Beautiful. Not so popular with the uh, the passers-by.’ More affectionate tut-tutting.
‘Nicking trikes, then bikes, then mopeds, then scooters. This is how you grow. Then proper motors, then vans, then lorries. We had the odd scrap, I don’t mind telling you, about whose turn it was to steer. See, we was only six or seven when we started.’ A deep hum of admiration. ‘So one of us did the pedals and the other sat on his chest and did the wheel. If you were on top you’d go brake or power . And if you was underneath, and it was a pantechnicon, and Marl was all power power power power power , well, you
‘Why’s Mr Drago called “One Mile”?’
Crunching his way through a mouthful of pickled onions, Lionel explained. Jayden Drago’s cars were very cheap; but ‘One Mile’ was as far as anyone ever got in them before they broke down.
‘Sorry – but how’s he stay in business?’
‘Ah you see, Dawn, one mile’s a uh, an exaggeration. It’s more like five miles. Or even ten,’ he said through the gingery crumbs of a Scotch egg. ‘I bought one off him once. It’s worth it if you going all the way across town. Same as a cab.’
‘Your speech, Uncle Li. You were going to dictate it to me. But you never.’
His head tipped back, Lionel negotiated a ziggurat of salt-and-vinegar crisps, dusted his palms, and gave his brow a sharp knock with his knuckle. ‘It’s all up here, son. It’s all up here … Beautiful ceremony this morning. No, it was,’ he went on, looking lost and wistful. ‘The little bridesmaids with they bouquets. The stained glass … Gina. Gina, she took me aside in the garden. All in white, with them little white ribbons in her hair. And she said, Lionel? Thank you, Lionel , she said, thank you for helping to make this the most perfect day of me life . And her smile was like a little ray of sunshine. I tell you, it warmed me heart. It warmed my heart.’
The string quartet withdrew. After a skirling volley of whoops and yells, and then a gurgling hush, the groom, the bride, and the best man approached and mounted the low stage. Lionel and Marlon embraced; Lionel and Gina embraced, and, as she too lingeringly stepped back and to the side, he kissed her hand (a nice touch).
And Lionel Asbo began.
‘Can you all hear me, my friends?’ A mutter of assent. ‘… Marl and me? What can I tell you. We been best mates’, he said scathingly (as if settling the hash of anyone who claimed otherwise), ‘since we was babies .’ The womenfolk led a soft chuckle. ‘Sometimes, for a hoot, our mums’d take it in turns to feed us both at once. Didn’t you, Grace. Didn’t you, Auntie Mercy. That’s how close we were, me and Marl – he was the bloke on the next tit along.’ More maternal mirth. ‘So the months passed. Then, when we stopped brawling over the next bottle of formula, well, we started putting ourselves about like normal little boys. All right. We was so-and-sos. There’s no other word for it. We were right so-and-sos. Scallywags, if you like.’
And Des thought, He’s found a style, Uncle Li. There’ll be some rough edges, but he’s found a style. Dawn was watching with her arms intently crossed.
‘Bunking off day care and sneaking into X-films through the fire escapes.’ Male laughter. ‘Ringing all the neighbours’ doorbells and giving them the finger. Aged two.’ Female laughter. ‘And, when we was taller, pissing through they letterboxes.’ General laughter. ‘We had a specialty, me and Marl. It started one Bonfire Night, when we was three, but soon we were doing it all year round. What you looked out for was a big heap of wet dogshit near a nice smart car. You’d ease a fat cherry bomb in under the slime, light the fuse, then nip round the corner.’ Affectionate tut-tutting. ‘Bang! You come back, and it’s all over the paintwork. Every inch. Beautiful. Not so popular with the uh, the passers-by.’ More affectionate tut-tutting.
‘Nicking trikes, then bikes, then mopeds, then scooters. This is how you grow. Then proper motors, then vans, then lorries. We had the odd scrap, I don’t mind telling you, about whose turn it was to steer. See, we was only six or seven when we started.’ A deep hum of admiration. ‘So one of us did the pedals and the other sat on his chest and did the wheel. If you were on top you’d go brake or power . And if you was underneath, and it was a pantechnicon, and Marl was all power power power power power , well, you
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