fellow out on the town spoiling himself, was he? Or perhaps he was down from the provinces for the day to get his British Empire Medal. Or perhaps it wasn’t a
prostitute – who could tell? – perhaps it was his sweetheart, perhaps it was someone he’d met for the first time on this magical night of all nights. This was a lovely little
anecdote to tell their grandchildren. A pool of light revealed them only partially, but Mr Ware could see his kitbag and coat bundled on the ground; the woman had her back to Mr Ware, murmuring
into the chap’s ear and he of course had his eyes shut. Instinctively, Mr Ware wondered if he could pinch the man’s gear, and began to creep up; her wrist was going like the clappers,
the fellow’s knees were sagging and there would never be a better time than now, but he wouldn’t have more than half a minute at the outside. He stepped further into the alley and
looked around – no one there. Stealthily, he approached, close enough to hear what she was saying.
‘There. There. There.’
He came in closer. The woman had her free hand splayed up against the brickwork to her right; her customer’s back was up against the wall. Mr Ware was close enough to see the man was
chewing on the corner of a handkerchief.
Whump.
Mr Ware’s jaw slackened as he felt a hand on his shoulder, still painful anyway. The police?
‘Hello!’
It was Colin, smiling shyly. His greeting, absurdly loud, coincided with a strangled yelp from the man in the alley; the woman had retreated. Neither had noticed Mr Ware, who now stepped back
out into the street.
‘Colin. What the bloody hell do you want?’
Mr Ware was unsettled enough to give Colin a fourpenny one, right then and there.
‘You forgot these.’ Colin’s voice was gentle, reproachful. He held up Mr Ware’s bag, with his ARP overalls and helmet. He had forgotten them; left them behind in the
club. Colin had followed him all the way out here, to give it back to him. He really ought to be grateful.
‘Oh. Well, thank you very much Colin.’
‘Not at all, old thing. Evening!’
Colin was politely greeting the woman emerging from the alley, who was making a brisk exit, having told her mark to wait behind for a moment, for all the world as if she was an office worker
heading for the Underground at the end of a long day.
‘Devil of a job finding you, old boy.’
‘Mm.’
‘But I just about knew your haunts. They’re my haunts as well!’
‘Yes.’
‘Evening!’
Now the customer was coming out. Mr Ware could see his handkerchief coming out of his right hip pocket. Didn’t know what a close shave he’d had. He looked refreshed, calm.
‘Bad business back there in the Club, old thing.’
‘Well yes, I suppose so.’
‘You know what a temper you’ve got. If you’re thinking of looking in again, you’d better stay amicable.’
‘Yes.’
‘Group Captain Brook was only trying to make a joke, to be pleasant.’
Mr Ware was silent.
‘I say, let’s go to the Blue Post for a drink.’
Of course, that place was packed, but some men had dragged the upright piano out into the street for a singsong; many patrons had excitedly followed and so it wasn’t as crowded as it might
have been.
Colin bought Mr Ware another pint of Bass and a packet of cigarettes, assuming that these would have a temporarily calming effect, and they did. He had also got them half of a pork pie. They
made short work of that.
‘You know ...’
‘Yes?’
‘You know, I don’t think we should go out on a job tonight, old thing.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, frankly I don’t want to work. I just want to relax. I want to relax the way everyone else is relaxing.’ Colin gestured around at all the drunk people, singing.
‘I’m sitting here, drinking beer, but it’s having no effect on me, because I can’t stop thinking about it. And I rather think tonight might be my last opportunity in a while
to, er,
socialise
.’
‘Well don’t then,’
prostitute – who could tell? – perhaps it was his sweetheart, perhaps it was someone he’d met for the first time on this magical night of all nights. This was a lovely little
anecdote to tell their grandchildren. A pool of light revealed them only partially, but Mr Ware could see his kitbag and coat bundled on the ground; the woman had her back to Mr Ware, murmuring
into the chap’s ear and he of course had his eyes shut. Instinctively, Mr Ware wondered if he could pinch the man’s gear, and began to creep up; her wrist was going like the clappers,
the fellow’s knees were sagging and there would never be a better time than now, but he wouldn’t have more than half a minute at the outside. He stepped further into the alley and
looked around – no one there. Stealthily, he approached, close enough to hear what she was saying.
‘There. There. There.’
He came in closer. The woman had her free hand splayed up against the brickwork to her right; her customer’s back was up against the wall. Mr Ware was close enough to see the man was
chewing on the corner of a handkerchief.
Whump.
Mr Ware’s jaw slackened as he felt a hand on his shoulder, still painful anyway. The police?
‘Hello!’
It was Colin, smiling shyly. His greeting, absurdly loud, coincided with a strangled yelp from the man in the alley; the woman had retreated. Neither had noticed Mr Ware, who now stepped back
out into the street.
‘Colin. What the bloody hell do you want?’
Mr Ware was unsettled enough to give Colin a fourpenny one, right then and there.
‘You forgot these.’ Colin’s voice was gentle, reproachful. He held up Mr Ware’s bag, with his ARP overalls and helmet. He had forgotten them; left them behind in the
club. Colin had followed him all the way out here, to give it back to him. He really ought to be grateful.
‘Oh. Well, thank you very much Colin.’
‘Not at all, old thing. Evening!’
Colin was politely greeting the woman emerging from the alley, who was making a brisk exit, having told her mark to wait behind for a moment, for all the world as if she was an office worker
heading for the Underground at the end of a long day.
‘Devil of a job finding you, old boy.’
‘Mm.’
‘But I just about knew your haunts. They’re my haunts as well!’
‘Yes.’
‘Evening!’
Now the customer was coming out. Mr Ware could see his handkerchief coming out of his right hip pocket. Didn’t know what a close shave he’d had. He looked refreshed, calm.
‘Bad business back there in the Club, old thing.’
‘Well yes, I suppose so.’
‘You know what a temper you’ve got. If you’re thinking of looking in again, you’d better stay amicable.’
‘Yes.’
‘Group Captain Brook was only trying to make a joke, to be pleasant.’
Mr Ware was silent.
‘I say, let’s go to the Blue Post for a drink.’
Of course, that place was packed, but some men had dragged the upright piano out into the street for a singsong; many patrons had excitedly followed and so it wasn’t as crowded as it might
have been.
Colin bought Mr Ware another pint of Bass and a packet of cigarettes, assuming that these would have a temporarily calming effect, and they did. He had also got them half of a pork pie. They
made short work of that.
‘You know ...’
‘Yes?’
‘You know, I don’t think we should go out on a job tonight, old thing.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, frankly I don’t want to work. I just want to relax. I want to relax the way everyone else is relaxing.’ Colin gestured around at all the drunk people, singing.
‘I’m sitting here, drinking beer, but it’s having no effect on me, because I can’t stop thinking about it. And I rather think tonight might be my last opportunity in a while
to, er,
socialise
.’
‘Well don’t then,’
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