above the babble of a disc jockey loud as a public address. “Yeh,” a voice said.
“You don’t waste words, eh,” Derek said.
“Wha?”
“Is Ken there?”
“Who wants him?”
“He’ll know.”
Whichever of Ken’s sons it was went away and mumbled, then came back. “He isn’t here. Says leave a message.”
Derek could hear Ken whistling Beatles melodies amid the uproar. “I won’t bother,” he said, and leaned on the phone as he called to Alison. “I’m going over to see him.”
She came downstairs quickly, folded sheets piled on her arms. “Wouldn’t it be safer to have the lawyer write to him?”
“Safer and longer, with bugger all at the end of it, probably. Look, I only want to try and make him understand the fix we’re in,” he said, and put his hand over her lips. He could still feel her moist breath on his palm as he hurried out to the car.
He drove through Everton, streets of faded shops and cinemas gone bingo, and up the rubbly hill planted with tower blocks. Beyond Everton was Toxteth, black youths with ghetto blasters strutting through the Victorian streets, white youths in cars cruising for women. The window of the Faradays’ old flat was smashed and patched with cardboard. Ken lived on the far side of Toxteth, in Aigburth, at the end of a street above the Festival Gardens. Down among the gardens of all nations on the Mersey bank, the Festival Hall gleamed dully, a half-buried zeppelin. A wagon wheel leaned beside the glass porch of Ken’s broad pebble-dashed house. Derek rang the bell beneath a carriage lamp and heard voices screaming at the children to shut up.
Purple velvet curtains stirred at the front window, and then the front door was opened by Ken in an oriental dressing-gown. His round face was trying to look blank. “Hello, Derek. Visiting old haunts? We’re in a bit of a mess in here just now.”
“I can stand it. You don’t want me having to shout at you through the glass.”
Ken opened the porch door and came out, smoothing his uncombed hair. “I haven’t forgotten I said we’d do up your house, if that’s what’s up.”
“Your cheque is, mate.”
“You haven’t tried to pay it in, have you? Wasn’t it dated the end of next week? My mistake. So much on my mind, you know how it is. Hang on here and I’ll write you another.”
“We can’t afford to wait, Ken. We need the cash now.”
“You don’t think I’d be fool enough to keep that much in the house with so many thieves about, do you? Just tell your bank it’s on its way if they get stroppy. What’ll they do, kidnap your kiddie if you don’t cough up?”
“Your bank’s open on Saturdays. You could get me the cash when you’re dressed.”
“Can’t do it, pal. Cash flow problems and some of the prats I have to work with, you know how it is. Don’t make a scene, all right? We’re nice people round here, we don’t have rows in the street. Are you going to let me give you a cheque? Then you’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got hungry rabbits.”
He strode round the side of the house, tying his dressing-gown tighter. Derek caught up with him as he emerged from the kitchen with a drooping lettuce. “I’m not leaving until you pay me the three thousand you owe me,” Derek said, loud enough to make the rabbits flinch in the hutch at the end of the garden.
“Still after the green stuff? Chew on this if you’re that desperate.” He shoved the lettuce at Derek, who grabbed it instinctively as Ken unbolted the alley door beside the hutch. “Now then, are you going to be reasonable? My boys will do your house next week if you don’t mind them working nights, won’t you, boys?”
Derek swung round. Ken’s two large sons were behind him. “Yeh,” one said, and the less talkative one nodded. “They’d be out of your way before midnight,” Ken said.
How could Derek consider letting them into the house when he could see they were ready to menace him? “I want my money,” he
“You don’t waste words, eh,” Derek said.
“Wha?”
“Is Ken there?”
“Who wants him?”
“He’ll know.”
Whichever of Ken’s sons it was went away and mumbled, then came back. “He isn’t here. Says leave a message.”
Derek could hear Ken whistling Beatles melodies amid the uproar. “I won’t bother,” he said, and leaned on the phone as he called to Alison. “I’m going over to see him.”
She came downstairs quickly, folded sheets piled on her arms. “Wouldn’t it be safer to have the lawyer write to him?”
“Safer and longer, with bugger all at the end of it, probably. Look, I only want to try and make him understand the fix we’re in,” he said, and put his hand over her lips. He could still feel her moist breath on his palm as he hurried out to the car.
He drove through Everton, streets of faded shops and cinemas gone bingo, and up the rubbly hill planted with tower blocks. Beyond Everton was Toxteth, black youths with ghetto blasters strutting through the Victorian streets, white youths in cars cruising for women. The window of the Faradays’ old flat was smashed and patched with cardboard. Ken lived on the far side of Toxteth, in Aigburth, at the end of a street above the Festival Gardens. Down among the gardens of all nations on the Mersey bank, the Festival Hall gleamed dully, a half-buried zeppelin. A wagon wheel leaned beside the glass porch of Ken’s broad pebble-dashed house. Derek rang the bell beneath a carriage lamp and heard voices screaming at the children to shut up.
Purple velvet curtains stirred at the front window, and then the front door was opened by Ken in an oriental dressing-gown. His round face was trying to look blank. “Hello, Derek. Visiting old haunts? We’re in a bit of a mess in here just now.”
“I can stand it. You don’t want me having to shout at you through the glass.”
Ken opened the porch door and came out, smoothing his uncombed hair. “I haven’t forgotten I said we’d do up your house, if that’s what’s up.”
“Your cheque is, mate.”
“You haven’t tried to pay it in, have you? Wasn’t it dated the end of next week? My mistake. So much on my mind, you know how it is. Hang on here and I’ll write you another.”
“We can’t afford to wait, Ken. We need the cash now.”
“You don’t think I’d be fool enough to keep that much in the house with so many thieves about, do you? Just tell your bank it’s on its way if they get stroppy. What’ll they do, kidnap your kiddie if you don’t cough up?”
“Your bank’s open on Saturdays. You could get me the cash when you’re dressed.”
“Can’t do it, pal. Cash flow problems and some of the prats I have to work with, you know how it is. Don’t make a scene, all right? We’re nice people round here, we don’t have rows in the street. Are you going to let me give you a cheque? Then you’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got hungry rabbits.”
He strode round the side of the house, tying his dressing-gown tighter. Derek caught up with him as he emerged from the kitchen with a drooping lettuce. “I’m not leaving until you pay me the three thousand you owe me,” Derek said, loud enough to make the rabbits flinch in the hutch at the end of the garden.
“Still after the green stuff? Chew on this if you’re that desperate.” He shoved the lettuce at Derek, who grabbed it instinctively as Ken unbolted the alley door beside the hutch. “Now then, are you going to be reasonable? My boys will do your house next week if you don’t mind them working nights, won’t you, boys?”
Derek swung round. Ken’s two large sons were behind him. “Yeh,” one said, and the less talkative one nodded. “They’d be out of your way before midnight,” Ken said.
How could Derek consider letting them into the house when he could see they were ready to menace him? “I want my money,” he
Similar Books
