“Leave her alone. I won’t say it again.”

“That’s a relief,” Wim said. “I’m always glad not to hear your nasty cockney voice.”

Silver jumped up and grabbed Jonny from behind. Without this restraint the smaller man would have launched himself on Wim, fists flying and booted feet kicking. But it was perhaps Silver’s saying in a clear firm voice that he wouldn’t put up with this in his place and if they wanted to fight they could go out into the street, which did the trick. Jonny contented himself with muttering to Liv that she was coming with him, he wasn’t having her defy him any longer. Once he was in a sexual relationship with a woman he believed he really owned her. Wim had closed his eyes, a half-smile on his face.

Everyone calmed down—Wim had never been anything but calm—and after we had eaten and Jonny had rolled a couple of joints, we discussed my own dilemma, if and when I was going to tell Max I had got the sack. Nothing much else happened that night. I stayed with Silver, having left the window open at old Mrs. Fisherton’s for Mabel. Early in the morning, two policemen came, not this time about Silver’s father’s car.

Chapter 13

13

WHEN I GOT HOME Beryl was already there. She had fed Mabel and left her on my bed to sleep off half a can of Whiskas. She took one look at me and said she supposed I had been on the toot. I’m never quite sure what that means, though I’ve a good idea, and I said nothing but went to have a shower and wash my hair. Beryl had made coffee for both of us when I came out. She had opened the front door and all the windows. It was lovely and fresh, the rain had washed Russia Road clean, and so light I could almost kid myself I lived aboveground.

“The Professor’s got himself a lady friend,” she said.

I said she must be joking, I couldn’t imagine anything less likely. It was a mystery how he had even managed to get married.

“I saw him having a coffee with her in the caff on my way in. He’d been doing his jogging, I reckon, and so had she. She had one of them shellsuits on. Shocking pink, it was.”

“Get away,” I said, lighting the first cigarette of the day. “You’re making it up.”

Beryl savored the tobacco smell she liked so much. She sniffed and sniffed and smiled. “I couldn’t make it up, love. I haven’t got no imagination. My kids are always telling me. Mum, you’ve got no imagination, that’s what they say.”

That convinced me more than any protestations could have. “What was she like?”