Still he did take me for a meal last night. Collapsed if he hadn’t. Imagine that bloody hotel porter knocking me back. Where’s your uniform? Are you a washer up? Those people depress me. What’s the difference, one meal more or less? I wonder what it is with them? Old John though — what can I say — after the bollicking he gives me for not trying to get a job and some bread together, who expects him to come back thirty minutes later saying, ‘Okay you Scotch dosser. Come and eat,’ what could I say apart from, ‘Fancy a pint first John?’ Yes he has too many good points. Suppose I could give him a week’s money. Depends on what they give me though. Anyway.
Charles left the house and made his way towards the Labour Exchange up near Pentonville Road. It was a twenty-five minute walk but one Charles did not mind at all as he normally received six and a half from the NAB for his trouble afterwards.
Yes spring is definitely around the corner man. Look at that briefcase with the sports jacket and cavalry twill slacks. Already? Very daring. Must be a traveller. Best part of the day this — seeing all the workers — office and site and the new middle-class tradesmen all going about their business. It pleases me.
Can’t say I’m in the mood for a long wait in the NAB afterwards. Jesus Christ I forgot a book. Man man what do I do now? Borrow newspapers? Stare at people’s necks and make goo goos at their children? Good God! The money will be well earned today.
Charles stopped outside the Easy Eats Cafe and breathed in deeply. This fellow must be the best cook in London without any doubt at all. My my my. Every time I pass this place it’s the same, smells like bacon and eggs and succulent sausages with toast and tea. Never mind never mind soon be there.
Charles arrived at the Labour Exchange and entered door C. He took up position in the queue under D.
Well I can imagine it today, ‘Yes Mr Donald there is some back money owing to you. Would you sign here for £43.68p?’ I’d smile politely, ‘Oh yes thank you I had been beginning to wonder if it would ever come through. Thank you. Good day.’ Then I’d creep out and run like the clappers before they discovered their error. God love us, what’s this? What’s this noise? Can’t be somebody farting in a Labour Exchange. Bloody Irish. Don’t understand them at all. Think they delight in embarrassing the English. Everyone kids on they didn’t hear it. Surely they can smell it?
Charles stepped out of the queue and tapped the fellow on the shoulder. ‘Hoy Mick. That’s one helluva smell to make in a public place you know.’
‘Ah bejasus,’ sighed the Irishman, ‘it’s that bloody Guinness Jock. Sure I can’t help it at all.’
‘Terrible stuff for the guts right enough,’ said Charles.
‘Ah but it’s better than that English water they sell here. Bitter?’ he shook his head, ‘It’s a penance to drink it Jock.’
‘Aye,’ agreed Charles. ‘You been waiting long?’
‘Not at all,’ he shook his head again and spat on the floor. ‘Want a roll?’
‘You’re kidding me Mick?’
‘Aw what you going on about? Here,’ he took out his pouch and handed it to Charles. ‘I’ve plenty here and I’ll be getting a few quid this morning. Help yourself Jock.’
Charles accepted and rolled himself a smoke.
‘Been over long, man,’ he asked.
‘Too long Jock,’ he gave a short laugh, ‘Still skint.’
He struck a match on the floor and they lit their cigarettes.
‘Aye if I’d been buying that Guinness in shares instead of pints I’d be worth a fortune, and that’s a fact. The hell with it.’
‘You’re next Mick,’ said Charles.
The Irishman went to the counter and received the signing-on card from the young girl. He signed on and was handed his pay slip then he walked over to the cashier where he received his money and vanished.
Charles followed Mick to the first counter and to his surprise received a pay slip. Normally he got a BI form for the NAB. He asked the girl whether he would still have to visit the Social Security Office.
The girl smiled, ‘Not this week anyway Mr Donald.’
Charles strode across to the money counter and stole a quick look at the pay slip. Good God. He looked again.
‘God love us,’ he said loudly.
£23.82p. Jesus. Oh you good thing. Nearly twenty-four quid. Man man that’s almost eighteen back money. What can one say God? Mere words are useless.
He passed the pay slip under the grill to the older lady who dispensed the benefit. She passed him the money after he had signed again.
‘My sincere thanks madam,’ he said.
The cashier smiled, ‘That makes a change.’
‘You have a wonderful smile,’ continued Charles folding the wad. ‘I shall certainly call back here again. Good morning.’
‘Good morning,’ the cashier watched him back off to the exit.
Charles closed the door. Yes maybe chances there if I followed it through. Maybe she just pities me though, with that smile? Impossible.
He walked up Pentonville Road and decided to go for a pint rather than a breakfast. Ten past eleven. Not too early.
‘Pint of bitter and eh. Give me,’ Charles stared at the miserable gantry, ‘just give me one of your good whiskies eh?’
The ancient barman peered at him for a moment then bent down behind the bar to produce a dusty bottle of Dimple Haig.
‘How’s this eh?’
‘Aye that’s fine,’ replied Charles. ‘How much is it?’
‘Seven bob,’ the barman muttered rubbing his ear thoughtfully.
‘Give me twenty Players too and that’s that.’
The barman passed over the cigarettes and grabbed the pound note mumbling to himself. Very friendly old bastard that. Must hate Scotsmen or something. The old man brought back the change and moved around the counter tidying up.
‘Hoy!’ called Charles after a time. ‘Any grub?’
‘What’s that?’ cried the barman left hand at his ear.
‘Food! Have you any food?’
‘What d’you want eh?’
‘Depends. What have you got?’
‘Don’t know,’ he thought for a moment, ‘Potato crisps?’
‘No chance,’ replied Charles. ‘Is that it?’
‘Shepherd’s pie? The wife makes it,’ he added smiling strangely.
Wonder why he’s smiling like that. Poisoned or something?
‘Homemade eh?’ asked Charles, ‘yeah I’ll have some of that.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes now for heaven’s sake,’ he shook his head.
‘Okay okay, just take a seat and I’ll go tell her eh?’ He shuffled off. As he passed through the partition he glanced back at Charles who gave him a wave.
Kind of quiet this place. Wonder when it gets busy. Strange I’m the only customer in at eleven thirty on a Thursday morning.
The ancient barman returned.
‘’Bout ten minutes eh.’
Charles nodded and he resumed wiping some glasses. Charles moved to a table near the window. He lit a cigarette.
Man man who would of thought of me getting back money like that. Brilliant. Let me see. 11.35 a.m. By rights I should still be sitting in the second interview queue at the NAB. The fat woman’s kids would be rolling on the floor and she’d be reading the Evening Standard dog section. Yes I’ll be missed. They’ll think I’ve gone to Scotland. Or maybe been lifted by the busies. Won’t have to go back there for a while. Perhaps just as well. I could have ended up in trouble if that sarcastic civil servant bastard had persisted in aggravating me. I would have had to hit him. No choice.
A huge woman appeared from behind the partition holding a plateful of steaming shepherd’s pie.