Lil sat back and waited for the men to finish chatting; they already looked as if they had been together for years and she took that as a good sign. Pat could do with a Jimmy Brick in his life and, like his father before him, he knew that as well as she did. She caught Lance staring at her and the good feeling disappeared as it always did when she had to acknowledge him in any way. She didn't voice her thoughts; she had learned to keep them hidden away but Lance knew how she felt and that knowledge pleased her. She didn't want him thinking they were ever going to bond; she knew that nothing in this world would ever make her love this boy.
Kathleen was sitting in the front room watching TV She always watched Frank Spencer repeats and no one ever thought to turn over. She laughed at his antics and it was a real laugh, a deep belly laugh that made everyone around her happy. Kathleen's nerves were bad and she had very little in her life that made her truly happy. As she watched Frank get caught on a skateboard and dragged behind a bus, she was roaring with laughter and Colleen and Christopher were also laughing. They were waiting for the programme to end so they could turn over to 'Happy Days' and the Fonz. But they were like the others: willing to forgo anything if it made Kathleen happy even for a few moments.
Eileen came into the room with a tray full of cups of tea and she saw that Kathleen's laughter was, once more, turning to tears. She swallowed down her irritation, feeling guilty for her annoyance at her sister's distress.
'Come on, Kath. Cheer up, love. You took your tablets?'
Patrick had taken Kathleen to a doctor in Harley Street and he had diagnosed her as a manic depressive, whatever that was. He had prescribed antidepressants and Kathleen was not happy about taking them. Only Lance seemed capable of getting her to swallow them. Once she had them she seemed spaced, admittedly, but at least she was happier. Eileen sat beside her twin and hugged her tightly.
'Come on, Kathleen. Stop this, will you? Drink your tea and take your pills. If you don't, I will be really upset. You take them for Lance but not for anyone else and when he gets in I want to be able to tell him that you took them for me without a row.'
Kathleen didn't take her eyes off the TV but she swallowed the pills with the scalding hot tea and Eileen sighed with relief although Kathleen was still crying. The last few days she had been so low that they had nearly taken her back to the doctor again. But according to Pat, once the pills got in her system she would be much better. Well, Eileen hoped so. She was her twin and she hated to see her like this. She was so unhappy and, even worse than that, so uninterested in her life or the world around her.
She was a teenager and she was already like an old woman. Eileen, on the other hand, was full of life and enjoying every second with as much energy as she could muster.
She sighed once more and, picking up a small hand mirror and her tweezers, she set about tidying her eyebrows. She had her eye on a new boy at school and she was confident that she might just get him.
As much as she loved her sister, she was embarrassed by her at times. She had been off school for a few days and Eileen was ashamed to admit that she had actually enjoyed her absence. For the first time in ages she didn't have to watch her and take care of her, she could just go to school and be like the other kids. This thought made her ashamed and she smiled at her sister once more. She wished she had the patience of Lance; he seemed to know just what to do with her, no matter what her mood.
She knew Kathleen was her twin sister but she was past the stage where she put all her energy into her sibling. She wanted to be young and she wanted to enjoy her life and with Kathleen like she was, that was not an option.
Pat was outside the hostess club his mother had been working in for years and he was not impressed. It was scruffy, and not just the usual seedy scruffiness of Soho, all top show and dim lighting; this place was so dilapidated that it would be apparent even in darkness.
He watched as the doorman, a large black man, walked two men into the club. He observed that even the doorman was a scruff-bag and that his suit had seen better days. He was going through the motions and that told Pat enough of what was going on around him. This was a front. The money this place earned was nothing compared to whatever else was going on here. The real business had to be a serious earner and his mother must have been aware of it at some level. He wouldn't press her on it though. He knew she was close-mouthed because she didn't want him and Brewster at loggerheads.
The bouncer came back out to the small foyer and recognised Pat. He knew who he was, Pat had established himself all over the Smoke. That this man knew him from the off was pleasing to him though. Either that, or someone had heralded his arrival, but he forced that thought away. Pat was on his own because Kathleen was on a mad half-hour and Lance had gone home to look after her.
Pat had phoned home earlier and got Eileen. He guessed Eileen wanted to go out and, knowing Lance would walk over hot coals for his little sister, she had probably exaggerated her symptoms so he would come home and take over. Pat grinned. Eileen was a shrewdie, bless her, and she had the right idea and all. Why have a dog and bark yourself? If you could get someone else to do it, why not?
'Can I help you, Mr Brodie?' The man spoke with a quiet respect that Pat knew was genuine. Up close he saw that he wasn't that much older than he was himself. He was a good-looking boy; obviously of mixed-race parentage and obviously able to have an almighty row if the fancy took him.
'Where's Brewster?' It was a statement more than a question.
The doorman didn't move for a while; he was as still as a corpse as he made a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was earwigging, he said, 'He ain't here but he will be back within the hour; he is meeting up with someone you know.'
Patrick nodded slowly. 'What's your name?'
The man held out a meaty fist. 'Colin. Colin Butcher.'
They shook hands and Pat felt the strength of him and the coolness of his palm. This was someone who would not easily be rattled and, once more, he wondered if this was a set-up. He knew the different angles that were used in their business and in stir he had been taught all about them and how to deal with them, by the masters.
But his instinct told him that this boy was good and he decided to trust in it. After all, it had never let him down before.
'I think I'll wait then, if you don't mind?'
Colin smiled then and he looked a completely different man. He had a wide, open smile that was automatically guaranteed to make whoever was on the receiving end of it feel relaxed.
Pat knew then that this man would be an asset to any business. He had the right demeanour and the sense to keep quiet.
'Can I get you a drink?'
Patrick nodded. 'I think I'll go through to the bar and wait there.'
They walked in the club together and Pat felt comfortable with him. He also felt optimistic when he saw the full extent of the club's shabbiness. It was a dump, and dumps were always easier to reclaim than palaces. He suddenly remembered walking in here with his father and he noted that it had the same flock wallpaper on the walls and the same dark-grey carpet that he remembered. It smelt of fags, cheap deodorant and desperation, and he decided that it smelt just like Brewster himself.