And Des thought, He’s found a style, Uncle Li. There’ll be some rough edges, but he’s found a style. Dawn was watching with her arms intently crossed.
‘Bunking off day care and sneaking into X-films through the fire escapes.’ Male laughter. ‘Ringing all the neighbours’ doorbells and giving them the finger. Aged two.’ Female laughter. ‘And, when we was taller, pissing through they letterboxes.’ General laughter. ‘We had a specialty, me and Marl. It started one Bonfire Night, when we was three, but soon we were doing it all year round. What you looked out for was a big heap of wet dogshit near a nice smart car. You’d ease a fat cherry bomb in under the slime, light the fuse, then nip round the corner.’ Affectionate tut-tutting. ‘Bang! You come back, and it’s all over the paintwork. Every inch. Beautiful. Not so popular with the uh, the passers-by.’ More affectionate tut-tutting.
‘Nicking trikes, then bikes, then mopeds, then scooters. This is how you grow. Then proper motors, then vans, then lorries. We had the odd scrap, I don’t mind telling you, about whose turn it was to steer. See, we was only six or seven when we started.’ A deep hum of admiration. ‘So one of us did the pedals and the other sat on his chest and did the wheel. If you were on top you’d go brake or power. And if you was underneath, and it was a pantechnicon, and Marl was all power power power power power, well, you just closed you eyes and hoped for the best.’
He had them. File upon file of beaming moist-eyed faces. When this bit’s over, thought Des, I’ll ask Granny Grace for a dance. Just a gentle shuffle on the edge of the floor, if she’s game.
‘Then comes uh, adolescence. Shoplifting, credit cards, mug jobs, smash and grab. At school — suspension, expulsion, PRU offroll. Youth Court, Youth Custody, and the odd spot of Yoi. Then came maturity. Which in my case meant prison.’ Some muffled snorts, a single guffaw. ‘Marl was craftier, and quicker on his toes. I was more headstrong. I wouldn’t learn. For me, for me that’s a point of principle. Never learn.
‘So. We had our careers to make. I was drawn to reset — you know, selling on — and to debt work. Marlon here was a natural thruster. B and E. Otherwise known as burgling. And ooh was he useful. It’s why he’s called the Floater. Marl, he could ransack a barracks in broad daylight and no one’d turn a hair. What a talent. What a gift. So him with his thrusting, and me with me reset. Plus, you know, there was always uh, a bit of this, that, and the other.
‘Okay. Okay. What we was doing was not in uh, strict accordance with the law. But we make no apologies, Marl and me.’ An intensely interested quiescence. ‘For why? Because the law’s there to protect the rich man’s shilling.’ A hot murmur of agreement. ‘And no bloke worth the name’s going to bend over for that.’ Prolonged and stormy applause.
Which Lionel now quelled, with raised palms and lowered head. ‘And all the way along, of course, there was skirt. Birds, birds, birds. And Jesus, with Rhett Butler here, tall, dark and handsome with his lovely scar, it was like he’d entered the Olympics. Which event? The Legover!’ Reluctant amusement. ‘Like how many can he do in one day. Or one hour. His bedroom — he fit it with a revolving door!’ Unreluctant amusement. ‘As for me, with my ugly mug, I just held his coat and warmed his dunkers.’ Quiet male laughter. ‘Sorry, ladies. I mean his johnnies — his uh, family planning.’ Quiet female laughter. ‘Well, I wasn’t that bothered. But him? With the minge? He was styling his hair with it. That’s the Floater. That’s Marlon Welkway.’
Lionel half turned. The bride was smiling at the groom in coquettish reproach; Marlon’s wet eyes were shut and his shoulders were shaking. Des, too, half turned, and noticed Ringo slipping out through the tall double doors.
‘Now I always thought, Marl? Marlon Welkway? He’s not the marrying kind. Marl? No danger. Ladies’ man. Confirmed bachelor if you like … Ah, but then he goes and falls under the spell … of the gorgeous Gina.’ Cheers, whoops, and ear-stinging whistles. ‘Gina Drago. Look at her. Pretty as a sunset on a waterfall. Yes, there’ll be gloom in the pubs of Diston tonight. As it sinks in with all the blokes that the jewel of the manor, Gina Drago, has now become Gina Welkway.’
Lionel solemnly clapped his hands, and was joined by the entire company. This went on for a minute and a half.
‘There’s been a lot of talk about the so-called garage meet.’ An affirmatory murmur. ‘Didn’t mean a thing. See, we always rucked. As babies, toddlers, kids, youths, grown-ups — always rucked. Long fights, serious fights. Why? Out of respect. To keep ourselves honest. Yeah, we fought, Marl and me. Well,’ he said, with a comparatively lenient sneer, ‘no one else was any good at it.’ Deferential clearing of throats.
‘Now I’ve gone on long enough. Without further ado — let the celebrations begin! … Oh yeah — before I forget. You know, friends, half an hour ago I happened to pop up to the first floor. And there was a queue of uh, hotel staff on the stairs. Not them handsome young waiters in they cream jackets. No. Kitchen skivvies. Horrible bloody old geezers from the boiler rooms and the compost heap. With flies buzzing round they heads. And they all undoing they belts.’ Silence. Lionel frowned. ‘I said, What’s happening, gents? And one of them points down the corridor. And what do I see? Gina.’ Extreme silence. ‘With her fucking trousseau up round her waist and her fucking knickers down round her shins and her great big fat arse in the air and her —!’
… So, no. No, Marlon and Gina did not spend the evening hours drinking Girgentina and eating bebbux on the poolside veranda of their rented villa on the Maltese islet of Gozo.
And, no, Desmond and Dawn did not spend the evening hours drinking vin de table and eating cottage pie, by candlelight, on the thirty-third floor of Avalon Tower.
No. Each and every one of those present, even the bridesmaids, even the grandmothers, spent the night in the copshops (and clinics) of Metroland, on preliminary charges of Criminal Damage and Affray.
The cost of the repairs to the Imperial Palace would eventually run to six hundred and fifty thousand pounds.
Dawn was released the next morning, and Des the next afternoon. It was made clear to them that they would have to testify in court. Four days later, Dawn’s body stopped shaking.
And Des remembered his last glimpse of the Imperial Palace (he had his bleeding face crushed up against the back window of the Black Maria). He saw a sign saying Eats. Drinks. Beds. Decent Rooms At Decent Prices. And he saw the white-ribboned Austin Princess, with its starred and cratered windscreen and the brick still lying on its bonnet — Ringo’s contribution to the Whitsun wedding.
4
AT TWO IN the afternoon Officer Fips came to fetch him.
‘Best of luck, Lionel,’ said Pete New from his bunk.
Asbo sauntered freely down the stone passage. He was led up four flights of steps, then through a hall bracingly redolent of vomit and carbolic, and then out on to the colonnade with its dripping arches. The Governor’s door stood wide open.
Slight, bald, with frizzled eyebrows and a bulging forehead, Governor Wolf did not at all resemble the bearer of good news as he said drily,
‘Ah. Here he is. The estimable Mr Asbo … I suppose you just plug away at it, don’t you, Lionel. Month after month. With your brain hurting. And your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth. Plugging away at the Lottery.’