So that was So-oh done and dusted. He’d scored, had a few laffs, got pissed, made a few mates. Worth a detour. What next?
Selby returned, carrying his jacket and shirt.
“The doctor’s given you the OK to leave, if you feel up to it. Oh, and I forgot — a friend of yours called in, a newspaper reporter, while you were out for the count, but she wouldn’t let him see you. He left you a note. It’s in your inside pocket.”
Alex propped himself up, somewhat groggily, to a sitting position, and took his jacket. The scribbled letter from James Flood was in an envelope together with five twenty-pound notes, bless him.
Glad to hear you’ll be all right when you come round. More than can be said for Stephan Dance — he fully intended to burn the place down, according to Benny Wills, but not so spectacularly. The good news is that what with Christine, Mabel and now this, I’m to be given a bonus. Not bad for a first day’s work, eh? This is your share. Don’t get too pissed. Cheers. Come and see us again soon.
Yes, he would.
Replacing the envelope in his jacket pocket, Alex’s fingers touched a piece of pasteboard. The invitation to the Soho Ball which old Else had given him. He drew it out.
Selby had evidently already seen it. “That’s tonight, in case you’re wondering. Who are you taking?”
“Nobody. For one thing, I don’t have a DJ.”
“There’s a Moss Bros in Covent Garden where you can hire one. You’d just catch them open, if you wanted to go.”
“Do you want to go, Selby?”
“I haven’t been asked yet. But I finish my shift at seven.”
“All right, so I’m asking.”
“You shall go to the ball,” smiled Selby. She kissed him lightly on the forehead. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you as well. Does this mean we’re an item again?”
“Depends. I’m not going back to Leeds, you know,” she said with her customary stubbornness.
“So I’d have to come down here?”
“Why not?”
Good question. Why ever not? He had lived more life in the past twenty-four hours than in the last year.
Course, it wouldn’t be like that every day. With Leeds caution he said: “What if it doesn’t work out?”
“What if it doesn’t?” shrugged Selby. “We’re young enough. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
Nor would it, put like that. “Where are you living?” he asked her.
“Stanmore, at present, in a nurses’ hostel.”
Where the fook was Stanmore?
“Fook Stanmore. I’d want to live in So-oh.”
“So would I, when we could afford it.”
Hooked on Soho, then, the pair of them. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, the native caution returning. “What would I do down here?”
With a touch of her old impatience Selby said: “Oh, you’ll pick up something. There’s always plenty going on in Soho.”
“Yes,” said Alex with a rather secretive smile, reaching for his shirt. “I’ve already found that. All right, Sel, I’ve thought about it.”