Tandia (33 page)

'That's fuckin' wonderful!' Togger yelled after him, mimicking his accent. 'Remind me to nominate you for fuckin' sportsman of the fuckin' year, my son!'

'Shut up, Togger!' Peekay said, grinning broadly, bringing his finger to his lips. 'We don't want a fookin' shower-room brawl. He'll kill us! Besides, I think Hymie's about to convince your Mr Holland to take me on.' A look of mock seriousness crossed his face. 'You screw it up for me, Togger, and you're a dead welterweight!'

Togger stood nude in the middle of the room with a small tin of Johnson's Baby Powder in his hand. 'Oh, mate! From the opening bell you was never in the slightest doubt. Dutch thinks all 'is fuckin' birthdays 'ave come at once!'

'I hope you're right. Shower's cold, I suppose?' Peekay asked, attempting to make light of the compliment.

'Yeah, I suppose.' Togger said absently, then swung around. "Ere! It's the middle of bleedin' winter. I mean, you 'ardly got a sweat up! Them showers is colder than fuckin' charity!'

Peekay laughed. He instinctively liked the little Londoner.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'It's a nasty colonial habit, Togger.'

'Oi! I've heard about you lot, washin' all the bleedin' natural oils off of your skin with all them showers. 'Ere, lemme show you.' He lifted his left arm and upended the tin of baby powder. A cloud of powder exploded in the region of his underarm. He changed hands and repeated the process under his right arm. Then he shook the tin vigorously, rubbing the powder into his ginger-coloured short and curlies until they looked as white as Santa's beard. 'That's a British version of the winter shower,' he announced. 'You stay warm, smell like a rose and you don't 'arm your natural supply of precious body oils which stop you from aging prematurely and being all 'orrible and wrinkled up like a boardin' 'ouse prune!'

Peekay laughed, his ribs hurting where Best had landed a brace of good punches. 'No thanks, Togger, I guess I'm doomed to premature loss of my precious body oils.'

Fred entered with the bucket and sponge from the ring and observed the two young boxers. 'Makin' friends, that's good that is,' he glanced back at the door, as though Best had only just left. 'No point in bein' like that afterwards, it don't make you no better.'

Hymie and Harriet were standing with Dutch Holland when the two young boxers emerged from the change room.

Hymie was smoking a dark-brown Russian sobranie and the acrid smell of the Turkish tobacco filled the small gymnasium. It was mixed with the sweeter aroma of Dutch Holland's Cuban cigar.

'Dutch here says okay,' Hymie grinned.

Peekay whooped like a schoolboy, totally elated. 'Thank you, Mr Holland. I won't let you down, sir, I've never been surer of anything in my life.'

Dutch Holland turned to Peekay. 'If you're prepared to graft, son, I think I can promise you a crack at the British Empire title in two years, or I'm not the Flying Dutchman.'

'Sooner,' Peekay said softly.

Dutch looked surprised. 'What? What did you say, son?'

'Sooner, please, Mr Holland. I can't wait two years.' Dutch Holland smiled. 'Sorry, lad, you can't hold a major British title until you're twenty-one, that's the law in this country.'

'Well, Mr Holland, we'll just have to miss out on it and go higher. It's not the law in America.'

Peekay was aware of the sudden silence around him. Hymie knew of course, but they'd agreed he'd say nothing about it to Dutch Holland, afraid it would frighten him away. Peekay had only spoken up now because he'd suddenly become afraid the British trainer might aim too low, content to take less than Peekay wanted.

'World?' Dutch Holland smiled, then seemed almost to chortle, which seemed a thoroughly inappropriate sound coming from his owlish face. He took a pull at his big cigar and, shaking his head incredulously, blew his cigar smoke towards the ceiling. 'The welterweight title is owned by Jake "Spoonbill" Jackson, a black boy from Louisville, Kentucky…' He tapped the corona with a cocktail-sausage finger. 'Now, mind, I haven't seen this lad fight, but I'm not about to quibble with the latest
Ring
magazine who rate him the best boxer, pound for pound, in the bleedin' world! And he's only twenty-three, my son!'

'It's just that we're in a hurry, Dutch,' Hymie replied quietly.

'Hurry? You've got a jet-propelled rocket up your bums, the pair of you!'

Peekay's heart was beating fast. He'd probably acted stupidly but he couldn't help himself. He had eighteen months, at the outside two years, to get a crack at the title. He'd waited long enough; by the time he'd finished at Oxford he wanted it over. Holland simply had to try to understand that, now, at the very beginning of their relationship.

Harriet had wanted to go to the Tate to see the new Jacob Epstein sculpture as well as a recently acquired Degas bronze study of a child ballet dancer. Then she and Hymie were going to drive to Berkshire to a schoolfriend's twentyfirst. Peekay was taking the evening train back from Paddington to Oxford. Togger listened as they discussed which train would be best; it was a Friday night and Harriet suggested Peekay catch an early train to avoid the commuters and people going up to the country for the weekend. Togger followed Peekay to the toilet. 'Oi, how about letting me show you the bleedin' metropolis tonight? Stay over, mate, you can doss at my place. It ain't fancy but me sister's not home, you can have her bed. Waddayasay, Peekay? We'll'ave a few jugs, see a bit 'a the West End, 'ave a few laughs?'

Peekay immediately agreed. He was still elated by the outcome of the morning but now he was beginning to realise just how much the prospect of the session with Dutch Holland had played on his mind. The idea of relaxing and seeing London with Togger appealed to him enormously. Togger agreed to meet him later at a pub down the Old Kent Road with the improbable name of the World Upside Down.

'Main bar could be a titch crowded. I'll wait in the saloon bar.' Togger glanced down at Peekay's shoes, his eyes travelling upwards until they reached his face. "Ere, I'll bring you some clobber. I'll be the bleedin' laughing stock if I'm seen with you lookin' like that. What size clod'oppers you take?'

Peekay looked down at his duffel coat, brown corduroys and finally at his crepe-soled brown shoes known as brothel creepers. 'Seven,' he said.

'Do the best I can. See you later then, don't be late.' Togger left them at the steps of the Tate and ran to catch a bus.

Peekay got off the Old Kent Road one bus stop too soon for the strangely named pub, but a group of women crowding around a vegetable barrow sent him on his way. 'You got off too soon for the World, love, just keep walking.'

Togger was the only man in the saloon bar; there were several older women. He had an almost empty half pint of bitter in front of him and was yacking away to the old biddies. He seemed relieved when Peekay entered nearly ten minutes late. 'Found it okay, then?' Peekay nodded. Togger turned to the ladies in the bar. 'It's been fascinating meetin' you, ladies, but I'm afraid me an' me partner here 'as got to move on to warmer climes. Don't do nothing I wouldn't do now, will yer.' Togger downed what remained of his drink, picked up a large shopping bag and took Peekay by the arm. "Ere, we'll just nick into the toilet. I got your
schmutter
for tonight.'

Togger was dressed in a black suit with a three-button jacket cut very long so that it hung below his knees. The lapels and cuffs were made of black velvet and the stovepipe pants were so narrow they took the shape of his legs. From the cuffs protruded a highly shone pair of winklepicker black shoes which came to a sharp point. With his white shirt he wore a black silk tie no more than half an inch wide. 'I hope it fits, it's me mate, Tim's. He works Friday night at the docks, same as me old man. It's good clobber, tailor made an' all.'

'It's good of you, Togger.'

'Naa! Think nothing of it, mate, least I could do.' Togger waited while Peekay changed. Tim's suit turned out to be an amazingly good fit, even the shoes felt comfortable. 'Very suave. Very bloody suave.' Togger marvelled as Peekay opened the toilet door. 'You look smashin', mate.' Togger put his hand into his pocket and produced a small green bottle. "Ere, 'ave a go at this, you'll smell like a bleedin' ponce, but the girls love it!'

Peekay cupped his hands and Togger shook three or four drops of the green cologne into them. He capped the bottle as Peekay patted the aftershave onto his jowls. 'Tim got it off a queer who bought it in Paris.' Togger read the small silver label: 'Pinaud eau de toilette.' He pronounced it 'Pinord ewe de toilet. 'It's the genuine froggie leg-opener stuff, mate, no messing about! A bird gets a whiff of this she's practically begging for it, right off!'

Peekay laughed. 'You know something, Togger, except for Harriet today and some of the girls on the boat coming over - but they were too stuck up and only went with the ship's officers, I haven't been near a chick since the last school dance which was…Christ, maybe two years ago.'

Togger looked genuinely shocked. He rubbed his hand through his ginger mop. 'You're kiddin' me now, ain't you, Peekay? You mean you just been-wanking on your own?'

Peekay blushed, but nodded. There seemed no point in denying it. Togger laughed. 'Me grandad, he was a randy old sod, he used to say, "Ain't nothin' wrong with wankin', matter of fact, with masturbation you meets a much better class of woman!'"

Peekay laughed. 'All I meant was, it would be nice to meet a few girls for a change. The ones you see at Oxford seem to be trying their hardest to be neuter. They're not women, they're brains riding bicycles!'

'Say no more, my son. Leave it to your old mate, Togger. We'll'ave a pint here and then we'll drop in home and give me mum her bottle and stow yer clobber. After that we'll have a feed of fish 'n chips at a caf I know near the Elephant and Castle and then it's straight to the Streatham Locarno!' He paused for effect. 'It's Friday night, pay day, place will be wall-to-wall with top crumpet. Then, if we are not rewarded for leadin' blameless lives with a couple of firstclass tarts, we'll take the tube uptown. Whaddaya reckon?'

'Lead on, MacDuff!' Peekay said happily. The teddy-boy outfit he was wearing made him feel different.

Togger picked up the shopping bag which now contained Peekay's clothes. 'You dance?' he asked. Peekay nodded.

He'd learned to jive on the boat over.

Togger stopped at the off-licence to buy half a bottle of gin. 'Can't I buy that?' Peekay asked.

'Tell you what, you buy the other half.' He looked up.

'Make that a bottle of Gilbey's please, Ron.'

They walked out of the off-licence and turned right. 'It's just round the corner.' Togger tapped the brown paper packet containing the bottle of gin. 'That's good, Peekay, that'll put her out for the duration. Might as well know, mate, me mum loves gin. She's better on gin, any sort, but she likes Gilbey's best, funny old tart.'

The house had a doorway set directly onto the street, part of a double-storey terrace. The door opened into a small parlour; the air was stale and smelt slightly sour as they stepped inside. An overweight woman who looked in her fifties - it was difficult to tell - wearing a dirty housecoat and slippers, lay dozing on a couch drawn up in front of a coal fire. She opened her eyes as they entered, though her expression didn't change. It seemed to take several moments for her to focus on them. 'Sh'you, Togger?'

'Yes, mum, I brought a bottle, Gilbey's!' He turned to Peekay., 'She's on the sauce early, no use trying to talk. Me old man musta gone off early, she usually waits till he's off before she hits the bottle. Still an' all, that means the bedroom's free.'

Peekay saw how small the house was. 'Look, Togger, I'm not intruding am I?'

'No, Peekay, you're welcome. It ain't Buck House, but there's a bed for you.'

They'd moved from the parlour into the tiny scullery, where he removed a rubber hot-water bottle from a hook on the wall directly behind the sink. The bottle contained a rubber bung from the centre of which a small rubber pipe protruded for about eighteen inches. Togger removed the bung, revealing that the pipe extended into the hot-water bottle almost to its full length. He held the bottle under the tap, appearing to fill it to about one third its capacity; then he upended half the contents of the gin bottle into it. He replaced the bung, pushing it firmly into place. 'What the hell are you doing?' Peekay asked.

'Puttin' the old bird to bed. She ain't gonna budge from that couch and if I give her the bottle she'll spill it and then she'll get up in the dark and go looking for more, which she's probably got hidden somewhere, and she'll do herself a mischief.' He placed the hot-water bottle carefully on the sink so that none of the contents could run out and hid the remainder of the gin in the cupboard under the sink. Then he picked up the carrier bag with Peekay's clothes. 'Hang on, I'll stow this stuff upstairs, won't be a tid'

Peekay could hear Togger running up the stairs and the creak of boards as he moved about above him. Togger bounced down the stairs again carrying a large eiderdown and a rubber blanket over his arm. The last time Peekay had seen a rubber blanket like that had been at boarding school when he'd been five and wet his bed at night. Each morning he'd be required to take it into the showers and scrub it.

'Bring the hot-water bottle then, please mate,' Togger asked. Peekay followed Togger back into the parlour carrying the bottle, and holding the tube so none of the contents would spill.

'Who y'frr-end, love,' Togger's mum mumbled, pointing a waving finger at Peekay.

'Peekay, this is the one an' only Mrs Brown, not the original knees-up version, but the Irish one, just as good mind. Though tonight, mate, she's just a tiny bit under the weather, ain't ya, mum?'

'Nice to meet you, Mrs Brown.' Togger was so natural about the introduction that Peekay felt no awkwardness.

'How d'jado, did'cha bring t'bottle, son?'

'Only if you sit up and let me put the mat under you, mum!'

'Whaffor, Togs? I…I…' Togger's mum closed her eyes tightly, trying to force the words from her mouth. When they came they were strung together perfectly. 'I'm not goin'ter piss me pants now, son!'

'Just the same, love,' said Togger, turning to Peekay and handing the rubber mat to him, allowing the eiderdown to drop to the floor. Then he stooped down and took his mother under both arms. 'C'mon, mum, up yer come!'

Peekay placed the hot-water bottle against the edge of the hearth and quickly spread the rubber mat over the couch.

Togger lowered his mother back onto it, lifting her feet up and removing her slippers. He picked up the pillow which had fallen to the floor and, puffing it up first, he placed it behind his mother's head. Then he undid the belt of her scruffy pink housecoat. "Ere, Peekay, hand us the hotwater bottle, then.'

He placed it on her stomach and secured it with the belt. Then he placed his mum's left hand on the bottle and handed her the rubber tube. She took it greedily in her free hand and immediately closed her eyes. 'You're a darlin' boy,' she said, and began to suck at the tube. Peekay handed Togger the eiderdown and he wrapped it over the old girl, tucking it in under her at the back so it wouldn't fall to the floor during the night.

'Thanks, Peekay. It ain't a pretty sight, but she ain't a bad old thing really.' He put his hand on his mother's head. 'G'night, rna, sweet dreams.' He turned and, stepping over to the grate, upended a small coal bucket on the fire. The coal swallowed the embers in a tumble of black dust, but almost immediately the fire started to spit and splutter, fighting its way back. 'Righto!' Togger glanced at his watch. 'It's half six, let's be off then, place is crawlin' with crumpet by now, you mark me words.'

They arrived at the Streatham Locarno about eight. The dance hall was already packed. All the girls were dressed up to the nines and stood around in groups watching the dancers and mostly giggling. Peekay and Togger stood on the edge of the large dance floor eyeing the talent. 'May I suggest a modis opa-randy,' Togger asked.

Peekay nodded happily. 'As you say, Togger. There are some bloody nice-looking girls here.'

'Now that's just it, yer see. Getting a good sort and not a scrubber takes a fair amount of cunning. If you watch carefully you'll notice most birds go around in pairs, a pretty one and an ugly one. I dunno why this is, must have something to do with nature. But a good-looking bird always has a proper turn-off with her. A fat pimple-picker with hairy legs. Take my word for it, go fer the scrubber. Do a coupl' a turns with her on the floor, then ask her mate for a dance. Works every time. Her mate's happy 'cause she 'asn't been ignored, an' the good sort don't feel guilty no more for 'aving a good time, know what I mean?'

'Ja, I see what you mean,' Peekay said, looking about him. He soon spied a nice-looking blonde wearing a tight pink angora sweater, wide white skirt and black patent leather high-heeled courts. Her hair was swept back into a ponytail. Beside her, dressed in a bright red, off-the-shoulder dress, which fitted her pudgy form rather too well, was her red-headed, big-breasted friend. 'Hey, Togger, see the dame in the white skirt, the one with the marvellous tits?' Peekay said urgently. He frowned suddenly. 'Are you certain about this theory of yours?'

Togger patted Peekay on the shoulder. 'Trust me, my son. Follow your old uncle Togger's instructions and you'll be in like bleedin' Flynn, I promise!'

Peekay moved towards the fat girl in the undersized red dress. 'May I have this dance?' he asked politely.

'Eh?' The fat girl, chewing gum, cocked her head and closed one eye to look at Peekay.

'May I have this dance?' Peekay repeated.

The girl giggled. 'Oo! Ain't you the polite one!' She turned to the girl beside her and giggled again. 'No thanks, we don't dance with toffs.'

'Hey! Who you callin' a toff, slut? This is me mate, Peekay, from South Africa. You gonna dance with him or not? Make up yer bleedin' mind, you slack tart!'

The fat girl looked surprised and then grinned at Togger. 'Oo! lovely!' She grabbed his arm. 'I bet you're a smashin' dancer an' all!' Togger was almost jerked off his feet onto the dance floor.

Peekay turned to the blonde in the angora. 'I'm a toff from Oxford University. Would you care to dance with me?'

'Don't mind if I do. I'm partial to a bit of class. I'm Doris.

What's your name, then…? Peekay, is it?'

Doris was a top dancer and Peekay had learned enough on the boat over to cope about as well as any of the other guys on the floor. Togger was lost amongst the whirling bodies, and after twenty minutes or so, Doris pulled Peekay away from the floor. 'What'll it be, Doris?' Peekay asked.

'Ooh! Don't mind if I do. I'll 'ave a Babycham,' Doris pushed herself closely against him, and Peekay felt the curve of her left breast against his chest. His heart began to pound. They found a table and Doris sat down while a somewhat agitated Peekay went over to the bar, fighting to calm his imagination so he could take his hand out of his pocket.

Peekay had a coke while Doris toyed with her Babycham served up in a cheap champagne glass with a short straw. She smoked, using a holder, and her nails were long and painted a shiny red. Try as he might, Peekay couldn't keep his eyes off her breasts. Doris didn't seem to mind. 'If you're such a toff, how come you wearing that suit, then? That's a Ted's clobber, that is,' she laughed.

Peekay grinned. 'It belongs to Togger's mate.' He reverted back to his usual accent. 'I'm not really a toff, Doris. Togger and I are boxers and I'm a student.'

'And you're from South Africa then? What the girls like in South Africa? They all black? What's it like goin' with a black girl?'

'Jeez, so many questions. Yes, pretty; no, I don't know.'