Clutching a glass of wine, Susie squirmed through into the living-room. She hoped the neighbours wouldn't complain. The stereo seemed to be permanently at top whack, even though every time she went by she tweaked it down – obviously somebody immediately tweaked it up. Above the heat and noise and swirling cigarette smoke, Kenny and Phil peered through the banister rails, huddled together to make room for the constant flow of people traipsing up to the bathroom. Helen was standing on the bottom step, pointing a stern finger.
'Bed you two – you've been told twice! Now come on…'
Susie stepped over somebody's legs, got bumped in the rear by a jiving girl, and steadying her glass called up, 'Do as you're told, you two! You got a drink, Mum?'
Helen pushed the boys ahead of her. She leaned over the banister, face like a thundercloud. 'I want a word with you! Come up, come on!'
On the landing, having got the boys inside, Helen kept her hand on the doorknob, holding the door shut. She turned to her daughter with wide, outraged eyes. 'There's four women down there,' Helen hissed, 'an' if you don't know what they are, then -'
Susie half-closed her eyes. 'Mum, just don't start… they're celebratin'. I dunno who half these people are.'
'Tarts,' Helen said in a furious whisper. 'You got tarts down there! Never mind half a ton of pork pies…'
And when Susie couldn't help it, burst out laughing, Helen did her Mrs Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells act and flounced into the bedroom and slammed the door. A tall, slender black girl came out of the bathroom. She gave Susie a bright smile. 'Hello, I've not been introduced, but I'm Shirley, Cliff's fiancee.'
Susie said hello and they went down together to join the fray. Fifties rock 'n' roll was in favour at the moment, Elvis in his prime, never as good again, with My Baby Left Me, Bill Black's thudding bass making the backbone shudder.
The two women eventually made it past the whirling bodies into the kitchen. A dozen or so ex-Paras had done a flanking move and set up base camp around the beer keg. In the middle of them was Harry, foaming pint in one hand, the other clamped to the ample waist of a blonde woman who was more than well endowed everywhere else. She clanked with jewellery, from earrings in the shape of swinging dragons down to a gold anklet laden with chunky gold star-sign charms. Probably a social worker, Susie decided charitably, which wasn't far wide of the mark.
In expansive mode, Harry was giving with the gab to some of the younger blokes. 'We got an armour-plated security wagon. We got a stretch Merc used to belong to some Iranian, Ford Granada an' – he took a swallow, sucked his moustache ' – suite of offices. You need a job mate -' belch ' – give us a call.'
Wally flagged Dillon over, draped his arm matily around Dillon's shoulder. 'Hey Frank, you met Kenny Hill, he was in the Gulf, he's just got out… any chance of him joinin'?'
Fishing in the breast pocket of his shirt for a card he didn't have on him, and was too pissed to find if he had, Dillon said grandly, 'Give me a bell – you got one of our cards?' He pulled away from Wally and did a Wagons Roll wave of the arm. 'Come on, lads, move into the other room… in - the – other - room -!'
As the group began to move, Cliff was excitedly telling them. 'We went into the bank manager, showed him our references. We got the loan an' we got more business than we can handle!'
Helen came through, manoeuvring past them with two handfuls of dirty plates and glasses. Susie was pouring a glass of wine for Shirley. Helen stacked the plates in the dish-washer and put the upturned tumblers and wine glasses in the top tray. 'Go for one of these, love,' she advised Shirley. 'They don't half make the glasses sparkle.'
Shirley took the wine from Susie. 'It was a toss-up whether I got one of these or a microwave,' she said, big brown eyes everywhere, taking everything in. She spotted Cliff just inside the living-room door, and at the third shout, because the music was blasting out, he got the message and came over.
'They got a new washing machine, tumble-dryer, dishwashing machine, an' a fridge.' Practically the same height as Cliff, Shirley looked at him, quizzical, and nudged him with her elbow. 'So you tell me, how much you been given?'
Cliff touched a finger to his lips and winked.
Susie rushed past them, having caught a glimpse of her boss and his wife, all at sea in the crowd. Marway was smiling as she brought them through to the relative calm of the kitchen, but his wife had a wincing expression, unaccustomed to a sweltering roomful of burly sweating men, some interesting looking women, and Green Onions at sixty-five decibels.
CHAPTER 30
'I said, for that much, love, I'd swing from a chandelier naked! An' that's how it started, like it was just a laugh, you know…'
Trudie threw back her blonde head and laughed, everything shaking and jiggling, including the dragons dangling from her earlobes.
Wally was well into another of his interminable tales that never seemed to have a point or a punchline: '…an' then the C.O. caught us red-handed – what you two friggin' think you're playin' at? We're collectin' information on the opponents' military capabilities, sir!'
'So we raided the house, small terraced job, opposite the suspect IRA house.' A Full Screw – corporal – from 3 Para was holding two young Toms enthralled. 'An' we get into the loft, then we get a slate off, use the old elastic band gig, an' we…' he crouched down, using his hands for binoculars '… were stuck in there for fourteen fuckin' days!'
'No, listen,' Harry said, hanging onto the bloke next to him, because if he didn't he'd fall over, 'Harris – Steve -he turns to the arsehole, says to him – Sir, I wasn't doin' any field signal, I was tellin' that bugger behind me to get a friggin' move on! Laugh…!'
Dillon, in the middle of five, had one of his best stories rolling. He'd gone from keg bitter via Newcastle Brown, with a brief detour for a Grolsch or three, to Famous Grouse, and he was feeling on top of the world, no muzziness, no whirling pit, dandy, just great, fantastic.
'… so Jimmy says, Sir, I know how we can get our bearings – compass was lost, see – so he takes out this razor blade, starts stroking it against the palm of his hand, an' this prat of an officer looks on. What the hell you doin', Hammond? Magnetising the razor, Sir. He ties this piece of cotton round it, and it worked. Next day there's this prat with a bandaid round his hand – an' we know…' Dillon broke off, gasping with laughter '… we know the stupid bastard's gone an' tried it!'
From the kitchen doorway, standing with Helen and Shirley, Susie watched her husband's face. His eyes had nearly gone, that was easy to tell, but she didn't mind. It was the first time since he'd come out that he'd allowed himself to relax, really let go. She knew the strain he was under, trying to make a go of things. Things had been tough at first, no proper job to slot into (not much call in Civvy Street for Fieldcraft – weapons handling, camouflage and concealment, surveillance of enemy firebase), and on top of it, the trouble with Taffy and Steve. But now, fingers crossed, things were looking up. Not just a job, any old job, but his very own business, and money to back it, thanks to Mr Marway. Feeling a bit guilty that she was neglecting them, Susie looked round for the couple, but they seemed to have drifted off somewhere. Hardly surprising in this bedlam. Her own head was starting to throb, and a fixed look of long-suffering exhaustion was stamped on Helen's face, like one of those TV adverts for premenstrual tension.