When he got to the arches, he saw Lenny in his usual position, underneath a car. Lenny was making the sounds he always made when working: a grunt here, a sigh there and that trademark hiss through the teeth.
“Lenny, how you doing?” he said.
“This motor is a bastard,” growled Lenny in response.
Danny leaned against the garage doors. “Can we have a chat?”
“Not now, man. Too busy.”
“It’s about Albert,” said Danny, hoping for a more positive response.
Lenny unfolded himself from under the car. “What about Albert?”
Danny relayed the story, and Lenny nodded.
“I already heard from Albert that Cohen and Costa had been to the gym,” he said. “Hadn’t been told the ins and outs though. So what’s your decision?”
“Nothing has been agreed yet,” Danny admitted. “But if it means a secure future, some fame and some fortune, I reckon it’s something I should do. Albert and Patsy will still be my team. What do you reckon?”
Lenny settled himself on an old beer crate in the corner and rolled a cigarette. “You gotta decide for yourself,” he said after a moment. “But before you do, remember this. Albert may not show it, but he thinks the world of you. I think he sees a bit of himself in you, back when he was a contender. Patsy believes in you too. Just remember that.” He picked up a spanner and got back to his feet. “I better get on, Danny. OK?”
Danny left Lenny to it. The conversation did not totally solve his dilemma, but he did feel better. His thoughts were out in the open now. He was sure Lenny would speak to Albert, and fill him in on how Danny felt.
After a difficult few weeks, Danny went round to Wendy’s as usual. The baby bump now was beginning to show, and Mr and Mrs Bristow were getting more and more anxious to get the wedding over and done. With only two weeks to go till the big day, they couldn’t will the time away fast enough.
The thought of their daughter walking down the aisle obviously with child was too terrible to even contemplate.
Danny had told Mr Bristow about the offer to turn professional.
“You could make some serious money, Danny,” had been his future father-in-law’s positive response. “Be good for your wife and baby, eh?”
It felt good to be in Mr Bristow’s good books for a change, an unusual occurrence, and Danny tried to enjoy the feeling. But the black cloud of Albert’s reaction still hovered in his mind.
The evening was spent going over the invites, trying to keep the attendance as low as possible for financial reasons, but trying not to leave anyone out. On Danny’s side there weren’t too many guests: Rosie plus one, an Aunt Ellen, an Uncle Bill, two cousins he hardly knew, Albert, Lenny and Patsy. Wendy’s side numbered twenty-two.
“We ought to invite Cohen and Costa,” Wendy suggested. “For business reasons. Don’t you think?”
Danny could see the sense in that, but he wasn’t sure how Albert would react. It was important to try to rebuild burnt bridges without fanning any new flames, but under pressure from Wendy and Mrs Bristow and with an eye to his future, he agreed – as long as they were seated as far from Albert, Patsy and Lenny as possible. Checking the address on their business card, the invites to Cohen and Costa were duly written and added to the pile.
“Fingers crossed,” said Danny, more brightly than he felt.
Considerable progress was made in the logistics and arrangements for the big day. The wedding dress was chosen and the matching bridesmaid dresses, a little less spectacular than the bride’s of course, were fitted and ordered. Mr Bristow had funded most of Wendy’s wishes, even agreeing to an ornate carriage and two white horses to ferry his princess to the church in regal style. Lenny had offered to procure an Austin Princess from one of his richer clients, but Wendy had felt it would be too funereal.
“Thank Gawd I’ve only got one daughter,” was Mr Bristow’s answer to the mounting cost.
Wendy had made an appointment for Danny to be fitted for his wedding suit. An uncomfortable event as far as Danny was concerned, but he knew it would incur the wrath of his new in-laws if he turned up at the church in his customary tracksuit. So dressing up like a Victorian gent was agreed to keep the peace. However, no matter how much he loved Wendy, Danny had drawn the line at a top hat. Enough was enough.
Before the Cohen and Costa business, Danny had asked Albert to be his best man. So Wendy had made a joint appointment for the two of them that afternoon.
“To see both of you dressed up in smart tailcoats, waistcoats and cravats will certainly be a one-off,” Wendy said as she sent Danny to the hire shop. “And promise to think about the top hat?”
Danny dutifully made his way to his three o’clock appointment.
“Can I help you?” asked the rather effeminate man at the counter.
Danny cleared his throat. “I have an appointment with someone named Cyril?”
The man eyed him. “I’m Cyril,” he said. “Where is the second member of your party?”
“Not here yet,” said Danny, feeling like he was stating the obvious.
After ten minutes, there was still no sign of Albert. This worried Danny. Maybe their recent cooling relationship had led Albert to pull out. But just as Cyril was taking an uncomfortably long time over the measurement of Danny’s inside leg, Albert walked through the door.
“Looks like your luck has changed, son,” Albert remarked.
Danny was delighted to see his best man. He smiled with relief. “All right, Albert?” he said.
Cyril swept disapproving eyes over Albert’s tramp-like appearance. He became a touch frosty and less effeminate.
“Take a seat, sir,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Albert waited as Danny was wrestled into various outfits. Every now and again he gave an approving wolf whistle.
“So the black tailcoat, striped trousers and grey waistcoat?” said Cyril after Albert and Danny had debated the options.
“Works for me,” said Albert.
Albert proved to be a rather more difficult project than Danny. He had the habit of stretching out his arms, so that the sleeves of the tailcoats he tried climbed halfway up his forearms.
“Please sir,” said Cyril irritably. “You won’t be walking around with your arms outstretched.”
Albert shrugged his shoulders. “Monkey arms,” he said.
At long last, a reasonable fit was found, identical to Danny’s. It had to be said, Albert looked transformed and rather dapper. Mission accomplished, Danny put a deposit down. The now giggling pair left a bemused Cyril in his top-hat-and-tails world.
“So Danny,” said Albert. “You want a stag night? It’s only right. Last night of freedom and all that.”
Danny, with a little trepidation, agreed.
“You leave the arrangements in the almost safe hands of me and Lenny,” Albert said soothingly. “Next Friday night? Seven o’clock kick-off at the Live and Let Live.” And he mock-punched Danny’s jaw.
Walking to work at the pub that evening, Albert started to think about the entertainment for Danny’s stag night. A traditional stripper, maybe a night up the West End, perhaps a flutter in a casino.
At the bar of the Live and Let Live, Lenny was knocking back a Guinness laced with a dash of Jamaican rum.
“How about we organise a Caribbean night?” he suggested when Albert asked him for ideas. “You know, with straw hats, colourful shirts and plenty of rum chasers. We can have a limbo contest, you know: how low can you go. I’m a natural, years of practice, man.”
“Yeah,” agreed Albert. “We could get one of those steel bands.” Ironically – Lenny hated steel bands: “They sound like a scrap yard.”