“We got a coach waiting to take us all up the West End to do a spot of gambling,” he told the crowd, “just to round the evening off. Lenny?”
Grinning, Lenny presented Danny with his fifty-pound wedding gift.
“With this,” Albert proclaimed as Danny stammered his thanks, “you can break the casino, son. Now who’s with us?”
There was another cheer as the drunken revellers prepared to leave the food-sodden pub and board the waiting coach.
Maria the landlady, who had lovingly and unwittingly prepared the ammunition, was livid.
“Look at the state of this place,” she bellowed. “What are you, animals?”
“It’s all right, Maria, just a bit of fun,” Albert tried to say, but it was no use.
“Get out of my bloody pub!” Maria screamed, and gave Albert a manly shove out into the street.
The coach driver was understandably reluctant to let the motley food-covered mob on to his nice clean coach, and was arguing with Jimmy the trifle-head flyweight. Albert stepped in to defuse the situation.
“Don’t worry mate,” Albert soothed. “Any mess I’ll pay for.”
In all honesty, the little money he owned had already been spent on Danny’s party. But it was important to Albert that the celebrations went to plan.
The coach driver finally agreed to let them on. Some of the boys climbed into the coach and fell over. One or two were so legless they were unable even to manage that, so they were carried aboard. Little Jimmy was sick all over the coach driver’s shiny shoes, so the coach now smelled like a cross between a pig sty and a pub. Muttering, the coach driver started up the engine and headed up to town.
Piccadilly Circus was around five miles from the East End. There was much singing, with Danny the loudest of all. Most participants joined in, usually in different keys, with a bawdy song about Salome who apparently had hairs on her belly like the branches of a tree, while the half-spoken, half-sung rendition of Danny Boy from Patsy almost moved Danny, sitting in pride of place at the front of the coach, to tears.
The boys did the Hokey Cokey proud and even attempted the Conga. Finally, much to the relief of the suffering coach driver, the rabble arrived at the bright lights of Piccadilly, where they more or less fell out of the coach with hearty cheers and drunken legs.
Like most big cities, London is a place that’s hard to shock. But even with the average Londoner’s casual take on unusual behaviour, the stag party with their Caribbean garb and piggy-back races round Piccadilly’s famous fountain turned more than a few heads – particularly when little Jimmy decided to use the fountain as a washroom to remove the remnants of the trifle from his head.
“Come on, you lot!” Albert shouted, when a couple of policemen started taking notice. “Time to move on!”
He did his best to lead the party through Soho’s sleazy streets. A swift head count seemed to show that all were present and correct. He found a broken umbrella in a bin and placed his straw hat on top, tour-leader style, trying to keep the rabble in check with a constant reminder to “Follow the hat! Follow the hat, lads!”
Another head count revealed the loss of three members of the clan to other establishments en route. Circumnavigating the many strip joints and ladies of the night, keeping a firm eye on Danny as he swayed along on Lenny’s guiding shoulder, Albert eventually found a casino. The next task, of course, was to get this lot in. It wasn’t easy.
“This is a fine place you got here,” he told the anxious-looking casino receptionist. “Very classy. I got a group of hard-working lads who want to come and spend their money in your establishment in the name of harmless stag-night fun. That’s OK, isn’t it?”
The receptionist pursed her lips and adjusted her low-cut top. “I’ll have to call upstairs to the owner, sir,” she said. “If you’ll bear with me?”
Albert waited while Patsy and Lenny tried to keep the boys in check out on the street. Then his heart sank like a lead balloon. None other than Tommy Costa was coming down the stairs.
This was not the grand finale to the party that Albert had envisaged.
Costa eyed the dishevelled Albert up and down.
“Hello, old man,” he said in amusement. “What you doing in my gaff? Ain’t it past your bedtime?”
Of all the establishments in London, Costa’s place would definitely have been bottom of the list. Albert attempted to think on his feet as Costa brushed past him to see what all the noise outside was about.
In the lamplit street, Danny was happily riding around on someone’s shoulders. Another of the lads was climbing up a street lamp. Little Jimmy was tap dancing and the rest of the rabble were playing football with an empty beer can while Patsy and Lenny attempted to keep order.
“Hello champ,” said a smooth, familiar voice. “Having fun?”
Seeing the unlikely figure of Costa through a half-cut mist of trifle and rum punch rendered Danny almost speechless.
“It’s my stag night,” he managed to answer, swaying up high on his perch.
“Wonderful,” purred Costa, all smiles and cordiality. “Come in and celebrate with us.” He cast his eye over Danny’s unruly bunch of mates, adding: “We can’t let your friends in, sorry. We’re too busy and the dress code demands a jacket and tie.”
The refusal didn’t seem to worry the other boys too much. There were plenty of other more appealing local prospects to savour than Costa’s gambling den. Almost at once, they started trickling away into the night and Patsy and Lenny followed.
“Bring the kid in, Mick,” Costa instructed the doorman. “Drinks on the house.”
Albert was in reception as Danny was ushered through.
“What about Albert?” he asked. “Can’t he come in?”
“Dress code,” Costa said, without looking in Albert’s direction. “You have a nice suit. He looks like he just got off a banana boat.”
Danny stood his ground, swaying slightly. “I’d like Albert to come in too. He organised it.”
Costa shot a grudging look at Albert. “As it’s you, champ,” he said.
Albert and Danny were hustled into the roulette room. Talking the whole while, Costa treated Danny like a VIP and Albert like he was invisible.
“What are you having, champ? Whisky? We’ll fix you a steak sandwich and the best seat in the house. Come and enjoy yourself.”
Danny’s wedding gift of fifty quid evaporated in an embarrassingly short time. Albert stood by silently and watched. Even through the fog of alcohol, Danny could see that Albert was really uncomfortable in Costa’s presence. But he didn’t know what to do about it.
“It’s getting late, Danny,” Albert said as the clock inched towards two a.m. “Big day tomorrow.”
“No need to leave just yet,” Costa coaxed. “Have another drink.”
Danny knew Albert was right. “I’m getting married tomorrow,” he said. “Thanks for your hospitality, Mr Costa, but we should call it a night.”
Costa shrugged. “Have it your way,” he said.
“See you at the wedding,” said Danny awkwardly.
“Looking forward to it,” said Costa, pulling Danny into a hug. He clicked his fingers at the doorman. “Mick? Show our visitors out.”
Outside the streets were still busy and full of nightlife. Danny felt deflated and sobered by what had been a strange ending to a happy night.
“So,” Albert said as they reached the night bus stop. “Costa’s coming to the wedding?”
Danny was starting to find this tiptoeing around Costa and Cohen tedious. He had his future to think of. Surely Albert could see that? He tried to play it down like it was no big deal.
“Yeah, him and Cohen,” he said. “I need to keep my options open.”