There was something moving in the way that these salt-of-the-earth people sang the last song en masse.
“Good night campers, see you in the morning, good night campers, I can see you yawning… drown your sorrow, bring the bottle back tomorrow, good night campers, good night.”
Happy Valley was indeed a happy place.
The holiday seemed to fly by. Danny and Wendy visited the amusement park almost every day, and had a lot of fun on the rides: Danny’s favourite was the Big Dipper while Wendy loved the Big Wheel. There was only one dicey moment, when Danny was short-changed by a shady showman on the Waltzer. But sensing Danny’s fighting skills, the showman grunted an apology and rectified the “mistake”.
In a week of candy floss and fish and chips, Danny and Wendy were happiest going for a dip in the cold North Sea.
“You want to watch out for sewage,” a beach neighbour told them gloomily towards the end of the week. “London’s waste is deposited directly into the sea, you know.”
This kind of took the edge off the swimming, and a quick paddle became the order of the day.
Nights at the camp were magical. Wendy and Danny would sit on the beach watching sunsets, and would cuddle together till well after the sun had gone down.
“Look,” Wendy said one night. “They’ve got stars here. So many stars, twinkling in the sky.”
“We get stars in London too.”
“Not often.”
“That’s because at home there’s too much light in the streets, so you can’t see ’em,” Danny explained.
Wendy looked up at the star-filled sky. “Which one of those do you reckon is our baby?” she asked.
Danny laughed. “I don’t know. But I reckon he’ll be our little star.”
“How d’ya know it’s a he?” said Wendy. “It might be a she. Imagine that! A little me. Two of us! Do you think you could cope?”
“It won’t be easy, but I’ll try,” answered Danny, and kissed Wendy gently on the lips.
As the end of the week approached, Danny’s thoughts returned to reality. He had a career choice to make. Wendy was pushing for stronger connections with Costa and Cohen and more security. But Danny was still troubled by Albert’s absence at the wedding and his hostile reaction to Danny’s hopes and dreams.
On the train home, Danny felt that odd combination of looking forward to going home and feeling sad that the honeymoon was over. For Wendy, it was back to the sugar factory. For Danny, it was time for some life-changing conversations. He had to start shaping the future now.
CHAPTER TEN
BACK in East London, Albert was collecting glasses at the Live and Let Live as usual, and keeping an eye on Patsy’s boxing gym upstairs.
“Ain’t you got a clapped-out Ford Anglia engine to be reconditioning, Lenny?” he asked as Lenny ordered another pint of brown and mild.
“That can wait, man,” said Lenny. He studied Albert. “We need to talk about Costa and Cohen, and Danny’s future.”
Albert turned back to the glasses. “It’s up to the boy,” he said.
“You keep pushing the subject away,” said Lenny, tutting as he drained his pint.
“You ain’t going to get nowhere with Albert, Len,” said Patsy, coming to the bar.
Lenny eyed Patsy. “What’s your professional opinion then?”
“He’s a contender. What will be will be.”
Patsy sounded almost proud. It sounded to Albert as if the big Irishman was weakening on the subject of Cohen and Costa. He’d put a lot of time and energy into Danny’s progress, and Albert sensed that he had no plans to let go.
“Do you remember that conversation we had way back, Patsy?” Lenny asked. “When I asked, why do you do what you do? Why are you so committed to training these boys?”
“Some of them had got into bad company. If, by giving them a direction and a reason, I was saving them from a life of crime, that was reason enough.” Patsy’s eyes darted towards Albert. “And you never know. I might just unearth a future champion.”
Albert silently took the glasses into the kitchen. Being a part of Danny’s rise was a dream come true for Patsy. Why wouldn’t he go along with Cohen and Costa’s plans for the boy? Albert felt sad, for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Back home at the Bristows’, Wendy had been sent a rather large bunch of flowers from Costa and Cohen. There was also a message for Danny to give them a call and meet up.
“Good news, Danny,” said Mr Bristow, clapping his new son-in-law on the shoulder. “You’re going up in the world, eh?”
The thought of calling Cohen and Costa filled Danny with both excitement and trepidation. He felt he needed to talk to Albert first. Although he knew Albert lived in Canning Town, he’d never discovered Albert’s actual address. Albert would most likely be at the park feeding the ducks in the morning. He’d find him there.
That evening, Wendy went through the holiday adventures with her parents, recounting everything from the surly man on reception to the musty old caravan, from the camp to the shady showman on the Waltzers and everything between. Danny did the best he could to enthuse alongside his wife, but his mind kept wandering to the coming meeting with Albert. So he kept quiet, nodding at the right time and shaking his head when needed.
It was good to be back in a proper bed. The caravan had been fun, but pretty uncomfortable, with its drop-down bed that had felt as if it was still occupied by a previous tenant. Danny took his mind off his worries by reaching for Wendy, and, eventually, a good night’s sleep was had by all.
The Monday-morning blues hit hard.
“I wish we were back at Happy Valley,” Wendy sighed as she got ready for work.
“Me too,” was Danny’s short reply. He probably should have been a bit more supportive, but had his own blues to turn purple.
With her sugar-factory turban on her head, Wendy gloomily left the house. Danny looked at his watch, the wedding present from Costa and Cohen. It was only eight-thirty. Albert didn’t usually get to the pond till about ten, so Danny decided to pop in on his mum on the way to the park.
But by the time he got there, Rosie had already left for work. Only the sound of Ricky’s snoring filled the house. Danny went upstairs to his old room. Taking the tin box from under the bed, he opened it.
“I got married, Dad,” he told the open box softly. “She’s nice, you’d like her.”
Outside the window, homing pigeons were circling from the pigeon fancier two doors away. Danny thought how wonderful it would be to fly like a bird. Perhaps his father was that free, up in heaven, above the early wintering sky.
Downstairs, the hall clock was striking ten. Danny was shaken from his thoughts and remembered the job at hand.
At the park, he headed for the duck pond. It seemed right that this meeting should take place there. After all, it was where they’d first met seven years earlier, when Danny had been just sixteen and set to run wild.
On the path by the weeping willow tree, he saw the familiar figure of Albert surrounded by ducks, brown paper bag in hand, sharing the spoils.
“Albert! Hey Albert, how are you?”
Albert’s face was expressionless. Danny tried again.
“All right, mate? I’ve been away on my honeymoon.”
“I know,” was Albert’s response. “Nice.”
Danny could see there was work to do here. He sat on the bench behind Albert and waited for him to finish with his feathered friends.