Charlie sat alone on his window seat. He sipped gin. Dodgy stood at the bar.
"Bring a bottle over, Ted."
"What do you want?" Charlie said.
Dodgy tugged his collar. "Thought you . . . There's a poker game on . . . You know what Sam's like . . . "
Charlie glanced at Sam. Charlie knew what he was like. He'd known him for ruddy years, since they were born. Their mothers were best friends, walked the streets together.
Charlie sipped his gin.
"Can't say I'm that bothered, meself."
Sam joined them. "Game on?"
"Not that troubled, Sam," Dodgy said.
Sam nodded. "Can't say I'm up to losing me hide."
"What say we go down the front?" Dodgy said.
"To do what?" Charlie said.
"Have some fun."
"You humouring me?"
Dodgy jerked his head, Sam left. He reappeared with two women on his arms and another trailing with her arm looped through her friend. Dodgy glanced at Charlie, and waited. Charlie smiled.
"Oi, Sam. Over here," Dodgy said.
"Ladies, please sit." He stared at the little blonde blue-eyed woman—no reminders. He patted the seat beside him—Fanny's place.
"So what we having?" Dodgy asked, as he stood with his hands gripping the chair backs of the seated women.
"Gins for us, please."
"Oi, Ted. Bring a bottle of gin over."
Ted saluted.
"What're your names, then?" Dave asked.
Charlie placed his hand on Maud's knee. She had a mole above her upper lip. It looked like chocolate sauce. As if she needed to wipe her lips after a rich pudding. Charlie would clean it for her . . . lick it away. Charlie smiled. Jane giggled at every remark Sam made. The man was a ruddy comedian. Sarah hardly spoke, but sipped her gin with quiet resolve. Charlie hadn't seen these women before. Sam had brought them especially from London, fresh to market. Sarah was definitely fresh to this market, and guaranteed clean. They'd waited in a hotel room, but the card game off, Sam brought them to The Turtle. They'd return to London when they were no longer wanted. Sam would return the favour when he found new women.
Charlie liked novelty. This was the first time he'd bloody smiled in weeks. Course, if Emily had hung around Charlie may have found some comfort and relief from his feelings. He was unpredictable and foul tempered. Emily had given Sam and Dodgy nothing but grief since she'd left, and before that, when she arrived. Not so much as stand by your man, but scarper as quickly as possible, and leave them to pick up the pieces—not good.
Charlie stood. He held his arm for Maud, tipped his hat at The Turtle's door, and left. A collective sigh as the regulars expelled held breaths. Dodgy watched in case anyone said a word too much, but there was nothing he could do about their breathing heavily. Dodgy's arm rested along the back of Sarah's chair; he stroked her cheek, and she smiled slightly, glancing up at him from under her lashes—oh, sweet.
"Fancy a foursome, Dave?"
Dodgy stroked Sarah's neck. He looked at Jane and heard that giggle. Sarah's cheeks were much too red and her skin too white. She either tried to appear older than her years, or she was old, and the paint covered her age. But by her behaviour, unless she was a great actress, a possibility, he guessed, or hoped the former.
"No, mate, I'm up early next morning."
Jane giggled. Dodgy raised an eyebrow, patted Sam's shoulder, grabbed Sarah's hand, and steered her from the pub. On the cobbles he pressed her against the wall, hands either side of her head, as he leant over her. He placed his mouth to her lips—sweet breath.
"How old are you?"
"Old enough."
She smiled, and Dave placed his arm around her shoulder. Her choice. As they turned into Commercial Road, he heard that giggle. Sam left The Turtle, and fortunately he lived in the opposite direction.
***
Charlie woke. A pair of big blue eyes confronted him, and her tousled blonde hair flowed in waves over his pillow. "Good morning." Charlie rubbed his eyes, and took his pocket watch from its stand. "Tea. Coffee."
"Want me to make it?"
"No. I want you to tell me what you want."
"Cocoa."
Charlie smiled. How apt. That little chocolate beauty spot on her upper lip . . . Charlie pushed up his front window, shoved two fingers in his mouth, and whistled. The urchins weren't under his window; they were at the corner of the street. He'd normally just have to yell. His whistle pierced his eardrums. He ordered tea and chocolate, a couple of muffins and tossed a shilling to the first pair of grubbing hands.
"Lavatory's through the kitchen, turn right," Charlie said, without waiting for her to ask. "You'll need this." And he tossed her his dressing gown. He watched as she stood, her back towards him; she pulled the dressing gown on her arm. "Turn around." Charlie smiled. He'd keep her for a bit. His front door knocked. "Get the door."
***
Charlie grinned as he entered The Turtle.
"Good night?" asked Dodgy.
"Sam did a good job."
"He has his uses. Oi, Ted. Over here."
Ted saluted. Dodgy took his seat opposite Charlie.
"I'm going to keep her. Tell Sam I need the cost."
"Er."
"What's the, er, for?"
"Thought I'd hang onto Sarah for a bit."
Charlie grinned. "An expensive week."
Which is when Sam arrived, and they turned to him, and waited.
"What?" Sam asked.
"You're late."
"I know. Friggin', what's her name . . . "
"Jane," Charlie said.
"Couldn't get her out me house. Yours alright, Charlie?"
"We were just talking about that, Sam."
"Oh?"
"Get a deal, for both, on a week by week," Charlie said.
"Oh, right. Good. I'm glad you're both so pleased." Sam rolled his eyes.
"Not enjoy yourself then, Sam?" asked Dodgy.
"It was alright . . . although . . . "
Dodgy waited.
"It was her giggle. I mean, it's good someone thinking you're funny and all. But when you're about to get serious and a woman chuckles, it's not funny."
"No," said Charlie.
"No laughin' matter."
They cracked up. Sam frowned. He was sick to death of the sound of friggin' laughter.
***
Maud made him dinner; he'd given her ten shillings to buy food. No sooner had he lowered himself in his armchair, than she poured him a brandy, lit a cigar, and placed it between Charlie's lips.
"Nice."
"Dinner's ready as soon as you want it."
Charlie patted his lap.
"I boiled a ham."
"You did."
He shoved his hand under her skirt, and between her legs.
"I'm not a very good cook."
"No."
"I hope it'll be alright."
"I'm a big eater."