The Last Girl (17 page)

So of course,
being the sweet kid she is, she goes right ahead and opens it, didn't even seem
to mind me getting a bit closer while she was at it. The truth was, I'd sort of
forgotten myself exactly what it was inside.

Well,
newspaper cuttings, naturally. That was the whole point. What I hadn't
realized, or at least had forgotten, was how many. Not just the local stuff,
but from all of the big newspapers as well. But then, it was hardly that
surprising. When something like this happens practically on your front
doorstep, you're bound to take an interest. I daresay Ethel's got a pile of her
own twice the size.

Anyway, I let
Mandy sort them out, separating the first lot from the second on the table in
front of us while I tried not to breathe down her neck. Normally I wouldn't sit
so close as to have to worry about something like that, but I had to be able to
see, didn't I. What's more she needed a bit of help now and then. 'She was the
first one,' I'd say, recognizing the photo, and hand it to her so she could put
it in the first pile, then go on to find something for the second pile. But
mostly I left it all up to her. Then we sat there and read, cosy as you like
with not even the TV on to interfere, just the two of us and the gas fire
popping in friendly fashion.

After a bit,
when I was sure she'd read all there was and was just filling in time by
looking at the pictures, I said, 'Well then Mandy, what do you think?'

For a second
she didn't answer. Too busy staring at the photo of the older woman. Not that
she could have seen much. You know what newspaper pictures are like. A blur of
female, with hair much too fancy for her age, leering out at you with a glass
in her hand. Why do they always show pictures of the deceased that must have
been taken when they were at least one over the eight? One of life's mysteries,
I reckon.

'So go on,
what do you think?' I said again.

'Well,' Madam
says at last. 'It's very sad. Both strangled like that, and no-one ever found.
And of course it must have been worrying for you - and Mrs Duck especially. She
must have been the same age as the older one when it happened.' Then she stops.
'Oh!'

'What?' says
I.

'Nothing,'
she says. 'I was just wondering if they knew each other, she and Ethel. That
would have made it really sad, then, wouldn't it?'

'Well, you
can stop wondering,' I tell her. 'Nobody knew her from Adam. Not a soul came
forward. See it's all there, in writing. Ashamed you see.'

'Ashamed?'
says Mandy, all innocent, just as you'd expect. Ashamed of what?'

Well, even I
had to blush a bit. Still, an honest question demands an honest answer. 'Well,
it's obvious isn't it, Mandy love. She was one of those, you know, women who
are no better than they should be. That would have been why he caught her.'

'Oh, you mean
a prostitute. She died because she was a prostitute. Oh Larry why?'

Well, there
was no answer to that one. Last thing in the world you'd expect was Mandy
coming out with a word like that so matter-of-fact. Twice. I was still coughing
to cover up the embarrassment, when what must she do but carry on, and on the
same theme, no less.

'The other
one wasn't though,' she says.

'What other
one?' says I. So you can see the state I was in.

'The younger
one. The second one who died, all those years after the first. She was just a
local woman on her way home from her friend's. No way was she a prostitute.'

'Oh no?' I
was that surprised I forgot to blush any more. See, somehow or other I'd always
thought she was. But Mandy was holding up the cuttings, the one from
The Times
on top,
and sure enough, it didn't say anything there about her being one...you know,
one of those.

Then I
stopped being surprised. In fact it only went to prove my point. And I said as
much. 'There you go, Mandy love. That's what I've been saying all along. The
sort of person who did this wasn't to know that. All he saw was a woman out on
the street when she shouldn't be, and made a perfectly natural mistake. So what
did he do but go straight ahead and do her in anyway. Silly woman had it coming
if you ask me.'

Well, she
doesn't like this, you can tell from the way she shifts around a bit on the
settee next to me and says, 'Larry, I don't think...'

But this is
my chance, the opportunity to say what I've been trying to get across all
along. 'No, Mandy love. You listen to me. Now can you see why your old Larry
worries so much. You don't know what's out there, yet you waltz along those
roads after dark like you owned the place. Someone, some day is going to get
the wrong idea.'

'But Larry,
it was such a long time ago. Look how old the cuttings are. I mean, it's not
the sort of thing that happens every day, now, is it?' Then all of a sudden,
she goes quiet, adds, 'Oh look, I never noticed. It happened at Christmastime,
both times.'

Right out of
the blue, you can see the fight has gone out of her. And what could be more
fitting? It was that mention of Christmas you see. The conversation had gone
full circle, and here was Mandy suddenly looking all mopy again, without yours
truly ever having to mention the C word.

What more was
there to say? Nothing, that's what. These things have a habit of sinking in by
themselves, I reckon.

You know
what? I'm going to have a good night's sleep tonight. I just know it.

In the end, I gave her the cuttings. Absolutely insisted
that she have them, and you know, she's been in before eight every night for
the past week. So there you are, I reckon the penny has dropped at last.

Having said
that, maybe there is another reason after all. It's a proper routine with her
now, looking for something in the post. She comes home, rushing through that
front door as if she can't wait, only to stop by the hall table. Then, seeing
as there's nothing for her there, it's a case of padding off down the corridor
to the Ducks' kitchen to ask if there's been any mail at all. They're getting
fed up with her already, coming in with the same question night after night.
Yesterday I just happened to be in the hall myself when I heard Ethel tell her
in no uncertain terms that if someone gets a letter, it's no concern of hers.
It would be sitting there on the hall table, and Why Should She (Mandy) Think
Otherwise? I don't think the old kid will be asking again.

But you know,
it's a minor mystery. It can't just be Christmas cards she's looking for
surely. So who is she waiting to hear from? Keep ruling out Francis, is my
opinion. You can learn a lot about a man from the way he spends his weekends,
and he is not a writer, you take my word for it

Another time,
it might be one more thing to keep me awake at night, but not now. It's the end
of Week Two and Larry's been falling asleep the moment his head's hit the
pillow. Hard work, that's what it is, but I'm not complaining. It's all gone
like a dream - up to a point.

There's been
the weather for a start -  good crisp London weather, as if someone had taken
the lid off the city and all you could see when you looked up was blue sky,
pale and clear as a glacier mint. Even the traffic has a ring to it. Mind you,
it hasn't half been cold. Open your mouth to speak and you can feel your gums
dry up. Better not to say anything at all if you can help it. Not even when you
start noticing faces you haven't seen for years popping up on the Holloway Road
with Christmas carriers in their hands. It's got to be the weather, bringing
them all out in their droves.

As for keeping
to the timetable, nothing could have been smoother. Last night, Friday, I
looked at my list and every mortal thing that was on it was sitting there in
front of me, waiting to be put away. Not surprisingly I went to bed a happy and
contented man.

And then,
long before I was ready to drop off to sleep, it starts. The nagging doubt. And
what begins as a niggle grows bigger and bigger, until I'm there, wide awake,
tossing and turning like a nervous wreck.

It's been two
weeks of serious shopping, but always at the back of my mind has been the
thought of that one important object still to find. Mandy's present. But that's
the trouble - two weeks and I haven't seen a thing. I've told myself I'll
recognize it when I see it, that it's just out there, waiting, but nothing has
even come close. So now the question is: how long will it take? Followed by:
and what if I don't find it at all?

Needless to
say, I didn't get a wink of sleep all night. The only thing I could do in the
end was to promise myself that first thing this morning I would take myself off
to the West End again, and forget about everything else.

Mistake
Number One, though, was not stopping in long enough for a proper breakfast. If
there's one thing I've learned today, it's that a couple of slices of bread and
marmalade are not sufficient for a man with a mission. I'd no sooner stepped
off the bus when the old stomach starts to growl. And so on to Mistake Number
Two. Instead of popping right then into the nearest café for a snack, I just
decided to keep going. Decide is the wrong word. It simply didn't occur to me
to stop. All I could think of was Mandy's present, how I had to start looking,
how time was getting short.

But then the
problem was, where to start. The trouble with lists is that you get used to
them telling you exactly what it is you're looking for. If suddenly you don't
have one you can feel completely at sea - like I did. I mean, I knew where I
was all right - in the West End - but without one of my little lists in my hand
pointing me in the right direction, I might as well have been in the jungle.

Jungle -
that's a good word, considering where I ended up first of all. Fifty yards from
the bus stop I passed a record shop - you couldn't miss it. There was music
blaring out on to the pavement in all directions, but at least it gave me an
idea. Because there was June all those years ago nearly driving us out of our
minds with the noise of her little portable she got after her Aunt Dolly. Mad
she was about her records. Didn't have very many, but what she had, she played
over and over again. I don't think we knew a moment's peace until finally it
broke down under the strain. (It was only a cheap little thing, nothing like
what I've got up there now.) But June was brokenhearted. The point is, if it
was June as a young girl that I was buying for now, I'd know exactly what to
get for her.

Well, it was
worth a try, anyway. I reckoned I could at least step inside and ask for
something to appeal to a nice quiet young person with refined tastes. Which brings
me back to what I meant about the jungle. If the music had seemed loud on the
street, here it was deafening, banging away like there was a war going on,
around us. And as for the shop assistants - don't remind me. I took one look at
them and walked straight out again. They were just a load of black kids most of
them, straight off the street I'd say, standing around as if they owned the
place. The thought of having one of them laughing in my face, or worse still,
not taking a blind bit of notice when I talked to him was too much. Better to
get out before I gave them the chance.

And it was
only when I was outside that I remembered: in any case, Mandy doesn't have a
record player.

You can see
how this day was shaping up, then. Another experience like that and it would
have finished me. As it was, with my legs beginning to wobble, I had the sense
then to walk back to the Tottenham Court Road and find myself that café and a
timely cup of tea. But even there, things were no better. I sat with the cup in
front of me, imagining how it was going to be. Never mind the expensive tipple
and Mandy and me in funny hats. It would still be Christmas without a present.
Or to be more exact, a present like any other, that didn't tell her anything
about what she meant to me, and me to her. Just an expensive bit of nothing
wrapped up in fancy paper. Even Francis could do better than that.

Two cups it
took before I started to calm down, but still I didn't feel any better inside.
It was all I could do to get myself outside again. I had to tell myself there
was Mandy to think about, and I couldn't let her down. Out on the pavement
though it all hit me afresh. Here I was with only thirteen shopping days to go,
and I didn't have a clue what to do next. For a minute I just stood there,
watching the world go by, watching the youngsters especially. Honestly, I was
in such a state that if I'd seen a girl who looked remotely like my Mandy, I
might have gone up to her and asked straight out what she wanted for Christmas.
Mad, that's what she would have thought of me. Probably would have run off to
the nearest policeman and had me reported. But I didn't do any such thing, for
the simple reason that I could have stood there all day and not seen anyone who
was a bit like her. That's the thing about Mandy. She's a one-off. And all
Larry wants to do is show her he knows it.

And then it
came, a small miracle in itself. Illumination.

Nothing had
changed. I was still standing there like an idiot, when out of the crowd there
walked a woman. But not just any woman, none of your Doreens or your Junes or
Ethels. The first thing you noticed about her was that she was smart - by which
I mean beautifully dressed, hair done all nicely and held back by velvet band,
and with a face that could have been any age between twenty-five and forty. A
cut above the rest is how you'd describe her, definitely not the sort you see
on the Holloway Road on a Saturday afternoon. But the next most noticeable
thing about her was the way she managed to walk somehow without getting pushed
and jostled like everybody else. It was almost as if she was creating her own
space just so that for a few brief seconds she could stand out enough for me to
notice her - and what she was carrying. A little plastic carrier bag, hardly
bigger than her own hand. One look at it and you knew that inside was something
small, and very expensive. A Harrods bag. A second later she'd passed me, and a
second after that she was swallowed up in the crowd like everybody else.
Another moment and I wouldn't even have registered her. But that was all I
needed.

Harrods is
where people like her always go at Christmastime. Where, I bet, Mandy's mum
does all her shopping - when she isn't in Hong Kong. I mean it's supposed to be
the place where you can find anything, isn't it? So where else should I look
for Mandy's present?

Salvation,
that's what it was. There had been two problems with Mandy's present - firstly
where to look and only then what to get her. And here was the first problem
solved.

And what that
boiled down to was knowing, suddenly, that everything was going to be all
right. So what did I do? I turned around and went straight back inside the café
and had another cup of tea. Only this time I enjoyed it - and the custard slice
that went with it. See, I had all the time in the world.

But when did
I last set foot in Harrods? I tried working that one out on the bus on the way
over. I reckoned it was years even before Doreen upped sticks. She never did
like the place, and I'll tell you why. She never had the vision. She'd walk
around the displays telling anyone who'd listen how she could get it all in
Selby's on the Holloway Road, and cheaper. In the end, even June would have to
grab her by the coat and beg her to put a sock in it because of the looks we
were getting from the staff. When you bear that in mind, it's hardly any wonder
that I've never been back. She was a woman who simply didn't have it in her to
rise to the occasion.

So today was
proof to end all proof that I'm better off without her. Do you know, it was a
thrill in itself just walking through one of their great double doors and
knowing this time I wasn't going to get shown up. And you could feel the difference
straightaway. Welcome  that's what the place was saying to you from the very
first blast of hot air as you came into the shop. Welcome, you look like our
sort of customer, the sort who appreciates the finer things in life, namely
quality merchandise for quality folk.

Fanciful? Not
at all. I tell you, that shop has an atmosphere of its own, and perhaps it's
just that you have to be a special type of person to feel it. Nothing else
could have explained the sense of - what's the word? - wellbeing that simply
came over me as I stepped inside. I took one look around me, heaved a great
sigh of relief, and said to myself, Larry my boy, you've come to the right
place.

And after
that? I just wandered, didn't even look for anything, not as such. Now that I
knew where I was, there was no need to rush. This first visit could be an
indulgence, I could stop and look at everything, or nothing, marvel at it all,
like I was at a museum. Only the difference was, here, they don't charge.

Having said
that, even in a place like Harrods, there's only so much you can do when you
reach my age. Suddenly, after three hours of heaven, it was getting on for five
and I hadn't made it off the ground floor, and there was me, in the middle of
Accessories discovering I was on my last legs. Although firm common sense told
me to leave it for now, to stop where I was and go hack the way I came, I still
couldn't    bring myself to hurry. In three hours, the place had done all it
could to make me feel part of it.

Which is to
say, even in the last moments, coming through Perfumes, I was dawdling,
breathing in the most expensive air in the world. I mean, have you ever looked
at the prices on those scents? And besides, I've got a sensitive nose. Ask
anyone who knows me. Coming at me from all sides it was, as shop staff sprayed
bottles of the stuff into the air or on to the wrists of anyone who asked. And
that's when I smelt it.
The
scent.

What happened
next is...well, difficult. I don't mean that it was awful, only that it was
unlike me. Just one of those things that happen when you're too tired to think
what you're doing, or why you're doing it. You get carried away on the spur of
the moment. And anyway, no-one could have said there was any harm in it.

The scent
that I caught was not like the others. It was familiar for one thing. But it
wasn't until I turned and tried to follow it around with my nose that I
realized why. There on a counter was a framed picture of broken columns and the
waves rushing in, and I knew. It was his smell. The one he insists on leaving
on the landing of decent folks to kill the flies. And here was gallons of the
stuff, standing around in bottles, and calling itself Andrex or whatever. You
could even try it on if you wanted. There was one of those bottles with the
word 'tester' round its neck which could only mean one thing. What's more the
kid behind the counter wasn't going to object. If all of the seven dwarfs had
come up for testing he would still have been too busy ogling himself in the
mirror to see. It has to be said, they don't have the same calibre of staff
working there anymore.

Finally, I
noticed this. Here in the atmosphere of the place, it didn't seem to smell
quite so bad, not when you consider the effect it had at home. And that, you
could say, was what made me curious.

Well, you've
probably guessed what happened next - when you bear in mind that everything
there was telling me to have a go, and that when a place like Harrods tells you
to have a go, that's what you do. The long and the short of it is, before I'd
even thought about what I was doing, I'd reached out a hand for the bottle and
started splashing it on wherever appropriate. And when that didn't seem to make
much difference I did the same all over again until it was running down my
neck, down under my collar and I don't know where else.