‘I’m going after him in the morning.’
That provoked a nice peaceful silence. I began to hum that Sidney Bechet number ‘Petite Fleur’.
‘OK. What do you want?’
‘A decent gun in case I mess it up. I usually talk my way out of trouble but I can’t speak Cyppo.’
I thought that Collins’s silence meant that he was trying to work out how best to say no. In fact he was making a technical judgement.
‘A silenced Sterling and fifty rounds? That do you?’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll get it delivered early tomorrow, and if you fuck up we’ll say you stole it.’ He was taking a big chance, and Red Caps don’t usually take chances. He asked, ‘What transport are you using?’
‘Watson’s Humber.’
‘That’s as good as you’ll get. Let me know how you get on.’
‘Of course.’
‘Good luck, Charlie.’
Steve was behind me; she had whispered up in bare feet. I turned and kissed her cheek as I replaced the telephone. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. She must have heard our sign-offs, because she asked, ‘Good luck doing what?’
‘Oh, nothing. I have to meet someone tomorrow, and Collins is worrying about it already. He’s an old worry guts.’
‘It’s because he’s a worry guts that he lived long enough to get old.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
Her arm was curled lightly around my waist, and mine hers. Neither was a mark of possession . . . something more like reassurance. Like the way a cat rubs up against you as it passes, in order to say I’m here.
‘Why did I get the black spot?’ I asked her. ‘Not that it counts – it wasn’t a proper black spot.’
‘Why wasn’t it?’
‘In the book they cut it from the flyleaf of a Bible – which is about a million years’ worth of bad luck. I wouldn’t wish that on you anyway.’
‘Thanks. You got it because I saw you holding hands under the table with that goofy air hostess.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve known Alison since she was sixteen – friend of the family. Her stepfather’s a sumo wrestler. He’d tear me to pieces if I hurt her.’
‘I know. We spent an hour together in the garden this morning, deciding what’s best for you. You know she loves you, don’t you?’
‘But not in a way that adds up to marriage and babies. I think I sort of grew into her elder brother without noticing it. Is that what you think?’
‘Yes. We both do. You can give me the black spot back now – it’s changed its mind.’
We had got as far as the bar, and hopped up on stools. Jessie was behind it. She put a bottle of Keo in front of each of us: no glasses.
‘What did you decide was best for me?’
Steve took a long contemplative swig at her bottle, and said, ‘I am, apparently, but I’m still not convinced.’
‘Are you dancing tonight?’
‘No.’
‘Then why don’t you take me out to your favourite restaurant, then let me spend the rest of the night convincing you.’
Full bloody circle. It had been the sort of thing I’d say to a girl when I was back on the squadron: we would all come on to them with heavy lines. Don’t get me wrong; I was always sure that I was going to make it – was going to be one of the survivors – but still frightened that I mightn’t be. Talking to the old guys these days I realize that most of us felt the same, although at the time I thought I was the only one scared stiff every time I climbed up into an aircraft.
I was a lucky man. Steve was probably the only good-time girl in Cyprus who knew where to find an old-fashioned English fish-and-chip shop. The proprietors were second-generation Cypriot Italian, and there were chequered oil-cloth tablecloths and brown vinegar shakers on the small tables. The radio was tuned to an Italian long-wave station, and the music drifted in and out with the signal – like waves on a shore. ‘Amami se vuoi’ was one of the songs. I asked Steve, ‘Do you know what that means?’
‘Yes. Love me if you want to.’
Perfect answer. It made me laugh. She didn’t laugh back. One of those odd serious moments that can embarrass you both.
‘Can you speak Italian?’
‘Yes, and French and Afrikaans. You?’
‘I can’t even speak English.’ That wasn’t quite true: I’ve always been good at picking up languages on the trot. I don’t know why I lied, except that it seemed important to identify things she could do better than me. I can’t remember the rest of the songs. We followed our supper down with more beer, then went back to the hotel and went to bed.
Someone was asleep on the back seat of the Humber when I went out to it in the morning. That was odd because I was sure that I’d left it locked the night before. And I still had to unlock it to get in. There were two Sterlings in the passenger-side wheel well and neither sported a mag, although one was silenced. I wondered what sort of mob would use a silenced sub-machine gun anyway. A big pack of heavy-duty canvas stuffed with magazines and ammo left precious little space for a passenger’s feet. That didn’t worry me because I didn’t intend to take a passenger anyway.
Thirdlow sat up, smiled and yawned. And stretched. She had small breasts, but they still jiggled.
‘Seen enough, or shall I do it again?’ she asked coldly.
‘Sorry. At this time of the morning my brain stops whenever I’m this close to a very beautiful woman.’ I couldn’t think of another get-out and, thankfully, she liked it and smiled. She wasn’t very beautiful, of course, and we both knew it – but she liked being told. ‘How long have you been out here?’
‘Since six. You don’t start early, do you?’
‘I thought a big civvy saloon
