The Chinese Egg (15 page)

“Or else what?”

“I don't suppose Mrs. Bloody Wilmington would like to think her precious little baby might just possibly never come back. She'd do a lot to be sure she got her back in one piece, I reckon. That's when we get the money and she gets her rotten howling kid back.”

“What d'you mean, in one piece?”

“Look, Fatty, I know you're dim, but you can't be that useless. What d'you think's going to happen if they won't pay up? They will, mind you. But just suppose they don't, you don't really think they're going to get away with it, do you?”

“What'll you do with her. . .?” Maureen whispered.

“Don't ask questions and you won't get told nothing you don't want to hear.”

Maureen clutched the baby closer to her and saw Skinner through different, panicky eyes. “You said you wouldn't hurt her!”

“I haven't said anyone's going to hurt her. And you keep quiet or someone'll hurt you for a change,” Skinner hissed. But it wasn't much good telling Maureen to keep quiet. The baby, so rashly squeezed by Maureen in her fright, woke up and began to bellow again.

Maureen was frightened. When she'd first met Skinner she'd found him a bit scary. He didn't talk much, often only answered Yes or No when you asked him something, sometimes didn't answer at all. She discovered after a time that this wasn't because he hadn't heard, but because he didn't mean to answer. He'd never told her his other name, for instance. She didn't know whether Skinner was his first or last name. Now that he'd said to call him Johnny, she wondered if that was really what he was called. She'd asked but he hadn't said. She didn't know where he came from, whether he had a Mum and a Dad or brothers and sisters. She didn't know what jobs he'd done, didn't know what sort of job he was doing now. She'd been scared by Jakey when she'd met him and seen what he did to the poor little dog. He wouldn't mind if he had to do something bad to anyone, even a baby. She wouldn't let herself really think what Skinner had meant when he'd said that about the baby going back in one piece to her Mum and Dad. Just remembering the way Skinner had said that made her feel a bit sick. Because though she was a nuisance, crying all the time, it wasn't really the baby's fault. And she, Maureen, was looking after her all right. It had been nice when she found she was right about that last bottle, that the baby was crying because she was hungry. If she had the baby a bit longer she'd probably get really good at knowing what she wanted and at keeping her quiet and that, and then Skinner'd be pleased with her and say, “Not bad,” when she asked him how she'd done. All the same Maureen did hope the baby's Mum would get anxious quickly and say she'd pay over the money quite soon so
that the whole thing could be over and done with and she could go back to being just Skinner's girl-friend again.

They went round to the pub on the corner for lunch, leaving the baby in the pushchair outside the door where they could keep an eye on her. Maureen thought how queer it would be if someone else pinched the baby again.

Mrs. Plum bounced out of her kitchen door as they came back through the door.

“There's a young fellow been round here to see you. Said he was a friend of yours. I told him I didn't know where you'd gone and I couldn't say when you'd be back, so he said he'd wait around. He's only been gone just a few minutes,” she said to Skinner.

“I'll go and see if I can see him anywhere,” he said. He looked at Maureen. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm gone,” he said. When other people said it, it was a joke, you laughed, but when Skinner said it, it was more like a threat. Maureen shivered.

Mrs. Plum said, “Why don't you come into the kitchen and keep me company for a bit? I've got the telly in there, you could watch that if you wanted. You wouldn't be in my way if you wanted to stop there for half an hour or so.”

It was warm in Mrs. Plum's kitchen and tidy and clean. Maureen hadn't been in a kitchen like this since. . . for years. Maureen wheeled the baby into it and she never stirred. Mrs. Plum turned on the telly and then she bustled round making cups of tea. The telly flickered, the kettle whistled, there was a comforting smell of roasted meat and stewed apple, and soap. Maureen sat in an old padded basket-chair that creaked every time she moved. Mrs. Plum was asking her questions. What sort of business was Mr. Deptford in? How long had she known him before they married? Did she know the boy who'd come round to see her husband? What sort of work had she done before she'd had the baby? Maureen tried to answer politely and carefully but it became more and more difficult. She knew she wouldn't answer right if Mrs. Plum went on and she got more and more sleepy, and sure enough, when Mrs. Plum said suddenly, “Brady Drive! That was where you lived, wasn't it?” Maureen said quickly, “No!”

“I'm sure that's what you told me,” Mrs. Plum said, surprised.

“I never. I never did,” Maureen said.

“What was it then, dear? Funny! I could have sworn you said Brady. . .”

“Wilmington,” Maureen said. The moment she'd said it, she knew she'd made an even worse mistake. Mrs. Plum was looking at her properly now, she'd stopped fussing with the tea and the cups, and she was staring. But then all she said was, “That's funny,” and didn't go on about it, so Maureen hoped she hadn't really taken that much notice. When she thought of what Skinner would say if he knew about it, Maureen felt sick. But even that thought couldn't keep her eyelids from dropping or her mind from going all swimmy. When the cups of tea were ready and Mrs. Plum came over to sit in the other chair, she saw that Maureen's head had slipped sideways and, like the baby, she was fast asleep. Mrs. Plum didn't mind. Having a bit of a sleep in front of the telly was, she thought, the proper thing to do on a Sunday afternoon.

Upstairs things were not so peaceful. Skinner had found Jakey and brought him straight up to the bedroom. He didn't want Maureen in on this conversation.

“How's it going?” Jakey asked, lounging on the unmade bed.

“Bloody kid yells all the time.”

“Can't Fatty keep her quiet?”

“Only sometimes.”

“Told you she wasn't any good. Hasn't as much brain as a louse. I suppose you picked her for her looks,” Jakey said grinning.

“Shut up, will you?”

“Told you you should've got a girl who'd had one herself,” Jakey said.

“Like your Sharon?” Skinner said with false sweetness.

“You lay off Sharon,” Jakey said.

“More to the point if you did,” Skinner said.

“What about the old lady?”

“What old lady?”

“That one that was in the hall when we came in.”

“She's the landlady.”

“She all right? Swallowed the story?”

“Why shouldn't she? There's lots of couples moving around with kids. Nothing funny about that.”

“Only as long as Fatty doesn't go and say something she shouldn't.”

“She won't,” Skinner said grimly.

“How can you be sure?”

“She's frightened, that's why. She wouldn't dare.”

“You better keep her away from people she can talk to,” Jakey told Skinner.

“Yes? That would look like normal, wouldn't it? What am I supposed to do, take my wife and kid to work with me every day so she doesn't get the chance to say anything?”

“I could get Sharon to come round and take her out for the day.”

“That's crazy. You know what he said. One girl to take the kid, a different one to look after it. I'd like to see you, after Smithy heard, if you let Sharon come round here.”

“She says no one saw her take it.”

“Where is Sharon?”

“Keeping out of the way just for the moment.”

“What about the money?”

“He phoned yesterday.”

“So what?”

“He told them two hundred thou, and left them to think it over.”

“When'll he phone again?”

“A day or two. You'll stay here?”

“As long as it seems all right.”

“You mean as long as your loony bird doesn't open her mouth.”

“She won't,” Skinner said again.

“Well, keep in touch.”

“How? He said. . . .”

“Callbox if you must. If everything's O.K. just stay put and act normal. He'll tell you when you have to do anything.” Jakey got up from the bed.

“You coming round tomorrow?” Skinner said.

“Might do. He doesn't want more'n one of us to come to the same place. So if anyone comes it'll have to be me. He says keep off the Club for a bit.”

“How're the others doing?”

“Ted's having a fit of the sulks. Don't ask me why.”

“Bus?”

“After a new bird. To hear him talk she must be something quite special. Don't you wish you was him?” Jakey said, grinning. He opened the door. “Don't worry about seeing me out. I can find my way,” he said. He ran down the stairs and slammed the front door behind him. Mrs. Plum felt the house quiver with the impact and woke, clucking her tongue in disapproval. Poor tired Maureen never heard a thing.

Stephen and Vicky and Chris were engaged, that Sunday, in heated argument. It was the same old story, Chris urging action, Stephen and Vicky agreeing that something ought to be done, but unwilling to commit themselves to doing it.

“You'll have to tell the police. Suppose they arrest that girl!” Chris said.

“You tell me why they should believe us any more than Mr. Wilmington did,” Stephen said.

“Because. . . you could say you'd seen the girl with the baby. You could tell them what you heard her say.”

“And then they say, ‘Well where is she then?' What do we say next?”

“He's right, Chris,” Vicky said.

“You could give them a description.”

“We've got no evidence. We can't prove anything.”

“Oh!” Chris said, exasperated.

“If only we had some sort of lead. I wouldn't mind trying if we could say where we'd seen those two with the baby. What I hate is going along with a daft story and nothing to back it up.”

“But we will have to do something,” Vicky said for the tenth time.

“I know we will. Trouble is, what?”

The conversation went round and round in circles. Chris became more and more impatient. Presently she got up from the table in the coffee bar where they'd been sitting half the morning, and said abruptly, “I know what I'd do if it was me, but it isn't, and listening to you just makes me cross. I'm going.” She left.

Vicky and Stephen stared at each other across the table.

“Is she really upset?” he asked.

“She won't stay like it. Chris never stays cross for long.”

“I'm sorry, though.”

“She can't see why we don't rush off and do something at once. She would, you see. She wouldn't stop to think about how people might think she was silly, she'd just know she was right and she'd go and do it. Sometimes I wish I was like that.”

To her surprise, Stephen said, “I know. You mean you get the feeling that the more you think about a thing, the more difficult it is to do it.” He added, “You sort of see all the things that might happen and you can't make up your mind to start.”

“That's it! I didn't know anyone felt like that. Except me.”

“Hamlet did.”

“Hamlet?” She wondered if he was laughing at her.

“Whether it be

Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple.

Of thinking too precisely on the event

A thought which, quartered, hath but one part wisdom

And ever three parts coward, I do not know

Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do;”

Stephen said.

“Is that Hamlet?”

“He's wondering why he still hasn't killed his uncle.”

“Mm. Say it again.”

Stephen repeated it.

“You must know it fantastically well.”

“I had to last year. It was the set play for my exams.”

“Did you learn it all off by heart?”

“Of course not. Just bits. That wasn't one of the bits we were told to learn, I just liked it because it said how I feel. About not doing things because of thinking about them too much.”

Vicky considered this. Then she said, “Funny how he knew all that.”

“Who? Hamlet?”

“Not really, Shakespeare, I meant.” “Don't say it!”

“Don't say what?”

“I thought you were going to say what the psychologists always say. How wonderful that Shakespeare knew so much about human behaviour when he hadn't had a chance to study modern psychology.”

“Is that what your Dad says?”

“It's one of the things he says.”

Vicky said, “It must be more difficult to write like that now. I mean because there's such a lot of people knowing things and telling you. Sometimes you get told when you'd rather have found out for yourself.”

“Perhaps I shouldn't have told you that piece out of Hamlet, then you could have found it out for yourself?” Stephen said, teasing her gently.

“Not that sort of thing. I mean, when someone says just what you've been feeling. It's nice to know someone else feels the same.”

“There's you and me and Hamlet. That makes three of us.”

“It's much easier to be the other sort of person. Like Chris.”

“Much. And what's so unfair is that often they're right. They go off and get the thing done, whatever it is, and just because they're that sort of person who hasn't any doubts, they bring it off.”

“That's right. Chrissie does. Mum does too. She doesn't take ages trying to work out what'll happen next.”

“What about your father?”

He was surprised by the way in which Vicky pounced on this. “What about him? What do you want to know?”