Free Just Another Angel by Mike Ripley Page B

calling him. And all he kept saying was: “This isn’t good enough, he won’t like it” – saying it to Stubbly, that is.’
    â€˜What did he say to you?’
    â€˜Just “Out” and pointed to the door, but Stubbly was a right pair of nun’s knickers.’
    â€˜Pardon?’
    â€˜Nun’s knickers – always on. And on and on. Never darken door again, all that stuff. Sod him. That’s why I thought you were coming to put the squeeze on Daddy.’
    I saw her bite her tongue as ‘Daddy’ slipped out.
    â€˜As if I looked the sort,’ I said, trying to work out how to put the squeeze on Stubbly. ‘No, I came for a favour.’
    â€˜Here we go,’ sighed Emma, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.
    â€˜No, straight up. I’m looking for Carol, your mate.’
    â€˜Flaxperson?’ I must have looked dumb. ‘Carol’s surname is Flaxman, you wally, but she’s a feminist. Daddy doesn’t like her.’
    â€˜So she’s not staying here?’ I asked quickly to help her gloss over the second ‘Daddy’.
    â€˜No, she’s gone back to university.’
    â€˜When?’
    â€˜Yesterday morning. She rang me about 6.00 am. She was well pissed. Said she’d loved the band and was sorry she hadn’t seen me after the set. Said she had to get back to the “front line” now the weather was getting better, and was catching the first train from Liverpool Street. Typical Carol. Six o’clock in the bleeding morning. I’d only just got in. Woke the whole house.’
    â€˜I know the feeling,’ I muttered. ‘What did she mean by front line?’
    Emma shrugged. ‘University? Going back to her lectures or something? I’m going to have to get back to school myself.’
    â€˜Can I give you a lift?’
    She looked me up and down, and I could tell she was trying to work out the kudos value of arriving with me in front of her friends.
    â€˜Okay, it’s not far.’ She picked up a pencil case made out of a soft toy and a zip. It resembled a wombat that had been in a car accident.
    â€˜What did you want with Flaxperson anyway?’
    Well, I think that’s what she said but it was difficult to tell as she had pushed the last of the peanut butter into her mouth. She chewed and wiggled her pleats down the hallway in front of me.
    â€˜She borrowed some tapes from a friend of mine and I need them,’ I mumbled, and fortunately she didn’t seem interested.
    â€˜She’ll have flogged them by now, knowing her,’ said Emma sagely. ‘I once caught her negotiating to sell my drum kit.’
    â€˜Do you ever need to get in touch with her?’ I asked innocently.
    â€˜Nah, no chance. Flaxperson finds you. Usually when you least want her to.’
    We were out on the steps now.
    â€˜Though I suppose Essex University would know where she hangs out. Bet she owes them money.’
    â€˜Who doesn’t?’ I made to unlock Armstrong.
    â€˜You drive that?’ shrieked Emma, taking a pace back.
    â€˜My Porsche is having its ashtrays emptied,’ I said, getting upset. After all, Armstrong had been insulted by professionals.
    â€˜Well, I’m not turning up at school in that thing. People will think I’m only allowed out under guard. They’ll think Daddy sent you. I’ll walk.’
    She primped past me down the pavement.
    â€˜I hope the skinheads get yer!’ I yelled after her. But I hoped for their sake they didn’t.
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Chapter Five
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    I pointed Armstrong towards Regent’s Park, but after Chalk Farm I cut through to Islington and down York Way to the Waterside Inn.
    I decided on the Waterside because it had a phone, beer you couldn’t get anywhere else in London and a very interesting turnover in young French female chefs. (The French, being Socialist, have to train girls to cook, but being chauvinists,