Free Ashes by Now by Mark Timlin Page B

with a thin gold chain around the right ankle, black mini-skirt that just covered the tops of them, black satin blouse, unbuttoned to show the lace of her black net bra, and the black shiny plastic mac that the girls took turns to wear. On top of her blonde head, at a rakish angle, was set a black beret. Her slap consisted of solid-state pan stick, sooty mascara, and shiny red Monroe lipstick. Tracey had gone for a full rainbow psychedelic ’70s make-up job to go with the rest of her outfit.
    Those two would stop traffic on Resurrection Day. And probably will.
    As they pushed their way through the ward door and wobbled over to my bed, Laura turned and said, ‘I imagine these two are with you.’
    I just nodded.
    Judith was gobsmacked by the sight of them.
    â€˜Hello, Nick,’ said Tracey. ‘Fuck me, have we had a journey today. Old Bill gave us a pull in Herne Hill. I think they thought we was on the game or sumfin’.’ She suddenly noticed Judith and Laura. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Are we interruptin’ anyfin’?’ When Tracey was agitated, her accent zeroed in on Bermondsey where she’d been born and bred, and nothing would get it any further up river.
    Except a stiff drink that is.
    â€˜No,’ I said mildly. ‘Not a thing. This is my ex-wife Laura, and this is my –’ I almost said ‘little girl’, before I realised, just in time, the kind of look that Judith would give me if I did ‘– daughter, Judith. This is Dawn and Tracey. Friends of mine. They’ve been visiting almost every day to make sure I’m all right.’
    Laura managed a smile that would curdle milk, and offered her hand like the Queen Mother unveiling a war memorial. Judith swallowed and said, ‘Hi.’
    â€˜I like your ’at,’ said Tracey, referring to Judith’s backwards-facing baseball cap. ‘Dead good, eh, Dawn?’
    â€˜Wicked,’ Dawn replied. ‘Mind if I sit down, Nick? These bleeding shoes might look the business, but they’re murder on my poor old feet.’
    She collapsed on to the edge of the bed, and her skirt shot up over the tops of her stockings to expose three inches of milk-white thighs, bisected by black suspenders. Poor Laura almost fainted dead away.
    She used to be as horny as fuck herself once. And nothing fazed her. I always find it sad when people change.
    Tracey sat on the other side of the bed and looked long and hard at me.
    I hadn’t told anyone what had happened that night on the Lion, and how I ended up in a gutter in Peckham. If anyone asked, and they did, including two local CID who I’d never met before, and didn’t particularly want to meet again, I told them I couldn’t remember. That I must have been mugged. The fact that I’d still had my wallet on me when I was picked up, cash and ID intact, sort of blew that one out of the water, but there you go.
    â€˜You look much better, Nick,’ Tracey said.
    â€˜Good,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you think so. I feel much better, too.’
    â€˜We’ll have you right as rain in no time, as soon as you’re out of this dump. Eh, Dawn?’
    â€˜Course we will,’ Dawn replied. ‘Some good home cooking and you’ll be tickety-boo.’
    I felt like I was beginning to hallucinate again. Tracey and Dawn’s idea of home cooking was ten minutes in the microwave at full blast for anything from a TV dinner to a five-pound oven-ready chicken. I expect the domestic bit was for Laura’s benefit.
    â€˜I can’t wait,’ I said.
    â€˜You from round ’ere?’ Tracey asked Laura.
    â€˜Aberdeen actually,’ replied Laura in her best lady-of-the-manor fashion. She was beginning to piss me right off. Tracey and Dawn were genuine twenty-four carat. And they gave a shit about me. Which was more than my ex-wife had done for more years than I cared to remember. And she was treating them