Read September Song for Free Online

paused. ‘Someone told me the grandparents – the other ones – took the little mite.’
    â€˜Oh?’ I said. ‘Who were they?’
    â€˜I don’t know. Someone said it was that big scrap-metal merchant. You know, the one lived up Grove Green Road. He had an interest in the laundry the girl worked in. They said it was one of his sons had his wicked way with her. Though, from what I heard, she was no better than she ought to be.’
    I did know who she meant and found myself thinking about the Mountjoys for the second time that day.
    â€˜How’s Albert, by the way?’ I said.
    â€˜Don’t go changing the subject by asking after my useless son. What do you want to know about the Bakers for?’
    â€˜Oh, no reason,’ I said. ‘Just happened to hear someone mention them.’
    She harrumphed. ‘Well, good to see you,’ she said, ‘and thanks for the drink, but I can’t stand up here much longer. Not with my legs. I’ve gotta go and sit down.’
    And she pulled her head back, like a tortoise, and I watched her shadowy, bulky figure, distorted by the dimpled glass, heavily resume her seat.
    Behind me, the door banged open and four men came striding in. They saw Nobby and made their way over to him.
    I recognized the young lout from Vic’s and turned away as he thrust his betting slip out and Nobby wearily reached into his pigskin satchel for the money to pay him his winnings.
    I reluctantly swallowed down my whisky, thinking that it might be better if English pubs served it in the tumblers that French cafés used for red wine, rather than in the little bowls with stems they used, and carefully placed the glass on the bar. I nodded a farewell to Derek, who was completely engrossed in counting the pickled eggs in the jar in front of him and clearly unaware of the illegal transaction taking place on his premises, and headed for the door.
    The kid stepped back from Nobby’s table at just the same moment and moved in front of me, a surprisingly large number of soiled pound notes clutched in one hand.
    â€˜Hello, again,’ he said and smirked.
    I nodded and made to step past him.
    He moved in the same direction, blocking me again. I stood still.
    â€˜I been asking about you,’ he said. ‘You’re the frog, ain’t you?’
    â€˜No,’ I said, ‘you’ve been misinformed.’
    His three companions had drifted away from Nobby’s table, towards the bar. He looked across at them, his tongue flicking quickly across his thin lips. He really did look a lot like Dave Mountjoy.
    â€˜If you’ll excuse me,’ I said, indicating the door, ‘I have somewhere to go.’
    â€˜Do you?’ he said, looking down at my feet.
    â€˜Yes,’ I said, ‘and I’m going to be late.’
    â€˜I don’t want to see you in here again,’ he said.
    â€˜You probably won’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t often drink here.’
    â€˜You’d better not,’ he said.
    â€˜Why’s that?’ I said.
    â€˜Because I don’t want you to and I’ll hurt you if you do.’
    â€˜You think you can do that, do you?’ I said.
    By way of answer, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a nasty-looking cut-throat razor.
    I looked at him as evenly as I could but my pulse rate had gone up a little and I was aware of a slight trembling in my hands. I was fairly certain I could take him, but I was aware of his friends looking at us and I really couldn’t see any point in raising the level of hostility. I decided to beat as gracious a retreat as possible.
    I smiled at him pleasantly. ‘I’ll bear your request in mind,’ I said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me  . . .’
    He slipped the razor back into his pocket and ostentatiously, if gracelessly, stepped aside.
    â€˜Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ I heard him say before the door