Lucius the Club | Page 7

bullshit, but the long and the short of it was, he got me to box. And of
the five or six boys in my year who also chose to box in their spare
time, I was always the champion. Largely because I was strong.
Mansfield even got me representing the school. The first time I fought
a boy from somewhere else, their coach turned a funny colour when he
saw me. He came over and had a few pointed words. I couldn't hear all
of it, but 'spastic bloody cripple' was one phrase which drifted my way.
Anyway, the fight went on, and I won, which made me a hero.
I didn't always win against other schools, of course. In fact I lost more
often than not. But as I took the train home from The Farm, after
testing out Grandad's sawn-off shotgun, I thought about getting into the
boxing ring as a schoolboy; and fighting boys who were a great deal
more mobile than myself. And I decided that, if I had the balls to do
that, I probably had the balls to shoot someone who was trying to
blackmail my mother.

After all, I reminded myself, I owed my mother my very life. Twice
over. First, she didn't have an abortion when she found out that she was
inconveniently pregnant. And second, when I was born, she could have
got rid of me then.
In 1940 there was, in Soho, a hospital sister whom I will call Sister
Smith. In the 1930s, times were very hard, and working-class families
couldn't afford any passengers. And so when a child was born with
severe deformities, or was obviously a Mongol, or hopelessly
premature perhaps - in such a case, a quiet word would be had, and
Sister Smith would be sent for. And Sister Smith would see to it that
the deformed child would go quietly to sleep and would never wake up
again.
When I was seventeen or so, a drunk woman in the French pub told me
that, when I was born, the midwife suggested to Mama that it might be
a good idea to let Sister Smith have a look at me. Mama gave that
wretched woman the most fearful ear-bashing that had been heard for
many a long year.
As I sat there, in the train from Sussex, that day in December 1960, I
remembered all that. And I decided that I would look after my Mama,
and protect her for the rest of her life - no matter what the cost.
And after that I did get a good night's sleep.
*
In my absence, Mama had done the ground work.
She'd heard from Billy Marwell, she said. And he wanted a thousand
pounds. She'd told him she couldn't do it until next week.
In the meantime, she had discovered that, every Sunday night, Billy
played poker with four friends, in the bar of the Girliebar Club. The
club was closed on Sundays.
Once famous for its gorgeous strippers, but now long since forgotten,

the Girliebar was on the top floor of a fivestorey building. It's now the
office of a famous American film company. In 1960, one of the five
poker players was a partner in the club, so he acted as host for the
regular Sunday-night game.
The five men were all small-time criminals. They were chronic
gamblers. And they were all alcoholics. During the period from about
seven p.m. to midnight, they sat and drank and played poker. Each man
bought a round of drinks. And a round consisted of a bottle of
champagne and five double brandies. So by the end of the night, they
were very well oiled indeed.
All this information Mama had gathered together in my absence.
'So we'll do it Sunday night,' she told me. 'In the bar.'
What's this 'we'? I thought. Which is interesting, because it shows how
the mind picks on irrelevant details.
'The street door isn't locked,' Mama went on, 'because the bloke who
runs the club can't be bothered going up and down to let them all in and
then lock it again. And anyway all the internal doors are locked except
the bar on the top floor. So you can get in OK, go up the stairs, and do
it in the bar. By ten o'clock they'll all be three-quarters pissed, Lucius.
Billy won't feel a thing.'
I sat down and thought about what she was proposing. Do it in the bar?
With an audience of four other poker players?
'But there'll be witnesses,' I said. Rather foolishly.
Mama sat down beside me and held my hand. 'Darling, of course
there'll be witnesses. That's the whole point.'
I must have looked as bemused as I felt.
'Don't you see? We're in the business