Light at the End of the Tunnel

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL Copyright 2004 Emy Naso ISBN: 1-55410-189-1 Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2004 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.Extasybooks.com

9 of Swords: The figure for 9 of swords is in darkness, facing a dark tunnel, as it’s during the night and in darkness that our grief and regrets come to mind more than any other time. The veil of the night strips away the disquieting occurrences of the day and leaves us alone with our thoughts. The Nine of Swords represents anger, unhappiness, frustration, which can strike us at any time. Unlike the pain of the Three of Swords, which seems to come from without, the Nine of Swords represents the pain that we generate from within. What tortures we put ourselves through when our fears and doubts overwhelm us. Worry is probably the most common. Have I done enough? Will everything work out OK? What am I going to do? Our thoughts plague us. What will we do? Guilt is another source of pain. When we have done something that we feel is wrong or hurtful - or failed to do something we think we should have--the distress can be very real. It is worse when nothing we do relieves the bad feelings or makes them go away. Finally, there is just pure anguish. Sometimes the pain of life is so total that all we feel like doing is crying into our hands. The Nine of Swords, although not a nice card to be drawn, doesn’t always point to major distress. Often, it’s just a sign of problems in your life, vulnerability. It can be a warning for your inner voice, that the path you’re about to embark on may be a rocky one. Use the nine of swords as a warning—use it constructively. Examine your decisions carefully to make sure you’re making the right choice for your life.

For all the people who have inspired my writing and zest for life, especially Helene and Jenny…

Emy Naso

Limited Ambitions The bottle smashed against the ruined church doorway. Its green shards adding further desecration to the bomb blasted edifice to futility. Nau curled her lip, like the way she’d seen at the movies. Every Friday at the Odeon, Clapham Junction, she’d sit transfixed and watch this alien world, this smooth, prosperous world, float across the screen. When Nau came out into the evening air she practiced every mannerism and all the latest phrases. If she had her way she’d go again on Sunday, but her mum would have a fit. She used to say, the seventh day was for the glory of God. Just because these cinemas had decided to open on the Lord’s Day didn’t mean any child of hers was going to waste time sitting in a dark room while she should be going to church. Nau picked up a stone and vent her anger and spite by throwing it at the old building. There wasn’t much more damage she could do. One night in 1940 some German had opened the bomb doors of his aircraft and consigned the payload to the people of London. A tumbling, rumbling metal hell made a beeline for St. Augustus Church, Lavender Hill and hit it with tremendous force. Incongruously the 1

Light at the End of the Tunnel

building was chattered, the tower fell and the walls crumbled - yet the eastern revival Gothic doorway remained standing. The pious Victorian architect would have been proud of the durability but appalled at the mass destruction that could be spewed out from a terrible engine bird in the sky. The young woman didn’t care about her mother’s ethics. Her parents had arrived at Southampton Docks in 1949, not exactly thinking all the streets in England were paved with gold, but hoping their life would be better than that left behind in Barbados. Nau had been seventeen. Now she was twenty-one. A black young woman, in a society that was beginning to get fed up with austerity, almost ten years after the war. To Nau still having bombsites with derelict buildings was a sign of the indolence. At the bottom of the hill she crossed by the traffic lights and hesitantly looked in the window of the coffee bar. She could have gone straight in. Even her cocky and truculent exterior was filled with indecision. Nau played at being confident and bloody-minded. Her true self was anxieties and beset by sleepless nights of worry about her place in this little world of hers. They were there. The gang. She’d become a hanger-on but desperately wanted to be accepted. If Pippy could be a member of The Swords why couldn’t she? He was a weasel, not much bigger than a charm on a bracelet and with not an ounce of swagger. Mickey made disparaging remarks about having a girl in the gang. It didn’t stop him trying it on one evening when he walked home with her 2

Emy Naso

across the Common. Perhaps he thought that was what women were for. The window was dripping with steam. Nau caught sight of Guy, the gang leader. He saw her and waved as if he was summoning a wet nosed puppy. He reckoned his was the boss man - Chris had other ideas. She pushed the door and smelt the mixture of fizzing coffee machines, human perspiration and cigarette smoke. “Where you been?” Sam said through a mouthful of gum. He was the smartest dressed of the gang. Liked to grease back his hair with a “kiss” curl and mimic that Bill Hayley bloke - the one whose film was on at the cinema. The newspapers started calling the young who dressed like that - Teddy Boys. “Where the fuck do’ya think I’ve been,” Nau verbally attacked him, “Getting some dough working down at the Bellmarsh Store.” There was a ribald laugh. Most of them derided work. Where they got their money was from petty thieving and selling anything that “fell off a back of a lorry. “ Guy got up and threw Mickey a ten bob note. “When you see Lenny the runner, put that on a horse called Lucky Strike,” he commanded and turned to Nau. “You want to join the gang?” She looked at him then, around the table at the other seven. Their faces showed anything from leering to acting arrogance. Before Nau could answer, Guy put his arm around her waist and played to the gallery. 3

Light at the End of the Tunnel

“Come on, I’m going over the Windmill Pub on Clapham Common. I’ll tell you what you have done to become one of us.” There was a deep whoop of male suggestiveness as they left the café.

This Is Not Love Guy wasn’t his real name. Who used some label your stupid parents had saddled you with? The latest hit at the London Regent’s Park Zoo was a handsome, muscular gorilla called Guy. These were attributes the gang leader identified with. Slightly dim and needlessly violent could have been added but that went passed his thought process. They traced the route Nau had just walked, the black woman one pace behind Guy. At The Avenue, they turned right and started to cross the open fields and small coppice area of Clapham Common. “Do’ya like working at that shop,” Guy threw back at Nau. “Who would?” She tried to sound equally cynical. “Want to pick up some easy dough,” he said and stopped to face her. “I thought you said I could join the gang,” she grimaced, keeping up the lingo of sounding tough. “And that,” he shrugged. Guy took hold of her shoulders and pushed her against a gnarled hawthorn tree. He kissed her 4

Emy Naso

without gentleness. Gang leaders weren’t into this brain-dead love thing. As his tongue pushed down her throat his hand was rubbing roughly over the swell of her left breast. “I’ve told you before Guy, I ain’t no easy tart.” “Do’ya want to be my girl.” It wasn’t the most romantic proposal she’d ever had. But being that close to power and at last having self esteem, even if it was by proxy, made Nau shiver. Guy’s hands were now fiddling about up the back of her jersey, undoing her bra. She could push him away and wait for a better time and place…or try it out. “Your bloody hands are cold,” she croaked in between his kisses. Saying that made her feel he wouldn’t think she was giving in because of some soft girly emotion. It made her sound indifferent, like him. Her jersey was pushed up and she heard his intake of breath as her ebony tits stood up and beckoned. He might have been tempted to linger. Then Guy was only after reaching the last base, and quickly. Nau had a sensation this was happening to someone else as she looked down and watched him wriggle her skirt up over her hips and instantly slide her panties down. God this is sordid, she wanted to cry out. Why doesn’t he try a bit of finger work to at least get me excited? She heard that recognized zip sound and he groped around at his loins. Nau felt the hard veined, hot tipped probing of his erection poking at her dark black triangle. Guy’s hands were levering at her upper thighs, anxious to find a home for his lust. It was in her and he pumped. There was a certain 5

Light at the End of the Tunnel

satisfaction but she was left with the feeling that Guy’s one thought was his own gratification. What a way to get banged. Standing up against a tree with this gorilla-sized man hammering at your precious and delicate clitoris. The fuck was ended. He relaxed and stood back. Within a few minutes he had zipped himself up and Nau pulled her panties around her waist and adjusted her bra to give a semblance of respectability she didn’t feel about herself. “Now you’re one of the Sword gang,” Guy grunted. Nau wondered if he had screwed the other seven men before they joined. Humor wasn’t her strong suit, but she chuckled. He gave her a dismissive glance. The contemptuous one he saved for all females. “Now for the easy money,” Guy said in an assumed drawl. At first she thought he was going to pay her like some common prostitute. Then he went on, “Me and the gang are going to roll over this shop tonight…and you’re gonna help us. Dead simple, lots of dough…and no work.” “Where?” Nau asked. “You’re going to be useful,” he said without answering her question. “OK but where?” she repeated. “That swanky shop where you work” he smirked.

Such Is Life Chris Parada lit a cigarette. It wasn’t his proper 6

Emy Naso

second name. His dad came over with the Free Polish Air force in 1940 and stayed after the war ended. The correct spelling of his name was totally incomprehensible to his friends, so he got called Parada. Nau approached him as he stood on the corner of Gerald Street and Hyton Way in the doorway of Burton’s the Tailors. The shop had long closed, as it was now almost midnight. “Where’s everyone else?” Nau asked as she studied the way Chris smoked. He was some looker and in private reckoned he would be a better leader of the gang than Guy. “Mickey and Pippy are already down at Bellmarsh keeping an eye out for the cops.” “What about Guy?” Chris finished the cigarette, dropped it and made a ritual of stubbing it out with his long pointed winklepicker shoes. Nau thought his dress, although, fashionable, was inappropriate for someone contemplating burglary. “Guy’s waiting down the road with a motorcar he borrowed from a friend. It’s more of an old van really. Better for getting screwed in…must beat getting screwed up against a tree.” He gave her a sneer and she blushed, realizing Guy had gone straight back to his gang and given them the complete lowdown on his conquest. The last trolleybus of the night clanged past, its overhead arm flashing electric sparks on the wires and illuminating Chris’s face in the swirling London smog. It was a countenance of a scared boy trying to 7

Light at the End of the Tunnel

act big. “There’s Smudger and Tel, Quick, come on Nau, I reckon you’ll be wanted now.” Chris grabbed her arm and ran down towards Princess’ Head Square. It took barely two minutes and Nau could see Guy sitting in the old van with Sam and Lou. The vehicle was rusty and on the side, almost worn away, was the painted name, Richard’s Repairs. Guy saw Nau and Chris. He got out the van and came towards them with a swagger. The Barbadian young woman felt sick that she’d given into him this evening. He was so arrogant, so much a pastiche of someone he was trying to emulate. Guy could strut sitting down. He put his hand on Nau’s ass and patted her. “Well girl, you work there. Where’s the best place to get in?” “You ain’t gonna trust a bird, are you Guy,” Mickey sniveled from behind them. “Shut it,” Guy turned on him and Mickey contrived to look both frightened and at the same time show contempt so as to keep his male dignity in front of Nau. Nau wanted to tell Guy to get lost. But she was insecure, lacked confidence and so wanted to belong…even if it was only to the Sword gang. “There’s a yard around the side in Germaine Street. It’s where the staff leaves their coats. The door there hardly closes properly,” she said in an offhand manner. Being indifferent and nonchalant was what you did when you where young, even if she was shaking inside with being part of this robbery. 8

Emy Naso

“Pippy,” guy bawled. Get around there and find the way in. We’ll wait here by the front door. Chris rolled his eyes and thought to himself that if Guy shouted any louder he’d wake up the neighborhood. They waited, each harboring their own fears and thoughts, staring intently at the shop’s front door, reacting to every sound in the distance, most of which were muffled in the enveloping coal particle laden mist. A wailing siren had them crouching down as the noise got nearer. The blue light stood out in the fog, sped along the street and then passed. Guy acted tough as he watched the ambulance disappear into the blanket of damp gloom. A piercing whistle rent the air. Pippy stood with a silly, triumphant grin on his face. Guy waved furiously at Smudger, Sam and Lou to get in the shop. Nau stood frozen, her heart going into overdrive. Within a few minutes the gang was loading the van with rolls of material, dresses, suits and shoes. Guy growled orders at everyone. Mickey got a mouthful of invective for standing idly about. When the alarm first clanged and sliced the night open, all nine of the Sword gang stood motionless. It was happening, but not to them, not here and now. Pandemonium took hold and ran wild. Guy swore and desperately shoved the goods into the van and cursed as he tried to secure the rear doors. Mickey and Sam jumped into the front with Guy on the bench seat. Smudger, Tel and Lou legged it up the road and dived into a side alley. “This way you silly cow,” Chris swore at Nau and grabbed her violently by the arm. He ran across the 9

Light at the End of the Tunnel

road, dragging her behind. “Up there,” he snarled in a low tone. They scrabbled up the concrete stairs of an apartment tower. As they passed the second floor open balcony, Chris paused and looked over the parapet. He and Nau strained to see. The panicking figure of Pippy appeared at the shop door. Simultaneously two police cars screeched into the scene from opposite ends of the road. Pippy went one way, then the other and finally froze like a nocturnal rabbit. His swaying and bobbing had the cars weaving all over the road. Nau felt a repulsive and terrible part of her riveted to the unfolding tragedy. Pippy’s body was struck by one of the dark blue police cars and somersaulted into the air…so gracefully. He died with more drama than he had ever managed in life. For once…and only this once…he was the center of attraction.

Dark Thoughts Brayburn House was the local council’s attempt to meet the desperate shortage of living accommodation after the devastation of the bombing. Battersea had been badly damaged. It was near enough to the center of London to take the full impact of intimidation raids and also within its boundaries was the large intersection of Clapham Junction railway, another prime target for German strafing. “Why don’t you go and see if he is dead. Chris’s words were pure sarcasm. Nau stared down and had 10

Emy Naso

to be pulled away from the edge. “Look, if the cops see you up here, we’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Come on, I know someone who lives here. We can hide at their place until the morning.” Once again Chris hauled Nau into the concrete jungle tower. They scurried up another flight of gray steps and along a long corridor running the length of the building. The doors were painted a uniform pale blue and security low level intensity lights barely illuminated the numbers. Chris stopped halfway along, rapped at the door and agitatedly waited. He banged again. A voice mumbled from inside. It was irritated. The door opened a fraction and from somewhere behind it, a woman said, “What is it, do you know the bloody time?” Chris unceremoniously pushed and walked in, hissed at Nau to stop standing around, and slammed the door. The woman made a move to turn on the hall light. “Leave it,” Chris snarled, then abated his aggression slightly to touch the woman’s arm. “We’ve gotta stay here for the night.” “You in trouble, Chris?” He dismissed the question and walked on up the narrow hall and into a living room. He went over to the window and checked the drapes were tightly closed, then flicked on a small table light. The two women eyed each other. Chris saw the silent stand off. “This is Nau. She‘s…she’s Guy’s girl,” he put in, trying to head off any other questions, then sharply 11

Light at the End of the Tunnel

added, “Don’t say anything else Jackie.” He gave her a consolation kiss as if she’d lost all evening at the bingo and this was to say never mind. The woman was no older than Nau. Judging from the nappies drying on an old wooden clotheshorse there had to be a baby somewhere in the apartment. The rest of the furniture was dowdy and utilitarian and through the door at the end of the room Nau saw that it was a combined small kitchen and dining room, with dirty crockery overflowing the sink and a table piled with toddlers toys, most broken. After the night’s events, curiosity was not high in Nau’s priorities. “Do’ya want a cup of tea?” Jackie asked and pushed her fair, badly dyed hair out of her eyes and fiddled with the curlers she was wearing. As she wore a faded white night gown, she must have been in bed when they first arrived. Her eye makeup was dark and left on from the day. Its overuse and smudged appearance made her look like a startled panda. A pretty one, Nau thought, but already disillusioned with life. Chris grimaced at Jackie as if it was a stupid question. He turned to Nau, threw her a blanket and said, “The sofa is more comfortable than a prison cell.” Jackie’s eyes awoke for the first time at the word prison. Before she could speak, Chris guided her roughly out of the living room towards what Nau supposed was a bedroom off the hall. The Barbadian young woman sat on the sofa, turned out the light and listened intently to the drifting voices of the police below them. 12

Emy Naso

When all was quiet Nau Glavo slipped out of her duffle coat, dress, and shoes and undid the suspender belt. Carefully taking off her stockings, which were still in short supply…and expensive…she folded them up and put them gently on top of her other clothes. She tucked down under the blanker. It had the aroma of stale cigarette smoke and baby dried milk feed. The sodium streetlights were tall and powerful as outside was a main thoroughfare and the illumination streaked across the living room. It made weird configurations on the wall and shimmered against the cheap vinyl wallpaper. She became mesmerized by the absurdly boring pattern of lilac and pink roses and noticed that there were scratch marks along the wall at a regular height. Just the size of a toddler, Nau surmised. Her attention picked up a whimper. Was it the child or the fear in her head? She sat up and tried to see the time on a mantelpiece clock. It only had one hand and was broken. She heard it again. Nau got up slowly and cautiously, with the blanket wrapped around her. This was a strange house to her and she wasn’t sure where the furniture was. At the door she followed the sound, across the hall to another door. It was partially open and life flickered in the dappled, eerie light of a single candle. She heard the noise…a moan. Nau went to the edge of the door and could see silhouettes cast by the candle. A giant figure raising an arm, and with it a bamboo rod. It broke the stillness of the night with its swish. The thwack of flesh, the murmur of pain. 13

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Is This My Soul? If curiosity did for the cat, it lured Nau farther in. Inch by inch she pushed the door. The shadow became real. Chris was standing with his back to Nau, naked and fierce with the twitching bamboo rod held firmly. On the bed, lying nude, was Jackie, face down and bearing the red straight strokes across her presented rear. With another blow Chris administered the bamboo rod. Jackie’s body jumped and settled down with the same moan Nau had heard before. The man sat besides her and ran his hand over her throbbing ass. Jackie turned her head to the side to look at him. His fingers squeezed her cheeks and as if it was a tactile command, Jackie parted her leg so that her plump clitoris was visible even in the dimness of this secret night. His fingers slid between her thighs and the secret lips were covered by the hand. Jackie’s body twitched and moved. Nau knew his fingers had entered her vagina. The black woman felt the wetness of her own excitement trickle and dampen her cotton panties. As Chris’s massage became more urgent, the young woman on the bed began to writhe and the groan took on a deeper, purring sound. She muttered and called out. Chris suddenly stopped, stood up and taking the bamboo rod lashed Jackie over her red stern. Nau gasped at this act of punishment, which both shocked and thrilled her. Chris heard the muffled voice, spun around and stared into the dark. The 14

Emy Naso

black woman froze back against the wall, panic rooting her to the spot. There was a firm closing of the bedroom door. Chris was on the hall side, glaring at Nau. “Do’ya usually spy on your mates?” he challenged as if he and Jackie had been indulging in some innocent game. Nau stuttered for a reply. Chris took her arm and forced her back into the living room where he pushed her onto the sofa. Her blanket fell off and she sprawled out in her panties and bra. There was a demonic look to Chris. He lent over her and held her down by the shoulders. “I reckon I know what you want?” he leered. Nau was sure he was going to attack her. Physically or sexually seemed the same difference to Chris in this mood. “I didn’t mean to…” she tried to find words. In the moment of terror she still noticed that this naked man had a penis as straight and erect as an aroused lover. Her mind rambled. Was it the session with Jackie that turned him on or the prospects of raping a black woman? “I’m going to give you a choice,” he hoarsely said, struggling with his emotions. “Do you think you deserve it?” he was getting hysterical. Nau nodded. She didn’t know how to calm him. He turned and walked from the room, strolled to the bedroom, and returned with the bamboo rod. The Barbadian young woman shivered. Her voice whispered, no. Her erotic dreams tried to take center stage. “You can make me submit or I’ll make you my 15

Light at the End of the Tunnel

slave.” They were Chris’s simple alternatives. Was this a nightmare or an erotic fantasy? Nau was in a whirl of confusion. The long harbored cruel streak in her salivated at the prospects of inflicting sensual and corporeal pain on this naked man. There was also the latent spite or perhaps it was revenge for all the assumed wrongs, all the hidden insults against her as a woman and a black person. Her subterranean masochism battled with the malice and the need, the wish to dominate. Nau’s eyes showed him what she had decided. Their feline mystery subjugated him to her will and her glance directed him to the kitchen. The bareness of the man wet her appetite as he stretched out over the plain Formica table. Somewhere in her soul she found the strength and the desire. With beauteous fury her feminine authority struck Chris on his back. It was good, she felt through the perspiration of heated passion. But not yet right. His gorgeous ass became her focus. The rod twitched mercilessly in her hand. A sadistic streak directed her aim at the protruding roundness of flesh. Once, twice and then in a delirium of frenzied zeal. Chris wrestled the need to cry with his hand clutching his mouth and stifling the sound of the wounded, sensual animal. Nau felt compassion and wept. She undid her bra, slipped off her panties and rested her nakedness against his rear and back, with her hands caressing his head and hair. The jet, tight curly pubic hair of her loins pressed hard into his stinging ass. He sobbed. She wanted to comfort him. Kissing his back, her hands found their way 16

Emy Naso

between the table and his stomach. Searching, she sensed the erectness of his manhood. It responded to her touch. Dark waves crashed through her mind. Why was she weak? Nau pulled herself up, wiped her brow and with clenched teeth, hit his buttocks furiously. His pain was not enough for her. The wildness possessed her being. The young black woman grabbed Chris by his head of hair and hissed like an alley she-cat. “Get over, you bastard. “ He obeyed, rolling on his back, eyes wide open and staring at her in the sin of the night. Nau took his hard cock in both hands as she stood glaring back at him. “Your punishment is also mine,” she croaked…and the tears dripped down her ebony, young face. They both cried in the loneliness of human existence. Nau got up on the table, crouched over this fellow being who was her nemesis and let her loins sink down so his love and torment were sated in the warmth of her velvet vagina.

Uniform Blues Act surprised. Don’t say anything unless you’re asked. Nau kept repeating this to herself as the bus turned right at Clapham Junction and headed towards Princes Head Square and the Bellmarsh Store. 17

Light at the End of the Tunnel

It had been five in the morning when she crept out of the apartment and left Chris and Jackie to their morning. She’d walked the two miles to her home, got in without waking her parents, and then after changing her clothes into the mundane and respectable work dress, caught the bus. As soon as she stepped off she could see the police car and, sickeningly, the skid marks where last night Pippy had taken his last orders from Guy. Mr. Priddy the manager stood at the door, as usual, and as the staff arrived he would mark the time in his brown leather book. Never mind that a young man had been killed, his blood still on the road. Everything had its place in Mr. Priddy’s orderly mind and there was no place for letting death and burglary interrupt his world. “Good morning Miss Glavo. Just made it,” he primly greeted her and looked at his pocket watch on the end of a gold chain, given to him by the owners after forty years loyal service. Nau’s heart pounded as she saw the three uniform police and what she took to be two detectives, talking to the other staff. There was also a carpenter in his brown overalls attempting to mend the rear door where Pippy had smashed it last night. “And you would be?” Nau swung around. The man standing looking at her was in his late forties, domed headed and had eyebrows that moved independently. “Nau Glavo,” she gulped and began to smile before realizing that was not the right reaction. She’d seen how the gangsters in the movies talked to the 18

Emy Naso

cops. All tight lips and sassy remarks. What should she do? This was real life! “You will have heard about last night?” Was that a statement? Was she expected to answer? Nau felt the sweat on her back. Fuck, she shouted to herself. It’s a trick question. How would I know what happened if I was supposed to be tucked up in bed. Hell, I was tucked up in bed, beating the life out of Chris. “Miss?” The detective asked, “Are you OK?” “No, I mean yes…I mean no, I don’t know what happened.” Nau couldn’t look at the policeman. She felt every eye in the store was on her. “Would you mind giving a statement to this constable?” he said and nodded his head as if she was simple. Nau saw he was pointing to a blue uniformed constable standing in the corner of the store. The young man had his back to her and was writing in a notebook whilst old Mr. Pennyroyal from the haberdashery department rambled on. Knowing the ancient fellow he was probably boring the policeman with stories about his time in the trenches during the First World War. The one that had just finished seemed to have passed him by. Nau stood watching life proceed around her but somehow she didn’t feel part of this. Something inside her wanted to scream out loud, Hey, you stupid morons, I’m part of the gang that robbed your frigging store. She let her eyes dart around. There was Patrick Mallory, the young dynamic assistant manager--as usual chatting to Sandra Bentley from the Fabrics 19

Light at the End of the Tunnel

department. Everyone knew what was going on between them. He had his hand up her dress so often as she stood demurely behind the counter that the gossip called her the puppet. Well he wasn’t manipulating her strings: the staff knew where he was working her! And look, there’s Mrs. Alice Finstein glaring daggers at Sandra. Another sad bag, chasing after Patrick. Getting caught according to Louise from Accounts Department. She told everyone in the canteen she’d come back last Wednesday afternoon when its half-day closing because she’d left some cinema tickets in her locker. Swears blind she saw Alice Finstein kneeling before the randy Patrick with a mouthful of his sausage rolling down her throat. As the young black girl got to the policeman, he finished with Mr. Pennyroyal and turned. Nau Glavo lived in Clapham. It was a few miles from the borough of Brixton where, since the influx of West Indian immigrants since the end of the war, a colony of black peoples had developed. Race prejudice wasn’t mentioned. It wasn’t spoken about because it was so rampant as to be an accepted attitude. She would have had to be blind and deaf not to be aware of the prevailing wind and the growing black resentment directed towards the fuzz—the cops—whatever your name for them was. Why the hell was her body reacting like this? Here was a white copper, blue uniform and part of the establishment standing there and making her loins wriggle, her panties moist and her nipples stiff like some randy bitch on heat. 20

Emy Naso

“Can you tell me where you were last night Miss?” “At home.” Fuck…they could check on that. What the hell does this man want? Get that mouth. “I suppose you didn’t know a Peter Johnson? Sometimes called Pippy.” “Who? You know, don’t you? Your come-to-bed eyes can see I’m hot for you. “A young man was killed in an accident outside the store. We believe he may have been involved in a burglary.” “I didn’t know that.” But I know my hands itch to be stroking you to an erection. “Well, that’s all then Miss.” “Oh, fine.” What do’ya mean that all. Turn me on, and then kick my ass. Bastard, BASTARD. “If you think of anything more Miss, give me a call. Constable Renny’s the name. Frankie Renny.” “Thanks.” Please, I didn’t mean to call you a bastard. Phone me, take me out, I’ll do anything for you. Stupid cow, Nau. He’s not interested in you. As Constable Frankie Renny walked away, Nau looked towards the window. Guy was standing in the street, glaring at her.

Say Goodbye to a Sword There had been eight. Nau then made nine. Now, once again there were just eight. The funeral of Peter John Johnson, known to the gang as Pippy, took place on a Friday afternoon at the crematorium in Putney, three miles from his home in Wandsworth, South 21

Light at the End of the Tunnel

London. Mrs. Diane Johnson, his mother, made cucumber sandwiches for the gathering at her home after the ceremony. Her sister Violet helped. When the line of black cars paraded up Winston Street all the neighbors came out to stare. It wasn’t just the coffin of young Peter that caused the interest. At the end of the street eight young people were seen loitering about. “Load of teddy boys,” Mrs. Rogers at number twenty-three muttered, “And fancy that black girl being part of a gang. What is the world coming too,” Mrs. Hodges at number twenty-seven added. Lionel Johnson, “Pippy’s dad, was an insurance agent for the Prudential. Every one in the district knew him. Nearly every evening he would pound the streets, collecting the monthly premiums so that the good folk of Battersea, Wandsworth and Tooting Bec would know that when it was their turn to “Go”, their loved ones would have enough insurance pay-out to afford a decent burial put on by Bridges & son, undertakers to the poor. “I’m not having those louts at the funeral,” Mr. Johnson had said to his wife. “I know our Peter was supposed to have been one of them but I reckon they led him astray.” So Guy and his gang waited at the corner watched the cortège arrive, and then Pippy’s coffin carried to the immaculate, shiny car. He would have loved that. Pippy was a car fanatic. “If they don’t want us at the service, we’ll hold our own,” Guy sneered, and the gang strutted off to catch a number 77 bus to Wimbledon Common, most of 22

Emy Naso

them doing their best to avoid paying the fare to the conductor. Fifteen minutes later the eight members of the Sword gang jumped off the bus and swaggered towards the green swards of Wimbledon Common. The district was in sharp contrast to their own. They came from an area of terraced houses, small apartments in shared dwellings and evidence of poverty all around them. Here in leafy Wimbledon the well heeled, well off and well educated lived in their detached houses, five minutes walk from the famous Wimbledon Tennis Club and daily helps coming in to do the cleaning. The gang was subdued. As much as they tried bravado, the death of Pippy stayed with them. Nau, for all her pretence at bloody mindedness, was a perceptive young woman. She saw Guy conceitedly walking in front with Smudge and Lou closely following their leader. Chris strutted ten feet away, as if to visually show he wasn’t totally subservient to Guy. Sam and Tel tended towards Chris and tagged after him. Mickey, as the artful dodger of the gang, walked his own path, sensing that one day Guy might not be leader, but as yet not making his mind up about taking sides. The trip soon became aimless, no one having a clue what to do or say. It turned into mindless vandalism, with Guy and Smudger kicking a park bench to pieces and then attempting to set it alight. “I thought we’d come here for a service for Pippy?” Lou ventured as he watched the pathetic effort of Smudger to burn some old branches under 23

Light at the End of the Tunnel

the bench. “Did you see the way they did it in the film? You know the one with that hell raiser gang on those bikes…” Tel’s words were drowned in hooted derision. Everyone knew he was a motorbike freak. “I reckon we need some sort of black magic service,” Sam put in, “You know, one where they sacrifice a virgin.” “Ain’t many of them around here,” Mickey scoffed and pointedly looked at Nau. The gang laughed…except Guy and Chris. There was tension in the air. Eventually Guy sneered and said, “This is a fucking awful idea. I’m getting out of here.” The Sword gang sullenly went back across the Common, caught a bus and sat mutely on the top deck, most of them sensing the barely subdued sparks circling Guy’s head. They stared out of the window to keep out of the possible explosion area. The red London double decker bus hopped from stop to stop, picking up an occasional passenger. Through smart Wimbledon, onto drab Earlsfield and finally down the hill towards Clapham Junction. It pulled into a request stop where two old women got on, laden with their shopping from the weekly Northcote Road open market. They would have preferred to sit on the lower deck. As there was no room, the conductor clucked and fussed, helping them to climb the spiral stairs to the upper deck. “Hold on tight my dears,” he called, and the bus moved on The brooding Guy suddenly turned to Chris, 24

Emy Naso

sitting two seats behind him. “You been messing around with my girl?” he growled in a strengthening tone. Chris arrogantly just stared back and chewed him gum belligerently. Nau’s temper snapped. “I ain’t your fucking girl.” The two old ladies looked up and hugged their shopping bags, perched on their knees. Guy stood up, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a flick knife. There was a terror gasp from the other passengers. Guy came on down the aisle. Chris got up and produced a knife from his jacket pocket. A passenger at the rear of the bus, put up his hand slowly, grabbed the bell cord and pulled it rapidly…again and again. The bus came to a halt. “What’s going on up there?” the conductor called, climbing the stairs. Chris made a run for it and pushed the conductor stumbling out the way. Guy rushed after him, then Nau and the rest of the gang. “Bloody kids these days,” one of the old ladies muttered to her friend.

Come To My Arms Chris chased dangerously across the intersection of busy roads with Guy behind him openly brandishing the flick knife. Nau ran hard to keep within fifty yards of them. A car screeched to a halt, just missing Guy. Passing shoppers stopped and watched the 25

Light at the End of the Tunnel

unfolding drama. The rest of the gang gawked at the action but decided cowardice was the safest option. Up the slope towards the railway station Chris flew in real terror as Guy’s face took on a maniacal countenance. Nau lost them for a moment, paused at the flower sellers stall in the approach to the ticket offices, then saw them feet apart at the foot of the stairs leading to platforms nine and ten. A mother with her two young children clutched them and hugged close against the wall, her eyes transfixed by the two men with knives. Two railway porters hovered hesitantly. Tackling armed jobs was not part of their duties. The railway company didn’t pay them enough for that. “Come on Chris, not such a big I am now, are we?” Guy snarled. Chris’s eyes were darting about trying to find an escape. The huge gorilla shape of Guy moved in, they swayed and fought at close quarters…then stepped apart. The mother screamed. Blood ran down Chris’s hand and shirt. Guy grinned, pirouetted delicately for a man of his weight…then fell dead. “The next train will be fast to Guildford,” the station announcer said over the speaker. Guy had a fast track to heaven…or hell. Nau caught up with them. Chris looked possessed. He saw the black girl. “It’s all your fault, you fucking tart,” he yelled insanely. She ran. Up the nearest steps. At the barrier a ticket collector shouted, “You can’t go on the platform, you ain’t got a ticket.” 26

Emy Naso

Moments later he was pushed aside again as Chris chased after Nau. Along the platform her legs pumped. In her beating heart she knew she was running. In her mind she stood still. There was nowhere to escape from Chris. No going back. The only alternative was to run along the rail line. That meant going into the tunnel. The light faded. She heard Chris stumbling along after her. It was dark. A whistling noise started in the distance. What was it? Air rushed passed her. OH MY GOD IT’S A TRAIN. The arms that held her tight were also trying to calm her. The train had gone. In a daze Nau let herself be led up the track and out of the tunnel. She could now see something. There was light at the end of the tunnel. “What were you doing in there?” Frankie asked with deep concern “What the bloody hell were YOU doing?” Nau shot back…and cursed herself for swearing. “I saw you running across the road in a panic at Clapham Junction. So I followed you.” She let herself fold into his safe body. She relaxed slightly and whispered, “It’s lucky you did…hey, why did you follow me?” she asked. “Because I fell in love with you at first sight,” Frankie shrugged in a charmingly quiet way. Nau gave him a broad grin. They reached the platform. “Ever been to Brighton?” Frankie said as she wiped away grime from her face. “Brighton! That’s by the sea, isn’t it? No, never 27

Light at the End of the Tunnel

been there.” “Come on, there’s a train at the platform. Get in.” “We haven’t got a ticket!” “You forget I’m a policeman. I’ll tell them I’m on an investigation.” They leapt aboard the train. The carriage was deserted. The train sped through station after station. It was the non stop express. Frankie held Nau. She didn’t feel cruel or frightened or spiteful…just safe. He kissed her neck, her lips. They held close and she shivered as his hands found the inside of her blouse, then the clasp on her bra. Frankie was so gentle as he sucked at her nipples. She didn’t want to rush him. Yet Nau wanted to feel his body. Would he think her forward? It was too good to wait. Her fingers slid down inside the front of his trousers. She giggled and nibbled his ear. “You’re hard already,” she purred suggestively. His fingers slipped along her thighs and between her legs. “And you’re soft and moist, pretty black Nau.” Her body fell back on the train seat and he came with her. His warm strong body rolled onto hers, and there mutual desire took his cock to the gates of her vulva. Clackety clack. Clackety clack. “Do it now. Do it now.” Nau urged. The train rolled on. The train rolled on. “Like this my love. Like this my love,” Frankie groaned. Over the points. Over the points. 28

Emy Naso

“Just like that. Just like that,” Nau moaned. The tunnel is dark. The tunnel is dark. “That feels good. That feels good,” Frankie panted. Faster it goes. Faster it goes. “Don’t hold back. Don’t hold back,” Nau gasped for breath. Brighton is here. Brighton is here. “WoWooooooooo”, Nau Glavo was there.

29

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Born in Wales, Emy Naso moved to London, then to adopted and much loved coastal region of East Anglia. Married young, Emy states this was the only way to still be active when the kids eventually called a truce and left home. Naso's motto is "Life is for today, writing is forever", but cannot remember whether the paradigm was adopted after a deep study of philosophy or was a slogan read on the back of a breakfast cereal pack!