The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper(41)

“What’s her name?”

“It’s Lucy.”

“Ha,” Arthur said.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Lucy is my daughter’s name.”

“Oh. Sorry. An ex-girlfriend chose it.”

“Don’t be. It suits her. They have the same demeanor. My daughter is quiet and thoughtful, too.”

“I think that this small dog worries about me more than I worry about her. I opened my front door one day and she was sitting there like she was a guardian angel or something. I said to her, ‘You can do better than me. Go find someone half-decent with a job.’ I showed her out of the building. But the next time I opened up, she was there again. She trotted inside my apartment and sat down and we’ve been together ever since. She can see something in me that I can’t.”

Arthur closed his eyes. The sun felt warm on his lids.

“I’ll get you a coffee,” the man said. “I bet you need a drink after that incident. You should think about reporting it to the police.”

“It’s all my fault. I doubt they’d even be interested.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve had my run-ins with the coppers. Always moving us on. Me and Lucy are just trying to make a living.”

It was now that Arthur saw the flute sticking out of the man’s pocket. “A lady threw some money in your cap,” he said.

“Great. Well, I mean, it’s good someone bothered. Not going to make me a millionaire, though.” He shrugged.

“I’ll buy the coffees. I owe you a big thanks.”

“Whatevs.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Mike. I take it black with three sugars.”

“Arthur. Arthur Pepper.”

“Do me a favor, Arthur. Take Lucy with you. She could do with a piddle. I don’t like her doing it near the tube entrance.”

Lucy seemed happy to trot after Arthur. Her claws made a lilting tapping sound on the pavement as they walked on. There was a van selling coffees and hot food just across the road. Arthur asked for two coffees and then added two sausage sandwiches to the order. As he paid, he batted away the thought that Miriam used to hate people eating food in the street. Mike looked like he might not have eaten for a while.

Arthur followed flute music until he found Mike sitting cross-legged on the grass with this cap at his feet. He put down his flute as Arthur approached. “Thought I may as well earn some cash while you were gone. Here—” he felt around in the cap and took out a two-pound coin “—for my coffee.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s on me. I got you a sausage sandwich, too.”

Mike’s eyes lit up. “With ketchup?”

“Of course.”

There was nowhere else to sit so Arthur sat on the grass, too. He tore off a piece of bread and threw it to a one-legged pigeon. He was immediately surrounded by a further fifty of them. One pecked at his shoelaces.

“You shouldn’t feed them. They’re pests. Flying rats. They have to clear tons of pigeon shit off Nelson’s column each year. Did you know that?”

Arthur said that he did not.

They sat and ate together. If Miriam could see him now, sitting in the sunlight with a young man and his dog, basking and eating sausages in bread. She would certainly disapprove. Sorry, Miriam.

“So, what’s your story, Arthur?” Mike batted a wasp from his copper hair.

“Story?”

“Uh-huh. Those do not look like your trousers. You’ve obviously never been to London before, yet you’re here wandering around on your own without a map, waving your wallet around. There must be more to you than meets the eye.”

At first Arthur thought about spinning a loose yarn about being in London for a spot of sightseeing but it seemed wrong to lie to this young man who had just put himself in danger. So Arthur told Mike a brief version of his actual true story, about Miriam and the bracelet, about Bernadette and the man with the tigers and the man with the books. Then he asked Mike about himself, but Mike just shook his head.

“I have nothing to tell you as interesting as that,” he said. “I’m just a simple man trying to earn a living. Though I do know someone who knows about gold bracelets. He’s got a shop not far from here. We could take your bracelet to him, if you like. He might be able to tell you something about it.”

Arthur was really not in the mood for trying to catch a train again yet. There was no rush to get back. He was at a dead end with leads for the remaining charms. “Why not?” he said. “It’s a lovely day for a walk.”

It was only when they reached yet another side street with polystyrene fast-food cartons trodden underfoot and dubious smells that he began to doubt his own trusting nature. Could it even be that Mike was in cahoots with the mugger? That this was some kind of setup, for them to get more than just a wallet out of a foolish old man. They seemed to have been walking for ages and he had lost all sense of where he was. Turning a corner, all the people who had been milling around them dried up. It was just Arthur, Mike and Lucy heading down a gloomy, cobbled street. Brick buildings bared down on them either side. The sun dipped behind a cloud. Arthur slowed his pace.

“Am I walking too fast for you? We’re nearly there now.”

Images from the musical Oliver! popped into Arthur’s head. Young dirty boys pickpocketing, Fagin and the dog with the black eye. What was his name? Oh, yes, Bullseye. Praying on unsuspecting folk in Victorian England. He steeled himself, waiting for a hand to shoot out of a doorway and batter him on the head with a truncheon. He had always wanted to believe the best in people. Now he was going to be mugged again for his trouble.