Jacqui Rose - Disobey

The cravings which in the past would’ve led to her putting herself in compromising situations with men and drugs were the demons which had brought her to Soho in the first place. Casey had come searching to put the past right, and whilst doing so had put herself right. Her life had gone from unmanageable to downright good. Life had come together. Her life finally had a purpose, and of course then there was Vaughn. She loved him and that love wouldn’t have been possible if she was still a drunk. A lush. He was again part of the reason she needed to stay sober because if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be a question of if she might lose Vaughn, it would just be a question of when.

But how could Casey tell him that their life and her sobriety were in danger of collapsing because of a craving? An urge so strong that in the past, when she’d been married to her first husband, she’d found herself sleeping with strangers just to get a drink.

Even at the time Vaughn had never really understood, although he’d tried. Although he’d seen Casey battle to stay sober, he couldn’t really get his head round the fact that booze came before most things, including him at times.

So here she was, sitting in a darkened basement, desperate to keep clean. But it was hard, so hard; if it wasn’t for the relationship with Vaughn she wasn’t sure if she’d have the strength to go another day without having a drink.

Casey and Franny sat in Lola’s newly refurbished café in Bateman Street.

‘Well, what do you think, ladies?’ Lola sat down by the two women, admiring her new set up. She’d been proud of it before, but this, she thought, this was the dog’s bollocks.

Casey, who’d worked in Lola’s café before she’d met Vaughn, smiled at the flamboyance of the tiny workman’s café. Gold and black chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Bright red tables and chairs had replaced the old wooden ones, the work counters were now a loud zebra print and the walls were painted lime green, with large silver-framed photos of Soho in the Sixties.

‘Well, it’s different.’

Lola grinned proudly. ‘It ain’t quite finished yet, but then I blame Vaughn. Can’t get hold of him. He promised he’d get one of those moose heads for me. I think it’d look lovely over there near the door. What do you think?’

Casey raised her eyebrows, her full red lips twitching with a smile. ‘Tell me you’re kidding.’

Lola looked shocked. ‘Kidding? Why would I do that?’

‘It’s just that … well, don’t you think it might be a bit OTT?’

Lola stood up, clearing the empty tea cups. She shook her head in dismay. ‘You’ve never had any taste, Casey. It’s all the rage; latest thing.’

‘A moose head?’

‘Oh yeah, I saw it in a magazine; they had photos of Hampton Court.’

Casey’s eyes widened. ‘They had a moose head in Hampton Court?’

‘Well it weren’t a moose head exactly; it was a deer’s head. But I’ve never liked them things; their eyes are too close together. Gives me the heebie-jeebies. Anyway, moose, deer; they’re all a bit classy ain’t they? And if Henry the eighth can have one on his palace wall then so can Lola’s café.’ And with that, Lola shuffled off, delighted at the admiration on Franny’s and Casey’s face.

Casey watched Lola for a moment before turning to Franny, her smile not reaching her eyes. ‘How’s your new lodger?’

‘Chloe-Jane?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Messy! I’m sure I was never that bad when I was her age, but then I’m not really surprised; by all accounts she’s hardly had an easy life, she’s had to fend for herself most of it. But she’s sweet. I like her.’

‘How long’s she staying?’

Franny grinned. ‘I dunno, she’s talking about giving me money for her upkeep, I think she’s worried I’m going to kick her out any day soon, poor kid.’

The women fell silent, then, making sure Lola was out of earshot, Franny whispered, ‘What’s going on, Cass?’

Casey looked down at the table. ‘Oh, nothing much. Usual stuff. Vaughn’s got a bee in his bonnet.’

‘About Alfie?’

‘About him and other stuff. Things aren’t so good.’

‘With Vaughn?’

Casey hesitated.

‘Cass, you can trust me. We’re friends. Whatever it is, I won’t say anything. I promise. I know what it’s like when you’ve got no one to talk to.’

‘Thanks Fran, it’s just … I know I can trust you, but it’s difficult. Apart from you I haven’t got anyone else. I can’t talk to Lola because it wouldn’t be fair, you know with her being close to both of us, and I obviously can’t talk to Vaughn …’ Casey trailed off.

‘Then tell me.’

Casey’s eyes filled with tears as Franny reached across the table. ‘Cass, please . I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself lately. Tell me what’s going on.’

Everything in Casey wanted to tell Franny about how the urge to drink was making her feel. But her shame stopped her. Franny wasn’t like her. She seemed so sorted; she’d gone through so much, yet she’d done it all without a crutch and had only needed the support of her friends. Yet here Casey was, still fighting the booze and her demons. Still waking up with the overwhelming urge to go out and get drunk.

‘Is it Vaughn, Cass, and all this stuff in Soho? I know you want to be loyal to him, but what are friends for if you can’t lean on them? I won’t say anything.’

Casey looked up at Franny. It was easier to agree with her friend than tell her the truth, though it wasn’t a complete lie. Things were strained with Vaughn, but it was difficult to know how much was actually him, and how much was Casey. Vaughn had been pushing her away, but then she’d been doing the same with him. He couldn’t find out what was going on. He just couldn’t.

Feigning a smile, Casey spoke to her friend. ‘Yeah, that’s right. It’s Vaughn. All this stuff with Soho has got right under his skin. He’s like a different man.’

‘Try not to worry, Cass, Alfie’s no better. He’s roaming around like he’s got a rod stuck up his arse … It’ll be okay; if it’s any comfort, I know Vaughn loves you. But if I can give you any advice, Cass, it’d be this; talk to him. That’s what gets me and Alfie through the tough times. We talk to each other, and above all we don’t have any secrets.’

Mr Lee stood by the window, wondering quite why the English were so foolish. There seemed to be a common thread which ran through them, a thread of misplaced pride – or as he liked to call it, stupidity.

He’d warned them. Warned them that the trouble wasn’t necessary, and could have so easily been avoided. All they’d had to do was abide by the rules. How easy. How simple; yet as Mr Lee stared in contempt at the bloodied and battered Alfie Jennings lying on the floor, it was clear to him, simple was something the English didn’t like.

Sitting down on the large purple velvet chair, Mr Lee crossed his legs, making him look smaller and more diminutive than he usually did.

‘It’s a shame we couldn’t meet under better circumstances. I was very much looking forward to our discussion later on in the week, but as Robert Burns said, the best laid schemes of mice and men. ’ Mr Lee paused, flicking off a stray piece of ash from the large cigar he was smoking. ‘When my men told me you’d decided to continue with your little venture, I thought it best to cut my trip short and have that chat sooner rather than later. I’m sure you understand. And I can only imagine you’ve got a good reason for disobeying my rules.’

Through his swollen, bruised eyes, Alfie glared at Mr Lee. ‘Ain’t no one going to tell me what I can and can’t do, especially from a fucking kitchen sink .’