Кейт Уотерхаус - Soho or Alex in Wonderland

During the course of the day he had met Ms Jenny Wise, the actress, with whom he had had sex at her invitation, and Mr Brendan Barton, the television personality, who had given him the sum of two hundred pounds for correctional therapy. He had also met a former model known to him only as Else, who had sat for a famous artist whose name he could no longer remember, and whilst at a book-launch party he had found himself at, he had presented said Else with a volume priced at £29.95. He had no motive in making such a gesture.

Much later in the evening he had been sheltering from the rain in the doorway of what proved to be the Transylvania Club. He did not know it was a transvestite club. He had never himself worn women’s clothing, nor had any wish to. In the lobby he met the person he had previously mistaken for his friend Selby — a Ms Christine, or as it would turn out, Mr Christopher Yardley, who invited him into the club, where he was signed in under the name of D. Singleton.

He did not know why he had given a false name, except that he had thought it was the done thing to give false names in Soho drinking clubs. He had never been in Soho before.

He would admit that in an earlier, informal statement he had erroneously told Detective Inspector Wills that until encountering the body in Hog Court he had never set eyes on Christopher, a.k.a. Christine Yardley, in his life before. He had said this because he did not wish to become involved, since he needed to get back to Leeds. He now realised that withholding information in this manner was an offence.

He could not agree that the reason he had given “Christine” a false name for himself was because he was hoping to have sexual intercourse with “her”, or failing her consent, that he intended to rape her in Hog Court. It was true that he had hoped to have sexual intercourse with “Christine” but had gone off the idea when “she” turned out to be a man. He most certainly was not repelled by the discovery, but he had no idea how to go about having sexual congress with a transvestite. In fact given that he found himself in Soho, he wouldn’t have minded finding out.

It was true that what with Ms Jenny Wise and Mr Brendan Barton he had had some interesting sexual encounters during the day and had been hoping for another, but he was not a sexual predator. It was just that not having seen Selby for over two weeks he was feeling sexually frustrated. It had to be remembered that he was a normal young man.

He did not speak to anyone else at the Transylvania Club.

After leaving the Transylvania Club he had gone to meet his friend Mr James Flood at Gerry’s Club, by arrangement. He had spoken briefly to Ms Jenny Wise but she had more or less snubbed him. With Mr Flood, he had then gone on to the Blue Note Club. He had not attempted to pick anyone up at the Blue Note Club.

Whilst at the Blue Note Club he had begun to feel melancholy and thought he would attempt to make contact with Selby on his mobile. He had gone out into Greek Street for this purpose but was unable to make contact. Whilst in Greek Street he had felt the need to urinate. Not wishing to go back down into the Blue Note until his mood of depression had passed, he crossed the street to Hog Court.

Together with Ms Else, whom he gathered was in Hog Court with the same intention as himself, he had discovered the body of “Christine” Yardley.

He was sorry to have left it to Else to explain matters to the police. He supposed he had panicked. He could not think what there was to panic about.

He had never been in Hog Court before that moment. Whilst he had been in many places in Soho during the course of the day, and could not remember them all, he would certainly have remembered having been in Hog Court.

He did not know why he would remember having been in Hog Court. He just knew that he had not been there.

He had not gone back into Hog Court looking for a Swiss Army knife. He did not own a Swiss Army knife, never had done.

If Else had thought she had seen him pick up something whilst he was retching, she was mistaken. He had merely been stooping to see if there was tomato in his vomit, as indeed there was, as always, even though he had had nothing with tomato in it. You could call it research, something to tell the lads back in Leeds. By no means was he picking up a –

Swiss Army knife. Fooking Swiss Army knife! He had got it. Bloke in wunner them boozers last night, out on that pub crawl with James. Same little bloke he had seen slinking out of Hog Court while he was waiting for a pee.

“Describe him,” said Detective Inspector Wills.

Alex described him as best he could.

“And you say he was carrying a folded raincoat.”

“Yes.”

“Describe it.”

“I don’t know that I could. It was just a raincoat.”

“But you’d recognise it if you saw it again, yes?”

“I should think so, yes.”

“Yet you can’t remember which out of all these pubs you were in last night you saw this guy in?”

“It can only be one of forty-eight, guv,” Detective Sergeant Bone pointed out soothingly. “Unless they were doing the clubs and wine bars as well, in which case we’ll be back with you about next Tuesday.”

“You say James Flood of the Examiner was with you on this pub crawl?” said Detective Inspector Wills to Alex.

“Of the Evening Standard , now,” said Alex, not without vicarious pride.

“Son, I don’t care if he’s now on the Exchange and fucking Mart . Did he see this bloke with the Swiss Army knife?”

“I don’t think so. I think he was talking to the pub landlord.”

“Then let’s hope for your sake you can find this mysterious figure again,” said Detective Inspector Wills with an ominous smile. “Off you go, and don’t get pissed.”

As Alex and Detective Sergeant Bone made for the stairs, they were swamped by a human tide flowing down — a horde of over-excited, tin-tray-banging waiters, looking in their crisp ankle-length white aprons like extras in a lithograph by Toulouse-Lautrec. Borne shoulder high by his friends was the squint-eyed waiter, beaming at the wall and brandishing his first prize in the Waiters’ Race of a jeroboam of Moët et Chandon.

Alex could have done with a dropper that champagne, even though the muck tickled his nose and made his eyes water — it was thirsty work, answering questions and making statements. Still, he supposed he’d be allowed a drink on this reconstructed pub crawl Detective Sergeant Bone was taking him on, hence the inspector’s injunction not to get pissed. He wondered if the Clubs and Vice Squad got a booze allowance. Probably did: it was difficult to see how they could carry out their duties without dipping their hands in their pockets. Especially since, as Alex happened to know, the Old Bill weren’t allowed to accept free drinks when on duty.

Oh, weren’t they? At their first stop, the Coach and Horses, Detective Sergeant Bone firmly ordered a large Scotch, leaving Alex to pay for it, before taking himself off into a corner for a discreet chat with Norman, the guvnor.

At the French House, where Alex expected the detective to reciprocate, he did nothing of the sort. However, the two flymen were at the bar, and Detective Sergeant Bone very kindly allowed them to buy him his next Scotch. Thank Christ for that: at the rate they were going Alex would soon be broke again, and God only knew when he was going to get out of Detective Inspector Wills’s clutches and back on his way to Leeds.

If ever. What did making a statement mean? Once you’d signed it, were you free to go? More than likely not, all the things he’d had to confess to. Not that they were crimes exactly, but looking back over that statement, what he’d been made to put into it, he must have come out of it as if he’d been behaving in a definitely dodgy way. In the inspector’s shoes, he certainly wouldn’t give himself the green light, not just yet. He wondered if he was going to spend the night in a police cell. If it meant he could get some kip, he wouldn’t really mind, so long as it didn’t get into the Yorkshire Evening Post . No, James Flood would keep it out, they were best mates by now. But he was wishing he’d never set eyes on fookin So-oh. As for blurry Selby, he blamed her for this.