Books & Poetry

Last week, Richard Sharp continued our London chain story. Here is the ninth chapter, written by Time Out reader Howard Dorman. Thanks to everyone who contributed.

Chapter Nine by Howard Dorman

Mo and Tobias sat silently in the taxi as it slowly made its way along Peckham Road. She was growing desperate, and for a second she could see only wild-looking geese in her mind’s eye. But her imagination wouldn’t let her off that easily, and Betsy was soon back in her thoughts – along with grim images of what Franz might be doing to her.

Mo knew that scouring the internet would be fuck-all use. F Schmidts everywhere. Hundreds of them in Berlin and dozens of them in London, everywhere from Bermondsey to Barking. So she found herself clutching at straws and heading towards the badlands of Brockley with a man she knew only carnally. Fritz had once mentioned a cousin who lived south of the river. Deep from the recesses of her mind, she conjured up Drake Road and dragged Tobias with her to the minicab office. Feature continues

South London reminded her of parts of east Berlin. Nice new buildings at regular intervals but always the feeling that the good life was tantalisingly elsewhere, just across the other side of a river or a long-gone wall that she had never seen. As the taxi trundled along New Cross Road behind the usual procession of Number 36 buses, Mo remembered the last time she had seen Betsy, the sister who always seemed to be the chosen one. It was ten months ago and Betsy seemed preoccupied with growing up. Lamb dressed as mutton. Mo feared for her, but knew she was wasting her words as she told her to look after herself.

‘Look who’s talking,’ Betsy had spat back. ‘Did you ever find that guy who legged it after you paid him £10,000 for a shag?’

Mo had stormed out of the café on the King’s Road there and then – it was something of a family tradition that you never left each other on speaking terms. She didn’t want to admit it, but in the midst of her dread for her sister’s well-being she found herself being nagged by something approaching jealousy. Fritz was scum, but he was good-looking scum.

Tobias shook her from her reverie as they turned off Lewisham Road into Tyrwhitt Road. ‘Did they name this place after Cubby?’ he asked, presumably to lighten the mood. Mo wondered why some men don’t come branded with ‘fuckwit’ across their foreheads.

The driver took the third right into Drake Road and stopped. Mo and Tobias got out and started at Number 1. No reply.

As they walked along the path to Number 2, Mo looked up at a first-floor window and saw a face that looked vaguely familiar. ‘God, he looks rough. You’d think he’d just shagged a geriatric prossie,’ blurted Tobias as the man stumbled down the stairs to open the door.