164. sugar & spice *

the man with the big dark eyes looked down on me, the gates of hell ajar, he stood there & watched as I moved to sit on the toilet – are your knickers on or are your knickers off ? for only poor girls and whores & so-called stars with shaven muffs wear no knickers, he whispered in my ear. and while I sat he’d get another drink on the house, so to speak. A gentle man, in his way & very English, but partial to a drop or two of his favourite tipple. I’d wake up sometimes & he’d just be sitting there in the semi darkness watching me talk in my sleep the red glow of a cigarette arcing up & down, up & down lazily as the clock ticked away. I decided later, long after he died, that he couldn’t help it – it was not of his choosing – but as the key turned in the door I’d hear him slip away & call out lovingly “ a cup of tea, Mollie ?” as mum came home.