A Royal Night Out Page #4

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Don't worry.

We're going to find your sister.

All right, darling.

Look.

Piccadilly commando.

A working girl.

- All right?

- All right, love? How can I help you?

Yeah. Erm, we're looking for

a bloke called Lord Stan.

Red.

Red.

- Hmm.

- Place your bets!

Mmm.

- Red.

- Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen!

There we are, you see.

Oh, erm.

No more bets,

ladies and gentlemen.

Mmm.

You all right, darling?

Where are you going?

I need the... You know. You're hurting me.

Be quick.

- Hello.

- Good evening.

Not seen you in here before.

Bit high class for us, ain't you, darling?

Who are you, then?

- I'm P2.

- P what?

Princess number two, silly.

Margaret.

Bloody hell.

P2 in my knocking shop.

Wonderful.

Bit of a snooze, actually.

Nobody takes any notice of me at all.

Ah, it's OK, old boy. She's with me.

Tad too much fizz. Sorry.

That horrible man hurt me.

Nonsense. I'm looking after her.

- Come on, old girl.

- No, no, I don't like you any more.

You heard the lady. Raymond.

- Sod off, you jumped-up little spiv.

- Show the naval gentleman the door.

- Your Majesty.

- Highness will do.

Would you condescend

to view my collection?

Collection?

How interesting.

This goes back to your

great-great-grandmama,

the Queen Empress Victoria,

a truly splendid lady.

Raymond.

- Take the weight, Your Highness.

- Thank you.

Thank you.

Rough night, Your Highness?

Incognito.

But I must say, things haven't worked out

at all as I'd hoped.

The Curzon was a bore.

Mmm.

I say, this is much better coffee

than we have at home.

And it looks like I'll never make it

to Chelsea Barracks.

Chelsea Barracks?

Are you foreign?

English to my fingertips.

Hmm. We're all German, you know,

but it's de trop to talk about it.

Not supposed to.

Pas devant les sujets.

The Curzon I can understand,

but Chelsea Barracks?

Marvellous party there.

Should be in full swing by now.

Officers galore...

Any call for girls?

Why, naturally.

And I have the password, you know.

The password?

Good.

Let me rustle up

a few of my closest associates.

Raymond, action stations.

On it, boss.

This is jolly exciting.

Why don't we pop round the barracks first?

And I'll drop you home afterwards.

Excellent plan.

Goodbye.

Oh, my God.

What?

- Hello, Daisy.

- She's with me.

In you come.

No pimps.

What? Come on, let me in.

Are you a wine merchant?

I could give your card to my mother.

Oh, my God!

- What is that?

- Solar Chariot.

Well, half of, anyway.

Second in last year's Saint Leger.

I think I dished out the prizes for that.

Thank you.

How long have you been on this game, then?

Well, actually, this is my first time out.

Sort of out... Ish.

On one's own in so far as one could be.

- What's your name?

- Margaret.

Your real name?

- Margaret.

- Oh, that's a coincidence.

She's got lovely skin, ain't she?

Lovely everything.

Reminds me of me at her age.

Oh, what it is to be young.

Jack.

Jack. Up here.

Hurry up.

All right. All right.

Let's get a move on, shall we?

- I thought you'd gone.

- Me?

Mmm, with Stan and the girls.

To the, er, buttocks.

Buttocks?

- Bollocks?

- Bollocks?

Bar...

She thinks I'm Margaret.

Gone with the girls.

Excuse me, miss.

- Miss?

- Wake up,

wake up, come on.

No.

Oh!

Where did they go?

The bar... Bar...

He took all of the girls to Chelsea.

- Barracks!

- Mmm, in the car with the girls.

- Which girls?

- Working girls.

Mmm. Working hard as well, thank you.

We're very busy at the moment.

My sister has gone to Chelsea

with a carload of tarts.

Oh! Thought I told you, no pimps.

- You need a smack.

- All right.

Come on, then, sonny boy.

Come on.

Come to Papa.

Come on, then.

Jack.

Come back here.

Hi, can you, er...

- Dance.

- Can't dance.

For goodness' sake, make an effort.

Not that much effort.

Mmm.

What exactly is your problem

with the military police?

What problem?

Truth is...

I don't have the right

papers to be out tonight.

If they get hold of me,

I'm in one hell of a lot of trouble.

You're a deserter?

You! Aye, you!

Quick, run.

Come back here, you nedgie!

Quick, go, go!

I'm gonna batter your tan in.

Aye, run!

Run!

Over here.

Where now?

Chelsea Barracks?

Thank you very much.

I can manage very well on my own from here.

You've done your bit.

My bit?

Sorry about the money.

It's not something my family think about.

Nice for some.

Mine think about it all the time.

Comes with working for a living.

- They're street traders.

- But not deserters.

It's called Absent Without Leave, Lieutenant.

AWOL.

Same thing, isn't it?

It will be if I don't get on parade

at 8:
00 tomorrow morning.

Why?

What will they do to you?

A lot.

Court Martial.

Colchester Prison.

That's if they don't shoot me.

But they'll have to catch me first.

I don't understand. Where will you go?

Paris. Canada.

Somewhere I have choices.

Battersea first. Someone I've got to see.

Does she know about the AWOL...

- Your friend?

- My mum? No.

And I'm gonna keep it that way.

Taxi.

You won't get a taxi tonight, love.

But I can't walk to Chelsea.

Lizzy, this way.

A tugboat?

Quicker than a cab if you can get one.

Hurry up.

It's two bob.

Each.

How's it all gone for you, ducks?

My feet have barely touched the ground.

Knee tremblers all the way,

these busy nights.

First it was the conga at the Ritz.

- I get you.

- Then the bus with this naval officer.

- The bus?

- Between the Ritz and Trafalgar Square.

- He had his money's worth.

- But now I'm rather late.

Mother will be so cross.

She's got high expectations,

that mother of yours.

Hmm, yes.

- Right. Here we go. Here we are.

- Mind your step.

Ah.

Well, hello!

- Can I help?

- You certainly can.

What's the password?

God save the King.

Hurry along girls.

God save the King.

- God save the King.

- God save the King.

- Fresh meat.

- Oi.

Watch your mouth. God save the King.

P2, stick with me.

- Evening.

- Hello, you.

- Hello, officer.

- Watch your hands.

One at a time. One at a time.

Look at the poor sods.

Still carrying on and keeping calm.

Still making the best of it.

- That's the spirit.

- It got us through the war.

Hmm, look at it. It's a ruin.

Would have thought 58 nights

freezing my arse off in that bloody cockpit

would have entitled me

to something more than this.

Yes, absolutely.

This belongs to your lot.

Nothing for me here.

Except your mum.

You do listen.

Why?

It was a bad night.

We were coming back

from killing people in Berlin.

One engine was dead.

We only got 600 feet.

Caught flak, bad.

Bang.

Bloody mayhem.

Plane was a mess.

Holes I could see stars through.

Smoke everywhere.

And I was climbing up

through it to my mate...

Charlie.

I got to him and he was...

All wet.

Go on.

I held his hand all the way back.

He talked and talked.

About what?

Bollocks, mostly.

He was off his head with the pain,

morphine I gave him.

By the time we got back,

his hand was cold as ice.

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