The sugar palace, p.14
The Sugar Palace, page 14
‘Right, shall we meet up a little later?’ Grace offered.
‘Of course.’ The clock of the GPO chimed that it was eleven. ‘Why don’t we see each other here at four?’
‘I’ll see you beneath India then.’ She grinned and gave him a peck on the cheek.
‘India?’ Alfie frowned, baffled.
Grace pointed to one of the great sculptures on the side of the post office building that fronted Martin Place. He blinked, still confused.
‘India,’ she repeated, pointing more directly at the carved face of an Asian woman wearing a grand headdress and jewellery with a large ring through her nose. ‘It’s a saying in Sydney. Lots of young lovers meet here.’
He blew a soft whistle. ‘Well, you learn something new each day,’ he said, sounding impressed.
‘I’ll tell you all about them later.’
Grace blew him a kiss and he pretended to catch it and place it over his heart. Blimey, but he adored this girl, he thought as he watched her hurry away. She was so pretty, with a flush at her cheeks and a skip in her step. He thought of the shelf beneath the cart’s bright skirt and worried that he was running the biggest risk of his life.
Holly hurried up towards him. ‘Ready?’
Alfie nodded. ‘Be careful. Take it slow and steady.’
‘We know how to do this, you watch.’
She wasn’t lying. The two youngsters astounded him in how keenly they were able to sniff out the right mark. It was always a man. With the women they went through their ‘sweets’ routine, as he’d begun to think of it, and he wondered how Holly knew to adroitly let up to ten men pass her by with just call-outs about the sweets, often winning their attention enough to send them towards the barrow for a sale . . . but then that one fellow she spoke to swiftly would sidle up and look at him expectantly.
One stood before him now. ‘She sent me here,’ he said, nodding towards Holly.
‘A pinch?’ Alfie murmured, reaching for a packet of fudge mixed up from condensed milk. It wasn’t their bestseller of the day, so he could afford to give it away.
‘How much is that?’
Alfie pursed his lips as he blew out a calming breath noiselessly through his nose. ‘A pinch of salt on this very sweet fudge will make it sing in your mouth, mate,’ he tried. He had to be sure this was no plain-clothed policeman; he’d heard they were on the rise.
The man looked confused and also a little dazed. Alfie glanced over at Holly. She gave him a firm nod to say the man was no copper.
How could she possibly know that? He needed to trust her though, or this was all a waste. ‘A pinch is sixteenth of an ounce,’ he whispered and reached under the skirt of the barrow for a bag, pretending he was looking for some particular sweets. ‘Here you go, sir.’ He toppled a tiny twist of paper holding white powder neatly into the bag of fudge.
‘She said five shillings uncut.’
He hoped the bloke would understand the code. ‘No acid in this fudge, my friend. You can do with it what you like.’
Five coins were placed in his palm and swapped for the bag of fudge. Alfie blinked with relief as the man moved on. He imagined that fellow would now mix – known as cutting – the pure cocaine with boracic acid and sell it on to new customers. Alfie didn’t care. Five shillings was profit enough to make his heart race, and he needed no cocaine to achieve that rush of pleasure.
He served a few more legitimate customers and was further pleased to be able to say that they had run out of brittle and marshmallow. He made a mental note to let Grace know the order of popularity of her products.
‘But, madam, you can’t leave without anything,’ he said to one disappointed-looking customer. ‘I’ll tell you what, this bag of vanilla fudge is with the compliments of the Sugar Palace if you buy some of our licorice or peppermint cake.’
Her eyes lit. ‘For free?’
‘The fudge, yes, indeed. Two bags if you buy one of each.’
‘Well, well,’ she said, brightening. ‘My husband likes fudge, and I am partial to licorice.’
‘Keeps you regular, madam,’ Alfie chanced with a wink.
She didn’t seem to mind his cheekiness and nodded. ‘I also like how it tastes, young man.’
‘Here you go. You enjoy those and come back next time, and I’ll set aside some peanut brittle for you. We’re going to try some almond rock as well – you may enjoy that too.’
Another two customers sidled up separately, one watchful, one overly casual. Alfie glanced Holly’s way and she gave a near imperceptible nod. Blimey she was good.
Those customers soon went off happily with bags of sweets they would likely not eat as well as the tiny twists of cocaine they were more than eager to consume.
The clock’s bell chimed sonorously from its tower at midday, reminding Sydney that it was time for everyone to take a break and have something to eat and stretch their legs. It didn’t take long for people to spill from offices all around him and for the Sugar Palace barrow to be swarmed by a queue of customers. Even Holly and Petey had to leave their posts to join in serving.
Suddenly it was a chorus of their three voices:
‘Who’s next, please?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘How can I help you, madam?’
‘Sweet tooth, sir? Oh, it’s for your wife? Then may I suggest the fudge?’
‘Might as well take two bags, sir,’ Alfie heard Holly say and had to resist grinning. ‘Because you’ll want more as soon as you’ve chewed the last toffee.’
‘We’ve got rich licorice toffee! Soft, sweet fudge in chocolate or plain! Try our range of sour drops!’
‘Yes, madam, those sour drops will get your eye twitching, but you’ll love it,’ Alfie quipped to one customer.
‘All out of peanut brittle, sir,’ he heard Petey confirm, ‘but I can recommend these rich, chewy toffees, sir. You won’t regret buying a bag or two and, look, if you do buy two, we might chuck in the last of the sour drops.’
‘And what about our special?’ Alfie whispered to the two children in a brief reprise from the crowds. His fast gaze had picked up their equally swift hands exchanging coins for bags of sweets that had a little something extra within. He marvelled at the light-fingered way they moved. In fact, he decided, they had probably cut their teeth for Tilly as pickpockets in their neighbourhood.
To their credit, he felt his change bag getting heavier. If they were slipping away any of the illegal takings, then he certainly wasn’t aware of it and he believed it to be near impossible to use sleight of hand against him. I’m the maestro of the misdirection, he thought to himself. The children had likely been told to remain honest with him because everyone in the know would benefit.
‘I’ve sold ten bags of sour drops,’ Holly said. ‘Er, yes, madam, how can I help you? We seem to be running out fast of everything,’ she said, leaning on the last word pointedly.
‘All gone,’ Petey confirmed taking a moment to check beneath the skirt. ‘We’re right out of the special.’
‘Er, folks,’ Alfie said loudly to catch everyone’s attention that he could, but privately feeling the excitement and power of pulling off a heist. He’d never been involved in selling drugs before now. He’d carted them all over London for others, barely aware of what he was moving. One time it was coffee, another it was sugar, but each time there were hard-packed bricks of ‘snow’ as they called it and even the ‘golden dragon’ – opium – a few times. But he never had to touch the bricks, simply deliver the sacks of innocent-sounding goods. Today he was the handler. He was the buyer and agent. He was the distributor of illegal cocaine. And while he didn’t relish the title, he couldn’t help but enjoy that old buzz of underground trading.
‘Folks!’ he called again. ‘We only have left what you see on the barrow. Because your choice is now limited to toffees, fudge and some very pleasant aniseed drops that would be soothing to that cough, madam, I am going to lower the price across the range.’
The queue was still long enough that it eagerly pressed forward, each of its members with a slight frown of concern that they may miss out. Alfie wished he could capture this moment for Grace. She would be so proud, and rightly so.
Later, in the laundry backroom where he slept, Alfie counted out the proceeds of the cocaine.
Holly nodded. He had gathered that she might not be a reader, but he could see by the silent movement of her lips that she could add up. ‘That’s a good haul,’ she said, confirming his suspicion and telling him that, despite her youth, he was talking to an equal . . . in Tilly’s estimation, anyway. He also reminded himself that having Holly and Petey work alongside him had been Tilly’s idea, so they were probably there as eyes and ears on her behalf.
‘It is. We can do better next time, now that they know how to find me. Come on. I’ll get you back, and I can pay my dues to the boss.’
Petey grinned, chewing one of several licorice toffees he’d enjoyed that had turned his tongue black. ‘We did all right with the lollies too.’
‘You were both great, actually, which is why this is for you.’ Alfie gave each child a shilling. He knew it was a lot, but he remembered the moment that Sabini had tossed him a shiny sixpence when he was about ten. It had felt like a fortune. Even his father had made a remark, but Sabini had shaken his head.
‘Your son did well today. Hey, boy,’ he had said, addressing Alfie directly. ‘You impressed me. You know what that means?’
‘Means you like me?’
‘I don’t have to like you, kid. I have to like how you conduct yourself. And you did well today. You can be my lookout anytime, lad. You’ve got sharp eyes and an alert attitude.’ He nodded at the coin in Alfie’s small palm. ‘Don’t give that to your old man – that’s for you. Go treat yourself.’
Treat himself! Six whole pennies, wrapped up in the shiniest sixpence he’d ever seen. Before his father could stop him, he’d dashed to the shops to spend it all on food.
He’d returned to his mother’s expression of dismay. ‘Did you steal all that?’
‘No! I earned it. Mr Sabini gave me money.’
‘He gave you money?’ She eyed him through a disapproving gaze. ‘And what did you do in return?’
‘I was just on lookout, nothing bad, Ma. Look, we can eat well for a few days, and I bought some sweets for the kids.’
He saw tears water in his mother’s eyes and knew she was torn. She didn’t like Sabini. He’d heard her say as much to his father, and it had ended in another blazing row with her lip bleeding, again, and her head sore from being banged against the wall. But they needed the food; they both knew that.
She’d nodded tiredly. ‘Change her, son, will you?’ She tipped her head towards the toddler with a wet nappy dragging on the floor. ‘She’ll get a rash.’
Now, squatting in the dingy underground room of the laundry, which smelled of damp, moss and decay, Alfie realised that he was feeling like his mother had all those years ago. In a sharp moment of clarity, despite the sense of glee he’d felt at pulling off his plan, he knew he didn’t want to be counting money from selling cocaine. He wanted to be rid of his criminal past and to cast off the shadow of people like George Dooley, who would just as soon kick him unconscious and leave him for dead in the gutter as lend money to him so they could keep him on a string of debt.
All he wanted to do was open the Sugar Palace with Grace and pursue a new life of enterprise and honest business as her husband and working partner.
‘And so you take the fast, criminal way, Alfie,’ he heard his mother say. ‘When good business is all about hard work and years of patience.’
Well, he didn’t have years. And he had no patience . . . not with a policeman with prospects, who could offer Grace a better life, waiting in the wings. He smiled grimly into the dim light . . . not a better life, just easier. A better life, if Alfie could organise himself, was always going to be with her as Mrs Sweeting.
‘Alfie, are you coming?’ Holly asked, bemused, from the ladder that led from underground to the basement of the laundry and up to the street. ‘You looked like you were lost there.’
‘Not lost, Holly. Just thinking,’ he said and tapped his temple. ‘Always thinking.’
13
Grace met Alfie later that afternoon as arranged. She ran up to him laughing, feeling like a teen again with the new carefree sensation of being in love with life and all that it was delivering to her at present.
‘Under India, as promised,’ he said, grinning and daring to sweep her into his arms to kiss her quickly.
‘How did we go?’
‘Brilliant, darlin’. We sold out.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘Well, I admit I cut prices towards the end of the midday break, because we’d sold out of what most people wanted. That way I was able to move on all the bags of toffee and the barley sugars and aniseed twists.’
‘Not popular?’ That was disappointing.
‘It’s not that,’ Alfie reassured her. ‘I think our customers will enjoy them, but the peanut brittle, honeycomb, peppermint cake, marshmallow and chocolate fudge just went.’
She breathed out a sigh of relief. So they had liked her products. ‘Tell me all about it. I have to know this.’
He grinned. ‘First, tell me about these,’ he said pointing towards the sculpture of India. ‘You promised. And then I’ll take you for a hot chocolate or something and we can talk business.’
She smiled back at him. ‘All right, well, all the carvings around the corner that front Pitt Street caused a big stir because of their . . . well, their daring, shall we say? But these ones facing Martin Place are much admired and you can see why – they’re very beautiful and represent all the countries that Australia has a strong relationship with, whether it’s Britain through our King, trading partners or even an important country or continent.’
She watched Alfie frown, and continued. ‘This is the General Post Office, Alfie, so these marvellous sculptures sort of boast to all the people of New South Wales that our major city can reach all these countries, states and continents from within these walls.’
‘Oh, I see. You mean we can write letters or send telegrams.’
‘Exactly! We send and receive parcels and do all sorts of international transactions out of this one building. It’s like the main focus for our city, isn’t it? Everyone has to come here at some point, and look’—she pointed—‘these sculptures say that you can reach from Belgium to Polynesia, from Germany to Italy and from Scotland to South America . . . all you have to do is step inside these doors.’
He gave a low whistle. ‘That’s clever promotion.’
‘It’s smart, I agree. And we need to be that smart for the Sugar Palace. Now, come on, I’m dying to know more about the barrow sales!’
‘Do you want a hot chocolate?’
‘No, a cup of tea will be perfect. Come on, I know a place.’
They talked as they walked, heading towards Pitt Street.
‘Let’s start with fudge,’ Alfie began. ‘Chocolate is more popular than vanilla.’
‘Why?’
He frowned and considered the question as she led him across Pitt Street towards a narrow doorway that opened into a tiny café. They stood in front of the counter waiting for the waitress to finish serving another customer.
‘Hmm, well, my guess is that a lot of the women could probably imagine themselves making plain fudge at home, but the chocolate is a notch up and more interesting. It’s certainly delicious, and the samples went down a treat.’
‘Okay, maybe I improve the vanilla then, by complicating it with some cherries and nuts sprinkled on top. That would make it look more interesting.’
‘Do it,’ he encouraged her. ‘Barley sugar is too boring among the range. You can buy that anywhere, and it’s very old-fashioned. Aniseed twist looks appealing, but I suspect they feel medicinal to customers rather than it being a treat. They’d sooner buy some sort of cough sweet in a chemist.’
She smiled. ‘You’re right. Let’s get rid of both of those.’
‘Now, the sour drops were a hit. But I’m wondering . . . because they’re glassy, see-through, maybe you could make them more colourful.’
She nodded. ‘That’s easy. Good idea.’
‘And I would definitely introduce peppermints.’
‘We have the peppermint cake . . .’ Grace frowned. ‘Oh, er, just a pot of tea, please,’ when the lady caught their attention at the counter.
‘For two, love?’
‘Please,’ Alfie answered for them. He gestured for Grace to choose a table. There was one beside the wall and looked private, so Grace moved towards it and they sat. ‘Well, peppermint cake is delicious and it went so fast, but I think some peppermint boiled sweets in that glassy look would be great.’
She nodded, frowning in thought. ‘I could make them a lovely pale blue, so they look fresh. Peppermints are good for breath freshening.’
‘And for brightening you up. If you’re sleeping, poring over boring office stuff, you could suck a peppermint and wake up a bit.’
Grace laughed. ‘What do you know about boring office work?’
‘It sounds boring. I’m sure I’d fall asleep.’ He grinned. ‘So let’s add those to the list – I can move those easily.’
‘Marshmallow?’
‘Flew!’ He flapped his arms like wings to make her chuckle. ‘More of those . . . maybe some in colour?’ he asked.
She twisted her mouth in a look of uncertainty. ‘No, I think adding colour into that egg white can go too bright. I hear what you’re saying, though. How about I do some plain and then some covered with toasted coconut or chocolate?’
‘Oh, you know what would work, Gracie, darlin’? What if you did chocolate, nuts, cherries and coconut with the marshmallow somehow? It could be like a . . . like a . . . what do they call it? Flourish?’ He gave a mug of despair, knowing that wasn’t the right word, especially when she burst into laughter.
