| David stumbled down the steps and into the City’s deserted Streets. The city reminded St John of Savile Row, a hive of activity during the working day but a club by invite only by night and weekends. A club that wasn’t for the likes of the Mathews’, Glovers and Dennisons especially not the son of Helen Dennison. St John felt the rage inside him when he thought of how Alfie’s Mother had treated him all those years ago, and now she’s sent her bastard, to rub salt in the wounds. Alfie was taking in the scene, he though how poised and grown up Heather had become in the last two years. She didn’t need fashion advice from Tracie anymore, everything she wore was colour co-ordinated perfectly, and she no longer giggled the way she always had when she couldn’t find the right words. She was in deep discussion with Mark Mathews about the Kinks and West Ham, he couldn't get a word in about Arsenal or the Who. Alfie realised how alike Heather, and Mark's daughter Kelly were, and started to think about marriage and children of his own. St John made his way into the West End taking in all the pubs on the way, what should have been an hours walk turned into five, and by some strange work of fate he awoke in a police cell in - West End Central - the police station on Savile Row. Sergeant Hayward had been quite used to St John being booked for drunk and disorderly on a Friday night, so he was quite surprised when he checked the records to find it had been two years since St John’s last visit. It was also two years since he’d warned Alfie about his exhaust, he thought of how that cheeky young bugger had grown into such a nice young man. You can’t judge a book by its cover he thought. "It's a shame Polly couldn't make it Alfie". Tracie said interrupting Alfie's chain of thought. "There's more to that than meets the eye babe, it's as if David already had it in for me before that day on the Row". Glover took a long pull on his cigar before giving his opinion. "St John was always a strange bird, had everything handed to him on a plate and doesn't know how to count his blessings". Alfie laughed inwardly as he remembered Glover's words last Friday in the Burlington. " I hate the sod, he's lucky not to of got a slap before now." |