The Camden Tales

23 - No Time To Waste

-=₪ June 1924 ₪=-

Home / 150 Camden Street / 07.23am

Alfie and Malka were having breakfast in the dining room. The morning sun was bright and the fair breeze was bursting through the open glass doors from the garden. They were sat across from one another in front of the white muslin shrouded doors, rather than at the distant heads of the long table. The idea was for them to converse more freely and enjoy the hour together, or so Alfie thought.

He wasn't really sure the conversing part of the deal was working as he watched Malka reading The Telegraph opposite. Craning his neck to look at the small pile of newspapers stacked next to her, he saw The London Gazette, The Times, The Daily Mirror and others awaiting the cast of her eye.

"Don't you get sick of that shit?" he asked.

"Yes." she replied without taking her eyes off the article she was reading.

Alfie's back was to the entrance to the dining room which led to the main hall and front door. He wasn't entirely comfortable sat in this location, causing him to shift uneasily in his chair and occasionally throwing half glances over his shoulder. He felt, however unlikely, vulnerable to sudden attack, but he chose the seat because he wanted Malka framed by the open French double doors onto their garden which was in full bloom. After another glance over his shoulder, his eyes fell on his wife. The morning sun caught her from behind, and the white muslin drapes gently blowed and billowed softly. She sipped her coffee.

"Did you hear that fucking racket last night?" he asked screwing up his face with annoyance.

Malka's eyes flicked up from her paper.

"Bloody sirens and shit." he added.

"It was not that loud Alfie." she answered with a casual tone, returning to her paper, "it was much further down the canal, in St Pancras--" her lips locked tight to prevent any further words from slipping out. She could feel Alfie's glaring eyes.

"Oh yeah? The wind must have been blowing this way, I guess." he said lowly.

Malka feigned reading her paper, abundantly aware that neither of them were eating breakfast, but rather both sat in silence. She could feel him observing her as she stared at the centre of a page and clearly not reading. She closed her eyes as Alfie's lips parted to ask the obvious question.

"How'd ya know it was in St Pancras?"

With an air of confidence, and mild irritation, she closed the paper, lit a cigarette and looked over at The London Gazette which laid on top of her morning reading pile. Alfie watched as her eyes darted back and forth across its front page, and then picking it up, she held it across the table. His eyes remained locked on her as he leaned over and took it. Malka felt exposed as his firm gaze stayed upon her; she sipped on her coffee attempting to hide behind the cup. As his eyes finally slipped down to read the front page, she watched him over the rim of the china cup. His forehead creased more and more as his brow kept raising further and further with each passing line he read.

"Man on the line, eh?" he finally mumbled, breaking the expanding silence.

She placed the cup down and nodded, "Seems so. According to that, they still cannot identify the body. Train obliterated him," she said with a shrug and a puff of her cigarette.

"Fucking hell." Alfie exclaimed with a grimace, handing back the paper and returning to his breakfast.

He shoveled in big mouthfuls without much table etiquette to speak of. She listened to his eating irons scratch on the china plate as he stuffed the remainder of a fried egg into his all ready quite full mouth. With his eggs gone he moved on to the large tomato half while watching her read. His lips shined from the juices as he chewed.