Driving every day with the crew can be a hair-raising business. Harmless incidents happen that you can never prepare for. A sudden rush of blood to the head. The crew excitedly demanding instant action, and before you know it, all control goes clean out of the Paris Green Cortina window … The colour is plainly visible today. Yesterday, the crew joked that the car was so dirty, it appeared to be brown. Hadn’t Scott ever heard of the modern invention of the automatic car wash? Nothing for it. Using that car wash not far from Victoria Coach Station this morning. Carole Bishop and washed-out Linda sang the song We all live in a yellow submarine as the Cortina went through the car wash routine …
On the road to Amersham. Approaching Boreham Wood, and a black Rolls Royce overtakes Scott on a narrow stretch of road before a bend. A very dangerous manoeuvre. Tom immediately notices that the number plate reads 'DON 0NE'. Eric swears it was Donovan sitting in the back of the Roller smiling out the window at them as he cruised on past …
‘Catch ‘im up.’ The crew cry as one.
‘Go on, chase him!’ An excited washed-out Linda, leaning forward over Scott’s right shoulder, starts chewing his ear and watchful Eric laughs … Scott can’t help it. The chorusing crew demand it. Stepping on the gas. Overtaking quickly and the black Rolls Royce is just in sight, glimpsed for half a second before it disappears over a hill. Pressing harder on the accelerator. Carole Bishop deftly rolling a joint as Scott hits eighty miles an hour. It’s as if other cars are pulling over to let him pass. A complete illusion, of course! Adrenalin taking over. Highly dangerous. Starting to take chances overtaking. The crew loving the thrill of it all. Tom has put his latest farming book away. Washed-out Linda is leaning right over Scott’s right shoulder now, as if trying to make the Cortina go faster with her mind. Can feel the rush of excitement. Everyone in the car is, right now, completely incautious and on a high. Now past ninety miles an hour on the speedo.
The black Rolls Royce well in sight. Reckless speeds on normal roads where overtaking can be nothing but a game of chance … Ninety-five and the crew can clearly see the number plate. It’s as if the black Rolls Royce has slowed right down to let them catch up. Wanting a joust. Desperate to race on a quiet Thursday, early afternoon … Boreham Wood was left behind in a haze of speed … How Scott missed that old Humber passing in the other direction was miraculous. In the instant slide into third gear and just pulling past in time and avoiding the lorry, whose driver takes his right hand off the steering wheel and shakes his fist at them … Scott just knows that washed-out Linda has wet herself with excitement and she’s not wearing any knickers … They hit one hundred miles-an-hour according to the speedometer and the crew cheer, they overtake on an open stretch of road. All in one go.
Before they’ve even had time to celebrate, Donovan’s black Rolls Royce comes straight back at them and shoots past, doing a hundred and ten plus, and Eric drops the joint on the floor, which he’s desperately scrabbling around to find. Missing the action … The Cortina is starting to shake. Scott has pushed the accelerator pedal hard flat to the floor. Washed-out Linda urges him on. Carole Bishop deftly rolling another spliff. Eric, at last, finds the joint before he sets the seat on fire. Tom craning his neck to see the speeding Rolls Royce shifting ahead of us … Saved by traffic lights. Somehow, the black Rolls Royce manages to stop in time. Its red brake lights helped Scott react in a flash. Down through the gears and braking for all he's worth … They’ve just shot through Amersham and hardly even noticed it. Can’t stop now. They all look at the number plate and make comments.
Discussing excitedly what it must be like sat in the luxury of a Rolls Royce. Washed-out Linda declares she wants to make love on the back seat. Carole Bishop wants to drink champagne. Eric wants to customize it for a painting. Tom wants to drive to country shows in it and impress the local farmers gathered together … This red light is taking forever to change. The black Rolls Royce waits patiently. Amber, green, and Scott is past the slow-starting Don One. The cheer in the Cortina is deafening. Foot flat to the floor again, but all to no avail. Within seconds, the black Rolls Royce cruises past them as if only in second gear. Over the hill and far away. Gone. The game is at an end. Scott slows down. Parks in a lay-by … They smoke Carole Bishop’s second joint. Washed-out Linda borrows Carole Bishop’s handkerchief and sits on it. Apologizes to Scott for wetting the back seat of the Cortina. Eric rattles on about what happened, and for once, Tom seems unsure what to do with himself … They were dead lucky. It was fun. It was a chase. A car race. We all love them when we are right in them. The adrenalin high can make you jump up and touch the sky … How they never hit a passing car. Narrowly missed at least two bad accidents when overtaking. Very lucky there were no Hertfordshire Police to be seen. No speed traps in operation. No cars suddenly pulled out of a side road, out of nowhere. They could all so easily have been killed in the rush for fun. Scott should never have taken all of those chances. The Cortina wasn’t built to do a hundred miles an hour. It was Don One that caused it all. Just seeing that number plate and Eric declaring it was Donovan Leitch. The black Roller wanted to play. Must have been bored. Could have been bored to death … You don’t sit back and think that was a close shave, a lucky escape, mustn’t do that again. The crew are elated. They wanted action on an overcast, early Thursday afternoon. When they turn around and head back to Amersham at a sedate pace, Scott knows they will all sell well tonight. Who knows, even washed-out Linda may sell a velvet painting …
The crew coming down from the excitement of the car chase. Scott finds a pleasant, out of the way cafe on the edge of Amersham. The sort of place popularized by local people, who would walk half-a-mile out of their way to go there because of the good food and the friendly proprietor … Preparing for the evening ahead. As always, pretending it isn’t going to happen … Washed-out Linda eating a large Cornish pasty and two good portions of chocolate pudding. Hers and Scott’s … Scott just can’t shake off this memory. It’s been tugging at him ever since the dice with Don 0ne. Trying to put it away but it keeps crowding back. Intruding into the present. All these key moments that never leave people alone. It's not so much shredded time as embedded time …
It’s a very hot, late August day. Scott is sat in the back of the car, a Hillman Minx. He is with his parents travelling down to the south of France, heading to Spain. He is seven. They are on that famous French road heading south. Travelling between Chateauroux and Limoges. The road seems dead straight. The hot sun glaring down. The evenly spaced trees either side of the road. They look like Poplars or Beeches to young Scott. Standing correct and tall. No wind. Flat, barely green fields stretching away with the eye on either side of the road. The earth is almost parched. Crops. Fields and fields of crops. It’s one o’clock, time to take a break. They’ve been driving since early morning … pulling off to the right when a woody area is reached. Driving a few minutes into a clearing in among the trees. A ground sheet is produced and laid on the grass. They drink English tea from a flask. Eat French bread and cheese, and Custard Cream biscuits. They haven’t been there very long before another car comes slowly down the track into the shaded glade. A French Citroen like the police use except this is grey, not black … A French mum and dad materialize, plus a potential buddy and his sister. They’ve stopped for a picnic lunch as well. Careful not to come too close. The parents nod and smile. Neither couple speaking the other's language. The French boy and girl have a white tennis ball. They start playing catch and Scott joins in. They play like this for ten minutes. Smiling and laughing. Nothing extraordinary, just that little time of good contact. The way that children can be. Uninhibited …
The French family pack up their small picnic first. The parents nod to one another. The children wave goodbye. The young girl, Scott's age, blows him a kiss and waves vigorously until they have edged out of sight in the trees … Slowly driving back out from the woods and the lovely lunch in the glade. The hot sun beating down on that unrelenting straight road. In France then, maybe even now, they had a crazy highway rule whereby cars coming onto a main road from the right had right of way… Not thirty seconds back on that route national road heading south, then Scott and his parents see a terrible accident up ahead of them. A large lorry has pulled straight out onto the main road and crushed a car. Obliterated it. Sent it crashing across the road. Scott’s living image of his father grabbing a black first aid box with a red and white cross painted on it. Seeing him run towards the accident. Another car has stopped. There are people over now at the smashed car. It is the grey Citroen … Scott’s father walks back slowly. No expression. No shake of the head. Just a resigned walk in the way of ex-soldiers … They drive very slowly past the accident. Others have pulled over. Blankets have been produced. Bodies have been taken out of the Citroen and are being laid out. All four of those people who lunched in the glade less than fifteen minutes ago are dead. The little girl’s blown kiss to Scott was probably her last real act …
Doing seventy miles an hour in the May sunshine of a late Saturday afternoon. Heading back to London from Walton-on-Thames. Another successful week and Scott is satisfied. You can’t relax for a second. The moment you feel the job is a success, along comes an unexpected incident to blow away any thoughts of complacency that may be settling in. Keep you on your toes. On edge. That alertness and sharpness can never be relaxed for even a second. The Cortina is full up. Washed-out Linda is not with us today. She explained to Scott when he was collecting Carole Bishop from the Elgin Avenue squat; Linda is going to spend the day with earth mother Martha of the jet black, frizzy hair at the Soul Kitchen. She will serve food. Make herself useful. Wash up. See if there is a role available for her. Why not? She is yet to sell a painting on velvet. No one has taken pity on her and bought a painting. It must be soul destroying; day after day, as the others in the crew all sell. Reliant on Scott’s generosity for money and food. Vanessa and little Tuesday providing her with clothes and essential appliances. When Scott finally got washed-out Linda to talk about it, she admitted that she just freezes on the doorstep. All thoughts seem to evaporate completely out of her head. She becomes tongue-tied.
People look at her. Notice the art folder. Wait for her to introduce herself to them. Explaining quickly what she is about. A few mumbled words and they curtly say no thank you, not today and shut the front door in your face. Having that happen to you twenty-five times an evening can be very dispiriting. When she finally gets into a house, all the talk and hints and stories from the sales meetings and discussions in the car are lost to her. She just lets the people take the paintings out from the red and black-edged art folder themselves. They admire them. Ask questions about technique, which washed-out Linda is unable to adequately respond to in the end. After a very unsatisfactory ten minutes, she accepts a cup of tea and two chocolate biscuits gratefully. The couple are pleasant to her but losing interest. No entertainment value. They thank her very much but say that the paintings on velvet are not their style. Not to their liking. Washed-out Linda’s one shot at selling in five nights is blown. She sits on a wall at the end of the unlucky street for her and waits for Scott. She’s sitting, knickerless on cold brick, for nearly an hour.
Scott’s been very busy that night. Sold five velvet paintings in three different houses. In one lounge room, he had to briefly recount the outline of The Plague to the interested couple. His dog-eared copy is always falling out from his blue velvet jacket pocket. Poor washed-out Linda. She died a thousand deaths sat on that brick wall. No one approached her or tried to molest her or rape her, so she was relatively safe. But knocking on doors night after night and getting nowhere can be a disheartening experience from which you never fully recover. Scott has realized after eighteen months working at door-to-door, cold-call selling, that very few people can do it. For most it is a totally heartless experience and can be lonely and frightening at times. The doorstep dance of death …
Cars racing along. All humanity seems to be streaming into London on a Saturday night. Five-thirty. Carole Bishop, Eric, Tom and two new crew members for today. Dominic and Phillipe. Dominic is an older woman. Exactly how old is hard to tell. If Scott had to bet his personal weekly total of thirty points on it, he would probably plump for forty-two. She is very attractive in an English rose kind of a way. She has a Tunisian boyfriend called Phillipe, who is the son of the Tunisian ambassador to London. What the hell they are doing with Scott and the crew is anybody’s guess. But maybe, just maybe, they are along for the ride. For the thrill and excitement. They want to expose their relationship to general view. Dominic is the dominant force. A very beautiful lady with long blonde hair and bright green eyes, possessed of an urgent and intelligent manner. Phillipe is a cultured, quite good looking, twenty-one-year-old, who’s fallen in love and probably lust at the self-same time. He may well have been a virgin before he got together with Dominic. Of course, his ambassador father at the Embassy in Prince’s Gate, South Kensington, has no idea of this relationship and probably thinks his son is spending his days studying and sightseeing …
Out of nothing, in a flash, at seventy-five miles an hour, the Cortina turns completely over. One, two, full rolls and ends up sat upright on a grass verge at the side of the road. People are quick to point to miracles all the time. It becomes quite commonplace. It was a miracle! A truly miraculous experience.
“Darling it was a miracle, you should have been there!” But this was! The six of them just sit in the Cortina as the traffic speeds past. How they got from the outside lane on a dual carriageway road and onto the grass verge was amazing with all the flowing mass of traffic. Sat upright. Unbelievable! Scott not shaken. Quite becalmed. Lighting a spliff. Checking on everybody. They have not got a scratch between them; can you believe that! Not one hair out of place … It all happened so fast. Must be something wrong with the car. Just how could that have happened? That they could virtually somersault twice over and avoid hitting another car, and not end up as a heap of smashed up metal, broken bones and a couple of dead bodies, is beyond comprehension. Truly, someone was looking after them … The reaction blonde-haired Dominic takes, is talking fast, excitedly. Declaring life is a dangerous business!” ... Dominic is so amazed at our miraculous slice of luck that she insists on getting out of the shaken Paris Green Cortina and getting down on her knees on the grass verge beside the dual carriageway, clasping her hands together and praying. Offering up a prayer of thanksgiving for all six of us … Scott had never thought before of how sexy praying positions can be. Dominic seems to be doing it deliberately. Crouched very low in her grey, tight skirt, with her bottom pushed high in the air, protruding for maximum effect. She knows full well that Scott, Phillipe, Eric and Tom are watching her closely. It’s like the Madonna and Jezebel combined. Dominic wants the attention to feed off her incessant energy.
Setting off gingerly from the grass verge onto the dual carriageway. Scott’s ears attuned to the sound of the Cortina. Awaiting a fresh disaster at any given moment. Scott’s hearing is so good he actually feels he can hear across time. Switching on the car radio. Partly to see if it still works. The silence in the car is unnerving …
‘Today President Nixon has announced the gradual withdrawal of American troops from Vietnam …’
‘Oh, please turn that off, Scott. I do so hate hearing the news. It is always so damnably depressing … don’t you find it so?’ Scott complies with Dominic’s request. But switching the car radio on has worked. It’s lifted all the tension and now the relief comes pouring out. Bubbling like an uncontainable force of electricity … The crew all squash up together encouraged by Dominic and enjoy the feel of one another's bodies. Unspoken-of little pleasures that help remake the day. Touching legs and feet. Passing joints. Sharing sweets and jokes. Dominic tells a story. An ongoing crew discussion develops, both personal and social. Topical and political information coming in from everywhere. Judged and analysed. Dominic conducting affairs. She is a livewire and no mistake …
Now back in central London. Heading towards Holland Park to drop Eric off first. A silence descends on the Cortina. All the jabbering, talking, discussions, laughter, contact. It has all stopped as if of its own accord. The silence is a final recognition of our brush with death today. Our fortuitous fate …
As Scott has stated before, never lose salespeople on prop, it’s a crime … Choosing to work quite close to home on Monday after the near miss. Exchanged the Cortina at Kennings car hire. Scott told them what happened. The staff just shrugged their shoulders. It’s a daily occurrence to them. They quickly changed the thrust of the conversion. They have one other Paris Green Cortina, which came back late last Friday. Just been cleaned and serviced. All ready for Scott to take it out. What can you say? Smile, count your blessings and drive out the garage with a wave. American Larry says it happens all the time. A car hire company has a vehicle written off. Front end smashed up. Another a week later. The back end rammed. Would cost a fortune to repair it. Easier to write it off, claim the insurance. A common New York practice Larry explains to Scott. So it must happen the world over. They have two good parts of the written-off cars welded together to form one. Simple to obtain fresh documentation and registration for a price. Three cars for the cost of two.
‘Would explain what happened to you,’ Larry’s New Yorker voice showing interest. He always knows about all the arch fiddles, illegal dealings, criminal activities, gangsterism, official misconduct, loopholes, political corruption, bribery.
‘It all happens in New York,’ is one of Larry’s ironic refrains …
Selling in Addington today. Everything proceeding well. The new Cortina runs like an angel, though suspicious Tom is convinced it’s really the same car in disguise. He has to find something to chew on. It’s Tom’s way of getting his energy levels up in preparation for his selling. Scott driving to the pre-arranged pick-up spot for Dominic and Phillipe. They are selling as a couple. Not unique but unusual. Phillipe’s English is quite stilted and he doesn’t seem made for this kind of enterprise … Nine-thirty round-up and they're not there. Good. Must be selling … Still no sign of them at a quarter-to-ten. Scott deciding to park the car just off the meeting point. A corner of a street with a red telephone box and a bright streetlamp. Just watch. Don’t wish to draw undue attention … Smoking yet another spliff. Half past ten. Tom moaning about going home. Could send the crew home in a taxi. Too expensive! Making notes in the half-light from the streetlamp for The Children of the Empire ... Eleven o’clock. Carole Bishop getting worried about Dominic and Phillipe. Eric, Tom and Carole play scissors, paper, stone, to see which one of them will have to get out and knock on a couple of doors and inquire after the blonde-haired lady and the tall, dark-haired young guy. Eric loses … Eleven fifteen. Eric returning. Very conscientious. He actually woke some people up to ask. Yes, they had seen them around but ages ago. Maybe two hours or more … Nothing for it. Will have to drive off without them. It makes for an empty feeling inside. Carole Bishop wants to stop at a police station. Having to talk her out of it. Resorting to ‘the Filth’ is always the last alternative …
Scott is very late for the pay-in at Hollywood Road. Entering Dom’s office in the basement. Scott anticipated he’d be annoyed and grumble about how late it is - it's almost twelve-thirty! Instead, to Scott’s complete surprise, he seems relieved to see him. Before Scott has a chance to start talking and explain about losing Dominic and Phillipe, Dom lights a hastily rolled joint by the looks of it, and tells Scott there’s been a terrible accident … Only 48 hours after Scott’s Paris Green Cortina somersaulted twice across a dual carriageway, and all six occupants emerged unscathed without a scratch. Larry’s Morris Eleven Hundred approaching Ealing tonight was in a head-on collision. Larry rang Dom from the Accident and Emergency department at Ealing hospital. He’s being treated for bruises and cuts but is okay. Griff, his star salesman, wasn’t so lucky. He went through the windscreen and was pronounced dead in the ambulance. Caroline, who was sat behind poor Griff, is currently fighting for her life. On open order, may not make it through the night. Larry sent the other two crew members home on the tube with their art folders. He had the presence of mind to take the other three art folders out of the boot of the Eleven Hundred and has them with him. Managed to get rid of the hash and speed before the police arrived on the scene. And yes, the Eleven Hundred appears to be a complete write-off … Dom stopping to catch his breath.
Then ... has Scott got any coke on him? Break a rule for once and freebase in the office. Scott turning so many people on to freebasing. Years later they will be thankful when their noses don’t disintegrate … A shock to lose Griff like that. Didn’t know him that well but it’s like losing one of your own. A death in the family. That could so easily have been Eric or Tom from Scott’s crew. Larry’s chest was badly bruised Dom explains. The steering wheel prevented him from catapulting through the front windscreen as well. Driving every day in the car, ten, twelve hours. Car accidents are bound to happen. A deadly game of chance. Let’s hope that young Caroline pulls through …
Scott’s in the office in Hollywood Road before ten-thirty on Tuesday morning. Seemed the right thing to do. Christophe is there looking grim, mean and angry. Doesn’t even nod in Scott’s direction. The police have been down earlier. Ali’s had to go over to Kennings car hire to see the manager. Larry is a sight for sore eyes. He’s still wearing those black shades. His head has a white bandage wrapped around it, with his lanky brown hair showing on top and curling beneath the bandage, around the ears and neck. He has sticking plaster on his face, also across one eyebrow and poking up above the dark shades. Right hand and wrist bandaged as well … The good news is that Caroline is still alive, she survived the night in Ealing hospital, but is still in a critical condition … Christophe, Dom and Larry are locked in Dom’s office.
Scott sits on his own in the sales room. Raised voices. The threat in Christophe’s voice. They seem angry at Larry, who is defending himself vigorously. That sharp New York accent fighting back. Protecting his wounded corner … Scott sat in the sales room on his own. Trying to ignore the argument taking place in Dom’s office. About to re-enter The Plague in Oran when he gets a flash of an idea. Knuckling his forehead. He can be so slow on the uptake sometimes. Of course, that exhibition at the V&A is celebrating the centenary of the siege of Paris! The commune and the Communards. Sudden brilliant image of a young Arthur Rimbaud strutting up and down along the top of the barricades of Paris. Spouting sensational poetry in defiance of the Prussian led Germans. Illuminating all at the height of his teenage fame. The glory of a Season in Hell awaits, and then that long, slow, barren decline of his poetry and losing his leg to gangrene in a hospital in the south of France, right near the end … Must somehow convey to Ricky and Martha a sense of the vision of the strutting, vibrant Rimbaud. Inspirational. The Elgin Avenue squat could form barricades at either end of the avenue in honour of the Communards and the Siege of Paris. Ricky and Martha are both on the Elgin squat committee. A political statement to coincide with the exhibition at the V&A. Pay homage to Arthur Rimbaud the poet of his age …
As the salespeople start drifting in around eleven-thirty, a curt Christophe and a casual Larry leave the office together … Before long, who should come along? Why Dominic and Phillipe. She comes sweeping into the salesroom wearing a white dress and white sling-back shoes. Her fingernails and toenails are painted a bright red, Jezebel. And the Madonna with a gold cross on a chain around her neck and Tunisian Phillipe in tow.
‘What happened to you? I thought we’d lost you. We stayed well past eleven o’ clock but you’d completely disappeared!’
Dominic laughs in a girlish manner. Affects a pose for the watching salesroom.
‘I just knew you were testing us Scott. It was an examination of our initiative wasn’t it?’
‘So, what did you do then?’
‘Why, we left of course. Phillipe had some money on him so we took a taxi to Clapham Junction, then travelled on the underground into central London. Did we pass Scott?’ Just giggles again. Clearly pleased with herself. Phillipe looks as if he would like to be somewhere else … More sales hopefuls gathering. They seem fascinated by the prominent white dress.
‘Well, what time did you leave? And by the way, did you sell?’ Dominic’s face loses its confident expression for a second.
‘Well, we almost sold. We got in a house, but I forgot the stories about the paintings, too much to take in I guess. The husband and wife thought they were too expensive. When we left I guessed it must have gone well past ten o’clock and you’d left us to see how we would react under pressure.’
‘What about looking at your watch then?’ sighs Scott.
‘It had stopped earlier. I believe the winder is broken. I didn’t think to tell you.’
‘Couldn’t you tell from the light it was still quite early? Not yet nine-thirty. Didn’t you think to ask the time in the house you were in or look at a clock?’ Dominic laughs again. Confidence restored.
‘Well, I’m not a weather girl, am I. we were convinced you wanted to see our reaction.’ Scott smiles genially and lets it go. Let them think what they like. If you resist what other people are thinking it doesn’t change their opinion. Hell, after all that’s happened in the last few days, Scott is just pleased that Dominic and Phillipe are alive and well and in one piece ...