Page 52 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
Joe appeared again. “I can’t be long,” he said, looking around furtively. “Or they’ll miss me. I heard yous in the shop earlierasking after Bill, and I’ve seen ’er”—he nodded at me—“come in asking after him too. Is he in some sorta trouble?”
“No, not at all…” I began to explain. “You see—”
“Look, let’s cut to the chase,” Sean interrupted.
I frowned at him and huffily folded my arms.
“Bill’s not in trouble,” he continued, speaking directly to Joe. “We simply want to ask him a couple of questions. Maybe this will help.” Sean pulled two £20 notes from his wallet.
“Nah, see, me memory ain’t that good these days,” Joe said, looking up at the sky.
Sean took two more twenties out.
OhmyGod, that makes it eighty quid. If David ever carried that amount of cash on him he’d have had his wallet chained to his wrist.
Joe nodded. “That’ll help.” He reached out for the money, but Sean snatched his hand away.
“Information first.”
I was impressed. Nowthiswas more like being in a movie.
“Well, I don’t know the exact number or anyfin—but he definitely lives down West Ham way. There every other Saturday, he is—in the stands.”
“West Ham is a big place, Joe.” Sean took another twenty from his wallet.
“I fink he said Chesterton sumfin…”
Sean counted the notes in his hands.
“Chesterton Terrace—that was it. Yeah, ’cause it made me fink of him in the stands watchin’ the ’ammers.”
“House number?” Sean inquired.
“Nah, I definitely don’t know that. Can I ’ave me money now?”
Sean narrowed his eyes and looked at Joe. “Yeah all right, go on with ya then.”
Joe snatched the money from Sean’s hand and ran back inside the store.
Sean turned and looked at me. “Well?”
I was still staring after Joe, amazed at how easily Sean had just relieved himself of £100.
“Oh, sorry, yes, I’ll pay you back of course.”
“No, not the money, silly—don’t worry about that. Joe’s information?”
“Oh…oh right. I guess it’s something to go on. But unless this street is a very close community, it’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” I sighed. “Oh, why does this have to be so difficult all the time?”
“Come on,” Sean said, grabbing my hand again. “Never say never—it’ll be a challenge!”
Fifteen
A challenge? Resisting the sweet trolley when hot chocolate fudge cake is calling out to me in a restaurant: that’s the scale of my usual challenges.
Trying to find one old man in a street of houses that seemed to run on for miles—that was something else. It was akin to painting the Forth Road Bridge with your toothbrush, but as embarrassing as finding out you had to do it in your underwear.
“Where on earth do we start?” I asked Sean as we stood gazing at the endless row of houses.
