Brent let go of my hand, essayed a curtsey in the direction of Mama Thames and then spoiled the effect by skipping over and hurling herself into her mother’s lap. There was a brief pause in the ceremony as the little girl squirmed her way into a comfortable position.
Mama Thames turned her full gaze on me, and the undertow of her regard drew me closer to her throne. I had to fight a strong urge to throw myself on my knees and bang my forehead on the carpet.
‘Constable Peter,’ said Mama Thames. ‘How nice to see you.’
‘It’s nice to be here. As a token of my respect I’ve brought you a gift,’ I said, hoping that it was going to arrive before I ran out of pleasantries. I heard clinking behind me, and Uncle Bailiff arrived with my crate. He was a heavyset white man with a number two skinhead and a faded tattoo of SS lightning bolts on his neck. He set the crate down before Mama Thames, gave her a respectful nod and, with a pitying look at me, left without a word.
One of the cronies stepped forward to pluck a bottle from the crate and show it to Mama Thames. ‘Star Beer,’ she said. The core product of the Nigerian Breweries PLC, available in the UK from any good stockist, and in bulk if your mum knows someone who knows someone who owes someone a favour.
‘How much has he got out there?’ asked Fleet.
‘A lorryload,’ said Lea.
‘How big a lorry?’ asked Mama Thames without taking her eyes off me.
‘Big lorry,’ said Brent.
‘Is it all Star?’ asked Mama Thames.
‘I put in some Gulder,’ I said. ‘Some Red Stripe for variety, a couple of cases of Bacardi, some Appleton, Cointreau and a few bottles of Bailey’s.’ I’d liquidated my savings doing it, but as my mum says, nothing worth having is free.
‘That’s a handsome gift,’ said Mama Thames.
‘You can’t be serious?’ said Tyburn.
‘Don’t worry, Ty,’ I said. ‘I threw in a couple of bottles of Perrier for you.’
Someone sniggered – probably Beverley.
‘And what can I do for you?’ asked Mama Thames.
‘It’s a small matter,’ I said. ‘One of your daughters feels that she has a right to interfere in the business of the Folly. All I ask is that she steps back and lets the proper authorities get on with their jobs.’
‘Proper authorities,’ spat Tyburn.
Mama Thames turned her eyes on Tyburn, who stepped before the throne. ‘You think you have a right to meddle in this?’ she asked.
‘Mum,’ said Tyburn. ‘The Folly is a relic, a Victorian afterthought from the same people who gave us Black Rod and the Lord Mayor’s show. Heritage is all very well and good for the tourist industry, but it’s no way to run a modern city.’
‘That is not your decision to make,’ I said.
‘And you think it’s yours?’
‘I know it’s mine,’ I said. ‘My duty, my obligation – my decision.’
‘And you’re asking—’
‘I am not asking,’ I said, pleasantries over. ‘You want to fuck with me, Tyburn, you had better know who you’re messing with.’
Tyburn took a step back and recovered. ‘We know who you are,’ she said. ‘Your father is a failed musician and your mother cleans offices for a living. You grew up in a council flat, and you went to your local comprehensive and you failed your A levels …’
‘I am a sworn constable,’ I said, ‘and that makes me an officer of the law. I am also an apprentice, which makes me a keeper of the sacred flame, but most of all I am a free man of London and that makes me a Prince of the City.’ I jabbed a finger at Tyburn. ‘No double first from Oxford trumps that.’
‘You think so?’ she said.
‘Enough,’ said Mama Thames. ‘Let him into his house.’
‘It’s not his house,’ said Tyburn.
‘Do as I say,’ said Mama Thames.
‘But Mum …’
‘Tyburn!’
Tyburn looked stricken, and for a moment I felt genuinely sorry for her because none of us is ever grown-up enough that our mothers don’t think they can’t beat us. She slipped a slimline Nokia from her pocket and dialled a number without taking her eyes off mine. ‘Sylvia,’ she said. ‘Is the Commissioner available? Good. Could I have a quick word?’ Then, having made her point to her own satisfaction, she turned and walked from the room. I resisted the urge to gloat but I did glance over at Beverley to see if she was impressed with me. She gave me a studiously indifferent look that was as good as a blown kiss.