Call the Midwife: A True Story of the East End in the 1950S

of mine, and I am his favourite nephew. I am the meat buyer, and I have to travel a lot to find the best. A good café must have good meat, and I am the best meat buyer in London.”
     
    Certainly the meat in Mary’s dinner was very good. She chose meat pie and beans and chips. Zakir had the same, because there was nothing else on the menu that evening. But to Mary, who had been brought up in the poverty of rural Ireland, mainly on potatoes and swede, and then the destitution of Dublin, the meat pie was the finest thing she had ever tasted, and she sighed with contentment.
     
    They sat in the corner by the window. From his seat Zakir could see the whole of the café and his eyes roamed around it continuously, even when he was talking to Mary. From her seat, she could see about half the café, but she didn’t look around, nor did she want to. She had eyes only for Zakir.
     
    He said, “Now let us choose our wine. You must always be careful with the wine, because a good wine is essential to a good dinner. I think we will have Chateau Marseilles 1948. It is an excellent wine, full bodied, yet not too heavy, with a tantalising piquancy that lingers on the palate and suggests the warmth and brilliance of the grape. I am an expert in wines.”
     
    Mary was impressed, in fact overwhelmed by his polish and urbanity. She had never tasted wine before, and did not like it. She had expected something delicious from the dark-red liquid in her tumbler, but thought it was bitter and sour. However, as Zakir was drinking his with delight, murmuring things like “an excellent vintage, drink up, you won’t find anything better than this in all of London” or “ah, what a bouquet - quite exquisite - I assure you this is a rare treat”, and as she did not want to hurt his feelings by saying she didn’t really like it, she swallowed the whole tumbler full in one gulp, and said, “Delicious.”
     
    He refilled her glass. All the while his eyes were roving around the café. When he spoke to Mary he smiled, but as he looked around the café neither his eyes nor his mouth smiled. Mary could not see the table where the girls and women were sitting, but they were directly opposite Zakir. Frequently he stared over towards them with cold unblinking eyes, nodded slightly, and moved his head momentarily in another direction, then back again towards the table. Each time, Mary could hear the scrape of a chair as one of the girls got up. About half a dozen times during the meal he got up and went over to the table. Mary followed him with her eyes, not because she was suspicious, but because she just couldn’t take her eyes off him. She noted with satisfaction that he did not seem to like the girls very much, because he never smiled at them, but seemed to be talking with his teeth closed and his eyes fixed and hard. Once she saw him clench his fist, and push it up against a girl’s face in a menacing fashion. The girl got up and went out.
     
    Mary thought, “He likes me the best. He doesn’t like those girls. They look a nasty bunch anyway. But I am his special friend,” and a warm glow flooded over her.
     
    Each time Zakir returned, he showered Mary with smiles, his beautiful white teeth flashing and his dark eyes gleaming.
     
    “Drink up,” he said. “You can’t have too much of this excellent wine. Would you like some fruit or some gateau? My uncle says you can have anything you want. Soon the entertainment will begin. It is the best in London. The night clubs of London, Paris and New York are famous all over the world, and this one is the best in London.”
     
    Mary drank up, and ate a piece of sticky, sweet cake which Zakir said was Black Forest gateau with morello cherries marinated in chartreuse. Although Mary could not find the cherries it tasted delicious, but unfortunately the wine now tasted even worse than before and the sourness made her tongue feel all furry and her lips and mouth rough.
     
    She was vaguely aware, in a hazy sort of way, that the café was filling up. Men were coming in continuously. Zakir said, “This is our busy time. You will enjoy the entertainment, won’t you?”
     
    Mary smiled and nodded, anxious to please. In reality her eyes were hurting, because the air was getting more and more smoky, and her head was beginning to ache. She felt deeply tired after the meal, and would rather have gone to sleep, but she thought that she must stay awake to enjoy the entertainment that Zakir had so