On Mother Brown's Doorstep (23 page)

‘He’s what?’ said Freddy.

‘Yes, ’e likes goin’ out with another cat,’ said Cassie. ‘She’s a lady cat. Well, I think she is.’

‘I suppose ’e takes ’er to the pictures,’ said Freddy.

‘Yes, she likes the pictures,’ said Cassie, ‘specially Mary Pickford. Can we go on yer bike?’

‘All right, you’re still me mate, I suppose,’ said Freddy. ‘I was goin’ round to see Ernie Flint, but I’ll give yer another go.’

‘Oh, does Ernie Flint go up in balloons?’ asked Cassie.

‘No, ’e just blows them up at Christmastimes,’ said Freddy, and brought his bike out.

‘Me dad went up in a balloon once,’ said Cassie.

‘I bet ’e’s been down in a submarine as well.’

‘Yes, ’e was a submarine captain once, I think it was in the war,’ said Cassie. ‘Freddy, you ’aven’t brought a cushion.’

‘Well, ’ard luck on yer bum,’ said Freddy.

‘I got to ’ave a cushion,’ said Cassie,

‘Oh, all right,’ said Freddy, and went back to get one. Mr Ponsonby, who had been watching from the gate of his lodgings, came twinkling up to Cassie. He smiled down at her.

‘My word, how pretty,’ he said. ‘Dear me, what a charming girl. Do I know you?’

‘Yes, I’m Cassie. You give me a peppermint sometimes.’

‘Well, everyone must have a peppermint,’ said Mr Ponsonby. Out came Freddy with a cushion. ‘Ah, Freddy, is this your pretty friend? Has she had her photograph taken?’

‘No, but me sister Annie ’as,’ said Cassie, ‘it was when she was with the Prince of Wales in Hyde Park.’

‘Dear gracious me, how delightful,’ said Mr Ponsonby. ‘Did you hear that, Freddy? This pretty girl’s sister photographed in Hyde Park with the Prince of Wales.’

‘Yes, can’t ’ardly believe it, can yer?’ said Freddy. ‘I expect she ’ad tea with ’im as well.’

‘Yes, they ’ad a whole pint of winkles with bread an’ butter an’ strawb’ry jam,’ said Cassie. ‘Well, I think they did.’

‘Dear me, dear me,’ said Mr Ponsonby, smiling gently, ‘photographs are so nice to have. Come and see me about it. Goodbye now.’

Back he went to his lodgings murmuring to himself.

‘’E forgot to offer us any peppermints,’ said Freddy.

‘I’ve ’ad lots from ’im,’ said Cassie.

‘’Undreds, I suppose,’ said Freddy.

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Cassie.

‘Come on, I’ll ’ave to put up with you bein’ scatty,’ said Freddy, and away they went for a ride round the houses.

Mrs Mason, going up to her lodger’s room, found him sitting in the window chair at a little table. He was beaming at a photograph on the table.

‘Excuse me, Mr Ponsonby—’

‘Come in, come in, Mrs Mason,’ he said.

Mrs Mason, already with her head round the door, brought all of herself in. She had to admit he was an ideal lodger, he kept his room very tidy, made no fuss and grumbled about nothing. Whatever possessions he had, he kept them tidily locked away in his cupboard.

‘I don’t like ’aving to ask,’ she said, ‘but it’s this week’s rent, yer see. You don’t ’appen to ’ave paid me yet.’

‘Heavens, how remiss of me. Do forgive me.’ Mr Ponsonby brought his wallet out from his inside jacket pocket. ‘Let me see, how much is it?’

‘Just five bob, Mr Ponsonby.’

Mr Ponsonby took a ten-shilling note from his wallet and handed it to her with a smile.

‘There, that’s for two weeks, then,’ he said. ‘Dear me, what a day, I must apologize for my forgetfulness.’

‘That’s all right,’ said his good landlady, ‘you don’t forget very often. Who’s the photo of, if I might ask?’

‘Pardon?’ Mr Ponsonby peered at her. ‘Ah, yes,’ he smiled, ‘a niece of mine, young Clementine.’

‘Oh, like the one in the song,’ said Mrs Mason, and looked at it as he showed it to her in a proudly beaming way. He was a bit eccentric, so she said, ‘Yes, what a nice girl.’

‘Charming, charming,’ said Mr Ponsonby.

What a funny old codger, thought Mrs Mason as she made her way downstairs to her kitchen. The girl in the photo had had her eyes shut.

‘How’s your young lady, Will?’ asked Susie. She was in
the
parlour with him. She was doing some embroidery and he was playing records on the gramophone bought from Sammy’s East Street stall five years ago.

‘Very healthy,’ said Will.

‘Why’d you say that?’

‘Why not? It’s true.’

‘I think what you’re really talkin’ about is your health, not hers,’ said Susie.

‘Well, mine’s a problem, hers isn’t.’

‘You old silly, you shouldn’t talk like that,’ said Susie. ‘I thought she was very sweet. When are you goin’ to take her to a cinema?’

‘Suppose I had an attack watchin’ Pearl White bein’ tied to a railway line?’ said Will wryly.

‘Change the record, love,’ said Susie. ‘Put on “Happy Days Are Here Again”.’

ANNIE, HURRYING HOME
after her day’s work, turned into Browning Street from the Walworth Road and almost bumped into Will, who was on his way to see Dr McManus.

Startled, she still managed to say, ‘Watch out, mind my knee.’

‘Hello, Annie.’

‘Hello yourself,’ said Annie. ‘’Ave you been laid up?’ It was a whole three days since Sunday and the Serpentine. And the weather was cold. She thought Will looked manly in a new overcoat, and as brown as ever. The sun of India had burned the brown into his face. But she thought he was a little bit drawn. Will had had three attacks during the day.

‘Laid up?’ he said.

‘Well, I ’aven’t seen you for ages, have I?’ said Annie, then wished she hadn’t said that because he really did look a bit drawn. ‘No, I mean, ’aven’t you been well?’

‘A bit of a cold on me chest,’ said Will. ‘Let’s see, d’you fancy the pictures tomorrow evening? There’s a Tom Mix film on.’

‘Honest?’ said Annie.

‘That’s what my sister Sally told me.’

‘No, I mean, you’re invitin’ me honest?’

‘Lovaduck, Annie Ford, is there another way of invitin’ you, then?’ said Will, showing his amiable grin.

‘I’ll have you know me dad told me some young men have got crafty ways of invitin’ young ladies,’ said Annie,
‘but
I’ll let him know my young man invited me honest.’

‘I’ll call for you at half-seven,’ said Will, ’and you’ll find out how honest I am in the back row of the Golden Domes.’

‘I’ll scream for the manager,’ said Annie happily.

‘That won’t help you,’ said Will, ‘he’s my uncle. See you tomorrow, then, Annie?’

‘Yes, I’ll risk it,’ she said, ‘but I think I’ll bring a ’atpin.’

Will laughed. Annie couldn’t help herself. She fell in love.

Susie mentioned to Boots the next day that her mum and dad had had a letter from Polly Simms. Polly was one of the many wedding guests. But she wasn’t coming, after all, said Susie, she’d written to apologize for crying off, but she was having to go abroad as soon as the schools broke up for the Easter holidays at the end of this week.

‘That’s news to me,’ said Boots without changing expression.

‘Yes, she gives Rosie extra lessons at your house two evenings a week, doesn’t she?’ said Susie. ‘I can’t think why she didn’t tell you. It’s a pity she won’t be with us, she’s such good fun. I wonder what she’s goin’ abroad for?’

‘Fun, I suppose,’ said Boots.

He took time off from the office in the afternoon, and was at the school at twenty to four. Classes finished at four. Polly, called from her class by the headmaster, went to the teachers’ room where Boots was waiting for her. Dressed in professional fashion, in a pale grey blouse and a dark grey skirt, she nevertheless managed to look as vivaciously appealing as always, her Colleen Moore bob curving to points that lightly kissed her cheeks.

‘Hello, old thing,’ she said, and her brittle smile arrived. Boots, standing with his back to the fireplace, his hat off and his overcoat unbuttoned, regarded her frowningly. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘am I in the doghouse?’

‘Why are you having to go abroad?’ he asked.

‘Who told you I was?’

‘Susie. You wrote to her parents.’

‘Well, one must do the right thing sometimes,’ said Polly.

‘Why are you having to go abroad?’ asked Boots again.

‘To get away from you,’ said Polly. ‘Darling, I love you dearly, but you give me nothing. You care for me, but you give me nothing. I’m expected to live with that kind of frustration? It’s killing me. At home, I get on stepmama’s nerves, I get on my father’s nerves, and I get on my own nerves. If you care for me but won’t love me, what’s the point of my life here? There’s my teaching, but that’s not enough. I have to get away, and far enough to know you’re not just around the corner. So I’m going to Kenya to stay with family friends out there, and to find a less frustrating life for myself. I’m leaving by boat this Saturday. The school breaks up on Friday.’

‘Why haven’t you told me anything of this?’ asked Boots.

‘I’m telling you now, aren’t I, old thing? I was intending to let you know tonight, when giving Rosie her last cramming lesson. Look, old dear, I admit I’ve had my passage booked for some time, but gave myself the option of cancelling it in the hope you’d still become my lover. But you’re too much of a family man, so I’m chucking you to give myself the chance of a new life by getting you out of my system. I’ll never be able to do that while I stay here, using Rosie to find out what you’re doing and even what
you
’re saying. I must give Rosie up. I shan’t bother either of you any more.’ There was just a touch of bitterness to that remark. She had tried, God knows she had, but she accepted now that he was never going to be unfaithful to Emily.

‘Bother us?’ Boots looked disappointed in her. ‘That’s not up to your usual standard, Polly. You can’t really believe you’ve ever bothered Rosie, and certainly not me. Your friendship and affection have always been special to me.’

‘Affection?’ Polly drew a deep breath of exasperation. ‘Is that what you think it is, affection? God, if it was only that, I’d be laughing, not running away.’

‘Must you run?’

‘Yes, I must.’

Boots let out a little sigh. He was a more sophisticated man than either of his brothers, but he was as much his mother’s son as Tommy or Sammy. He believed marriage really was for better or worse, unless a wife or husband was totally impossible to live with. Emily was far from that. To make Polly his mistress would be to destroy all three of them in the long run.

‘I’m going to miss you badly, Polly,’ he said.

Polly regarded him in melancholy. She had known thousands of Tommies in France and Flanders during her years as an ambulance driver. Of them all, Boots was the finest, a man without airs and graces, a man with a whimsical tolerance of clowns and idiots, a man born in the heart of cockney Walworth who had come out of it simply as a man.

‘Let me ask you for the last time,’ she said, ‘will you be my lover?’

‘Polly—’

‘No, you won’t, will you?’ The bitterness surfaced then.
‘Well,
damn you, ducky, for giving me nothing. I wish I’d never met you.’

She turned on her heel, a swift and willowy figure. She left. It was a gesture of finality. Boots stood there. Was it for the best? What a cliché. It did nothing for his emotions. He turned his hat in his hands and listened to the sounds of the school, a place of the young, the active and irrepressible young.

The door opened.

‘Daddy?’

He looked at her, his Rosie, nearly eleven and already heart-breakingly pretty, her fair hair black-ribboned, her blue eyes a little sad.

‘Hello, kitten.’

‘Miss Simms said you were here. I’ve just finished classes. Daddy, Miss Simms – she’s leaving us.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘She said goodbye to me, and asked if you’d mind if she didn’t come this evening.’

‘Well, it’s a blow, Rosie, but for a long time now she’s been convinced you’ll walk that scholarship exam next January.’

‘But I’m sad, Daddy, aren’t you?’

‘People come and go, Rosie, friends come and go, it’s all part of life.’

But he was sad, Rosie knew he was. Every gesture of his, every mood and, at times, every word, registered with her. He was the man who had given her a home and the warmth and security of family life. He loved her. More than anything else, that counted with her.

‘I shan’t ever come and go, Daddy.’

‘You will, you know, later on.’

‘No, I’m never going to leave you, never.’

And Rosie meant it.

Will, setting off to pick up Annie, was in a cheerful frame of mind. Dr McManus had been more open than the Army doctors, and was quite willing to offer a second opinion, while pointing out he was a general practitioner, not a specialist. He could say, however, that the cause of an attack was the swelling of the lining membrane of the minor bronchial tubes, but how this came about couldn’t be generally determined. It might be because a patient was allergic to something like a feather pillow, but on others it might have no effect whatever. Certain foods such as eggs or strawberries could bring about the spasm that caused the swelling that caused the attack. Some sufferers were affected by living in a city or town, others by living in the country. How long had Will been home from India? About four weeks. And how many attacks had he had in that time? About eight or nine. That’s two a week. That’s not bad at all, said Dr McManus.

‘Except that I’ve had most of them during the last ten days,’ said Will.

‘Which makes you think it’s catching up on you?’

‘It makes me think I’ve got asthma,’ said Will, and Dr McManus smiled.

‘Well, you have, Will,’ he said. He’d conducted an examination and asked questions. ‘Let’s see, you were fairly free from attacks up to the last ten days. Have you been eating food generally different from what you had during your first two weeks home?’

‘Not really,’ said Will. ‘Plain, but well-cooked and pretty nourishin’.’

‘Let’s look at your activities, then. What’s been different about your activities over the last ten days?’

‘Nothing,’ said Will, ‘I’ve been taking things easily gen’rally.’

‘Was your condition worse in Indian towns and cities, than in open country?’

‘No, definitely not,’ said Will.