The Lodger (11 page)

‘When you're younger you don't stop to think like you do when you're older,' said Bobby. 'imagine if I'd already 'ad a girl when I met you, I wouldn't 'alf have felt sick. I feel fine, actu'lly. We can go out Saturdays an' Sundays, you an' me, I could treat you to tram rides, I've got a bit of money saved up. Of course, you're too young for us to be kissin' friends, but when you're a bit older – '

‘Listen to him,' breathed Trary, addressing the park in general and no-one in particular. ‘I never heard anything more aggravatin'. What d'you mean, kissin' friends? You'll be lucky. I'm kissin' age now, I am, but not with you. I'm partic'lar, I'll have you know. Besides which, if you think I'm goin' out with a talkin' gasbag, you can think again. Of course, I can't stop you comin' round and bashin' on our door and hollering through our letter-box, but that don't mean I'm goin' on tram rides with you.'

‘Crikey,' said Bobby in admiration, ‘you can't 'alf speak your piece, Trary. You're better at it than me mum. I keep tellin' her, she ought to speak a real piece to me dad, he needs – well, never mind that, the fact is I like you more all the time. I don't know I can wait till next Saturday to take you out, I'll probably call for yer one evenin' in the week. Say Wednesday.'

‘Well, I don't know,' said Trary, exhilarated, ‘you don't 'appen to have won medals for your sauce, I suppose?'

‘I won a bottle of port for me mum in a Christmas raffle once,' said Bobby, ‘but I didn't get any medals. Is your fam'ly poor, Trary?'

‘Mum don't have much comin' in,' confessed Trary.

‘We don't have a lot, either,' said Bobby, ‘it's mostly from me mum's old clothes stall. But I'm not goin' to be poor all me life, I can tell you. I don't mind bein' poor for a bit, but not for ever. So I went up to Fleet Street last week to ask in newspaper offices about bein' apprenticed to learnin' a newspaper trade.'

‘Which one?' asked Trary.

‘Printin',' said Bobby, ‘newspaper printin'. Constable Bradshaw, a friend of mine, put me up to it.'

‘Yes, isn't he kind?' said Trary, already fond of Harry.

‘He told me newspaper printin' is where the good wages are. Go up and show your face, he said, and ask about bein' taken on as an apprentice. They might chuck you out, he said, but they won't do a hanging job on you. Well, I went in everywhere. I didn't exactly get chucked out, but they all said not this year, Mr Reeves.'

‘I bet they didn't call you that,' said Trary.

‘Yes, they did,' said Bobby, ‘they have to talk polite to you in case you don't buy their paper. Next day I saw Mr Bradshaw and told 'im no luck. He asked did I go to the
Daily Mail
, which was a thrivin' paper, he said. I said I didn't see any
Daily Mail
offices in Fleet Street, so he told me where it was and to try me luck there. He said to ask for Lord Northcliffe.'

‘Who?' asked Trary.

‘Yes, ask for Lord Northcliffe, he said. So I went up and went in, and I said could I see Lord Northcliffe. I said please, of course. The bloke at the desk asked was I a friend of 'is Lordship, and I said not yet I wasn't, but I would be if he'd give me a job as a printin' apprentice. The bloke gave me a funny look and asked what my name was. I told 'im and he took me to see another bloke down in some basement. I asked was he Lord Northcliffe, and he said no, he was Harold Briggs and hoped I wouldn't mind about that. Well, he 'ad a talk with the first bloke, and Mr Briggs kept laughin'. Then he asked me questions about meself an' me fam'ly, then he wrote things down on paper an' told me all right, they'd take me on. He said men like me was few and far between – '

‘Men? Men?' said Trary. ‘I bet he didn't say men, I bet he said talkin' gasbags.'

‘Well, he didn't say men exactly, but he did say I was to be a teaboy and runner first off, and learn in between, and I was to start on the last Monday in July. I'm not gettin' much wages, not at first, just seven bob a week, but he said I could count on favourable prospects. So what d'you think, Trary?'

‘Crikey, favourable prospects?' Trary looked at him with new eyes. ‘Would you like a piece of chocolate?' She took the wrapped bar, the present from Mr Bates, out of her little handbag. Bobby gazed at it. ‘Our new lodger gave us all a bar each,' she said.

‘You got a new lodger?' said Bobby. ‘That's a help for yer mum. Is he a bit of all right?'

‘He better be,' said Trary. Undoing the wrapping, she broke off a piece of the chocolate bar and gave it to Bobby.

‘All this?' he said.

‘Look, it don't mean I'm your girl,' she said.

‘No, but a big piece like this does mean you're gettin' fond of me,' said the irrepressible Bobby.

‘Oh, you daft lump,' said Trary. She was young, not yet fourteen, but the suggestion that this cheeky ha'porth thought he could start courting her was more comical than embarrassing. Because of the death of her dad, Trary, as her mum's eldest daughter, had had to be a support as well as a blessing to her. She had an outlook and a resilience that equated her with maturer daughters of hard-pressed mothers. But she was still young in years, and knew it was laughable to have a boy talking as if they could go courting. Even so, it was laughable in an enjoyable way.

Bobby looked at her, a grin on his face.

The sunlight was dancing in her eyes.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When Trary arrived home, the kitchen table was laid for tea, and her mum was ready to put the kettle on. Trary noticed shrimps, a whole heap of them, in a basin.

‘You didn't go to tea with Bobby and 'is fam'ly, then?' asked Maggie, whose harassed look had eased considerably.

‘That boy, he never stops talkin',' said Trary. ‘And no, I didn't go home with him, not knowing him all that much.' Trary did actually like to take her time making new friends and establishing new relationships. ‘But d'you know, he had the sauce to say I was his girl.'

‘Did 'e kiss yer?' asked Daisy.

‘I don't allow unknown boys to kiss me,' said Trary haughtily.

‘She's blushin' again,' said Meg.

‘Crumbs, 'e must've give 'er six kisses,' said Lily.

‘Did yer like it, Trary?' asked Daisy.

‘What a life for a girl,' said Trary, ‘first I go up the park with a daft boy, now I've got to have tea with me daft sisters. Mum, all those shrimps, can we afford it?'

‘Mr Bates treated us,' said Maggie, ‘he bought them from the muffin man. He's comin' down to 'ave tea with us. Well, just this once, I thought we ought to ask him.' Maggie had thought that as it was his first day, and as it was Sunday, and as he'd shown himself genuine and generous, it was right to be a bit hospitable and give him a bit of a welcome.

Trary wrinkled her nose. Their new lodger might be handsome and friendly, but all Trary's instincts pointed her at Constable Bradshaw, not Mr Bates. She hoped it wasn't going to prove too difficult, bringing her mum and Mr Bradshaw together. She'd have to think carefully about her next step. Mr Bradshaw would make a lovely new dad. Trary weaved hopes and wishes.

‘Well, well,' said the jovial Mr Bates, as he sat down with the family. Maggie had baked a cake, having bought some dried fruit during her morning's shopping. There was also a large plateful of bread and margarine and a pot of jam, as well as the shrimps for a starter. ‘What a spread, girlies, eh? Home from home, yer know, as far as I'm concerned.' Extrovert, tanned and manly, he was larger than life to Lily and Daisy, his handsome moustache and boisterous healthiness making him look like someone from another world. He had them giggling as he talked about how the shrimps reminded him of his days as a boy, when he dug for cockles at Southend. ‘You don't find cockles in Australia, not like you do at Southend. Soon as the tide runs out, there they are, showin' just their eyes in the wet sand and winkin' at you. Shrimps, well, you can find shrimps anywhere, but not cockles. Thanks, Mrs Wilson, I don't mind if I do, but let the girls 'elp themselves first. Little ladies before large grown-ups, eh, Meg?' He passed the basin of shrimps to Meg on his left.

On his right, Daisy said, ‘Mister, I'm most little.'

‘So you are, Daisy, so you are. All right, you're next, then.'

Trary looked disgusted. Their new lodger was taking over. Her mum didn't seem to mind, and her sisters were already treating him like an uncle. There he was, teasing them, winking at them, and making them giggle. But Trary had to admit he did have a way with them. He was jolly, like their dad had been, and she had to further admit he was a lot better than their previous lodger.

Daisy and Lily were fascinated that he'd been to Australia. Meg said it was as far away from England as a country could be. Mr Bates said it wasn't as far away as all that. You only had to dig a hole deep enough in your back yard and you'd come out right in the middle of Australia. And probably the first thing you'd see would be a kangaroo. Had they ever seen a kangaroo?

‘I seen pictures in books,' said Lily.

‘We all 'ave,' said Meg.

‘But we ain't never seen a real one,' said Daisy.

‘I expect they've got some at the Zoo,' said Maggie, fully aware that Mr Bates was like a tonic to her girls.

‘We ain't been there,' said Lily.

‘Not to the Zoo?' said Mr Bates. ‘Well, that's a shame. Mind, I don't suppose they've got kangaroos there like they 'ave in Australia. In Australia, you fall over them. You can have a nasty accident fallin' over a kangaroo. And do they jump, you bet they do. In Australia, yer know, they don't say “oh crikey”, they say “jumpin' kangaroos”.'

‘I meant to say before, it's a funny thing you 'aving been to Australia, Mr Bates,' remarked Maggie, ‘because that's where me sister and parents are, and in Sydney too. I suppose you didn't come across them, did you?'

Mr Bates, looking highly intrigued, said, ‘I might have, I've met quite a few people Down-Under. What's their name?'

‘My dad's Alfred Palmer, my mum's Margaret Palmer,' said Maggie. ‘My sister's Joyce, and she's married now, to an Australian called Mick Kennedy.'

Mr Bates searched his memory.

‘Palmer, Palmer,' he mused. ‘And Kennedy, you said? Well, no, I can't say those names ring a bell, Mrs Wilson. Mind, I wasn't in Sydney a lot, I spent most time upcountry, bein' a minin' engineer. I suppose you could do with havin' your parents back here, 'elping you to bring up yer girls. All the same, no-one could say they're not a credit to you. And I meant what I said this morning, that if I can give you any needful 'elp at times, you just say the word.'

‘We all give mum help all the time,' said Trary.

‘I'm sure you do,' said Mr Bates admiringly. ‘Well, now I'm ready for a slice of yer home-made cake, Mrs Wilson, it looks a work of art. That's what arrives out of some kitchen ovens, works of art.'

Undoubtedly, he was an entertainment, but when the tea was over he didn't outstay his welcome. He spoke his thanks to Maggie, told the girls they were the pick of Walworth, and then said he'd take a stroll round his old haunts of South London. He left the house ten minutes later.

Maggie settled down for a quiet evening of darning. The younger girls played ludo, and Trary did some homework. When Daisy, Lily and Meg eventually went up to bed, Trary made what sounded like an irrelevant remark.

‘I've been thinkin' it's a shame, really.'

‘What is?' asked Maggie.

‘That nice policeman,' said Trary.

‘Mr Bradshaw? What about 'im, love?'

‘Livin' all alone, a kind man like that.'

‘All alone?' said Maggie.

‘Well, not havin' a wife,' said Trary.

‘Oh?' said Maggie.

‘They say men go to early graves when they don't have wives to look after them. Wouldn't it be tragic, Mum, if Mr Bradshaw passed away early through not havin' a lovin' wife?'

‘He didn't look to me as if he was going to pass away that early, love,' said Maggie.

‘Oh, you can't tell by a man's looks, Mum, specially a man like Mr Bradshaw, who has to show a brave face to the world on account of bein' a policeman. He could be ill inside, havin' to live alone.'

‘Dearie me, that is sad,' said Maggie, trying not to smile.

‘Yes, he can't be happy about it,' said Trary. ‘Oh, by the way, that boy's goin' to work in printin', for a newspaper.'

‘What boy?' asked Maggie. ‘Oh, Bobby Reeves, you mean?'

‘Is that his name? I can't remember it myself,' said Trary.

Maggie smiled. She felt life had suddenly got better for her family. Nice things had happened.

Except there was still Mr Monks.

Daisy, Lily and Meg went off to St John's Church School the next morning, Trary to West Square School for Girls, where she could make the most of what it could offer if she stayed until she was sixteen. She had told her mum she ought to leave at fourteen and try to get a job, but Maggie said no, they'd manage somehow.

With the house reduced to quiet, Maggie bagged up Monday's washing. There was no fuel either for the kitchen range or the scullery copper. But with money in her purse, she could afford to take her laundry to the local Bagwash, which charged a shilling for twenty-eight pounds. And she could order some coal on her way back.

A knock on the kitchen door was followed by Mr Bates putting his head in. Maggie conceded he was a vigorously good-looking man, his tanned face and breezy smile very welcome after the fat, pasty face and oily smirk of Mr Hooper.

‘Morning,' he said, ‘any odd jobs required to be performed, lady?'

‘Odd jobs?' said Maggie.

‘Like knockin' in a nail or two, or mendin' a chair leg?'