Lost & Found (5 page)

‘Take what back?’ Lily asked, but then the penny dropped and she looked at the sideboard to see that the biscuit barrel was missing. ‘You…you…’ she ground out through clenched teeth and, marching up to Mavis, she pulled back her coat to snatch the barrel. ‘I’ve a good mind to give you a bloody good hiding.’

Mavis cringed as Lily raised her hand, but begged, ‘Please, Mum, that old lady was really poor.’

‘Poor! Don’t make me laugh. She probably owns the big house you said she lived in. She could sell it—buy something smaller and be stinking rich—whereas all I’ve got to flog is this biscuit barrel.’

‘You…you’ve got five pounds.’

‘Yes, but it’s got to last us until God knows when, or are you daft enough to believe that your precious father is going to send me more?’

‘He…he might.’

‘Yes, you said it, he might. Now get out of my sight, you silly soft sod, and think yourself lucky you ain’t felt my hand across your face.’

Mavis fled and, after placing the barrel back onto the sideboard, Lily slumped onto a chair again. Mavis trying to sneak the bloody thing out was the last thing she needed. It was bad enough that Ron had left and she dreaded the time they’d be apart, her head thumping as she ran both hands across her face. Mavis had been upset when Ron left too, but despite this the old woman had obviously played on her daughter’s mind. Mavis didn’t have an ounce of sense—that was the trouble.

Lily gulped down her cup of insipid tea. She would go round to see her mother, but wondered what she’d say when she heard that Ron would be working away. There’d be no point in telling her that he was going to turn over a new leaf,
especially as her mother had heard it so many times before. She had no time for Ron, and Lily couldn’t blame her. Yet maybe, just maybe, he did really mean it this time.

Mavis was fighting tears. She’d upset her mother again, said the wrong things as usual, but she’d decided to take the biscuit barrel back as soon as she saw her father leaving the five-pound note. She hadn’t thought about the old lady owning that great big house, and had only seen the poverty she lived in. Her mum was right; the woman could sell her house, whereas they had no guarantee that her dad would send more money. Mavis blinked rapidly, wishing she hadn’t upset her mum, especially as she’d given her an egg on toast for breakfast. At any other time she’d have relished it but, worried about getting the biscuit barrel out of the house, she had hardly tasted it.

Nervous of bumping into Tommy and Larry again, her eyes darted along the road, but at least they went to Battersea County School, which was in the opposite direction from hers. If she could just get out of Cullen Street without them spotting
her, she’d be safe. Thankfully there was no sign of them, but Sandra Truman from next door was just leaving, and, though she too went to a different school, Battersea Grammar, after exchanging greetings, they fell into step.

‘You’re quiet. What’s up, Mavis?’

‘My dad’s working away and it’ll be ages before he comes back.’

‘Working away? Why?’

‘He’ll be earning more money. When he comes back, he’s gonna start up his own business.’

Sandra looked sceptical, which didn’t surprise Mavis. Everyone knew her dad was a gambler and, living next door, the Trumans must have heard the rows. She and Sandra had been friends when they were younger, but after taking their eleven plus exams things had changed. Sandra was clever, had passed, and had gone on to grammar school. She’d made new friends, all as clever as her, and though they’d tried to include her, Mavis felt inadequate alongside them and had drifted away. It was the same at her secondary school. Unable to keep up, she hadn’t formed any real friendships, knowing that few girls would want to hang around with an idiot like her.

‘I know you’ll miss your dad,’ Sandra said kindly, ‘but it sounds like it’ll be worth it.’

Tommy Wilson came bounding around the corner, clutching a loaf of bread. Mavis froze.
She’d avoided him for ages and now in the space of two days had come face to face with him twice. He shot them both a glance, but said nothing as he ran past, leaving Mavis unaware that she had stopped walking until Sandra touched her arm.

‘Mavis, you’re shaking. What’s wrong?’

‘Noth…nothing,’ she managed to answer, her feet moving again.

‘Come on, Mavis. It was Tommy Wilson, wasn’t it? Has he been giving you a hard time?’

Unable to tell Sandra the truth, Mavis just shook her head.

‘Listen, I know he calls you Dumbo, but just ignore him. There’s worse than name calling. Him and Larry are a right nasty pair and they tried it on with me.’

Once again Mavis halted. ‘Tried it on. Do you mean they tried to touch you?’

‘Yes, they cornered me on my way home from school.’

‘Did you tell your mum or your dad?’

‘Not my dad, he’d have killed the buggers, and, anyway, a swift kick in the right place was enough to chase them off. My mum said all boys try to get fresh, that they’re ruled by what’s in their trousers. She’s always going on at my brother to behave himself Sandra paused and, as though realising something, she said, ‘Here, hold on. Have they done the same to you? Is that why you’re so frightened?’

Mavis felt as though a dam had burst as she blurted it all out, but then saw that Sandra’s mouth was curled in disgust. Sandra must blame her—must think that she’d led them on. With a small cry of anguish she ran off.

‘No! Wait,’ Sandra called.

Mavis ignored the shout, running and running until she was through the school gates. Bending over, she fought to get her breath, and then seeing a group of girls staring at her she slunk off behind the toilet block until the bell rang.

Head down, Mavis walked to her class, worried sick that Sandra would pass on what she’d told her. Her mother would kill her if it reached her ears. And what about her dad? At least he was working away, but what about when he came back?

The lesson began, but as usual Mavis couldn’t make head nor tail of the writing chalked on the board. It was all right when the English teacher read to them, sometimes from a novel, which she enjoyed, but unlike the other girls she couldn’t write an essay on the subject. Sometimes there was so much in her mind, stories she would make up, yet no matter how many times she tried, it was impossible to put the words onto paper. Oh, it must be wonderful to read a book, something the other girls in her class could do so easily. She envied them so much. They were lucky. Unlike her, they weren’t idiots.

Lily had been to the shops and now sat back, replete, having had fresh tea and an egg along with a couple of slices of bacon. She also had a little treat in store for dinner, and simmering on the stove was a vegetable stew, thick with pearl barley. Most women could afford to buy meat and were constantly moaning that it was still on ration. Lily, though, was nervous of spending too much money so had settled on only vegetables. At least the stew would be nourishing, and as her mother had lost so much weight she’d take a bowl round to her later.

In no mood to talk, Lily sighed when someone rapped on her letterbox. It was Kate Truman, the woman saying, ‘Lily, my Sandra left for school, but then came back to tell me something. I think you need to hear it.’

‘You’d better come in. Do you fancy a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, if you can spare one.’

Unwilling to throw away tea leaves that had only been used once, Lily just lit the gas and, when the water boiled, topped up the pot. Kate was obviously itching to tell her something, so once they had a cup each in front of them, she said, ‘Right, Kate. Spit it out.’

‘You won’t like it, Lily, but it’s like this. My Sandra bumped into Mavis on her way to school. Mavis was upset and told Sandra something, but then she ran off.’

‘She’s upset because Ron’s left this morning to work out of London. It was all a bit quick so I haven’t had the chance to tell you about it.’

‘No, it wasn’t that. She’s upset about Tommy Wilson and Larry Barnet.’

‘Why? What’s happened to them?’

‘Nothing, but they tried it on with your Mavis.’

‘Tried it on! You…you don’t mean…’

‘Yes,’ Kate interrupted. ‘They got her on the common.’

‘Oh, my God,’ Lily cried, jumping to her feet. ‘She didn’t tell me. Did they…did they…’

‘No, no, calm down,’ Kate urged as she interrupted again. ‘They didn’t get far, but if someone hadn’t come along, they might have.’

‘My Ron will wring their bloody necks—’ Lily shouted, but then slumped onto her chair again, rubbing both hands over her face. ‘Fat chance. He ain’t here and won’t be for months. Mind you, those two buggers ain’t getting away with this. I’ll sort them out,
and
have a word with their mothers.’

‘Yes, do that, but Mavis is a very pretty girl and now that she’s growing up there’s bound to be others sniffing around. I’ve already spoken to my Sandra, but what about Mavis? Does she know about the birds and the bees?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Lily, she may not be so lucky next time. You need
to talk to her; warn her about blokes and how to handle them if they try it on.’

‘Gawd, Kate. I doubt she’d understand.’

‘I know she can’t read and write, but when my Sandra was at school with her, she insisted that Mavis isn’t daft. In fact, in art class she was brilliant.’

‘Art? What good is art? The only rich painters are dead ones.’

‘I dunno, Lily, but if she can paint and draw, surely that shows intelligence?’

‘It’s just copying, that’s all. Anyone can do that.’

‘Well, I can’t. I’m useless at drawing, always was and always will be.’

‘Yes, but it hasn’t held you back, has it? You can do other things, whereas Mavis can’t.’

Kate pursed her lips. ‘You have a point. But I still don’t think Mavis is as bad as you think—I’ve been telling you that for years.’

‘You were just being kind.’

‘No, Lily. Unlike backward kids, Mavis doesn’t sound daft when she talks. In fact, she sounds very sensible.’

‘Sensible! Leave it out. She can’t even wash up without breaking something.’

‘All right, Lily, have it your own way, but you still need to try talking to her. If you don’t, she could end up in trouble.’

‘Oh, Kate, don’t say that.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I know it’s none of my business, but I just felt you needed to know.’

‘Kate, there’s no need to apologise. We’ve been friends for years and there ain’t much about me and mine that you don’t know.’

‘How do you feel about Ron working away?’

‘To be honest, I’ll miss him. Though God knows why. Oh, sod it, me stew’s boiling over.’

They rose to their feet at the same time, Kate saying, ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ Lily agreed as she hurried over to the stove. Kate called a quick goodbye as she showed herself out, and after turning the gas down under the pot, Lily once again slumped at the table. Recalling the conversation, her face darkened with anger. Why hadn’t Mavis told her about those two little sods? Instead she’d told Sandra, who had passed it on to her mother. She liked Kate, but knew she was a bit of a gossip. Now the whole bloody street would know. Wait till Mavis came home. She’d have a few words to say to the girl. Not only that, she had to talk to her daughter about blokes, and the dangers. Yet what if she couldn’t get it through her thick head?

The thought of her daughter getting pregnant, of the shame it would bring, made Lily feel sick. It was bad enough that everyone in Cullen Street knew Mavis was backward, but if she became an
unmarried mother Lily knew the gossip would be unbearable.

Why me? Why couldn’t I have a normal child?
It wasn’t fair—it really wasn’t.

At last the English lesson was over, and though Mavis had missed her favourite art class yesterday where they used oils, the next class focused on charcoal drawings and sketching. Though she preferred painting, Mavis enjoyed this class too. Her mother refused to buy not only paints, but pencils and paper too, telling her that it was a waste of time and that she had more important things to buy, food being top of the list. There had been a time when she used to grab any scrap of paper she could find to draw on, but that had annoyed her mother too. It seemed to incense her that she could draw but not write, and she would snatch the paper to tear it up. Learn to write, not draw, Lily used to scream, but always finding it impossible, and afraid of her mother’s anger, Mavis had stopped drawing at home.

Today, Mavis was unable to concentrate and her mind churned as she sketched. Why had she done it? Why had she blabbed to Sandra? Terror of her mother finding out made her hand shake and she was unaware of Miss Harwood coming up behind her. It was only when the teacher spoke
that Mavis realised all she had drawn was little more than a frenzied doodle.

‘Mavis, what’s the matter with you today?’ she asked. ‘It’s unlike you to do such sloppy work.’

‘Sorry, miss.’

‘You have talent, Mavis, and you’re usually wonderful with perspective, but this isn’t good enough. Start again.’

‘Yes, miss.’

Miss Harwood had moved away out of earshot when the girl beside her hissed, ‘She’s right, Mavis. You’re usually good at art.’

Mavis smiled at Maureen, who, unlike some of the other girls, was kind to her. ‘I was miles away and wasn’t concentrating.’

‘Mavis was in cloud cuckoo land as usual,’ Patricia Fenwick hissed.

‘Leave her alone, Pat. You’re just jealous because your artwork is rubbish.’

‘Jealous of her! You must be joking.’

‘Quiet,’ Miss Harwood shouted.

Pat shot Mavis a look of disdain, but obeyed the teacher, her eyes going back to her work. Silence descended again, only broken by the sound of Miss Harwood walking along the rows between desks, commenting now and then on one of the girls’ work.

Mavis started a new sketch, but it was little better than the first one, and for the first time she
was relieved when the class came to an end. She knew that Miss Harwood was disappointed in her work from her curt dismissal and, head down, Mavis left the room.

After the lunch break it would be arithmetic, another subject that was almost incomprehensible to Mavis. She had tried and tried to write the numbers down, but was told that most were backwards and in the wrong order. Mental arithmetic wasn’t too bad, but since junior school the lessons had become different, harder, with algebra, among other things, becoming impossible to learn.

‘You weren’t teacher’s pet today, Mavis,’ Pat called as she walked arm in arm with her best friend to the canteen.

Other girls were doing the same, but Maureen who lived close to school and went home for lunch, paused to say, ‘Take no notice of her, Mavis.’

‘It’s all right. I’m used to it,’ Mavis said bravely.

‘Well, I think they’re mean. See you later,’ she waved as she hurried to the gate.

Alone as usual, Mavis joined the queue in the canteen, thinking the other girls were mad to moan about the food. She didn’t always have the money for school dinners and was sometimes left hungry, so as she held out her plate Mavis looked at the ladleful of stew with relish. Next to it was placed a dollop of lumpy mash and, finding a seat as far away from Pat as possible, she sat down.

The first few mouthfuls of food tasted fine, but as her thoughts returned to Sandra, Mavis lost her appetite. She had to get to Sandra, beg her to keep her mouth shut—but what if she was too late?