Sons and Daughters (33 page)

‘More outdoor meetings?’ he said. ‘Good point, Lulu, but it’s January, and not many people of Walworth and Camberwell are going to stand about listening to Young Socialists on soapboxes. They’ve got their chilblains to think about. Better if we organized a doorstep canvass by as many volunteers as possible. What are you doing tomorrow evening?’

‘Studying,’ said Lulu.

‘Studying what, might I ask?’

‘The life of James Keir Hardie, the first Socialist ever to be an elected MP,’ said Lulu.

‘Lulu, not on a Saturday evening,’ said Paul.

‘When’s Saturday evening, then?’ asked Lulu.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Paul.

‘What’s today, then? Oh, yes, Friday. But it makes no difference. I’ll still be studying tomorrow.’

‘Now look here,’ said Paul, ‘you’ll get old before your time unless you go in for a bit of recreation. Haven’t you been to any of these dance halls specializing in that American-imported craze, the jitterbug?’

‘Six wild elephants couldn’t drag me,’ said Lulu. ‘The jitterbug was invented by men. It gives them
an excuse to chuck girls about until their knickers fall off.’

Paul laughed.

‘Stronger elastic, that’s the answer,’ he said.

‘Your sense of humour kills me,’ said Lulu.

Paul regarded her with curiosity. He had moments when he thought there might just be a female girl struggling to get out, such as when she gave him a clinging smacker on Christmas Eve, but they were moments few and far between. All the same, someone ought to help her to start living.

‘Well, tell you what,’ he said, ‘how about coming to the cinema with me, the one showing a reissue of
Pygmalion
, starring Leslie Howard as Professor Higgins, and Wendy Hiller as Eliza? It’s a classic.’

‘Must you think of the trivial?’ said Lulu. ‘At a time when the serious is raising its dark head? D’you want Churchill and his Tories to win the election? Bang goes the Welfare State if that happens. And back into the workhouses go the starving widows and their children.’

‘Might I point out workhouses no longer exist?’ said Paul.

‘The Tories would encourage the capitalists to build new ones,’ said Lulu.

‘You won’t come to the cinema, then?’ said Paul, going back to his desk.

‘It’s fiddling when Rome might start burning again,’ said Lulu.

‘You’re a sad case, Lulu,’ said Paul, sitting down, ‘very sad. Oh, well, it’s your life. Let’s have some tea now, shall we?’

‘Your turn,’ said Lulu, putting a sheet of paper into her typewriter.

‘Yours,’ said Paul, ‘so get on with it.’

Her specs scowled at him, but she went to the kitchen. When she brought the tea in, she said, ‘Oh, all right, then.’

‘All right what?’ asked Paul.

‘I’ll come to the cinema with you.’

‘Good,’ said Paul, ‘you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Listen,’ she said, looking down at him, ‘it’s not going to be meaningful.’

‘Meaningful?’

‘Yes, it won’t mean I’ll be willing to repeat it.’

‘Well, let’s both live for the present,’ said Paul.

‘And for helping the Labour Party to get reelected,’ said Lulu.

‘Right, got you, Lulu,’ said Paul.

‘That makes a change,’ said Lulu.

She enjoyed the film and was frank in her praise when they left the cinema. Paul said hang onto happiness. It can be a bit elusive. Lulu said she’d wait for it.

‘For how long?’ asked Paul, walking with her through the bright lights of London’s West End.

‘Until I’m an MP,’ said Lulu.

‘Lulu, you’ve got years of agony between now and then.’

‘Oh, really? Well, if it gets to hurt, I’ll shout.’

‘I can’t promise I’ll be around listening,’ said Paul.

‘Listen, big chief,’ said Lulu, ‘I stand on my own
feet. I’m one of this country’s modern women.’

‘My grandma’s suspicious of modern women,’ said Paul, shepherding Lulu through crowds turning out of theatres and cinemas.

‘Grannies like that have their feet stuck in the past,’ said Lulu. ‘Is that my arm you’re holding?’

‘Just to keep you from being bumped,’ said Paul. ‘It’s not meaningful.’

‘Ha ha,’ said Lulu. When they reached the bus stop at Waterloo Bridge, she said, ‘Have you got ideas of seeing me home?’

‘No, I’m letting you stand on your own feet in case you aim a wallop at me,’ said Paul, as a bus pulled up. ‘But as I don’t want to walk all the way to Denmark Hill, d’you mind if I share the bus with you?’

‘Don’t be funny,’ said Lulu.

They followed several other people onto the bus. It was full downstairs, so they climbed to the upper deck, Lulu preceding Paul. She was wearing a long coat over a plain, practical winter costume, and all it gave Paul was a view of her ankles. Very trim, he thought.

The bus took them to Kennington, where she alighted. She said goodnight to Paul.

‘And thanks,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Paul.

When he arrived home, Vi, of course, asked him if he’d enjoyed his evening. He said the film was just the job. What about the young lady, said Vi, did she enjoy it too? Paul said yes, she had, though much against her will.

‘Against her will?’ said Vi, with Tommy hiding a grin.

‘Yes, she believes that film-going is a waste of time for modern females,’ said Paul.

‘What a funny girl,’ said Vi.

‘It’s what comes of being a serious Socialist,’ said Tommy, ‘so let that be a lesson to you, me lad.’

‘Nothing wrong with serious Socialism,’ said Paul, ‘as long as you know you’re living.’

A week later the second Saturday in January arrived, and Jimmy, given use of his dad’s car, motored to Jenny’s home in Wimbledon. It was close to the open spaces of Wimbledon Common, and even in the dark Jimmy could see it was a house of impressive design, standing by itself and fronted by an in-and-out gravel drive. It was five minutes after seven when he rang the bell.

Jenny herself answered the summons. Framed by the light of a handsome, oak-panelled hall, she looked as stunning as ever in a crimson dress.

‘Hello,’ said Jimmy.

‘You’re late,’ said Jenny.

‘Only by a few minutes,’ said Jimmy, ‘and it was dark all the way.’

‘Never mind, I’m happy to see you,’ said Jenny. ‘Come in and— Wait, what’s that?’

‘My dad’s motor,’ said Jimmy.

‘Oh, good show,’ said Jenny. ‘My father was going to drive us to the theatre and pick us up afterwards, but now we can be independent. So come and meet my family.’

Jimmy met them in a large drawing room, beautifully furnished and with an open log fire crackling and blazing. Jenny’s mother was tall, well-dressed and charmingly receptive to the introduction.

‘So you’re Jimmy, the young man we’ve heard about,’ she said in well-educated tones.

‘Happy to meet you, Mrs Osborne,’ said Jimmy, ‘but should I ask if what you’ve heard has alarmed you?’

‘I assure you, we haven’t heard it’s preferable to avoid you,’ said the welcoming lady. ‘You’re the one who played golf with Jenny, aren’t you?’

‘I’d be grateful if we kept off golf,’ said Jimmy, and that brought a smile to Mrs Osborne’s face.

Mr Osborne was also tall, if a little stout and slightly bald. He was a vigorous man, however, and he shook hands firmly with Jimmy.

‘Glad to meet you, young man,’ he said. ‘And you look to me as if you’ve got the physique to swing a fine club. Practice, that’s all you need.’

‘Be a sport, Mr Osborne,’ said Jimmy, ‘keep off golf.’

‘I won’t say a word about it myself,’ said Jenny’s sixteen-year-old sister, Caroline, on being introduced. Her handclasp lingered as she took in Jimmy’s firm features.

‘You’ve got my promise too,’ said brother Christopher, the eldest of the offspring.

‘In that case,’ said Jimmy, ‘you could both get to be my friends.’

‘Love it,’ said Caroline, ‘do come again.’

‘That’s it, Jimmy,’ said Jenny, ‘time we went. Oh, and we’ve got our own transport, Dad. Jimmy has a car.’

‘Fine,’ said Mr Osborne, ‘that lets me out. Glad you dropped in, Jimmy.’

‘Thrilling,’ said Caroline.

Once in the car, Jenny said, ‘Don’t let Caroline get too close, she’s already wicked.’

‘Well, that’s great,’ said Jimmy, pulling out of the drive, ‘she’s the first wicked girl I’ve met. Exactly how wicked is she?’

‘On a par with Dracula,’ said Jenny.

‘How’d you manage to cope with your evil friend Fiona and your wicked sister?’ asked Jimmy, heading for Kingston.

‘With gritted teeth,’ said Jenny, ‘but if you turn out to be like either of them, say swinish, I’ll give up. Did you have a good Christmas?’

‘We had a big fat turkey, I’ll tell you that,’ said Jimmy.

‘Big fat ones are still hard to come by,’ said Jenny.

‘Oh, ours fell off the back of a lorry,’ said Jimmy, ‘and my dad knows the bloke who picked it up. Incidentally, what do you rate as swinish?’

‘Gropers,’ said Jenny.

‘Grocers?’

‘No, you idiot.’ Jenny laughed. ‘Gropers. Ugly-minded men with wandering hands, like one of the tutors at the college. You’re not that kind, are you, Jimmy?’

‘I can honestly say no,’ said Jimmy, driving at a steady speed through lamplit roads.

‘I believe you,’ said Jenny, ‘or I wouldn’t be in this car with you. By the way, do you like pantomimes?’

‘Mad about ’em,’ said Jimmy, overtaking a slowcoach.

‘Is that a polite lie?’

‘Well, say a polite exaggeration.’

‘Jimmy, you’d better like this one.’

‘Well, I will, won’t I? I like a pantomime. It rounds off Christmas.’

‘Same here, pantomimes are fun,’ said Jenny. ‘Drive on, Ben Hur.’

They arrived in good time in Kingston, the county town of Surrey on the banks of the Thames, and Jimmy was able to park close to the rep theatre. He and Jenny joined a stream of people going in, and they found their seats halfway up the stalls. Up went the curtain five minutes later, the auditorium lights were dimmed and the pantomime,
Cinderella
, began.

It was a riot of fun, the Ugly Sisters, played by male comedians, as per tradition, a giggle to kids in the audience. Kids loved pantomimes, and parents gave them a yearly treat. The Prince, the character who picked up Cinderella’s glass slipper as she fled the ball on the stroke of midnight, was played by a girl, also as per tradition, and commonly known as the principal boy, all very confusing to visitors from abroad. The girl in this
pantomime wore sleek theatrical tights, dark blue velvet shorts, a red doublet and a plum-coloured velvet hat with a plume. Girls who played principal boys had to have very good legs and thighs, and this one certainly did. Jimmy was accordingly appreciative. Jenny gave him a dig in the ribs once or twice, to let him know she wasn’t in favour of where his eyes were.

The Ugly Sisters had songs to sing, songs slightly barmy, and the audience, requested to join in, did so, the kids with great enthusiasm.

The first half ended with Cinderella fleeing the ball and leaving one glass slipper behind, and the curtain came down on the Prince clasping the slipper adoringly to his (her) chest, and Jimmy feeling there was something familiar about his (her) looks.

Along with other people, he repaired with Jenny to the refreshments bar, where he bought coffee and cake for her and the same for himself.

‘Thanks, Jimmy,’ she said. ‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘Good fun,’ said Jimmy, ‘and I’m thinking I’ve seen the principal boy before.’

‘You have,’ said Jenny, ‘it’s evil Fiona. The pantomime’s being performed by a local amateur dramatic society, and she’s a member.’

‘Well, I must say she’s got—’

‘Don’t say it,’ said Jenny. ‘You’re with me, and I’ll get savage if you try to make me listen to what you think of Fiona in her sexy tights.’

‘Point taken,’ said Jimmy. ‘Anyway, you’d look better.’

‘In sexy tights?’

‘That’s my firm conviction.’

‘What brought that on?’

‘Cornwall by the sea,’ said Jimmy.

‘I still can’t think why you’re just a shop assistant,’ said Jenny.

‘Didn’t I tell you?’ said Jimmy. ‘It’s my first foot on the ladder leading to future prospects of enviable promise.’

‘What a mouthful,’ said Jenny, and Jimmy caught the smile that made her bright eyes sparkle. What a girl.

They enjoyed the second half of the performance, even more riotous than the first, and the curtain came down on the Prince (the principal boy) gathering Cinderella to his (her) bosom.

On their way out, Jimmy said, ‘Do we go backstage to compliment Fiona on her performance?’

‘Not likely,’ said Jenny, ‘I’m not letting you get a close-up of evil Fiona in her tights.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Jimmy.

Outside, the coldly crisp night air attacked them, and Jenny slipped her arm through Jimmy’s as they walked to the car.

‘Look here,’ she said, ‘how about a fair arrangement?’

‘What’s a fair arrangement?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Well, you’ve got my address and phone number, haven’t you?’

‘So I have,’ said Jimmy.

‘So when do I get yours?’ asked stunning Jenny Osborne.

Which made Jimmy think a very promising friendship could develop. His Uncle Boots would have told him it also pointed to Jenny being a very modern post-war young lady, quite different from the modest violets of pre-war days.

Taking time off from the office the following Tuesday, Boots visited Southwark Cemetary, carrying two sheaves of white chrysanthemums with him, one to place on the grave of Emily, the other on another grave close by, that of Elsie Chivers, the widow of a German landowner. He had loved both women.

Emily. A woman of bright life and undiminished spirit. Elsie. A woman of gentleness and tragedy. In her brief will she had left him all that she was worth, which was the money in her bank, three hundred and twenty-one pounds. Boots thought the gesture one that placed her as a lonely woman. No close relatives, no near and dear friends. Only himself as a memory of her time in Walworth, of the days when she was in happy company with him and the family and Emily. Sunday teas. Conversation, quick sallies and constant laughter.

Elsie and Emily. Both gone, both still in his thoughts so often. He poured water from the available can into the standing metal vases, then put the sheaves of large white blooms in place. He stood for a few moments, wondering about life and death, and what it all meant, then turned and left.