The Lodger (19 page)

Yes, the next time he called she would be a little fairer to him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘Who you looking for, Trary?' asked Jane Atkins. It was just after four o'clock, Monday's classes were over, and the girls were outside the school gate.

‘I'm not lookin' for anyone,' said Trary. West Square's two schools, adjacent each other, disgorged boys and girls.

‘Not that boy you went home with last week?' said Jane.

‘Which one was that?' asked Trary in casual style.

‘You know,' said Jane. ‘Crikey, is he gone on you? Wasn't he something? Where'd you find him? His name's not really Dick Turpin, is it? Are you standing here waiting for him?'

‘Honestly, Jane Atkins, what a question,' said Trary. ‘I don't stand anywhere waitin' for boys, I'm just standin' here with you.'

‘Watcher, girls, walk you to the Elephant?' Two West Square boys had crept up on them.

‘Oh, lor',' said Trary, making a face, ‘it's our unlucky day, Jane.'

The boys grinned and started chatting. Jane responded, and Trary, actually a friendly girl, did her best to keep the conversation from getting soppy. But it got soppy, all the same. Well, it did to her way of thinking. It wasn't like talking with . . . Oh, him. He hadn't come to meet her and walk her home, after all. Last week, he'd said he would. Not that she was desperate. Far from it. He was all talk. Yes, so he was. All talk.

‘Trary?'

Well, there he was, on the other side of the street, calling to her, a grin on his face. Impulsively, Trary detached herself from Jane and the boys, then checked and just walked casually across.

‘Excuse me, I'm sure,' she said, ‘but have you come to meet someone?'

‘Yes, someone real pretty,' said Bobby. ‘Is she here? She's got a pretty nose too, and mostly keeps it up in the air. I think 'er name's Trary something. Anyway, I'll recognize her as soon as her nose turns up.'

‘I'll hit you,' said Trary.

‘Wait a tick,' said Bobby, peering at her, ‘I think she's you. Let's 'ave a proper look at your nose.'

‘Just watch your own nose,' said Trary, ‘you won't have one at all if you keep this up, I'll hit it with our hammer. Well, come on, don't just stand there, I've got to get home.'

‘Why?' asked Bobby, as they began walking.

‘Why? Why? Because I live there. You don't think I can go to someone else's home, do you? I hope I'm not goin' to have another daft performance from you, Bobby Reeves, like last week, when I hardly knew how I got home alive. And I hope you're not goin' to talk an' talk, it can deafen a girl if it goes on long enough. I said to mum, I said that boy who came to our 'ouse with a box on his head, I never heard a more deafening boy, he never stops talkin'. I told her I told you you ought to go to a doctor about it, and she said King's College Hospital would be a good place, there's lots of doctors there. Mum's very understandin', she – '

‘Crikey, what a crackin' carry-on,' said Bobby, ‘you're – '

‘There you go again, interruptin' me,' said Trary, her step lively, her satchel swinging. ‘Just like last week. You could grow up a desp'rate problem to yourself, you know.'

‘Well, I'm as good as grown up now,' said Bobby, ‘and I don't reckon I'm problematical yet.'

Problematical? Where did he get that one from, the cheeky beast? But it was easy to tell what it meant, thought Trary. Yes, she could tell Miss Russell that Oliver Cromwell was problematical, which he was when you realized the headaches he gave to people who didn't want to be puritan.

‘Well, you soon will be,' she said, and they walked on, enjoying the kind of conversational set-to already familiar to both of them. Among other things, Bobby said he and his mum had gathered in good business last week, buying loads of second-hand clothes from different places, then sorting through them in the evenings to finish up with a great pile of seconds good as new. Now that was over, he'd have more time to come and walk Trary home from school, which his mum thought he should because young girls ought to be protected. Trary received that remark with scorn, and said a fat lot of good that would be, being protected by a boy as daft as he was.

She seemed to reach home in record time, the minutes seemed to have just flown. Bobby came in to say hello to her mum and her sisters, and the cheeky devil actually told her mum she was getting so handsome he'd take her to the music hall in Camberwell if he was a bit older. Her mum laughed out loud, and her eyes sparkled like they hadn't for years.

And Daisy said, ‘Meg, is mum goin' to get kisses from Bobby now, like Trary does?'

‘Well, no, not love kisses,' said Meg, ‘mums only get love kisses from dads. It's Trary that Bobby gives love kisses to.'

‘Some hopes he's got,' said Trary.

‘Anyway, that's for when Trary's older,' said Bobby. ‘I can see why she's so pretty, Mrs Wilson, she takes after you. Well, I've brought 'er home safe an' sound, and I'll push off now.'

‘What a blessin',' said Trary.

‘Yes, I've got to 'elp me mum price a load of our new seconds,' said Bobby.

‘New seconds?' said Trary. ‘Now how can you have new second-hand clothes, you daft lump?'

‘Search me,' said Bobby, ‘but it sounds all right for the customers. So long, everyone. I'll meet yer tomorrow again, Trary.'

‘Oh, help,' said Trary.

‘I ain't never 'ad no kisses meself,' said Lily, ‘except from mum.'

‘Well, we ought to put that right,' said Bobby. He picked her up and planted a smacker on her forehead. Lily gave a little yell of delight. ‘You just wait,' said Bobby, setting her down, ‘when I'm an older man than I am now, and you're a grown up girl, I'll treat yer to a good 'un. Goodbye, Mrs Wilson, you got lovely daughters, and Trary's me dream girl.'

‘Oh, I'll fall over, I will,' said Trary. ‘What bliss. I don't think.'

Bobby left the younger girls giggling and Maggie smiling.

‘That boy's one on 'is own,' said Maggie.

‘Well, if there was another one like him,' said Trary, ‘the world would get awf'lly problematical.'

‘Crikey,' said Meg.

‘Crumbs,' said Daisy.

‘She's swallered a diction'ry,' said Lily.

At tea, Trary thought it was a relief not to have to put up with the sound of their lodger's hearty voice. He usually put his head in when he got back from his business in the City. He usually said hello to everyone and stayed a bit talking to them, and he usually brought her and her sisters some little treat. But today he was still out.

She went out herself after tea, thinking she'd go and see a friend, Violet Chase, who lived in Elsted Street. She hadn't seen Vi for weeks, she was getting too wrapped up in school friendships, which wasn't fair on Vi. Vi, however, was out, her mum said.

‘Larkin' about with boys, I shouldn't wonder,' said Mrs Chase. ‘Alfie's in, though. I'm sure 'e'd like to see yer.'

Alfie was Vi's elder brother, all elbows and knees, and a bit of a monster. Trary, after a few quick, well-chosen words, made a rapid escape, going up towards East Street. Much to her delight, she saw Constable Bradshaw turn into Elsted Street, which led into Rodney Road and to the police station. He was on the opposite side.

‘Mr Bradshaw!' Trary, carrying her mum's old but still serviceable umbrella because the weather was showery, waved it and ran impulsively across the street. A baker's van, its horse trotting fast, came straight at her. Harry, trained reflexes impelling him into instant action, leapt from the pavement and rushed at her. The impact was almost bruising, but it did not check his movement. Trary was swept off her feet and carried backwards from the path of the van, Harry's arms tight around her. He rushed her back to the pavement she had sprung from. The baker's van pulled up, its frisky horse rearing.

‘Oh, yer young female fiend, yer near cost me all me sleep for a year!' yelled the driver, white and shaken.

‘Mind your manners,' called Harry, ‘and don't drive so fast in these streets.'

‘Bleedin' Amy,' bawled the driver. ‘Never mind me manners, what about me 'eart failure?'

‘Carry on,' said Harry.

‘She all right?'

‘She's all right,' said Harry, and the driver, shaking his head, resumed his journey, but at a slower trot. Harry held the quivering Trary. She was shaken too. She lifted her head and looked up at him.

‘Oh, crikey,' she breathed, and thought how strong and comforting he felt. His arms gave her a lovely feeling of security.

People were turning the corner. Harry released her. ‘Trary, you of all girls,' he said. ‘Did you have to do a thing like that?'

‘Me of all girls?' she said, recovering.

‘Never thought you'd do anything so silly. It's bad enough that careless street kids get themselves knocked down.'

‘Oh, I won't do it again, honest,' she said. ‘I didn't think, did I? Well, I was so pleased to see you that I just ran across. I was sayin' to Mum what a nice fam'ly friend you've become. Mr Bradshaw, it's really special, you savin' my life. Did you know that in places like China and Arabia – I think it's China and Arabia – well, when you save someone's life there you have to be responsible for them for ever. Miss Russell, our history teacher, told us that. D'you mind being responsible for me all my life? I don't mind a bit myself. Wait till I tell Mum. Mr Bradshaw? Oh, Mr Bradshaw, you're laughin' at me, and after I've nearly been run over too.'

‘Sorry,' said Harry, straightening his face.

‘The girls do that to me at school,' said Trary, brown eyes alight with pleasure that he was now her hero. ‘When I'm being my most serious self, I can hear them giggling.'

‘Was I giggling?' asked Harry.

‘Oh, no, men don't giggle, thank goodness. Mr Bradshaw, will it be in the papers?'

‘Not if I can help it,' said Harry, relief still excessive.

‘Not HEROIC POLICEMAN SAVES LIFE OF BEAUTIFUL SCHOOLGIRL?'

‘No, my beauty, not if I can help it. But are you all right now?'

‘Oh, I'm dizzy with gratitude, Mr Bradshaw, I'll be grateful to my dyin' day. Are you goin' to the police station?'

‘Yes, to hand in some reports.'

Trary ignored what she thought that meant.

‘Can I walk with you?' she asked.

‘Come on, then,' said Harry. ‘If my sergeant spots us, I'll tell him I'm takin' you in for frightenin' a horse.'

They walked together, Trary feeling just a little weak around her knees, but blissfully alive.

‘When I tell Mum, I expect she'll send you another note of thanks, special thanks, me bein' her first-born, you know.'

‘Yes, I suppose we've got to count you her first-born treasure,' said Harry.

‘Yes, I'm quite nice on the whole,' said Trary. ‘Mr Bradshaw, that boy Bobby Reeves, he walked me home from school again today. Did I mention what a boy he is for talkin'? I'm only just recoverin' from being deafened. Isn't he a lump?'

‘Bobby?'

‘Well, perhaps not a lump exactly, but you'd hardly believe some of the daft things he says. I really don't know what I'm goin' to do about him, the way he walks and talks with me, it's like havin' a cross to bear. Mr Bradshaw, Mum said – oh, could you come to tea next Sunday?' In that way, Trary only implied the invitation was from her mum. Her conscience was clear, because she didn't actually say it was from her mum.

‘I can't wait,' said Harry.

‘Honest?' Trary glowed.

‘A pleasure, Trary.'

‘Come at four o'clock,' said Trary, ‘then we'll be pleasured too.'

‘Tell your mother I won't arrive in uniform.'

‘Yes, Mr Bradshaw.' They stopped outside the police station. Trary's eyes swam. ‘I'm really ever so grateful.'

‘So am I, Trary, grateful you're still in one piece. So long now.'

‘Till Sunday,' she said, pleased with what she'd accomplished. She hurried home. The rain caught her. She put the umbrella up and ran on dancing feet. The girls were in the kitchen, cutting out shapes from coloured cardboard to build into a country cottage. They were a present from Mr Bates, who had returned from the City and was now up in his room. Maggie was sewing.

‘Mum, what d'you think?' Excitedly, Trary recounted the heroic event. Maggie looked as if her eldest daughter was spinning a yarn. Daisy, Lily and Meg gaped.

‘Trary, you didn't run out in the road like that, did you?' asked Maggie.

‘I wasn't thinkin'. But wasn't it a miracle Mr Bradshaw was there?'

‘Oh, crumbs lovaduck, 'e saved our Trary's life,' said Daisy in awe.

‘Will 'e get a medal?' asked Lily.

‘'E would if 'e'd saved me,' said Meg.

‘Trary, are you 'aving me on?' asked Maggie.

‘No, honest, it's true, Mum,' said Trary. ‘Oh, he's comin' to tea next Sunday.' She threw that in lightly.

‘What's that?' asked Maggie, neglecting her sewing.

‘Well, I had to ask him. After all, he did save my life. I couldn't not ask him, it would've been ungracious.'

‘And he said yes? He's comin' on Sunday?'

‘I told him four o'clock.'

Maggie eyed her eldest daughter shrewdly. ‘Trary, what you up to?' she asked.

‘Me?' asked Trary.

‘Yes, you, lovey.'

‘Mum, is the Sunday tablecloth in pawn?'

‘Oh, lor', yes,' sighed Maggie. There was any amount of stuff in pawn that she couldn't afford to redeem yet. She gave Trary another look, then got up, put her arm around her and gave her a light kiss. ‘You're up to something, love, but you're still a pet.'