The Lodger (20 page)

‘Wasn't it nice that it was Mr Bradshaw who saved me, him bein' a fam'ly friend?' said Trary.

Maggie gave her yet another look, and later, when the younger girls were in bed and Trary was finishing some homework, she said, ‘I wonder, does Mr Bradshaw know 'e's a fam'ly friend?'

‘He said it was a pleasure, Mum.'

‘I see,' said Maggie. ‘Well, I know what's on your mind, love, but there's something on mine too. Four growin' girls. That's a lot to expect any man to take on.'

‘But I was only thinkin' – '

‘Yes, about my future,' said Maggie. ‘Well, that's nice of you, but you and your sisters, you're my future. I'll get a job soon, you'll see.'

‘Mum – '

‘We won't talk about it no more, pet.'

Trary made a little face. But if she'd been pulled up, she wasn't discouraged.

The following morning, after the girls had gone to school, Mr Bates came down and had a word with Maggie.

‘I've been thinkin' about your girls,' he said, his expression kind, his voice quite sober.

‘What about them?' asked Maggie.

‘Well, Maggie, I'm goin' to chance you givin' me a fat ear,' he said.

Maggie smiled. One couldn't help liking him. ‘You're goin' to upset me, are you?' she said.

‘That I'm not,' said Mr Bates. ‘The point is, by the end of this week I reckon I'll have tied up a contract that'll put me into a little office somewhere convenient, and give me all I need to take on two drillers an' set them drillin' in Scotland.'

‘What for?' asked Maggie.

‘Coal, Maggie. Coal's the king of fuels, yer know.' Mr Bates rubbed his moustache and regarded Maggie like a man who'd come to be seriously admiring of her qualities. ‘Now, seeing things look pretty good for me, an' seeing your girls could do . . .' he paused. ‘Now don't take offence, but I know you've still got yer back to the wall, and I'd like accordin'ly to make an advance gesture respectin' their birthdays. So would yer mind if I treated them all to a pretty frock each this week, for their birthdays, whenever they're due? Or do I get a fat ear?'

‘No, you won't get a fat ear, Mr Bates, I'll just say it's very kind of you but I'd rather you didn't.'

‘Understood,' said Mr Bates, looming benevolently large in her kitchen. ‘I'm not goin' to argue. But I am goin' to say I admire yer pride, Maggie. Good on yer. Well, it's up to the City again for me. Keep smilin', it'll make yer ship come home one day. I hope I'm there to see it dock.'

Chamberlain and Chapman spent Monday in the streets immediately west of the Walworth Road. They had the help of the uniformed branch. They suffered the same frustrations the uniformed branch had suffered from the beginning. House calls that were entirely negative because no-one was in, or because none of the occupants could possibly relate to the man they were looking for. They were also the recipients of acerbic comments whenever a housewife realized the questioning was changing and aiming itself at her husband. One such lady threw a saucepan lid at Nicholas.

‘Bleedin' cheek! 'Oo d'yer think you are, just because you wear coppers' boots? My old man's upright, let me tell yer, 'e's been upright man an' boy all 'is life. 'e does honest navvyin', mister, and when 'e comes 'ome wore out 'e takes
'is
boots off, 'e don't keep 'em on to go out lookin' for people to murder, so put that in yer pipe an' smoke it!'

Inspector Greaves, meanwhile, was still casting about in the West End.

Bobby didn't turn up at the school that day. It made Trary walk home in an offended way. But he was there on Wednesday, waiting for her. She went by him with her nose in the air. Bobby grinned. What a girl. He went after her, a parcel under his arm.

‘Hello, Trary, you're lookin' friendly,' he said.

‘Well, bless me, it's you,' she said, ‘have you rose up from the dead?'

‘Well, no, not from the dead, just from me mum's stall. Sorry I couldn't walk you home yesterday, but I had to go to Norwood. That's the kind of work I do for me mum, I go out collectin' stuff while she stays at the stall. Of course, me dad ought to . . . well, never mind that. Did you get home safe yesterday? It worried me a bit, not bein' able – '

‘Here we go round the mulberry bush,' said Trary, hiding her delight at the prospect of another talking fight with him all the way home. He never talked soppy like other boys, even if he did say daft things.

Bobby took a look at her and saw a peach of a girl, her boater saucily tipped, her school frock swinging to her lively walk. ‘I told me mum I could manage to walk you 'ome today, and she said I'd grown up to be a thoughtful man.'

‘Man? Man?'

‘Well, nearly,' said Bobby. ‘At my age, I'm only a few years short. I'm glad to say I've never seen you lookin' prettier, except up the park in yer Sunday frock that time. Incidental, I've – '

‘What?' demanded Trary. He'd done it again, used a word she never had.

‘Incidental, I've – '

‘You don't know what that means.'

‘Yes, I do. It means by the way. Well, by the way, Trary, I've brought you something.' Bobby showed her the parcel.

‘What is it?' asked Trary, thinking she liked him being taller than other boys.

‘It's for you.'

Trary stopped. Boys and girls from the schools passed them by, the girls with a look and a giggle, of which Trary took no notice.

‘I bet it's a dead mouse,' she said.

‘Dead mouse?'

‘That's what a boy gave me once, in a wrapped-up box. Bobby Reeves, you open that parcel yourself.'

‘Here? Now?' said Bobby.

‘Yes. Go on.'

‘All right,' said Bobby, and untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper. Trary saw a royal blue frock with a scalloped hem and puffed sleeves. She stared. ‘Good as new, honest,' said Bobby, ‘it's only been worn once or twice, and I know it'll fit you, I can size up girls. Me mum let me have it specially for you. I told her I don't know any girl I'll want to marry more than you. Would you like to have it, Trary?'

For once Trary didn't know what to say. The frock was lovely.

‘Oh, you Bobby,' she said. That was all she could manage. Trams went by. Horses and carts went by. People went by. The sunshine of early May dappled the Elephant and Castle junction with light and shade.

‘I don't want you to be offended,' said Bobby.

‘I'm not,' she said, ‘but I can't take it.' She was actually longing to take it.

‘Why not?'

‘Girls can't take frocks from boys.'

Bobby thought, frowning about it. He looked at Trary, into her brown eyes, wistful with longing. His frown cleared.

‘It's not from me, Trary. Me mum's givin' it to yer. Trary, you don't want to be proud, yer know, we're all poor together, but we've all got kind 'earts to each other, we all do give an' take together. That's what it's all about in Walworth. If someone high an' lordly from Mayfair came an' doled out treats to us, I expect someone like me Uncle Joe would stuff 'im up a chimney, 'is treats as well, but we wouldn't do that to each other.'

‘Oh, you Bobby,' said Trary again. She touched the frock, feeling the material. It was silky crepe-de-chine. ‘Oh, it's lovely, I don't mind so much now that you're a talkin' boy. Is it really from your mum?'

‘She'll be pleased if you 'ave it.'

‘Oh, wrap it up again, I wouldn't want to offend your mum by not havin' it. You Bobby, I could nearly kiss you.'

‘Not here,' said Bobby, wrapping the dress up again, ‘the kid's'll throw things at us.'

‘Of course not here, what d'you think I am?' said Trary, as they resumed their walk, she on feet of dancing delight. ‘And I only said nearly. We're still not kissin' friends, you know. Still, you can walk me home, I can't not let you, now you've been unexpected nice. I'll tell Mum you've got some good points, she'll be relieved about that. Oh, what d'you think, Mr Bradshaw saved me life the other day.' Trary recounted the deed in detail. Bobby said anyone could trust Constable Bradshaw to be heroic, him being a straight-up copper with a kind jam tart. But he hoped Trary wasn't going to make a habit of trying to get herself run over. ‘Well, I might, I just might,' said Trary. ‘You can't tell what a girl might do when she gets talk poured into her ears all the way home. Mr Bradshaw's comin' to tea on Sunday – oh, blow it, we don't have our Sunday tablecloth out of pawn, we've got nearly everything at “Uncle's”.'

‘You ought to 'ave a best tablecloth if you've got a visitor comin',' said Bobby.

‘Mum's only best tea service, that's in pawn too,' said Trary in despair.

‘Here,' said Bobby, ‘you get hold of the pawn tickets and we'll go to “Uncle's” an' get the tablecloth an' service.'

‘I can't, I don't have any money,' said Trary, as they entered the subway. ‘And Mum don't have much, either.'

‘Look,' said Bobby, ‘I've got savings in a tin box under me wardrobe, which me dad don't – well, never mind that. I don't mind loanin' you, Trary, you can pay me back when you leave school and get a job.'

‘But Mum don't want me to leave school till I'm sixteen.'

‘Bless the girl,' said Bobby, ‘that's a good thing, that is, Trary. I know it's a long time waitin' till you're sixteen before you can pay me back, but you ought to get those things out of pawn. I've got savings because me mum pays me a few bob wages, and there's me apprentice pay when I start workin' for Lord Northcliffe. So you get hold of the pawn tickets.'

‘Oh, thanks ever so,' said Trary. They came up into the light of Walworth Road. ‘I will pay you back, honest. I know where Mum keeps the tickets.'

‘I'll meet yer tomorrow,' said Bobby, ‘and we'll go to “Uncle's” from your school.'

‘It's awf'lly good of you, really,' said Trary. ‘You can do talkin', if you want, I can suffer it more gladly now.'

Bobby grinned. What a girl. They got on with their talking, Trary's feet dancing over the pavements. When they reached Charleston Street they met Mr Bates coming out of the house. His smile of greeting was warm and fatherly.

‘Well, hello, Trary, good to see yer,' he said. ‘I'm back early from doin' business, I'm just steppin' out to buy a packet of Gold Flake. How'd yer do, Bobby.' Mr Bates put out a hand. Bobby shook it. Mr Bates's grip was firm and manly.

‘Come on, Bobby,' said Trary.

‘See you again sometime, Bobby,' said Mr Bates, and went whistling on his way.

‘Don't you like yer lodger, Trary?' asked Bobby.

‘Well, I don't actu'lly dislike him,' said Trary, ‘he's been kind really, and he don't drink. That's something.' The previous lodger had often smelled of drink. ‘You can come in.'

‘Honoured,' said Bobby. They went through to the kitchen. There was a bottle of R. White's kola water on the table, and Daisy, Lily and Meg had a glassful each, which they were drinking with delight. Maggie was slicing bread for tea.

‘I didn't know we could afford kola water, Mum,' said Trary.

‘Mr Bates brought it 'ome for you girls,' said Maggie. ‘Hello, Bobby, you're lookin' nice.'

Bobby, placing the parcel on the sewing-machine, said, ‘Same to you, Mrs Wilson, I'm pleasured you're Trary's mum, yer know.'

‘She's my mum too,' said Daisy.

‘An' mine,' said Lily.

‘Well, lucky you,' said Bobby. ‘Anyway, I've brought Trary 'ome safe again, Mrs Wilson. Look after 'er.'

‘I'll do my best,' said Maggie.

‘I'd be very appreciative. Well, I'd better get goin' now.'

‘See Bobby to the door, Trary,' said Maggie.

‘Yes, all right, Mum,' said Trary, ‘we don't want him losin' his way.'

The girls giggled. Bobby grinned. Trary saw him to the front door.

‘So long, Trary.'

Trary fingered her school frock. ‘Bobby, thanks ever so much,' she said.

‘Well, I like you,' he said, and went.

Trary, who could hardly contain her eagerness to try on the blue frock, returned to the kitchen and picked up the parcel.

‘What's that?' asked Meg.

‘It's a frock,' said Trary, ‘a present from Bobby's mum.'

‘His mum?' said Maggie in surprise.

‘I'll go an' try it on,' said Trary, and dashed upstairs with it. She came down after some while. She was faintly pink. Her mum and sisters stared. Trary was a picture in silky royal blue, the pretty hem floating around her calves. She looked so enchanting that Maggie was bothered by a lump in her throat. Meg's mouth fell open.

‘Crikey,' she said.

‘Trary, it looks new,' said Maggie.

‘Bobby said it was nearly new, Mum. Is it all right, does it do me proud?'

‘It's a princess frock,' said Maggie. ‘Now you're the one that'll 'ave to write a note. Bobby's mother could get shillings for that on her stall. Imagine her givin' you a frock as lovely as that.'

‘I thought it was from Bobby at first,' said Trary, ‘I told 'im I couldn't take a present like that from a boy.'

‘I see,' said Maggie.

‘I'll wear it Sunday,' said Trary.

‘For Bobby?' asked Maggie.

‘Bobby?' said Trary.

‘You surely invited 'im to tea too, didn't you, love, after bringing you a frock like that? I've given our old tablecloth a good wash, I think it'll just about do.'

‘Oh,' said Trary, and Maggie saw confusion.

‘You mean you didn't invite him?' she said. ‘I'm sure he 'ad something to do with his mother givin' you the frock.'