Backstreet Child (27 page)

Brenda gave her younger sister a blinding look. ‘Where did yer learn all these stupid songs?’

Lily leaned her elbow on the table and studied her fingernails. ‘They’re not stupid, they’re funny,’ she said, looking aggrieved.

‘Go on then, sing it an’ I’ll play it,’ Brenda told her.

Lily stood up straight and gave a short bow to Maurice as he left the room:

Down came the poker on ’is nut,
An’ the leg of an old armchair,
They shouted murder an’ police,
But there wasn’t no policemen there.
Up came one wiv the fryin’-pan,
An’ anuvver wiv the leg of a chair,
An’ they played chimmy-chase all round the place,
Wiv the poor ole broker’s man.

Maurice could hear the loud giggling as he hurried from the house, hoping that the prospective buyer might suddenly have changed his mind.

‘Yer know, we do go on at Dad, an’ ’e’s a real love,’ Lily remarked later that evening.

‘Look, Lil, we all love ’im, but ’e’s gotta be told,’ Brenda replied. ‘’E’s got about as much chance o’ makin’ money wiv ’is buyin’ an’ sellin’ as Barbara ’ere ’as o’ datin’ Ronald Colman.’

Barbara stood up and flaunted herself in front of her two sisters, her hand on her hip and her lips pouting. ‘Ronald Colman wouldn’t be able ter resist my charms,’ she purred, as the other two fell about laughing. The first timid knock on the door went unheard by the giggling girls, but they heard the louder knock.

‘Be careful, Brenda, it could be anybody,’ Lily warned her.

Brenda opened the front door to a diminutive-looking man wearing a mackintosh and a bowler hat. ‘Yes?’

The man coughed nervously. ‘Er, I’ve come to see the item,’ he replied in a cultured voice.

‘Yer’ll be wantin’ ter see me dad, but ’e’s gone out,’ Brenda told him.

‘Mr Salter did say this evening,’ the man replied. ‘He said he wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible. Never mind, perhaps I’d better come back another time.’ He touched his hat.

Brenda felt a little sorry for him. ‘Look, Mr, er . . .’

‘Mr Forbes,’ the man said quickly.

‘Well, Mr Forbes, I don’t know what me dad’s told yer, but it ain’t exactly first quality,’ she informed him.

‘He did say I wouldn’t be disappointed,’ Mr Forbes said, stroking his chin.

‘Did ’e tell yer it came from China?’ Brenda asked him.

‘No, as a matter of fact he didn’t,’ the man replied, looking surprised.

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she sighed.

‘Mr Salter did say that he’d be well rid of it,’ the visitor told her. ‘He said it’s taking up a lot of room and he wouldn’t be asking too much. I can’t afford to pay a lot, but I would like to surprise my wife. She doesn’t ask for much and it would be the ideal gift. It’s her birthday soon, you see. Yes, she’s very talented, is Vera, and she’d enjoy just looking at it, I’m sure.’

Brenda could not understand how anyone could get any joy from looking at blackout material, but each to their own, she decided. ‘Yer can ’ave a look at it if yer like,’ she said, feeling sorry for the timid-looking individual. ‘It’s in the scullery. There’s not much of it left I’m afraid. Me dad’s bin cuttin’ bits off of it.’

‘Oh dear,’ Mr Forbes sighed. ‘I do hope he’s not ruined it. Mr Salter told me it was immaculate. He said that if we could agree a price he would get it delivered by a friend of his who’s got a horse and cart.’

‘Where d’yer live?’ Brenda asked. ‘If it’s not too far ’e could pop it round ’imself, it’d be no trouble,’ she said smiling. ‘Or ’e could get on a bus wiv it.’

Mr Forbes was very puzzled and not a little frightened as Brenda let him in the house. He was even more apprehensive when he saw Lily and Barbara eyeing him as he walked through into the scullery. ‘Where is it?’ he asked.

Brenda pulled out the remainder of the blackout material and laid it down on the table. ‘It’s very skimpy,’ she said.

‘But there’s no piano here,’ he remarked, removing his bowler and scratching his bald head.

‘Well, it’s not surprising, is it?’ Brenda said, feeling as though she’d made the bad mistake of letting a lunatic into the house.

‘Could I see the piano?’ Mr Forbes asked meekly.

‘’Ow did yer know we ’ad a piano?’ Brenda asked him.

‘Mr Salter invited me to come and look at it,’ he replied, flushing slightly.

Brenda suddenly turned to her two sisters who had sauntered into the scullery. ‘We’ve bin at two purposes, me an’ Mr Forbes,’ she told them, ‘but that’s nuffink ter what us an’ dear Farvver’s gonna be when ’e gets ’ome. Jus’ wait till ’e does show ’is face in ’ere. Our mum would turn in ’er grave if she knew. Fancy tryin’ ter get rid of our pianer.’ She turned to Mr Forbes. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not fer sale. ’Ere, there’s a consolation prize though.’

A very disappointed Mr Forbes walked away along Page Street with the roll of blackout material tucked under his arm, only to be accosted by the dapper Bert Jolly.

‘That’s not Chunking silk,’ he said. ‘It’s jus’ second-quality blackout material.’

Mr Forbes hurried on, thinking that he had stumbled into a street of idiots and the quicker he got out of the turning the better.

Back at the Salter household the three young women were having a serious talk. Brenda and Barbara were fuming while Lily felt a little sad for her father. ‘Don’t go on to ’im when ’e comes in,’ she pleaded. ‘Yer know ’ow ’e gets melancholy when’e’s ’ad a drink.’

Barbara scowled at her sister. ‘’E’ll be the ruin of us one day,’ she said bitterly.

Brenda was equally irate. ‘I jus’ can’t understand what possessed ’im,’ she moaned. ‘Fancy tryin’ ter sell our pianer.’E’ll be sellin’ the mats from under our feet next.’

Lily usually managed to cool the atmosphere at such times but tonight she realised she was going to be hard put to it to save her father from the others’ wrath. ‘Look, we all know that Dad’s a bloody idiot an’ ’e don’t fink before ’e does these fings, but be fair, ’e’s not all bad,’ she said quietly.

‘Well, ’e’s overstepped the mark ternight,’ Barbara retorted, her dark eyes flashing.

Lily got on with rolling her hair into pipe cleaners. ‘I don’t fink ’e’s well,’ she remarked.

‘’Course ’e’s well,’ Brenda said quickly. ‘’E’s well enough ter go around sellin’ the ’ome up, an’ knockin’ out that bloody blackout stuff. The trouble is, ’e finks ’e’s gotta be the provider all the time. We all know ’e works ’ard at the gasworks. We don’t want ’im ter drive ’imself inter the ground wiv all this duckin’ an’ divin’.’

‘That’s my point,’ Lily rejoined. ‘Let’s jus’ give ’im the time to explain before we jump on ’im.’

‘I reckon the best fing that could ’appen ter Farvver is fer ’im ter get ’imself a lady friend,’ Barbara cut in. ‘ ’E must be lonely.’

‘’E’s got us lot,’ Brenda said quickly.

‘Yeah, an’ ’alf the time we’re takin’ the piss out of ’im or bawlin’ at ’im fer the fings ’e does,’ Lily reminded her.

‘We could sort of let ’im know that ’e’s got our blessin’ ter go out wiv some nice lady, providin’ she is nice,’ Barbara said.

‘So we ’ave ter vet ’er first,’ Lily said sarcastically.

‘I don’t mean that,’ Barbara replied. ‘We all want fer ’im ter be ’appy. That’s all we want.’

The sound of Maurice coming in the house halted the conversation and when he appeared in the doorway he looked a little shamefaced as well as being slightly the worse for drink. ‘Any visitors?’ he asked casually.

‘Only one, Dad,’ Brenda replied archly. ‘Some feller who wanted ter look at the pianer.’

‘Oh, that silly sod,’ Maurice slurred, making a meal of taking his coat off. ‘ ’E got the wrong end o’ the stick. I was only jokin’ wiv ’im about the fact that I’ve got three talented kids an’ none of ’em ’ave the time ter play their ole dad a tune or two. I told’im I might as well sell the bloody fing, not that I would, of course.’

‘No, of course not,’ Barbara replied, glancing at her two sisters.

‘Anyway, sit down, Dad, an’ we’ll make yer a nice cheese an’ onion sandwich,’ Lily said with a sweet smile.

Maurice was feeling much happier now. It looked to him as though he had weathered the latest storm, and now it was time for the good news. ‘By the way, I’ve sold the rest o’ that blackout stuff,’ he announced.

‘Who to?’ the girls chorused.

‘Josiah Dawson’s bought the lot fer chickens,’ he said triumpantly.

‘Chickens?’ his daughters repeated.

‘’S’right,’ Maurice told them. ‘It seems that a bit o’ curtainin’ over the cages makes the chickens fink it’s time ter sleep. This double British summertime is knockin’ ’ell out o’ their layin’. A bit o’ blackout over the cage also stops ’em cluckin’ inter the early hours, accordin’ ter Josiah.’

The three young women went suddenly quiet, and after supper they slipped off to bed earlier than usual, with the exception of Lily, who had been given the task of explaining about the blackout material.

‘ ’Ere, Dad, yer won’t be angry, will yer? But . . .’

Chapter Seventeen

After his visit to see Annie and the children, Billy Sullivan took the first opportunity to call in at the Kings Arms. Monday evening was his night off but he sometimes went down to the pub for a pint. When he walked into the public bar Terry greeted him. ‘’Ow was Annie an’ the kids, Billy?’ he asked.

‘They’re all fine,’ Billy replied, leaning on the counter while the landlord filled his glass.

‘I bet that country air is doin’ ’em good,’ Terry remarked, and he noticed that his barman looked preoccupied. ‘Is everyfing all right?’ he added as he put the frothing glass of ale down on the polished counter.

Billy took a swig of his drink and then put the glass back down. ‘I gotta talk ter yer, Terry,’ he said.

Terry gave him a questioning look then put his head round the corner and motioned to Patricia who was chatting to a customer in the saloon bar. ‘Keep yer eye on the public bar fer a few minutes, will yer, luv,’ he told her. ‘I’m goin’ in the back room to ’ave a chat wiv Billy.’

Once they were seated in the small back room, Billy came straight to the point. ‘Terry, I’m gonna ’ave ter give me notice in,’ he said.

Terry looked surprised. ‘Is there any particular reason why?’ he asked.

Billy shrugged his shoulders and stared down at his clasped hands. ‘There’s a lot o’ work goin’ on at the buildin’ site an’ I’m feelin’ a bit tired in the evenin’s, Terry,’ he replied.

The landlord looked hard at him. ‘No ovver reason?’

‘No, like I say. I’m feelin’ like I need the rest in the evenin’s,’ Billy answered.

Terry leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Yer not worried about us gettin’ a visit, are yer?’ he asked.

‘If yer mean from that Elephant an’ Castle mob, the answer’s no,’ Billy replied, returning the stare. ‘I would ’ave bin away before now if that ’ad worried me, Terry.’

The landlord leaned forward in his chair and glanced quickly at the door to make sure Patricia was not within earshot. ‘Listen, Billy,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I appreciate yer lookin’ after fings while I’m away from the pub in the evenin’s an’ it’s a comfortin’ feelin’ ter know you’re be’ind the counter. Trouble is, I’ve got meself in deep wiv certain people. It was over somefing that’appened a long time ago, which I won’t concern you wiv. Suffice it ter say, I’m bein’ ’eld over a barrel, but I’m sortin’ it out. I need more time though, an’ ter be honest I need yer ter back me fer a little while longer.’

‘’Ow much longer, Terry?’ Billy asked sharply.

‘A few more weeks, just a few more weeks.’

Billy shook his head. ‘I dunno,’ he replied. ‘A few weeks might stretch inter months.’

Terry had an appealing look in his eyes as he went on, ‘Look, Billy. This fing is big, very big. I’m up ter me ears in it an’ I’m gonna spell it out ter yer. I’m bein’ used as a go-between for a black market set-up an’ two bent coppers. I gotta tread very carefully or I’m done for. A few more weeks is all I ask.’

Billy recalled what Patricia had told him in confidence not so long ago, and he realised that Terry was not overstating his position. He was obviously in real danger. ‘All right, Terry,’ he replied. ‘I’ll stay on fer a few more weeks, but only a few weeks, understood?’

The landlord sagged down in his chair. ‘That’s wonderful, Billy,’ he said, sighing deeply with relief. ‘That’s all I ask, an’ I’ll feel better if I know yer be’ind the bar while I’m out durin’ the evenin’s. Yer won’t need ter wait fer me ter come in, jus’ do the usual clearin’ up an’ then ’ave it away. I’ll tell Patricia ter put the bolts on as soon yer gone an’ I can knock on the door. Yer won’t lose by it, I promise yer.’

The Page Street women got on with their daily lives complaining about the rationing, the cold weather and the shortage of money, and whenever they gathered together they complained about each other. Maudie Mycroft moaned about the foul-mouthed Mrs Gorman whom she occasionally met at the market and who had been expelled from the mothers’ meetings because of her verbal abuse of other women, and Sadie Sullivan complained about Maudie’s constant griping. Maisie complained about her husband Fred getting under her feet since he retired, and Dolly Dawson complained about the people who complained about her Wallace.