Blackbriar

Danny ran in the London twilight. He dodged among the crowds brandishing their large black umbrellas, darted across the path of an angry black taxi, and turned from the main thoroughfare into the darkness of the side street on which he lived. Past one façade he hurried, the same columned porch repeated endlessly down the curving row of connected houses. He was out of breath now, for he tired quickly, but he would not allow himself to stop running. He hated to think what would happen if Philippa reached home before he did.

There were no lights coming from the windows of the second-floor apartment, and he nearly choked with relief. He knew that he could always see a light when Philippa was there. Fumbling with his wet books and his keys, he let himself into the first-floor hall. The stairway ahead of him, covered with a faded red carpet, was so dark that he could barely see to the first landing. “Dammit!” he said petulantly to himself, “why doesn’t somebody fix that light?”

He hated the dark. And although it was a relief to know that Philippa would not be home, he was apprehensive as he made his way slowly up the narrow unlit stairs. There was no light switch just inside the apartment door, and when he entered in the dark there were always several moments of near panic while he groped for the cord that hung from the ceiling, blind and vulnerable to whatever he imagined might be waiting in the shadows.

He struggled briefly with the key, then felt it catch and cautiously pushed open the heavy door. The only light in the apartment was pale and gray, coming in dimly through the long windows far at the end of the hallway.

Danny moved toward the center of the room, reaching above his head. Where
was
that cord? His hand grabbed frantically at empty air.

Suddenly he froze. What was that noise? It sounded like a creak, or a footstep. Too terrified to move, he stood with his hand outstretched.

And then there was a thump behind him, and a weight on his shoulder.

Danny shrieked, and in that instant his hand found the cord. The light went on, and a silver Siamese cat leapt delicately from his shoulder to the floor.

“Islington!” Danny cried. “You monster!” and he kicked the cat halfway across the room. “She always takes you to work with her!” he shouted after the animal, who was disdainfully hurrying away. “Why didn’t she take you today?”

Danny slammed his books down on a table and sank weakly into a chair. His knees were shaking so much that he could barely stand. For a moment he just sat and listened to the mad banging of his heart; but very soon he struggled out of the chair and hurried off to his room. Philippa would be home any minute now, and he wanted her to think he had been in the apartment all afternoon.

By the time Philippa did arrive, half an hour later, Danny was in bed, half asleep under piles of blankets. His bed was the only warm place in the apartment, for he was forbidden to light the coal fire in the sitting room until Philippa came home. Perhaps, if the apartment had been warm, he would have spent the time out of bed, reading, or doing his school-work. Perhaps not.

When the door slammed down the hall, the window beside his bed rattled, jolting him fully awake.

“There, there, my darling, I know you’re starving, I know.” Philippa’s voice, purring to Islington, floated into Danny’s room amid the clatter of parcels dropping to the floor. “Hello!” she called. “Anybody home?”

“I’m here,” Danny answered irritably. There was hardly anything he hated more than getting out of a warm bed into a cold room. It was not only the discomfort he minded. He found it very painful to give up the world of half sleep, where he could make almost anything happen merely by thinking about it, for the real world of cold and exertion, where nothing beautiful or exciting ever seemed to happen and everything required effort. But he knew that Philippa was expecting him in the kitchen, and he didn’t want her to know that he had been in bed. He unwrapped himself slowly from the blankets and stopped in the bathroom to splash some icy water on his face.

Philippa was at the stove, boiling a fish for Islington. Her earrings shook, her graying hair hung in untidy wisps and strands about her face, and her cheeks sagged. “Oh, hello, darling,” she said as he wandered into the room. “I’m sorry I’m so late, but I had to spend hours waiting with that little Mumby boy, whose mother never showed up. Poor little thing, he’s too small to get home by himself. At the end I had to send him home in a cab. We had a good time together though. Aside from that, my day’s been bloody awful.”

“What happened?” Danny slumped into a chair.

“Oh, it’s that school!” said Philippa. “How I’ll ever make myself set foot in it again I can’t imagine!”

Again? Danny thought, preparing himself for a long harangue. “What was it this time?” It was hardly a question.

She looked past him for a moment toward the flat enameled dish under the sink. “Before I start, be a love and empty Islington’s toilet. It’s so full he can’t bear to go in it, and I can tell he’s in agony.”

The cat lay comfortably under the table, licking his paw. Danny forced himself not to kick him again as he went by. He disliked any kind of physical exertion, particularly carrying things; but he quickly brought the large smelly tray down the two flights of steps and outside into the winter rain, where he dumped its contents into a dustbin. Islington seemed to smirk at him when he got back.

The fish was cooling now, and Philippa had begun to prepare their meal. With her usual quick busyness she was doing something to last night’s roast beef. She looked up at him, smiling. “I hope you like what I’m making tonight, dear. It’s a new dish I’ve just thought up. We must try to spark up that nonexistent appetite of yours.”

Danny mumbled something incoherent. Food did not interest him.

“If it weren’t for you,” she went on, “I’d be having a boiled egg and a cold potato, you know.” She sighed. “And it does get a bit dreary making all this effort just for you, with never any response.” She waited, but he said nothing. Her lips tightened. “And by the way,” she said, her voice losing some of its warmth, “did you see anyone after school today?”

Oh, no, Danny thought, and slowly began filling Islington’s tray with ashes. “No,” he said quietly.

“Oh, come off it now, darling. You know you can’t lie to me. I
saw
you walking off today with that Tony Bramble. What?”

He continued to fill the tray as slowly as he could, not looking at her. “Well,” he said finally, standing up, “yes, I believe I did.”

“There! I
knew
you’d tell me. Now, I’ve told you before I don’t like that boy, and I would rather you didn’t see him.”

Danny sighed and slouched back into the chair.
Who
do you like? he felt like saying, but instead he said, faintly, “But
I
like him.”

“Oh, Danny love, you’re so young, you don’t know who you like. One thing you’ve got to learn about life is that most people just aren’t worth knowing. Including Tony Bramble. Of course, if it doesn’t make any difference to you at all what I think, if it doesn’t bother you to make me suffer,”—now her voice was beginning to get that hard edge to it which was always a prelude to a scene,—“if you insist on being so stubborn that you cannot make the smallest concession to the person who has brought you up and taken care of you and fed you and loved you—”

Danny was squirming. “Oh, all right,” he interrupted, “I won’t see him any more.”

Philippa stepped over to him and stooped to kiss his forehead. Her eyes were wet. “My darling boy,” she said softly, after a pause, “I know you think I’m unfair. But I am right, you know.” She returned to the stove and went on briskly again. “Of course, this isn’t to say that one mustn’t try one’s best to get along with the people one is forced to deal with in the course of a day. That’s where I have my problems. I’ll never get along with Mr. Dinsdale, never, even if he is the school principal. But what can I do? I can’t risk losing that job, can I, dear?” She looked at him sideways. “My job,” she repeated when he didn’t answer. “You don’t think I should quit, do you?”