Memories of You (8 page)

Mr Ridley cleared his throat. ‘But I'm – ah – sure that any boys recommended by Mr Partington will fit in here admirably.' After bestowing a vague smile the headmaster seemed to lose track of things again. ‘Now then, Mr Jenkins, what shall we do with them? Have they missed supper?'

‘No, sir, the boys are just going in.'

‘Well – ah – that's good.'

Mr Ridley walked over to his desk looking relieved that everything was settled, and Mr Jenkins shepherded them out and shut the door behind them. ‘I'll take you up to your dormitory first,' he said. ‘Just leave your bundles on your beds. You can stow your things in your lockers later.'

They hadn't had much time to take in the long, high-ceilinged room and the narrow, iron-framed beds before Mr Jenkins hurried them down to the dining room, found places for them at one of the long tables, introduced them perfunctorily – ‘Joseph and Daniel Norton' – then abandoned them. The boys already seated there looked at them curiously. Joe heard someone mutter, ‘Peas in a pod', but no one spoke to them until a red-haired lad with a freckled face pushed a plate of bread and butter across the table towards them.

‘Help yourselves,' he said. ‘It's butter, not marge. You can have as much as you want. You can even ask for more up at the hatch there, but there's only one piece of cake each.'

Despite the sandwiches they had eaten on the train, both Joe and Danny had healthy appetites and they began to eat thick slices of bread and butter while a woman in a white overall came round the table with a large enamel jug and filled everyone's beaker with warm milk.

‘Ugh,' the ginger-top said. ‘I hate warm milk.'

‘You don't know how lucky you are,' the woman retorted. ‘Think of all those poor starving children in China.'

‘I do think about them,' he replied. ‘I've thought and thought but I still don't know how me drinking warm milk can help them.'

The lads each side of him giggled and the woman shook her head and moved on. No one spoke very much and if they did they kept their voices down. A young man in a shabby suit whom Joe presumed to be one of the teachers walked up and down the room to make sure everyone was behaving. Soon the woman in the white overall came round again and placed plates of sliced cake at intervals on the tables.

As they finished their bread and butter the other boys began to reach for the cake. Soon there were only two slices left on the nearest plate and Joe made sure that Danny got a piece before reaching for his own.

‘That's mine,' a wheezy voice said. ‘Pass it over.'

Joe looked across the table and saw an overweight, pasty-looking boy sitting a little further down. There was already a piece of cake on the boy's plate. ‘You've got a piece,' Joe said. ‘This is mine.'

He heard an intake of breath and was aware that the boys nearest to him had stopped talking. The fat lad scowled but didn't say anything so Joe ate his cake and didn't think any more about it at the time.

Back in the dormitory Joe and Danny had hardly unpacked their belongings, stowing them in their bedside lockers, when the same teacher who had patrolled the dining room came in and called, ‘Lights out in five minutes. If you want the bathroom be quick about it.'

There had been a scramble and soon everyone was in bed. After lights out there was some subdued whispering and Joe realized that Danny had hardly spoken since they had arrived at Haven House.

‘You all right, Danny?' he'd said quietly.

‘Yep. What about you?'

‘Yeah – I think we'll be OK here.'

Now, reflecting on his talk with Ginger, he realized he had said that to reassure his brother. He wasn't sure if it was true. He'd already taken Mr Jenkins' measure. The headmaster was a strange one but Joe didn't think he'd be too much of a problem, there was enough food and the beds were clean and reasonably comfortable, so all in all he couldn't figure out why he felt so uneasy.

 

When Helen woke up she knew she had been dreaming but all that remained of the dream was a profound feeling of loss. She had no idea what time it was but faint noises from downstairs told her that someone was up and stirring. She got up, made her bed and washed and dressed hurriedly before going downstairs, taking her coat and her schoolbag with her. Eva was in the kitchen seeing to the fire in the range. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder as Helen entered.

‘My, you're up early,' she said. ‘It's just past seven. If you expect me to make your breakfast you'll have to wait until I've seen to this fire.'

‘That's all right. I can get my own breakfast.'

‘Suit yourself.' Eva shrugged and turned her attention back to the range.

Helen watched her for a moment and then said, ‘What am I to have?'

Eva sat back on her heels, wiped her forehead with the back of an arm, and sticking out her lower lip she blew upwards to shift a stray lock of hair. ‘Whatever you like,' she said, then noticing Helen's perplexity she grinned. ‘What do you usually have?'

‘Depends – depended on what we had in the pantry. Porridge, bread and dripping, toast, a cup of Bovril, tea . . .'

‘Well, you could have any of those, even the porridge if you can be bothered to make it yourself and if you make it with water. I usually has a thick slice of bread and dripping myself. I'll join you as soon as I've washed me hands.'

‘You have breakfast here?'

‘Aye, all me meals. That works out cheaper for her than paying me a respectable wage.'

Eva rose to her feet as the kettle began to boil. ‘I'll make us a pot of tea. You go and get the milk and for God's sake be quiet. There'll be hell to pay if you wakes her up.'

Helen slipped her school coat over the back of a chair and tucked her schoolbag underneath it. She heeded Eva's warning as she tiptoed through the gloomy hall to the front door. The milk was waiting on the step. Back in the kitchen she found that Eva had already placed the teapot on the table and was reaching for cups and plates from the dresser.

‘What's it to be then?' the older girl said.

‘I'll have the same as you.'

‘Go on then – get the dripping from the pantry in the scullery. There's a new loaf in the bread bin, I always buys it on the way to work, but it's not for us. Bring what's left of yesterday's.'

The two girls sat companionably at the table. The tea was hot and sweet and the jelly at the bottom of the bowl of dripping was rich and dark. ‘Put plenty pepper on,' Eva said. ‘I do.'

When they had finished Helen rose and carried her dishes to the sink. ‘Leave them,' Eva said. ‘You'd best get off to school. It will be a long walk for you, won't it?'

‘Yes . . .' Helen put her coat on, picked up her bag then hesitated at the door.

‘What is it?'

‘What am I supposed to do at lunchtime?'

‘Oh – I quite forgot. The missus says you're not to come home and she's left you ninepence to get a pie or something at the nearest baker's shop.'

‘Ninepence?'

Eva raised her eyebrows. ‘What's wrong with that? Ninepence is far too much for a bit lunch if you ask my opinion. Not that it's any of my business.'

‘No, you don't understand – I'm not complaining. It's just – well – I'm surprised.'

‘Here . . .' Eva rose from the table and crossed to the dresser. She opened one of the drawers and took out a sixpence and a threepenny bit. ‘It's a good job you asked. Sorry,' she added a little awkwardly as she gave Helen the coins. ‘Mrs Roberts will give you the same every school day – and I must say, the old skinflint's being very generous for a change. I don't know what's come over her. But after all, you are family and she wouldn't want people to think she was neglecting you. If anyone ever asked, that is.'

Helen would have liked to say that the only person who might ask was their old neighbour Mrs Andrews and that was unlikely. Furthermore she didn't feel a bit like family. However she just smiled her thanks and slipped the coins into her pocket.

‘You'd better go out the back door,' Eva told her. ‘Can't have the sound of the front door closing and waking her majesty up.' Suddenly she gave a genuine smile. ‘To tell you the truth, the hour or two I have to myself in the mornings is the only good thing about this job. Keeps me sane.' Suddenly she looked rueful. ‘There's never any peace and quiet at home, you know. Last week I actually missed coming here, especially as I didn't get paid, but she said she didn't need me while she was at your place.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘There's no need to be. It was hardly your fault. Now get away with you or you'll be late for school. Oh, hang on a minute – how did she manage?'

‘Manage?'

‘Your aunt – with the cooking and the cleaning?'

‘I did the cleaning and as for my aunt's cooking . . . well . . . I suppose she must be out of practice.'

‘Nuff said!'

The two girls grinned at each other and Helen left for school.

It was just past eight o'clock and the school bell would ring at quarter to nine. In the past Helen's walk to the girls' grammar school had taken about ten minutes but now she had much further to go. The air was chill and damp and it was still quite dark. As she sped along the suburban avenues the streetlamps went off, leaving the way ahead smoky with mist. Helen could hear the footfalls of other early morning pedestrians but all she could see was silhouetted figures hunched against the cold as they hurried along.

She remembered a poem they had learnt at school:

The poem suited her mood exactly and she wondered, as she often did, how poets – men and women who had never met you – could express exactly what you were feeling. She loved reading poems and had tried to write them but, although her mother had thought them wonderful, Helen knew in her heart that they would never be good enough to be published anywhere except the school magazine.

She reached school just as the doors were thrown open and a senior prefect appeared on the steps and rang the bell. This was quite unnecessary on a day like this. No one was keen to linger in the yard.

‘Where were you last week?' one of the girls in the same class as Helen asked. ‘Have you been playing truant?'

‘Hush,' Eileen Hall said. ‘Don't you know? Her mother died.'

The first girl looked aghast. ‘Oh, Helen, I'm so sorry.'

‘That's all right,' Helen said then she looked at the sympathetic faces of the other girls who had crowded round. She realized that none of them knew what to say to her. ‘Look,' she said, ‘do you mind if we don't talk about it?'

Most of them looked relieved and when Eileen hugged her they began to walk away. ‘I understand,' Eileen said. ‘But if you do want to talk there's always your faithful old friend Eileen.'

Monday morning for Helen's class started with double Maths with the headmistress. Miss Forster swept into the classroom clutching a pile of exercise books to her chest, her gown billowing out behind her.

‘Good morning, girls,' she said briskly and even as they answered in unison Miss Forster began to walk up and down the aisles between the desks, swiftly tossing each book in the direction of its owner, calling out the owner's name as she did so. The class had seen this many times but they remained transfixed, waiting for at least one of the books flying over their heads to miss the desk aimed for and fall to the floor, but this never happened. Helen had often wondered if Miss Forster did this deliberately, a small joke to liven them up and catch their attention, but as soon as the books were delivered she would sweep back to her desk quite unsmilingly.

‘Helen, your last homework was all correct but you've got some work to catch up. See me at break time,' Miss Forster said. Her tone was matter-of-fact but Helen couldn't help noticing it was rather more subdued than usual. However, she didn't have time to wonder why, because with her usual efficiency Miss Forster launched straight into the lesson.

At break time she cleaned the blackboard with swift, vigorous strokes and sent the girls out to the yard. They went reluctantly and Helen imagined that many of them would hide behind the coat racks and talk quietly in order not to attract the attention of a patrolling prefect.

Helen remained seated until Miss Forster had cleaned the board to her satisfaction and sat down at her desk. Miss Forster beckoned her and Helen rose and made her way forward. The headmistress was uncharacteristically hesitant. Then she said awkwardly, ‘I'm so sorry about your mother, Helen.' She paused, took her spectacles off and wiped them with a clean handkerchief. ‘I – erm – I was wondering how you are coping now. I mean, you have a younger sister and brothers, don't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘And who is going to look after you? What arrangements have been made?'

‘My sister is to be adopted by a wealthy couple, my brothers are going to Haven House and I am living with my Aunt Jane.'

Miss Forster detected Helen's brusque antipathy and frowned. ‘But that is very satisfactory, isn't it? Your sister will have every advantage, Haven House is an excellent institution and you are with a relative. In this sad situation that must be better than you hoped for.'