On Mother Brown's Doorstep (5 page)

‘You’d be better off with a canary,’ said Freddy.

‘I don’t want a canary, I want our cat,’ said Cassie, and she followed Freddy around the large area of collapsed walls and roofs, around the mounds capped with brick dust, and they both kept callng the cat’s name. In and out of the gaps they went. ‘Tabby, Tabby, come ’ere, will you!’ called Cassie in exasperation.

‘I’ll chuck some stones about,’ said Freddy. ‘If ’e’s around, that’ll make ’im show ’imself.’

‘Don’t you throw stones at our cat, you might ’it ’im,’ said Cassie indignantly.

‘I dunno it wouldn’t serve ’im right if ’e’s always losin’ himself,’ said Freddy. ‘And if you ask me, I don’t think ’e’sin’ere.’

They reached the still intact section.

‘Oh, lor’,’ breathed Cassie, ‘’e couldn’t be in there, could ’e?’

‘Don’t see ’ow he could be,’ said Freddy, ‘it’s all boarded up. Mind, we could go an’ see if the door’s open.’

‘I ain’t goin’ in there meself,’ said Cassie, ‘it’s ’aunted. Me dad’s Aunt Tilda lived in an ’aunted house once, and it turned all ’er hair white, and me dad ’ad to go an’ see what
was
’aunting it, and it turned all ’is hair white too, and when ’e was only twenty.’

‘Rotten ’ard luck, that was, Cassie.’

‘Yes, our milkman said it made our dad old before ’is time.’

‘Did ’e find a ghost?’ asked Freddy.

‘’E never said, I expect it was too ’orrible to talk about.’ Cassie eyed the boarded windows apprehensively. ‘We’d best go,’ she said.

‘Wait a tick, let’s ’ave a look,’ said Freddy, and made a beeline for the padlocked door. He’d noticed something. It was the padlock, it was hanging loose. The thick steel staple hadn’t been pushed in. He removed the padlock, released the metal bar and pushed the door. It swung open. ‘’Ere we are, Cassie,’ he called, ‘we can get in.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ begged Cassie, ‘you might get struck down or ate up.’

‘But someone’s been in,’ said Freddy, ‘and yer cat might’ve followed. I’ll take a quick look, I won’t give anyone time to eat me up.’

‘You goin’ in all by yerself?’ Cassie was awe-struck. ‘Can’t you just put yer ’ead in and call Tabby? Oh, suppose ’e’s trapped in there an’ can’t get out?’

‘I expect all ’is hair’s turnin’ white, like yer dad’s,’ said Freddy. ‘Still, I’ll give ’im a shout.’ He put his head in and bawled the cat’s name. Nothing came of that, except the echoes of his voice, which ran hollowly about. ‘Some cat,’ he said, ‘turned invisible, prob’bly. I’ll ’ave a look, Cassie, might as well.’

‘Oh, lor’,’ breathed Cassie. All the kids who lived close by said the place was haunted at night. Cassie thought it could be haunted by day as well, and the kids weren’t too sure because none of them came and played around the brick hills any more.

‘You stay there,’ said Freddy, and went in, seeing how worried she was about her daft cat. He entered a wide passage with doors on either side. The dusty floor was marked, proving someone had been in. The light from the open front door showed up the marks. Perhaps a night watchman came on duty sometimes. Or perhaps the owner came and took a look at the place now and again. He opened each door in turn, but saw only empty dusty storerooms. They all said a silent hello to him in the gloom of boarded-up windows. No cat appeared. There were stairs at the end of the passage. They creaked as he climbed them. He stopped when he reached the landing, he had a sudden odd feeling of being sort of cut off from the humming life of Walworth. It was even gloomier up here, and very silent. But despite the gloom he glimpsed a large spider scuttling along the foot of a wall between doors. It made no sound. Well, spiders didn’t, they were always silent. Bluebottles weren’t, nor bees, nor birds. And monkeys, talk about chattering, they could beat the band at the Zoo. But spiders, they’d invented silence, they had.

He stood still for a little while. He wasn’t a boy who suffered from nerves, but he had to admit it felt a bit creepy up here. Still, he’d better see if the cat had got trapped in any of the rooms. He moved along the landing, and the floorboards creaked under his feet, breaking the silence. He supposed everything was as dry as dust. He reached to open the first door, then held back as a plaintive little miaow came to his ears. That was the sound of a cat all right. He opened the door. Another empty room and no cat. I don’t know that Cassie would like that, she’d say he’d just heard the ghostly miaow of a cat that had died up here.

‘Come on, Tabby, is it you or not?’ he called. That brought a second miaow, and it pointed him at the next
door
. He opened it. All gloom again, but the room wasn’t bare and empty. He made out a table, a chair, and a truckle bed with rumpled blankets. On the table was a candle in a holder, and something else. He squinted. It was a sealed and labelled tin of corned beef. He heard a little movement then, and out from under the blankets leapt a cat. It darted past him and whisked through the door, a streaking bundle of tabby fur. Moments later he distinctly heard a glad yell from Cassie. His nose began to twitch, to pick up all kinds of smells. Cat smells, he supposed, mixed with others. The others probably had something to do with a watchman spending nights up here now and again. That was the reason for the bed, blankets and corned beef. And the reason why the padlock hadn’t been pushed home was probably because the bloke had been all bleary and careless the last time he’d left the place.

Freddy closed the door and shut the smells in, but as he went down the stairs he thought some of them were following him. He heard Cassie calling.

‘Freddy, come on out, I’ve got Tabby, and you ain’t fell down a hole, ’ave yer?’

He walked through the passage and emerged into the late afternoon light. Talk about the joys of fresh air and sunshine, especially as there’d been a lot of fog about up to a week ago. It was nearly like summer now. Well, spring, anyway. He pulled the door to, slipped in the padlock and fastened it with a click. He turned. The cat was in the girl’s arms, doing some daft purring.

‘Good idea if you got that cat chained up,’ he said.

‘Oh, yer cruel thing,’ said Cassie. ‘But fancy Tabby gettin’ in there.’

‘Well, I did say ’e might’ve followed someone in, there’s a room upstairs that looks like it’s used by a night watchman, except I dunno what ’e’s got to watch.’

‘More like a ghost, I bet,’ said Cassie. ‘Wasn’t you brave, goin’ in by yerself? Me dad’s brave too, ’e saved an ’orse once from drowning in the sea.’

‘How’d it get in the sea?’

‘It fell off a ship,’ said Cassie, cuddling her cat.

‘You sure?’ said Freddy. ‘I never ’eard of no ’orse fallin’ off a ship before.’

‘It slipped,’ said Cassie. ‘Or something,’ she added after a moment’s reflection. ‘It was when me dad was a sea captain, and ’e ’ad to jump in and rescue the poor thing, it couldn’t swim. They give me dad a medal.’

‘Who did?’ asked Freddy, walking back to the gates with her.

‘I can’t remember. Well, yes, it was the Horse Savin’ Society, I think. Yes, that was it. Mind, that was before ’e took to drink.’ Cassie sighed and her cat purred.

‘That’s funny,’ said Freddy, ‘I was only sayin’ to me sister Sally earlier that a neighbour of ours prob’bly ’ad a wife that took to drink an’ brought ’im to ruin. ’As yer dad brought yer mum to ruin?’

‘No, me mum died when I was little,’ said Cassie.

‘Well, I’m sorry for yer about that, Cassie.’

‘It’s all right, I ’elp me dad as much as I can,’ she said.

They rounded the final heaps of rubble and reached the gates, on the insides of which kids had chalked anti-social messages.

‘
I hate Eddie Banks
.’

‘
I hate his bruvver
.’

‘
Loopy Lily Jarvis luvs Billy Palmer
.’

‘
What, him? She’s loopy all right
.’

‘
Elsie Nunn’s got a fat bum
.’

‘
Cissy Dawes don’t wear no drawers
.’

‘
YES I DO!!!
’

‘Don’t read them, they’re rude,’ said Cassie.

‘Come on,’ said Freddy, and they squeezed their way out, the cat staying happily in Cassie’s arms. ‘Where d’you live?’

‘Blackwood Street,’ said Cassie.

‘That’s not far from us,’ said Freddy. ‘Well, I might see you around, Cassie, if I don’t see yer cat first.’

‘We used to live in a mansion in Dulwich,’ said Cassie. ‘That was when me dad worked at Buckingham Palace, servin’ the King an’ Queen. ’E used to take them their ’ot cocoa at night.’

‘You sure?’ said Freddy, hiding a grin.

‘Course I’m sure,’ said Cassie, ‘they liked ’ot cocoa. Well, goodbye, Freddy, thanks for findin’ Tabby.’

‘So long,’ said Freddy. She went one way cuddling her cat, and he went the other. Well, he thought, there’s some girls a bit barmy, some a bit dozy, and some real crackpots. Still, as his dad always said, blokes had got to live with that.

He found Ernie Flint at home and asked about the loan of his bike. Ernie said not likely, his bike wasn’t for lending, specially not on a Sunday. Get a bike of your own, he said. Me dad can’t afford it, said Freddy. Bet your sister can, said Ernie, the one that’s getting married. Girls about to get married can be a real soft touch, you could ask some of them for fifty bob easy and they wouldn’t even remember giving it to you, they’re at their soppiest when they’re getting married.

‘I dunno that Susie’s soppy,’ said Freddy.

‘Bound to be,’ said Ernie. ‘You could ask ’er for a fiver, seein’ what a good job she’s got, and if she ain’t soppy enough to give yer as much as that, tell ’er you’ll just take ’alf that amount. You can buy a decent bike for fifty bob.’

‘Crikey, I knew you’d got a bike, Ernie,’ said Freddy, ‘I didn’t know you’d got brains as well.’

‘’Ow would yer like a punch in the eye?’ said Ernie.

‘I don’t think I’ll stay for that,’ said Freddy, ‘it might spoil me supper.’

He went back home, whistling with optimist cheerfulness as he thought about touching Susie for the price of a bike. Of course, he wasn’t sure if her feelings about getting married really were soppy. She didn’t act soppy, not Susie, but she did go about sometimes looking as if she’d lost a penny and found ten quid. But she never went off to work wearing odd stockings or forgetting to put her hat on or what day it was. That would have been a sign that she really was soppy about her engagement to Sammy. Still, she was up in the clouds sometimes. Promising, that was, thought Freddy.

WILL WAS READY
to leave. It was after six, the best of the bright March day was over, the sun was deserting the Western sky, and sharp twilight was waiting in the wings. The chimneys and rooftops of Walworth were growing a sombre colour. Will had helped Nellie prepare the vegetables and to put them on, and a dissected plump rabbit was stewing. It had all been sending Annie mad, not being able to look after things herself on account of her stiff knee. She felt like a back number.

Will had met ten-year-old Cassie. Her hair was long, not bobbed, and she had dreamy eyes and an even dreamier smile. But she looked breathless when she heard about how Annie had come to meet this soldier. She obviously thought it the most romantic meeting ever, and Annie had a ghastly feeling she was going to say so. She prevented that by demanding to know where she’d been, and Cassie said she’d had to go and find Tabby and that a boy had helped her. What boy? Oh, said Cassie, he was the son of a lion tamer who’d just come back from darkest Africa to look after the Trafalgar Square lions for the King. They’re not real lions, you silly, said Nellie, they’re statue lions. Yes, he’s got to keep them polished, said Cassie. I’m going to write about it in my diary, she said, and about Annie meeting a royal guardsman. He’s not a royal guardsman, said Nellie. No, but he could be, said Cassie, and went up to confide her imaginings to her diary.

Will also met Charlie, a boy with a shock of untidy hair

and socks down to his ankles. Charlie thought Will had done a good job bringing Annie home after she’d hurt her knee. He brought her in a pushcart, said Nellie wickedly, and Annie gritted her teeth because Charlie, being what he was, made a lot of that.

‘Cor, in a pushcart,’ he said, ‘our Annie and all. Bloomin’ ’eroic, that was. I bet even Tarzan couldn’t ’ave got ’er in a pushcart. I’m ’eartbroke I missed it. ’Ere, could yer put ’er in it again, Will? Yer don’t mind me callin’ yer Will, do yer? I ain’t met no-one ’eroic before. Could yer put Annie in the pushcart again so’s I could see it with me own mince pies?’

‘Oh, you little ’ooligan,’ said Annie, ‘if I didn’t have a stiff knee I’d boil you in the copper.’

‘And besides, we don’t ’ave a pushcart,’ said Nellie.

‘And besides, if I tried it,’ said Will, ‘she’d boil me as well. If she didn’t have a stiff knee.’

‘That’s it, everyone laugh,’ said Annie bitterly.

When Will was ready to go, he offered to carry her upstairs so that she could rest her knee and have her dad bring her supper up to her later.

‘Well, all right,’ said Annie, ‘I suppose it’s best – oh, mind me frock!’ Will had lifted her. He carried her out of the kitchen, and she went on about her frock much as she had before. Charlie, following on with Nellie, couldn’t think why Annie was having problems.

‘What’s she fussin’ about, Nellie?’ he asked. ‘I can’t see nothink wrong with ’er frock.’

‘It’s not ’er frock,’ whispered Nellie, ‘it’s just that she ain’t never met an ’andsome soldier before.’ She darted, squeezing ahead of Will on the landing to open the door of the back bedroom, which was Annie’s. ‘In ’ere, Will,’ she said, ‘our Annie sleeps in this room.’

‘Right, let’s do the delivery job,’ said Will. He carried
Annie
in and placed her on her bed. She tugged at the hem of her frock. ‘All right?’ said Will.

Just the hint of a smile showed on her face.

‘Thanks ever so much, honest,’ she said.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Will, and it happened then. It came suddenly, the tightness in his chest, the sensation of constriction and the shortness of breath. He’d be coughing and wheezing in a few moments, an embarrassment to everyone. ‘Got to go now. Good luck, Annie, you too, Nellie and Charlie.’