The Lodger (6 page)

‘Me hand slipped,' said Bobby, ‘and this here box is only on me head because I wasn't able to get it into me pocket. It's a bit big, y'see.'

‘Think I'm daft, do you?' asked Trary.

‘Hope not,' said Bobby, ‘be a cryin' shame if a girl as pretty as you was daft. Tell yer what, would yer like to come up the park with me Sunday? That's tomorrow. I'll call for you after me dinner.'

‘You'll be lucky,' said Trary. ‘Comin' round here, bashin' our door, givin' me grinnin' looks and askin' me up the park, you got more sauce than a tramful of monkeys, you have.'

‘Well, I like that,' protested Bobby, the crate swaying a little. ‘Is it my fault you're pretty?'

‘It's not mine,' said Trary. ‘I happen to be the 'andiwork of God.'

‘Crikey, was it you said that?' asked Bobby in admiration.

‘Yes, it was. And I don't go up the park with anyone I don't know. You might be an escaped convict, I've heard about escaped convicts goin' round knockin' on doors. Kindly don't knock on ours any more. What d'you want, anyway?'

‘I come bearin' gifts,' said Bobby.

‘What?' asked Trary, coveting that phrase for her own use.

‘In this here box,' said Bobby, ‘which I'm willin' to carry indoors for you, if yer ma's name is Mrs Wilson. It's come with the compliments of the Salvation Army from a friend of mine, and I've got to tell you it's startin' to push my head in.'

‘Good thing too,' said Trary, always able to play a notable part in a boy-versus-girl dialogue. ‘Boys like you shouldn't have no heads, then they wouldn't be so cheeky.' She gazed in suspicion at the crate. ‘What d'you mean, Salvation Army? What's in it?'

‘Paper bags, mostly,' said Bobby, ‘and they're all full up. But I dunno what with, me friend didn't tell me. I've brought 'em because I've got a kind 'eart.' Bobby paused. ‘An' because me friend give me tuppence,' he conceded.

Trary, mystified, said, ‘Look, you better not be havin' my mum on. Or me, either, or you'll get a punch in the eye.'

‘Blimey,' said Bobby, admiration climbing, ‘I like you.'

Haughtily, Trary said, ‘Just wait there, boy, and I'll see what my mum says.'

‘All right,' said Bobby, ‘but I'd be obliged if yer wouldn't take too long. This lot's goin' to push me under yer door-step in a minute.'

‘Oh, dear, what a shame,' said Trary, and made for the kitchen. She stopped and turned. ‘Who did you say sent you?'

‘A blue-bottle friend of mine.'

‘Who's he?'

‘A copper, of course, name of Mr Bradshaw.'

‘Mr Bradshaw?' Trary's bright eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, d'you mean the tall and nice one, with a kind smile?'

‘Don't ask me,' said Bobby, ‘he's just a copper. Decent bloke, though.'

‘Well, don't just stand there,' said Trary, ‘bring the box in. Why didn't you say about the policeman? I don't know, I'm sure, but it's aggravatin' that boys can't talk a bit of sense sometimes.'

Bobby stepped in, steadying the crate with both hands. He followed Trary into the kitchen. Around the table sat Daisy, Lily and Meg. In the scullery, Maggie was busy at the frying-pan. The girls stared at the cheerful-looking boy with a large wooden box on his head.

‘Who's 'e?' asked Daisy.

‘'E's got a box on 'is 'ead,' said Lily.

‘We never 'ad a boy with a box on his 'ead in here before,' said Meg.

‘Mum, come and look,' called Trary. ‘You can put it down, boy.'

Bobby lowered the crate to the floor. Maggie appeared, a frying fork in her hand, her apron on.

‘What's this?' she asked.

‘It's a boy,' said Trary, ‘he's brought a box with things in it.'

‘With the compliments of the Salvation Army,' said Bobby, ‘if you're Mrs Wilson.'

‘Yes, I'm Mrs Wilson,' said Maggie, liking his looks and his cheerfulness. ‘But I don't know no-one in the Salvation Army.'

‘The kind policeman sent 'im, Mum,' said Trary, gazing into the crate. ‘You know, the one that called this mornin'. Well, that's what I think.'

‘I'll unload it for yer,' said Bobby, and began placing bags on the table under the fascinated eyes of the family. Unbagged cooking apples were uncovered. Maggie stared at the bags. Trary investigated one. It contained Osborne biscuits. Another contained sugar, another, two half-pound packets of tea. Two tins of condensed milk came to light. So did fruit and vegetables. There was also a bag of flour and a pound of bacon. Maggie stared in utter astonishment, emotions welling.

‘Mum, it's a Salvation Army food parcel, I've heard of them,' said Trary. ‘Wasn't it lovely of that policeman to speak to them for us?'

Maggie and her girls simply couldn't take their eyes off what looked like a miraculous mountain of food. Oranges shone, and a whole twelve bananas made a cluster of bright yellow. Maggie looked at Bobby. He was looking at Trary, a boyishly cheeky grin on his face. Trary was looking at the laden table, her face glowing. Her sisters were breathless.

‘What's your name?' asked Maggie.

‘Bobby, Mrs Wilson, Bobby Reeves.'

‘And you collected these things from the Salvation Army?'

‘Well, no, missus, Constable Bradshaw must have, I suppose. He just asked me to bring 'em. He's a friend of mine, well, he done me dad a good turn once, when me dad . . .' Bobby paused. ‘Well, me dad suffered a turn of blissful ignorance once, and Constable Bradshaw kindly put a word in for 'im.'

‘Blissful ignorance?' said Maggie.

‘Well, there was some swag about once, which me dad didn't know was swag.' Well, that was what his dad had sworn before the magistrate. ‘That's blissful ignorance, Mrs Wilson.' Bobby decided to paper over the cracks, and added, ‘Not that me dad's simple, he's like me, he's just got a kind 'eart. Mrs Wilson, would you kindly excuse me sayin' I like your daughter and don't mind goin' up the park with 'er tomorrow afternoon?'

‘Oh, I never met such a cheeky devil,' said Trary.

‘Bobby, what was the policeman like?' asked Maggie. Bobby described him.

Trary, clapping her hands in delight, said, ‘There, it was him, Mum, and we know his name now.'

‘Just a minute,' said Maggie, and went and turned the gas very low under the frying-pan, in which there was a mound of crisping sliced potatoes and bacon pieces. She returned. ‘Bobby, where did the policeman give you this box?'

‘In the market, Mrs Wilson.'

‘I see.' Maggie smiled, and it made Trary think that her mum was really awfully attractive. ‘And 'is name is Bradshaw?'

‘It's Harry Bradshaw, Mrs Wilson, and 'e's straight up for a copper.'

‘Well, when you see him, ask him to let me know which Salvation Army address to write to, as I've got to send 'eartfelt thanks for all this food.'

‘Yes, Mrs Wilson.'

‘You make sure now.' Maggie had her own ideas about the source of the food. She supposed her pride ought to be hurt, but it wasn't. The gesture was typical of what could happen to a Walworth family down on its luck. Acts of generous neighbourliness did take place, and one was grateful, not proud. ‘You tell Mr Bradshaw, won't you, that I've got to write someone a letter of thanks.'

‘Soon as I see him,' promised Bobby.

‘I must find you some pennies for bringing the box.'

‘You don't 'ave to do that, Mrs Wilson, Mr Bradshaw's already given me tuppence,' said Bobby. ‘It's been a pleasure meetin' you and your fam'ly. Shall I talk to Mr Wilson about takin' 'er up the park?'

‘I'm a widow, Bobby,' said Maggie.

‘Oh.' Bobby looked as if he'd come up against the sad wreck of the schooner
Hesperus.
‘I'm sorry, Mrs Wilson, I didn't know.'

‘It was five years ago,' said Maggie, liking the boy, ‘we're over it now.'

‘Still, it's hard times, Mrs Wilson, I don't know when there's been more hard times. Well, never mind, you've got nice girls.'

‘I'm nicest,' said Daisy.

‘You're just littlest,' said Lily.

‘I'm nearly twelve,' said Meg.

‘I'm sixteen meself,' said Bobby, ‘and I'll come tomorrow, shall I, Mrs Wilson, an' take your oldest daughter up the park? I don't mind she's not told me 'er name yet.'

‘She's Trary,' said Lily.

‘She's bossiest,' said Meg.

‘Oh, I don't mind that,' said Bobby. ‘I've got two sisters, as well as me mum an' dad, and they all say I'm the bossiest one of the fam'ly. So it won't worry me if Trary's the same as me.'

‘I'd faint if I was,' said Trary.

‘Can we give Bobby one of the apples, Mum?' asked Lily. ‘And could we all 'ave one ourselves?'

‘After your meal,' said Maggie, ‘but you can give Bobby one now.'

‘Could you make it a banana, Mrs Wilson?' asked Bobby. ‘I'm partial to bananas. I'm not sayin' I don't like apples, but a banana's me fav'rite.'

‘You can have both,' said Maggie.

‘Well, no, I don't think I'll do that, Mrs Wilson, I'll just take a banana. As I've already got tuppence from Mr Bradshaw, I don't know I deserve an apple as well, it might make me feel I been overpaid for just bringing you the box.'

‘Can't he talk?' said Trary, rolling her eyes. ‘I never heard more talk from anyone. I suppose he can't help it, I suppose it runs in 'is fam'ly, I've heard things like talkin' do run in some fam'lies. Still, give him a banana, Lily.'

‘'Ere y'ar, Bobby,' said Lily, breaking one from the stalk and handing it to him.

‘Swell,' he said. ‘I'd best push off now, Mrs Wilson. It's been really nice gettin' to know everyone. Specially Trary. Ain't she pretty? What time shall I call for 'er tomorrow? I don't mind comin' round at three, say.'

‘You'll be lucky,' said Trary.

‘Hope so,' said Bobby breezily. ‘See you tomorrow, then.'

‘Not if I see you first,' said Trary.

‘Well, we'll all see, Bobby,' said Maggie, ‘you can come and knock.'

‘I'll take her on the tram, of course,' he said, ‘I won't make her walk. So long, then, Mrs Wilson.' He departed whistling.

Trary drew a breath. ‘I don't believe it,' she said, ‘I just don't believe it. I never heard more blessed cheek in all my life.'

‘Is Trary blushin'?' asked Daisy of Lily.

‘She's gone all pink,' said Lily.

‘No, I haven't,' said Trary.

‘I fink 'e's nice,' declared Daisy.

‘All right, you go up the park with him, then,' said Trary. Maggie smiled. It wasn't often that her eldest daughter was out-talked. She'd gird herself up for the next encounter. ‘Look at all these things, pets, just look at them.'

All her girls took a mouth-watering look.

‘Mum, it's like Jesus and the five loaves,' said Trary, ‘you'll have to write him a really nice note.'

‘Crikey, to Jesus?' said Meg.

‘No, soppy, to that kind policeman,' said Trary, ‘I'm sure he gave mum a very special mention when he was talkin' to the Salvation Army. When you write the note, Mum, I'll take it to the police station. I'll take it after dinner tomorrow, in case that talkin' boy does come round. I'm not goin' up the park with him.'

‘I'll dish up supper,' said Maggie, ‘and we'll have some of the fruit for afters.' Oh, Lord, she thought, if everything was from him and not the Salvation Army, he must have felt her girls looked starving.

They enjoyed the fruit. They had a banana each, as well as an apple and an orange. Maggie felt almost emotional at the way her hungry girls relished what was a rapturous treat to them. And they were delighted when she finally dished out some of the dates. Her larder wasn't empty now. There had even been eggs, in a bag on top of the pile of stuff in the crate.

‘Who'd like to put the kettle on for a pot of tea? We can use the condensed milk.'

‘I'll do it,' said Trary, an active girl who liked being busy. She filled the old iron kettle at the scullery sink and put it on the gas ring. She felt ever so pleased for her mum, for the fact that Constable Bradshaw had been so nice to her.

The front door knocker sounded.

‘I bet that's Trary's boy come back,' said Lily.

‘Yes, 'e forgot to give 'er a kiss,' said Meg. ‘I'll go and see.'

‘No, I'll go,' said Trary, ‘I want to do meself the kind pleasure of puttin' him in his place.'

Maggie smiled. Trary answered the knock. It wasn't that talking boy. In the fading evening light, a man stood on the step, a brown-faced man with broad shoulders, good looks and a large smile. He had a brown moustache and even white teeth, and was dressed in a light grey suit and a straw boater, jauntily tipped. He was carrying a carpet bag and a medium-sized trunk with brass edges.

‘Hello, hello,' he said, ‘what's this I see, Walworth's May Queen?'

‘It's not May, it's April,' said Trary, not a girl to encourage familiarities, especially from strangers. ‘What d'you want, please?'

‘Does Mrs Wilson live here?'

‘Why d'you ask?' Trary was cautious.

‘Well, if she's got a room to let, which I believe she has, I'm just what her doctor ordered.'

‘Beg your pardon?' said Trary.

‘Give her my compliments, and tell her Mr Jerry Bates is requestin' to be her lodger.'

CHAPTER FIVE

Trary put her head round the kitchen door.

‘Mum, could you come a minute?' she asked.

‘Who is it?' asked Maggie.

‘If you'd come a minute?' said Trary, and disappeared. Maggie got up. Trary was in the passage. The front door was closed. Trary beckoned and went into the parlour. Mystified, Maggie followed. ‘Mum,' said Trary quietly, ‘I didn't want the girls to hear, but a man's just called askin' about the room to let. He saw the card in the newsagent's window. I thought – well, he's tall and well-built, and everyone's supposed to be keepin' a lookout for strangers, specially men lookin' for lodgings.'