“ I’d be sorry. You and I get on pretty well together. The other tenants are not my style, I’ve nothing in common with them. Take the Waldrons, for instance. The other day I said to Waldron I’d give him a book to read—any book he liked—and he said he never read anything except the papers. He said he liked true stories, not made-up ones. Then I said, what about history? And he said, ‘ That’s over and done with. All that matters to me is what happens between the time I was born and the time when I die.’ What can you do with a man like that, David? ”
“ Not much,” I said.
“ Not anything,” declared Mr. Coe. “ A man like that is no use to me. I’ve no patience with him.”
Mother was travelling south by the night train which arrives at Euston early in the morning and I was so excited that I could not sleep. I rose at five and got everything ready and then set out to meet her. The odd thing was I still did not really believe she was coming and it was not until the train drew in and I saw her step on to the platform that I knew it was true. She did not see me at first and she looked bewildered. She looked small and lost … it was incredible to see her here, in London, amongst the crowds. Mother belonged to Haines, to the hills and the river; to the manse with its quiet rooms and sedate old-fashioned air.
“ Mother! ” I exclaimed, rushing at her in excitement.
“ Oh, Davie! ” she cried. “ I was wondering how I would ever find my way. It was good of you to come and meet me so early——”
“ Good of me! Of course I came! I was so excited I never slept a wink. Where’s your luggage? ”
She had a big suitcase and a brown wicker hamper with a lid. I picked them up and led the way out of the station and called a taxi.
So far I had not had time to look at her properly but now I saw she was exactly the same. I laughed.
“ What are you laughing at? ” she asked.
“ You,” I told her. “ You, here in London! It’s the best joke in the world. I couldn’t believe you’d really come. I couldn’t believe Father would let you.”
“ Father wanted me to come.”
“ Wanted you to come! ”
“ We were a bit worried about you, Davie.”
“ Goodness! There’s no need to worry about me. I told you in my letter I was getting on famously. Why did you worry? ”
“ London is a big city—and you’re very young.”
“ I was pretty green at first,” I admitted. “ But not now. I’ve learnt to look after myself and keep my end up.”
“ You seem—older, Davie.”
“ I’ve had some funny experiences,” I said. “ I’ve met some funny people. That teaches you.”
“ You booked a room for me? ”
“ No,” I said smiling at her. “ You’re coming to my flat. It’s a very comfortable flat and much nicer than a room in a frowsty hotel. Of course there are a lot of stairs but you won’t mind that, will you? ”
We were driving through the streets and already London was beginning to wake up. The sun was shining brightly, people were taking down their shutters, washing their door-steps and polishing the shop windows.
“ Such a lot of people! ” Mother said. “ It’s bewildering. Doesn’t it frighten you, Davie? ”
“ I’m used to it now,” I told her.
“ I don’t think I’d ever get used to it … and the noise! It’s a frightening kind of noise … like wild beasts roaring in the distance.”
By this time we had arrived at Covent Garden and the market was in full swing. The narrow streets were crowded; great lorries were drawn up at the kerb and crates were being unloaded, thrown on to the pavement, carried into the shops. The stalls were piled high with fruit and vegetables and gorgeous flowers; people were bargaining, shouldering their way along and dodging one another. The noise was deafening; men were bellowing to each other to move, to look out, they were shouting ribald jokes or ferocious curses.
I was used to this bedlam of course, but that morning I seemed to see it with Mother’s eyes and to hear it with her ears. I glanced at her and saw she was sitting on the edge of the seat and staring at the scene with a set face.
“ It’s all right,” I said. “ This happens every morning. Nobody gets killed. As a matter of fact, it’s rather fun; I often help to unload the lorries.”
Mother was not listening.
The taxi crawled between the lorries—sometimes it mounted the pavement—and the driver came in for a good deal of abuse.
“ Where d’you think you’re going? ”
“ Look out, you ——. Nearly ’ad me foot off! ”
“ ’Ere, wot’s the hurry? ”
These and other exclamations of an unprintable nature were hurled at us from all sides. The taxi driver leaned out and replied in kind. I wondered if Mother could understand what he said, and hoped sincerely she could not.
At last we stopped at the door of the book-shop and got out. I took up Mother’s suitcase and the hamper.
“ What’s in this? ” I asked.
Mother was gazing round. “ What? ” she said vaguely. “ Oh, the hamper! It’s—it’s vegetables, Davie.”
She began to laugh. We laughed together. We stood on the pavement with the little hamper between us and laughed until we could hardly move. It was some time before we recovered sufficiently to climb the stairs.
It was a proud moment when I opened the door of the flat and stood aside for Mother to enter. She went in and I followed and shut the door. The little flat seemed extraordinarily peaceful after the hurly burly of the market. It looked nice, too. I had left everything ready for breakfast; the table set with a clean cloth and white china. In the middle of the table was a little bowl of spring flowers. I opened the window to the mild morning air, and hurried to put on the kettle and water for the eggs. Mother watched me; her eyes were sparkling with amusement and her mouth curled up at the corners with a smile.
“ What’s funny? ” I asked as I bustled about. “ Did you think I couldn’t boil a kettle and make tea? ”
“ I always knew you could do anything you set your mind to,” Mother declared. She looked round and added, “ Your flat is nice, Davie. You’ve been very clever about it, I think.”
“ It’s a home. At least that’s what I feel. You don’t know what a difference it makes to have a place of one’s own, to be able to lock the door and keep people out.”
“ Who do you want to keep out? ” asked Mother.
I did not answer that. While the kettle was boiling I showed her the bedroom and the kitchen and explained all my arrangements to her. I showed her my “ view ” and how, by leaning out of the window, it was possible to see the street far below. There was a stall piled high with vegetables and a group of people round it, bargaining with the stall-holder for his goods. This glimpse of the market started Mother to laugh all over again.
“ I shall never get over it,” she declared. “ To think that I should have been such a fool! ”
“ But they’re special! They’ll taste much better because they’ve been grown in the manse garden.”
“ There’s that,” she agreed. “ Maybe the man who carried coals to Newcastle found they burned brighter because he had brought them from his home.”
While we had breakfast I talked a lot. I told Mother about the boarding-house and the dirt and discomfort and how miserable I had been.
“ But you never said! ” she cried. “ You never told us. We thought you were happy and comfortable with Mrs. Hall. Oh, Davie, I know you did it so that we wouldn’t worry, but you shouldn’t have deceived us. You must promise not to deceive us again. It must have been wretched for you—badly cooked food and cracked plates! ”
“ The worst part was the people. They were all so miserable.”
“ Poor souls! ” exclaimed Mother. “ Poor souls! There was a girl, wasn’t there? Was she miserable too? ”
“ Beryl? ” I said. “ Well—yes. She’s not very happy I’m afraid.”
“ Do you
still see her sometimes? ” asked Mother in a casual sort of voice.
I could not help smiling. Mother was no actress.
“ So that was why you were worrying about me! ” I exclaimed. “ You don’t need to worry about Beryl. She doesn’t attract me at all.”
Mother looked at me. I think she was waiting for me to tell her more about Beryl but I was not going to tell her another word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was the greatest fun having Mother to stay. She was gay and happy and enjoyed everything we did. Somehow she seemed younger in London—perhaps because she had no responsibilities. She had cast off the responsibilities of her household and of being a minister’s wife, and her natural gaiety bubbled over. It was years since she had seen a play and she enjoyed those we went to with childlike zest. We went out to dinner at little restaurants in Soho; we took a steamer from Westminster to the Pool of London; we visited the Zoo and the Tower. I had to go to the office of course but she seemed quite happy to be alone … and when I came back it was delightful to run upstairs and open the door and find her in the flat. She always had things to tell me—funny little incidents about people she had seen in the shops or in buses—and I had plenty to tell her about what I had done. I remember thinking that being married must be something like this; but if I looked the whole world over I should never find a girl who would be such a perfect companion or suit me half as well.
My only trouble was lack of money. I wanted to give Mother a good time and it is impossible to do anything in London without money. I had spent everything I possessed on furnishing the flat and although I had saved a little in the last few weeks it soon melted away. So I went to Mr. Heatley and told him how I was situated and asked him to advance me a few pounds and deduct it from my salary. Mr. Heatley was much more approachable since I had been to supper at his house so I did not mind asking.
“ Ho, ho! ” he exclaimed, smiling. “ Here’s a come-down. I thought you liked to do things on your own and be independent! ”
“ This is different, sir,” I said. “ It’s because my mother is staying with me and I want to take her about and show her things and give her a good time. If you could advance me five pounds I would be very grateful.”
Mr. Heatley laughed and gave me the money. He did not believe that I wanted it to entertain my mother and I had to put up with a good deal of chaff; but it did not worry me—in fact it amused me. People often disbelieve the simple truth whereas if you tell them a thumping lie they will swallow it whole.
Somehow or other Wrigson and Ullenwood got wind of the matter and began to take some interest in me. They hinted slyly that I was a “ dark horse ” and when they saw I did not mind being teased they became bolder and inquired for “ Mother ” tenderly. Ullenwood wanted to know where “ Mother ” was staying and was delighted when I said she was staying with me, in my flat. Wrigson asked what I had done to entertain her. Where had we been? I said we had been to Madame Tussaud’s. It was perfectly true, of course (we had been to Madame Tussaud’s and enjoyed it enormously), but I knew they would not believe it—and they did not. The information was greeted by howls of laughter from my fellow clerks.
“ We did, really,” I said solemnly. “ We went into the Chamber of Horrors. Mother was rather upset——” This also was perfectly true. Mother was so upset when she saw the guillotine that I had to take her out.
“ Where are you taking ‘ Mother ’ on Sunday? ” inquired Wrigson when at last he could speak.
“ Hampton Court,” I replied. “ I don’t know what’s funny about it. Mother is very keen to see Hampton Court. We shall visit the maze, of course.”
This made them laugh louder (as I had known it would).
“ You’re priceless, Kirke! ” exclaimed Ullenwood, wiping his eyes.
It was thus that I acquired a reputation for wit. I wonder if anybody ever acquired a reputation for wit so easily.
The day before Mother went home I got back early. I ran down the area steps and there was Mr. Coe sitting behind the counter, reading.
Mr. Coe looked up when the shop bell tinkled.
“ Oh, it’s you! ” he said. “ A girl came here, asking for you! ”
“ A girl! ” I exclaimed.
“ A painted hussy,” said Mr. Coe, looking at me over his spectacles.
I stood quite still and gazed at him. I knew who it was.
“ First she asked for Penguins,” continued Mr. Coe. “ Then she asked for Mr. David Kirke. Wanted to know if he lived here.”
“ Did you—did you tell her? ”
“ I pretended I was surprised. ‘ Mr. David Kirke? ’ I said as if I’d never heard the name before. ‘ Yes,’ she said. ‘ I know he lives here. I saw him come into this shop.’ ‘ Lots of people come into this shop,’ I told her. ‘ But he didn’t come out again,’ she said.”
“ She must have followed me! ” I exclaimed.
“ That’s right,” nodded Mr. Coe. “ That’s what she said. ‘ I followed him from the office and he came in here,’ she said. ‘ He lives here,’ she said. ‘ It’s no good saying he doesn’t. I’m a friend of his and I want to see him.’ So then I said, ‘ Does he want to see you? ’ She didn’t answer that, just stood and looked at me. Then Mrs. Kirke came in so I said, ‘ Oh, Mrs. Kirke. this young woman is asking about your son.’ ”
“ Help! ” I exclaimed.
“ I’m sorry, David,” said Mr. Coe apologetically. “ I’m afraid I managed it badly. If I’d known what to say I’d have said it, but I was struck all of a heap.”
“ What did Mother say? ”
Mr. Coe chuckled. “ It was as good as a play. She knew all about the young woman; I could see that.”
“ Could you? ”
“ Of course I could. She had that young woman taped.”
“ But what did Mother say? ”
“ I couldn’t tell you exactly,” replied Mr. Coe, frowning thoughtfully. “ Mrs. Kirke was quite polite but as chilly as an ice-berg. She gave the young woman to understand she was living here with you—well, so she is—and that choked her off properly.”
I went upstairs more slowly than usual. I saw that I had been a fool not to tell Mother about Beryl. I saw I should have to tell Mother a good deal about Beryl … but perhaps not everything.
“ So Beryl has been here! ” I said as I opened the door.
Mother nodded. She was sitting near the window in the easy-chair, darning my socks. “ Yes,” she said. “ I thought it must be Beryl.”
I drew up a chair and sat down near her. “ Beryl is a menace,” I said. “ As a matter of fact Beryl was one of the reasons why I left the boarding-house. She was worse than the cracked plates.”
“ Poor soul! ” said Mother. “ Fancy being worse than a cracked plate! ”
We smiled at one another.
“ Mother,” I said, “ I quite liked Beryl at first. I took her out to dinner one evening and we had a friendly chat … but after that something happened and I didn’t like her any more; She keeps on saying that she wants to be friends with me but it’s no use. I’m sorry for Beryl but—but that’s all, really.”
“ I thought that was the way of it,” Mother said.
“ I can’t do anything, can I? ”
“ No, David, you can’t do anything.”
“ I feel rather a beast.”
“ She’ll get over it,” said Mother cheerfully. “ She’ll find somebody else. I wouldn’t worry about Beryl if I were you.”
While Mother was staying with me I had not been down to the Market, but the morning after she had gone I went and saw Mr. Smith.
“ Ho, it’s you, is it? ” he said, in a grumbling voice. “ I don’t know as I wants you, now, young man.”
“ That’s all right,” I replied—and I turned away.
He followed me and caught my arm.
“ Look ’ere,” he said. “ You ain’t much good at portering and the porters ain’t too keen to ’ave you. That’s the trouble really.
You might take a ’and at the blackboard if you like.”
“ The blackboard! ” I exclaimed.
He nodded. “ Jim’s gone off in a ’uff and I’m pretty well stuck.”
I was not surprised to hear that his assistant had left him in the lurch. His temper was so unruly that it was a wonder he had anybody to work for him. I knew about the blackboard, of course. It stood beside his stall and on it were written the prices of the produce he had for sale. The prices fluctuated so quickly that it was a whole-time job to keep them up to date. At the moment the board said “ Lets 17s, Cabs 12s,” which meant that lettuces were seventeen shillings a box and cabbages twelve shillings. All the stuff was wholesale, of course.
“ Get on with it,” said Mr. Smith, handing me a piece of chalk and a duster. “ Lets are down to sixteen and nine; cabs are eleven.”
“ Will you pay me? ” I asked. I did not see why I should take on the job for nothing.
“ If you’re any good,” he said testily. “ Get on with it, do.”
I stood on a box and got on with it, altering the prices as they were called out. There was nothing difficult about it but I had to keep my ears open and follow the bargaining. As a matter of fact it amused me and I thought of Mr. Semple, the schoolmaster at Haines, and wondered what he would say if he saw me standing on a box in Covent Garden Market writing “ Caulis 20s ” on a blackboard. During a lull I looked across the heads of the crowd and saw the girl I had spoken to before—her eyes met mine and she smiled. Presently I felt somebody tug my coat and she was there, beside me.
“ So that’s your job! ” she said.
“ Not really, I’m just helping out. Look here, I want to speak to you. It’s hopeless here and now. Come and have supper to-night at the Wooden Spoon, will you? Please come.”
She looked at me in amazement (as well she might) but I did not care.
“ The Wooden Spoon,” I repeated. “ It’s just round the corner. Eight o’clock to-night.”
At that moment there was a slump in the market and Smith yelled out a whole string of new prices. When I had time to look round the girl had gone.
She would not come, of course. I knew that, but all the same I brushed my suit and changed my shirt and collar and was round at the Wooden Spoon before eight. It was ten-past eight when I saw the door open and the girl come in. She looked different in a frock, older and less approachable. If she had looked like that in the morning I should not have dared to ask her to meet me.
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