The Bell Family

by Noel Streatfeild

  Instead she sat down with her back half-turned to Veronica.

  ‘There’s hardly any stuff in my frock, thank goodness. It was Jane’s first, and yellow doesn’t suit me. So there’s nothing you can say will make me feel worse in it. Now, please don’t talk, I’m going to read my programme.’

  Cathy leant forward and looked anxiously at Ginnie, Veronica and Angus. All seemed well. Ginnie was quietly reading her programme, and Angus was talking to Grandmother. It would have been better if one of them were talking to Veronica, but at least they were not quarrelling.

  ‘Have you had a lot of presents, Angus?’ Grandmother was asking. ‘Grandfather will give you our present at supper.’

  Angus beamed at her.

  ‘Do you know, I had a morse-code buzzer. I wanted to bring it to the theatre, but Mummy wouldn’t let me.’

  Cathy, satisfied that for the moment her family were remembering their party manners, turned to Rose.

  ‘I want to explain these roses.’

  Rose listened to Cathy’s explanation of what had happened, but she could not understand how Cathy felt.

  ‘But surely you might have thought of us. Imagine if we run into any of my friends. What can I say?’

  Cathy could see it was hard on Rose. Nobody likes guests who wear the sort of clothes that make other people laugh.

  ‘I simply couldn’t insult Ginnie by cutting all the flowers off.’

  ‘If you felt like that I think you might have covered them with a coat.’

  That made Cathy cross.

  ‘In this temperature? Besides, I’ve only got a very shabby one, not a bit suitable for this lovely theatre.’ Cathy saw Rose had some more to say, so she added firmly: ‘You’ll have to put up with me, Rose, flowers and all. I’m not going to let them spoil the ballet for me, and if you’re wise you’ll forget about them too, and just enjoy yourself.’

  Alex had not heard this conversation for he was talking to his father. He had read his programme. They were to see ‘Les Sylphides,’ ‘Symphonic Variations,’ and ‘Les Patineurs.’

  ‘Now, please don’t talk, I’m going to read my programme’

  ‘I’m afraid this won’t be much in your line, Father.’

  Grandfather dug his elbow in a meaning way into Alex.

  ‘Th’art right, Alex, lad. But it seems smart thing to go to ballet.’ He pronounced it bal-ett. ‘Rose and Alfred do nowt but go to best places. For me self I like a right good laugh.’

  ‘So do I, Grandfather,’ said Paul.

  Grandfather was pleased.

  ‘Shouldn’t wonder if you and I had a lot in common, young man.’

  Grandmother could not get over how pretty Jane looked. She stroked her flowered skirt.

  ‘This is pretty, love.’

  Jane had been straining to hear, through Uncle Alfred’s booming talk, how her mother was getting on with Aunt Rose. She could not see Cathy’s face because it was turned the other way, but she could see Aunt Rose’s and it looked sneering. But on such an evening she could not worry for long. She turned to Grandmother a face shining with happiness.

  ‘Imagine, a new frock and the ballet all on one night! I’m so happy I feel I could float. Do you ever feel floatish, Grandmother?’

  Before Grandmother could answer everyone in the theatre was clapping the conductor, vho had just taken his place on his rostrum. He tapped the rail in front of him with his baton, and Chopin’s Sylphides’ music seemed to fill the theatre with moonlight. Jane felt pleasure that hurt like pain. She clasped her arms to hold the pleasure to her. She spoke in a whisper.

  ‘I think the moments before the curtain goes up are too glorious to be really happening.’

  In the interval Uncle Alfred, as he had promised, led everybody outside for drinks and ices. Paul was going too, but Grandfather stopped him.

  ‘I arranged with your Uncle to leave us, as I want a word alone with you, and maybe this is my only chance for we go back north tomorrow. Now, no beating about the bush. I want you in Bradford in my business. I’m right glad you won that scholarship, but schools can’t teach you everything. As soon as you have your general certificate I want you to come to me to learn the wool trade. I’ll start you at bottom, but you’ll soon work up, and one day a fine share of all I have will be yours.’

  ‘But I want to be a doctor, you know that, Grandfather.’

  ‘I know you’ve talked about it since you were a little lad, but you’re growing up now, and I reckon it’s time you saw sense. It’ll cost a pile of brass to turn you into a doctor, and if you have it the others will go short.’

  Paul hated that.

  ‘But I shan’t cost money, I mean to do it all on scholarships.’

  ‘It’ll take time, and who’s keeping you all those years? From what I hear you could take your general certificate next year, and from then on you’d be earning. Think what that would mean to your father’s pocket.’

  Paul felt his will weakening. He wanted to be a doctor, he knew he ought to be a doctor. But it was going to take years, and money was very short. Perhaps even if you were sure you would make a good doctor, and certain you were not cut out for the wool business, you ought to do it if it meant helping your family. What Grandfather had said about the others going short had hit a sore place. When money crises arose at home, or Jane’s not being able to learn dancing was talked about, Paul always felt miserable. Everybody else had to do without things and here was he cheerfully going ahead, planning a career which meant he would not be self-supporting for years.

  ‘Do you mind if I say something which might sound rude?’

  ‘I was never afraid of words, they don’t break bones.’

  ‘I don’t want to go into the wool business, you know that. But sometimes, especially now after what you’ve said, I might…. I mean the time might come when I’d think I’d have to.’

  ‘Well?’

  Paul swallowed nervously.

  ‘This sounds awful. Suppose I ever did think I’d give up the idea of being a doctor, and came to you, would you give Dad an allowance?’ He saw Grandfather’s face turning purple, so he added quickly: ‘Only until I am earning enough to give him one myself.’

  Grandfather made angry, spluttering sounds before he spoke.

  ‘When your father went into the church I said he’d not have any of my money, and he never has. You little whipper-snapper you, trying to get me to go back on my word.’

  Paul was so scared of Grandfather’s temper, and that he would raise his voice so the people in the row behind could hear, that he spoke more bravely than he felt.

  ‘I’m not trying to make you go back on your word. But you must see my side. If I give up being a doctor, and leave school as soon as I have my certificate, to help my family, I must feel I am helping them. If a person gives up what they most want to do to do something they don’t want to do, there must be a reward of some sort. You do see that, Grandfather.’

  ‘The reward is that you’ll be a rich man some day.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a rich man, I want to be a doctor, so there would have to be some other reward to make me say I’d do it.’

  Grandfather, though Paul could not see it, had the beginning of a twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘Is that your last word?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Grandfather lay back and put his hands in his pockets.

  ‘I like a man or a boy who can state his price and stick to it. Very well. I want you and I’m prepared to pay for what I want. The day you decide to throw up this doctoring nonsense and join me I’ll settle a good allowance on you. But, mind you, it’s your allowance and not your father’s; I said he should never have a penny of my brass and he never shall, but I can’t prevent you doing what you like with your own money, can I? Now, I don’t expect you to decide tonight, but you think things over. Then you sit down and write me, privately of course. That letter is your bond, on the day I receive it your allowance will start.’

  Paul saw the other
s were coming back to their seats. A terrible lot seemed to have happened while they ate ices. Grandfather seemed to think everything was more or less settled.

  ‘You do know I haven’t decided yet, and quite likely I never will.’

  Grandfather felt pretty safe.

  ‘There’s no great hurry. But the sooner I get that letter the sooner that allowance starts.’

  Nobody could say Aunt Rose and Uncle Alfred did not give good parties. There was a glorious cold supper waiting, which started with iced soup, then a choice of lobster or chicken, and afterwards strawberries and cream, jellies, ices and meringues. In spite of the splendid food it was not an easy party.

  Jane had been so carried away by the ballets that now that they were over she felt squeezed out like a sucked orange.

  Cathy felt nervous. Angus was looking odd. He had looked odd in the first interval, but now he looked odder. He would not say a word, in fact he seemed half asleep, she did hope he was not going to disgrace them by being sick. She had asked him three times if he felt all right, and each time he had at first seemed to find it hard to hear what she said, but then had answered, ‘Of course I am.’

  Paul had scarcely seen the last two ballets. Questions chased each other round and round in his head. Could he ask his father or mother what they thought? No, of course not, they would only think of him. Could it be right to spend your whole life doing something you didn’t want to do, and might not be good at? How soon would he have to make up his mind? What would his school say if he left as soon as he had his general certificate? These thoughts were still nagging at him during supper.

  Alex, though he knew well how it felt not to want to talk, for he often felt like that himself, was afraid Rose and Alfred might think Paul was not enjoying their party.

  ‘You’re very silent, old man, I suppose you can’t talk and do justice to this magnificent supper at the same time.’

  Ginnie was in a bad temper. So much party food cheered her up quite a lot, but a whole evening of Veronica could not be got over by food, however splendid. Inside she was still growling.

  ‘Your family are a speechless lot, Alex,’ said Uncle Alfred, as the last of the strawberries and jellies disappeared. ‘Maybe there’s something outside will make them talk.’ He went into the next room and, after a pause to light eight candles, came back with a magnificent chocolate birthday cake. He put it in the centre of the table. ‘How’s that, Angus? Never had as fine a cake as that, did you?’

  Angus was sitting between Veronica and Aunt Rose, so he could not be nudged by his family. Cathy, from across the table, said urgently:

  ‘Thank Uncle Alfred and Aunt Rose, Angus. Such a beautiful cake.’

  Jane, who was sitting on the other side of Uncle Alfred, caught the urgency in her mother’s voice. She leaned backwards and behind Uncle Alfred’s back gave Angus a poke.

  ‘Say thank you, Angus.’

  Veronica, twittered:

  ‘On my last birthday there were pink roses and blue ribbons on my cake, weren’t there, Mumsie?’

  Rose thought how bright and gay Veronica was, and how dull her cousins.

  ‘That’s right, you did, pet, and you had a pink frock with blue ribbons to match the cake.’

  Ginnie, sitting next to Grandfather, opened her mouth to say something rude, but Cathy, fearing trouble, spoke first.

  ‘We’ve all eaten so much I’m afraid there won’t be much room for cake.’

  Veronica giggled.

  ‘Terrible if we all burst.’

  Ginnie thought that a very Veronica-ish remark.

  ‘A girl who burst because of a little bit of birthday cake would be a pretty miserable sort of person.’

  Grandmother felt the party needed cheering up.

  ‘You must cut your cake, Angus.’

  ‘He’s got to blow the candles out before he cuts it,’ said Veronica.

  Alex became conscious for the first time that Angus was taking very little interest in his party. He said, in an aren’t-we-having-a-good-time voice:

  ‘That’s right, old man. All eight in one breath.’

  Slowly, and without interest, Angus got to his feet, leant over the cake and gave a blow which would have disgraced a one-year-old.

  ‘Oh, Angus, you are a silly boy,’ said Veronica, ‘only three. I’m only a girl but I blew out all mine at my last birthday, didn’t I, Dada, and I had nine to blow out.’

  Alfred thought Angus was a poor birthday guest.

  ‘You did, pet. I’m afraid Angus isn’t very interested in his cake.’

  Alex came round the table.

  ‘I’ll help you cut it, Angus.’ He put the knife into Angus’s hands and his own over them. ‘It’s a magnificent cake, Alfred. It’s like cutting through a mountain, isn’t it, Angus?’

  Alfred was glad somebody was appreciative.

  ‘The best that money can buy. Give me the slices as you cut them. I’ll hand round.’

  Grandfather felt in his pocket.

  ‘I’ve got something for you here, Angus.’

  Alex gave Angus a push.

  ‘Go round to Grandfather and see what he’s got for you. I’ll finish cutting the cake.’

  Angus came slowly round to Grandfather, who put his arm round him.

  ‘Your Grandmother and I didn’t know what you wanted, Angus, so I said I know what I’ll do, I’ll give him a pound note and let him choose something for himself.’

  The family seldom were given presents in the form of money. They all thought Angus’s luck was very much in. Jane said:

  ‘Angus! A whole pound! Imagine what you can buy with it!’

  The pound note seemed to have woken Angus up. He flung his arms round Grandfather’s neck. ‘Thank you awfully, Grandfather.’ Then he raced round the table and hugged Grandmother. Grandfather was amused at the effect a pound had on his grandson.

  ‘What are you planning to buy with it, Angus?’

  Uncle Alfred, though he was prepared to spend money when there was a reason for it, was a great believer in thrift.

  ‘Saving it, I hope.’

  Rose thought in a family as poor as Angus’s, money should go on necessities.

  ‘I’m sure Cathy knows something Angus needs.’

  Veronica did not like other people being the centre of attention.

  ‘I’ve got a money box simply full of money I’ve saved, haven’t I, Mumsie?’

  Angus was still standing by Grandmother. He looked at Grandfather, his dark eyes shining.

  ‘I know exactly what I’m going to do with your pound, Grandfather. I’m going to buy a pair of shoes like those men danced in tonight. Then I’m going to Sadler’s Wells School to ask them to make me into a dancer.’

  This sounded so unlike Angus that everyone thought he was being funny. Cathy said:

  ‘Darling! Imagine you a ballet dancer!’

  Alex laughed.

  ‘I think you’ll get along better in the choir school, old man.’

  Angus did not seem to know that nobody thought he meant what he had said.

  ‘I’m going to be a dancer like that one who spun round and round when he pretended he was skating. I’m going to be the best dancer in the world, I abs’lutely know it, and it won’t be any good anybody arguing. It’s my pound, Grandfather gave it me to do what I like with, and that’s what I’m going to do with it, nobody’s going to stop me.’

  As Angus was talking Jane realised he was not being funny, he meant every word he was saying, and she felt very sorry for him.

  ‘But, Angus’s shoes aren’t enough. I’ve had shoes for a long time, you know I have, and you know I’ve always wanted to go to Sadler’s Wells School; if it was only a pound I could have, but it costs pounds and pounds.’

  Seeing the ballet seemed to have changed Angus, he was quite unlike himself.

  ‘I’ll arrange it somehow, Jane. I’m going to be the greatest dancer in the world, so only having a pound won’t stop me.’

  Grandfather, w
inking at everybody to be sure they enjoyed the joke, beckoned Angus to come to him. He laughed so much he could hardly speak.

  ‘A male dancer, eh? That’s something new in our family. I don’t remember either your father or your Uncle Alfred showing much talent in that direction.’

  ‘But I’ve got talent …’ Angus broke off and rubbed a finger in a puzzled way up and down Grandfather’s sleeve. ‘I always knew I didn’t want to sing, but I like the noise music makes. Tonight the first moment the ballet music started my feet knew what they wanted to do. You all thought I was sitting still, but I wasn’t. Right inside, where you couldn’t see, my legs were dancing. Now all I’ve got to do is to learn steps.’

  Grandfather let out a great roar of laughter.

  ‘All you’ve got to do is learn steps! You’ll be the death of me, Angus. But I always did enjoy a good laugh, and you’ve given me one, so I tell you what’—he winked again at the family—‘you go to this dancing school and tell them just what you’ve told me, and if they’ll take you I’ll pay for your lessons.’

  Suddenly the joke stopped being a joke. If Grandfather was willing to pay for someone to learn dancing would he consider Jane? It was almost too much to hope, but it was worth a try. Giving Alex a look to say ‘Leave it to me,’ Cathy said:

  ‘We’ve all been a bit carried away by the ballet. It’s wonderful of you to suggest paying for Angus to have lessons, but in a day or two I dare say he won’t want them. Jane …’

  Angus was furious.

  ‘I will, Mummy, I abs’lutely know I will.’

  ‘Perhaps, darling, but I think you are old enough to see that if anyone goes to Sadler’s Wells School it must be Jane.’ Cathy turned to Grandfather. ‘If you really mean you would pay, would you let Jane go for an audition? She’s worked terribly hard, and she has talent, honestly she has.’

  Jane could not speak; somewhere inside her she had always believed a miracle would happen, and here it was, but Ginnie was full of words.

  ‘She dances gorgeously, Grandfather. I simply detest dancing, but Jane’s marvellous, everybody says she is.’

  Alex never had asked his father for help, but this time the offer had been made.