He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1)

by Barbara Arnold

  ‘Go across to the bombsite and tell your sister her tea’s ready, and don’t take no for an answer. I know she wants to protect the ducks, but she’s not eating her tea over there. Anyway it’s getting dark and even ducks have to sleep.’ It was plain Mum didn’t understand how we felt about them, I thought, as I nipped across to the bombsite to fetch Angela.

  ‘I know they have to sleep. I’m not stupid,’ Angela huffed when I passed on what Mum had said.

  ‘I want to stay for a while to make sure they’re safe.’ The tough look on Angela’s face changed to something soft like the inside of one of Old Boy Barker’s bulls eyes.

  ‘Honest, Tone, I can’t let anything happen to them, not after what happened to …’ She broke off abruptly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Keep it to yourself, then. See if I care. Anyway, Fred said he’d pop over later tonight to check on them. I expect he’ll bring Lori with him.’ I tugged on her sleeve. ‘You’ve got to come now. Mum’s getting mad.’

  Angela shrugged me off. ‘I’m not frightened of Mum.’

  Just the same, she collapsed the camping stool she’d been using. It was Les Dibble’s, and Paula had smuggled it out of their flat for us. Angela folded the blanket she had taken from her bed, and hid it with the chair behind a pile of rubble. Before she left, she called to the ducks, telling them to hide while she was away, and then she belted off home.

  I followed, thinking she was daft calling out to ducks. ‘Don’t you want your blanket?’ I called after her.

  ‘I’m coming back later. I’m not going to leave those ducks alone all night. I don’t care what Mum or the King of England says. I’m coming back to check on them after tea.’

  Mum had our meal on the table. We didn’t even stop to wash our hands before we attacked the food.

  ‘Your manners are getting worse, the two of you,’ Mum complained, as we bolted our tea down so fast Angela got the hiccups and I let out a loud burp.

  ‘You haven’t given yourselves time to digest your food,’ she continued, but we were already making for the door and bounding down the stairs. With Mum’s legs the way they were, I knew by the time she’d hobbled to the bottom, we’d already be on the bombsite.

  ‘Who said you could come? I don’t need you or anyone else.’ Angela was still hiccupping.

  ‘The ducks are ours, remember.’

  For a while neither of us spoke, as we concentrated on getting across the ruins in the dark.

  It was cold, not ordinary cold, but the sort of misty cold that gave you the willies. There was no moon, only the light that seeped between cracks in the curtains that hung in the windows of the prefabs which surrounded the bombsite. The broken walls that sprang up in front of us looked like a monster’s teeth.

  ‘D’you reckon there are ghosts here from people who were killed in The War?’ I asked.

  ‘Not scared are you?’

  ‘Course not. What about you?’

  ‘It’d take more than a few stupid ghosts to put the wind up me.’ Just the same, Angela hung on to my jersey.

  I heard a rustling sound, followed by the noise of stones crunching together. I stopped and looked around to see a slit of light moving towards us.

  Angela heard and saw it too. ‘What’s that?’ She asked, screwing a handful of my jersey into a ball.

  I made a grab for her hand. We moved closer to each other as the sound of a voice floated towards us.

  ‘Blimey, it is a ghost! Clear off. Leave us alone,’ she shouted, but her voice shook.

  I felt the edge of a broken-down wall beside us, and pushed Angela behind it, then practically fell on top of her. ‘Keep your head down and the ghosts might not be able to find us.’

  From behind the wall we heard footsteps getting closer and I tightened my grip on Angela’s hand.

  ‘Don’t touch the ducks,’ she cried out. ‘Please, please don’t touch them. They haven’t done you any harm. Don’t kick’em with your boots ‘til their eyes drop out.’

  ‘It’s all right, wherever you are. It’s us, Mrs Dibble and Paula!’

  ‘I told you there weren’t any such things as ghosts, didn’t I.’ Angela hissed. ‘You’re nothing but a cry baby.’ She shook off my hand.

  ‘But it wasn’t me who … and who was it who ...’

  Angela ignored me. ‘We’re here, over here.’

  ‘We’ve almost broken our necks trying to find you two,’ Mrs Dibble stumbled over to us. She held on to Paula to keep steady as she bent to rub her ankle. ‘Paula knew you stayed over here. She said you were guarding those blessed ducks, and she thought we should give you a bit of company. She wanted to come on her own, but I wasn’t having any daughter of mine wandering round a bombsite alone at night. She could have broken her neck or fallen in that crater and drowned.’

  ‘We’re not guarding the ducks. Fred said they were safe enough at night. It’s their eggs we’re protecting. We don’t want them getting nicked.’

  ‘Mr Dibble and I think it’s too early for ducklings.’

  Angela’s sniff was enough to tell Mrs Dibble what she thought of that.

  The Dibbles stayed for a while. I liked their company. Having an adult with us made me feel less afraid of ghosts.

  When we had to leave, it took a bit of persuading to get Angela to come home.

  ‘You have to be prepared for those ducks to fly away whenever the instinct takes them, or in fact if the water in the crater dries up.’ Fred told us the next morning as he spread a thin layer of marmalade on his toast, and Angela stirred another spoonful of condensed milk into her cup of tea.

  Mum tapped Angela’s hand to indicate that it was to be the last spoonful and said, ‘That’s exactly right. And you certainly can’t take time off school to stay with them, Angela.’

  ‘What if someone tries to hurt them or takes them to … to eat? Mavis Dodds said her brother has a duck’s egg for breakfast every morning.’

  ‘I’m sure nothing will happen.’ Fred tried to assure Angela.

  ‘You’re not taking a day off school and that’s flat,’ Mum said.

  The sound of a knock at the door interrupted what looked as if it was going to be one of Angela’s outbursts.

  I jumped down the stairs three at a time – my record – I was aiming for four, but I hadn’t quite made it yet. The last time I tried, I ended up in a pile at the bottom and Mum was certain I’d broken my ankle.

  Paula Dibble was at the door hovering from one foot to the other. As usual, the pleats in her skirt stood to attention, and her blouse was snowy against the greyness outside.

  ‘The ducks are swimming on the crater now. Have you seen them?’

  ‘Course we have.’ Angela was close behind me down the stairs. She looked as if she was about to bite Paula.

  Paula stepped backwards, saying, ‘I’d better go, I’ve got to finish packing my satchel ready for school.’

  ‘Thanks for last night,’ I said. ‘Angela’s upset because Mum won’t let her take the day off school to look after her precious ducks,’ I explained.

  ‘Blabbermouth!’

  ‘I’m sure the ducks will be ...’

  ‘I’ll stay at the bombsite for the day and look after them,’ I said, beaming at the suddenness of my idea.

  ‘And how d’you propose doing that, clever clogs?’

  ‘I’ll bunk school. Mum didn’t say I couldn’t have the day off.’

  ‘But won’t people see you?’ Paula seemed unsure.

  ‘I know just the right place to hide.’

  ‘Well, I s’ppose you could.’ Angela looked like she was considering it. ‘You’ll need a note for Mrs Colby, though.’

  Paula took us by surprise when she offered to help. ‘That’s easy, I’ll write one. They might suspect something if it came from you, but I’m good at forging other people’s handwriting.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because you’re alway
s such a ...’

  ‘When Mum’s not looking I’ll put a couple of pieces of writing paper and an envelope in my satchel. I can write the letter in the alley next to Jack Moody’s yard, then you can give it to Mrs Colby. I’ve already packed my fountain pen. I’ll say Tony’s been up all night vomiting. You’ll have to tell me how your mother signs her name.’

  ‘That sounds all right.’ The word vomitting impressed me. I would have said spewing or chucking it up.

  ‘You’d better hurry up if you’re going to write the note and go to the ducks. Mornings are the most dangerous.’ Angela still wasn’t completely out of her bad mood, but, then, when was she ever!

  ‘Nobody’s going to find out. Who’s going to suspect me? It’s quite fun, really.’ Paula smiled at me and I smiled back. It was smashing sharing a secret, even though Angela had to be in on it. It was probably the first time in her whole life that Paula Dibble planned to lie.

  The mist that had made the bombsite appear so eerie the night before had melted away and the place didn’t seem half so spooky. I settled myself in a dug-out behind an ancient fireplace. It was the best hiding place I knew. I used it a lot when we played ‘Can’t Be Found’ with the Gang. From there I could see everything that was going on all around, without anyone seeing me.

  I wrapped Angela’s blanket around me which was still damp from the night air and smelt of cats’ pee. Paula had managed to sneak two queen cakes from her mother’s tin. I stuffed them into my mouth whole, wishing she’d brought me more.

  Further along Blountmere Street I could see Vic Newnham delivering coal. His face was as black as Paula’s cat, Betsy. A couple of women from further down the street passed by, wheeling their prams. I heard one threaten to give her toddler a “good hiding”. Mrs Dibble was on her way to clean the bakers. She raced along as if a cheetah was chasing her, with Ma Barker having to gallop by her side to pass the time of day.

  Just as my legs were going numb and I was considering climbing out of my spy hole, Fred and Lori sauntered by, arm in arm. They stopped to look at the ducks. I lowered myself deeper into my hiding place as the skuffing of stones told me they were getting closer.

  ‘Goodness, I don’t know how these kids play over here without injuring themselves,’ Lori seemed to be struggling to get her breath.

  ‘I’m sure you did it once,’ Fred laughed. ‘At least we can tell Angela we’ve been to see her precious ducks. Have you got the bread?’

  There was a rustling of paper, then a short silence, followed by a plop, a splash, a quacking and swift movement of the water as the ducks paddled towards the bread.

  ‘She’s obsessed about them,’ Lori continued.

  ‘From what you’ve told me, it seems to have something to do with that kitten they had.’

  ‘It’s amazing how small children remember things. Mind you, who could forget it? I know I’ve never been able to. It was awful. As usual, Ted Addington was the worse for drink and … he kicked it down the stairs, then trampled on it. I helped Dolly clear up the mess and Mr Dibble next door buried it in his garden. We told him a car had run it over.’

  They strolled away, with Fred saying, ‘That poor girl. She’s probably sitting at school worrying about her ducks now.’ Their voices trailed into the distance and I wriggled further up and saw them rounding the bend into The High Street.

  I wondered where exactly our kitten had been buried. Then, trying to get rid of the pictures in my head, I tugged the copy of The Girl Paula had left me from my pocket.

  The ducks were still swimming around the sides of the crater. I supposed they were hoping there would be more people to throw them bread. I guessed it must be dinner-time. Suddenly I realised I had missed a school dinner. What a waste! I imagined the gang tucking into shepherds pie, which was what we usually had on a Wednesday. I wished I hadn’t eaten the queen cakes in one go. I was tempted to leave my hideout and sneak back home. Only thoughts of what Angela would do to me if she found out kept me huddled there, cold, stiff and hungry.

  The first thing Angela said when she got back from school was, ‘Those ducks been all right?’ She was breathless from running straight from school, and her hair was hanging in strands over her eyes. Two of the buttons on her blouse had come undone.

  ‘Course they have.’

  ‘What they been doing?’

  ‘What d’you think they’ve been doing? What ducks always do – swimming, stupid.’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on.’

  ‘What about the letter? Did you give it to Mrs Colby?’

  ‘Course I did.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said to tell you, she hopes you get better soon, and some claptrap about Mum being a sensible woman making you stay at home’

  ‘And what about Paula?’

  ‘She acted all innocent, a right Goody Two Shoes.’ Angela stretched her arm down to help me out of the hole. ‘You can go now I’m here.’

  She was ordering me away as if I’d enjoyed myself all day.

  ‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, grumble guts? I thought you might want to go home to Fred or meet your chums, now I’m here to look after Bert and Bertha.’

  ‘Bert and Bertha? Who are they?’

  ‘The ducks, of course. You can’t spend all this time with them without giving them a name.’

  ‘But you don’t know if they’re a boy and a girl and, anyway, who’s the boy and who’s the girl?’

  ‘That’s the boy,’ she said pointing a finger blue-black with ink at the duck closest to us.

  ‘But how can you tell? I can’t see any difference.’

  ‘Of course you can’t, but I can,’ Angela was her usual snotty self.

  ‘Well, I think they’re daft names,’ I sneered, needing to have the final word.

  Three days later, the ducks had gone. Angela scoured every inch of the bombsite but she didn’t find Bert and Bertha. I could tell by the red circles around her eyes she’d been crying. I was glad she hadn’t done it openly in front of everyone. That would have been too embarrassing for words.

  ‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that one day they might take flight.’ Fred said in a soft voice. ‘In all probability they’ve returned to the ponds on The Common.’

  ‘But didn’t they know they were safe with us?’

  ‘They obviously didn’t know where they were well off.’ Fred smiled, backing out of the kitchen and into the scullery. ‘But perhaps these young fellows will recognise their good luck.’ He walked back into the kitchen carrying a cage.

  ‘They might make up for losing the ducks.’ He placed the cage on the table. ‘Go on, open it.’

  Angela undid the catch on the door. She reached into the cage and took out one of two hamsters.

  ‘They’re lovely, really beautiful.’ Angela passed the first hamster out to me, before coaxing the second one into her hand and stroking it with her still inky finger.

  ‘Now you have a pet each,’ Fred said, looking from Angela to me, and back to Angela. ‘They’re a present from Miss Lorimore and me, with your mother’s blessing, of course.

  I peered into the cage. ‘They’ve even got a wheel to run on.’

  ‘And they’re really ours?’ Angela queried.

  ‘They’re your pets.’

  I nuzzled the little creature against my face. ‘I’m going to call mine Brian.’ It seemed as good a name for a hamster as any. Brian Bamfrey at school was the best one in the class at leaping over the vaulting horse. Anyway, we’d had another pet once whose name had begun with a B.

  ‘That’s a stupid …’ Angela began, then, ‘ Benjy. Mine’s going to be Benjy.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to tell them apart?’ Fred asked.

  ‘Mine’s got a patch on his ear,’ I interrupted before Angela could say she would know Benjy anywhere, without saying why.

  We stroked and stroked them until at last we put the hamsters back in their cage,
to their wheel running and to a much safer world than Berry had known.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Morning, sonny. Does a Frederick George Stannard live here?’

  I stared at the policeman on our doorstep. What would a copper want with Fred?

  ‘Well, does he?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll fetch him.’

  ‘Good lad, and while you’re getting him, what about letting me stand inside. There’s nothing like a copper on the doorstep to set tongues wagging.’ The policeman glanced behind him at the group of kids already gathered on the pavement outside.

  ‘What’s the problem, Constable?’ Fred asked, entering the hall, at the same time unrolling his shirt-sleeves.

  ‘Frederick George Stannard?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  I looked at Fred, but his face didn’t look any different – not guilty or frightened. He looked just the same as he did every morning after he’d shaved.

  ‘Is there anywhere we can talk privately, sir?’

  Without answering, Fred led the policeman to his room, and I zoomed to the kitchen as if I was on a spaceship mission over on the bombsite with the Gang.

  ‘A copper’s here for Fred. He’s in his room now.’ I told Mum and Angela, even before I had fully opened the door.

  ‘What’s he want him for?’ Angela asked, swallowing a mouthful of toast. She looked like a goldfish gulping air.

  ‘How should I know? I told you, he’s in his room now. D’you think Fred’s committed a crime? I mean, he wouldn’t have stolen anything, would he? Not Fred.’

  ‘He’s probably murdered someone,’ Angela answered, as if it was nothing.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Angela,’ Mum said.

  ‘The way Tony carries on, you’d think Fred was Jack The Ripper.’ Angela spoke through the piece of toast in her mouth.

  ‘That’s enough, Angela,’ Mum reprimanded. ‘I expect we’ll know what it’s about soon enough.’

  ‘You don’t think he’ll be taken to prison, do you?’ I didn’t know how Angela could go on eating as if nothing was happening.