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

by Barbara Arnold

  On the day we went to Hampton Court, Lori was wearing a scarf I hadn’t seen before. It seemed even longer and had flowers scattered over it, like one of Old Dibbles’ flower beds.

  ‘It gives things a floral, summery look,’ she said when Fred commented on how “fetching” she looked. “Fetching” must be a good thing to look because Lori blushed and smiled.

  We waved to Mum who stood on the doorstep. Some of the Blountmere Street kids stared at us as we rounded the bombsite, but we ignored them as we walked past the prefabs and on towards the High Street.

  ‘I bet they’ve never been to Hampton Court,’ Angela said, sticking her nose in the air.

  It seemed we had no sooner got to the bus stop than the bus arrived and Lori said, ‘Well, I never. Many’s the time I’ve taken this bus, but I’ve never had such a short wait.’

  ‘It must be a sign that today’s going to be a good one,’ Fred smiled. ‘I suppose you youngsters want to go upstairs,’ but Angela was already halfway up.

  The top deck was smoky, emphasising the blueness of the sky and the greenness of The Common outside. All at once, I realised we were going to have to pass the playground. I hadn’t been there since Dobsie’s accident, and I squeezed my eyes shut. Fred was sitting behind me seeming to sense my dread. He put his hand on my shoulder. I don’t know if his touch gave me courage, but I opened my eyes just as we passed the playground. The lizzies had been replaced by two piddly rocking horses.

  ‘Look out for Bert and Bertha,’ Fred said, keeping his hand on my shoulder, as we passed the pond that had an island in the middle. I could see ducks launching themselves into the water and others waddling about on the grass.

  ‘All right, lad?’

  ‘Here, have a lemon drop,’ Lori offered.

  ‘We’ve never been as far as this in our whole lives,’ Angela said, as she peered at her image reflected in the window, and primped her hair.

  The further we went, the more spaced out the houses became, with grass verges and lots of trees.

  When we got off the bus I stood looking at some of the houses that were covered with leaves. Lori said the green stuff was ivy. I thought it was pretty funny because the ivy only left gaps for the windows and doors, which looked like eyes and noses peering through the leaves.

  ‘Some of those houses are very old. It’s probably only the creeper that’s keeping them from falling down,’ Fred said.

  I didn’t know how old our place was, but it was probably held together by soot, and the only leaves were those in Old Dibbles’ garden.

  ‘Let’s walk across Bushey Park, which will lead us to Hampton Court Palace,’ Fred suggested, and we set off.

  To me, Bushey Park was like a jungle, with a tangle of dead leaves and twigs that crunched beneath our feet. The trees grew so close, I couldn’t see the sky, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to see monkeys swinging through the branches. ‘This must be just like South America,’ I said to Fred.

  He laughed and said, ‘Not quite.’ Then he winked at Lori, who, as usual was hanging on to his arm.

  Just as Angela started complaining about how far she had to walk and that she couldn’t manage another step, we came to an open area.

  ‘This seems an ideal place for our picnic, Fred,’ Lori’s smile was wide enough to show a good few of her teeth and Fred rubbed his hand against her arm. I hoped they weren’t going to be lovey-dovey all day. Angela raised her eyebrows in a way that said she felt the same.

  Fred had brought a bag with him that was almost as big as a suitcase. He put it down, opened it and pulled out an old blanket which he spread on the ground. Lori had packed sandwiches and a flask of tea, and I thought she was going to make her usual comments about the good old British cuppa and dear Mr Churchill and The War. Instead, she rummaged in the bag, her head practically disappearing into it, and with a sort of whoop, she pulled out a bottle of Tizer.

  ‘Much better than tea, don’t you think?’ She said.

  Fred had bought a shillings worth of cakes from the baker’s on our way to the bus stop and he offered me the bag. I shut my eyes and dipped my hand in. I wanted the doughnut, and I knew Angela wanted the shell cake. As it happened, I got the shell cake and she the doughnut.

  ‘Swap them,’ Fred advised.

  I thought how straightforward things were with Fred. There was no arguing or trying to get the biggest or the best, nor was there any using it to lord it over the other person. Fred was fair and not a bit selfish.

  We finished our picnic, with Fred and Lori having one last cup of tea. Then we made our way across a green and into some of the Palace gardens that made Old Dibble’s bit of dirt nothing to show off about, although he always did. The roses, which were the only flowers Angela and I knew the name of, were a silky sheet of colour, and when I breathed in their scent, my nostrils seemed to capture it. Their smell stayed with me for the rest of the day, sweet and in some way comforting.

  I’d had enough of gardens by the time we’d trudged round one that had a lot of small bushes cut into shapes and criss-crossed by gravel paths. Fred said this type of garden had been very fashionable a few hundred years ago. Lori replied it was too orderly for her liking. ‘Give me a bit of clutter,’ she said, making me think of her kitchen.

  In a teasing way, Fred said, ‘I wonder how I knew this wouldn’t be your type of garden, Amelia,’ and winked at her.

  Angela lifted her eyebrows again. She could get them so high they almost touched her hair. ‘I think gardens like this are boring,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps the maze will be more to your liking,’ Fred suggested, hoisting the picnic bag higher up his shoulder.

  ‘It’s not another lot of bushes, is it?’

  ‘Actually, it is, but they’re taller, and they’re planted in such a way that once you enter, it’s difficult to find your way out. It’s a game, a sort of puzzle.’

  ‘We’ll get out, though, won’t we?’

  ‘Eventually,’ Fred told her. ‘I haven’t heard of anyone being imprisoned in the maze for a lifetime.’ He grinned at Lori and her face turned the colour of one of the pink roses we had just seen. As much as I liked being out with Fred, this courting lark was a bit much.

  To begin with, the maze seemed simple enough, but after we had been going round and round for what seemed hours, and Lori was complaining of her bunions and Angela beginning to panic, it stopped being fun. Perhaps we would be the first never to come out. We were all being punished because of me and Dobsie. It was all my fault.

  ‘We need to think about where we’ve come from and retrace our steps.’ Fred sounded as confident as he always did, and led us round endless bends, each one looking the same as the one before. Eventually, we found ourselves on the outside again.

  ‘I told you there was nothing to worry about.’ He patted Angela’s arm, but she said ‘I wasn’t worried. It’d take a lot more than that to put the wind up me.’

  I looked up at Fred. How could a maze be difficult for a man who had sailed round the world hundreds of times!

  Sitting on a bench overlooking the River Thames, we finished the last of the cakes, this time iced buns, before going into The Palace. It was the biggest building I had ever seen, not high like the ones I made with my Meccano set, but stretched wide as if the bricks were on elastic.

  Walking round the huge entrance hall reminded me of Mum’s church, echoey and cold. The walls were covered with paintings and tapestries of men on horses wearing silver and red armour, and women sitting in gardens under rose arches sewing or just talking to each other. I wondered if any of them had been Old Henry’s wives. If they were, they might not be as carefree as they looked. Perhaps they were discussing how they could avoid having their heads chopped off.

  ‘This is much more to my liking,’ Lori said studying all the paintings, and I thought Fred was going to say he wondered how he knew that, too, but he didn’t, although the corners of his mouth turned up.

  I reckoned our kitchen would have fitted int
o the Palace kitchen a hundred times. It had huge pots and pans hanging from beams and a fireplace you could walk into.

  ‘I couldn’t imagine how much coal this fireplace would have taken,’ Lori exclaimed. ‘If my grate was this big, Vic Newnham would be making a delivery every day of the week and weekends as well.’

  ‘Fancy eating your Spam in a room like this,’ Fred laughed, as we walked through what he said was the Great Banqueting Hall. Again, it was massive with a carved stone ceiling and oblong windows.

  ‘Can you imagine Old Henry at the top table drinking from a golden goblet as they brought in a roasted pig with an apple in its mouth and all the trimmings. Do you know people actually came to watch him eat,’ Fred told us.

  ‘Did they get the leftovers?’ I asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ Fred replied.

  ‘They should’ve saved their time. Who would want to see some old bloke scoffing grub, and not get offered anything, even if it was only a biscuit.’ Angela was scathing.

  Upstairs, one room led into another, all looking out on to the gardens or the river - wide and winding its way on forever. How could one person need so many rooms, even if he was a king?

  We continued walking along a gallery that all at once seemed chill. Like every room in the Palace, paintings of strangely dressed men and women looking serious and important, stared down at us. Some had a faraway, mysterious look and the ones of Old Henry scared me. Our Old Man had been bad enough, but he hadn’t chopped anyone’s head off.

  ‘This place is supposed to be haunted by one of Henry’s wives. She walks along here at midnight screaming.’ Angela whispered, trying to be dramatic and frighten me.

  ‘How can she scream if she’s had her head cut off?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I’m only telling you what the guide said. How am I supposed to know what ghosts do?’

  ‘I don’t know if I should have liked to live in these times. What about you, Fred?’ Lori asked, before a fight could develop between Angela and me.

  ‘I’m not certain. The Elizabethan period would have been an exciting one for a sailor. I think I should have liked to have sailed with Sir Francis Drake or Sir Walter Raleigh.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have liked to live when Henry was alive,’ Angela said, frowning at the portrait of a girl who was probably about her age. ‘I’d hate having to wear one of those dresses and a stupid hat. I wouldn’t have liked not having electricity. Candles are all right, but I reckon you’d soon get fed up with them.’

  For once I had to agree with her. I couldn’t imagine life without Dick Barton and cowboys and Indians. I liked living right here and now, where I had everything I wanted: a bob for school dinners every Monday, a tanner for Saturday Picture Club, a Meccano set, a Bible and Spam once a week. Best of all we’d swapped the Old Man for Fred.

  On the bus back home, Angela sat next to Lori in case she sicked up, which meant Fred sat next to me. We talked about Hampton Court.

  ‘I’ve got some history books about the Tudor and Elizabethan periods in my room at home. I’ll show them to you if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I was interested all right, especially now we’d been to a real palace. I doubted anyone in Blountmere Street had been there, but I wouldn’t say anything to Dennis and Herbie about liking old buildings or anything like that. I’d still act like a dunce when Mrs Colby gave us a history lesson, although I’d already memorised Old Henry’s dates, and the names of his six wives. I didn’t want to be thought a sissy like Harry Billings, who wore glasses, and had his hair parted in the middle and smarmed down. Every lesson he asked questions and nodded and said “thank you so much” to Mrs Colby when she answered him, and he never looked at the rude pictures that got passed around the class.

  ‘Do you think Henry ever felt guilty for what he did?’ I asked Fred.

  ‘Henry deserved to feel guilty, but often we load guilt on ourselves that doesn’t belong on our shoulders at all, especially after people have died.’ He squeezed my arm, and I knew he was talking about me and Dobsie. If I hadn’t tried to go so high; If I’d slowed the lizzie sooner, he wouldn’t have been killed. If I hadn’t suggested we went up The Common in the first place he would still be alive.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, lad. Everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions,’ Fred said. He took hold of my hand and pressed it hard.

  The sky was striped pink when we passed The Common, and the playground looked lonely with shadowy arms stretched across it. This time, though, it was easier with Fred sitting beside me, holding my hand.

  Chapter Seven

  Lori didn’t usually knock before she came into our kitchen. She had a key to our front door and usually barged straight in - that was after she’d popped her head round Fred’s door “to pass the time of day”. But today she tapped at our kitchen door, coughed a rippling little cough and waited, though the lavender water she was wearing had already wafted into the kitchen. She twisted her hands together, and Fred stood behind her, sort of grinning, but I could see red blotches on his neck and on his scalp where his hair didn’t grow.

  ‘Well, come in the two of you,’ Mum said. ‘Since when have you had to be invited?’

  Lori coughed again, and she and Fred sidled to the table, where I was making a crane from my Meccano set and Angela was threading some beads she had got for her birthday on to a string. Although Mum indicated some chairs for them to sit on, they kept standing like the statues on Lori’s sideboard.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ Mum asked, and Angela looked at me, putting her finger to her temple, winding it round and round, mouthing ‘They’ve gone nutty.’

  ‘It’s … well …’ Fred began.

  ‘We wanted to …’ Lori stopped.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Mum said, while Angela continued her winding action.

  ‘With Eileen, Fred’s wife … um … ex wife having passed away practically a year ago.’ Lori did a couple more coughs before looking to Fred for help.

  ‘Perhaps we should have waited a little longer, but circumstances have precipitated things,’ Fred continued.

  I didn’t know what “precipitated” meant. I couldn’t even pronounce it. I would just have to try and make sense of the rest of what they were stuttering and stammering about.

  ‘So to cut a long story short.’

  ‘I wish he would,’ Angela whispered.

  ‘I’ve asked Amelia to become my wife and she’s accepted.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news! I couldn’t think of a better matched couple.’ Mum was unusually quick to her feet. Just as unusual was the way she flung her arms around them both.

  ‘So you don’t think we’ll be the centre of Blountmere Street gossip?’ Lori asked.

  ‘Probably, but since when did that matter?’

  Lori stopped twisting her handbag strap and I realised she had been covering her left hand with her right one. ‘Would you like to see my engagement ring?’ she asked, holding out her hand.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Mum said, gazing at the half-circle of emeralds as green as the grass in Bushey Park, before darting a look at her own hand which was bare of any rings at all.

  ‘Congratulations. We’re very happy for you both, aren’t we?’ Mum said, looking at Angela and me. We both stood up and mumbled, ‘Yes’

  ‘When’s the wedding and where’s it going to be? Will you have it here or in Portsmouth where your sister lives?’

  ‘We’ve decided to have a quiet wedding at a Registry Office here in London, in a month’s time.’ Lori paused, ‘I know bridesmaids aren’t really necessary, but you would make such a pretty one, Angela. Would you like to perform the duty for me? Perhaps we could call you a bridal attendant. Of course, if you don’t want to …’ Before she had time to finish, Angela hurled herself at Lori, and of all the sick-making things, she kissed her. ‘Thanks! Thanks millions.’

  Turning to Fred, she hugged him like she did Benjy her hamster, causing Fred to have to clear his throat.

/>   ‘What sort of dress will I have? Will it be long? And what colour?’

  The way Angela was carrying on, anyone would have thought she was the one who was getting married.

  ‘How about you choose it yourself? We can go shopping for the material and a pattern, and perhaps your mother will make it.’ Lori stopped. ‘I had actually meant to ask you first, Dolly, but we seem to have got a little ahead of ourselves.’

  Mum, smiled a soft sort of smile. ‘I’d be delighted to make Angela’s dress, and a month would give me plenty of time. ‘What about yours? She asked. ‘I’ll make that too if you like.’

  ‘I thought I’d wear a suit.’

  ‘I could cope with a suit,’ Mum assured Lori in her usual quiet way. Mum’s eyes hadn’t looked that bright with glinty lights in them since our christening.

  ‘Now, Tony, I think it’s our turn.’ Fred put his arm around my shoulder which always made me feel proud, especially if he did it when we were out.

  ‘As you know, my son is in New Zealand, and I don’t have any family member living close who I could ask to be my best man, so I was wondering if you would take on the role?’

  In contrast to Angela’s noisy and unusually lovey-dovey reaction, mine was the opposite. Gulping and swallowing, I looked from Fred to Lori, across to Angela and Mum and back to Fred.

  ‘Do I take it, you’ll agree?’ Fred asked.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  Fred gripped my hand and shook it. ‘While the ladies are sorting out their paraphernalia, we’ll get ourselves fitted for a couple of suits. What do you think?’

  But all I could manage was a strangled, ‘Smashing.’

  I couldn’t wait to get downstairs to the Dibbles to tell Paula all the wedding plans. As soon as Fred and Lori had left our kitchen, holding hands and giving each other dopey looks, I bolted down our stairs, tugged open our door, crossed our doorstep to the Dibbles’ one, and hammered on their front door.