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

by Barbara Arnold

  When the photographer had finished and the confetti thrown, Mrs Dibble said it was time for them to go, or they would miss the bus. Anyway, our taxi was about to arrive. For a short time we stood in an awkward group on the pavement, before Fred pumped the Dibbles’ hands, thanking them for coming and Lori kissed them both. For one moment I thought Mrs Dibble was going to kiss me, and I held myself stiff and sucked in my cheeks. Instead she kissed Angela, who didn’t seem to mind at all.

  Just as we had in Blountmere Street, we climbed into the taxi as if we were film stars. This time Angela waved at everyone we passed, and most shocking of all, she even blew some of them kisses, so that I was relieved when we arrived at Lyons Corner House for the wedding reception.

  In the murky afternoon light it seemed like a shining palace. Violin music floated through the revolving doors when we entered. The sound was like our own national anthem being played.

  With my new shoes still squeaking, and picking confetti from my suit jacket, my feet sank into thick blue carpet as we followed a waiter into a huge room. I had never seen so many tables. They were covered with white tablecloths, and looked like a sky full of clouds, the blue of the carpet slanting through like an April day. Along with the music, I heard the clink of glasses, the scraping of cutlery on china and a buzz of voices like bees in a warm and friendly beehive.

  Still following the waiter, we walked between the cloud-tables, Angela’s long dress swishing, its colour altering from delicate and gentle to dark and threatening as the light changed. I was sure the diners around us were watching us, smiling at the beautiful girl in her long ever-changing frock, and at the boy, his curls refusing to be completely flattened, wearing his grey suit with long trousers.

  At last we reached our table and the waiter actually pulled our chairs out for us. We sat, and he handed us each a black and gold menu. When he asked Fred if there was anything we’d like, Fred ordered a glass of orange each. The waiter actually bowed before turning to leave, which made Angela giggle.

  We all ordered chicken with stuffing, because that seemed the most special thing to eat at a wedding. When they came, the roast potatoes were just as I liked them – crunchy on the outside and soft in the middle. Even though it wasn’t the season for them, we actually had brussels sprouts. In a funny kind of way the dining room smells mixed with the scent of roses, giving the place a homey scent.

  For afters, there was trifle with real cream on top, and it wasn’t even Christmas.

  ‘It’s such a lovely day,’ Lori kept saying, each time stroking Fred’s hand, and once Fred said, ‘At last, Amelia,’ and he looked at Lori in a way I knew none of us was meant to see.

  All Mum kept saying was, ‘My, my,’ although I wasn’t sure what she was “my-mying” about.

  ‘When d’you think the pictures we had taken‘ll be ready?’ Angela asked, sucking red jelly into her mouth and making a disgusting noise.

  ‘In a week or two.’ Lori smiled, seeming to understand Angela’s impatience. ‘When they’re developed we’ll have a couple framed and you can put them on the sideboard in your kitchen. They’ll remind you of us.’

  ‘We won’t need any reminding. We’ll remember today forever and ever. Anyway, you’ll always be there, so we won’t need anything to remember you by.’

  Lori put her napkin up to her face in a fit of coughing. ‘Something caught in my throat,’ she croaked but when she took the napkin away, it looked as if she was about to cry. Angela said all brides cried at their weddings, but I thought Lori was too old to get so soppy.

  ‘Now it’s time for the official part,’ Fred rubbed Lori’s shoulder. Then he tapped a spoon lightly on the table. ‘I’m aware, of course, that normally the bridegroom rises to make his speech, but since we’re surrounded by other people, if you don’t mind I’ll stay seated.’

  The reason we all laughed, I think, was because the word, “bridegroom”, didn’t seem to suit Fred. He was middle aged and not at all like the young blokes you imagined bridegrooms to be. We agreed it was all right for him to stay seated.

  ‘I’m not sure if we’ve got it in the right order,’ he began. ‘But first, I’d like to thank you all for coming.’ Fred swept his arm around the table as if he was making a speech to a whole shipload of sailors.

  ‘Angela, you’re the prettiest bridal attendant it’s been my pleasure to set eyes on.’

  Angela cuddled into Mum, as if she was actually shy.

  ‘And, Tony, you have been an exemplary best man, although your duties aren’t over yet because you have to read out the cards.’

  ‘As long as I don’t have to make a speech.’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to. You need only propose a toast,’ Fred said, to my relief. ‘As for you Mrs Add … Dolly, your dressmaking talents have helped to make Amelia the most beautiful bride in the world. So I’d like you to charge your glasses and drink a toast to “my wife”.’

  I lifted my glass, glad to cover up the burning in my cheeks.

  ‘Right, Tony, now it’s your turn.’ Fred nodded at Lori. She opened up her new handbag, which already looked as cluttered as the old one and pulled out a number of cards which she handed to Fred. He slid a knife along each envelope flap, took the card from it and handed it to me.

  ‘There’s one here from …’ I squinted at the writing, ‘from …’

  ‘Betty and Bob.’ Lori, leant across me and whispered.

  ‘Betty and Bob,’ I repeated, wishing I could understand the writing without Lori’s help.

  ‘Betty’s been a good friend since we were in school together, although I haven’t seen her for years,’ Lori explained.

  We went through all the cards like this, with Lori reading who it was from, saying something about them and finishing with, “I haven’t seen them in years”. In the end I didn’t bother reading the cards myself, and handed them straight to her. It made me feel a bit of a dope, sitting there passing the cards from Fred to Lori. Then Fred handed me a telegram that I needed no help to read.

  ‘It’s from Joyce and Len in Canada,’ I read. ‘And it says, “To Dad and Amelia. Love and Congratulations. Wish we could be with you.”

  Fred ran a hand over his eyes, while Lori patted his arm and I hurried on. ‘That’s it. Now I’d like to propose a toast to …’

  ‘Wait a minute! I’m sorry I’d forgotten this. You dropped it, Mr Stan … Fred, as you were walking down the path. I guessed it was a wedding card and popped it in my bag. At least, I think it’s a card.’ Mum passed an envelope to me. I could tell from the stamp, it was from New Zealand where Fred’s son, Ronald, lived. He had written to his father several times lately, twice in one week not so long ago. Fred had soaked off the stamps, and given them to me to swap at school. I slit open the envelope myself. The writing was neat and I didn’t need any help from Lori. I read out the message of congratulations and best wishes. I was about to put it on the pile with all the others, when I noticed a line of small writing at the bottom of the card. ‘Hold on a mo, it’s got something else written here. It says, “We’re counting the days until you and Amelia emmigrate to New Zealand in November”.’

  Chapter Nine

  I hardly heard the music or noticed the blue carpet and white-clothed tables as we made our way from the restaurant. A few hours ago I had practically skipped in there, now my feet felt so heavy I could hardly lift them.

  Outside, the lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere in the taxi was so thick I could have cut it like Fred and Lori had just cut the wedding cake.

  Lori sobbed and whispered, ‘I’m sorry,’ every few minutes.

  Angela clung to Mum, her voice getting higher and higher. ‘Don’t let them go. Please don’t let them go.’

  I pushed myself into a corner and considered opening the door and running for it. It didn’t matter where I ran to, just as long as I could escape from the truth. Fred and Lori wouldn’t really leave us. Something would stop them. They wouldn’t go through with it.

  Fred
bent forward and held his head in his hands, pushing his hair backwards and forwards and I knew what was in the telegram was as real and binding as what was written in that book in the Registry Office to say they were married.

  Even as we drove along the dark London streets, a different life was waiting for them far, far away from us. There was nothing I could do to change it. They’d made fools of us. Fred had made us think our lives were safe since he moved in, but they were built on sand after all. Fred was clearing off, just like the Old Man, abandoning us. And Fred and Lori weren’t popping round the corner, or going to be a bus or train ride away. They were disappearing to the other side of the world.

  My chest was so tight it felt like a boulder was crushing me.

  What would I do? How would I live without Fred? He had been everything I had ever wanted in a father. Hadn’t he called me his son?

  The next morning Fred stood in our kitchen with Lori beside him, her eyes looking like puffy slits.

  ‘We never wanted you to find out this way. We can see now that we should have told you before the wedding, but we didn’t want to spoil things. You were so excited. We didn’t want to take that away from you’

  ‘These things happen. You should probably have told us before the wedding, but hindsight’s a wonderful thing. No time is ever the right time when it comes to giving people difficult news.’

  I couldn’t understand how Mum could take it so lightly. She was going to lose Lori who had kept us afloat when otherwise we would have gone under, and here she was saying, “These things happen”. She was weak and without a backbone. She should fight. Fight for herself, fight for us. She should be trying to keep our lives on concrete. Even Angela, sitting at the table stuffing toast into her mouth, appeared to have got over it.

  ‘As you can imagine, this wasn’t an easy decision to make.’ Fred avoided looking at me. If he had cast his gaze in my direction, he would have seen how much I hated him. ‘But my son in New Zealand desperately needs me to help him with his business.’

  Lori continued. ‘And Fred has never really taken to retirement so …’

  ‘Your son can rot in hell. You’re no better than the Old Man. Clear off. See if I care. I don’t need you or your bloody things,’ I grabbed my Meccano set from on top of the sideboard and hurled the box against the wall. The pieces fell out and scattered across the floor. One of them hit Lori’s foot, leaving blood on her ankle.

  ‘Tony,’ Mum exclaimed.

  ‘Leave him,’ Fred said.

  I raced out the kitchen and flung myself down the stairs, banging our front door so hard I heard something crash to the floor in the Dibbles’ place.

  Outside, I ran and ran around the bombsite yelling, punching the air, swearing, cursing Fred with every word I could find. In my head I planned how I would run a knife through him and leave him in his own blood to die.

  On and on, round and round, until my breath caught in my throat and my sides ached. I climbed into my dug-out and looked at the place where we’d found the ducks. We hadn’t left those ducks to fend for themselves like Fred and Lori were leaving us. They’d promised in front of God to be there for us. They’d lied. Tears fell on to my knees and slid down my legs. I couldn’t stop them. How could Fred say his son in New Zealand needed him more?

  I heard the rattle of stones and looked up through a blur of tears. Paula was lowering herself into the hole beside me. We sat there squashed together not speaking until my tears became a trickle, streaking my cheeks.

  ‘The pair of ‘em are hypocrites. We were all going to be a family … the five of us … forever.’

  ‘Fred and Lori?’

  ‘They’re going to New Zealand to live with his precious son. Why? Why? We’re more his kids than that stupid Ronald. I hate him. I hate the two of them. I hate all of them.’

  Paula picked up a handful of stones and let them run through her fingers. Then she put her arms around me and we wept together.

  In spite of all my prayers beseeching God to stop them from going, Fred and Lori left for New Zealand on a late October day, when the sun painted a golden outline round the kids playing conkers on their way to school.

  Outside our flat, we stood in a huddle together, dreading having to finally say goodbye. Lori was clinging to Mum as if she couldn’t bear to let her go. ‘We’ve left you some money and some stuff in the larder to help you out.’ Lori was half speaking, half crying. ‘And we’ll write every week.’

  ‘We wish you every success in your new life,’ Mum said in a stiff voice.

  I didn’t wish them every success. I hoped they hated it; and that they were let down by Fred’s son as Fred had let us down.

  Next Lori hugged Angela, saying, ‘You’ve always been my special girl. Do well in your life.’ Lori stroked Angela’s back. It heaved up and down as she cried.

  She moved towards me, but I wouldn’t let her hug me, and I stepped back, looking down at the pavement.

  Fred shook hands with Mum and stroked Angela’s arm, before offering me his hand. I declined it and Fred rubbed my shoulder instead. I shrugged him off. But as the taxi arrived, Fred pulled me to him, holding me so that I couldn’t get away. ‘Take care, son. Look after your mother and sister.’ His voice faltered. ‘I did my best,’ he said.

  I didn’t answer him. He hadn’t done his best for me - for us. He’d failed us and he’d caused Lori to do the same.

  As the taxi made its way along Blountmere Street with Fred and Lori inside waving at us from inside, more a sad moving of their hands than a wave, it looked to me like a black bird carrying them away from us forever.

  The weather turned to a damp chill, which brought fog and ultimately smog.

  ‘Mum, Tony won’t turn on the wireless and he’s sitting right on top of it,’ Angela screwed up a piece of paper. She threw it across the room, and it hit me in the eye.

  ‘Oi, pack it in. Just for that you can do it yourself.’

  Mum sighed. The ulcers on her legs were worse. I could see her pain in the lines on her face and the circles under her eyes. ‘Don’t be awkward, Tony. Just switch it on for your sister.’

  I didn’t answer, but I knew it was an effort for Mum to have to sort out our squabbling.

  ‘Fred left the wireless for all of us, not only you, Mr High and Mighty,’ Angela shouted.

  ‘So what! I’m still not turning it on.’

  ‘Mum!’ Angela whined, but our bickering had driven Mum to the safe mind-place that she had again begun visiting since Fred and Lori left. Instead of feeling worried or sorry for her, she irritated me.

  Shaking Mum’s shoulders, Angela demanded, ‘Why don’t you say something? Don’t you care! You’ve got sewing to do, but you’re not doing it. That Mrs Clemence will be round here soon for her skirt, then what’ll happen if it isn’t made?’

  ‘Don’t go on, there’s a good girl.’

  ‘Can’t you see, the food and stuff Fred and Lori left isn’t going to last forever, nor is the fifty quid they gave us.’

  ‘Why don’t you stop shouting your mouth off.’ I hated the way Angela was taking charge. I didn’t want to hear things were getting tight again. It reminded me of the “Poor List”. ‘We’ve got old Selska’s rent, so I don’t know what you’re going on about?’

  ‘It’s not going to feed and clothe us if Mum doesn’t do her sewing, pea brain.’

  I made a grab for her hair. ‘Don’t call me pea brain!’

  ‘Vat is going on?’ Miss Selska, our new lodger, her hot water bottle under her arm, and carrying a Bakelite mug, entered our kitchen. She brought with her the smell of camphorated oil. The front room, once the home of Fred’s models and his magic globe, was now a different place altogether. We were never invited into it, like we used to be when it had been Fred’s. On the odd occasion when Miss Selska left her door open, all we could see were rows of medicine bottles and jars of pills.

  ‘Vhy is it you children alvays fight? You do not know how lucky you are.’ She shot the words at us l
ike machine gun fire. ‘Vhen I vas a child though ve have no food and any day may be our last, ve never fight. Never! Ve know how lucky ve are to be alive.’

  ‘Here we go again,’ Angela whispered, our bickering forgotten for the time being.

  Giving Mum an accusing stare, Miss Selska carried on. ‘Our mother did not permit us to fight and argue. She taught us to walue vhat ve had.’

  I glanced at the wireless set, wondering whether I dared turn it on and drown her voice out.

  ‘Vhy are not you children in bed, I ask?’

  ‘Cos we’re not,’ I answered, but Miss Selska ignored me.

  ‘As you can see, I am ready to retire to my bed now. Early nights are one of the secrets of good health. You children do not get enough sleep that is vhy you fight.’

  I moved closer to the wireless. How could the old bag say she was healthy. She was as thin as a piece of string, and everything about her was khaki: her hair, her skin, even her eyes.

  ‘And vhile I am on the subject of health, I do not think the children are ad-e-quate-ly dressed Mrs Ad-ding-ton. Angela should not be vearing such thin clothes.’ Miss Selska moved her gaze from Mum to Angela. ‘She should vear voollen things and …. how do you say …. a liberty west.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead in one, so why don’t you …’

  ‘Angela!’ Mum interrupted quickly, and then to Miss Selska, she said, ‘We’re just about to listen to the wireless, would you like to join us?’

  ‘It is wery kind of you, but I cannot accept your offer. I have to go to vork in the morning. As you know, I have a wery important job in the City of London.’

  ‘How can we forget, when she tells us every day,’ I whispered to Angela.

  ‘I vill fill my hot vater bottle and make myself some cocoa. Then I vill take my beauty sleep.’