Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  The queues were already weaving their way down Victoria Road and round the corner to the nearest side street. He spotted Mrs Beaumont at the bottom of the steps, waving frantically. Jeffries, Grace and Pip were with her. And Mrs Morgan. He would have to wait till after the film before he could speak to Mrs Beaumont in private.

  ‘We thought you weren’t going to make it!’ said Grace.

  ‘What kept you?’ asked Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘Dinner,’ answered Henry ruefully. ‘I wasn’t hungry but Uncle Bill said I had to eat everything on my plate.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Grace. ‘My parents are always doing that to me. When they’re home from abroad, they order the maid to heap a mountain of food on my plate so that I have to sit on my own with it in front of me all day till I’ve eaten every little scrap.’

  Just then a stout man came lumbering down the steps towards them.

  ‘Mrs Morgan!’ he shouted.

  It was the manager of the cinema.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Pip’s mother, surprised.

  ‘I’d like a word, Mrs Morgan,’ he said curtly. ‘Now!’

  Henry felt his stomach turn.

  ‘Did you want me earlier tomorrow morning?’ Mrs Morgan asked.

  ‘I may not want you at all, Mrs Morgan, if what I’ve been told is correct.’ He threw back his shoulders. ‘It has been brought to my attention that you are sleeping in this cinema at nights like a common squatter,’ he declared loudly. ‘Is this correct?’

  Henry noticed the people above them whispering to one another. Mrs Morgan stared at him, her mouth open, unable to speak. Henry was angry. He could see the manager was trying to embarrass her in front of everyone.

  ‘This is quite absurd,’ Mrs Beaumont snapped, ‘and the most vindictive nonsense I have ever had the misfortune to hear.’

  ‘I’ll thank you not to interfere, Madam,’ said the manager.

  ‘And I’m surprised that a man in your position should believe it,’ Mrs Beaumont continued. ‘As it happens, Mrs Morgan and her son are residents in my property, where I’m sure she would have preferred you to visit, at an arranged time, when you could have discussed this malicious gossip in private.’

  By now the manager’s face had turned a bright red.

  ‘I had no idea,’ he stammered.

  ‘I think an apology is due, don’t you?’

  ‘Mrs Morgan, what can I say?’

  Henry fought down a smile, at the same time crossing his fingers. He was hoping Pip wouldn’t say anything.

  ‘The person who informed me seemed so respectable,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been duped.’

  ‘Indeed you have, sir.’ Mrs Beaumont turned to Mrs Morgan. ‘You haven’t snubbed some admiring gentleman lately, have you?’

  Mrs Morgan, who was still speechless, shook her head.

  ‘It was a woman,’ said the manager, ‘an elderly woman.’

  Clever Mrs Beaumont. She had managed to get more information out of him.

  ‘And her name?’

  Henry held his breath.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t divulge that even if I knew.’

  ‘Pity. We could have taken her to court. Defamation of character and all that.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said the manager. He turned to Mrs Morgan and almost bowed. ‘Please accept my sincere apologies. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you?’

  He left the question dangling in the air. Mrs Morgan was still staring at him in shock.

  ‘As a matter of fact there is,’ broke in Mrs Beaumont. ‘Mrs Morgan, didn’t you tell me that your son wanted to meet the projectionist?’

  2. The Morgans are rescued

  HENRY EASED OPEN THE BACK DOOR INTO THE YARD AND dragged Mrs Morgan’s suitcase out of the air-raid shelter where he had hidden it for Pip. He shoved it lopsidedly into the wheelbarrow and piled sawn floorboards and blocks of wood on top to conceal it. He gave a jump at the sound of the scullery door being opened.

  ‘Henry?’

  It was his mother.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Gran wants to see you about something. She didn’t say what,’ she added wearily.

  Henry kept piling on the wood.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, but I’m taking this wood round to Mrs Beaumont.’

  ‘I’ll explain that to her.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  To his alarm she stepped out into the yard and walked towards him. A corner of the suitcase was still visible. He placed a piece of wood over it and prayed it wouldn’t slide off.

  ‘I’m sorry I was a bit short with you earlier,’ she said. ‘Uncle Bill had some bad news just before you came in. He’s a bit worried about money, see.’

  ‘Does he know about your typing money?’

  ‘Yes, but you haven’t told Gran, have you?’

  ‘No, course not.’

  ‘We’re in a bit of . . . ’ She stopped. ‘Anyway, we’ll sort it out.’

  They gazed at each other in the dusk.

  ‘You’re a good boy, Henry,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not what Uncle Bill thinks,’ he muttered.

  ‘You’re wrong. He thinks the world of you.’

  ‘He doesn’t let you go to the Pictures.’

  ‘That’s not true. He’d go too if . . . ’ She hesitated.

  ‘He wasn’t so mean,’ Henry finished for her.

  ‘If only you knew,’ she murmured. ‘Look, let’s not argue. I really want us to have a lovely Christmas and it’s only a week away. Please try to get on with him.’ She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re growing up,’ she said softly.

  He watched her return to the scullery. He waited until she had shut the door before heading towards the back of the yard. As soon as he turned the corner of the alley into the street, he spotted Gran hovering in the doorway. ‘Here goes,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said cheerily as he drew closer.

  ‘Can’t that wait till morning? I want to hear all about the films. Did you see Pip?’

  ‘Yeah. He was laughing,’ he lied.

  ‘Really? Why’s that?’

  ‘He’d been pulling my leg and I fell for it.’

  ‘Oh? What about?’

  ‘Him living in the Plaza. He just made it up.’

  His grandmother’s expression never wavered. She smiled and put her head to one side.

  ‘Well, I never,’ she said.

  He pushed the wheelbarrow with such ferocity that it tipped over to one side, sending wood sprawling all over the pavement. He grabbed the wood and righted it again.

  ‘She shouldn’t ask you to do that,’ his gran said. ‘Not with it being so late.’

  ‘It’s not late, Gran. It’s just that it gets dark earlier now.’ He quickly wheeled the wood past her. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he yelled over his shoulder. He didn’t look back. He knew she would be watching him, willing him to change his mind.

  Jeffries and Pip met him outside Mrs Beaumont’s.

  ‘We’ve been asked to take you round the back.’

  When Henry reached her back garden he saw what appeared to be a miniature house.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Haven’t you been round here before?’ asked Jeffries, surprised. ‘It used to be a tailor’s. Now it’s empty.’

  The conservatory door at the back of the house was open. They carried the wheelbarrow up the step, wheeled it towards two heavy wooden doors with stained glass windows and into the study and past the piano. Mrs Beaumont walked in.

  ‘Wood?’ she commented. ‘A little large for the fire, don’t you think, Henry?’

  He pushed the planks aside and lifted out the suitcase.

  ‘Ah, the MI5 touch.’

  ‘I didn’t want my mum to know. I thought it would be too complicated to explain.’

  ‘Quite right. Good thinking.’ And she took the suitcase from him. ‘Mrs Jeffries has cooked a batch of scones and we’re having them in the kitchen.’

  Do
wnstairs Mrs Morgan was sitting at the kitchen table, a small empty glass by her hand. It looked as if she had been given the brandy treatment. In spite of the flush in her cheeks, the rest of her face looked yellow and there were mauve shadows under her eyes. She still looked shocked.

  ‘Now,’ Mrs Beaumont said to her, ‘I suggest a hot bath and some sleep.’

  ‘But I’ve got an office to clean tonight,’ she protested, ‘and then I’ve got to go straight to the Plaza early tomorrow morning and clean there, ready for the matinee.’

  ‘You look exhausted,’ said Mrs Beaumont.

  When Pip told Henry that his mother cleaned at night, Henry hadn’t realised that he meant all night. No wonder Pip was so tired when they were thrown out of their lodgings. He thought back to his visit there. Night after night, Pip must have been on his own in that damp basement hallway while his mother had been out working. Henry would have hated that. He liked knowing that his mum was in the house. It made him feel safe.

  ‘I suppose I could go to the office tomorrow afternoon,’ she said hesitantly. ‘As long as it’s ready by Monday morning . . . ’

  ‘That’s settled, then. I’ll make you up a bed on the settee. Henry, while I do that, can you bring me an armful of wood from the log basket in the study?’

  Henry nodded, eager to help.

  When he returned with the wood, he found the sitting room door closed. He could hear that Mrs Morgan was still upset and, from the tone of her voice, he didn’t think it was a good moment to walk in.

  ‘But I want to tell you because you might not want us to stay after I do, and I have to know so’s I can make other plans.’

  Henry couldn’t move. He knew he should go downstairs but something made him want to stay.

  ‘Pip’s father and I were courtin’ soon after we left school,’ he heard Mrs Morgan say. ‘We were about fifteen then. When we were nineteen we wanted to get married, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted me to stay at home and help in his shop so’s he wouldn’t have to pay anyone. We waited till we were twenty-one when we wouldn’t need his permission.

  ‘We tried to book a weekend honeymoon but the only time we could get was the weekend before the wedding. So we took it. Two days before the wedding he was killed in a car accident. I was in such a state, it wasn’t till a few months later that I realised I was expectin’.’

  Henry heard her crying.

  ‘Anyway, when my dad found out I were going to have a baby, he said I had to have the baby adopted. He dumped me in this awful place where I was locked up. Some old school pals of mine got wind of it and helped me escape. So now you know.’ There was a pause. ‘Mrs Beaumont, Pip is illegitimate.’

  ‘It’s not the end of the world being illegitimate.’

  ‘Try telling other people that. Even my father cut me off. He said as far as he was concerned, I was dead.’

  ‘Judging by the sound of him, wasn’t that a blessing?’

  ‘Yes, it was!’ She laughed. ‘He’s a horrible man.’

  ‘Ah. That’s your diamond in the dungheap.’

  On Monday, Pip visited the projection box at the Plaza. Henry and Jeffries waited for him outside so that they could walk together to the Apollo, where they were meeting Mrs Beaumont and Grace.

  ‘I hope he gets treated all right,’ said Henry.

  But it was obvious from Pip’s face as he ran down the steps that he had.

  ‘There are two enormous projectors up there,’ he told them excitedly, ‘and when the films arrive at the cinema they come in bits.’

  ‘Bits?’ said Jeffries.

  ‘Ten-minute reels.’ They began walking towards the Apollo. ‘And the projectionists have to join them up into pairs with this special glue and the rewind boy has to . . . ’

  He was unstoppable. Everything he had seen came bubbling out in a great rush. As he began to go over the technicalities of the workings of the projectors, Henry noticed Jeffries’ eyes glaze over. They grinned at one another over Pip’s head.

  ‘And the Chief said I can go back tomorrow,’ continued Pip. ‘And Mr Hart, he’s the third projectionist, he said to come with Mum on Friday when it’s the Chief’s day off. And he was really nice to Mum. He made her smile. And he said I was a quick learner.’

  ‘Why can’t you go on your own?’ Jeffries asked.

  ‘Mr Hart said that film catches fire very easily. That’s why the usherettes stand by the exit doors so they can lead people quickly out of the auditorium if there is one, and he said that just in case that happens I might want to be near her.’

  As they passed Princes Road police station, Henry caught sight of the queue outside the Apollo. They ran to join it. Huddling close to one another, the cold piercing their jerseys, they talked about the man they had spotted in the photographs in the darkroom.

  ‘What if it’s just a coincidence?’ said Henry.

  ‘How could it be?’ said Jeffries.

  ‘We should go to the police,’ said Pip. And then he looked frightened. ‘No,’ he added hurriedly. ‘That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘There must be someone we could speak to about it,’ Jeffries said. ‘Not my mother. She gets jumpy at the idea of anyone being followed.’

  ‘And mine would just think I’d been watching too many films,’ said Henry. ‘Let’s tell Mrs Beaumont after Boxing Day.’

  ‘Yes. We don’t want to spoil her Christmas,’ Jeffries said.

  ‘Good idea,’ added Pip.

  ‘Where is she?’ said Henry to himself. ‘We’ll have to buy the tickets soon.’

  ‘Do you think Grace would like to see Pink String and Sealing Wax next week?’ said Jeffries thoughtfully.

  ‘I dunno. If she doesn’t come soon, she won’t see this programme – let alone one next week.’

  The queue continued to move forward. They stopped talking, all eyes on the road.

  ‘They’ve got to come soon,’ said Henry. ‘We’re almost at the box office.’

  ‘There’s Mrs Beaumont!’ yelled Pip, pointing to a figure walking past the theatre.

  ‘But where’s Grace?’ asked Jeffries.

  As Mrs Beaumont approached, Henry could see she was not happy.

  ‘Where’s Grace?’ Henry called out. ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘It’s worse than that I’m afraid,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘Grace has been expelled.’

  3. Grace

  THEY DIDN’T FEEL LIKE SEEING THE FILM WITHOUT GRACE. Silently the four of them trudged back to Mrs Beaumont’s house. Eventually Henry could no longer keep his feelings to himself.

  ‘Mrs Beaumont, if Grace has to leave school, will she go to another one here?’

  ‘No. It’ll probably be another boarding school or another aunt.’

  ‘But if Grace has to leave here, no one will hear her sing again. No one will know how good she is.’

  ‘I know,’ said Mrs Beaumont quietly.

  ‘We’ve got to do something!’

  ‘I agree.’

  When they reached her front door, she announced that she wanted to have a private word with Pip’s and Jeffries’ mothers.

  Downstairs in the kitchen Pip half-heartedly drew projectors from every angle on a scrap of paper while Jeffries fiddled miserably with the broken pieces of his crystal set.

  Henry heard the sitting room door open and the click of the phone receiver being lifted. Immediately they all looked at one another, headed for the door and eased it open.

  ‘Miss Forbes-Ellis?’ they heard her say. ‘Oh. It’s Mrs Beaumont speaking. May I speak to Miss Forbes-Ellis? . . . Thank you.’

  ‘What’s happening now?’ asked Pip anxiously.

  ‘Shush!’ urged Jeffries.

  ‘She must be waiting for Grace’s great-aunt to come to the phone,’ murmured Henry.

  They heard Mrs Beaumont nervously clearing her throat.

  ‘Miss Forbes-Ellis! . . . I’m ringing about Grace. I believe her parents are somewhere in the Middle-East. Could you tell me how I might contact them?
. . . Oh, thank you . . . Yes, I’ve written that down . . . Through an operator? Yes . . . Do they know about her expulsion?’

  There was now a long pause.

  ‘I see . . . Of course it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault . . . Miss Forbes-Ellis, I think I might be able to help . . . Yes, of course . . . I quite understand. Thank you for your help, Miss Forbes-Ellis. Goodbye.’

  They heard her take a deep breath and murmur, ‘Well, here goes.’

  The sound of dialling began again. Henry crossed his fingers.

  ‘Hello. Could you put me through to . . . ’

  ‘She’s going to ring her parents,’ said Pip excitedly.

  Henry and Jeffries beckoned him to keep his voice down.

  ‘The operator must be connecting her to a number,’ Jeffries whispered.

  ‘Good afternoon. Is that the residence of Mr and Mrs Forbes-Ellis? . . . Oh, good. I wonder if I might speak to Mrs Forbes-Ellis. My name is Mrs Beaumont and I’m ringing from England . . . Thank you.’

  This was followed by another interminable silence.

  ‘Why is she taking so long to come to the phone?’ said Jeffries.

  ‘I expect she’s got to walk down one of those huge stairways,’ Henry said. ‘Like in Gone with the Wind.’

  ‘Mrs Forbes-Ellis,’ they heard Mrs Beaumont say.

  By now they were all crossing their fingers.

  ‘My name is Mrs Beaumont. It’s about your daughter Grace.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘The reason I’m phoning you is that I live in the same road as her great-aunt . . . Yes, she did tell me . . . I do understand your concerns but I think she’s a very intelligent girl and I’d like to help. I realise you don’t know me but her great-aunt can vouch for me. When are you planning to return to England? I see. What I’m suggesting is that instead of sending her to another school, have you thought of home-tutoring? . . . No, not with you. With me. I taught my sons at home. They’re both grown up now and doing well. And I happen to know some teachers who are more than willing to help me, a dance and needlework teacher, and someone who could show her how to cook, knit, do arithmetic and type. I could take care of English, Music Appreciation and History. She would receive a good all-round education.’