Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  Gradually he prised Molly’s tiny fingers from the nape of his neck and placed her doll in her arms. She was shivering. He pulled off his jersey and draped it round her. It gathered in a heap on the floor. He picked her up and tucked her into bed. From downstairs he could hear his grandmother shouting.

  ‘Auntie cross,’ Molly hiccupped. And a look of alarm crossed her face. ‘Auntie hit Mummy again?’

  Henry stared at her, frozen. He must have misheard her.

  ‘Molly, has Auntie ever hit Mum?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Molly frighted. Molly hide.’

  She began to sob again.

  ‘You stay here and look after Dolly.’

  Hurtling on to the landing and down the stairs, he could still hear yells. It was then that he noticed that the wireless was unusually silent. He dashed into the kitchen. His mother and Uncle Bill were sitting at the table holding hands, both ashen.

  ‘Is everyone deaf?’ Gran shrieked from her room.

  Henry’s mother was trembling violently, her eyes blank.

  ‘Don’t go in there,’ Uncle Bill said urgently to Henry. ‘I’ll do the talking. Ask Mrs Henson to come round. When you’ve done that, run to the telephone box and call the district nurse. Don’t mention the photographs. I’ll explain why later.’ He pulled some coins out of his pocket. ‘Take my coat. And hurry!’

  When Henry had returned, Uncle Bill told him to stay with Gran. Reluctantly he obeyed. But he hated sitting in her room listening to her complaints. Still shocked, he only had to glance at her and Molly’s words came back to him, Auntie hit Mummy again? Once the district nurse had been and gone, he heard Mrs Henson taking his mother upstairs and he dashed into the kitchen to find out what the district nurse had said. He found Uncle Bill standing by the range wrapping a piece of flannel round a stone hot-water bottle. Molly was standing beside him, still cocooned in Henry’s jersey.

  ‘Molly’s going to sleep with your mother tonight,’ Uncle Bill said abruptly. ‘I’ll sleep in the camp bed in your room. You’ll have to stay here tomorrow morning while Mrs Henson does the shopping for your mother. She’s going to look after Molly till I get back in the afternoon.’

  ‘Gran was shouting because the power on the second accumulator ran out,’ Henry explained.

  ‘I know. Your mother hasn’t had time to get the other one recharged. When Mrs Henson returns from shopping, you can deal with that. Now, we’d better get to bed.’

  It was awkward lying in the dark with his stepfather in the same room and he still hadn’t told Henry why his mother had been so upset by the photographs.

  ‘What’s wrong with Mum?’ he asked eventually. ‘Is it bad?’

  It was so quiet he thought Uncle Bill must have fallen asleep. Then he heard a sigh.

  ‘You could say that. Look, I can’t talk now. I’ll tell you tomorrow night after work. The district nurse says the baby’s all right but your mum’s not to get out of bed tomorrow. Don’t leave her on her own, will you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You might find your gran a bit –’ he paused – ‘a bit more demanding with the wireless out of action. Whatever you do, don’t let her go upstairs to our bedroom to disturb your mum.’

  Henry was woken by a crash and the sound of his mother screaming but as he listened to the house there was only silence and darkness. He checked that Uncle Bill was asleep, slipped out of bed, padded out on to the small landing and peered into the other bedroom. His mother and Molly were wrapped round one another, sleeping.

  The next time he woke, Uncle Bill was standing by his bed in his blue overalls.

  ‘The kettle’s just boiled. Mrs Henson’s popping round in a couple of hours. I’ve taken your mum a cup of tea but I’ve left it to you to make her and Molly some toast. I’ve changed Molly’s nappy and her clothes are warming in front of the range. You’ll have to clear the grate in Gran’s room and lay her fire. And don’t forget to have breakfast yourself.’

  Daylight was beginning to filter into the room.

  ‘What time is it?’ yawned Henry.

  ‘Half past five. You won’t be able to go to the Pictures this afternoon but maybe you could go tonight.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Henry sleepily.

  He swung his legs to the floor and quickly pulled on his clothes. He heard the front door being closed and Uncle Bill’s boots hitting the pavement. Shivering, he looked around for his jersey and then remembered that Molly had it.

  He spotted it as soon as he entered the kitchen. Uncle Bill had hung it next to Molly’s clothes in front of the range. As he slipped into it he could feel it warming his bones. Around seven he stepped into the freezing hall and knocked on Gran’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ she commanded crossly.

  Henry peered in.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, surprised, ‘I thought it was yer mum.’

  She was sitting in bed with a hairnet on.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Gran?’

  ‘Lovely,’ she said, smiling.

  By the time Henry had taken her a cup and Molly had slid backwards down the stairs on her stomach, Mrs Henson had arrived. She dressed Molly and packed a change of nappies and clothes into a basket.

  ‘I’ll take your mum the toast,’ she said. ‘I need to have a word with her anyway.’

  Within minutes of Mrs Henson leaving the house with Molly, there was a thumping noise on the wall. Henry knocked on his gran’s door again.

  ‘And about time!’ she screamed.

  He opened it.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I thought you were out. Where’s yer mum?’

  ‘In bed.’

  ‘What’s she doing there?’

  ‘The district nurse told her to stay there, remember?’

  ‘You don’t want to take any notice of her. Get her down. I need a fire. It’s freezing. You could hang meat in ’ere and it would stay fresh.’

  ‘It’s warm in the kitchen.’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ in there with that girl running around.’

  ‘Mrs Henson has gone to the shops with her.’

  ‘Who’s goin’ to do my fire, then?’

  ‘I am.’

  At that she beamed.

  ‘You? Oh, that is kind.’

  It was a laborious job. First he made a mess of shovelling all the ash out into a newspaper, and when he tried to carry it out, the paper burst and it went everywhere. After brushing most of it into a dustpan, he began to lay the fire, screwing paper into balls and laying them on the grate, lining wood on top in a pyramid, thinner wood first, then thicker. Then he gingerly placed the old coal on the wood and placed new coal on top. He wondered how his mum managed to do this every day with Molly around. Suddenly it occurred to him that it was daft lighting a fire in Gran’s room when the range was lit in the kitchen, and he remembered conversations he had overheard between his mother and Uncle Bill about the amount of fuel they were getting through.

  ‘We’re lucky I work for the railway,’ Uncle Bill had said once. ‘At least we get wood delivered from them.’

  ‘Ain’t you goin’ to light it, then?’ Gran said when he stood up to leave.

  ‘Why don’t you go in the kitchen?’

  ‘It’s comfy in ’ere and when I’m dressed you can come and sit in ’ere and we can have a nice chat.’

  Henry didn’t want a chat. He wanted to see how his mum was feeling but he suspected that if he didn’t get the fire going, there would be no peace. It took ages and it didn’t help having Gran suggest that it would be much easier if he called his mother down to do it. For a fleeting moment he wondered why she didn’t do it herself.

  ‘After that your mother can go and get the accumulators recharged,’ Gran added.

  ‘I’m doing that,’ said Henry firmly, ‘when Mrs Henson comes back. I don’t want to leave Mum on her own.’

  ‘But she won’t be on her own, will she? I’ll be here.’ And she smiled. ‘And don’t worry about the mess on the floor. Yer mum can clear that
up later.’

  Henry gazed at the bits of charred newspaper scattered round his feet.

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. That’s woman’s work.’

  Henry finished sweeping up the mess, ignoring her protests. As soon as he had emptied the dustpan for the last time he crept quietly up to his mother’s room and gave a light tap on her door.

  ‘Come in, love,’ she said.

  He poked his head round it.

  ‘I knew it was you,’ she said and she smiled. ‘Shut the door.’

  Tears began to roll down her face. Quickly she brushed them aside with her fingers. She looked exhausted. If Henry hadn’t seen her sleeping, he would have sworn she hadn’t slept at all.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mum?’

  ‘The district nurse thinks I’ve been overdoing things. Your hands!’ she exclaimed hurriedly.

  ‘I’ve been making Gran’s fire.’

  ‘Thanks for staying and helping, love. I know you’re missing the Pictures.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I can go tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Give us a hug.’

  He sat on the bed and she put her arms round him.

  ‘I love you, no matter what, you know that, don’t you?’ she whispered.

  She was shaking. When she let go of him she looked frightened.

  ‘I’d best get some sleep,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘You look after Molly while I put the shopping away,’ said Mrs Henson. ‘You can get the potatoes and the peeler out. It’ll take me no time to cook dinner. Spam, cabbage and mashed potatoes with a nice bit of gravy should do.’

  Once dinner was on the table she nipped next door to cook for her own family. Henry took a plate of food up to his mother, leaving Gran to watch Molly. He was only gone a few minutes when there was a yell. He ran down the stairs back to the kitchen. Molly was crying.

  ‘I gave her a good slap,’ said Gran shortly.

  On the side of Molly’s face was a red mark.

  ‘Mum doesn’t allow slapping,’ Henry blurted out.

  ‘Want Mummy,’ whimpered Molly.

  ‘Well, she’s not ’ere, is she?’ Gran snapped. ‘I wish we could get rid of her, eh?’ she said to Henry, indicating Molly.

  Henry stared at her. For two years he had heard his gran complain about Molly, and they had both laughed about how awful she was. Now he wanted to smash his gran’s face with his fist.

  ‘Gran, why don’t you go in your room and I’ll bring your dinner in to you.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Lovely. Then I won’t have to look at her ugly mug, will I?’ And she gave a laugh.

  As soon as he had got rid of her he held Molly tightly.

  ‘Molly bad girl?’ she asked, trembling.

  ‘No,’ whispered Henry. ‘Molly good girl. Molly clever. Auntie bad. Shake finger at Auntie.’ And with that he shook a finger at the wall.

  Molly shook a finger sternly at it too and then Henry grinned and she giggled.

  ‘Time to eat your dinner now.’ He could still feel her shaking. ‘Come on,’ he said, and he lifted her on to his knee.

  After washing the dishes, keeping Molly occupied so that she wouldn’t disturb his mother, and answering his gran’s requests to put more coal on the fire, Henry had to use all his willpower not to lose his temper so that by the time Mrs Henson returned to look after Molly, he was exhausted. It was then time for him to take the accumulators to be recharged. Gingerly he picked them up by their handles and stepped out into the yard. It was bitterly cold. The wireless shop was a good mile away and Henry had to admit he was grateful that Uncle Bill had insisted that he borrow his jacket.

  ‘Two accumulators!’ remarked the man from behind the counter. ‘Have you been sleeping with the wireless on? More money than sense,’ Henry heard him mutter as he disappeared into the back room. Within seconds he returned with two recharged ones.

  ‘Your dad ought to get himself an electric one,’ he said. ‘I’ve plenty of nice ones here.’

  The whole trip together with the time in the queue had taken Henry one and a half hours. He carried the accumulators carefully, so that the acid didn’t spill on his clothes. He was surprised that Uncle Bill paid for the accumulators to be recharged so often. And then the penny dropped. It was his mother who paid for it with her typing money. That’s why she didn’t want Gran to know about it. She didn’t want her to find out how mean Uncle Bill was.

  Once he was home he put one accumulator on a shelf in the scullery and the other one behind the wireless in Gran’s room.

  ‘I’ll get the range going and make you a cuppa,’ he said hurriedly and she gave him one of her broad smiles.

  On the kitchen table Henry spotted a note from Mrs Henson explaining that she had taken Molly to Number 12 to play with the children there. Henry felt uneasy that his mother had been left alone. He heard the back door open.

  ‘Mum!’

  She was dressed and carrying a bucket of coal.

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

  He removed the bucket from her hands.

  ‘She started her banging,’ she said wearily. ‘If I’d made time to take the accumulator back to Mr Morris when they needed recharging, she could have had the wireless on and I could have had some peace. I never dreamt she’d get through the second accumulator so fast.’ She sat down. ‘Oh dear, what shall I do?’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Go to bed, Mum.’

  By the time Uncle Bill had returned from his shift, Henry had laid the table and put potatoes in a saucepan on the range to reheat them. He saw him glance at Mrs Henson’s note.

  ‘I’ll just nip up and see your mum,’ was all he said.

  Henry had a mug of tea waiting for him when he came back down.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, surprised. ‘I got a thirst so strong I could drink a river.’

  ‘I’m sorry I left Mum on her own. I didn’t know Mrs Henson was going to take Molly out.’

  ‘I’m sure you did your best. Wait till I’ve had a wash. Then you go and get Molly and I’ll watch the potatoes and connect the accumulator to the wireless. Do you want to go to the Pictures tonight?’

  ‘No. But I’d like to see Pip and Jeffries.’

  ‘You do that. But no mention of what happened last night. Not yet. If you want to see a matinee tomorrow, I’ll be here till half past one and then Mrs Henson’s going to take Molly next door. She’ll bring her back and put Molly to bed.’

  ‘Mum’s scared,’ said Henry quietly.

  Uncle Bill looked away.

  ‘I’ll tell you tonight. In your room. Away from prying ears.’

  ‘But what about Molly?’

  ‘She’s sleeping with your mother again.’

  ‘Hello, stranger!’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘The others were expecting you hours ago. Grace has already gone home. Did you go to the Pictures on your own?’

  Henry shook his head, breathless from running.

  ‘I had to help out at home. Mum’s ill.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said, ushering him in, ‘is it the baby?’

  ‘No. She had a shock and it made her ill.’

  ‘What was it?’

  Henry thought quickly.

  ‘She saw a rat.’

  Downstairs Pip was drawing and Jeffries was reading a book. Henry spotted the open newspaper between them. They both looked up.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Jeffries asked.

  ‘Why didn’t you come earlier?’ added Pip.

  ‘His mother’s been taken ill,’ explained Mrs Beaumont, sitting by an overflowing waste-paper basket. A pile of papers was heaped on the table.

  ‘Oh,’ said Jeffries, looking concerned.

  ‘Uncle Bill is with her now,’ said Henry, pulling out a chair. ‘Mrs Henson is going to look after Molly tomorrow, so I can go to a matinee.’

  Jeffries grabbed the newspaper.

  ‘You must listen to this,’ he said excitedly. ‘H
amlet and The Red Shoes have second and third place in a poll for best films conducted by Mein Film, a Viennese film fan paper,’ he read.

  ‘British films,’ commented Henry.

  ‘So the British are good at something?’ said Mrs Beaumont, eying them sardonically. ‘It’s not only the Americans who can make award-winning films, then?’

  ‘Tell him about tomorrow,’ urged Pip.

  ‘William Comes to Town is on at the Gaiety, Shaftesbury and Palace. And it’s Pip’s turn to have first choice. The film with it is called Strange Gamble. Could be a gangster film. It’s a U as well. Are you coming?’

  Henry nodded. It would be good to sit in the dark with his friends and let some nonsense roll over his head.

  ‘It’s a good week,’ said Jeffries and he slid the newspaper towards him.

  As they talked, Henry drank in the warmth and laughter in the kitchen, but it was as though he was in a fog, observing them from a distance.

  Bath night was usually on a Sunday but Uncle Bill decided to have it a night earlier so that Henry’s mum could have a good soak. Then it was Molly’s turn. Henry was impatient for everyone’s turn to be over, for Molly to go to sleep and for the house to be silent, but the baths seemed to take hours. And his mother was still feeling no better. From his bedroom he overheard Uncle Bill on the landing saying, ‘Don’t worry. I’m nearby. Call out if you need me.’

  Uncle Bill went back downstairs to switch off the lights and, after a while, Henry heard his slow step on the stairs. The door opened and he walked in, his overcoat over his pyjamas. He closed the door gently behind him, his head bowed. Henry was sitting bolt upright, the blankets up to his chin. Behind him the wind rattled the window frame, sending a cold draught down his neck. His stepfather sat at the end of the bed, his hands clasped. He was staring at the floor.

  ‘I’m not sure how to begin,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Mum knows who the man is, doesn’t she?’ said Henry.

  He nodded.

  ‘Before I tell you, I have to ask you to keep it a secret, to give us time to think. And you mustn’t tell your gran. She’ll have to know soon enough. But not yet.’