Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  He decided there and then that he must earn some money. He would take the job in London and send her as much as he could. But he wouldn’t tell her yet.

  Battling with his umbrella in the darkness, he suddenly realised that he was leaving his friends behind already. Pip was at the Plaza every moment he could find and Henry had started finding it difficult to speak to Jeffries in case he accidentally blurted out something about the sudden appearance of his father. And now there was Grace. As he struggled with the soaked laces on his ankle boots, he could still hear her words ringing in his ears, Your father is a liar.

  6. London and a dream in sight

  SITTING ON THE TRAIN TO LONDON, HENRY WAS RELIEVED TO SEE that Jeffries and Mrs Beaumont had no idea that he and Grace weren’t speaking to one another. While she and Mrs Beaumont chatted, Jeffries had his nose in Great Expectations and Henry stared out of the carriage window.

  Once they arrived at her house, it was soup and bread offered by Violet, the schoolmistress who lived down-stairs, after which Henry and Jeffries went upstairs to join Daniel for a chat by his fire. They had hardly sat down when Jeffries immediately began to talk about the presentations.

  ‘Mr Finch wants us to take them out of the classroom,’ he said. ‘The confectionery group will be presenting their talk in a chocolate factory and the boys who are mad about fishing will speak at the fish market, which means we’ll be doing ours in a cinema!’

  ‘It’s going to be for a whole week,’ added Henry. ‘Ours will be on the Friday morning.’

  Daniel frowned. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had much experience with a cinema projector.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Jeffries, ‘Pip knows the projectionists at the Plaza. He can ask them.’

  ‘What you need is a short film to begin with made in the 1920s, followed by an interval where you can take your audience from then to 1935, before showing them a film from that year.’

  ‘That boys and girls are going to like,’ added Jeffries.

  ‘Ah. A bit of romance.’

  ‘A tiny bit,’ said Henry, ‘not too much.’

  ‘Mrs Beaumont mentioned Alfred Hitchcock,’ said Jeffries.

  ‘Of course!’ cried Daniel, banging his artificial leg, ‘The 39 Steps! It’s a thriller. That’ll cover the thirties. It came out in 1935.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Twenties films,’ he murmured. ‘Most of the British ones I’m familiar with are about doomed romances and would be too long. But don’t worry. I’ll think of something.’

  Jeffries was glancing at a pile of tiny bound newspapers. Daniel noticed his interest.

  ‘They’re full of film reviews. Help yourself. You might also like to take a look at these,’ and he opened the partition doors.

  ‘Cans of films!’ Jeffries exclaimed.

  Daniel laughed. ‘You look like Aladdin in the cave of treasures.’

  ‘How do you find what you want?’ Jeffries asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but I usually do.’

  Henry envied the easy way they chatted with one another. Daniel was so posh and clever. Even Jeffries sounded like him sometimes, always finding the words he wanted to say so easily. When Henry tried to talk, it was as though there was a wall between his brain and his tongue.

  ‘I’d like to work in an archive like that,’ he heard Jeffries say when Daniel was talking about the National Film Library.

  Lying in their camp beds later that night, Jeffries was still exhilarated.

  ‘London’s the place to be and I’ll get here somehow,’ he said in the semi-darkness. ‘And I can be anonymous here.’

  ‘London is like another country,’ said Henry without thinking, and then he remembered it was Uncle Bill who had told him that.

  When he woke, it was bitterly cold. He and Jeffries opened the high wooden shutters to find snow falling. They were hurriedly getting dressed when Mrs Beaumont called up to them.

  ‘Breakfast in a café,’ she yelled.

  They were waiting for her in the hall when they heard voices coming from the dance studio. They peered in. Daniel poked his head round the screen he was erecting and Jessica looked up over a wad of music on the piano.

  ‘Hello!’ she said, giving them a brief wave.

  ‘It’ll all be ready by the time you come back,’ said Daniel. ‘Max and some of his friends might pop in later to watch the films too.’

  At the café, Henry sat by the window so that he could look out at the street and avoid looking at Grace. No one seemed to notice. After they had finished eating, she and Mrs Beaumont walked as far as the door of her house and said their goodbyes.

  ‘Where are you two off to?’ asked Jeffries.

  ‘We’re off to do girl’s business,’ Mrs Beaumont said. ‘It would bore you senseless if I told you. See you later,’ and they walked briskly away.

  ‘Shops, I expect,’ said Henry, when they were out of earshot.

  Stepping into the hall, they could hear chatter and laughter coming from the studio. They stood in the doorway and peered in.

  Max Beaumont was talking earnestly to two young women and Daniel was in the middle of a conversation with three men. As soon as Daniel spotted Henry and Jeffries he limped over towards them.

  ‘Come in. Don’t be shy. I’ve found a short Sherlock Holmes film. 1921. I know it’s earlier than you want but I think it’ll do, don’t you?’

  ‘And I have a suggestion for your interval,’ said Jessica excitedly. ‘Instead of talking about what happened between 1925 and 1935, why don’t you have Pip play some music from the films?’

  Jeffries and Henry looked at each other and grinned.

  ‘Perfect!’ said Jeffries.

  ‘Take your seats, everyone,’ Max called out.

  ‘Floorboards you mean,’ chipped in one of the young women.

  ‘We do have an interesting selection of cushions,’ said Daniel, pointing to a pile behind the door.

  The rest of the morning was magical. They watched reel after reel of old films, silent melodramas, music-hall capers and seering romances, while Jessica played the piano. Soon after Max and his film friends had left, Mrs Beaumont and Grace arrived back, cradling fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. They ate them in Daniel’s room, crowded round a one-bar heater.

  ‘So, did you watch The 39 Steps?’ asked Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘This afternoon,’ said Jeffries through a mouthful of chips.

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s the right choice isn’t it, Henry?’

  ‘Yeah, and it’s got some funny bits in it too.’

  As their train drew out of Waterloo it reminded Henry that he would not only be meeting his father the next day but that he had to give him an answer. But what should he tell him? If he agreed to go to London, he would only miss the last term. But then he would have to give an explanation to his friends and the only explanation was the truth. By the time they arrived at Hatton Station he felt lost. He didn’t want to go home or to Mrs Beaumont’s house or to a cinema. With limbs like lead he dragged himself across the road, waving goodbye to the others.

  Immediately he stepped into the hall he noticed Gran’s door was open. Within seconds she appeared, dragged him into her room and hurriedly closed the door.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Henry.

  ‘That bloke who taught your stepfather, that Mr Cuthbertson, he’s been round again, all excited. Your stepfather’s got another of them letters. He’s been offered teacher training! Teacher training! Can you believe it? Who does he think he is? Anyway, I was waiting for it all to go to his head but he never said a word. And neither did yer mum. One minute it’s newspapermen at the door, the next minute there’s not a peep out of them. It don’t add up. There’s something else too, something you’ve kept very quiet about. I found out your mum’s got that girl sleeping with her and your stepfather’s been kipping in your room. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Henry shrugged.

  She gave a wicked smile.

  ‘Looks like they’ve fallen out ove
r somethin’, don’t it?’

  ‘It’s Molly,’ Henry began. ‘She’s been getting nightmares.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. Something’s up and I mean to get to the bottom of it.’

  The next morning after church, Henry asked his mother about the letter.

  ‘What’s Uncle Bill going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly.

  ‘How did Gran find out about him sleeping in my room?’

  ‘I overslept. So did Molly. She came up and found me and Molly together.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘You get out of here. Go round to Mrs Beaumont’s. The atmosphere’s a lot more cheerful there, especially now that . . . ’ She stopped.

  ‘Especially now that what?’

  ‘Let Pip tell you. Here, take this,’ and she handed him his pocket money plus a little extra, ‘that’s for him to go to the Troxy with you.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  Her kindness made him feel guilty about meeting his father in secret.

  ‘What’s the film again?’ she asked.

  ’The Undercover Man. It’s about the U.S. Secret Service and a criminal investigation. There’s this man who’s a secret agent and he’s trying to uncover evidence which will convict a master criminal.’

  ‘Oh. Not very cheerful,’ she said sadly, ‘but exciting, I suppose.’

  Henry nodded. He hated seeing his mother looking so lifeless.

  ‘I’m going to make everything all right for you, Mum.’

  ‘I wish you could, love. Right now I feel I’m standing in one of Mrs Beaumont’s dungheaps and I can’t find a diamond anywhere.’

  ‘What about Dad? Isn’t he a diamond?’

  And then he remembered that because he was still alive she had committed bigamy.

  She smiled but it looked as though it took an enormous effort.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, ‘I’m just a bit tired. You get on out.’

  ‘Has your mother told you?’ Jeffries asked as he opened the door.

  ‘Told me what?’

  There was laughter coming from the kitchen. Henry followed him down the steps. Pip and his mother were sitting side by side at the table, beaming. Grace was standing by the range. As soon as she spotted him, she turned away.

  ‘Pip,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘He’s here now.’

  Pip sprang to his feet.

  ‘Last night, Mr Hart asked Mum to marry him and Mum said “yes”. And he wants to adopt me so we all have the same name. I’m going to have a dad who’s a projectionist!’

  ‘That’s not the reason I want to marry him, Pip,’ protested his mother. She smiled at Henry. ‘And Mr Hart has said that as long as the manager is willing, he’d be happy to be the projectionist for your films.’

  ‘And Grace and me have been looking at the music Jessica gave you,’ added Pip.

  They could all get along without him, thought Henry, gazing at them. Pip was more interested in being with Mr Hart now or playing the piano for Grace. And he and Jeffries were more of a pair than ever now that they shared a bedroom. They wouldn’t miss him if he went to London.

  ‘Good news, isn’t it?’ said Pip.

  Henry nodded and forced himself to smile.

  ‘I got a bit of news too,’ he said slowly. ‘My stepfather’s been told he can go to this place that trains teachers.’

  To Henry’s surprise everyone began leaping around the kitchen and cheering. Even Grace, he noticed, was smiling, though she still avoided looking at him.

  ‘You don’t look too happy about it,’ commented Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘I’ll be out working, won’t I?’

  She said nothing but stared at him with such intensity that he had to look away.

  ‘Pip,’ he said hurriedly, ‘Mum gave me some extra money for you to come and see The Undercover Man with us.’

  ‘Mum?’ said Pip. ‘Can I?’

  ‘Of course you can. What a lovely thought. You thank your mum from me,’ she said.

  The Undercover Man was so gripping that Henry forgot his worries for a while. Later, stepping out of the cinema into the bitter wind, he walked silently with his friends as far as his street. When he was sure they were far enough away, he sprinted over the road, his eyes glued to Hatton Station.

  But there was no figure watching for him from under the street light. For a horrible moment he wondered if he had missed him. He waited under the lamp, hugging himself for warmth. A sound from behind him caused him to swing round. He was just in time to see his father’s shadowy figure slipping up the steps to the bridge. He wanted to run after him but he knew he mustn’t draw attention to himself. To his annoyance, he noticed that he was beginning to shake.

  His father was leaning over the wall, staring down at the railway lines. Henry walked slowly in his direction, pretending he didn’t know him. He felt a little like the undercover man. He stopped a couple of feet away.

  ‘Good to see you, son,’ said his father, staring into the distance.

  ‘I would have come sooner but I was . . . ’

  ‘I saw them,’ he interrupted. ‘Friends, are they?’

  ‘Yeah. But I haven’t told them about you.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He paused. ‘You remember what we talked about last week? About you workin’ in films? I’ve been doing a lot of askin’ around. Anyway, there’s this bloke what owes me a favour and he says there’s a job waitin’ for you in a film unit.’

  Henry slapped his hands down on the wall.

  ‘You mean I’m going to be a clapper boy?’

  ‘I thought you said you wanted to be a cameraman.’

  ‘That takes years. You have to do lots of other jobs first. Being a clapper boy is the first rung on the ladder. He’s the one who numbers the scenes and helps to synchronise the sound. Him shutting the clapperboard is a signal for the sound people, see.’

  ‘How do you know all that, then?’

  He was about to say, I read about it in this bookshop, when he remembered his father didn’t read books.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I just picked it up.’

  ‘Then a clapper boy is what this bloke must have meant.’

  ‘Do you know what kind of film it is?’

  ‘I’ll ask,’ he said.

  Henry was so excited he wanted to leap up and down and yell at the top of his voice. ‘First week in April,’ added his father, inhaling on his cigarette.

  A slow stream of smoke drifted out of his father’s nostrils, intermingling with a cloud of warm breath.

  ‘That soon,’ Henry murmured.

  ‘You know what these film people are like. They hang around for months, then suddenly the money comes through and they have to move.’

  Henry nodded. He remembered Mrs Beaumont explaining how difficult film jobs were to come by, which was why even big stars were touring in the theatre.

  ‘Until September,’ his father added.

  ‘September! I’d have to miss my last term at school.’

  ‘You won’t be missing much,’ his father remarked.

  ‘I’ll ask Mum.’

  And then Henry realised he would be leaving her and he felt sick.

  ‘Does she know we’ve been meeting?’

  ‘I’m telling her tonight. And Gran.’

  For a while neither of them spoke.

  ‘I been wanting to see yer gran,’ said his father, ‘but I didn’t want to scare her, know what I mean?’

  Henry nodded. He was aware of people crossing over the bridge on their way to the Troxy and the Plaza. He stared out at the railway tracks with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness, realising that soon he would be travelling to London not for a visit but to start work.

  ‘Let me know all about it next week?’ he heard his father say quietly. ‘Then I can work out when I come round, yeah?’

  Henry was startled. Surely he couldn’t be leaving yet? They had hardly spoken. He had to keep him with him a bit longer.

  ‘Do your friends call
you Briggs or Dodge?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Briggs. No point telling them I’m Dodge till I got all me documentation sorted out. That’s what this military doctor says. He gives me advice and I do what he says.’

  ‘When you meet him again, could you ask him if the same thing could have happened to Private Jeffries?’

  ‘I already done that and he said yes.’

  ‘I could ask Mrs Jeffries if she’s got a photograph of him.’

  ‘You know her?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘She came to your funeral, I mean, the funeral we went to. She thought you saved her husband’s life.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. But a photograph wouldn’t be no good. I wouldn’t recognise him, would I?’

  ‘But he must have known you because of the letter he wrote to the newspaper.’

  ‘He must have been writing about the other man.’

  ‘The third man?’

  ‘Yeah. He must have seen my identity card and got us mixed up.’ He put his hand on Henry’s shoulder and smiled. He had the same infectious smile as Gran. ‘You tell yer mum how lucky you are to get a job like this and she’ll see sense. And while she’s looking after the baby down ’ere we can get to know each other better. She’ll be so busy, she won’t notice you’re gone.’

  Henry suspected he was right and he couldn’t help but smile back. His dad might not be a war hero but he was as good as one now.

  ‘Same time next week?’ his father said.

  Henry still didn’t want him to go.

  ‘I don’t have to go to the Pictures next Sunday. I could meet you earlier,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t get here any sooner. We’ll have plenty of time to have a chinwag after April, when we can be by ourselves.’ He stubbed out his cigarette on the wall. ‘I’ll leave first.’ And with that he moved swiftly towards the steps. Within seconds he was out of sight.