The stranger leaned forward and looked him in the eye.
‘Are you all right, sonny?’
‘He bumped into me,’ Henry stammered. ‘He was in a hurry for the train. I must have been in his way.’
‘You’d best get home.’
Henry stumbled quickly down the steps and broke into a sprint, too terrified to look behind him in case his father was hiding somewhere ready to pounce on him. He ran without stopping until he was in the hall and had closed the front door behind him. He leaned against it to catch his breath.
‘Henry!’
Oh, no! ‘Got to have my bath, Gran,’ he called back on his way to the kitchen.
The tin bath, filled with the usual grubby water, was waiting for him. He shifted the kettle over to the hot plate. Gran opened the door.
‘Where you bin?’
‘The Plaza.’
‘Nowhere else?’
‘No.’
To his relief he heard his mother coming down the stairs. Gran disappeared.
‘Hello, love,’ she whispered, closing the door. ‘Good films?’
Henry nodded.
‘I’ve just got Molly off to sleep.’
Just then the kettle boiled. Henry grabbed the rag that was hanging at the front of the range and picked it up. He kept his back to his mother so that she couldn’t see his face.
Every creak on the stair, every rattle at the window or door, every shadow across the wall convinced him that his father had broken into the house and was coming to get him.
He longed for Uncle Bill to return from work. And then he heard the key in the lock. He slipped out of bed and crept down the stairs, shivering in his pyjamas. The kitchen was empty. Sounds of running water were coming from the scullery. He padded quietly towards it. Uncle Bill was stripped to the waist, bending over the stone sink. He looked up at Henry.
He was not going to cry, he told himself. He was going to be strong.
‘Henry? What is it?’
‘Uncle Bill,’ said Henry shakily. ‘He hurt me. He really hurt me.’
13. Out in the open
JEFFRIES AND HIS MOTHER SAT ON THE SETTEE IN MRS Beaumont’s sitting room and stared at Henry and his mother in disbelief.
‘So, this man in these photographs, you say he looks like your first husband?’ said Mrs Jeffries falteringly.
‘No,’ said Henry’s mother. ‘It is my first husband.’
‘But it can’t be, Maureen. We saw him being buried.’
‘I’ve met him,’ said Henry.
Jeffries gasped.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Jeffries, dazed, ‘but I can’t take this in.’
‘I wanted to tell you earlier but I was afraid that if it got out, I’d be sent to prison.’
‘Why would you go to prison?’ asked Jeffries, looking bewildered. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘I’m afraid that unwittingly she has,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘She’s committed bigamy. The man whose funeral you attended appears to be a Walter Briggs,’ she continued. ‘Mr Dodge woke up in hospital with amnesia and Mr Briggs’ papers on him. It’s only recently that his memory has started to come back.’
‘We think Walter Briggs was the person who saved your father’s life,’ said Henry to Jeffries, ‘not my father.’
‘The police are trying to trace his relatives,’ added his mother.
‘The police!’ exclaimed Mrs Jeffries.
‘They know now. It took me a month to pluck up enough nerve to tell them.’
‘You’ve known for a month?’ said Jeffries quietly.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ cried Mrs Jeffries. ‘You’re not married to Bill!’
‘No.’
‘Oh, Maureen, what a mess! The children . . . ’ she began and then she stopped. ‘So the relatives of this Mr Briggs have no idea?’
‘No.’
‘Where is Henry’s father now?’
‘London.’
‘What state of mind is he in?’
‘Back to his old ways, I’m afraid,’ muttered Henry’s mother.
‘He’s been to see these Army doctors,’ said Henry.
‘So that’s why you’ve been so quiet!’ exclaimed Jeffries. ‘I thought you’d gone back to not wanting to be friends with me and Pip.’
Henry was shocked.
‘No, no! Nothing like that. I had to keep my mouth shut. For Mum’s sake.’
‘Maureen, what are you going to do?’ asked Mrs Jeffries.
‘Divorce him.’
‘But you can’t, Maureen! He’s injured. He needs you. It might kill him.’
‘If I don’t divorce him, he might kill me.’
Mrs Jeffries stared at her for a moment.
‘Maureen?’
‘There’s something else I haven’t told you. When I was married to him . . . ’ She paused. ‘I mean, before he went missing . . . ’
‘He hit her,’ interrupted Henry fiercely. ‘And me.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Jeffries.
‘I only began to remember when Mum recognised him in the photograph. I started getting these nightmares about things that had happened a long time ago. I thought they were just bad dreams.’
‘Until he told me about them,’ added his mother quietly. She looked embarrassed. ‘You won’t think any less of me for being a divorcee, will you?’
Mrs Jeffries smiled.
‘Of course not, silly. I think you’re very brave.couldn’t do it.’
‘Why don’t you boys take yourself off somewhere,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘I think your mothers have a lot to talk about.’
Henry made his way to the door, relieved to have got the secret of his father out into the open, but worried that Jeffries might not want to speak to him again. To his surprise, he felt his friend’s arm across his shoulders.
‘I think you ought to tell Pip and Grace,’ he said.
Henry nodded.
‘That’s another thing I haven’t told you,’ Henry said. ‘Grace knows already. She found out the day we went to see Little Women.’
Jeffries laughed.
‘She would. She doesn’t miss a thing.’
The following Sunday his father was waiting for Henry on the railway bridge, only this time Henry was not alone.
‘What’s he doing ’ere?’ he snapped, staring at Uncle Bill.
‘You’re lucky he turned up at all,’ said Uncle Bill, ‘after the way you treated him.’
‘He broke his word.’
Uncle Bill held out a large envelope.
‘What’s this?’
‘Find out.’
He snatched it from him, tore it open and peered inside.
‘It’s just a lot of papers,’ he said angrily.
‘Divorce papers. Maureen wants to divorce you.’
He flung the envelope to the ground. ‘I’ll deny ever receiving them.’
‘You have two witnesses here.’
‘Him? He wouldn’t be a witness. He don’t want his mum to divorce me, do you, son?’
‘Yes,’ said Henry.
‘What did you say?’
‘I remember you hitting her, Dad.’
‘So. All men beat their wives. Keeps them in order.’
‘She wants a divorce,’ Uncle Bill said, his voice shaking with anger.
‘I ain’t giving her one.’
‘There’s something else in that envelope which might change your mind.’
‘Like what?’
‘Photographs.’
Henry picked up the envelope and handed it back. He watched his father’s face as he took them out. He looked sharply at Henry.
‘You take these?’
Henry shook his head.
‘Who did, then?’
‘Does it matter?’ said Uncle Bill.
His father dropped the envelope, leaving the three photographs in his hands. Then he smiled. Very slowly he tore them into tiny pieces.
‘All gone,’ he said and laughed.
&n
bsp; ‘We have the negatives,’ said Uncle Bill quietly.
His father’s face darkened.
‘You wouldn’t dare show ‘em to the coppers!’ he said.
Henry thought about one photograph the police had already seen, the one of his father’s name on the gravestone. He must remember to keep his mouth shut about that.
‘I’m warning you, I have some very unpleasant friends.’
‘I’m sure you do. But you won’t need to call on them. I won’t be handing them to the police. Once you and Maureen are divorced you can have them.’
‘Does his gran know Maureen wants to divorce me?’
‘She’ll be telling her now. We’d like her to leave our home a week from next Saturday. A friend of ours is getting married on that day so we’ll all be out of the house. You can pick up her and her bags and take her on the train to London.’
His father picked up the envelope and stuffed it roughly into his pocket. Henry watched him amble off towards the steps. Uncle Bill made a move as if to leave.
‘I want to see him get on the train,’ said Henry.
They peered over the wall.
‘Uncle Bill,’ said Henry, spotting a familiar figure, ‘you know that man who rescued me last week, the man who said he was Mr Finch’s friend?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘He’s sitting on the bench down there on one of the platforms reading a newspaper.’
Just then his father appeared on the same platform and the man on the bench raised the paper.
‘Looks like he doesn’t want to be seen,’ Uncle Bill commented.
‘That’s a coincidence,’ said Henry a few minutes later as the next train pulled out, ‘he’s caught the same train.’
The closer they came to their front door, the sicker Henry felt. Gran would know about the divorce by now.
‘Stay there,’ said Uncle Bill, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
Henry watched him head for the alley leading to the yards. Five minutes later he was back.
‘Your mum’s in bed with Molly. Come on.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Henry, following him.
‘The Plaza. I’m putting some distance between you and your gran. You can speak to her tomorrow after school. I take it you know what’s on.’
‘Morning Departure,’ said Henry, running beside him. ‘With John Mills.’ As soon as he said his name he felt a catch in his throat. Only a few months ago he had believed his father had been like the heroic characters John Mills played.
They turned the corner and headed for one of the queues.
‘Come in,’ said Gran.
It was Monday afternoon. Henry had avoided seeing her in the morning by leaving for school before she had woken up.
‘You know, don’t you?’ she said.
Henry nodded.
‘She won’t do it, you know. She says she will, but she won’t. She’d never shame herself by saying what she’s got to say in a court, and your father will never agree to her divorcing him. Don’t you worry, he won’t break up our family.’
‘Do you mean Uncle Bill?’
‘Of course I do. Who did you think I meant?’
‘My father.’
‘Don’t be daft. He wants us all back together again. You, me and him.’
Henry noticed that his mother wasn’t on the list.
‘Molly and the baby are family too, Gran,’ said Henry quietly.
‘Now you know that ain’t true, don’t you?’ And back came the smile. ‘We’ve had a bit of a chat about that already, haven’t we? Which reminds me, how is that little friend of yours? That Grace girl?’
‘Very well, Gran. It was a good idea of yours to tell her great-aunt.’
She looked startled. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘I told Mrs Beaumont what you said and she invited her great-aunt round for tea so she could meet us all to put her mind at rest. She said she wondered why she hadn’t invited her round earlier.’
‘That’s nice, dear,’ his gran said slowly, her face taut.
‘And I’ve told Dad I’m not going to London this week.’
‘What!’
‘I want to finish my last term at school.’
‘But you hate school.’
‘Not this year. Mr Finch treats us as if we’ve got brains.’
‘That’s all very nice, dear,’ said his gran, ‘but if your father says you’re to go to London, you must, and there’s an end to it. He’s in charge.’
‘So’s Mum.’
‘I don’t think so, dear.’
‘But you’ll be going back to London.’
‘What you talkin’ about?’
‘Didn’t Mum and Uncle Bill tell you?’
Gran shook her head.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she stated firmly, and she folded her arms.
‘You are, Gran. Dad’s going to pick you up and take you to London on Mrs Morgan’s wedding day. You’re always complaining about how noisy Molly is. It’ll be even noisier once the baby’s born. You’ll be getting out in the nick of time.’
His gran looked horrified.
‘But I can’t! Who’d look after me?’
‘Dad.’
‘But he’ll be out working. I’d have to do me own fire and wash me clothes and cook meals. And what about shopping and standing in all them queues? I’m not well enough to do that. There’s me legs.’
‘I love Molly.’
He didn’t know what made him say it. The words just fell from his mouth as if they had been waiting for the right moment to pop out. His grandmother looked shocked.
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Yeah,’ said Henry, surprised, ‘yeah, I do. And you said once the baby’s born, Mum won’t have any time for me.’
‘That’s right, dear.’
‘Which means she won’t have much time for Molly, so Molly will need me.’
His grandmother gave a snort.
‘What would a young boy like you do with a little girl?’
‘I’ll read her stories and make her doll’s furniture and we’ll go down the beach,’ said Henry. ‘And when she’s old enough, I’ll take her to the Plaza on a Saturday morning and buy her an ice cream and I’ll make sure no one ever slaps her face again.’
‘Get out!’ screamed his grandmother. ‘Get out of here!’
And she lunged forward, grabbed the poker and swung it wildly at him. He moved quickly out of her way and headed for the door. As he closed it behind him he heard the wireless crackle and swoop into full volume.
14. Goodbye Gran
GRAN’S MOODS SWUNG FROM SCREAMING AND BANGING ON THE walls to withdrawn silences. Henry’s mother ignored her, calmly continuing to cook her meals and do her washing and mending.
Henry and Molly stayed out of the house as much as possible. Molly was having a bridesmaid dress made for her by Mrs Jeffries for Mrs Morgan’s wedding. Grace and a niece of Mr Hart’s, who was a chocolate girl at the Plaza, were to be bridesmaids too. The dining room table at Mrs Beaumont’s house was covered with old clothes and bits of old curtain material, while in the kitchen, gloves and old lace were being bleached in preparation.
Henry’s mother meanwhile darned every stocking Gran possessed, sewing new buttons on old dresses and cardigans, and wrapped up her ornaments and hats. Henry felt a mixture of feelings: sadness at her leaving, anger because she had lied to him and impatience because he wanted her gone immediately. Each day she remained seemed to drag slowly.
By the time the summer term started, it was only five days away from the wedding and Pip was almost flying with excitement.
‘From next week,’ Mr Finch announced, while taking the register, ‘Morgan will be known as Hart.’
The other pupils in the form and some of the teachers behaved differently towards Pip now, and he lapped it up. It was as though he had forgiven them without even an apology. Thanks to his performance at the Plaza, Hatton Secondary Modern had gained a reputation for being a m
usical school, so much so that in one of the morning assemblies the headmaster announced that the following term there would be an additional music teacher. ‘And,’ he continued, ‘this term, the school is to have its first open day, public concert and,’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘prize-giving day!’
That break time Mr Finch broke some exciting news to Henry while he and his friends were in the darkroom.
‘Mr Barratt wants there to be a display of photographs from the fourth years but he wants you to take ones of them having lessons.’ He handed Henry several rolls of film. ‘You must treat it like a proper job.’
‘Yes, sir. I will, sir. Thank you, sir!’
‘I wish I had a job after leaving here,’ sighed Jeffries. ‘Nearly everyone’s been offered apprenticeships or jobs now. Two of the boys in the greyhound racing group have been offered work, one in the stadium and the other working with a dog breeder.’
‘Yes, it’s good news, isn’t it?’ said Mr Finch. ‘And the girls who did the presentation on weddings have been offered a dressmaking apprenticeship and jobs serving in the clothes department at the new C&A store. Your form is doing very well.’
‘And one of the cowboy group’s been offered work at a stable,’ said Pip.
‘Everyone except us has a job or an apprenticeship waiting for them,’ said Henry.
‘Early days,’ said Mr Finch reassuringly.
And then it was Saturday April the twenty-second, the day of the wedding and the day Henry’s grandmother was leaving for London.
Henry couldn’t remember having seen his mother so confident and so firm with Gran. Once her bags were packed, he and his mother left to get changed for the wedding. She didn’t want to be at home when his father arrived to pick up Gran.
Some time later, he suddenly realised that whatever Gran had said and done, she was still his gran and he wanted to say a proper goodbye to her.
He walked briskly along the road, past the Plaza and into their street. For a moment he hovered by the front window, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
‘You look smart,’ said a woman’s voice from behind him. It was their next-door neighbour, Mrs Henson, with a bag of shopping.
Henry reddened. He waited until she had gone indoors before he opened the front door. Stepping into the hall, he was alarmed to see Gran standing on the landing. His mother’s bedroom door was wide open and her hand was on the doorknob.
Just Henry Page 36
