Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  ‘Gran!’ he said suddenly.

  She looked startled for a moment and then gave a nervous smile.

  ‘I wanted to ask yer mum somethin’.’

  Liar. He held his breath and counted to ten.

  ‘She’s round at Mrs Beaumont’s house,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Already? I thought she was havin’ a nap. I wondered why she didn’t hear me calling.’

  ‘You must be tired out after walking up all those stairs,’ he said, struggling to sound sympathetic.

  ‘I am and that’s a fact. I only hope I can get down them again.’ She took one step and grabbed the banister rail as if steadying herself. ‘Oh dear,’ she gasped, ‘it’s me legs.’

  ‘Here, Gran, let me help you.’ He leapt up the stairs, held out his arm for her to take and went through the charade of guiding her back to her room.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she said, collapsing into her armchair.

  By now Henry had a horrible feeling she was up to something, and the thought of her snooping around the house, prying into the rooms upstairs while the house was empty, made him feel uneasy.

  ‘I came to say goodbye and . . . ’ He hesitated, racking his brains for an idea. ‘And I needed to pick up a few things.’

  Suddenly she looked alert.

  ‘What things?’

  He thought quickly.

  ‘The camera.’

  ‘That’s just one thing.’

  ‘And Molly’s doll and cot.’

  ‘She don’t need them. Why does she want them?’

  Henry was now even more suspicious. Why should that bother her?

  ‘Mum wanted me to pick them up,’ he lied.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, but he could see that she was cross.

  He forced himself to kiss her cheek before racing up the stairs to his bedroom.

  The camera case was still on the shelf in the wardrobe. He slung it round his neck and glanced at the raincoat. He was just thinking that he couldn’t bear the thought of wearing anything given to him by her when he remembered that it was his mother and Uncle Bill who were paying for it. He whipped it off the hanger, slung it on, picked up his Christmas umbrella and made his way to his mother’s room. As soon as he stepped inside, he felt like an intruder. Closing the door gently, he placed a chair up against the door handle in case he was disturbed.

  He picked up the doll’s cot and placed it on the bed, trying to gather his thoughts. What was it his gran wanted from this room? Was it money? He headed for the chest of drawers in the alcove by the back window and quietly opened the top left-hand drawer. It was filled with his mother’s underwear and stockings and a nightdress. Embarrassed, he hurriedly closed it. Inside the drawer next to it was a large cardboard box containing ration books, packets of snapshots and certificates. Could she have been looking for Mum’s old marriage certificate? She wouldn’t have a hope of finding it because it was already with the police.

  He spotted the school certificate his mother had studied so hard for and Uncle Bill’s two certificates and a framed wedding photograph. He noticed a neatly folded piece of newspaper. Inside was an article telling the story of a Royal Engineers railwayman who had risked his life by uncoupling a burning truck filled with munitions and had taken it to a water tower to dowse it. The name of the railwayman was Private William Carpenter.

  Henry was shocked. For years he had flung the fact that his father was a hero in Uncle Bill’s face, and all the time he had been living with one. Hastily he put the contents back in the box. The next drawer was filled with clothing and pieces of material, balls of wool and knitting patterns. In the bottom drawer there was a baby’s shawl, nappies and bootees.

  He stood in the middle of the room, his mind racing. And then he had an idea. Swiftly, he undid the bag round the doll’s mattress, pulled out the tiny mattress, laid flat all the contents from the box inside the mattress cover and spread the baby clothes and shawl on top. He removed the chair from behind the door, slowly eased it open and crept along the landing. Wedged in a little box by the camp bed in his bedroom were Uncle Bill’s paperbacks. Brighton Rock had been placed on top. He grabbed an armful of them.

  He could hear his gran moving around downstairs. His heart beating, he sprinted back to his mother’s room. He placed the books inside the mattress cover, did the poppers up, replaced the bottom sheet, the little pillow and doll, tucked the sheet and blanket tightly round them and laid the quilt on top. He put the raincoat on and slung the camera round his neck. He had no idea why he was removing these personal belongings. He just felt uncomfortable at them being in the house when his father entered it.

  The picture books Mrs Beaumont had given Molly for Christmas were on a chair by the bed. He placed them on top of the quilt. As he did so, he spotted a pile of tiny books underneath. One he recognised immediately. It was The Adventures of Peter Rabbit. He sat on the bed and opened it. And suddenly a memory came back. He was cuddling up to his mother while the wind was beating against the windows and he was laughing at Mr McGregor who was chasing Peter Rabbit with a rake shouting, Stop, thief! And he had kept begging his mother to read the same bit over and over again.

  Just then he heard footsteps in the hallway.

  ‘Henry,’ called his grandmother, ‘what are you doing up there?’

  ‘Getting some books for Molly,’ he shouted back quickly.

  ‘Books! Why does she want books?’

  ‘Mrs Beaumont’s going to read them to her,’ he yelled, stuffing the little books under the cot covers. ‘Just coming!’ He opened the door, hooked the umbrella over his arm, picked up the doll’s cot and walked out on to the landing. His gran gasped.

  ‘Why are you wearing that new mac?’ she cried.

  ‘To look smart for the wedding,’ he said, coming down the stairs, ‘and Mrs Beaumont said it’s going to rain.’

  He was beginning to be as good a liar as his father.

  ‘Take it off!’

  ‘But, Gran, you gave it to me. Why don’t you want me to wear it?’

  ‘Why should you be smart for that woman?’ she said, looking flustered.

  ‘It’s for the wedding guests, Mr Hart’s family. That’s why I’ve got the umbrella too.’

  And then he had a horrible thought. She wants to give it to my dad! He forced himself to smile. ‘I’ll hang it up as soon as I get back.’

  ‘But we’ll be gone by then,’ she burst out. And Henry could see by the expression on her face that she realised she had given the game away.

  ‘You hardly wear it anyway,’ she said sulkily.

  ‘I’m looking after it, that’s why.’

  ‘So don’t wear it, then. I’ll put it away for when you’re older.’

  ‘I am older, Gran,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Must go now. ‘See you in July.’

  And before she could stop him, he stepped towards the front door, but it was closed and his arms were full.

  ‘Gran,’ he said as nicely as he could, ‘could you open the door for me?’

  She remained at the foot of the stairs, her arms folded.

  ‘Please,’ he added quietly.

  She gave a snort, marched angrily towards it and flung it open. As Henry walked out on to the pavement he couldn’t help but smile, for in that instant, he was aware that her legs had been miraculously cured of their debilitating weakness.

  ‘Goodbye,’ he yelled cheerily over his shoulder. And good riddance.

  The wedding took place in a small church surrounded by an old graveyard, long wild grass and spring flowers. It was blustery but sunny, so Mrs Morgan was both squinting at the sun and trying to grab her veil as it rose high above her head. But it broke the ice, and Mr Hart’s relatives were laughing so much as they clung on to their hats that all formality and nervousness were blown away by the gusts of wind.

  Henry took four photographs and everyone hurried back to Mrs Beaumont’s house to enjoy the reception before dashing off to their Saturday matinees.

  ‘Mr Hart is going t
o move into Mrs Beaumont’s house after he and Mum come back from their honeymoon on the Isle of Wight,’ said Pip, when they arrived. ‘So we can still stay here. That’s good, isn’t it? They’re going to have the other attic room.’

  Gradually Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room was filled with the new Mrs Hart’s relatives and friends who all worked in Sternsea cinemas as usherettes, chocolate girls, commissionaires, box-office ladies and projectionists, while Mrs Jeffries and Mrs Beaumont passed round plates of food. In the centre of the sideboard stood the wedding cake made by Mrs Jeffries from everyone’s rations.

  ‘Speech!’ shouted one of the usherettes from the Savoy.

  The manager of the Plaza placed Pip on a chair so that everyone could see him.

  ‘I’m very pleased that Mum’s married Mr Hart and he’s going to be my dad,’ he said, ‘and that he’s going to move in upstairs because I like it here.’

  He was just about to step down when the manager said, ‘Just a minute, Philip, I want to add a few words before the toasts begin. Our rewind boy will soon be called up for National Service and the Chief is very happy to offer you the job of rewind boy at the Plaza once you leave school.’

  Pip looked as if he had been hit over the head with a frying pan.

  ‘I’m going to be a projectionist!’

  ‘Eventually. But I also want you to have time off to practise at that piano of yours so you can still play for us on Saturday nights.’

  The room broke into applause.

  ‘Also, from today, Mrs Hart won’t be doing any more cleaning jobs. When she and her new husband come back from their honeymoon, there’ll be a brand new usherette’s uniform waiting for her.’

  Pip’s mother looked as though she was about to burst into tears.

  ‘Oh, how lovely!’ she whispered.

  ‘And now,’ he added, ‘will everyone please raise their glasses for the happy couple.’

  While the wedding cake was being cut, there was a loud knock at the front door.

  ‘Would you answer that, Henry?’ asked Mrs Beaumont.

  Grace followed him.

  ‘It’ll be Great-Aunt Florence,’ she said.

  He opened the door to a tall smartly dressed middle-aged couple. The woman had a pointed aquiline nose. She was wearing an oatmeal-coloured tweed hat perched sideways on her head and appeared to be carrying a dead fox around her shoulders. The man, who had a brick-red tan, stood erect in a green tweed suit, a bulbous nose sitting above a neatly clipped reddish moustache.

  Grace gasped.

  ‘Mother!’ she cried. ‘Father!’

  ‘What letter?’ stormed Grace’s father.

  ‘Could we talk about it later? I’m afraid we’re a bit at sixes and sevens at the moment,’ explained Mrs Beaumont hurriedly. ‘As you saw, Grace has been a bridesmaid today and we’re in the middle of a wedding reception.’

  Mrs Forbes-Ellis glanced round and wrinkled her nose as if she had smelt something disagreeable.

  ‘What wedding? Whose wedding?’ demanded Grace’s father. ‘I really think we should have been informed, Mrs Beaumont.’

  ‘It’s all in the letter,’ she said brightly. ‘I sent it a fortnight ago.’

  ‘A fortnight ago we were at sea. We did tell you we were returning to this country in the spring.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Henry, will you show Mr and Mrs Forbes-Ellis to the study?’

  Henry was astonished by their coldness. Within seconds of seeing Grace they had waved her off downstairs. If Henry’s mother hadn’t seen him for a week, let alone several months, she would have flung her arms around him and hugged him. Grace’s parents barely looked at her.

  Henry indicated the way and went ahead of them. Before he could leave the room, Mr Forbes-Ellis closed the door behind them.

  He hasn’t even noticed me. I’m like an invisible servant. He sat quietly by the fireplace.

  ‘We can’t stay long,’ Mr Forbes-Ellis snapped. ‘I’m being posted elsewhere and we leave next week.’

  ‘Have you spoken to your aunt?’ Mrs Beaumont asked carefully.

  ‘No. She indicated that as I hadn’t received this so-called letter you keep referring to, I should hear the news from you, Mrs Beaumont.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How long is this wedding reception going to take?’ he enquired. ‘I must say I find it extraordinary that our daughter should have been allowed to be a bridesmaid, Mrs Beaumont, after her appalling behaviour at yet another school, don’t you?’

  Mrs Beaumont looked stumped for a moment.

  ‘Not really. Your daughter is a delight,’ she said quietly. ‘And a joy to teach.’

  ‘We’ve been looking at more schools,’ said Grace’s mother, ignoring her.

  ‘And they won’t take her,’ finished Mr Forbes-Ellis for her. ‘Her school reports are a millstone round our necks.’

  ‘We’ve booked into an hotel on the seafront for the night,’ said Mrs Forbes-Ellis. ‘Dreadful place. And then we must be off to meet our sons.’

  ‘We’ll be calling at her great-aunt’s when we leave here to pack Grace’s clothes,’ added her husband. ‘We’re off tomorrow and taking her with us.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ gasped Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘There’s a school in Scotland. Very disciplinarian. If she refuses to read there, she will be severely punished.’

  ‘Then she’ll be punished all the time,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘Please, won’t you sit down?’

  They hesitated for a moment and then sat stiffly on two chairs.

  ‘The problem your daughter has is not unique. Since I took over her schooling, I have heard of five cases of this very same difficulty with reading.’

  ‘Then there’s no hope,’ said Mrs Forbes-Ellis.

  ‘There never has been,’ said Grace’s father. ‘I washed my hands of her a long time ago.’

  ‘She has an extraordinary talent,’ said Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘Of getting away with not working,’ he interrupted. ‘Not even trying.’

  ‘Trying won’t change the way she sees words,’ Mrs Beaumont stated.

  ‘This is serious,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe some kind of mental institution would be the right place for her.’

  ‘But think of the disgrace,’ exclaimed Mrs Forbes-Ellis.

  Henry froze. He glanced in desperation at Mrs Beaumont. She had to stop them taking Grace away.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Mrs Beaumont steadily. ‘I would be delighted to keep tutoring your daughter.’

  ‘Very kind of you,’ said Mr Forbes-Ellis brusquely, ‘but not to put too fine a point on it, you’re not related to us.’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Of course it matters.’ He stood up. ‘We’ll pick her up in an hour and she can change out of her bridesmaid attire at her great-aunt’s. You’ll be relieved to have her off your hands, I am sure.’

  ‘On the contrary. Please sit down, Mr Forbes-Ellis. I’d like to tell you what was in the letter.’ He gave a sigh and sat down again. ‘Your daughter has an extraordinary singing voice. Quite unique. I took it into my hands to take her to London and have her audition for one of the top stage schools in the country. They were so impressed with her that they offered her a place there.’

  ‘A stage school! I’m quite sure they offered her a place. And they’ll be asking me for a tidy sum to keep her there, I suppose.’

  ‘She’s been offered a scholarship.’

  ‘A scholarship?’ Mrs Forbes-Ellis repeated.

  ‘That is correct. You won’t have to pay a penny. I have a house in London and I would be more than happy to have Grace stay with me while she attends the school.’

  ‘But this is preposterous!’ he exclaimed. ‘What on earth is going to a stage school going to be useful for? It’s not like a finishing school.’

  Henry remembered Grace saying that if her father knew she was doing something that made her happy, he would do everything in his power to stop it. Mrs Beaumont, he suspected, knew that
too.

  ‘It’s very disciplined,’ she said. ‘She would be learning Dance, Music and, of course, Singing.’

  ‘She’s unmarriageable, you know,’ stated Grace’s father.

  ‘Then perhaps it’s a good idea if she learns a profession.’

  ‘Singing?’ queried her mother. ‘Are you sure? Whenever I’ve heard her sing she has this funny low-sounding voice.’

  ‘Alto,’ said Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘Oh, is it?’ she said vaguely.

  ‘No one in my family has ever been in the world of the Music Hall, or Variety or Entertainment of any kind. She’s enough of a disgrace to the family as it is. She’s going to Scotland and that is the end of the matter. As I said, we’ll pick her up in an hour. Tell her she’ll be staying overnight with us at the hotel.’

  And with that they stood up and looked at Henry. Henry stared back, bewildered.

  ‘The door, Henry,’ said Mrs Beaumont quietly.

  Henry sprang up and opened it for them.

  As soon as they had left, he and Mrs Beaumont stood in the hall and gazed at one another in disbelief.

  ‘Dungheap,’ said Henry.

  ‘It certainly is,’ she agreed. ‘And I’d love a diamond right now.’

  ‘Her great-aunt?’ suggested Henry wildly.

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ and she moved swiftly to the telephone. ‘I hope she picks up the receiver before they arrive.’

  Henry stared anxiously towards the steps leading up from the kitchen, hoping that Grace wouldn’t suddenly appear. He heard her burst out laughing downstairs and Molly giggling.

  ‘Ah, hello, Florence. It’s Hettie . . . They’ve just left . . . Not well, I’m afraid. Not well at all. I’m afraid they’ve rather made up their minds . . . They’re on their way to your flat to pack up her clothes . . . Yes,’ said Mrs Beaumont soberly. ‘Brushed it aside . . . No, I haven’t told her yet . . . Yes, of course you must . . . Goodbye.’

  ‘What did she say?’ asked Henry.

  ‘Nothing much. She didn’t have time. Grace’s parents have just rung her doorbell.’

  Suddenly Pip flew out of the sitting room.

  ‘Where’s Grace?’ he said excitedly. ‘It’s time.’