‘Downstairs,’ Mrs Beaumont answered quietly.
‘We’ve been rehearsing a concert for Mum and Dad,’ he said. ‘Can you help us, Henry?’
Just then Jeffries appeared, struggling with two chairs.
Henry was glad of something to do. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, so he and Mrs Beaumont stood at the back attempting to cover their feelings of helplessness and anger. Mr Hart and the new Mrs Hart sat in pride of place at the front.
The setting was the same as it had been for the concert for Grace’s great-aunt. They switched on the two tall lamps and indicated that Mrs Beaumont should switch off the main light. Pip sat at the piano and Grace stood beside him.
‘We’ve been rehearsing this in secret,’ Grace said. ‘It’s a little bit of romance!’
They were all love songs and comedy numbers, mostly taken from well-known films, plus the occasional piano solo from Pip. It was after one of these solos, when Grace had begun to sing again, that Henry heard the knock at the front door. Mrs Beaumont glanced at him and then quietly slipped out. Henry listened to Grace’s rich low voice, wondering if he would ever hear it again. He remembered when he had first heard it, how he had thought there was something wrong with it simply because it was different. Now when he listened, it was breathtakingly beautiful.
He heard the front door opening and the murmur of voices. And then there were footsteps coming towards the room. Surely they were going to let her finish singing! Miserably he watched the door slowly open, but instead of Grace’s parents it was her great-aunt. So they had sent her to do their dirty work.
The concert ended with applause and cheers. Mrs Beaumont showed Great-Aunt Florence to the sitting room. Henry paced up and down in the hall, dreading the moment when Grace would have to leave to join her parents. Minutes later Mrs Beaumont appeared in the hall.
‘What are we going to do?’ Henry asked in despair.
‘Well, if we could get hold of a bottle of champagne, we could open it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Grace’s great-aunt tore them off a strip,’ she said, trying to suppress her laughter. ‘She gave them a huge telling off. Not only that, but she sang Grace’s praises, told them they didn’t deserve such a delightful and talented child, and if they didn’t allow Grace to go to stage school she would not only cut them out of her will but she would have a word with all the other aunts of whom it appears there are many and, it turns out, all have a soft spot for Grace.’
‘So she can go?’ whispered Henry.
‘Yes.’
‘When are you going to tell her?’
‘Oh, I should think now is as good a time as any,’ she said nonchalantly.
After they had waved off Mr and Mrs Hart in a car decorated with ribbons, Henry, his mother and Molly made their way home. Uncle Bill had already left for work. Henry noticed his mother was almost laughing and he knew why. No more Gran. She swung Molly’s hand while Henry carried the cot and doll.
‘We’ll have a sitting room all to ourselves,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be able to listen to the wireless. We’ll be like royalty.’
It was when they turned the corner into their street that they saw the fire engines.
Henry started running.
‘Gran!’ he cried.
A fireman held him back. But Henry had managed to get close enough to the front room to see that there was no one inside. There was no furniture either. Not a stick of it. The room had been gutted well before the fire had reached it.
PART FOUR
Looking for the Diamond
1. A new life
‘YOU CAN’T GO INSIDE, MRS CARPENTER,’ PROTESTED THE FIREMAN.
‘But I’ve got everything in there! Ration books, birth certificates . . . ’
Before Henry could speak, Mrs Henson pushed her way through.
‘My Dolly called the fire brigade. Lucky she was ’ere. She smelt the smoke and run round to the Plaza and rung from there.’
‘Did you see Henry’s gran leave?’
‘Course I did. Couldn’t miss her with that big lorry, could I? I was glad to see the back of her.’ She looked awkwardly at Henry. ‘I’m sorry, love, but they would’ve had to arrest me for murder if she’d stayed much longer.’
‘Lorry?’ repeated Henry’s mother, bewildered.
‘For the furniture, Maureen.’
‘She took the furniture?’
‘Well, yes, love. She explained it was all hers. I thought that’s why you let her stay with you for so long.’
Henry’s mother shook her head.
‘Not any of it?’
‘No.’
‘The lying cow! There were these three men in overalls who carried it all out. They looked like they worked for some removal firm. She was very chatty with one of them.’
I can guess who that was, thought Henry.
‘They took everything?’ Henry’s mother whispered.
‘Oh, yes, wardrobes, chest of drawers . . . ’
‘With everything inside them?’
‘I dunno. I didn’t look.’
‘Not everything,’ interrupted Henry, indicating the cot in his arms.
His mother gave a weak smile.
‘That’s nice. Pity you didn’t get anything else out.’
‘I did. I hid them in the mattress. Ration books, baby’s clothes, photographs . . . ’
‘You mean you knew what they’d planned to do?’
‘No. I came back to say goodbye to Gran and I found her snooping around on the landing. She was about to go in your room. I hid stuff in Molly’s cot. I took as much as I could,’ he added lamely.
‘Thank you, love,’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘Mummy not cry,’ demanded Molly, whose hand was still being held tight.
Henry could see that his sister was scared.
‘It’s the smoke making your eyes water, isn’t it, Mum?’
His mother nodded.
‘That’s right,’ but she couldn’t keep up the pretence. She let go of Molly and buried her face in her hands. ‘I thought this nightmare was over,’ she said tearfully. ‘Where am I going to have the baby? Where are we going to sleep tonight?’
‘Round the corner,’ said a firm voice behind her.
Henry’s mother swung round. It was Mrs Beaumont.
‘But you won’t have any room,’ she protested.
‘Believe it or not, I do. You and Molly can have the room on the first landing, Henry can go in with the boys and Bill can go in the front attic bedroom.’
‘But what if your sons come down?’
‘There are such things as camp beds, you know. They can go in the sitting room. They’re used to that sort of thing.’
Henry watched Mrs Beaumont go up to a policeman and give him her name and address. The policeman glanced over at them and walked back with her.
‘Do you know what caused the fire?’ his mother asked.
‘Not yet I’m afraid, Mrs Carpenter,’ he said gently. ‘Is there a Mr Carpenter?’
‘Yes. He returned to work for his afternoon shift.’
‘May I have a quiet word, constable?’
It was one of the firemen. Henry watched them walk off out of hearing. He observed them, their heads bowed low as the fireman talked and the policeman listened intently, nodding at intervals and taking down notes in a small notebook. When the policeman returned, his manner was less friendly.
‘Mrs Carpenter, may I ask where you and your husband have been today?’
‘At a wedding and then . . . ’
‘There are witnesses who can confirm this?’ he interrupted.
‘Yes,’ she replied dully. ‘And after the wedding reception we had some tea and then my husband had to run off to the station.’
‘So no one would have seen Mr Carpenter from the time he left you to the time he arrived at the station?’
‘I’ve no idea. Why are you asking questions about him?’
‘Hang on a min
ute!’ broke in Mrs Henson, who had obviously been eavesdropping. ‘I was ’ere and I never set eyes on Mr Carpenter.’
‘You could have been indoors when he slipped round the back.’
‘Are you suggesting my Bill started the fire?’ cried Henry’s mother, ‘because if you are, it doesn’t make sense. Why would he want to do that?’
‘To cover the fact that he’d stolen the landlord’s furniture. I have just been notified that the firemen managed to put out the fire in time to see that all the contents were missing. There is also evidence that the fire was started deliberately.’
‘But some of the furniture belonged to him,’ Henry’s mother said angrily.
‘It’s an outrage!’ stormed Mrs Henson. ‘He didn’t take the furniture. Old Mrs Dodge did. Mrs Carpenter is upset enough as it is without you casting aspersions. And her expectin’ and that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
‘Here, here,’ said Mrs Beaumont.
By now Mrs Henson’s face was crimson. ‘It’s not her you should be talking to. It’s that evil old witch.’
‘I’m taking Mrs Carpenter home with me,’ Mrs Beaumont said to the policeman. ‘It’s quite obvious she’s in shock, as are her children. If you wish to question her further, I suggest you do it there, after I have given her a hot sweet drink.’
And with that, she grasped Molly’s hand, took hold of Henry’s mother’s arm and proceeded to walk away. ‘Come on, Henry,’ she commanded over her shoulder.
Dazed, Henry followed her, the doll’s cot still in his arms.
‘It looks a bit like a dormitory now,’ said Grace, glancing around Pip and Jeffries’ bedroom. They had taken apart one of the beds in the back attic bedroom, manoeuvred it in bits down the stairs, slotted it back together in their room, and put the mattress, sheets and blankets on it. ‘Don’t you worry,’ she added, ‘we’ll look after you.’
‘What your gran did was horrible,’ said Jeffries.
‘You’re right,’ said Pip.
Grace placed a little table beside his bed, put the camera on it and hooked his umbrella over the bedhead.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled.
They headed down to the kitchen.
Henry paused outside the sitting room door. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said. ‘I just want to see how Mum is.’
His mother was lying with her feet up on the settee, browsing through the contents of the little mattress and cot. She smiled up at him.
‘You never said you’d saved the exam certificates and this,’ she said, lifting the newspaper cutting.
‘Why didn’t you tell me Uncle Bill was a hero, Mum?’
‘Because you already knew. It happened when you were at your last school. But once your gran moved in, it was as if she rubbed out all your memories.’
‘Mrs Henson is right. She is a witch.’ He paused. ‘I looked inside that Peter Rabbit book and I remembered bits.’
‘The lady I used to work for gave it to me after you were born. Your dad threatened to burn it. So I used to read it to you in secret. After his funeral I borrowed the rest of the Beatrix Potter books from the library. Of course, once you could read on your own you read lots more.’
‘I was reading books?’
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No.’
‘At school they thought you knew the books off by heart you were so quick. And by the time you were in the top class, you were the best reader in the school. Your gran made you ashamed of reading. Like you were betraying your dad. Then you started pretending you didn’t read until you believed it yourself. The funny thing is that soon after that you stopped making friends.’
‘Yeah,’ said Henry, surprised. ‘That’s right!’
‘I think it was because you were pretending to be someone else so you didn’t come across natural. And anyway, Gran preferred it if you didn’t have friends. That way she could have you all to herself. She’s a bully. Just like her son. There, I’ve said it.’
‘She tried to turn me against Molly,’ said Henry.
‘I know, love, and it broke my heart.’ She took hold of his hand. ‘You saved something special for all of us. Uncle Bill’s books and certificates, the photographs for me, the doll and cot for Molly, even things for the baby, but you didn’t save anything for yourself.’
‘I did. I’ve got the umbrella and the rucksack you gave me for Christmas. They’re upstairs with the camera.’
‘Oh, good,’ she said.
‘And the raincoat.’
They stared silently at one another. Henry noticed his mother’s mouth twitch and then suddenly they were both laughing.
‘She must have been so cross when she opened that drawer and found an empty box,’ he choked. ‘She didn’t even want me to take Molly’s cot, and it’s only one of Mr Jenkins’ fruit boxes.’
‘Oh, stop!’ cried his mother, tears streaming down her face.
‘And she had no idea what I’d hidden underneath the doll. She even opened the door for me in the end.’
‘She didn’t, did she?’
Henry nodded his head vigorously, only able to squeak out a yes.
His mother collapsed back against the cushions on the settee, weeping. The sight of his mother helpless with laughter was so infectious that it made him laugh all over again, which set her off.
‘No more!’ she begged, ‘I’m hurting!’ which only made it worse.
Mrs Beaumont and Mrs Jeffries peered into the room, puzzled. Henry’s mother struggled to explain but every time one indecipherable word exploded from her mouth, she and Henry collapsed again.
Suddenly Molly appeared. She stood still for a moment watching them and then gave an enormous smile. Running across the room, she flung her small arms round Henry’s mother and laid her head on her enormous belly. Henry’s mother held on to her, still shaking.
‘Mummy’s happy,’ said Molly. ‘Mummy’s not frighted any more.’
Henry sat on the stairs below the second landing in his pyjamas and a jersey. It was gone midnight. Mrs Beaumont was in the sitting room waiting for Uncle Bill to arrive. He heard a faint tap at the front door. Slowly he rose, crept down to the small landing below and stood outside the room where his mother and Molly were sleeping.
‘She’s fine,’ he heard Mrs Beaumont whisper. ‘They’re all fine.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ his stepfather murmured. ‘The police say it was deliberate. They were waiting for me when I finished work. I don’t understand it, Mrs Beaumont. I gave her a home for years, fed and clothed her, but nothing I did made any difference. I wasn’t her son and that was a crime.’
‘Good job you weren’t.’
‘But how could she take a home away from Maureen and the kids?’
‘I doubt she did it on her own. I can guess the identity of one of the three removal men.’
‘Revenge,’ Henry heard him mutter, ‘because he couldn’t have Henry to bully.’
‘Come downstairs. It’s warm and I’ve a thermos of soup waiting for you.’ Henry couldn’t make out what they said next and then he heard Mrs Beaumont say, ‘You can stay for as long as you like.’
Henry woke to the sound of rain falling. Pip and Jeffries’ beds were empty. He yawned, rubbed his eyes and hauled himself out of bed. As he padded out on to the landing and down the stairs he could hear his mother’s voice in the kitchen. She sounded happy. He was about to join her when he realised someone was typing in the sitting room.
He found Jeffries hunched over Mrs Beaumont’s black typewriter, pounding the metal keyboard with painstaking slowness.
‘Blast!’ he muttered. He swung the carriage back and attempted to type another letter over the one he had obviously not meant to type. ‘It’s quicker to write by hand,’ he said, and he threw his hands upwards in mock despair.
‘What are you writing?’ Henry asked.
‘A film script. That is, I’m trying but I’m not getting very far.’
Henry noticed that he was s
itting on a copy of the Sternsea Evening News.
‘What’s on?’ he asked.
Jeffries pulled it out from beneath him and unfolded it.
‘Another of those quivering passion films at the Odeon, two romantic ones at the Savoy . . . ’
‘What about crime?’
‘Not bad. Appointment with Danger at the Plaza, Scene of the Crime at three other cinemas, Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, with Eyes of the Underworld. But my mother and yours want us all to go to a film they’ve chosen. It’s Pip and Grace’s choice too.’
‘Oh,’ said Henry, fearing the worst.
‘It’s at the Troxy, which means it’s not far for your mother to walk.’
‘What is it?’
Jeffries cleared his throat awkwardly and raised the newspaper.
‘Johnny’s most savage spectacle of jungle thrills! Johnny Weissmuller as Jungle Jim in The Lost Tribe.’
He showed Henry the two pictures beside the announcement. One showed a man wrestling with a leopard, the other showed him carrying a woman in his arms.
‘It’s got animals in it, you see. Pip’s missing his mother, so he needs something a bit soppy. And mine doesn’t want to see anything that’s going to give her nightmares. Most of the other films have got murders in them.’
‘It’s going to be one of those films where a woman keeps falling over every time she’s running away from something dangerous, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ sighed Jeffries.
That afternoon Henry sat with his mother, Mrs Jeffries and his friends in a packed and noisy Troxy, while Molly stayed behind with Mrs Beaumont. Throughout the film he kept glancing at his mother to make sure she was all right. She was smiling and seemed relaxed so he was taken by surprise when she rose to leave before the Laurel and Hardy comedy.
‘Don’t look so worried, love,’ she whispered, ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’
In spite of having laughed at Laurel and Hardy’s antics, Henry still felt a sense of unease when he left the Troxy and passed the road leading to the railway bridge. His friends stayed close, as if forming a protective ring. Without saying a word, they crossed the road and headed for the black shell with its boarded-up front door that had once been his home. On either side of it, lights from the other houses spilled out on to the pavements, giving it a sinister air. He peered into the front room where his gran had sat day after day. Above the empty mantelpiece was a mirror-shaped space in the grubby wallpaper. Even the light bulb in the light fitting had been taken. The others followed him silently down the alley alongside Number 18 and along the back of the yards. Henry opened the door into his yard and stood motionless in the dusk, staring through the window into the empty kitchen. It was as if no one had ever lived there. He peered into the air-raid shelter. Everything was there, untouched, including the wheelbarrow, the piles of misshapen pieces of wood he had salvaged from crumbling bombsites and the beach, and the wood delivered by the railway. He gathered some of it up and the others started to help him.
Just Henry Page 38
