A few days after this visit Henry woke to find Pip, Jeffries and Grace sitting round his bed, staring intently at him. Grace sprang to her feet and ran out on to the landing.
‘He’s awake!’ she yelled.
Moments later there were footsteps, his mother appeared and the next thing he knew she was plumping up his pillows so that he could sit up comfortably.
‘Tea,’ she asked, ‘and a bit of toast?’
Henry nodded, although eating was the last thing on his mind.
‘You’ve got some colour now,’ she said, smiling.
‘You looked grey before,’ said Jeffries, ‘like a gravestone.’
‘Roger, your mother asked me to tell you that Captain Wilkins has arrived. He’s downstairs talking to her.’
‘Not again!’ he snapped. ‘I don’t know why she lets him into the house.’
‘You know why. He wants to talk about your father’s funeral.’
‘Well, I don’t, and anyway it’s none of his business. And no, I still don’t want to see him.’
She gave a brief nod and left the room.
‘Who’s Captain Wilkins?’ Henry asked.
‘Oh, some man the Army sent to visit us because my father died. He’s supposed to comfort us for our loss,’ Jeffries added sarcastically. ‘Bit late now.’
‘They’re giving your father back his rank, though,’ said Grace gently.
‘Which they took away in the first place because he deserted.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Henry, surprised. ‘What rank was he?’
‘Corporal. Look, can we change the subject, please?’
‘Good idea,’ said Pip, who looked as though he was about to explode.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Grace quickly. ‘The reason we came up here, you see, is because we have some wonderful news.’
At this point Pip sprang to his feet and started to do one of his strange whirling dances.
‘Tell him!’ he said.
‘Tell me what?’ asked Henry, still feeling as though someone had stuffed cotton wool in his ears.
‘Mrs Beaumont has been in touch with Mr Hale,’ said Jeffries.
‘Who’s Mr Hale?’
‘The publisher, remember?’
‘Oh, yeah, I remember.’ He was the man who had sat at their kitchen table beaming at Mrs Beaumont the night she had returned the photographs.
‘Well, actually,’ said Grace, ‘she didn’t exactly get in touch with him. He’s been writing letters to her and phoning every day.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Jeffries.
‘I’m here when the post arrives. Sometimes she gets a letter from him in the first post and the second post.’
‘Are you going to let me tell him?’ Jeffries asked.
‘Of course. Only do get on with it.’
Jeffries cast his eyes up to the ceiling.
‘As I was saying, Mrs Beaumont got in touch with Mr Hale,’ and he glared at Grace as if daring her to interrupt him again, ‘and he’s offered me a job at the publishers as a tea and errand boy, and he’s going to find out about evening classes for me and I’m going to learn how to type properly.’
‘But that’s not all,’ interrupted Grace.
By now Pip was jumping up and down.
‘Pip!’ protested Jeffries.
‘Sorry,’ said Pip and he joined them by the bed.
‘Daniel has a friend who’s started a small film archive,’ said Jeffries. ‘Daniel is giving him his films and they need to be put in order and he’s asked me if I’d like to help him. That’ll probably be in the evenings and at weekends. I’ve been offered two jobs! So we’ll be moving to London.’
‘To Mrs Beaumont’s house,’ added Grace. ‘So he and Mrs Jeffries will be living with me and Mrs Beaumont.’
‘And Mum says I can come up and stay sometimes,’ said Pip cheerfully.
Henry tried to smile. He was genuinely pleased for Jeffries but it made him feel like an outsider all over again. He wondered if he was going to feel like this for the rest of his life, watching people but never quite being with them. He was now the only one who had nowhere to go after he had finished school. He noticed that Jeffries was beaming at him.
‘That’s good,’ Henry croaked, closing his eyes.
When he opened them again they were gone and he wondered if he had dreamt it all.
The next morning he was neither sweating nor shivering and for the first time in what seemed like weeks he was aware of a new feeling. Hunger. An image of baked beans on toast swam into his head. He slipped out of bed and leaned against it for a moment to steady himself and stumbled out of the room on to the landing. Gripping the banister rail, he moved with concentration down the stairs.
As he approached the steps from the hall he could hear Molly asking Mrs Beaumont questions in the kitchen. He swung open the door to find his mother sitting in a wicker chair breast-feeding his baby brother. He reddened and looked away. Mrs Beaumont took down a tin of baked beans from the cupboard.
‘How did you know?’ Henry asked in astonishment.
‘Intuition,’ she said. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
He nodded and sat at the table.
‘I’m missing school,’ he said to his mother.
‘We had noticed.’ She gave him a smile. ‘But you won’t be going back for a while. The doctor says you’re to have another week off to convalesce.’
‘How long have I been ill?’
‘Ten days.’
‘Is that all? It seems longer.’
It was during his week of convalescence that Henry discovered more about Pip and Jeffries.
The first surprise was when he woke at dawn to find that Pip’s bed was empty and he went to look for him. From the top of the first flight of stairs he could hear the piano being played in the study. He crept down to the bottom step and sat down to listen. The music mesmerised him. It was as though he was watching a film inside his head. In the film there was a lone youth running, but he was not in any danger. He seemed to be heading towards something rather than fleeing from it. Henry could see him sprinting past deserted fields and then hurling himself into some woods, the wind gusting through the branches above his head. Then he was out into the sunlight on a steep narrow road. The music took him effortlessly to the top of a hill. On the other side lay the sea. He kept on running until he came towards a path high above the rocks and slid down an opening, scrambling down rough steps to a small inlet. And then suddenly he was barefoot, standing on the sand gazing out at a boat in the distance. It was then Henry realised that he was the boy and that he wanted to be with the people on the boat. He wanted to be one of the crew.
And then the music stopped. Before Henry could creep back upstairs, Pip had opened the door. He stood in the hall in his pyjamas and smiled at him, almost as if he had expected him to be there.
‘I’d like to play it at the cinema,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘but it’s too long. I think Grace’s great-aunt will like it though, don’t you?’
Henry nodded.
‘I’ve written something of my own. Can I play it for you?’
There was no need for Henry to reply. He followed him willingly into the study.
It was on the day of Corporal Jeffries’ funeral that Henry discovered more about Jeffries.
From outside the bedroom he could hear strangers arriving downstairs in the hall. He hovered on the landing and eavesdropped as Mrs Beaumont ushered them into the sitting room. He hadn’t been allowed to go to the funeral service. Doctor’s orders, his mother had said.
There was a loud knock at the front door and there were male voices coming from the porch, well spoken and solemn.
‘Roger!’ called Mrs Beaumont.
Footsteps came up the steps from the kitchen.
‘It’s the undertakers,’ she said, ‘and the military.’
‘Come to arrest him, have they?’ he heard Jeffries say angrily. ‘Are they going to court martial his bones, then?’
‘They insulted him and they insulted my mother. And all these aunts and uncles who’ve turned up should have stayed away like they have done for years. And that goes for my grandfather too. I don’t know him and I don’t want to know him. They should be ashamed!’
‘They are ashamed, Roger.’
‘Even if my father had been a deserter, they should have helped my mother.’
Henry slipped back into the bedroom and gently closed the door. He crossed over to the window and peered out from behind the curtains. Outside, a small crowd of people had gathered in the street. As Jeffries and his mother walked down the path towards a large black car, a smartly dressed corporal appeared and opened the door for them. It looked as though Corporal Jeffries was being given a hero’s send-off. Jeffries and his mother sat in the back seat, their heads bowed.
Henry stared down at the hearse. The coffin was draped with a Union Jack. Nestling in pride of place on a neatly folded webbing belt was a bayonet, on top of which was a brown peaked regimental cap.
And Henry was glad. This recognition of a kind man, this desire to make something good out of something bad, helped console him for the guilt he felt over his father’s unforgivable crime.
‘You didn’t win,’ Henry whispered. And the message was also for his grandmother.
He knew Jeffries would be out for most of the day, as the funeral reception was being held in one of the hotels on the seafront, and he felt at a loss as to what to do. He wished that he were with Jeffries. He picked up the large envelope on the bottom shelf containing the novel Jeffries had written and eased out the neatly typed pages. From the moment he read the opening sentence he found himself flung into a world filled with sadistic rulers and poverty-stricken, terrified slaves, strange landscapes, and underground caves where men, women and children fled and lived among monstrous machines. The anger and fear which surged off the pages stunned him, and the way Jeffries described terrifying scenes made Henry forget that he was reading words. It was as though he was watching a film as powerful as Battleship Potemkin.
Late that afternoon, moments after he had finished reading the final chapter, he heard a creak on the stairs. He slipped the papers back into the envelope and had only just returned it to the shelf when Jeffries walked into the room.
He was still wearing his smart clothes with a black armband. Henry wanted to ask him about the funeral but all he could do was to stare at him, feeling bad that he hadn’t been with him.
‘We drove past all these people waiting on the pavements,’ Jeffries blurted out. ‘They crossed themselves when they saw my father’s coffin and the men took off their hats. And any soldiers or airmen or naval ratings we passed stood to attention and saluted. And at the church there were all these corporals waiting for him. And they carried him in. They treated him really well.’ He cleared his throat hurriedly. ‘I’ve got to go back downstairs. There are loads of relatives down there. I don’t want to talk to them but I don’t want to leave Mother on her own. Do you want to join us?’
After what his father had done, Henry couldn’t face it. He shook his head.
‘Doctor’s orders again, eh?’ said Jeffries.
Henry nodded.
‘See you after they’ve gone,’ and he went to leave the room.
‘Jeffries.’
He swung round.
‘Yes?’
‘I read your story.’
He looked shocked.
‘My novel?’
‘It’d make a really good film,’ Henry added quickly.
A look of suspicion came over Jeffries’ face.
‘You’re not just saying that?’
Henry shook his head.
‘I couldn’t stop reading it.’
Jeffries gave a bashful smile.
‘I’m going to be a writer one day.’
‘I know,’ said Henry.
‘And do what my father did before he was called up.’
‘Teach music?’
‘No. Films. One day I’m going to tell people about great films, like great music.’
‘I want to make them,’ Henry blurted out. ‘I want to be a camera operator.’
Jeffries grinned.
‘Then I’ll show your films. And Pip will be the projectionist,’ he declared. ‘I’d better go now,’ he added awkwardly, ‘Mother’s waiting for me.’
Left on his own, Henry thought about what Jeffries had said. He had the feeling that Pip would be more than a projectionist, that he would be the one who would surprise everyone. He heard footsteps coming back up the stairs again. Jeffries put his head round the door.
‘I’ve just realised what you said. You read my novel. You read a book!’
4. First date
IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF A MONTH OF PREPARATION FOR THE open day and concert. Everything Henry had made had been taken from his home: the clothes horse, the little foot stool, the bookends and a cutlery divider, so when he wasn’t in the darkroom he used any spare time he had left in the woodwork room, putting the finishing touches to a new pair of bookends and a birthday present for his mother.
Pip told Mr Finch about Great-Aunt Florence’s gramophone collection and asked if he could perform two of the songs.
‘They’re Twenties’ and Thirties’ French café songs,’ said Pip.
Mr Finch looked surprised, ‘You can do that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jane and Margaret asked if they could join in and dress up as 1920s’ French ladies and pretend to be in a café listening to the songs. Pip took them round to Great-Aunt Florence who produced some silky dresses for them to borrow.
‘You could play the waiter,’ said Jeffries to Henry.
‘Oh, no,’ said Henry, protesting.
‘Oh, go on,’ cried the girls.
‘We need a waiter and you’re good at French,’ Jeffries added.
Henry groaned and gave in.
The cinemas were full of crime films that week, including a Humphrey Bogart film, Call it Murder, but the biggest topic of conversation among the boys in his class was a young blonde English actress called Diana Dors. She was in Dance Hall. The film with it was The Overlanders, a film set in the Australian outback and it was in the queue for this programme that Henry spotted Jane and Margaret desperately looking for an adult to take them in. He and the others didn’t have to bother because Mrs Jeffries was with them.
‘Geraldo and his Orchestra are in it,’ she had said, ‘I don’t want to miss them.’
Jeffries waved at them to join them and immediately started to talk to Margaret, who was another bookworm. As Pip and Grace were busy chatting to one another, Henry and Jane were thrown together.
For a while neither of them said anything. It was strange. Even though they had been in the same form for years, he felt stupid and tongue-tied.
‘It was nice of you to give Jack the railway job,’ she said after a while.
‘I didn’t exactly give it to him.’
‘The driver who put in a good word for him, isn’t he your stepfather?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did he know how badly Jack wanted to be a train driver?’
‘I told him.’
‘There you are, then,’ she said.
There was another awkward silence.
‘Do you still want to be a nurse?’ he asked politely.
‘Definitely. One of the nurses who helped me with my research for the presentation has told me I can write to her if I like. She’s going to give me advice.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Do you know what you want to do yet?’
He was about to shrug it off but something made him want to tell her.
‘You know, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me. I won’t laugh if that’s what’s worrying you. You didn’t laugh at me when I told you I wanted to be a nurse.’<
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He lowered his voice. ‘I want to be a camera operator. It’s a long apprenticeship. You have to start out as a clapper boy first.’
‘Do you mean a film cameraman?’ she whispered.
He nodded.
‘You’d be good at that.’
Henry felt ten feet high.
During the interval, after The Overlanders, Henry watched people race up the aisle for ice creams.
‘Look,’ said Pip excitedly. ‘There’s Mum!’
She was standing by one of the exits in the smart brown uniform of the Plaza with the gold buttons, starched white collar, brown pill-box hat and white gloves. She gave Pip a wave.
‘She seems really nice,’ said Jane.
‘She is,’ said Henry. ‘So’s Mr Hart.’
‘Pip’s lucky. I can’t wait to get away from my parents. This woman I told you about says that if I’m serious about being a nurse, I could train in a hospital and live in nurses’ quarters. I’d love that. No more rows. No more Dad coming home drunk.’ She stopped. ‘Don’t tell anyone about that, will you?’
‘No, course not.’
‘As soon as I walk out of our lodgings, I feel so relieved I could take off and fly. That’s why I don’t want school to end. I like learning. And I’m going to miss everyone.’
It was time for Dance Hall. On the screen, four factory girls were getting ready to go out to the Palais.
‘Bit posh for factory girls,’ Jane whispered.
They smiled at one another and then turned their attention back to the screen.
Henry could see what the boys meant about Diana Dors. She had enormous lips, a very curvy body and a smile that made you melt. He glanced quickly at Jane. Diana Dors was all right, he thought, but Jane was much prettier.
‘We’re going to see On the Town on Friday,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a new American musical. Want to come with us?’
From the moment the music pounded into the auditorium and a dockyard worker walked along the New York docks at dawn, Henry knew that this was a different kind of musical. As he turned to glance at Jane she was beaming back at him. On the screen hordes of American sailors poured down the gangway and a trio of friends stood enthusiastically determined to take New York by storm in their twenty-four-hour’s leave. Before long, two of the sailors had been swept off their feet by girls, and the third sailor began a search for the dream girl he had seen on a subway poster.
Just Henry Page 41
