‘Yes; yes, I must. I . . . I could meet you about three or half-past at Tottenham Court Road tube.’
‘Make it three, eh? Oh, that’ll be nice. That’ll be really nice. Now I can lie in and have my roast lunch.’ He put his arm tightly through hers, and, walking her forward, said, ‘You’re very kind to me, and I’m grateful.’
What could she say to that? But there was no need to answer, for he was pointing up the river to a tugboat ploughing its way, and he was saying, ‘Oh, there she goes, Old Fanny Ficklebottom!’
‘What?’
‘That old tug, I call her Old Fanny Ficklebottom. Listen to what she says. Now listen . . . listen to her. D’you hear? Can you hear her?’
Hannah shook her head, and he went on, chuckling, ‘Take note of this: “Rut-a-tut, rut-a-tut, rut-a-tut, ya bergar you . . . “ bergar, not bugger, bergar. “Rut-a-tut, rut-a-a-tut, ya bergar you.”’
She had to put her hand over her mouth to control her laughter, and, leaning over the rail and wiping her eyes, said, ‘You know, you’re a bit of an idiot.’
‘Am I?’ He too was leaning over the rail now; he pushed a pebble off the end of the flags with the toe of his shoe, and when it dropped into the water with a slight ping he said quietly, ‘It’s a nice feeling knowing that someone thinks you’re an idiot, but you can only be an idiot with a certain type of person.’ Their heads turned towards each other now and they stared in silence. The tugboat had disappeared from view, and except for the sound of the wash beating against the bank the river was quiet and gave no sign of movement. Neither did her hand when his came out and laid itself gently on top of hers on the rail.
Chapter Five
Hannah arrived at Janie’s at eleven o’clock. It was much earlier than usual, but she wanted to have a talk with Janie before the business of Sunday lunch got under way.
However, in the hall she was greeted by Eddie, his head poking round the kitchen door, saying, ‘Oh! it’s you, Hannah. Lord! am I glad to see you; you were never more welcome.’
‘What’s the matter? Where’s Janie?’
He was in the hallway now, drying his hands on a tea-towel. ‘Upstairs; her back’s gone again. I’ve told her till I’m sick – you’ve heard me – she will carry that fellow around, at least up the stairs, and he’s quite able enough to climb them himself. If he’s not at two and a half he never will be.’
‘Hello there, Auntie Hannah! Oh, I’m glad to see you.’ This was a voice from the stairs, and Hannah, seeing ten-year-old Maggie, said, ‘That’s nice: two people already glad to see me.’
‘Mam’s back’s bad.’
Hannah had taken off her coat and was hanging it on the stand as she said, ‘So I’ve heard already.’
The ten-year-old now turned a sly glance towards her father, saying, ‘Dad says it’s with carrying John upstairs. That way he’ll never want to walk, will he, if Mam keeps carrying him about?’
‘One of these days, me girl, I’ll clip your ear so hard . . . ’
‘I know, Dad. I know.’ His daughter grinned at him, then asked him, ‘Have you done the spuds?’
Eddie didn’t answer her but, looking at Hannah, said, ‘Go on up and have a word with her. I’ll bring you up a cup of tea.’
‘I’d rather have coffee, if you don’t mind, Eddie.’
‘Me too, Auntie Hannah. Among other things, I get sick of tea in this house,’ Maggie said, before making a quick escape into the kitchen.
‘She’s turned up trumps,’ Eddie remarked; ‘she’s as sensible as they come. She’s been a real help, looking after her mother and the young ’uns. She’s a good lass. But this is Sunday, Hannah, and you know what Janie is for Sunday: a roast and at least four veg. I tell her, if she had to buy them she wouldn’t be so liberal in stuffing them into her family.’ His tone changing, and his head jerking upwards, he said, ‘Tell her everything’s fine down here; she thinks the house’ll fall about us if she can’t get downstairs.’
‘Have you had the doctor?’
‘You mention the doctor to her. Now do that, Hannah, just mention the doctor to her and see the answer you get.’
When Hannah opened the bedroom door, she saw her sister lying almost flat on her back, her head supported by a thin pillow. As she made her way towards the bed she said, ‘Now don’t start asking me questions or telling me what should be done downstairs, because I’m going to tell you, and straight away, that you should have that back seen to, or before long this’ll be your permanent home.’
‘Good morning, Hannah! So nice of you to drop in. I see you’ve had a talk with Father Eddie and Mother Maggie downstairs!’
All this was said in the polite convent-bred voice and Hannah, on a laugh, answered in the same vein, ‘Yes; I met dear Father Eddie; he was most concerned for you. As for Mother Maggie, I understand she’s been working wonders, and I should imagine by now the sirloin and the four veg are well under way.’ Then, her tone changing, she said, ‘That satisfy you?’ She walked round to the other side of the bed, pulled up a chair and sat down close to her sister.
‘All fun apart, Janie, you should have that back seen to,’ she said.
‘How can I? Don’t be ridiculous, Hannah. I know what would happen; they’d push me into hospital and stretch me or something. They did that with Mrs Saunders down the road, and she’s worse now. I only want a couple more days flat out like this and it’ll be over once more. I know what it is, it’s a sciatic nerve. Remember Sister Amnesia?’
‘Oh, forgetful Florrie, Sister Florentine?’
‘Yes. She used to give us biology lessons, you remember? There was a great linen folder she used to drop over the blackboard which showed one part of the body after the other, but with all the vital parts carefully blocked out. It’s a wonder we knew where our backsides were! I never thought nuns had them. Nor legs. But look at them now, how they run around: skirts up to their backsides . . . ’
‘Stop prattling on, Janie. All right, it’s a sciatic nerve, but dosing yourself with aspirins isn’t going to cure it; you want medical advice. I don’t know what Eddie’s thinking about, not to override you and get the doctor in, no matter what you say.’
‘He knows better than to override me.’
‘Oh, big noise!’
‘Anyway, why’ve you come early, if not to give me some news? Come on, let’s have it. What happened yesterday? You met him?’
‘Oh yes, I met him.’
‘Well, go on, then.’
So Hannah told her what had transpired, from lunch at Micky’s, on and on until they parted, with her promising to meet him again.
‘When?’
‘Oh, some time.’
‘Today?’
She shook her head, then said, ‘No; no, not today.’
‘You’re fibbing. You were going to meet him today, and because you see me lying here you think you should do the loving sister bit and stay on with that lot downstairs. Well, you’re not.’
‘Yes, I am!’
‘We’ll see about that!’
They looked at each other intently for a moment; then Janie asked, ‘What’s he really like?’
Hannah didn’t answer her straight away; in fact, she looked towards the window, then moved her eyes around the modern bedroom that appeared unusually tidy at this time, until, her gaze returning to Janie, she said, ‘I can’t put a name to it. He’s wonderful company: he’s funny, he’s kind.’
‘Oh, my God! don’t get on to the “kind” business again. You’ve got one already. Dear, dear Humphrey is kind. You mustn’t hurt Humphrey because he’s kind.’
Hannah’s voice rose now as she exclaimed, ‘It isn’t that kind of kindness I’m meaning!’
‘Well, what other kind is there?’
‘I . . . I can’t tell you, but he’s differen
t.’
‘Is he good-looking, tall?’
‘Yes, both those things.’
‘Has he any money?’
‘Well, not really, but . . . I think he lives quite comfortably.’
‘Did you like his flat?’
‘Oh yes, it’s beautiful, what I saw of it.’
Janie grimaced as she tried to move in the bed; but then on a laugh she asked, ‘Did he show you his bedroom?’ and Hannah’s voice was precise when she answered, ‘Yes, dear sister, he showed me his bedroom, and his bathroom!’
‘Nice?’
‘Very nice indeed.’
‘Pretty-pretty or a man’s room?’
‘Oh, Janie! you are the limit. It was a bedroom, a very ordinary bedroom. The only things I noticed were the small pieces of antique furniture he had in the big room.’
‘Truthfully now, when are you seeing him again? I want to know.’
‘I . . . I’m not sure.’
‘Well, after all that paraphernalia yesterday, and if what you tell me is true, you’d have made some kind of a date.’
‘Well, I didn’t. I said I’d ring him.’ . . . Did she know his number? No, she didn’t. But she knew his address.
‘I don’t know whether to believe you or not.’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter, dear sister, whether you do or not. I’m here to stay for the rest of the day, and in payment receive my meat and four veg. I don’t know what you ordered for pudding.’
‘Fruit. There’s a fridge full of it.’
‘Oh well, that’ll be nice: I could make a nice fruit salad. I don’t suppose you thought to order any cream?’
‘Get yourself downstairs, Miss Fancy Pants!’ Hannah was making for the door when, in a tone quite different from any other she had used so far, Janie said softly, ‘You know something, Hannah? Whoever this fellow is, he’s worked a miracle on you, for you’ve gone back to the way I remember you when you were in your early twenties. Keep it up.’
Hannah could say nothing to this. She only knew that she was blushing, on which Janie immediately remarked, ‘That’s something else; I’ve not seen you blush for years.’ Hannah stood for a moment, biting on her lower lip. Janie was right. Something had happened to her in the last four days: she knew that within herself she had thrown off the years of dull monotony that were making her old before her time; she knew she must have become staid, and her not yet thirty. And who was to blame? Oh, she couldn’t blame Humphrey for everything. She should have demanded an explanation from the time of the separate rooms; yet who could demand anything from Humphrey? You didn’t demand when dealing with Humphrey, you asked politely and, as politely, he would give you an answer.
As she moved down the stairs she met Maggie.
‘Auntie Hannah, are you staying this afternoon?’ It was a loud whisper.
‘Well, I . . . I don’t really know. Why?’
‘Only because, if you were, I could go to the party, Nanette’s. She’s always on about their house. I haven’t seen it, but last week Mam said I could go. Mam’s bought me a new bum-freezer, and it’s lovely, and a silk blouse.’
‘Which is lovely? The bum-freezer or the silk blouse?’
Maggie laughed, then said, ‘Both. They’ve got this big house; I’m dying to see it. Dad says we’re going to move some day ’cos this place is becoming like a matchbox, especially if Mam goes and does it again.’
‘Does what?’ Hannah looked down into the dark round eyes, so like Eddie’s.
‘Well, goes and gets herself pregnant again. She wants another boy. She said Dad doesn’t like paying for staff, so he’s going to use the family.’
The light cuff Hannah gave the girl across her ear made her pretend to stagger, and when she said, ‘You’re a dreadful child,’ the ten-year-old came back, saying, ‘I’m not a child, and, Auntie Hannah, I can’t ever remember being a child, being the eldest. I was four when Winnie was born, then I was six when Mam had Claire, and eight when she had John, and I remember saying to her then, “Is that the finish?”’
‘You didn’t!’
‘Oh, yes I did, Auntie Hannah. I was sick of looking after kids, and I remember once saying to Dad that other people have nannies and’ – she burst out laughing now – ‘I remember him saying, “There’s no place to keep a goat here, and we’re not keeping one as long as we have you.” Anyway, are you leaving early, Auntie Hannah?’
Hannah again looked into the beseeching dark eyes, and when she heard herself say, ‘No, not very; there’s no need,’ the inner voice warned her, Look! What are you doing? Don’t be silly. But she went on, ‘The only thing I must do is use the phone. I was going to meet a friend, but I can attend to that later.’
‘You sure, Auntie?’
‘Positive, cross my heart,’ and she made a sign on her chest, saying the while, ‘Spit in your eye and hope to die if I tell a lie.’
‘Oh! Auntie Hannah. Fancy you remembering that. Every time I told a lie I used to come out with it.’
‘Yes, I know; you were an absolute imp. Still are in part.’
‘Thanks, Auntie Hannah.’ The young girl reached up and impulsively kissed Hannah on the cheek, then said, ‘I can go up and tell Mam now that you’re staying on so I can go to the party?’
‘Yes; do that. But don’t be surprised if she tries to put a spoke in your wheel; you insist that I said I’m not going anywhere.’
In the kitchen Eddie said, ‘What was all that palaver about in the hall? Maggie getting at you to stay on? Well, here’s somebody that’s telling you you’re not staying on. You’re not wanted after the dinner’s over, so get yourself away then. Likely, if I know anything, you’ve got a date.’
‘Likely, if you know anything, Eddie, you’re wrong. The only thing I need to do is use the phone, and I don’t want any listeners-in.’
‘As if I would!’
‘As if you wouldn’t.’
‘Have you still got the telephone extension?’
‘Yes. Yes, it’s in the garden shed. That’s my new office and the only place around here where I can find a little peace.’
Hannah made no laughing retort to this, but went out of the kitchen, through the scullery and into the back garden, at the far end of which was a wooden hut.
Sitting on a stool before the rough bench that acted as a desk, she rang directory enquiries, gave them David’s name and address and was given his number.
She did not immediately phone the number, but for a moment sat considering: she could see him this evening, and go to St Martin’s with him. The only other time would be on Thursday, but then only for a few hours and by lying again.
She rang David’s number. ‘Yes; can I help you?’ The voice was Peter’s, and she said, ‘It’s me, Peter, Hannah Drayton.’
‘Oh, hello, madam.’
‘Hello, Peter,’ she said. ‘Could I have a word with . . . ’ she hesitated not knowing whether to say ‘David’ or ‘your master’, so on a laugh she said, ‘the man of the house?’
‘Oh, madam; the man of the house left about ten minutes ago. But he’ll be back shortly, because he’s having lunch at home today. Look; can you give me your number? Are you at home?’
‘No, Peter; I’m at my sister’s.’
After she’d read out the number to him he said, ‘He’ll be so sorry to have missed you, but I’m sure he’ll contact you straight away. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it, madam?’
‘Yes, very, Peter.’
After a pause his voice came again, soft and consoling: ‘I hope nothing is wrong, madam. You’re not in any trouble?’
Her answer came high and bright, saying, ‘Oh, no! Peter. Nothing like that. My sister’s hurt her back and is in bed, and she has four children and a husband who knows much more about selling vegetables
than cooking them.’
He laughed and said, ‘So you’re going to be the ministering angel and take over, is that it, madam?’
‘Something like that, but without the angel, Peter.’
‘Oh, spiritual bodies always come in disguise. Anyway, madam, I shall tell Mr David as soon as he comes in that you’ve phoned, and I’m sure you will be hearing from him shortly.’
‘Thank you, Peter. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, madam.’
Yes; no doubt, now he had the number, she’d be hearing from him, and pronto . . .
It was just on twelve when she had phoned and it was half-past one before the six of them were seated around the table, Janie’s meal having been taken upstairs on a tray. As yet the telephone had not rung. So she told herself that perhaps David didn’t have his Sunday meal until two o’clock.
‘It seems funny, Auntie Hannah, to see you sitting in Mam’s chair.’
‘It feels funny to me, Winnie, and I’m not going to sit in it much longer, I can tell you.’
Eddie turned to six-year-old Winnie, who was sitting next to John, and said, ‘Cut his meat up for him, will you, pet?’
‘Oh, hell’s bells! Why do I always have to do everything for him?’
Winnie banged on the table, which bounced all their plates, and there was silence for a moment while all eyes were turned on Eddie, but his were concentrated on his daughter and he said, ‘I’ll hell’s bells you across your backside until you can’t sit if I hear any more of that.’
With an effort to keep her tongue quiet, Hannah now resumed her eating. Eddie, of all people, going for one of his children.
There was a tremor now in Winnie’s voice as she said, ‘Well, you’re always saying that, Dad, and worse.’
‘I might be, miss, saying that and worse, but that’s not for you to repeat; and you know what your mam said; if she hears about you using language like that again she’s going to your headmistress.’
The Thursday Friend Page 10
