‘Yeah, big Grammar School cry-baby’s gonna cry!’
They were right. I could feel the tears in my eyes. I was trying to stop myself but I couldn’t. I was going to cry. Don’t let me cry, please don’t let me cry . . . Then I saw her. My mum! I couldn’t believe it. She must have got off work early. She’d just turned into the road. I waved.
‘Mum!’
She waved back. I was going to be all right.
‘That’s my mum. You’d better go if you don’t want to get into trouble.’
They laughed. They weren’t bothered.
‘You think we’re scared of your big fat mum?’
They waved – and she waved back at them and went inside. She went into the house. She left me with them.
‘Mum!!’
They didn’t thump me that hard. Just once in the stomach and they threw my bag and my boots over a wall into one of the gardens. Then they ran off.
‘What are you crying for, love? What’s happened?’
She sat me down in the kitchen and I told her all about it. I couldn’t stop crying.
‘Why did you go in? Why didn’t you wait?’
It was stupid saying that, it wasn’t her fault.
‘I didn’t know, love. I thought they were your friends.’
She was sitting next to me, her arm round my shoulder. The tears were running down my cheeks. But I wasn’t crying about what had just happened. It was everything else. Everything that had been happening with the Pigeon. It wasn’t right. I knew it wasn’t right and I decided. I wasn’t going to be on Boocock’s side.
I got to school early next morning and looked for him. He was bottom end of the playground on his own as usual. He was sitting on his bag, reading. My heart was thumping.
‘Hi, William.’
He looked up, surprised.
‘Hello.’
I fished out the bag of sweets I’d bought.
‘Do you want a Nuttall’s Mintoe?’
‘Thank you . . .’
He was just going to take one but stopped. I could see him looking behind me. I turned round. Boocock, Barraclough, Norbert and Hopwood and a few others were coming towards us. My heart started thumping even more. He didn’t say anything. He just stood staring at me.
‘I’m not gonna be on your side, Arthur. I think it’s stupid. I don’t think we should have sides.’
I was still holding the bag of sweets. Boocock looked at me.
‘Traitor!’
He would have hit me but William stepped in front and thumped him right in the stomach – hard. Boocock couldn’t believe it. None of us could. He couldn’t speak. I think it was ’cos he was winded but it might have been ’cos he was surprised, I wasn’t sure. He got his mad up then and went for William – and William hit him again. Harder. I looked at Boocock lying on the ground, holding his stomach and crying. God had answered my prayers at last. Boocock was getting a taste of his own medicine. And all I could think was that it was a good job I hadn’t prayed for anything bad to happen to him, like getting run over or getting ill.
William went back and sat on his bag and started reading again. I followed him.
‘You’re a good fighter, William.’
He looked up and smiled.
‘My father says we must only use violence as a last resort. I think that was a last resort, don’t you?’
I didn’t know what he was talking about. I held out the bag of sweets.
‘Here, have a Nuttall’s Mintoe . . .’
THE PIGEON
PART THREE
William doesn’t go to our school any more. He goes to a boarding school where there’s more Jews. I think his mum and dad thought it was better for him. I still see him in the holidays and I see his mum and dad every Saturday when I take their groceries. His dad always gives me a shilling. It’s a shame he went to another school ’cos by the time he left everybody liked him – except Boocock.
THE YO-YO CHAMPION
‘Black suede crêpe-soles! For school? Do you hear that, Doreen?’
My Auntie Doreen hadn’t heard ’cos she was reading my mum’s Woman’s Weekly. We’d just had our tea. Gammon and chips and a pineapple ring, my favourite. My Auntie Doreen always comes for tea on a Friday and she always brings the gammon. She works on the bacon counter at the Co-op. I think she gets it for free.
‘What was that, Freda?’
My mum poured herself another cup of tea.
‘We’re going to Crabtree’s tomorrow morning to get his Lordship some new school shoes and do you know what he wants? Black suede crêpe-soles. Like those teddy boys wear. Black suede crêpe! For school!’
They both laughed and my mum shook her head as if suede crêpe shoes were the daftest thing in the world. It wasn’t fair. Arthur Boocock’s mum and dad had let him get some, and Kenny Spencer’s. So had Gordon Barraclough’s. Tony had got some as well. And David Holdsworth. Even Keith Hopwood said he was getting some – but I don’t believe him. He’s soft, is Keith Hopwood. He was just saying it to keep up with all the others.
‘But Mum, everybody’s getting them. Tony’s got a pair. Even Keith Hopwood’s getting some. Keith Hopwood! Everybody’s getting them.’
‘Well you’re not. You’ll have proper black leather lace-ups. Proper school shoes and I don’t want you playing football in them neither.’
My Auntie Doreen didn’t help. She said that black suede shoes were very vulgar and my mum gave her a funny sort of look and smiled.
‘I know why you don’t like black suede shoes . . .’
My Auntie Doreen gave her a funny look back.
‘Yes, and he was very vulgar too, just like his shoes . . .’
And she smiled as well. They’re always doing that, my mum and my Auntie Doreen, saying things to each other that I can’t understand and then smiling their secret smiles.
‘Who’s vulgar just like his shoes?’
I don’t know why I bothered asking. I knew they wouldn’t tell me. They never tell me.
‘Oh, just someone your Auntie Doreen knew a long time ago.’
Then they did it again. Smiled at each other. Did they think I didn’t notice? Well I did notice. I always notice. But I can never understand what they’re smiling about.
I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting some black suede crêpes. Who said school shoes have to be black leather lace-ups anyway? It wasn’t fair.
‘Who says school shoes have to be black leather lace-ups anyway? What’s wrong with black suede crêpes? Who says you can’t wear black suede crêpes?’
As soon as I said it I knew I shouldn’t have. My mum banged her fist on the table. She made me jump. She made my Auntie Doreen jump. And she spilt her tea.
‘I do! I say you can’t wear black suede crêpes. Now fetch me a cloth.’
I didn’t say anything more about my new shoes ’cos the big red blotch had come up on her neck. She always gets it when she’s upset or excited and I know that’s when to shut up. I fetched the cloth from the kitchen and gave it to her.
‘I’m sorry, Mum . . .’
She didn’t say anything, she just mopped up where she’d spilt the tea. But the blotch was starting to fade. Thank goodness . . .
Crabtree’s is the big posh department store in town and we always go there to buy my new school shoes. It takes ages. You have to take a ticket with a number on, then sit down and wait for your number to be called out. We took our ticket and sat down.
‘Sixty . . . Ticket number sixty . . .?’
I liked coming to Crabtree’s. Not with my mum, that’s boring, but I sometimes go after school with Norbert and Tony and anybody else who wants to. The first time we went was to look at the ‘moving staircases’. Norbert told me about them. I didn’t believe him.
‘Moving staircases! How can a staircase move?’
I laughed and Norbert got quite cross.
‘I’m telling you, I was in Crabtree’s on Saturday and they’ve got moving staircases now. I went on them.’
I was sure he was having me on. I’d been in Crabtree’s lots of times. I’d been up and down in the lifts but I’d never seen a moving staircase.
‘Well, how do they work then, these moving staircases?’
‘You stand on the first step and you go to the top and then you get off.’
‘How do you go down?’
Norbert looked at me as if I was stupid.
‘They’ve got moving staircases that go down as well.’
I couldn’t see it. I just couldn’t imagine a staircase that moved. It was impossible.
‘It’s impossible. How can a staircase move?’
‘We’ll go down to Crabtree’s after school and you can see for yourself.’
And we did. And Norbert was right, they did have moving staircases. I couldn’t believe it. We went from the ground floor up to the fifth floor and then down again. We did it three times. Then we got thrown out ’cos Norbert started walking down one of the moving staircases that was going up.
We often go to Crabtree’s after school. We go up and down in the lifts or on the moving staircases and look at all the toys and at Christmas they have a grotto and you can walk through for free. And sometimes they have a stand and give things away. One time there was a lady asking people to try bits of cheese. Norbert and me went back three times before she realised and told us to push off. I didn’t like it – it tasted of soap – but it was free. Another time they were asking people to try Ribena and gave away miniature bottles. We got two each. The one thing I don’t like about going with Norbert is that he pinches things. I don’t know how he does it. They never see him. I never see him and I’m with him all the time. I don’t even know why he does it. He steals things he doesn’t even want. He throws them away. One time it was a reel of blue cotton. Another time it was a wooden spoon. The last time we’d come out of Crabtree’s it was a ball of wool he’d taken.
‘Why do you do it, Norbert? You’re going to get caught one day.’
He grinned at me.
‘That’s why I do it – to see if they can catch me . . .’
Then he laughed and threw the ball of wool in a rubbish bin. He’s mad. He just likes stealing. Mind you, his dad’s in prison for thieving. Maybe it runs in the family.
‘Sixty-one . . . Ticket sixty-one . . .?’
My mum was in quite a good mood so I’d decided I was going to give it one last go, see if I could persuade her to get me black suede crêpes. It was just a matter of choosing the right moment.
‘Sixty-one . . . Number sixty-one . . .?’
A fat man with a red face and a long droopy moustache held up his hand.
‘Sixty-one? Over ’ere, and about bloody time . . .’
My mum looked at him and tutted to herself. She doesn’t like swearing.
‘Twenty minutes I’ve been waiting. Over twenty bloody minutes. Bloody ridiculous!’
My mum wriggled in her chair and tutted again while this lady apologised to the fat man.
‘I’m very sorry, sir, but Saturdays are our busy day. We’re serving as fast as we can.’
‘Aye, well you need more bloody staff then, don’t you? Over twenty minutes to get from ticket bloody fifty-eight to sixty-bloody-one? Bloody ridiculous!’
That’s when my mum got her mad up.
‘Do you mind not using that kind of language? There’s children present.’
My mum wriggled in her chair again and folded her arms. Everybody was looking at us and I could feel myself going red. Why did she have to interfere like that? It was none of our business. That’s what the fat man thought as well.
‘You mind your own bloody business, it’s nowt to do with you . . .’ and he mumbled something about ‘bloody busy-bodies’.
‘It is my business if you swear in front of my young lad. I’ll thank you to keep your foul language to yourself.’
The fat man suddenly stood up. He came over and glared at my mum.
‘I’m not shopping ’ere. I’ll take my bloody money elsewhere . . .!’
And he stormed out. It all went quiet. My mum was shaking a bit and I could see the red blotch on her neck. That was it. I could forget about my suede crêpes now.
‘Sixty-two . . . Ticket sixty-two . . .?’
The lady who’d been serving the fat man came over to us.
‘I’m sorry about that, madam.’
My mum was still sitting up straight with her arms folded.
‘There’s no need for that kind of language. Not in Crabtree’s anyway.’
The lady had a badge on her jacket that said Assistant Manager.
‘Especially not in Crabtree’s, madam. We’ve had trouble with him before. I think he’s a bit funny.’
‘Ticket sixty-three . . . Sixty-three . . .?’
The assistant manager apologised again and went off to serve number sixty-three. It was a woman with a ginger-headed lad that I sort of knew. I’ve seen him around. He goes to St Bede’s. I don’t like him. I see him sometimes on my way home from school when I cut through the park. He and his mates are always hanging round the swings. They smoke. And they have spitting competitions. They go as high as they can on the swings and see who can spit the furthest. It’s disgusting. He was staring at me so I stared back . . . Once on my way home from school I’d thought he was going to hit me. A few of them were sitting on the roundabout going round slowly. He’d jumped off and stood in front of me. I’d been scared stiff. He’d put his face right close to mine.
‘Who are you for, Churchill or Attlee?’
I hadn’t known what he was on about.
‘Come on, who are you for, Churchill or Attlee?’
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t for either of them. He’d put his face even closer, our noses were nearly touching.
‘I’m only asking you once more, kid. Churchill or Attlee, who are you for?’
‘Churchill . . .’
He’d smiled.
‘That’s all right, then.’
And he’d gone back to the roundabout. I dread to think what would have happened if I’d said Attlee. I’d only said Churchill ’cos I knew he was the Prime Minister . . . While his mum was talking to the assistant manager Copper-nob and me carried on staring at each other . . . He won – I looked away. When I looked back he was still staring at me and he put his tongue out at me. I looked away again.
‘What’s our number, mum?’
She showed me. Seventy-two.
‘Seventy-two? It’s going to take ages!’
She turned on me and put her face close to mine, like the ginger-headed lad did in the park that day.
‘Don’t you start. I’ve had enough with that nasty man!’
Copper-nob was staring at me again, sneering, watching me getting told off by my mum.
‘Sixty-four . . . Ticket number sixty-four . . .’
The fat man was right. It was taking ages . . . Oh no, Copper-nob was trying on black suede crêpes! It wasn’t fair.
‘Mum . . .’
‘Mm . . .?’
‘I was just wondering . . .’
‘What?’
‘I was just wondering . . .’
The red blotch was still there.
‘ . . . if I could go and look at the toys? It’s going to be a while before they get to seventy-two.’
She looked at her watch.
‘Ten minutes. Back here by twenty past. No later.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
I ran out. Copper-nob was walking up and down trying on his new shoes and I could hear the assistant manager telling his mum how good suede crêpes were.
‘They’re very durable, madam. Last for ever. All the lads are wearing them.’
Yeah, all the lads except me.
I love the toy department in Crabtree’s, there’s so much to look at. They’ve got the biggest display of lead soldiers anywhere. (That was another thing that Norbert pinched once, two lead soldiers and a cannon – he didn’t throw them away.) On the ceiling there’s all
these wire tracks and hanging from them are little carriages. When you buy something the assistant puts your money into one of the carriages, pulls a handle and the carriage zooms across the ceiling to another assistant sitting in a cash desk behind a glass screen and she sends the carriage back with the change. It’s fantastic watching all these carriages zooming all over the place.
Sometimes they have people doing special toy demonstrations. Like the spinning top that you could balance on the point of a pencil or the rim of a glass and it spun for ages. It cost half-a-crown, a special demonstration price. Once a lady was showing how you could make your own balloons. She squeezed this coloured stuff out of a tube, rolled it into a ball, stuck in a plastic straw and blew it into a balloon. That was half-a-crown as well. Everything they demonstrate always seems to cost half-a-crown.
‘Just two and sixpence. A half-a-crown for the Lumar yo-yo . . .’
That’s when I saw him. Well, I heard him first. I was looking at the lead soldiers, they’d had some new ones in. Irish guards. I turned round.
‘The best yo-yo money can buy for only two shillings and sixpence. The price of a fish and chip supper . . .’
There he was, a yo-yo in each hand, doing these wonderful tricks.
‘The Lumar yo-yo will last a lifetime . . .’
On his stand was a big poster, Don Martell – Yo-yo Champion of Great Britain, and there was a photo. It showed him doing his yo-yo tricks. He looked a lot younger and he was wearing a bow tie. A few people were watching and I went over.
‘Come closer, don’t be shy. I’m going to show you how the yo-yo can give you hours of pleasure. After just a few minutes’ practice you too will be “walking the dog” . . .’
And he sent the yo-yo spinning down to the floor. When it reached the end of the string it spun round and round and then he walked towards us and the yo-yo rolled along the ground, just like a dog on a lead. He flicked his wrist and the yo-yo went flying up in the air. Another flick and it disappeared into his hand.
‘Walking the dog, ladies and gentlemen, a yo-yo trick any one of you here today can master within minutes. You!’
He was pointing at me.
‘Me?’
‘Yes you, young man. Do I know you?’
The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories Page 16
