No subtlety this time. ‘You could get the boat home.’
A wounded interval, then another query, but softer this time. ‘Why don’t you want me here, Father?’
Annoyed at his own cruelty as much as the boy’s presence, Russ scissored his legs viciously out of the bed and ground the cigarette into the lid. ‘Why, bloody why! Can’t I have any peace in this house?’
Charlie averted his eyes as his father stripped off his pyjama trousers; he had always been brought up to display modesty. He merely listened to the sound of limbs being rammed into trousers, shirt being tugged over head. When Russ left him alone he lay back and squeezed his eyes shut—not against the lingering smoke, but to stop himself crying. It seemed ages before Biddy slouched in to say, ‘Ye can come down now. Ye may as well help me with the breakfast seein’ as how ye’ve given me all this extra work to do.’ Charlie had been dressed for some time before her summons. He followed her down to the kitchen and set to obeying each of her instructions, ducking whenever he did something wrong and she took a swipe at his head. Soon the table was laid for breakfast.
‘Right! Now you see to this here pan an’ make sure it doesn’t boil over while I go get the children up.’ Despite her grousing, Biddy welcomed somebody to boss about.
While she was absent, a heavy-eyed Rachel wandered in. On seeing the boy she simply about-turned without so much as a ‘good morning’ and went off to the parlour.
When the children seated themselves round the table, Biddy told Charlie to hand out the bowls of cereal. ‘I’m not having anything he’s touched,’ said Bertie.
‘So ye’ll get nothing,’ replied the maid uncaringly. Then, as he shot from his seat, ‘Where’re y’off?’
‘I’m going to tell Mother you’re not doing your job right!’
Biddy reacted with haste. ‘Oh, sit down an’ I’ll make ye something!’
Pushing Charlie out of the way, she set about providing a substitute meal for the mulish boy.
‘What’ll you be doing today, Charlie?’ asked Rowena.
‘There’s a rope swing down by the river,’ announced Lyn before he could answer. ‘You can play on that if you like.’
‘It isn’t yours to say who goes on it,’ vetoed Bertie.
‘It isn’t yours either, pig-face!’
‘I know the lad who put it up,’ said Bertie, ‘and he wouldn’t want Fuzzball swinging on it.’
Charlie’s hand tightened on his spoon… then he remembered, and said, ‘What was it now? The owl and the pussycat…’
Bertie left the room.
‘Good for you, Charlie,’ said Lyn, then used her spoon as a mirror to pull faces in.
But Charlie didn’t feel particularly good. The last thing he wanted was to rattle his newfound brother. He couldn’t understand it; he himself had been thrilled to find out he had a brother almost the same age, but Bertie seemed so resentful. His spoon was poised at his bowl. He did not plunge it in as the others had done, but turned to Rowena, who sat next to him. ‘Why doesn’t he like me?’
She swallowed and scooped a trickle of milk from her chin. ‘I don’t really know, you never know anything with Bertie – but the rest of us do, don’t we?’ Her sisters nodded automatically, though most were indifferent to the newcomer. ‘We wish you could stay,’ added Becky.
‘Your mother doesn’t.’ Charlie poked the spoon round the bowl but did not eat. He couldn’t bring himself to say, ‘And neither does Father,’ because he felt it would make him cry.
‘Father’ll get round her,’ vouched Becky. ‘He always does.’
‘Father’s in bother an’ all,’ said Lyn.
‘As well,’ corrected Rowena.
‘Oh, shurrup! You’re as bad as Mother.’ Lyn returned to her theme. ‘She’s always mitherin’ and carryin’ on at Father – you’ll get used to it. None of us takes any notice.’
Rowena considered this disloyal. ‘She’s had a very big shock, Lyn. Father himself said it was something he’d done.’ She looked at Charlie’s serious face, trying to comfort. ‘I reckon Bertie’s upset at you coming here because he’s been used to being the only boy for so long, and the eldest, and always sort of being in charge.’
‘Thinks he is,’ rectified Lyn, scraping the residue from her bowl then sitting spoon in mouth until Biddy snatched it from her.
‘Maybe he’s jealous,’ supplied Beany.
‘But I don’t want to make him jealous, I want him to like me,’ Charlie protested and looked at Rowena for further explanation.
Rowena moved her shoulders in confusion. Bertie was always moaning about his sisters – one would think he’d be glad of male support. But then the whole affair was baffling. Charlie had brought some sort of trouble with him but nobody would be specific. Mother didn’t want to speak about him at all; neither did Father, really. Her sisters didn’t appear to think anything much was amiss, their mother had apparently recovered from her shock, everything seemed to go on as normal… yet it wasn’t normal.
‘Don’t take any notice of what Bertie says.’ Becky clattered her spoon into her bowl and carried it to the sink. ‘You can go on the swing if you want to.’
‘I’m not allowed out,’ Charlie divulged now. ‘Father says I have to stay out of sight in the attic again.’
The girls sympathized. Then Lyn suggested, ‘You want to ask Father if you can look at his collection, then. That’ll stop you being bored.’ When asked what collection, she enlightened, ‘Birds’ eggs, hundreds of ’em in that cabinet in the attic.’
‘Do you mean the one near Father’s bed?’ asked Charlie. Several mouths fell open. ‘Is Father sleeping in the attic now?’ enquired Lyn with a frown. Charlie told her yes. ‘Well, no wonder our Bertie’s mad!’ She grinned, then turned thoughtfully to Rowena. ‘I’ve never known Mother chuck him out of bed before, have you?’
Rowena gave a worried no – this was beginning to look very serious. Then she returned to the subject of the eggs, advising hastily, ‘Do ask first if you can look at them. Father thinks a lot about them. None of us is allowed to touch them, only Bertie.’
‘Is any of ye going to use your jaws for anything other than talkin’?’ demanded Biddy then. ‘Can ye not see the time? Get your breakfasts finished, them as hasn’t, or ye’ll be off to school on empty bellies.’ When the girls had finished and gone off to fetch their schoolbags, Charlie asked the maid, ‘Will Father have gone to work yet?’
‘The Lord knows.’ Biddy’s hands dredged another plate from the sink and put it to drain. ‘He went out just as I was gettin’ up an’ I haven’t seen a whisker of him since.’
Mr Hazelwood had in fact been getting washed in the scullery. At Biddy’s entrance he had run a quick comb through his hair, paid minimum attention to his moustache and, saying he wouldn’t require breakfast, had gone out.
‘Oh… well, do you think I should ask Mrs Hazelwood’s permission to look at the eggs?’
‘Yes, if ye want a few slung at ye.’
Charlie sunk into despondency. He wasn’t particularly interested in the eggs but could not bear to spend another entire day in the attic with nothing to do. There was little to lose by asking her. ‘I think I will just see what she says.’ He left Biddy and went to the door of the front parlour. It was slightly ajar. Hearing Bertie’s voice, he did not reveal his presence, but listened.
‘Oh, please let me have some, Mother!’
‘Robert, for the last time you are not going into long trousers! Now go to school!’
Charlie ducked back into the kitchen as the other boy sped down the passage and out of the house. ‘I don’t think I’d better ask after all,’ he told Biddy and levered himself into a sitting position on the table, legs dangling.
Some time elapsed before he spoke again. ‘Biddy… will you be going anywhere near a shop that sells trousers this morning?’
‘I might.’ She seized the youngest child’s hands, applying a cloth. ‘Why what’s up with the ones ye’ve got on?’ The cloth m
auled the infant’s mouth. Regina, nine months old, tried to twist away as the hand encompassed her face.
His foot swung back and forth. ‘Nothing… I don’t want them for me, I want them for Bertie.’
‘Oh! An’ who’s meant to be poppying for them, might I ask?’ The cloth was aimed at the sink in the scullery but fell short. Biddy sent Rhona to pick it up.
Charlie withdrew some money from his pocket. The maid towelled her hands and came over to look. ‘Will there be enough? It’s all I’ve got.’ Biddy counted, then nodded, but pointed out that the mistress would not let Bertie wear them.
‘Perhaps not – but he could put them on when he’s in his room.’
‘He’ll not be able to impress many folk up there, will he?’ The money found a place in Biddy’s apron pocket. ‘Anyways, what d’ye want to go spendin’ your money on him for when he’s treated ye like he has?’
‘I know how much he wants them. I think Mrs Hazelwood’s being mean, don’t you? And I don’t need the money if I’m not allowed out.’
‘I doubt ye’ll buy him this way.’ Biddy donned a look of sympathy, appearing to Charlie more like Sister Bernadette’s donkey than ever. ‘But, sure I’ll get them if that’s what ye want – though I could think of a lot better things to spend my money on… if I had any o’ course.’
‘If there’s any change you’re welcome to it,’ said Charlie generously. At her smile of thanks he asked if he should go upstairs now.
Biddy looked at the clock. ‘Herself won’t have anyone coming for an hour or so; time for you to help me with this washin’ up before ye hide your face. ’Twill give ye less time to be bored, will it not?’ And she smiled again as though doing him a favour.
Bertie found the trousers on his bed when he came in from school and went up to change out of his school clothes. With a surge of delight he tugged off his shorts and was trying the new ones on when Charlie sneaked down from the attic to tap at his door. Bertie shouted, ‘Come in!’ and was admiring himself in the wardrobe mirror, until he saw Charlie smiling from the reflection. ‘Oh, it’s you – what d’you want, Fuzzball?’ He continued to turn this way and that, examining the cut of the trousers.
‘I just came to see if you like those.’
‘Why wouldn’t I like them? They’re much better than yours’. He marched towards Charlie. ‘Gerrout! I’m going to show Mother what they look like.’
Charlie stepped into the doorway. ‘Oh, I don’t think you’d better!’
The reaction was bellicose. ‘Who’re you to give me orders?’
‘I don’t want you to get into trouble, that’s all.’
‘What’re you on about?’ growled Bertie. ‘She wouldn’t’ve bought me them if she…’
‘She didn’t buy them,’ interrupted Charlie.
Bertie faltered. So… his father had bought the trousers to make it up to him. Bertie was still annoyed – but it would be childish to say he didn’t want the trousers just because of that.
‘I bought them,’ said Charlie.
Bertie gaped in disbelief – then with all his might shoved Charlie backwards. ‘Get out!’
Charlie stumbled. ‘I thought you liked…’
‘Get out, you bloody swine!’ He struck out at Charlie, hitting him on the nose.
Charlie cried out in pain and immediately struck back in retaliation. Bertie fell, glared up at the other boy and spat, ‘Right! I’m going to tell Father you thumped me – you’ll get sent away!’
Charlie stepped forward and stooped to help his brother up, ‘I’m sorry, Bertie, please don’t…’ But he didn’t get chance to finish. Bertie grabbed hold of him and kicked his shins, weakening his defence and pushing him out of the door.
On its slamming, Bertie fought with the buttons of the offending trousers, kicking his way out of them and pouncing on them to rive at the legs. They were quite well-made and would not yield. Standing on one of the legs, he applied both hands to the other and hauled with every ounce of savagery he had. The seam finally gave, but refused to part at the waistband. Giving up, a tearful Bertie rammed up the sash and hurled the ruined article as far as he could.
‘Bertie, away, it’s teatime!’ At his non-appearance at the table Beany had been sent to look for him.
‘Bugger off,’ came the grumpy command.
‘Right, I’m off to tell on you!’
Bertie leapt from his hunched position and flew onto the stairs to intercept his sister. ‘Hang on, Bean! I want to talk to you. Come in a minute.’
It was rare for any of the girls to be admitted to Bertie’s inner sanctum. Beany forgot all about telling on him and eagerly accepted his invitation. He closed the door and returned to his seat on the bed. Beany came to jump up beside him and shuffled until her back was supported by the wall. ‘Mother wants to know why you weren’t outside.’ Unless it was raining the children weren’t allowed to be in their rooms. Bertie didn’t answer and she sat looking around at the walls which bore several pennant flags, two pictures of soldiers and lots of other military souvenirs donated by his father.
‘Do you like whatsisname?’ asked Bertie finally.
‘Charlie? He’s all right.’ Beany kneeled on the bed to take a closer look at a picture while she had the chance.
‘He makes me sick,’ replied Bertie. ‘Trying to buy his way into this family – d’you know he’s bought me a pair of longs?’
‘Ooh, let’s have a look at ’em!’ Beany flopped into a sitting posture, causing her brother to bounce up and down.
‘You don’t think I kept them, dummy?’ sneered Bertie.
Beany’s grey eyebrows met. ‘But I thought you wanted a pair?’
‘Not until I’m old enough! I can’t stand these people who pretend to be older than they are. Anyway, I said this morning I don’t want anything he’s touched.’
Beany mused, finger to chin. ‘I wonder if he’ll buy me anything for my birthday.’
Bertie grew impatient. ‘Beany, you don’t want to upset Mother, d’you? Can’t you see how his coming here has made her unhappy?’
She frowned in recognition of this. ‘Yes… and Father.’
‘Father’s only got himself to blame! It’s his fault.’ His sister wanted to know why. ‘I don’t know! It just is… He should’ve told us about the African.’ Bertie moved his body round to face her, brown eyes instructing. ‘I say we ought not to have anything to do with Fuzzball. Mother’ll think we’re all against her if we talk to him. You don’t want to make her sad, do you?’ Tears sprang into the muddy eyes at the very thought of it and she shook her head solemnly. ‘So it’s agreed we don’t talk to him?’ Bertie was cheering up.
Beany used her left hand to cup her right elbow. Her other hand clutched a pasty cheek. ‘But what about Father? I can still talk to him, can’t I?’
Bertie’s eyes reproached. ‘I thought you said you didn’t want to upset Mother – she will be if she thinks you’re on his side.’
‘But if I don’t talk to him I’ll get into bother!’ She blinked to clear her vision and smoothed her mousy hair from her brow.
Bertie thought about this, deciding. ‘You can answer him when he speaks to you, but just don’t talk to him first, all right?’ With this compromise, the two went downstairs, Bertie adding that he would buy her a good birthday present if she kept her word.
Their father smiled at their entry. ‘Ah come on, you two – we thought you’d got lost, Bertie.’ When his son did not answer he picked up a plate and held it out. ‘Here, I’ve stopped your sisters from grabbing all these teacakes. Get a couple while they’re still buttery.’
Bertie totally ignored him and turned to the sister seated next to him. ‘Pass me one o’ those, please.’ He took a scone from the plate that was passed. Russ, still holding the teacakes, looked at his wife but she seemed to be ignoring him too. He deposited the plate in front of Lyn, who took advantage. Bertie happened to catch Charlie’s eye and was delighted to see apprehension – he was terrified that Bert
ie was going to tell Father about the fight! Had Bertie been speaking to his father at all he would have undoubtedly told on the boy, but as he wasn’t… it was rather difficult. Instead he narrowed his eyes threateningly and bit into his scone as if he were biting Charlie’s head off.
Tea continued in this hostile fashion. Russ, looking round the table as he chewed on a teacake, noted that the cool air was not just blowing from his son and wife, but from Beany too. When he asked what she had been doing at school, she simply murmured, ‘Nothing much,’ and gave similar replies to all his other queries.
‘It’s somebody’s birthday soon, isn’t it?’ Russ asked his wife, who nodded wordlessly. ‘I just can’t think whose it is.’ He made much of scratching his head. ‘I can recall seeing this lovely doll in a shop window and thinking, “That’ll just do for our so and so’s birthday,” but I can’t for the life of me think who I was going to buy it for. Ah well, never mind, if nobody can tell me…’
Beany looked at her brother and bit her lip. It was very difficult to take such a position when one was seven years old. After an agonized hesitation she blurted, ‘It’s mine.’
‘What? Your birthday, is it?’ said Russ in mock surprise, then went on eating.
‘Are you going to buy it for me?’ Beany’s eyes were pleading.
‘Oh, I thought maybe you weren’t interested…’
‘I am!’
Russ grinned. ‘Aye, all right then, we’ll see what we can do.’
Beany let out a sigh of relief and pleasure… and Bertie had lost his ally.
Just then, there was the sound of the back gate being opened. Rachel jumped from her seat and looked out of the window. ‘It’s Jack Daw! Upstairs!’ Grabbing Charlie by the collar, she hauled him from the room and pushed him up the stairs – just as Daw came into the kitchen. ‘Oh hello, Jack, what can we do for you?’ Rachel shut the door to the stairway and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her clothes.
My Father, My Son Page 17
