The Pride of Polly Perkins

by Joan Jonker

  ‘Yes, of course he is!’ Ada glanced nervously at John, wondering how much her daughter had heard, but she could read nothing from his face. ‘Fancy askin’ a question like that.’

  ‘Yer telling me lies, Mam.’ Polly was near to tears. ‘I’ve just heard yer telling Mr John he doesn’t want to get better.’

  ‘No, love, you misunderstood. I said he’s taking a long time to get better, that’s all.’

  ‘You didn’t, you didn’t! I heard what yer said! You’ve never lied to me before, Mam, but yer lying now.’ With that Polly took to her heels and fled, leaving Ada with a look of despair on her face.

  ‘What have I done? She’ll never speak to me again.’

  ‘You did nothing wrong, Ada. All you did was try to spare your daughter’s feelings – something any mother would do.’ He gave her shoulder a squeeze before making for the door. ‘I’ll give Charles a ring and explain what happened because she’s bound to be upset.’

  Polly kept on running until she could run no more. Her eyes blurred with tears, her mind screaming, she had no idea where she was until she stopped to catch her breath and found herself at the top of Bold Street. At the bottom she would find Sarah Jane and Auntie Mary, who she knew would welcome her with open arms. The need of comfort from people she loved was overwhelming, and after rubbing her hands across her eyes, she began to walk. But she had only taken a few steps when she asked herself how she could explain her tears without telling them her mam had lied to her. And she couldn’t do that, not to her mam.

  Pretending to be looking at the display of glass and china in a shop window, Polly tried to sort out all the questions that were going around in her head. Was her dad going to die? Was she never going to see him again? The thought was too horrible to contemplate and she felt like screaming. And why did her mam say she’d misunderstood when she knew what she’d heard? She was old enough to be told the truth; she had more right than Mr John, who didn’t even know her dad!

  Then Polly allowed another thought to surface. What was Mr John doing in the kitchen while her mam was ironing? Why wasn’t he in his office, working? And there was something about the way they were standing, not like worker and boss. They seemed on very friendly terms – in fact, a stranger would be forgiven for thinking they were man and wife.

  Polly shook her head, watching her reflection in the shop window. No, she mustn’t think things like that, she was just being bad-minded. Her mam loved her dad, she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. And Mr John was a nice man, he was probably just being kind in asking how her dad was getting on. But that didn’t alter the fact that she’d heard her mam say he wasn’t going to get better and then she’d denied she’d said it. I know what I heard, Polly thought, going over the scene in her mind. I’d just reached the door when I heard me mam’s voice saying, ‘He doesn’t talk about coming home any more. He doesn’t seem to have the will to live.’

  Polly gasped as the words came over as clearly as if she was hearing them now. Oh, me mam was right, I did misunderstand. I called her a liar and it was me that was wrong!

  She turned from the shop, and with her head bent she walked slowly in the direction of Percy Street. She’d go to her own room where it was quiet and she could sort out the jumble that was in her head. Tomorrow she’d try and get some time off to go and tell her mam she was sorry. And she was sorry because she loved her mam very much.

  Polly went in the back way hoping to escape to her room without being seen. But Mrs Nightingale was hanging a tablecloth on the line and pounced as soon as she saw the girl. ‘Mr Charles has been waitin’ for yer. He said I was to send yer to the drawing room the minute yer came in.’

  ‘But it’s me two hours off ! I’ve still got an hour to go.’

  ‘Polly, do as yer told, there’s a good girl.’

  Charles and his wife were waiting for her. And it was Victoria who crossed the room to take the hand of the girl she’d grown fond of. ‘Polly, my dear, we’ve been quite concerned about you, haven’t we, Charles?’

  ‘We have indeed.’ Charles leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Mr Roscoe rang to say there had been a misunderstanding and you had fled in a tearful state before anyone could stop you.’

  ‘It was my fault, Mr Charles. I got it all wrong and was horrid to me mam.’

  Charles waved her to a chair. ‘Sit down, my dear, and tell us exactly what happened.’

  With the telling came the tears. ‘I never should have said what I did to me mam ’cos she’s the best mam in the world and I love her very much. She’s had to work very hard to keep me and our Joey since me dad went in hospital.’ Polly gave a grateful nod to Victoria as she took the handkerchief held out to her. ‘But yer see, Mr Charles, I was all mixed up! Why doesn’t me dad ever talk about coming home any more? And why hasn’t he got the will to live? That means he wants to die, doesn’t it?’

  Sobs were shaking her body now and Victoria sat beside her and put a protective arm across her shoulders. ‘There now, my dear, don’t take on so or you’ll make yourself ill.’

  ‘But he musn’t love us any more! If he loved us he wouldn’t want to die, would he?’

  Charles rubbed his forehead and sought the words to take the pain from the young girl. ‘Wipe your eyes, Polly my dear, and blow your nose. Then I’ll tell you something which will make you feel better.’

  Polly was puzzled but did as she was told. ‘What is it, Mr Charles?’

  ‘I rang the hospital while we were waiting for you and I managed to get hold of one of the doctors. Your father’s condition is stable, my dear, which means he’s holding his own. He isn’t making the recovery they’d hoped for, but he certainly isn’t at death’s door, which is what you seem to think. So now you have the truth, right from the doctor.’

  ‘But why didn’t me mam say? Why does she keep telling me an’ Joey that he’ll be home soon when she knows he won’t?’

  ‘Because she loves you too much to ask you to share the burden she’s been carrying for so long. She’s been protecting you, Polly, you and your brother. She didn’t want to hurt you.’

  Polly rocked back and forth, her cries pitiful. ‘And I called her a liar, Mr Charles. She won’t love me no more.’

  ‘It would take more than that to destroy the love she has for you. But she is very upset, according to Mr Roscoe – not for herself, but for you.’

  Polly sprang up from the chair. ‘I want to go to her! She often says you should never go to bed on a quarrel ’cos yer don’t know what’s going to happen and yer might never get the chance to say yer sorry. So can I go and tell her I’m sorry, please, Mr Charles? I’ll run all the way there and back so I’ll be here to help Cook with the tea.’

  ‘I’m not the one to ask, Polly, my wife deals with the staff.’

  ‘Oh, please, Mrs Denholme, say I can go.’

  ‘Of course you can. You mustn’t let the day go by without making it up with your mother.’ Victoria reached out a hand to smooth the dark curly hair. ‘And you must spend some time with her, don’t rush back. I am quite capable of pouring tea and passing cakes around.’

  In an impulsive gesture, Polly wrapped her arms around Victoria and gave her a big hug. ‘Oh thank you! You an’ Mr Charles are so good to me … like another mam and dad.’

  When she’d left, Charles caught his wife wiping a tear from her eye. ‘She has that effect on me, too, my darling, but as Polly would say, only cissies cry.’

  Now she’d been caught out, Victoria let the tears flow. ‘She said we were like another mam and dad, wasn’t that sweet? And d’you know something, Charles, I wish she was our daughter. I can’t remember a time when Justin or Rebecca gave me a hug like Polly just did.’

  ‘Our children are what we made them, Victoria. Because of the difference in lifestyles, we didn’t do for our children what the likes of Polly’s mother did for her. From the day ours were born, they’ve had a nanny to do everything for them, change their nappies, take them for walks in the pram
, dress and feed them and put them to bed. Those are the things that bind a child to its parents and unfortunately, it’s too late for us to change. But we can’t blame Justin and Rebecca, we can blame ourselves.’ A twinkle came into Charles’s eyes. ‘I’d prefer to be called Dad instead of Father, which sounds so stiff. But I rather think you’d draw the line at being called Mam.’

  ‘It would certainly startle our friends, but I’ve thought about it many times since Polly came to us. Mother is just a word to describe the person who gave birth to you, whereas Mam sounds as though you love the person who gave birth to you.’

  ‘There are quite a few people in this house who will be sorry when the time comes for Polly to leave us. Mrs Nightingale actually sings when she’s working now, and to my amazement Mr Westly has developed a sense of humour. Mind you, he probably had it all along but has never had any occasion to show it.’

  ‘Polly’s not leaving, is she?’ Victoria looked shaken. ‘I thought she was staying with us.’

  ‘She’ll have to leave one day, darling, she has a family who love and miss her. I must say her mother has been a brick letting her come at a time when she could have done with her help. To put the child’s needs before her own is a sign of how much she loves her.’

  ‘I’d miss her if she left,’ Victoria said, ‘and so would Justin. He gets on famously with her, and she’s been so good for him.’

  ‘Yes, but unfortunately the same can’t be said of Rebecca. I was hoping they’d become friends, but our daughter hasn’t warmed to Polly at all. Still, my darling, there is still time.’ Charles held out his hand. ‘Come and sit on my knee and give me a kiss. Let’s be daring.’

  ‘Don’t be childish, Charles.’ But even as she was speaking, Victoria was nestling down on his lap. ‘What if one of the servants come in?’

  Charles chuckled. ‘D’you remember me telling you about Agnes – she worked for John and his parents for about forty years? Well, John told us about a favourite saying of hers. It goes something like this: “Sod off! Yer nothin’ but a bleedin’ nuisance”. So that’s what I’ll say to any person who walks through the door and spoils the kiss you are about to give me.’

  ‘Charles, really! I don’t know what’s come over you.’

  ‘Freedom, my lovely Victoria. The Pollys and Agneses of this world don’t have the wealth we do, but they have a damn sight more fun. Now kiss me, you wanton wench!’

  Rebecca stood with her ear pressed against the door, listening to every word. The praise being heaped upon Polly cut her like a knife. Fancy her mother saying she’d like a common flower-seller for a daughter! Well, she had no intention of ever being a sister to Polly Perkins! In fact, she’d have been long gone if the staff had done as they were told. They’d be made to pay for their lack of obedience, but there was time for that. Her first priority was to get rid of Polly. And it had to be done in such a way that the girl left in disgrace …

  ‘What are you doing there, Miss Rebecca?’ Mrs Nightingale’s face was grim. She was beginning to dislike this young madam for all the trouble she caused. She complained about everything under the sun. The toast was too well done, the tea was cold, her bathwater wasn’t hot enough. It was a pity she wasn’t old enough to get married, they’d be well rid of her. Mind you, heaven help the poor man who got her; she’d have him in an early grave with all her moaning and groaning. ‘Eavesdropping, are yer?’

  ‘What business is it of yours, might I ask?’ Rebecca’s eyes were cold as steel. ‘Have you no work to do?’

  Mrs Nightingale decided to tell a lie. You could only take so much impudence from a chit of a girl, and she’d taken enough. ‘I do have work to do, but I need to discuss it with Mrs Denholme first.’

  Rebecca waved a hand as though in dismissal. ‘They’re busy, you can come back later.’

  ‘No, I can’t do my work without your mother’s approval so I’ll wait here with you.’

  Rebecca glared. ‘In that case, I’ll come back later.’

  ‘Shall I tell your mother you wish to see her?’ Mrs Nightingale asked, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘Don’t bother, I’ll see her later.’

  My God, the cook thought, I’ve never known such wickedness in one so young. I’d be doing myself a favour if I kept out of her way. Now, what was I after before spotting Miss Rebecca up to her tricks? Oh yes, the duster I left on the table earlier.

  Polly walked straight into her mother’s arms. ‘Oh Mam, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’

  ‘There now.’ Ada held her close. ‘It was a storm in a teacup, sunshine, so let’s forget it.’

  ‘Mr Charles rang the hospital, Mam, an’ the doctor said me dad’s stable. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sunshine, that’s a good sign.’ Over her daughter’s shoulder, Ada met John’s eyes. She smiled and gave a slight nod. ‘One of these days I’ll go in the ward an’ he’ll be sittin’ up and smiling. Then we’ll know he’s on the road to recovery.’

  ‘It’s been a long time, Mam, an’ I still miss him as much as ever.’

  ‘It’s been the longest two years of me life, sunshine, but please God, it will turn out right in the end.’

  John coughed. ‘Why don’t you go in the drawing room?’ he suggested. ‘It’s more comfortable and you and Polly can have a good talk.’

  ‘I think Polly should be at work.’ Ada held her at arm’s-length. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Mrs Denholme told me not to hurry back, to stay and have a nice long talk with yer. They’ve been ever so good to me, Mam.’

  ‘All the more reason why you shouldn’t stay too long. Never take advantage of a person’s kindness, sunshine, just remember that.’

  ‘She can stay long enough for you to tell her what you’ve planned for next week, on her birthday.’ John led the way into the drawing room. ‘I’ll leave you two together.’

  ‘No, Mr John, you stay,’ Ada said. ‘After all, it was your idea.’

  ‘Mam, I’m going to the pictures with Steve on me birthday. I promised him ages ago.’

  ‘I know, he came and asked my permission to take you.’

  Polly gasped. ‘He didn’t!’

  ‘He most certainly did, like a proper gentleman.’

  Polly giggled. ‘I bet he went the colour of beetroot – he doesn’t half blush easy. What did you say to him, Mam?’

  ‘I asked him to consider takin’ me instead, but he wasn’t having any. So I had to agree to him taking you. Anyway, that’s his birthday present to you. Now what about mine?’

  ‘You don’t need to buy me a present, Mam, just give me a card. That’s enough, honest it is.’

  ‘I don’t think yer’ll turn it down when yer know what it is, sunshine. I think yer’ll be over the moon.’

  Polly’s face came alive with excitement. ‘Go on, Mam, tell us!’

  ‘Mr John said I can throw a party for yer here on the Sunday. You can invite all yer friends … Steve, Sarah Jane, Irish Mary, Auntie Dolly, and of course our Joey. And if yer don’t mind, I’d like to invite Aggie and Fanny. You wouldn’t mind that, would you, love?’

  Polly’s mouth gaped. ‘Oh, Mam!’

  ‘Yer can thank Mr John for letting us have the use of his flat. It would be no use tryin’ to get them all in our house, it’s too small.’

  When Polly ran to throw her arms around him, John was so filled with emotion, he closed his eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, Mr John. That’s a lovely birthday present.’

  ‘There’s a condition attached.’ John’s hand hovered over her head. He wanted so much to touch her but was afraid of getting too close. ‘You can have the use of my flat if I am invited as a guest.’

  ‘Oh yes, you can be the guest of honour.’ Polly was delirious with happiness. ‘Can I ask Mr Charles and Mrs Denholme?’

  Ada pulled a face. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, sunshine. I don’t think they would appreciate Aggie’s and Fanny’s interpretation of the English language. Yer know what they’re like for sweari
ng, and I wouldn’t like to have to put a gag in their mouths.’

  ‘Why don’t we let Charles and Victoria decide?’ John was now grinning from ear to ear. ‘I’ll put it to them straight and let them make up their own minds. I’ve got a feeling they would find it hilarious. I know for certain that Charles would.’

  ‘Yer will tell them about the swearin’, won’t yer?’ Polly was now having misgivings. She loved her friends dearly and would never be ashamed of them, but she had her doubts about Mrs Denholme. ‘I mean, yer will tell them out loud what they say?’

  ‘Every bleedin’ word,’ John said, sending them into gales of laughter.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There was a spring in John Roscoe’s step as he walked briskly along the hall. It had been a fruitful morning and he was feeling particularly pleased with himself as he bounded up the stairs. He waited until he reached the top landing before allowing the smile of well-being to spread across his face. ‘Ada?’ He hung his bowler hat on one of the curved branches of the highly polished mahogany hallstand. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In the bedroom!’ Ada was changing pillowcases when he entered the room. ‘I’ve nearly finished in here, then I’ll see to your lunch.’

  John gazed at the woman who had brought him more happiness in the last twelve months than he’d ever known. Her very presence filled his heart with contentment and set his mind at rest. He walked over to the bed and with a smile that was both sad and gentle, picked a feather from her hair. He held it in front of her nose. ‘You’re sprouting feathers, my darling.’

  ‘As long as it’s only feathers I’m sprouting, and not horns, I don’t think I need worry.’

  ‘Look, leave things as they are and come in the drawing room. I have something to tell you.’

  ‘Can’t it wait? You know I have a routine, John, an’ I like to stick to it. If I get here finished, I can serve you yer dinner then spend an hour on the ironing before cleaning the kitchen.’