The Lodger

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Just watch your own nose,’ said Trary, ‘you won’t have one at all if you keep this up, I’ll hit it with our hammer. Well, come on, don’t just stand there, I’ve got to get home.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Bobby, as they began walking.

  ‘Why? Why? Because I live there. You don’t think I can go to someone else’s home, do you? I hope I’m not goin’ to have another daft performance from you, Bobby Reeves, like last week, when I hardly knew how I got home alive. And I hope you’re not goin’ to talk an’ talk, it can deafen a girl if it goes on long enough. I said to mum, I said that boy who came to our ’ouse with a box on his head, I never heard a more deafening boy, he never stops talkin’. I told her I told you you ought to go to a doctor about it, and she said King’s College Hospital would be a good place, there’s lots of doctors there. Mum’s very understandin’, she – ’

  ‘Crikey, what a crackin’ carry-on,’ said Bobby, ‘you’re – ’

  ‘There you go again, interruptin’ me,’ said Trary, her step lively, her satchel swinging. ‘Just like last week. You could grow up a desp’rate problem to yourself, you know.’

  ‘Well, I’m as good as grown up now,’ said Bobby, ‘and I don’t reckon I’m problematical yet.’

  Problematical? Where did he get that one from, the cheeky beast? But it was easy to tell what it meant, thought Trary. Yes, she could tell Miss Russell that Oliver Cromwell was problematical, which he was when you realized the headaches he gave to people who didn’t want to be puritan.

  ‘Well, you soon will be,’ she said, and they walked on, enjoying the kind of conversational set-to already familiar to both of them. Among other things, Bobby said he and his mum had gathered in good business last week, buying loads of second-hand clothes from different places, then sorting through them in the evenings to finish up with a great pile of seconds good as new. Now that was over, he’d have more time to come and walk Trary home from school, which his mum thought he should because young girls ought to be protected. Trary received that remark with scorn, and said a fat lot of good that would be, being protected by a boy as daft as he was.

  She seemed to reach home in record time, the minutes seemed to have just flown. Bobby came in to say hello to her mum and her sisters, and the cheeky devil actually told her mum she was getting so handsome he’d take her to the music hall in Camberwell if he was a bit older. Her mum laughed out loud, and her eyes sparkled like they hadn’t for years.

  And Daisy said, ‘Meg, is mum goin’ to get kisses from Bobby now, like Trary does?’

  ‘Well, no, not love kisses,’ said Meg, ‘mums only get love kisses from dads. It’s Trary that Bobby gives love kisses to.’

  ‘Some hopes he’s got,’ said Trary.

  ‘Anyway, that’s for when Trary’s older,’ said Bobby. ‘I can see why she’s so pretty, Mrs Wilson, she takes after you. Well, I’ve brought ’er home safe an’ sound, and I’ll push off now.’

  ‘What a blessin’,’ said Trary.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got to ’elp me mum price a load of our new seconds,’ said Bobby.

  ‘New seconds?’ said Trary. ‘Now how can you have new second-hand clothes, you daft lump?’

  ‘Search me,’ said Bobby, ‘but it sounds all right for the customers. So long, everyone. I’ll meet yer tomorrow again, Trary.’

  ‘Oh, help,’ said Trary.

  ‘I ain’t never ’ad no kisses meself,’ said Lily, ‘except from mum.’

  ‘Well, we ought to put that right,’ said Bobby. He picked her up and planted a smacker on her forehead. Lily gave a little yell of delight. ‘You just wait,’ said Bobby, setting her down, ‘when I’m an older man than I am now, and you’re a grown up girl, I’ll treat yer to a good ’un. Goodbye, Mrs Wilson, you got lovely daughters, and Trary’s me dream girl.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll fall over, I will,’ said Trary. ‘What bliss. I don’t think.’

  Bobby left the younger girls giggling and Maggie smiling.

  ‘That boy’s one on ’is own,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Well, if there was another one like him,’ said Trary, ‘the world would get awf’lly problematical.’

  ‘Crikey,’ said Meg.

  ‘Crumbs,’ said Daisy.

  ‘She’s swallered a diction’ry,’ said Lily.

  At tea, Trary thought it was a relief not to have to put up with the sound of their lodger’s hearty voice. He usually put his head in when he got back from his business in the City. He usually said hello to everyone and stayed a bit talking to them, and he usually brought her and her sisters some little treat. But today he was still out.

  She went out herself after tea, thinking she’d go and see a friend, Violet Chase, who lived in Elsted Street. She hadn’t seen Vi for weeks, she was getting too wrapped up in school friendships, which wasn’t fair on Vi. Vi, however, was out, her mum said.

  ‘Larkin’ about with boys, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Mrs Chase. ‘Alfie’s in, though. I’m sure ’e’d like to see yer.’

  Alfie was Vi’s elder brother, all elbows and knees, and a bit of a monster. Trary, after a few quick, well-chosen words, made a rapid escape, going up towards East Street. Much to her delight, she saw Constable Bradshaw turn into Elsted Street, which led into Rodney Road and to the police station. He was on the opposite side.

  ‘Mr Bradshaw!’ Trary, carrying her mum’s old but still serviceable umbrella because the weather was showery, waved it and ran impulsively across the street. A baker’s van, its horse trotting fast, came straight at her. Harry, trained reflexes impelling him into instant action, leapt from the pavement and rushed at her. The impact was almost bruising, but it did not check his movement. Trary was swept off her feet and carried backwards from the path of the van, Harry’s arms tight around her. He rushed her back to the pavement she had sprung from. The baker’s van pulled up, its frisky horse rearing.

  ‘Oh, yer young female fiend, yer near cost me all me sleep for a year!’ yelled the driver, white and shaken.

  ‘Mind your manners,’ called Harry, ‘and don’t drive so fast in these streets.’

  ‘Bleedin’ Amy,’ bawled the driver. ‘Never mind me manners, what about me ’eart failure?’

  ‘Carry on,’ said Harry.

  ‘She all right?’

  ‘She’s all right,’ said Harry, and the driver, shaking his head, resumed his journey, but at a slower trot. Harry held the quivering Trary. She was shaken too. She lifted her head and looked up at him.

  ‘Oh, crikey,’ she breathed, and thought how strong and comforting he felt. His arms gave her a lovely feeling of security.

  People were turning the corner. Harry released her. ‘Trary, you of all girls,’ he said. ‘Did you have to do a thing like that?’

  ‘Me of all girls?’ she said, recovering.

  ‘Never thought you’d do anything so silly. It’s bad enough that careless street kids get themselves knocked down.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t do it again, honest,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think, did I? Well, I was so pleased to see you that I just ran across. I was sayin’ to Mum what a nice fam’ly friend you’ve become. Mr Bradshaw, it’s really special, you savin’ my life. Did you know that in places like China and Arabia – I think it’s China and Arabia – well, when you save someone’s life there you have to be responsible for them for ever. Miss Russell, our history teacher, told us that. D’you mind being responsible for me all my life? I don’t mind a bit myself. Wait till I tell Mum. Mr Bradshaw? Oh, Mr Bradshaw, you’re laughin’ at me, and after I’ve nearly been run over too.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Harry, straightening his face.

  ‘The girls do that to me at school,’ said Trary, brown eyes alight with pleasure that he was now her hero. ‘When I’m being my most serious self, I can hear them giggling.’

  ‘Was I giggling?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Oh, no, men don’t giggle, thank goodness. Mr Bradshaw, will it be in the papers?’

  ‘Not if I can help it,’ said Harry, relief still exces
sive.

  ‘Not HEROIC POLICEMAN SAVES LIFE OF BEAUTIFUL SCHOOLGIRL?’

  ‘No, my beauty, not if I can help it. But are you all right now?’

  ‘Oh, I’m dizzy with gratitude, Mr Bradshaw, I’ll be grateful to my dyin’ day. Are you goin’ to the police station?’

  ‘Yes, to hand in some reports.’

  Trary ignored what she thought that meant.

  ‘Can I walk with you?’ she asked.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Harry. ‘If my sergeant spots us, I’ll tell him I’m takin’ you in for frightenin’ a horse.’

  They walked together, Trary feeling just a little weak around her knees, but blissfully alive.

  ‘When I tell Mum, I expect she’ll send you another note of thanks, special thanks, me bein’ her first-born, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we’ve got to count you her first-born treasure,’ said Harry.

  ‘Yes, I’m quite nice on the whole,’ said Trary. ‘Mr Bradshaw, that boy Bobby Reeves, he walked me home from school again today. Did I mention what a boy he is for talkin’? I’m only just recoverin’ from being deafened. Isn’t he a lump?’

  ‘Bobby?’

  ‘Well, perhaps not a lump exactly, but you’d hardly believe some of the daft things he says. I really don’t know what I’m goin’ to do about him, the way he walks and talks with me, it’s like havin’ a cross to bear. Mr Bradshaw, Mum said – oh, could you come to tea next Sunday?’ In that way, Trary only implied the invitation was from her mum. Her conscience was clear, because she didn’t actually say it was from her mum.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Harry.

  ‘Honest?’ Trary glowed.

  ‘A pleasure, Trary.’

  ‘Come at four o’clock,’ said Trary, ‘then we’ll be pleasured too.’

  ‘Tell your mother I won’t arrive in uniform.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Bradshaw.’ They stopped outside the police station. Trary’s eyes swam. ‘I’m really ever so grateful.’

  ‘So am I, Trary, grateful you’re still in one piece. So long now.’

  ‘Till Sunday,’ she said, pleased with what she’d accomplished. She hurried home. The rain caught her. She put the umbrella up and ran on dancing feet. The girls were in the kitchen, cutting out shapes from coloured cardboard to build into a country cottage. They were a present from Mr Bates, who had returned from the City and was now up in his room. Maggie was sewing.

  ‘Mum, what d’you think?’ Excitedly, Trary recounted the heroic event. Maggie looked as if her eldest daughter was spinning a yarn. Daisy, Lily and Meg gaped.

  ‘Trary, you didn’t run out in the road like that, did you?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘I wasn’t thinkin’. But wasn’t it a miracle Mr Bradshaw was there?’

  ‘Oh, crumbs lovaduck, ’e saved our Trary’s life,’ said Daisy in awe.

  ‘Will ’e get a medal?’ asked Lily.

  ‘’E would if ’e’d saved me,’ said Meg.

  ‘Trary, are you ’aving me on?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘No, honest, it’s true, Mum,’ said Trary. ‘Oh, he’s comin’ to tea next Sunday.’ She threw that in lightly.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Maggie, neglecting her sewing.

  ‘Well, I had to ask him. After all, he did save my life. I couldn’t not ask him, it would’ve been ungracious.’

  ‘And he said yes? He’s comin’ on Sunday?’

  ‘I told him four o’clock.’

  Maggie eyed her eldest daughter shrewdly. ‘Trary, what you up to?’ she asked.

  ‘Me?’ asked Trary.

  ‘Yes, you, lovey.’

  ‘Mum, is the Sunday tablecloth in pawn?’

  ‘Oh, lor’, yes,’ sighed Maggie. There was any amount of stuff in pawn that she couldn’t afford to redeem yet. She gave Trary another look, then got up, put her arm around her and gave her a light kiss. ‘You’re up to something, love, but you’re still a pet.’

  ‘Wasn’t it nice that it was Mr Bradshaw who saved me, him bein’ a fam’ly friend?’ said Trary.

  Maggie gave her yet another look, and later, when the younger girls were in bed and Trary was finishing some homework, she said, ‘I wonder, does Mr Bradshaw know ’e’s a fam’ly friend?’

  ‘He said it was a pleasure, Mum.’

  ‘I see,’ said Maggie. ‘Well, I know what’s on your mind, love, but there’s something on mine too. Four growin’ girls. That’s a lot to expect any man to take on.’

  ‘But I was only thinkin’ – ’

  ‘Yes, about my future,’ said Maggie. ‘Well, that’s nice of you, but you and your sisters, you’re my future. I’ll get a job soon, you’ll see.’

  ‘Mum – ’

  ‘We won’t talk about it no more, pet.’

  Trary made a little face. But if she’d been pulled up, she wasn’t discouraged.

  The following morning, after the girls had gone to school, Mr Bates came down and had a word with Maggie.

  ‘I’ve been thinkin’ about your girls,’ he said, his expression kind, his voice quite sober.

  ‘What about them?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Well, Maggie, I’m goin’ to chance you givin’ me a fat ear,’ he said.

  Maggie smiled. One couldn’t help liking him. ‘You’re goin’ to upset me, are you?’ she said.

  ‘That I’m not,’ said Mr Bates. ‘The point is, by the end of this week I reckon I’ll have tied up a contract that’ll put me into a little office somewhere convenient, and give me all I need to take on two drillers an’ set them drillin’ in Scotland.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Coal, Maggie. Coal’s the king of fuels, yer know.’ Mr Bates rubbed his moustache and regarded Maggie like a man who’d come to be seriously admiring of her qualities. ‘Now, seeing things look pretty good for me, an’ seeing your girls could do . . .’ he paused. ‘Now don’t take offence, but I know you’ve still got yer back to the wall, and I’d like accordin’ly to make an advance gesture respectin’ their birthdays. So would yer mind if I treated them all to a pretty frock each this week, for their birthdays, whenever they’re due? Or do I get a fat ear?’

  ‘No, you won’t get a fat ear, Mr Bates, I’ll just say it’s very kind of you but I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Mr Bates, looming benevolently large in her kitchen. ‘I’m not goin’ to argue. But I am goin’ to say I admire yer pride, Maggie. Good on yer. Well, it’s up to the City again for me. Keep smilin’, it’ll make yer ship come home one day. I hope I’m there to see it dock.’

  Chamberlain and Chapman spent Monday in the streets immediately west of the Walworth Road. They had the help of the uniformed branch. They suffered the same frustrations the uniformed branch had suffered from the beginning. House calls that were entirely negative because no-one was in, or because none of the occupants could possibly relate to the man they were looking for. They were also the recipients of acerbic comments whenever a housewife realized the questioning was changing and aiming itself at her husband. One such lady threw a saucepan lid at Nicholas.

  ‘Bleedin’ cheek! ’Oo d’yer think you are, just because you wear coppers’ boots? My old man’s upright, let me tell yer, ’e’s been upright man an’ boy all ’is life. ’e does honest navvyin’, mister, and when ’e comes ’ome wore out ’e takes ’is boots off, ’e don’t keep ’em on to go out lookin’ for people to murder, so put that in yer pipe an’ smoke it!’

  Inspector Greaves, meanwhile, was still casting about in the West End.

  Bobby didn’t turn up at the school that day. It made Trary walk home in an offended way. But he was there on Wednesday, waiting for her. She went by him with her nose in the air. Bobby grinned. What a girl. He went after her, a parcel under his arm.

  ‘Hello, Trary, you’re lookin’ friendly,’ he said.

  ‘Well, bless me, it’s you,’ she said, ‘have you rose up from the dead?’

  ‘Well, no, not from the dead, just from me mum’s stall. Sorry I couldn’t wal
k you home yesterday, but I had to go to Norwood. That’s the kind of work I do for me mum, I go out collectin’ stuff while she stays at the stall. Of course, me dad ought to . . . well, never mind that. Did you get home safe yesterday? It worried me a bit, not bein’ able – ’

  ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush,’ said Trary, hiding her delight at the prospect of another talking fight with him all the way home. He never talked soppy like other boys, even if he did say daft things.

  Bobby took a look at her and saw a peach of a girl, her boater saucily tipped, her school frock swinging to her lively walk. ‘I told me mum I could manage to walk you ’ome today, and she said I’d grown up to be a thoughtful man.’

  ‘Man? Man?’

  ‘Well, nearly,’ said Bobby. ‘At my age, I’m only a few years short. I’m glad to say I’ve never seen you lookin’ prettier, except up the park in yer Sunday frock that time. Incidental, I’ve – ’

  ‘What?’ demanded Trary. He’d done it again, used a word she never had.

  ‘Incidental, I’ve – ’

  ‘You don’t know what that means.’

  ‘Yes, I do. It means by the way. Well, by the way, Trary, I’ve brought you something.’ Bobby showed her the parcel.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Trary, thinking she liked him being taller than other boys.

  ‘It’s for you.’

  Trary stopped. Boys and girls from the schools passed them by, the girls with a look and a giggle, of which Trary took no notice.

  ‘I bet it’s a dead mouse,’ she said.

  ‘Dead mouse?’

  ‘That’s what a boy gave me once, in a wrapped-up box. Bobby Reeves, you open that parcel yourself.’

  ‘Here? Now?’ said Bobby.

  ‘Yes. Go on.’

  ‘All right,’ said Bobby, and untied the string and unwrapped the brown paper. Trary saw a royal blue frock with a scalloped hem and puffed sleeves. She stared. ‘Good as new, honest,’ said Bobby, ‘it’s only been worn once or twice, and I know it’ll fit you, I can size up girls. Me mum let me have it specially for you. I told her I don’t know any girl I’ll want to marry more than you. Would you like to have it, Trary?’

  For once Trary didn’t know what to say. The frock was lovely.