The Lodger

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Oh, you Bobby,’ she said. That was all she could manage. Trams went by. Horses and carts went by. People went by. The sunshine of early May dappled the Elephant and Castle junction with light and shade.

  ‘I don’t want you to be offended,’ said Bobby.

  ‘I’m not,’ she said, ‘but I can’t take it.’ She was actually longing to take it.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Girls can’t take frocks from boys.’

  Bobby thought, frowning about it. He looked at Trary, into her brown eyes, wistful with longing. His frown cleared.

  ‘It’s not from me, Trary. Me mum’s givin’ it to yer. Trary, you don’t want to be proud, yer know, we’re all poor together, but we’ve all got kind ’earts to each other, we all do give an’ take together. That’s what it’s all about in Walworth. If someone high an’ lordly from Mayfair came an’ doled out treats to us, I expect someone like me Uncle Joe would stuff ’im up a chimney, ’is treats as well, but we wouldn’t do that to each other.’

  ‘Oh, you Bobby,’ said Trary again. She touched the frock, feeling the material. It was silky crepe-de-chine. ‘Oh, it’s lovely, I don’t mind so much now that you’re a talkin’ boy. Is it really from your mum?’

  ‘She’ll be pleased if you ’ave it.’

  ‘Oh, wrap it up again, I wouldn’t want to offend your mum by not havin’ it. You Bobby, I could nearly kiss you.’

  ‘Not here,’ said Bobby, wrapping the dress up again, ‘the kid’s’ll throw things at us.’

  ‘Of course not here, what d’you think I am?’ said Trary, as they resumed their walk, she on feet of dancing delight. ‘And I only said nearly. We’re still not kissin’ friends, you know. Still, you can walk me home, I can’t not let you, now you’ve been unexpected nice. I’ll tell Mum you’ve got some good points, she’ll be relieved about that. Oh, what d’you think, Mr Bradshaw saved me life the other day.’ Trary recounted the deed in detail. Bobby said anyone could trust Constable Bradshaw to be heroic, him being a straight-up copper with a kind jam tart. But he hoped Trary wasn’t going to make a habit of trying to get herself run over. ‘Well, I might, I just might,’ said Trary. ‘You can’t tell what a girl might do when she gets talk poured into her ears all the way home. Mr Bradshaw’s comin’ to tea on Sunday – oh, blow it, we don’t have our Sunday tablecloth out of pawn, we’ve got nearly everything at “Uncle’s”.’

  ‘You ought to ’ave a best tablecloth if you’ve got a visitor comin’,’ said Bobby.

  ‘Mum’s only best tea service, that’s in pawn too,’ said Trary in despair.

  ‘Here,’ said Bobby, ‘you get hold of the pawn tickets and we’ll go to “Uncle’s” an’ get the tablecloth an’ service.’

  ‘I can’t, I don’t have any money,’ said Trary, as they entered the subway. ‘And Mum don’t have much, either.’

  ‘Look,’ said Bobby, ‘I’ve got savings in a tin box under me wardrobe, which me dad don’t – well, never mind that. I don’t mind loanin’ you, Trary, you can pay me back when you leave school and get a job.’

  ‘But Mum don’t want me to leave school till I’m sixteen.’

  ‘Bless the girl,’ said Bobby, ‘that’s a good thing, that is, Trary. I know it’s a long time waitin’ till you’re sixteen before you can pay me back, but you ought to get those things out of pawn. I’ve got savings because me mum pays me a few bob wages, and there’s me apprentice pay when I start workin’ for Lord Northcliffe. So you get hold of the pawn tickets.’

  ‘Oh, thanks ever so,’ said Trary. They came up into the light of Walworth Road. ‘I will pay you back, honest. I know where Mum keeps the tickets.’

  ‘I’ll meet yer tomorrow,’ said Bobby, ‘and we’ll go to “Uncle’s” from your school.’

  ‘It’s awf’lly good of you, really,’ said Trary. ‘You can do talkin’, if you want, I can suffer it more gladly now.’

  Bobby grinned. What a girl. They got on with their talking, Trary’s feet dancing over the pavements. When they reached Charleston Street they met Mr Bates coming out of the house. His smile of greeting was warm and fatherly.

  ‘Well, hello, Trary, good to see yer,’ he said. ‘I’m back early from doin’ business, I’m just steppin’ out to buy a packet of Gold Flake. How’d yer do, Bobby.’ Mr Bates put out a hand. Bobby shook it. Mr Bates’s grip was firm and manly.

  ‘Come on, Bobby,’ said Trary.

  ‘See you again sometime, Bobby,’ said Mr Bates, and went whistling on his way.

  ‘Don’t you like yer lodger, Trary?’ asked Bobby.

  ‘Well, I don’t actu’lly dislike him,’ said Trary, ‘he’s been kind really, and he don’t drink. That’s something.’ The previous lodger had often smelled of drink. ‘You can come in.’

  ‘Honoured,’ said Bobby. They went through to the kitchen. There was a bottle of R. White’s kola water on the table, and Daisy, Lily and Meg had a glassful each, which they were drinking with delight. Maggie was slicing bread for tea.

  ‘I didn’t know we could afford kola water, Mum,’ said Trary.

  ‘Mr Bates brought it ’ome for you girls,’ said Maggie. ‘Hello, Bobby, you’re lookin’ nice.’

  Bobby, placing the parcel on the sewing-machine, said, ‘Same to you, Mrs Wilson, I’m pleasured you’re Trary’s mum, yer know.’

  ‘She’s my mum too,’ said Daisy.

  ‘An’ mine,’ said Lily.

  ‘Well, lucky you,’ said Bobby. ‘Anyway, I’ve brought Trary ’ome safe again, Mrs Wilson. Look after ’er.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Maggie.

  ‘I’d be very appreciative. Well, I’d better get goin’ now.’

  ‘See Bobby to the door, Trary,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Yes, all right, Mum,’ said Trary, ‘we don’t want him losin’ his way.’

  The girls giggled. Bobby grinned. Trary saw him to the front door.

  ‘So long, Trary.’

  Trary fingered her school frock. ‘Bobby, thanks ever so much,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I like you,’ he said, and went.

  Trary, who could hardly contain her eagerness to try on the blue frock, returned to the kitchen and picked up the parcel.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Meg.

  ‘It’s a frock,’ said Trary, ‘a present from Bobby’s mum.’

  ‘His mum?’ said Maggie in surprise.

  ‘I’ll go an’ try it on,’ said Trary, and dashed upstairs with it. She came down after some while. She was faintly pink. Her mum and sisters stared. Trary was a picture in silky royal blue, the pretty hem floating around her calves. She looked so enchanting that Maggie was bothered by a lump in her throat. Meg’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Crikey,’ she said.

  ‘Trary, it looks new,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Bobby said it was nearly new, Mum. Is it all right, does it do me proud?’

  ‘It’s a princess frock,’ said Maggie. ‘Now you’re the one that’ll ’ave to write a note. Bobby’s mother could get shillings for that on her stall. Imagine her givin’ you a frock as lovely as that.’

  ‘I thought it was from Bobby at first,’ said Trary, ‘I told ’im I couldn’t take a present like that from a boy.’

  ‘I see,’ said Maggie.

  ‘I’ll wear it Sunday,’ said Trary.

  ‘For Bobby?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Bobby?’ said Trary.

  ‘You surely invited ’im to tea too, didn’t you, love, after bringing you a frock like that? I’ve given our old tablecloth a good wash, I think it’ll just about do.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Trary, and Maggie saw confusion.

  ‘You mean you didn’t invite him?’ she said. ‘I’m sure he ’ad something to do with his mother givin’ you the frock.’

  ‘Oh, lor’,’ said Trary. ‘Well, I was all overcome, and he was talkin’. It’s not easy for a girl to think straight when she’s overcome and bein’ talked to as well. I’ll ask him tomorrow.’

  Maggie picked her purse off the mantel
piece. She opened it and took out a sixpence, which she handed to Trary. ‘There, you could buy a nice hankie with that, love,’ she said.

  ‘Mum, you can’t afford givin’ out sixpences,’ protested Trary, ‘and I don’t need a new hankie.’

  ‘A boy’s hankie,’ said Maggie. ‘Bobby’s a nice boy.’

  ‘Can’t she just give ’im a kiss?’ asked Meg.

  ‘Mum, ’is muvver give Trary the frock,’ said Lily.

  ‘She didn’t give me one,’ said Daisy.

  ‘Mum, a whole sixpence,’ said Trary.

  ‘Well, we’ve got a bit of money still,’ said Maggie, sure that the frock had been Bobby’s gift to her daughter.

  ‘All right,’ said Trary, ‘I’ll buy a hankie in me dinnertime tomorrow.’

  Mr Bates, having come home early from his business calls, was invited by Maggie to have tea with them again. It was a simple mid-week repast of poached eggs (cracked ones) on thick slices of toast. Mr Bates said he’d ate like a lord in the City, that he’d just like to share the pot of tea with them. As usual, he brought himself like a fresh, healthy breeze to the table, and took only a little time to arouse giggles in the younger girls. And Maggie kept smiling at some of his remarks, which didn’t please Trary a bit. Nor did the fact that their lodger was now very much at home with the family. Trary regarded that as interfering with Mr Bradshaw’s place in the family affections. That was how she saw it.

  Mr Bates, having told a joke, brought laughter from the girls and from Maggie too. Trary remained aloof. Oh, blow him, she thought.

  ‘You ain’t ’alf comic, mister,’ said Meg.

  It had been a soppy joke to Trary. She was sure Mr Bradshaw wouldn’t tell soppy jokes. Nor would her talking boy. Thank goodness. She’d have to tell him to depart from her life if he ever got soppy.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Emma thought the girl utterly sweet, despite the shabby look of her boater and her obvious need of a new school frock. It was twelve-fifteen, she wasn’t due to finish till one o’clock, and as there were no other customers at her counter for the moment, she was willing to let the girl take her time.

  ‘I’ve never bought a hankie for a boy before,’ Trary was saying. The superior look of this department in Hurlocks the drapers did not intimidate her. She liked shops with a superior look. ‘My mum thought I should because – well, it’s – ’

  ‘It’s his birthday?’ smiled Emma.

  ‘Birthday? Oh, lor’, I hope not,’ said Trary, ‘he’s already had sixteen, and if he has another one, he’ll start orderin’ people about. I mean, even at sixteen he talks to me as if I’m still in my cradle. Still, he’s quite kind, so I’m buying ’im a hankie.’ She frowned at dropping an aitch in the superior atmosphere of Hurlocks. ‘I can pay sixpence.’

  ‘We can sell you a lovely hankie for sixpence,’ said Emma. ‘Fivepence-three-farthings, actually.’

  ‘Oh, what sort of a one could you sell for fourpence, please?’

  ‘At threepence-three-farthings, quite a nice one,’ said Emma.

  ‘Could you really?’ Trary’s bright eyes grew brighter. She could take tuppence-farthing change back to her mum. ‘Oh, it’s not that I want to be mingy, only – ’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Emma. She reached under the counter and brought out a drawer containing pristine-white men’s handkerchieves, with finely stitched hems.

  ‘Oh, he could blow his nose quite good on one of those,’ said Trary. ‘Not that he blows his nose much, but he might if he caught a cold. Would one of those be all right as a present for a boy?’

  ‘I’m sure it would,’ said Emma. ‘I’m sure it would fit any boy’s nose. They’re men’s hankies.’

  ‘Help,’ said Trary, ‘if I give him a man’s hankie, he’ll think more of himself than he does already. He’ll get so problematical he’ll have to see a doctor.’

  ‘Pardon?’ said Emma, enchanted.

  ‘Yes, it could be awf’lly worrying,’ said Trary. ‘Still, could you please wrap the hankie up for me?’

  ‘I’ve a little flat box that’s going spare,’ said Emma. ‘Shall I put it in that, and then in one of our little striped paper bags?’

  ‘That’s ever so kind of you,’ said Trary. When her purchase was placed in her hand and she had received tuppence-farthing change from her sixpence, she said, ‘Thanks ever so much.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure,’ said Emma, ‘do come again.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ said Trary, ‘when I’ve got a job. I’ll come an’ do lots of shoppin’ here. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Emma, sorry to see her go.

  When she got home after one o’clock, she scanned her daily paper for news of what progress the police were making in the murder investigation. She thought the content of the report rather suggested they were making no progress at all. But at least Sergeant Chamberlain, that quite dry Scotland Yard man, had found no further excuse to call on her. He would, of course, in time. One simply knew he would. Oh, dear.

  Trary came out through the school gate and looked around for Bobby. He wasn’t there. There were groups of chattering girls and boys, but no Bobby. Jane Atkins was nearby, and giving her a sly smile, of course.

  ‘Hasn’t he come, Trary?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That cheeky-looking boy with the long legs.’

  ‘Blessed if I know who you mean,’ said Trary, and escaped not only Jane but advancing boys as well. Hurrying round the corner into St George’s Road, she came face to face with Bobby. ‘Well, thank goodness,’ she said, ‘I thought you’d gone to your doom. And your cap’s nearly fallin’ off.’

  Bobby pulled his cap forward from the back of his head, his grin showing.

  ‘Glad to hear you’re in form, Trary,’ he said.

  ‘Well, come on,’ she said, ‘or we’ll get drowned by the mob.’ She began to walk in her quick, bobbing way, with Bobby striding beside her. The afternoon was cloudy, the traffic smelling of labouring horses. Noisy, clanging trams demanded the right of way down the centre of the road. ‘Bobby, the frock’s awf’lly nice, honest it is, and it fits perfect. I’ve written a note to your mum, it’s to thank her for bein’ so kind. Oh, and look, this is for you.’ She drew the note and the boxed hankie out of her satchel, and gave them to him. Bobby slipped the note into his pocket. He peered into the little striped drapery bag. He saw a flat white box.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, it’s for you,’ said Trary.

  Bobby discovered what the little box contained. ‘Well, blow me,’ he said, ‘this is for me?’

  ‘Mum said you’re nice.’

  ‘I like her too,’ said Bobby, ‘but I don’t know I deserve a new ’ankie.’ He was touched, of course, especially as he knew how poor Trary and her family were. ‘And I don’t know I ever ’ad any hankie as good-lookin’ as this one. Trary, yer a lovely girl, I’m goin’ to take really good care of you, I’m goin’ to ’elp your mum see you grow up the best girl ever. It’s chronic ’ard luck you haven’t got a dad, but I’ll be around.’

  ‘Here we go,’ said Trary, exhilarated, ‘now he’s goin’ to be a talkin’ father to me. Anyone would think he was forty, not just sixteen.’

  An approaching woman stopped, ‘You talkin’ to me, young lady?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, no, really I’m not,’ said Trary earnestly, ‘I was sort of addressin’ the multitude at large.’

  The woman peered at her from under her large hat, then spoke to Bobby, ‘’Ere, Sonny Jim, you better keep an eye on this girl, she’s orf her rocker, poor thing.’

  ‘I’ll do that, missus,’ said Bobby, ‘I’ll keep an eye on her, I promise.’

  ‘That’s a good boy,’ said the woman, and went on.

  ‘What a funny woman,’ said Trary. ‘Well, come on, Dad, don’t let’s stand about.’ She and Bobby walked on, Bobby’s grin huge. ‘I mean, if you want to be a father to me, how can I stop you? I don’t know that anyone could stop you when you
r mind’s made up, I’m sure you could talk them all to death.’

  ‘Yes, when me mind’s made up, I’m remorseless,’ said Bobby, and Trary gave a tight little yell of disgust. He’d done it again. Again. Remorseless. ‘Trary, have you got a pain?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, a shockin’ one,’ said Trary. ‘Remorseless, ugh, what a conceited word. I wish you wouldn’t keep showin’ off, Bobby Reeves. Oh, I brought the pawn tickets.’

  ‘That’s the stuff,’ said Bobby, ‘and I’ve brought some dibs. What’ll you tell yer mum?’

  ‘Oh, she won’t like me borrowin’ from you, so I’ll say the money came out of some savings. I won’t say your savings, just savings. Well, I don’t like tellin’ her actual fibs. Bobby, thanks ever so. As soon as Mum can afford it, she’s goin’ to buy me some nice stockings to go with the frock.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some stockings,’ said Bobby.

  ‘You’d better not.’ They were approaching the familiar subway. ‘Only fast boys give girls stockings, and only fast girls take them.’

  ‘A pair of old stockings is fast?’ said Bobby.

  ‘Cheek, I don’t want old stockings.’

  ‘I didn’t mean old-lookin’. My mum’ll sort you out a nice pair now she calls you special.’

  ‘I’ve been to her stall with mum,’ said Trary, ‘but I don’t suppose she really knows me, so why does she call me special?’

  ‘Because I told ’er you were.’ They descended the subway steps. ‘We’ll go to the pawnshop first, Trary, then I’ll take you ’ome and have a look at your legs.’

  Trary nearly fell over. In this day and age, it was obvious that young girls had legs. Calf-length frocks showed they had. But when they became young women, their legs at once disappeared beneath long skirts and petticoats, never to be seen again.

  ‘You’ll do what, Bobby Reeves?’

  ‘It’s only to make sure about the stockings. I’m good at sizin’ up regardin’ clothes and things.’

  Trary was sure she shouldn’t ask, but did. ‘What things?’ she demanded.

  ‘You know,’ said Bobby, ‘stockings and lacy stuff.’

  ‘I’ll die if I keep listening to you, Bobby Reeves.’