‘I could spit,’ she said. That was strong for Ma. ‘They’ve done it again, would you believe.’
‘Who’ve done what again?’ asked Alice.
‘Them common criminals,’ said Ma, ‘they’ve got away with another jewel robbery, at a house in Park Lane, right in the middle of London. They did it Saturday night, the ’ome of a widowed countess, poor woman.’
‘She’s probably still a rich one,’ said Nick.
‘That’s not the point,’ said Ma, ‘and I don’t ’old with bein’ envious, anyway. I’m not sayin’ I wouldn’t like a bit of what the rich have got, but not all of it.’
‘Well, Pa’s always felt the same,’ said Alice, ‘and he’s spent years doin’ what he could to get his bit.’
‘Well, ’e did bring home a few wallets, I’ll admit,’ said Ma, ‘but ’e was never a common burglar, not like them that’s doin’ these robberies. It’s fair upsettin’ me that they’re gettin’ away with it. I’ve a good mind to go round to the police station this mornin’ and give them what for, but I’ve got the washin’ to do. You’re both off to your jobs now?’
‘Yes, Ma,’ said Alice.
‘Well, when you’re on your way, give some thought to your Pa and what he’s sufferin’ on account of bein’ unfortunate.’
‘It’s rough out there in the China Seas,’ said Nick, and thought about Pa on his way to work. And that made him think of the fix he and Alice were in. He couldn’t take up with a girl and Alice couldn’t encourage any young man while Pa was in clink, doing hard labour like a common criminal. That in turn made him think of a girl who liked toasted crumpets and had the kind of looks Mr Lukavitch would probably call tophole. But what was the point of thinking of her? She’d appeared, just for an hour or so, and then she’d disappeared. Just as well under the circumstances.
On his way home from work, Nick called in at Gran Emerson’s shop for a packet of fags. The shop didn’t close until six, and he arrived with several minutes to spare. Gran and Ivy greeted him in their usual individual ways, Gran cheerfully and Ivy flirtatiously. They sold him his packet of Players, and then Gran said that her son Wally wasn’t sure about the Iron Duke.
‘It’s a battleship,’ said Nick.
‘Well, it ain’t a rowing-boat, that’s for sure,’ said Gran. ‘Only Wally, who’s got this friend of his in the Navy, said ’e wasn’t sure if the Iron Duke was still bein’ used.’
‘Well, I hope it’s not been sunk,’ said Nick, ‘or Ma will want to know if Pa was sunk with it.’
‘Oh, y’er a laugh, you are, Nick,’ said Ivy.
‘So long, girls,’ said Nick, and made an exit before the conversation got a bit complicated. He reported to Ma, and Ma said they’d have to think of the name of another ship and say Pa had been transferred to it.
‘What about the Jolly Roger?’ asked Amy.
‘That’s a pirate ship,’ said Alice.
‘Well, Pa’s fightin’ pirates,’ said young Fanny.
‘I’ve just remembered,’ said Ma, ‘there’s one called the Royal Eagle. That’ll do, and it sounds posh as well. Your Pa bein’ a born gent, it sounds right ’im servin’ on a posh ship. Yes, we’ll say he’s been transferred to the Royal Eagle. Only if anyone asks, of course.’
‘You can forget that, Ma,’ said Nick, ‘the Royal Eagle’s a pleasure boat that sails from Westminster to Margate.’
‘Well, that’s very inconvenient, I must say,’ said Ma. ‘Still,’ she said, perking up, ‘perhaps we could all ’ave a ride on it to Margate one day. As for Pa, we’ll think of some other ship.’
‘The Invincible,’ said Alice.
‘Yes, that’ll do, that sounds nice,’ said Ma.
Mr Lukavitch settled in quickly and without fuss. Going out on Tuesday morning to do a little shopping for himself in the market, he met Ma in the passage.
‘Everything all right, Mr Loovakish?’ enquired Ma.
‘Ruddy tophole, Mrs Harrison, bleedin’ lovely, I might say.’
‘Language, Mr Loovakish.’
‘Yes, not bad, eh, Mrs Harrison? Goodbye for a little while.’
Cassie went round to see Freddy in the evening, catching him before he went out and dodged her. She caught him, in fact, at his door, and wanted to know where he was going. Oh, somewhere, said Freddy. Well, you needn’t bother now, said Cassie, I’ve brought me dad’s Sunday shoes round for you to put new leather soles on. It’s very unfortunate, she said, but me dad sprained his wrist on the railways today, so he can’t put them on himself, so I said you’d be pleasured to. Me dad wouldn’t put his trust in any old body to see to his Sunday shoes, but he went ever so cheerful when I said I’d bring them round to you.
‘I’m complimented,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, I thought you would be,’ said Cassie. ‘Me dad’s very ’ighly regarded by the railways.’ Her dad was a ganger with the LSER. ‘Where’s your foot iron? In the scullery?’
‘All right, Cassie love, come through,’ said Freddy. ‘If I’m goin’ to do some cobbling, you can pass me the nails.’
‘Yes, all right, Freddy dear.’
‘Cassie, I don’t think blokes get called dear round this part of Walworth,’ said Freddy.
‘Never mind, you mustn’t fret,’ said Cassie. ‘You’re still dear to me after all the years you’ve been in love with me.’
‘Well, that’s nice of you, Cassie,’ said Freddy, and gave her a generous cuddle as he took her through to the kitchen. Since it was generous enough to include her bosom, Cassie actually blushed a bit.
Sitting at the fireside with her husband, Mrs Brown looked up as the young people entered.
‘Hello, Cassie,’ she said in her equable way. ‘My, you get prettier every day.’
‘Yes, I was born like it,’ said Cassie.
‘You were that,’ said Mr Brown, fond of the quaint girl.
‘You’re a bit pink tonight, lovey,’ smiled Mrs Brown.
‘Yes, I bumped into someone, I’m a bit accident prone at times,’ said Cassie. ‘Oh, Freddy’s goin’ to put new leather soles on me dad’s Sunday shoes on account of me dad spraining his wrist.’
‘Well, Freddy’s quite good at little jobs like that,’ said Mrs Brown.
Freddy did the job in the scullery, Cassie kneeling on a mat and passing him the nails.
‘Freddy, I suppose you realize you’ll have to marry me now,’ she said.
‘Well, I’d like to, Cassie, but you bein’ me sister-in-law—’
‘Never mind that, it’s what you did to me in the passage,’ said Cassie. ‘I think when I’m nineteen will be just right for our weddin’, don’t you?’
‘It’s all this hammering, Cassie, I can’t hear a word you’re sayin’. Still, how’s that?’
One new sole was in place, and Freddy slipped the other shoe on to the foot iron. Cassie exhaled breath.
‘You smell of peppermints,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, would you like one?’ asked Cassie, kneeling close beside him.
‘Well, thanks,’ said Freddy.
Cassie leaned and kissed him on his lips. Her mouth parted and she let her pepperminty breath escape.
‘There, and would you like another one?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes, Cassie,’ said Freddy, ‘I just don’t know what I’m goin’ to do with you.’
Cassie rolled the peppermint around in her mouth and then shared its flavour with Freddy for a second time.
‘What’s ’appening out there?’ asked Mr Brown.
‘Oh, Freddy and me’s just enjoying some peppermints,’ said Cassie.
Chapter Nine
ANOTHER SATURDAY WENT by, so did another football match, which the Rovers won handsomely by four goals to one. Dumpling was ecstatic on the tram going home.
‘I bet the Rovers are goin’ to be easy the best team in Walworth this season,’ she said, ‘I bet no other team’s got more ’eroic players than Nick and Freddy – oh, and you, Danny.’
‘Honoured, Dumpling
,’ said Danny, enjoying the treat of sitting next to her.
‘Mind, all you others played quite ’eroic as well,’ said Dumpling.
‘Honoured, Dumpling,’ said some of the others.
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Dumpling, ‘credit where it’s due, except I don’t want to ’ear you answerin’ our captain back on the field, Frankie, like you did in the first ’alf.’
‘Me ’umble apologies, Dumpling,’ said Frankie, ‘I dunno what came over me. Must’ve been Nick chuckin’ ’is weight about.’
‘Well, he’s got to, or you’d all get sloppy,’ said Dumpling. Up came the conductor then to collect fares, and in an excess of enthusiasm, Dumpling said she hoped he realized what an honour it was to have the Browning Street Rovers football team on his tram, specially as they’d just walloped the opposing team by four goals to one.
‘Well, yer don’t say,’ said the conductor, ‘I’m overcome. I’ve ’ad His Majesty the King on board occasional, and I’ve been patronized frequent by lords and ladies, but this is the first time the Browning Street Whatsits ’ave done me the honour of usin’ me vehicle. Wait till I tell me old Dutch and me kids.’
‘’Ere, not the Whatsits, if yer don’t mind,’ said Dumpling. ‘It’s the Rovers.’
‘Beg yer pardon, love, I’m sure,’ said the conductor, ‘and I don’t ’ardly know ’ow to break it to yer, but I’m up here to collect yer fares.’
‘What a liberty,’ said Dumpling.
Alice’s eighteenth birthday came round, and Ma did her proud with a slap-up tea party, to which Alice invited two girlfriends from work. Nick thought that at eighteen, Alice ought to have had the natural pleasure of sharing the occasion with a steady young gentleman friend. To Nick, his eldest sister had the air and manners of a young lady, so that he associated her with a young gentleman, not a bloke. Alice, however, simply wasn’t going to get associated with any kind of feller until Pa was home. It’s a wise sister who can follow the example of her wise brother, Nick said to Ma. Don’t come it with vain talk, said Ma, it’s me that’s making you and Alice see you’ve both got to wait before you can start enjoying social relationships. Nick said like a little bit of what we fancy? I’ll take me broom to you if you talk like that, said Ma.
She invited Mr Lukavitch to the tea party, and the Polish lodger was touched. Freddy and Cassie were also present. The parlour was used, and after tea Amy played the piano with the kind of thumping flair and gusto that provoked everyone into doing what she was after them doing, a rumbustious knees-up. The exceptions were Ma and Mr Lukavitch, who sat and watched.
‘Oh, dear me, have a banana, what bleedin’ tophole legs, eh?’ said Mr Lukavitch, beaming.
‘Language, Mr Loovakish, if you don’t mind,’ said Ma. ‘It’s Alice’s birthday, remember.’ Everyone had given Alice a present, and so had the lodger, a bead bangle. ‘My, me parlour floor.’ The floor was vibrating, Amy banging away at the ivories and thumping the pedals.
‘It is a dance I’ve seen before, don’t I think?’ said Mr Lukavitch, happily impressed by the performance Alice’s two friends were putting on.
‘It’s a knees-up,’ said Ma, ‘but oh lor’, them friends of Alice’s, it’s clothes up with them, the saucy pair.’
‘Ah, a Polish dance, that’s the bleedin’ thing, Mrs Harrison,’ said the enchanted lodger.
‘What’s a Polish dance?’ asked Ma amid the noise of revelry.
‘It is called the mazurka. When Amy has finished, allow me to play.’
‘Oh, a pleasure, I’m sure,’ said Ma.
So Mr Lukavitch took Amy’s place at the piano a little later, and played with a lot of Polish flair in exhilarating fashion.
‘Come, dance,’ he said.
‘They don’t know any Polish dance,’ said Ma.
‘I will show them,’ said Mr Lukavitch, and got Amy to play again, a lively tune that was good enough for him to demonstrate the steps in company with Alice. That done, he took over once more at the piano, and Alice’s birthday party became riotous.
‘Oh, me gawd, it’s worse than that French cancan,’ breathed Ma.
‘Bloody good, eh?’ beamed Mr Lukavitch, turning his head, his feet going it on the pedals.
‘Not ’alf,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m totally admirin’ of yer Sunday smalls, Cassie.’
‘Oh, help yourself, I’m sure,’ said Cassie, not so ingenuous that she didn’t know how to make him honourably desirous of proposing to her, and madly keen to as well. In other words, she was giving him saucy eyefuls, and Freddy was rocking a bit in dizzily admiring fashion.
Mr Lukavitch treated the company to a prolonged feast of piano music, some of which they hummed to, and some of which they danced to. Ma asked him if the mazurka was French, not Polish.
‘Bleedin’ French?’ he said. ‘Gorblimey, no. Polish.’
‘Well, I don’t think you girls had better keep on dancin’ it,’ said Ma, ‘it don’t look decent. Best go back to a knees-up, if you still feel a bit lively.’
Lively they were. So was Mr Lukavitch at the piano, giving Pa’s heirloom the time of its life, keys and pedals dancing up and down.
It was a good old cockney birthday party, and when Freddy took Cassie home he said he was having serious thoughts about her own party next year.
‘What serious thoughts, Freddy?’
‘Well, serious thoughts about you doin’ a real French cancan,’ said Freddy.
Cassie trod on his foot, but only in a loving way, so that the pain was temporary.
* * *
November arrived, sneaking in moistly and greyly, and looking as if it was prepared to throw a blanket of fog over Walworth if any of its cockneys spoke out of turn. November had always been touchy about its unpopularity, and there was a belief among suspicious cockneys that it listened in at keyholes to hear what families were saying about its weather. It’s always hearing something, said Mr Higgins, a neighbour of the Browns. And why, might I ask? Don’t look at me, said his trouble and strife. I’ll tell yer, said Mr Higgins, it’s always hearing something because hardly five minutes go by around here without some silly cow talking about the bleedin’ weather. Oh, yer bugger, said Mrs Higgins, where’s me rolling-pin? No, I didn’t mean you, me love, said Mr Higgins hastily. Too late. Wallop. It served him right, anyway. He should have learned to choose his words more carefully after so many years of coming to conversational grief with his predictable missus. Still, he had a point. If touchy November ever listened at the Higgins’s keyhole, it wouldn’t have heard Mrs Higgins saying anything nice about it. In the minds of the citizens who believed the thin-skinned demon of November kept an ear open for aggravating talk, complaining neighbours like Mrs Higgins had a lot to answer for whenever the month dropped cubic yards of fog on everyone.
‘The law still ’asn’t laid its hands on them common jewel robbers yet,’ said Ma at breakfast on a Friday morning. She was still ratty about it. ‘It fair makes me blood boil, your Pa bein’ arrested like he was and him a born gentleman in ’is way. He might’ve gone to Eton and ’Arrer if ’is dad had been rich instead of just a lamplighter.’
‘I like lamplighters, especially in November,’ said Alice, ‘they come round with their long poles and the lamps go pop, and there’s one more glow after another to cheer us up. You ought to make up a ditty about a lamplighter, Nick.’
‘All right,’ said Nick, swallowing a mouthful of crunched toast. ‘There was once a young lady well-bred, who met a lamplighter called Fred. Because it was night, she wanted a light, so he made use of his pole, did Fred.’
Alice spluttered crumbs of toast.
‘Is that supposed to be funny?’ said Ma.
‘No, it was a bit of a shock, poor woman,’ said Nick. ‘She was all in the dark, Ma.’
‘I’m not in the mood for common talk when there’s criminals out there not bein’ caught,’ said Ma.
‘The cops will get ’em eventually,’ said Nick. ‘How’s our lodger?’
�
�Oh, I asked ’im down to share a pot of tea with me yesterday afternoon,’ said Ma, ‘just to show a bit of ’ospitality. He was very agreeable.’
‘I think he’s got a little bead-polishing machine up there,’ said Nick, ‘I’ve heard it humming.’
‘Yes, ’e told me ’e polishes a lot of beads,’ said Ma. ‘Mind, he does use a bit of ’is Mile End language, but it’s not ’is fault, ’e picked it up without knowin’, like. Bein’ a Polish gent, he’d be ignorant of how common some of them Mile End people are. Well, you two ’ad better get off to your work, I suppose, while I get Amy and Fanny out of their bed.’
‘Good idea,’ said Nick, ‘and while we’re at work, Ma, don’t do anything you shouldn’t do.’
‘I ’ope I didn’t hear you say that,’ said Ma.
‘Oh, he said it all right, Ma,’ remarked Alice, ‘it’s his devilry comin’ out again.’
‘Tickle you tonight, Alice,’ said Nick, and went off to work grinning.
‘Mornin’ to yer, Mrs Brown,’ said Mrs Higgins, meeting Freddy’s amiable mum down the East Street market later that day. ‘How is yer good self?’
‘Oh, I can’t grumble, Mrs Higgins,’ said Mrs Brown, who never did.
‘Don’t like the look of the weather,’ said Mrs Higgins. November, all ears, listened touchily. ‘All this fog and all.’
‘Well, it’s not so bad, just a bit misty, like,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘and it’s nice that it’s always cheerful here in the market, it makes it a pleasure to come and spend a bit of money.’
November lightened.
‘If you ask me,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘November never ought to ’ave been invented. It never did no-one any good, except chimney sweeps.’
November scowled.
By the time Nick left the offices at twelve-thirty on Saturday, Camberwell and Walworth were suffering the effects of a thick creeping yellow blanket.
If it got any worse, this afternoon’s football match would be off. However, the day wasn’t wholly depressing, for his promised rise had been confirmed and public transport was still running.
He dropped in on Gran Emerson and Ivy.
Pride of Walworth Page 12
