So Long at the Fair

by Pat Herbert

  Bernard loved his cat, Beelzebub, but he couldn’t condone him spoiling his housekeeper’s scones. It was sacrilege.

  “Oh dear,” he sighed. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if you kept the door shut when you’ve got food on the table?”

  Mrs Harper looked daggers at him. “I do shut the door, but the bloody thing pushes it open. Got the strength of ten tigers that one.”

  “Cats will be cats, I suppose,” said Bernard, at a loss.

  “Not when they’re ten bleedin’ tigers, they won’t,” observed Mrs Harper.

  

  Later that evening, Bernard met his friend Robbie MacTavish, the local GP, at the Feathers before their respective evening meals. He was grateful for the warmth of the crowded pub as, although he wanted his dinner, he didn’t relish returning to the vicarage without any heating. He needed a dram of something warm inside him before he could do that.

  “Do you know any good plumbers, Robbie?” he asked when they were seated with their drinks. “Mrs Aitch thinks that new chap’s not up to snuff, and I’m inclined to agree with her.”

  “Hmm,” said Robbie, mulling it over as he sipped his whisky. “I’ll have to ask Lucy. She knows all the best tradesmen.” Lucy Carter was Robbie’s housekeeper, a younger and less frightening version of Nancy Harper.

  “Thanks,” said Bernard, sipping his modest sweet sherry, virtually the only alcohol he allowed himself. “The boiler’s on the blink again, I’m afraid, so I wouldn’t advise you to visit for a while.”

  “Oh dear, I was looking forward to a game of chess this evening.”

  Bernard, who hated the game, smiled inwardly. Every cloud, it seemed, had a silver lining.

  

  There was no shortage of good plumbers according to Lucy Carter. One in particular had only been in the borough for a little while, but young Albert Williams was quickly making a name for himself as an excellent workman who knew his onions as well as his ballcocks.

  So, a few days later, he turned up at the vicarage, ready to prove himself as good as his reputation. He rubbed his right boot on his left trouser leg, in an attempt to remove the crust of dust and dirt that had accumulated there. As a plumber, of course, he expected to be fairly dirty for most of his working day, but he had never paid a call on a vicar before, and he wanted to look his best. “Show some respect for your betters,” as his dad was always telling him.

  But he wasn’t prepared for Mrs Harper when she finally opened the door to him. He quailed before her Gorgon stare as she looked him up and down scathingly.

  “You must be Albert,” she said.

  “That’s right, ma’am,” he replied, twisting his cap in his hands. “I was sent for to look at the boiler.”

  “That’s right,” she agreed. “You come ’ighly recommended by my friend Lucy, so you’d better not let us down. Follow me.”

  He moved to obey, but she stopped him. “Stay there,” she ordered. “You’d better take off your boots before I take you to see the vicar.”

  He removed them without a murmur and continued to follow her large posterior up the stairs.

  Bernard came out of his study and greeted him. “Hello, young man,” he said. “I hope you can fix our boiler. We really can’t afford a new one, you know.”

  Albert smiled reassuringly. He was a diffident young man but eager to please. He had a round, open face, rosy cheeks, and curly blond hair, looking for all the world like a slightly decadent cherub. In fact, Bernard thought he looked rather like one of the cherubs carved on the sides of his pulpit.

  “I’ll do my best to fix it if I can,” said Albert. “I must say it’s a bit parky in here.” He gave an involuntary shiver.

  Bernard had the benefit of a two-bar electric fire in his study so wasn’t feeling the cold quite so much. Mrs Harper had a paraffin heater in the kitchen which gave off very little heat but a lot of unpleasant fumes. But both these heating contraptions were better than nothing that January afternoon.

  “I’ll show you the boiler, Albert,” said Mrs Harper, as Bernard returned to the relative warmth of his study.

  But, when the young plumber saw the antiquated boiler, he scratched his head in perplexity. “I haven’t seen one of these before,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I’d know how to go about fixing it, even if I could get the parts, which I doubt.”

  “So, we’ll need a new one, then?” Mrs Harper stood inches behind him, not giving him much room to turn around. Beelzebub added his furry presence to the cramped space by rubbing around the young man’s legs, having taken an obvious fancy to him.

  “I think that’s your best bet,” said Albert slowly. “But I must admit I’m tempted to have a go at getting this thing going, anyway. I like a challenge.”

  “I don’t want you tampering with it,” said Mrs Harper crossly, wishing with all her heart that Albert would take it away and bury it. “Just tell us ’ow much a new one’ll cost and none of your fancy prices, neither.”

  “I’ll make sure I get the best price for you,” said Albert. “I’ll get you an estimate and bring it around tomorrow.”

  As Mrs Harper was showing him out, Bernard came down the stairs. He was gasping for a cup of tea. “It’s gone four o’clock, Mrs Aitch,” he pointed out. “Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you were still here, Albert. Do we need a new boiler then?”

  “I think so, although I did suggest to this lady that I could have a go at fixing it. It’s very old, and I’m not sure that I can get the parts anymore, but I could give it a try...”

  Mrs Harper sniffed, but Bernard looked hopeful. “If you can fix it, will it be cheaper than a new one?”

  “Oh, by miles,” said Albert, grinning.

  

  “I think you’re flogging a dead ’orse myself,” sniffed Mrs Harper, plonking down the tea tray on the table beside Bernard. She stood warming her hands in front of the electric fire as she said this. The vicar’s study was the warmest room in the house.

  “But it would be much cheaper, Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard, trying to feel the warmth of the fire through the vast bulk of his housekeeper’s body. “We really can’t afford a new boiler, you know.”

  “You should ask the archdeacon or whoever’s in charge of the vicarage purse,” said Mrs Harper, flatly refusing to move from the fire. “We need a new boiler and that’s all there is to it. Even if Albert fixes it, how soon before it breaks down again?”

  “The church roof’s leaking as well now,” Bernard pointed out, sitting back in his chair and sipping his tea. “We have to get our priorities right. That’ll cost an arm and a leg to fix. I can’t see how we can afford that and a new boiler, as much as I’d like to.”

  Mrs Harper glared at him. “We’ll all be found stiff and cold in our beds if we don’t get something done in ’ere first.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” sighed Bernard. “But at least we can see if Albert can fix the boiler before we do anything else. Don’t you think that’s best?”

  Mrs Harper reluctantly removed herself from the heat of the fire and headed towards the door and icy landing. She turned to say something, then thought better of it. Beelzebub insinuated himself through her legs and made for the electric fire and Bernard’s slippered feet as she closed the door. Cats weren’t daft, she thought. Always knew where to find the warmest spot.

  Chapter Twenty

  January 1959

  “You’ve not been living ’ere long, ’ave you?” prodded Nancy Harper as she offered young Albert a well-earned cup of tea. He had been working half the morning on the old boiler, and he looked defeated, as well as exhausted.

  “Not long,” he replied.

  “So, where did you used to live, Albert?”

  “Oh, not far from here. Clapham, Lavender Hill, actually.”

  “Are you married?” she asked him bluntly.

  “No, not yet. I’m still available. Why – are you offering?” His cheeky light blue eyes twinkled at her.

  “Now then. Watch your m
anners,” she said, trying to look offended but finding it difficult. According to Lucy, Albert Williams was known for his charm, and Nancy was trying her best to resist it without much success.

  “Sorry!” he grinned, not at all contrite. “I have a girlfriend though, so I’m already spoken for – more or less,” he added, his grin even wider.

  “Of course, you are,” Mrs Harper grinned back. “Can’t see you being backward in coming forward with the girls. So, what brings you ’ere from Lavender ’Ill?”

  “My dad was born in Wandsworth, but he moved to Lavender Hill when he got married, and that’s where I was born. Dad and me moved back here only last year because he said he wanted to live in the place where he was born. Not sure why, although it could be because of his mother.”

  “’Is mother?”

  Albert shrugged. “Not sure why, exactly, except there’s some mystery about her that Dad refuses to tell me. She was quite a beauty, I’ve been told.” He looked sad for a moment. “So was my mother, according to my Dad.”

  “Was? Your mum’s dead, then?” Nancy Harper had never been known for her tact.

  Looking even sadder, he sighed. “I don’t know, and that’s a fact,” he said. “Dad doesn’t like talking about her.”

  “Dear me,” said Nancy, blowing on her hot tea to cool it. “That’s a shame. A son needs ’is mother, I always say. More than a daughter, anyway.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I suppose so, but what you’ve never had, you never miss. Anyway, I’ve given up asking about her. Dad shuts me up straightaway if I even mention her and won’t say anything at all about what happened to her. I don’t think he knows, actually.”

  “Gawd, what a shame,” declared Nancy. “What about your gran then. Does ’e tell you anything about ’er?”

  “Sometimes. He says she came to a bad end but won’t tell me what. I’ve often thought about trying to find out.”

  “What was ’er name? Maybe I’d ’ave ’eard of ’er.”

  “Olivia,” he replied, reaching for another Garibaldi biscuit. “Nice name, isn’t it? Unusual.”

  “Olivia Williams, would she ’ave been, then?”

  “Yes – well, no. That’s the odd thing. Actually, she was Ayrton-Williams. I’ve no idea where the ‘Ayrton’ came from. None of our family have ever used it. Dad says she could have made it up to make her seem more important.”

  Nancy sniffed but didn’t make any comment.

  “Which was ironic, really, seeing as how she apparently disgraced the family name with her shenanigans. That’s why they dropped the ‘Ayrton’ I should imagine.”

  “Really?” Nancy was very interested now, sensing a mystery. “So, you don’t know what she did to disgrace your family?”

  “Oh, that’s not the real mystery. It was the usual, you know,” said Albert. “Dad was born on the other side of the blanket to his eternal shame.”

  “Not ’is fault. But we respectable folk don’t ’old with that sort of thing even now,” said Mrs Harper, finishing her tea.

  Albert smiled sadly. “That’s true. But I don’t see why Dad should suffer for it like he has. He’s not a happy man. Never has been, I don’t think. What with Olivia and the mystery of my mum, he hasn’t had it easy.”

  Nancy nodded in sympathy. “So, you don’t know what the ‘bad end’ was that your gran came to then?”

  “No. I think Dad knows something about it, but he won’t tell me. All I know is Dad was left at the orphanage when he was just a few months old, and she was never seen again. It’s even just possible that she could still be alive, although she’d be in her nineties by now. I’ve had a look around the cemeteries in this area, but I can’t find any grave. That’s partly the reason why I came to live here. To find out more about her, I mean.”

  “You should talk to the vicar,” said Mrs Harper, refilling his cup. “’E loves a mystery to solve, that one. ’E could check the parish records for you.”

  “I might just do that,” said Albert. “Anyway, I must get on. I’m not getting any younger sitting here talking to you. I’m going to have another go at that boiler.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” sighed Mrs Harper. “Even if you get it going, it’ll conk out again by the time you get to the end of the street.”

  Albert just smiled and finished his tea. “You wait and see,” was all he said, however.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  April 1959

  “Alfie’s a right little basket, there ain’t no two ways about it.”

  “Oh dear, and you want him to come and stay here – at the vicarage?”

  “I don’t want him to,” said Mrs Harper, pausing in her dusting. “But it looks like I ain’t got the option. ’Is mum and dad are relying on me.”

  “I never even knew you had any relatives, Mrs Aitch.”

  “Just because I don’t tell you about them, don’t mean I ain’t got none.” Mrs Harper sniffed. “I don’t ’ave much to do with them these days, that’s all.”

  “So, why do you need to look after this boy?”

  “’Is mum’s my late sister’s daughter. She’s got to go into ’ospital with ’er gall bladder and ’is dad’s a useless article. I wouldn’t let ’im look after a canary, let alone a child. Mind you, Alfie’s someone who can look after ’isself. Still, ’e’s only nine, I suppose.” She looked thoughtful before adding, “Going on forty-five.”

  “He’s more than welcome to stay, Mrs Aitch,” said Bernard, doubtfully, “as long as you keep him under control and out of my way. And make sure he doesn’t hurt Beelzebub.”

  “That’s one thing you can say for Alfie,” she said, polishing a china figurine with vigour, “’e’s fond of animals. Wouldn’t ’urt a fly. ’E’d ’urt a human being quick as you like, but not an animal.”

  “Well, that’s a relief, Mrs Aitch. I don’t want Beelzebub to be upset by him. How long do you think he’ll be staying?”

  “Oh, not long,” said Mrs Harper airily, nearly dropping the figurine as she returned it to the display cabinet. “Just until Mandy comes out of ’ospital.”

  Bernard returned to the book he had been reading before his housekeeper interrupted his peace with her duster and the news of Alfie’s impending visit. But he found he couldn’t concentrate on the antics of Mr Micawber anymore. He wasn’t at ease with children, rather subscribing to the doctrine of the actor who played Micawber in the film version, professing to like children but unable to eat a whole one. Bernard never knew what to say to them, and they generally didn’t know what to say to him.

  He listened to Mrs Harper clattering about in the bedroom on the next landing and sighed. He’d always thought his housekeeper was alone in the world, but now she had sprung this great nephew on him. And, from what she had told him, the boy was a right stinker. He just hoped he wouldn’t be under his roof for too long and kept well out of his way for the duration.

  

  Robbie turned up later that morning, having finished his morning surgery and made all his required home visits. Since the vicarage boiler had been repaired, courtesy of that miracle-worker Albert Williams, he had taken to popping in to see his friend whenever he had some spare time on his hands, and this was one of those times.

  The two men were seated by the unlit fire in the vicarage study. The spring sunshine streamed in through the window as they lit their pipes and relaxed.

  “You’re looking a bit down in the dumps, Bernie,” Robbie observed, sucking his pipe into life. “Anything up?”

  Bernard sighed and told him about the impending visit.

  “That’ll be fun,” said Robbie. “It’ll be nice to have a kid about the place.”

  “Do you think so?” Bernard looked down at the sleeping cat at his feet. “Beelzebub won’t like having a noisy boy to contend with. He’s not used to children.”

  “Oh, he’ll be all right. Don’t fuss,” said Robbie, a little impatiently. “It’ll do you good to look after a young ’un.”

  “Oh, I’
m not looking after him,” declared Bernard at once. “Mrs Aitch will be doing that. He’s her relation, after all.”

  “You’re such an old stick-in-the-mud,” laughed Robbie. “I tell you what ...”

  “What?”

  “There’s the fair coming to the Common soon. Next week, I think. I’ve always wanted to go but never have. I wouldn’t feel right going to the fair on my own – but with a child, well, then it’s okay. What d’you say, Bernie? We could all go. Mrs Aitch, as well, if she’d like to.”

  Bernard stared at his friend in wonderment. Go to a fair? Take a small boy to a fair? “Do you think that would be a good idea? I mean, we don’t know this boy, even.”

  He had never had to look after such a small human being. How would he cope and, more to the point, who would be paying for his rides and goes on the coconut shy?

  “It’s a great idea, Bernie, for goodness sake. He’ll love you forever if you take him, you mark my words.”

  Bernard wasn’t sure he required little Alfie to give him his undying devotion but began to warm to the idea of the fair, nonetheless. He, like Robbie, thought it wasn’t right for an adult to go to a fair without a child in tow, so had never gone. But he’d always wanted to go on the ghost train and now, it seemed, he’d get his chance.

  “Maybe you’re right. It’d be something to do with him, I suppose.”

  “Well, I for one am looking forward to meeting the little fellow,” said Robbie. “Now, how about a snifter at the Feathers before lunch?”

  

  The next day the vicarage was invaded by what seemed to Bernard a small army of foot soldiers. However, the ‘invasion’ merely consisted of one small boy with spiky hair and acne.