Everlasting Lane (30 page)

Kat stood for a moment, as still as her sculpture, before taking the edge of the canvas and drawing it back over the butterfly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘about what I said earlier. I mean, when I said how loving you was my biggest secret. I mean, I’m sorry I kept it a secret for so long.’

And I said, ‘I love you too.’

I would have done anything for her. Anything. Except that’s only what I thought because when it came to it and I had to choose, I didn’t do the right thing for her at all. I mean she was important and Alice was important too, they both were, but it was too late for them, and when it came to it there was someone else, someone just as important that I could still help.

If you see what I mean.

Kat put her hand on my head and ruffled my hair. ‘What am I going to do with you, blue-eyes?’ she said.

I smiled too and said, ‘We could ask Mummy.’

And then she gave me the funniest look. It was like I’d farted or something.

So, anyway, I decided I was going to do something nice for Kat. You remember that ring I told you about? I’d been saving my pocket money all term long and, after she’d shown me the butterfly sculpture and told me about my dad and everything, I couldn’t think about anything else but buying it for her. So this one morning I clambered out of bed, put on my school uniform as quickly as I could and didn’t even stop to have my
Rice Krispies
or wait for Anna-Marie and Tommie to walk to school.

But when I got to
Kirrins’
: disaster!

A note written on a torn flap of cardboard had been hung on the inside of the glass door:
Gone out! Back in fifteen!
Fifteen? Fifteen what? Fifteen seconds? Fifteen hours?

I placed my school-bag and my piggybank on the ground and began to bang on the door, politely at first but then louder and louder until I was unleashing tiny, little fists of fury. There was no point, of course. The sign was quite clear:
GONE OUT
! But I banged anyway until the glass rattled and the frame shook, not because I thought it would change anything but because, well, it was all I could do.

But then I looked up to see Norman, Norman Kirrin, frail and pale, blinking at me through the glass. He reached up
quickly and then down shoving back the bolts and opening the door, saying, ‘Peter, Peter, where’s the fire?’ and glancing from one side to the other as if checking that I wasn’t the first in a long queue sneaking all the way back to Buckingham Lane. And then he wrapped his arms around me and stroked my hair until, as my fury began to pass, whispering, ‘Calm down, Peter,’ and, ‘It’s all right.’

As my trembling faded he said, ‘Tell me, Peter, do you never read signs or is it just their content you ignore?’ but he didn’t sound unkind. ‘My brother’s out,’ he said, ‘apparently. And I was just out for a walk myself …’

But he placed his hand on my shoulder and led me into the shop. Once inside he pulled open a can of fizzy drink and pushed it into my hand. I took a deep drink and burped back the bubbles. Chuckling, Norman returned to the door and re-bolted it before pulling down this blind so that we couldn’t be seen. He shuffled behind the counter and rung up the cost of the drink. When the till’s little drawer popped open he dropped a few pennies in.

‘I have learnt to my chagrin,’ he explained, ‘that Greg is mightily fastidious in his totting up.’ He looked me up and down. It was kind of as if I was someone in disguise that he only half recognised. ‘So,’ he said, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure, and it always is a pleasure, Peter, of your visit?’

I thrust my piggybank at him. ‘I want to buy—’

But he held up his hand. ‘Peter, before you go any further,’ he said, ‘I have what you might call a small confession to make. You see, I hate to admit it to you, Peter,’ he murmured, scratching his jaw all peppery with stubble, ‘you of all people but I’m … Well, I’m not really supposed to serve. Greg doesn’t like it.’

‘I only want one thing,’ I said.

‘Well,’ he twitched, ‘I suppose, as it’s you,’ and then gave a
little smile. ‘I’m a bit rusty,’ clapping his hands together, ‘but in the tradition of this proud nation of shopkeepers,’ he placed his knuckles on the counter and struck a pose before saying in this London accent: ‘What can I do you for?’

I grinned before turning and rushing to the back of the shop. I was suddenly filled with terror that the ring—that precious ring—would have gone, snapped up by some passing millionairess, her fat fingers already crusty with jewellery. But, no, it was there just like always. I grabbed it, relieved but a little disappointed at how light it felt, and carried it back to Norman. He looked surprised as I tipped it into his open palm.

‘Is this it?’ he said. ‘Are you sure?’ I nodded. ‘This is what all the banging and yelling was for?’ Again I nodded. He held it up to the light, squinting, and then moved his glasses kind of back and forth as he examined it. ‘Well, Peter,’ he said at last, ‘I quite understand.’ He nodded wisely. ‘It’s a very fine piece. What Greg is playing at leaving such a valuable accoutrement at the back of the shop with the toys and games, I can’t imagine.’ And then he smiled. ‘That’ll be fifty new pences,’ he said, as he dropped the ring into a tiny bag.

‘Doesn’t it come with a box?’

‘Erm, I’m sorry, Peter. I strongly suspect that it doesn’t.’ He smiled again. ‘But this little bag, although it may seem like paper to you and me,’ he leant towards me and whispered, ‘is in fact spun from the finest Moroccan silk. Okay?’

Absolutely. I popped open the cork that was stuck in the pig’s tummy and gently shook until the right money had rattled into my hand. I handed it over. Fifty pence wasn’t nearly as much as I’d thought.

‘So,’ said Norman as he pushed the big buttons on the till, ‘how’s it going in the world of secrets?’

Well, I just stared at him, didn’t I? I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? What would you have said? I didn’t want
to know about secrets anymore. I didn’t even want to think about secrets. And, well, it was like what Miss Pevensie’d said: sometimes secrets are secrets for a reason.

He stared right back as if he was listening, as if I was actually telling him everything with just the look on my face. Eventually he nodded. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So, is that it?’ He pushed the till drawer to a close, my money still in his hand. ‘Is that the end of the matter?’

I nodded. And then I smiled. I mean I really tried to smile.

‘I wonder,’ said Norman. ‘Listen, Peter,’ he placed my coins on the counter and slid them slowly back towards me, ‘before we conclude out transaction, I wonder if … You see, I am of the persuasion that believes, as an article of faith, in fact, that, on occasion, it’s perhaps hard to tell whether you’ve actually really solved a problem or whether you’ve simply managed to convince yourself, erroneously, that it wasn’t such a very big problem in the first place.’ He sighed and ran his hand through his thin grey hair. ‘Do you know what I mean?’

I didn’t say anything. I did know what he meant. Of course I did. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to. My smile was beginning to hurt a bit, like my face was about to break.

‘Tell me, Peter, did I ever tell you about Lois? No, no, don’t worry. I know full well I did. But I didn’t … I didn’t go into the detail, did I? No, Norman, not the nitty-gritty, you didn’t. And, well, I wouldn’t now, but … I don’t want you to make a mistake. You need to be sure that you can just pack everything back in the box, your … box of secrets, and that it won’t … explode in your face.’

‘But I need to—’

‘No, no,’ he said waving his hand. ‘Hush. Listen, Peter, I wouldn’t … I’d be failing in my responsibilities as … a friend? We are friends aren’t we, Peter?’ I nodded. Of course. ‘As a human being even if I just … I don’t know what you’ve found
out. It’s not … I wouldn’t expect you to tell me … I’m not asking but … If you can spare me five minutes, I’d like to …’ And then he looked at me as if he’d asked me a question and was waiting for an answer, but before I could—

‘The last time I saw her was in Hyde Park in London. Nineteen-forty-two. I think I may have told you. I asked her to marry me. I mean I didn’t know anything about … anything. But it wouldn’t’ve bothered me, I swear. I swear to you, Peter. I wanted to be with her and her to be with me, do you understand?

‘But she turned me down. Flat. Pancake-flat. And what could I do? I tried again, of course. And again and again. You tried, Norman, you can’t deny that. Again and again. Lord, I tried to find the combination of words, the right combination that would make the difference, that would help her make that choice, to my mind the right choice, but, of course, in retrospect she may have felt that …

‘Because what I haven’t told you yet and what I didn’t know at the time was that Lois was pregnant. With all due respect, Peter, I will leave the birds and bees to others more qualified and move swiftly on. Suffice to say, when the butcher’s family found out, the mother, the fearsome matriarch, appropriately bacon-faced, stepped in. There’s this thing called … called an abortion. It means that if a lady gets, well, pregnant and doesn’t want to be the doctors can take the baby away.’

‘Didn’t she want a baby?’

‘Oh, Peter, it was a different world then. You can’t imagine. It was a terrible thing to have a baby without being married. Sometimes the lady’s parents might throw her out on the
street. Sometimes they’d send her away to get rid of it.’

‘Get rid of it?’

‘Well, the butchers were scandalised. They couldn’t abide any kind of scandal, so they insisted Lois have an abortion. And Lois, bless her, was only too willing to please which, I suppose, was pretty much her problem in the first place. The problem was, Peter, that abortions were, well, illegal. You know what ‘illegal’ means, don’t you?’

‘It means you can go to prison.’

‘Exactly,’ said Norman. ‘Any doctor who performed an abortion could go to prison. But there was something called a backstreet abortionist … Certain men or, indeed, women who circumvented the … But not all of
them
knew what they were doing. When Lois had her abortion, the man—the man in Leeds, of all places—well, anyway, the man who did it made such a mess that she … Well, she …’ He made a funny noise like a sob. He pulled a scraggy old hanky from his pocket, buried his nose in it and blew. ‘I’m sorry, Peter,’ he said. ‘Her mother, Lois’ mother, collected her from the train. Her coat, Lois’ coat, was soaked with blood. Swimming in blood. She was in such pain … I …’

Norman was shaking, his hands squeezing the handkerchief dry. He took a deep breath, almost a gasp, almost a cry, and thumped his chest. I thought he might be about to faint but instead he fiercely gripped the edge of the counter and looked at me, his eyes sticking to me like beach tar.

‘Because it’s love, Peter. It’s love and it doesn’t matter what the person you love has done. You should forgive. No!’ he barked. ‘Not ‘should’. You
will
forgive because you have no choice. If it’s love, Peter, then you have no choice. The good Lord in all his infinite generosity denies you that.’

‘But I thought … Don’t you have to choose?’

‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘Yes, of course you have to choose. But you have to choose when a choice is presented and sometimes … Well, there
isn’t always a choice to be made. Sometimes there’s a choice and sometimes, well, the choice is out of your hands. The trick, you tell him, Norman, yes, the real trick, is to know the difference. What I’m trying to say, in my round-about way, ha, my merry-go-round way, is that it’s not just the consequences of your own choices which you have to endure.’

I wanted to go. I needed to go. Mr Gale would be reading the register and scowling when I didn’t answer my name but then maybe Norman was right and, sometimes, like he said, you don’t really have a choice even when you think you do.

‘Well, in the end I gave up, of course,’ said Norman. ‘We’re back in Hyde Park now by the way. That was the choice I made: to give up. That was my failure. How noble I was. “So, marry your butcher,” I said. “Marry the sausage-man.” What else could I say? I don’t know, but I should have … I should have persisted. I didn’t know … I should have slung her over my shoulder and carried her off, caveman-style, shouldn’t I?’ He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, of course I shouldn’t. You’re right. Such an act would’ve been philistine but, in retrospect, maybe …’ He blew his nose again, a big raspberry blow. ‘When one has a choice one shouldn’t be … timid.’

Norman sighed. He pressed down on the till and—cha-ching!—rung up fifty pence. He scooped my money across the counter into his other hand and dropped them in. I smiled with relief, seized the little bag and shoved it down deep into my pocket. Now all I needed was to the right moment to—

But, ‘Remember, Peter,’ said Norman, ‘it’s not just the things you do. Sometimes it’s the things you don’t do, the things you know you should’ve done. When you get to my age, Peter, when you reach this lofty summit, you’ll regret the things you didn’t do, not the things you did.’

‘A brilliant pass by Lambert.’ I pumped the ball goalwards. ‘Straight to Lambert’s feet. He’s only got the goalie to beat.’ A cheer rose in the crowd’s throat but, as I prepared to shoot, I was battered from behind by a concrete bollard called Tommie. ‘A shocking tackle by Chopper Winslow!’ I fell to the ground crippled, clutching my leg.

Team-mates rushed to my assistance, the commentator raged and the referee reached for his reddest card. Meanwhile, United’s burly centre back stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Peter,’ he spat, ‘you’re such a poof. I hardly touched you,’ as I attempted to rub his footprint from my shin. He offered his arm and I hauled myself to my feet.

And retaliated.

‘And Lambert’s hit Winslow!’ gasped the commentator, shocked at the mayhem unfolding on the pitch. The crowd squealed like apes. ‘They’re wrestling now. What will the referee do?’

The whistle blew like a banshee and the referee yelled, ‘Hello, Mungo. Hello, Midge. What are you two bozos up to?’