Missing Person (15 page)

Lord have mercy on my soul, thought Tilly, I’m going to strangle their dad this evening.

Cassie was waiting on the corner of Browning Street when Freddy arrived there on his way home from work. His dad was with him. Mr Brown said hello to Cassie and walked on, leaving Freddy to have Cassie to himself, which might be a trial to the lad and might not. It would depend on how Freddy handled her.

‘Oh, ’ello, Freddy,’ she said, ‘fancy it bein’ you.’

‘Well, I’ve been me all day,’ said Freddy. He grinned. ‘And yesterday as well.’

‘Would you like a kiss?’ asked Cassie, looking dreamy.

‘A kiss? What for?’ asked Freddy, walking with her down Browning Street.

‘Well, you’ve just come ’ome from work,’ said Cassie, ‘and I don’t suppose anyone’s kissed you at your scrap yard.’

‘No, well, there’s not a lot of kissin’ goin’ on in the yard,’ said Freddy.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Cassie, ‘I don’t want to ’ave to worry about you bein’ unfaithful. King Edward was ever so unfaithful to Queen Alexandra, so me dad told me once, and it turned ’er hair white with worry and she used to have to dye it to hide ’er worry. Oh, look, here’s Mrs ’Arper.’

Mrs Harper was approaching at a brisk walk.

‘’Ello,’ she said, ‘you two again?’

‘Oh, a pleasure, I’m sure,’ said Cassie. ‘I see you don’t ’ave your nice parrot with you, Mrs ’Arper.’

‘I see you don’t ’ave yours, either, ducky,’ said Mrs Harper, summoning up a smile.

‘No, I don’t take ’im out a lot,’ said Cassie. ‘Me sister Nellie says it’s not what parrots are used to. She’s just got ’ome from ’er work and is doin’ the supper.’

‘Well, yer don’t say,’ said Mrs Harper.

‘Cassie will if you let ’er,’ said Freddy with a grin, ‘she does a lot of sayin’.’

‘Got a tongue in ’er head, ’as she?’ said Mrs Harper. ‘Well, good for her. Now I’ve got to go and buy a packet of tea before me ’ubby and ’is brother get ’ome.’

‘Excuse me, Mrs ’Arper,’ said Cassie, ‘but has your ’ouse been ’aunted since you moved in?’

Mrs Harper, remembering her disturbed night, tightened her mouth.

‘Cassie, don’t be daft,’ said Freddy.

‘I just thought I’d ask,’ said Cassie.

Mrs Harper shook herself.

‘Well, like I mentioned,’ she said, ‘I’ll just ’ave to ’ide me ’ead under the blankets if the old lady’s ghost starts walkin’ at nights, won’t I? So long now.’ And away she went. Cassie called after her.

‘Could we bring Cecil to ’ave another talk with Percy sometime, Mrs ’Arper?’

‘Sometime,’ called Mrs Harper, ‘sometime.’

‘There, Freddy,’ said Cassie, ‘you and me can take Cecil in again on Saturday afternoon.’

‘Now look, Cassie,’ said Freddy, as they approached his house, ‘I ain’t spendin’ me Saturday afternoons keepin’ you company with two potty parrots. Me mind’s made up for good.’ They reached
his
front door. ‘You comin’ in to say ’ello to me mum? Talk to yerself,’ he added. Cassie, using the latchcord, was already in. Following on, he thought someone must have told Mrs Harper about the murder that had happened years ago, that it had been an old lady that got done in. People ought to keep quiet about that sort of thing when talking to new tenants of the house. Not that Mrs Harper had seemed bothered. She’d treated Cassie’s question as a bit of a giggle. Except she had frowned a bit at first.

Tilly had had a brainwave. Collecting offcuts of various materials, she had given them to the girls, together with lengths of string, and told them to make themselves large rag balls that they could play with and throw at each other without doing any damage. When Dan arrived home they were in the kitchen, sitting at the table, still striving after an hour and more to complete large rag balls. Offcuts were scattered over the table and on the floor.

‘’Ello, Dad,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘look what Tilly give us so we can make a big rag ball each.’

‘We’ve been ever so good,’ said Bubbles.

Dan kissed them both and said, ‘That’s the stuff, little sausages. Um, did Tilly say anything when Mrs Higgins brought you home?’

‘No, she just give us funny looks,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘But when she took us up to ’er room, she said there was goin’ to be a war.’ Bubbles offered this piece of information generously.

‘Is there goin’ to be a war, Dad?’ asked Penny-Farving, doing some string-tying.

‘Hope not,’ said Dan. ‘I’ll just go up and have a word with Tilly.’

Up he went. He knocked.

‘Come in,’ said Tilly.

He opened the door and went in. The armchair cushion, flung, arrived in his face. That was followed by a bolster from Tilly’s bed, except that she didn’t fling it, she wielded it, bashing his face and head with it.

‘Oh, my bleedin’ soul—’

‘Take that.’ Bash. ‘And that.’ Wallop. ‘And that!’ Thump.

‘Tilly—’

‘I’ll give you Tilly, I’ll give you something for your bleedin’ soul – take that and some more as well!’ Wallop.

Dan tripped and fell over the armchair. Down came the wielded bolster, bashing him. He grabbed it, pulled at it, and Tilly fell on top of him. They rolled off to the floor, Tilly’s legs up in the air. A consolation factor made up for the bashing as long legs, shining stockings and delectable underwear made a spectacular impact on his eye.

‘Mother O’Reilly, mind my eyesight, Tilly.’

‘Oh, yer gawpin’ oaf, look at me clothes!’

‘Well, I am lookin’, ain’t I? And can I help it?’

‘Oh, yer lecher!’ Tilly jumped up, took hold of the bolster and set about him again, while he was on the floor. ‘You ought to be boiled in oil, you did. Try this for your eyesight!’ Whack, whack.

What a woman. That figure of hers held a healthy percentage of vim and vigour. Dan rolled away from the thumping bolster, and came up on his knees. Wallop. Down he went again. It was war all right. Dan, not a bloke to lie about and get slaughtered, made another grab. Tilly, muffling a yell, fell on top of him again, and Dan rolled her over. Her skirt and slip ran upwards.

‘Now look,’ breathed Dan, ‘can we—’

‘Oh, me legs!’

‘It’s a lot more than that—’

‘I’ll do for you, Dan Rogers! I never met such evil eyes as you’ve got. Pull me skirt down, d’you ’ear?’

Dan got up. Tilly sat up. She covered herself, then took hold of the bolster again. Dan put his foot on it.

‘Can’t we talk?’ he asked.

Tilly came to her feet, face flushed, eyes flashing new danger signals.

‘You did it on me again, you let Mrs ’Iggins land the gels on me this afternoon,’ she said.

‘It wasn’t what I meant,’ said Dan, ‘I told them to look after themselves until I got home.’

‘That’s criminal thinkin’, said Tilly. ‘You can’t leave little gels like them to look after themselves. Little gels like them could set fire to the ’ouse.’

‘I’ll admit, it’s been a bit difficult since Alice fractured her foot,’ said Dan.

‘Oh, yer daft loony,’ said Tilly, ‘can’t you get it into your thick ’ead that their mother’s got to come and take care of them?’

‘Awkward, y’know,’ said Dan,’ ‘she’s not cut out for ’ome life, bein’ what you might call an artiste.’

‘You might call ’er that,’ said Tilly, ‘I’ve got other names for ’er. Where’s ’er circus right now?’

‘I think it’s due to pitch near Margate for a short season.’

‘All right, you go there, then, and I’ll do you a favour by comin’ with you next Sunday,’ said Tilly, with a ferocious kind of determination. ‘We’ll take a wooden mallet with us for knockin’ her on her ’ead. When she’s unconscious, we’ll tie her up, wrap her up and cart ’er back to London on a train.’

‘I don’t think she’ll like that,’ said Dan. ‘It’s her temperament. Have I told you about her temperament? It’s all due to her gipsy upbringing and her feelin’ that she was once a Hungarian dancer.’

‘Did she come from ’Ungary, then?’ demanded Tilly.

‘No, she thinks she’s a reincarnation case,’ said Dan.

‘Oh, she does, does she?’ said Tilly. ‘Well, we’ll see if a few taps of the mallet will knock ’er brains about a bit and wake ’er up to the fact that she’s nobody but Gladys Hobday. Now, you just find out if that circus is really goin’ to be at Margate.’

‘I’ll give it a bit of thought.’

‘You’ll give it more than that,’ said Tilly, ‘or I’ll ’it you with a brick next time you get my goat. Specially if you interfere with me clothes and offend me integrity. ’Ere, what’s that cross-eyed look of yours all about?’

‘Can I help still havin’ mem’ries of what caught me mince pies only a few minutes ago?’ said Dan not unreasonably.

Tilly made a dive for the grounded bolster. Dan made a dive for the stairs. The heavy bolster came hurtling down after him. It struck him in the middle of his back.

‘Got yer!’ called Tilly triumphantly from the landing.

What a woman. Why, he thought, couldn’t a meek and mild one have taken the lodgings? One who wouldn’t have minded keeping an eye on the girls until Alice was back? But when advertising for a lodger, a bloke couldn’t actually put down that his preference was for a female meek and mild, and fond of children. As it was, he’d let himself in for another wild Hungarian.

‘Dad, what was you doin’ with Tilly upstairs?’
asked
Penny-Farving as he entered the kitchen.

‘Just a bit of a talk,’ he said.

‘It didn’t sound like that,’ said Bubbles, her odd-shaped rag ball growing in size.

‘There was a lot of bumps,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Were there, me angel? Well, never mind, no worries.’

‘Just as well you put that blind up,’ said Mrs Harper, as she served supper to the men.

‘Why?’ asked the man called Wally.

‘There’s a woman lodger next door that sits in the window of the upstairs back. She looks to me like she’s usin’ a sewin’-machine. She can see right across.’

‘We’ll start using the blind,’ said Wally. ‘The gas mantle must be lit and the blind pulled down as soon as it becomes dark each night. The light can be turned out later.’

‘Well, you’re the brains round ’ere, I suppose,’ said Mrs Harper.

‘You are still valuable to us,’ said the other man, ‘providing us with a respectable front.’

‘One day next week we will all go out together,’ said Wally.

‘I’ll wear me best ’at,’ said Mrs Harper.

She woke up again that night. But, gritting her teeth, she shut her ears to the whispers and rustles, and went back to sleep. Nothing would get her out of the bed, not until sane daylight broke.

Cassie arrived promptly in the morning, and Dan gave her three shillings, a shilling for each morning so far. Cassie went dreamy with delight and assured him she liked looking after Bubbles and Penny-Farving.

‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Dan, relieving Bubbles of her porridge spoon. She was using it in an attempt to beat her slice of toast to death.

‘Oh, they’re little loves really, Mr Rogers,’ said Cassie.

‘Are they?’ asked Dan, an over-indulgent dad but not so blind as to accept Cassie’s comment at face value.

‘Well, now and again they are,’ said Cassie. ‘I’ll take them to me home again and then down the market, shall I? Then I can do some shoppin’ for me dad that I said I would.’

‘Cassie, would you make sure they don’t pinch fruit off stalls?’

‘If they do, when me back’s turned, shall I give them a smack?’ asked Cassie.

‘Yes, you do that,’ said Dan, who always shirked handing out smacks himself.

‘But, Dad, you don’t like us bein’ smacked,’ protested Penny-Farving.

‘Sorry, sausage, I’ll ’ave to grin and bear it,’ said Dan. He told Cassie he’d be back home in time to prepare the midday meal himself, as it was Saturday, and off he went to his job.

Tilly heard him leave the house. For once he hadn’t come up to deliver his usual load of bland codswallop. Well, that was something to be thankful for. It was more than enough to know she’d saddled herself with the responsibility of persuading him to marry the girls’ mother, or at least to drag the woman home and make her do her duty. Crikey, she’d really set about him yesterday evening. Well, he’d earned it, except it was horrible to remember she’d finished up nearly standing on her head.

Mid-morning, and Miss Polly Simms was climbing the stairs to the offices of Adams Enterprises. Polly was now thirty-three, and as vivacious and brittle as ever, her grey eyes and her smile often self-mocking. A supple and slender woman, she still wore the hair style of a flapper, a Colleen Moore bob whose curving points always seemed to lightly caress her cheeks. She was a school-teacher. Friends as upper-class as she was found it hysterical that she actually worked, and as a teacher of the lower classes. She was at West Square Girls School, attended by Rosie and Rosie’s cousin, Annabelle. She had taught at Rosie’s primary school, and had subsequently made shameless use of her father’s influence to secure the post at West Square. She always saw Rosie as the daughter she might have had by Boots if Emily hadn’t got her hands on him first.

An ambulance driver during the Great War, Polly could never forget those horrendous years, nor the sound of the guns, nor the men of the trenches, of whom Boots had been one. Her attachment to him was incurable. Perhaps because she had never had him she would always want him.

She knocked on the door of his office and went in without waiting for his response. Boots, at his desk, turned his head. Seeing her, he took on a slightly wary expression. His feelings for Sir Henry Simms’s extrovert daughter were of a kind he kept closely guarded.

‘Polly?’

Polly, closing the door, said, ‘Good morning, you swine.’

‘Now what have I done?’ asked Boots.

‘Had lunch at Simpson’s with Sammy’s old girlfriend, Rachel Goodman,’ said Polly. ‘You low-down
snake
in the grass, when have you ever invited me to a high-class lunch in town?’

‘I’ve had the pleasure of lunching with you several times in the pub across the road,’ said Boots.

‘Burning arrows, I’m not talking about a sandwich and a gin and it in a pub,’ said Polly, ‘I’m talking about an intimate lunch in the West End, with violins playing. If you’re thinking of having an affair with Rachel, I’ll come round to your house and smash all your windows.’