Missing Person (5 page)

‘It was nice meetin’ yer both,’ she said, opening the front door for them, ‘and if you knock again and I don’t ’ave one of me chronic ’eads, you can come in and ’ave another talk with Percy. Toodle-oo, duckies.’

The door closed.

‘What did Percy say when we said goodbye, Freddy?’ asked Cassie, birdcage cuddled to her chest.

‘Search me,’ said Freddy. ‘Well, it sounded something like, “I’ll hit yer”.’

‘Freddy, parrots don’t hit people, so why should it say that?’

‘I hope you won’t mind,’ said Freddy, ‘but I don’t ’ave the answer to that. Mind you, mate, it could’ve been an East End swear word. My dad says they’ve got swear words in places like Hoxton and Shoreditch that no-one else ’as ever heard of.’

‘Freddy, don’t call me mate, you daft boy,’ said
Cassie
. ‘Anyway, Mrs ’Arper didn’t swear. She was quite nice really, and you ’ave to admit Percy helped Cecil to do some talkin’. Shall we get a bus to Buckingham Palace now? Then we can – Freddy, where you goin’?’

‘Anywhere except to Buckingham Palace with a potty parrot,’ said Freddy, running.

Cassie rushed after him.

Cecil, shaken about in his cage, took umbrage.

‘Ruddy ’ell,’ he said.

KNOCK, KNOCK
.

‘Who the hell’s that?’ said Dan Rogers of Caulfield Place. It was Monday morning and coming up to eight-thirty. He had his job to go to any moment and was at his wits’ end in how he was going to manage it. ‘Stay there and don’t break anything,’ he said to Bubbles, nearly four, and Penny-Farving, nearly five. They were creating minor havoc over their breakfast, as usual. He answered the front door and found himself looking at a young woman in a light-brown costume and a round brimmed hat. The costume jacket shaped a very full bosom. On the doorstep stood two large suitcases.

‘Oh, ’ello and good mornin’,’ said Miss Tilly Thomas. ‘You Mister Rogers that’s got a notice in the newsagent’s window about rooms to let?’

‘That’s me,’ said Dan, thirty-one, broad-shouldered and rugged. ‘You after rentin’ them?’

‘If they suit me,’ said Tilly, looking him over to see if an aptitude for villainy was detectable. ‘Sorry if I’ve called a bit early—’

‘Think nothing of it. Come in. It’s the upstairs back and middle, and they’ll suit you a treat. Here.’ Dan hauled the suitcases in himself and placed them in the passage. ‘I need a friendly face around. Seven-and-six a week, that all right? Thought it would be. Come through and meet the kids, and be a great help. The
girl
who usually comes in to keep an eye on them ’as fractured her ankle. ’Ighly inconvenient, believe me. Come on, come through.’

‘Excuse me, I don’t like bein’ rushed,’ said Tilly.

‘Nor me, but I’m bein’ rushed this mornin’,’ said Dan, and breezed his way to the kitchen with her, she just a little suspicious of all this quickfire stuff. At the kitchen table sat two little girls, both fair, both angelic-looking and both in long frocks. One was gurgling up warm milk from a china mug, the other was eating toast and marmalade. ‘Well, there they are,’ said Dan, ‘that’s Bubbles and that’s Penny-Farvin’. Might I enquire your own name?’

‘I’m Miss Thomas—’

‘Violet Thomas?’

‘No, Tilly. Look, if you don’t mind—’

‘There’s no problem,’ said Dan, glancing at the mantelpiece clock. ‘The rooms are yours. Glad to ’ave you. I’ll see you when I get back from me work this evenin’. Look, would you mind keepin’ an eye on Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ till then? They’ll show you where their food is. Can’t stop longer meself, I’m late already. It’s this girl, y’see, the one who can’t get ’ere today. It’s turned me Monday mornin’ upside-down, so you can bet you’re welcome. Well, I’ll leave you to it. You’ll find the rooms fully furnished. Back and middle. Did I say that? ’Ave to push off now—’

‘Here, ’old on,’ said Tilly, ‘what d’you take me for, a nursemaid?’

‘Can’t talk now,’ said Dan, ‘but we’ll ’ave a chat this evenin’. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate you keepin’ an eye on the kids. Make yerself a pot of tea, if you want. So long, Bubbles, be’ave yerself, Penny-Farvin’, and be nice to the lady, both of you.’ He picked his cap off the dresser and put it on.

‘Wait a minute, not so fast,’ said Tilly, ‘I ’aven’t come ’ere to—’

‘See you this evenin’, thanks for everything,’ said Dan, and disappeared at speed. Tilly chased after him.

‘’Ere, come back!’ she yelled. Out he went through the still open front door. ‘Well, of all the nerve, what’s he think I am, a performin’ monkey?’ She stopped at the gate, checking her impulse to chase him up the street. What an old-time Flash Harry, he ought to be run over by elephants, he ought. He’d landed her with his kids. Well, she didn’t have to take them on, she could walk out. But she’d have to take her suitcases with her and traipse around Walworth looking for other lodgings. Blow the man. And come to that, where was his wife, the mother of the little girls?

A woman came out of the adjoining house and picked up a can of milk from the doorstep. She glanced at Tilly.

‘Mornin’, ducky,’ said Mrs Harper.

‘Mornin’, said Tilly brusquely.

‘Nice day,’ said Mrs Harper, her florid complexion pale with morning.

‘For some,’ said Tilly, but only to herself, and the neighbour disappeared. Tilly went back into the house. The kitchen was alive with little shrieks, and she found the small girls throwing bits of bread at each other. Young Bubbles showed a face sticky with marmalade. ‘What’s goin’ on?’ asked Tilly.

‘She pushed a bit of ’er toast and marm’lade in me face,’ said Bubbles.

‘What d’you do that for?’ asked Tilly of Penny-Farving.

‘’Cos I don’t like ’er face,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘I don’t like ’ers, eiver,’ said Bubbles.

‘What’s your names?’ asked Tilly.

‘I’m Penny-Farvin’, she’s Bubbles,’ said the four-year-old angel.

‘No, your real names,’ said Tilly, feeling she really was stuck with the pair of them.

‘Dunno,’ said Bubbles.

‘I forget,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Where’s your mum?’ asked Tilly.

‘Dunno,’ said Bubbles.

‘We don’t want ’er,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘we’ve got our dad. We like our dad.’ She eyed Tilly in curiosity. ‘What you ’ere for?’

‘Ask me another,’ said Tilly. ‘I’m daft, I suppose. Is there some gel who usually looks after you?’

‘Yes, Alice ’Iggins from down the street,’ said Penny-Farving. She and Bubbles both had the blue eyes of angels.

‘She’s umployed,’ said Bubbles informatively.

‘Unemployed, I suppose you mean,’ said Tilly. ‘Your dad mentioned she’d fractured ’er ankle.’

‘Yes, and it’s ’urting,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘so she can’t come. She takes us for walks. You goin’ to take us?’

‘Well, I’m not goin’ to sit about all day,’ said Tilly, who’d have shown a bit of motherliness if their father hadn’t put her into a temper.

‘You’ll ’ave to do the breakfast fings first,’ said Bubbles.

‘Beg yer pardon?’ said Tilly.

‘It’s what Alice does first,’ said Penny-Farving.

Tilly surveyed the table. It might have looked all right when it was first laid, even though there was no cloth. It looked a mess now, probably due to these two little angels being against keeping anything tidy. It seemed that breakfast had consisted of porridge and toast.

‘Who ’asn’t eaten their porridge?’ she asked.

‘Dad,’ said Bubbles.

‘He didn’t ’ave time,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Poor man,’ said Bubbles.

‘Well, ’e was late,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘All right, I’ll do the washin’-up,’ said Tilly, ‘but I’m goin’ up to look at the rooms first. Afterwards, as I’ve got to go out, I’ll take you with me. You can put all the things in the sink while I’m upstairs.’

‘Us can?’ said Bubbles.

‘Us can’t,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘our dad says ’andles come off cups when we put them in the sink.’

‘Besides, we’re only little,’ said Bubbles. ‘Could you tell us yer name?’

‘Tilly.’

‘We ain’t met a Tilly before,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Well, there’s only one like me,’ said Tilly. A daft one, she thought, because she was taking on the responsibility of looking after them for the day. But just wait till their father came home from his job. She’d scorch him. ‘Stay there,’ she said, and went upstairs to look at the rooms on offer. The back room was really quite pleasant, furnished like a sitting-room, and there were even shelves with books. The window overlooked the yard, and immediately opposite was the window of the upstairs back room of the adjoining house, the house from which the common-looking woman had emerged to pick up her morning delivery of milk. Cheap curtains framed the window, and above them she saw the cord of a blind hanging. She turned away, checked that there was a gas ring available for cooking, and then made her way to the middle room. She stopped to open a door and found the upstairs lav, complete with a small handbasin. The
middle
room proved to be the bedroom. It looked quite attractive, and a very nice eiderdown covered the bed. Well, she couldn’t complain about either room, they represented lodgings a lot better than her abode with George Rice, the paunchy old goat who’d got above himself.

One thing, she’d never had to fight Frank Golightly off. He’d always behaved like a regular gent, and hadn’t even touched her proud bosom, which might not have objected to a squeeze or two. Frustrating that had been sometimes. A gel didn’t mind a fiancé enjoying a bit of lovey-dovey with her bosom. Crikey, Frank had been courting her for four years and never undone a single button of any of her blouses. Funny thing, she hadn’t missed him a bit in all of the six months she’d been in Walworth. All the same, she was twenty-six now, and there ought to be some exciting bloke ready to enter her life or she’d wake up an old maid one day. Dressmaking was all right, but she hadn’t been born to make a lifelong career of it. Blow that for a lark, twice over and with knobs on.

A crashing sound swept up from the kitchen, startling her out of her reverie. Down she went, and in a hurry. In the kitchen the two little angels were on their feet, blue frocks long to their ankles, blue eyes gazing at a porridge bowl lying shattered on the stone floor of the scullery.

‘Blessed fing,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘I dropped it, that’s all,’ said Bubbles, ‘and look what’s ’appened.’

‘No wonder your dad told you not to carry things to the sink,’ said Tilly.

‘Yes, it’s ’cos I’m too young,’ said Bubbles.

‘I dunno why fings break so easy,’ said Penny-Farving,
‘Bubbles
only dropped that a little bit. You goin’ to smack ’er?’

‘I’ll leave that to your dad,’ said Tilly.

‘Our dad don’t smack us,’ said Penny-Farving indignantly, ‘he likes us, we’re ’is little sausages.’

‘Glad to ’ear it,’ said Tilly. ‘All right, where’s a brush and pan?’

‘On there,’ said Penny-Farving, pointing to the scullery copper. On top of it were the brush and pan. ‘We can’t reach ourselves.’

Tilly brought the brush and pan into play, and emptied the shattered remains of the porridge bowl into the yard dustbin, at which precise moment the front door opened to a pull on the latchcord and a hearty voice was heard.

‘Dust-oh! Comin’ through!’

A hefty dustman clumped through the passage to the back door on the other side of the kitchen. He stopped to look through the open kitchen door at the scene in the scullery. He grinned broadly beneath his large leather headgear that covered his hair, his neck and his shoulders.

‘’Ello, me little pickles, is that yer Aunt Gertie lookin’ after yer today?’

‘No, it ain’t, you saucebox,’ said Tilly, ‘I’m nobody’s Aunt Gertie.’

‘She’s goin’ to live wiv us in upstairs rooms,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘she’s Tilly.’

‘Pleased to meet yer, Tilly,’ said the dustman, ‘like a ride on me dustcart come Sunday?’

‘Blimey O’Reilly,’ said Tilly, ‘a gel can ’ardly wait, can she?’

‘I can ’ardly wait meself,’ grinned the dustman, ‘yer a fair old treat to me mince pies after all the kipper bones on me cart.’

Penny-Farving giggled.

‘We’re not keepin’ you, are we?’ said Tilly.

‘I wouldn’t mind keepin’ you, love, corblimey I wouldn’t,’ said the hearty dustman. ‘Say in the private apartments of me palace.’

‘Flattered, I’m sure,’ said Tilly. ‘Well, don’t break your leg emptyin’ the dustbin.’

‘Ain’t she a caution, me little pickles?’ grinned the dustman. ‘Well, must git on, yer know, or I’ll never git the baby washed.’ He made short work of carrying the dustbin out.

‘Has ’e got a palace?’ asked Bubbles.

‘Yes, in Peabody’s Buildings, probably,’ said Tilly, ‘but ’e’s not gettin’ me there. Well, let’s get everything cleared up, then I’ll take you both out.’

The dustman came back with the empty bin. He stopped for another look at Tilly.

‘’Ow about if I leave me visitin’ card?’ he said.

‘Push off,’ said Tilly, ‘you’re frightenin’ the canary.’

‘What a caution,’ grinned the dustman. He put the bin in its place in the yard and left the house chortling.

‘We ain’t got a canary,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Well, never mind,’ said Tilly, ‘your sister’s got a sticky face and we’ll make do with that for the moment.’

The little girls giggled. Tilly cleared up and washed-up. Then she found a fairly clean flannel and washed Bubbles’ face. After which, she took a new look at the girls. Crikey, their long old-fashioned frocks. They made them look like young Victorian frumps. Little girls needed short frocks and white socks. She asked them what they were wearing under the frocks.

‘Nuffink,’ said Bubbles.

‘Nothing?’

‘Knickers,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Same to you,’ said Tilly, ‘but thank gawd for some things. No vests?’

‘Nuffink,’ said Bubbles.

‘That dad of yours needs talkin’ to,’ said Tilly. ‘All right, I’ll just take me baggage upstairs, then we’ll all go out.’

‘Ain’t she kind?’ said Penny-Farving to Bubbles.

‘I like goin’ out,’ said Bubbles.

Tilly, having deposited her suitcases in the bedroom, took the girls into their own bedroom, the upstairs front. The bed wasn’t made and the room generally looked a little untidy. If that father of theirs thinks I’m going to make beds, he’s got another think coming.