Authors: Mary Jane Staples
‘Hello,’ he said cheerfully, ‘how’s it been?’
‘Yes, you might well ask—’
‘Hello, me little sausages,’ he said to the girls, ‘behaved yerselves, have you? The nice lady’s looked after you, has she? That’s good, so how about a smacker?’ He picked up each girl in turn and delivered smackers on their noses. They giggled. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Miss – let’s see, what was your name now?’
‘Miss Thomas,’ said Tilly, ‘and I’ve spent the day gettin’ grey hairs on account of—’
‘Bless you, Miss Thomas, you’ve been a treasure,’ said Dan breezily. ‘Can’t thank you enough. Hope you’ve settled in and found the rooms comfy.’
‘Now look ’ere—’
‘Got some problems?’ said Dan. ‘Don’t worry. As soon as we’ve had supper, I’ll ’elp you sort them out. I like the idea of having someone else around. Did I say that this mornin’? Well, no harm sayin’ it again, it’s a real pleasure to have a lady lodger.’
‘’Old on,’ said Tilly, ‘I’m not ’ere for your benefit—’
‘You just make yerself at home, Miss Thomas, and consider yerself one of the fam’ly.’
‘Not likely,’ said Tilly, ‘and if you don’t let me get a word in edgeways, there’ll be ructions.’
‘She ’it a man wiv the rollin’-pin, Dad,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘Yes, we seen ’er,’ said Bubbles, and gazed admiringly at Tilly.
‘Deserved it, did he?’ grinned Dan. ‘Where’d she hit him? On our doorstep?’
‘No, down in Brandon Street,’ said Penny-Farving. ‘She give us a ride on a bloke’s barrow.’
‘I’ll do the talkin’,’ said Tilly, ‘I’ve got a lot of it to deliver to your—’
‘Well, don’t let’s worry,’ said Dan, ‘we can have a chat after supper. What d’you say to some saveloys and mash, me little sausages?’ He opened the carrier bag he’d placed on the table. ‘Got some here, and enough for you as well, Miss Thomson, if you’d like to join us.’
‘Thomas, not Thomson,’ said Tilly, frustrations beginning to boil. ‘You’re makin’ a supper of saveloys and mash for your girls?’
‘You bet,’ said Dan, fishing out a dozen wrapped saveloys.
‘We like sav’loys,’ said Bubbles.
‘What about veg?’ asked Tilly. ‘What about greens?’
‘Ugh,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘We don’t like greens,’ said Bubbles.
‘Hate ’em, don’t you, me angels?’ said Dan.
‘You can’t leave greens out of their meals,’ said Tilly, ‘it ain’t good for children not to ’ave any greens, they’ll get rickets or something.’
‘That a fact?’ said Dan. ‘Well, Bubbles, it looks like you and Penny-Farvin’ might have to eat a bit of cabbage now and again, say on Sundays.’
‘I’ll be sick,’ said Penny-Farving
‘Me too,’ said Bubbles, ‘and on a Sunday as well.’
‘All right, no greens on Sundays, then,’ said Dan. ‘Some other day, eh?’ He unwrapped the saveloys, and their skins gleamed redly. ‘Like to join us, Miss Thomas? Tell you what, let’s forget Miss Thomas, it’s a bit stuffy.’
‘She’s Tilly,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘That’ll do,’ said Dan. ‘Well, fancy some saveloys and mash with us, Tilly? Won’t take long to heat the saveloys. I boiled some potatoes last night, I’ll bring ’em back to the boil now and then mash ’em with some milk and butter.’
‘Butter? Butter?’ Tilly’s brown eyes showed the heat of exasperation. ‘You don’t ’ave to use butter to cream mashed potatoes. Milk and marge are good enough for anybody.’
‘Well, that’s a fair point,’ said Dan, still so breezy and cheerful that Tilly wanted to dot him one. ‘But we’re not exactly hard-up. I’m the foreman-mechanic for Soper’s lorries off the New Kent Road. It’s a good job, well-paid on account of my qualifications and responsibilities, and there’s more and more lorries
comin’
on to the roads these days, y’know.’ He moved into the scullery, taking the saveloys with him, on a plate. Penny-Farving and Bubbles followed him, watching as he tipped the saveloys into a pan and placed it in the gas oven. He struck a match and lit the jets, then closed the oven door. Tilly came into the scullery. ‘Internal combustion’s goin’ to push horse-drawn transport right off the roads, Tilly,’ he said, lifting the lid of a saucepan and inspecting last night’s boiled potatoes that were immersed in water. ‘D’you know anything about internal combustion?’
‘Yes, it’s smelly and ’orrible,’ said Tilly, and opened the door to the yard. ‘Go and play in the yard for a bit, you gels.’
‘Can Dad come wiv us?’ asked Bubbles.
‘Not now ’e can’t,’ said Tilly.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Bubbles, and into the yard she and Penny-Farving went, to play with an iron hoop. Tilly closed the door.
‘Now, Mr Rogers,’ she said. Dan had lit the gas under the saucepan. ‘About today. I ought to set a dog on you for landin’ me with the responsibility of lookin’ after your daughters. Talk about takin’ advantage of me good nature, I was never more imposed on. It was downright—’
‘Believe me, Tilly, I was never more pleased meself to see a helpful young woman on me doorstep,’ said Dan.
‘Will you stop interruptin’ me?’ said Tilly. ‘I’ll ’it you in a minute. Look ’ere, it’s not that I don’t like kids, but you’ve got two young gels there that’s bein’ brought up like little terrors. They’re in and out of mischief all the time, and they even pinched apples off a stall down the market this mornin’. Just how old are they?’
‘Bubbles is nearly four, Penny-Farvin’ nearly five,’ said Dan. ‘What made ’em pinch apples?’
‘What made ’em? You did,’ said Tilly. ‘You ’aven’t taught them what’s right and what’s wrong, nor ’ow to behave. They were throwin’ bits of bread at each other over breakfast after you left. And what’s more, you ’aven’t even taught them to dress properly. They don’t put any vests on, which means they could catch their death in winter.’
‘D’you wear vests?’ asked Dan.
‘Kindly don’t be personal,’ said Tilly.
‘Well, I daresay—’
‘I ’aven’t finished yet,’ said Tilly. ‘Normally, I’d mind me own business, but ’aving been landed with your gels all day, I feel I’m entitled to say a thing or two, if only for their sakes.’
‘Well, you go ahead, Tilly, I like you for it,’ said Dan, taking a look at the potatoes heating up in the saucepan. ‘And I’m a good listener. Regardin’ mashin’ the potatoes, I’d use marge to cream them if there was any, but I’ve only got butter. The fact is, Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ don’t go much on marge.’
‘’Aven’t you heard anything I’ve said?’ asked Tilly. ‘’Ave I been talkin’ to meself? Those gels of yours need lookin’ after properly. Where’s their mother?’
‘In a circus,’ said Dan.
‘In a what?’
‘Circus. A travellin’ one.’
‘I’m hearin’ things, I am,’ said Tilly. ‘You’ve got two young daughters and you let your wife travel around in a circus?’
‘On a tightrope,’ said Dan, ‘and in spangles and tights, but she ain’t exactly me wife.’
‘What d’you mean, not exactly?’
‘Well, between you and me,’ said Dan, ‘I can’t recollect we ever got married.’
‘Are you sayin’ you’re not married to your children’s mother?’
‘It’s not something I tell everybody,’ said Dan. The water in the saucepan began to bubble. He turned off the gas, picked up the saucepan and tipped the contents into a colander over the sink. The water drained away and he put the potatoes back into the saucepan. He began to mash them with a fork. ‘Do us a favour, Tilly, bring us the milk, pepper and butter from the larder, would yer?’
Tilly exhaled breath to stop herself exploding, marched into the kitchen and returned with the required ingredients. Dan showered pepper over the potatoes, added butter and milk, and set to again with the fork. The whipped mash began to turn creamy.
‘Am I expected to believe you’re not married to your gels’ mother?’ she asked.
Dan said they’d meant to marry, but on the first occasion they had to cancel the ceremony because Elvira forgot to turn up. She was doing her tightrope act in Birmingham. On the second occasion, they postponed it because Elvira was in hospital giving birth to Penny-Farving. Dan said he thought they forgot about making new arrangements. Well, Elvira was away a lot, and when they did get together, there were always other things to do.
‘I bet there were,’ said Tilly, ‘and I suppose the next thing that ’appened was Bubbles. I don’t know ’ow a grown-up man and woman could be so irresponsible. It ought to be against the law, people bringing children into the world without gettin’ married.’
‘Well, Elvira didn’t seem too bothered about holy wedlock,’ said Dan. ‘She was a lot more bothered each
time
her condition kept her off her circus act.’
‘Me heart bleeds for her,’ said Tilly. ‘Is that ’er name, Elvira?’
‘Professional monicker,’ said Dan, taking a look at the saveloys. ‘Elvira Karona, the ’Ungarian tightrope marvel. Her real name’s – let’s see, Gladys Hobday or something like that. I met her when her circus was pitched on Hampstead Heath six years ago, and she took a fancy to me, which surprised me no end, seein’ I’ve never been a handsome Harry. But what an eyeful she was in her spangles and tights, and on top of that there was all her Hungarian passion. It made me feel I’d fallen into a hot bath.’
‘Don’t be disgustin’,’ said Tilly. ‘And don’t be daft, either. She’s not ’Ungarian, she’s a Gladys Hobday, and it’s time she did what was right, it’s time she married you and became a mother to the gels.’
‘She doesn’t go much on domestic stuff,’ said Dan. ‘Her dad was a fairground sword-swallower, and her mother told fortunes, so she had a bit of a gipsy unbringing. Anyway, let’s have supper, shall we?’
‘When was she last ’ome?’ asked Tilly.
‘About ten months ago,’ said Dan.
‘D’you mean she ’asn’t seen her children for nearly a year?’
‘I suppose you could say she’s married to her tightrope,’ said Dan, sounding so airy-fairy about it that Tilly felt he ought to be hit with a sack of coal until he came to his senses. He opened the scullery door to the yard and called the girls in for their supper.
Tilly decided she might as well sit down and eat with them. There was a lot of unfinished business about, and for the sake of the girls someone ought to make Dan Rogers see that he’d got to take their
mother
in hand and marry her, even if the woman then went back to her bloody tightrope.
Dan put a mound of creamy mashed potato and three hot saveloys on each of four plates. Bubbles and Penny-Farving immediately set about skinning their saveloys with their fingers. Having done that, they wiped their fingers on their frocks and began to tuck in. Tilly didn’t say anything, but she gave Dan a telling look.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Can’t you put bibs on your gels for them to wipe their fingers on?’ she asked.
‘Where’s your bibs, girls?’ asked Dan.
‘What bibs, Dad?’ asked Penny-Farving.
‘Don’t ’ave any bibs,’ said Bubbles.
‘Yes, you do,’ said Dan.
‘Blessed old bibs,’ said Bubbles. ‘You get them,’ she said to her sister.
‘No, you,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘You’re oldest,’ said Bubbles.
‘I’m even older,’ said Dan with a grin. He got up, pulled open one of the dresser drawers, fished around and came up with two white linen napkins that were creased and crumpled but clean. ‘Here we are,’ he said. He tucked one down the neck of Penny-Farving’s frock and the other down the neck of Bubbles’ frock. The crumpled napkins rested untidily on bodices.
‘They want ironing,’ said Tilly.
‘Alice Higgins does our ironing,’ said Dan.
‘How old is she?’
‘Sixteen,’ said Dan, ‘and out of work, so I pay her ten bob a week to look after the girls and the housework. I’ll pop along to her house after supper and see how she is.’
‘It would make more sense if you popped along to a certain circus and brought Gladys ’Obday home,’ said Tilly.
‘Who’s she, Penny-Farvin’?’ asked Bubbles.
‘I dunno,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘I asked the gels their real names, Mr Rogers,’ said Tilly, ‘and they told me they couldn’t remember. Children shouldn’t be brought up not knowin’ their proper names.’
‘What’s your proper name, Penny-Farvin’?’ asked Dan.
‘Olga,’ said Penny-Farving, and pointed her fork at Bubbles. ‘And she’s Carla.’
‘They’re foreign names,’ said Tilly.
‘Hungarian, I suppose,’ said Dan.
‘I could say a lot to that, but I won’t,’ said Tilly, ‘except I’d like to know why this bright pair told me they couldn’t remember.’
‘Oh, we’re always forgettin’, ain’t we, Bubbles?’ said Penny-Farving.
‘Yes, and we remember later,’ said Bubbles.
Tilly refused to be captivated by the precocious little angels, whose father obviously spoiled them. She listened as they regaled him with far-fetched accounts of how they’d spent the day, accounts that included downright fibs, recognizable as such. But he didn’t pull them up, he simply laughed. As soon as she’d finished her meal, Tilly thanked him for it, then said she had work to do.
‘Work?’ said Dan.
‘I do ’ome dressmakin’, said Tilly, ‘and I’ve got some orders to get on with.’ She had decided that the unfinished business had to stay unfinished as far as she was concerned, or her good nature might make a fool of her. She would be a fool if she interested herself in
the
welfare of his young girls, she’d find herself committed. He was old enough and resilient enough to sort out his own problems. Besides, she wanted to discover if there were any single men in this neighbourhood who might find her attractive enough to offer her some enjoyable social occasions. ‘So I’ll go up to me rooms now, if you don’t mind – oh, before I do, you might like to think about me makin’ some nice dresses for your little gels. Those long frocks of theirs make them look like little old ladies.’
‘D’you think so?’ said Dan. ‘I had an idea they gave them a look of Alice in Wonderland.’
‘The pictures in the book I read once didn’t show Alice in any long frocks,’ said Tilly.
‘She don’t like our frocks, Bubbles,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘Is she cross wiv us again?’ asked Bubbles.
‘No, course I’m not,’ said Tilly, ‘but if your dad likes to give me an order for dresses, I’ll make nice pretty ones for both of you.’
‘Take an order now,’ said Dan.