The Lodger (25 page)

‘That sounds like a bit of 'eaven,' said Maggie.

‘A pot of tea for six, girls, with cakes?' said Harry.

‘We'll just love you for it, Mr Bradshaw,' said Trary.

‘Give you kisses,' laughed Meg.

‘I don't mind,' announced Daisy.

‘Specially if the cakes is nice,' said Lily.

‘What a palaver,' said Maggie.

Harry took them to the Zoo refreshment rooms, where they sat down to two pots of tea and fruit buns with butter. Trary thought he simply must be fond of her mum, he was spending money in such a romantic way, on flowers, on tickets to the Zoo and fruit buns with butter. Butter. Trary had a feeling Mr Bates would have been just as generous, but in a loud show-off way, with his laughs rolling about all over the Zoo. Oh, crikey, if mum did go and marry him, those same laughs would roll about all over the house, drowning everyone. That reminded her of Bobby Reeves and how he could talk. She supposed some other girl was having to listen to him now. Not that she cared.

‘All right, Trary?' Mr Bradshaw was looking at her from the other side of the table. Her partly eaten fruit bun lay neglected on her plate. She felt very touched by his affectionate smile.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Bradshaw, I was only thinkin' what a lovely day mum and me and the girls are havin'.'

‘It's mutual, Trary, I'm havin' a lovely time myself,' said Harry.

‘Can we go an' find the kangaroos in a minute?' asked Daisy.

‘An' some parrots,' said Lily. ‘I like parrots.'

‘Well, you're one yerself,' said Meg, and Lily giggled.

‘You're on,' said Harry. ‘We'll take a look at the kangaroos and then go and meet some of Lily's brothers and sisters.'

Maggie laughed out loud. It made the girls smile, and it made Trary think that her mum was happy. Meg said again that Harry was fun, and Trary said yes, really nice fun.

When they left the refreshment rooms, Maggie took charge of Daisy and Lily. Meg attached herself to Harry again. Trary walked on his other side. He took her hand too. Her fingers curled contentedly around his, and a little unbreakable bond established itself between the Walworth constable and Maggie's eldest daughter.

On their way to find the kangaroos, Maggie saw Mr Bates again. He was talking to a man in a natty striped suit and a boater, whom she thought looked a bit flash. Mr Bates lifted his hat to her. His companion lifted his boater, and eyed her with keen interest.

‘Nice to see you again, Maggie,' called Mr Bates.

‘'Ow'd'yer do, lady,' said Mr Rodney Foster, ‘good day to yer.'

Maggie thought his cockney accent quite unlike anything she'd ever heard, it was so broad and nasal.

‘Good day,' she said, and went on with her daughters and Harry.

The Zoo trip was memorable for all of them, even if the kangaroos made no attempt to jump as high as a house.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mr Bates put his head round the kitchen door on Monday morning. The girls had just finished their porridge, and Trary was running a tidying comb through Daisy's hair before going off to West Square. She had to leave by half-past eight at the latest, as she always walked, unless it was raining, when Maggie gave her a penny for a tram fare. The younger girls did not need to leave until five-to-nine, as St John's School was only a minute away.

‘Hello, hello, where's you ma?' asked Mr Bates.

‘Gone to work,' said Trary briefly.

‘What?'

‘What fell off a ladder an' broke 'is leg, yer know,' said Meg reprovingly.

‘What work?' asked Mr Bates.

‘She's got a morning job at a newsagents,' said Trary.

‘That's the most shockin' bit of news I ever heard,' said Mr Bates, looking quite upset. ‘Your mum goin' out to work? It's a sad day, girlies.'

‘She wasn't cryin',' said Meg, now instinctively favouring Constable Bradshaw as her mum's best gentleman friend.

‘Well, I am,' said Mr Bates, ‘I'm cryin' me eyes out. Can't be right, Meg, your mum havin' to go out to work.'

‘Mum needs the money to buy our daily bread,' said Trary, putting the comb on the mantelpiece.

‘I'm hurt I wasn't told', said Mr Bates sadly.

‘Oh, dear me, fancy that,' said Trary. ‘Well, I'm goin' now, Meg, you see you all get to school on time. Excuse me, Mr Bates.'

‘Pleasure,' said Mr Bates, standing aside, ‘I'll see yer sisters leave for school on time.'

‘Thanks, but they don't need you to,' said Trary, and left.

Maggie quite enjoyed her first morning at the newsagents, needing only a little guidance and advice from Mr Gardner in the matter of relating to customers. The shop was quite busy, selling tobacco, confectionery and other little items in addition to newspapers and magazines. Housewives liked to have a chat while purchasing magazines like
Home Chat
and
Peg's Paper
, or an ounce of shag for a husband's clay pipe. Maggie's inherent friendliness came through, and Mr Gardner told her at the end of her four hours stint that he was downright pleasured by her nice ways.

On her way home she stopped at Mrs Reeves's secondhand clothing stall to inspect what was on offer. The girls were badly in need of some decent seconds, and she could now afford to spend a couple of shillings on frocks they could wear to school. Mrs Reeves was often able to supply very wearable frocks for sixpence or even less.

Beaming, Mrs Reeves said, ‘Well, it's that nice to see yer again, Mrs Wilson. Your eldest girl stopped by for a little chat a week or so ago. Ain't she growed a lovely gel? That Bobby of mine says 'e's fair been laid out. At 'is age, would yer believe. I told 'im, no good buildin' castles till 'e's a man and knows what 'is prospects is. I just hope your Trary's not embarrassed by 'is 'igh-falutin' tongue, her bein' only thirteen. Mind, when she was talkin' to me, I said to meself, I said there's a gel who can 'old her own.'

Maggie laughed. ‘She can do that all right, Mrs Reeves. It's more like can any boy hold 'is own with her, and if he can it won't be no embarrassment to her, more like a challenge. But I don't think she's seen much of Bobby this last week.'

‘No, well, he's been down with tonsillitis,' said Mrs Reeves. ‘Shock to 'im that he couldn't use 'is tongue like he usually can. Today's' 'is first time up and about. 'E's busy upstairs sortin' through a stock we had come in this mornin'. Reg'lar sharp eye that lad's got for sortin' an' pricin'.'

‘I like Bobby,' said Maggie, ‘I'm sorry about his tonsillitis.'

‘I'll give 'im your regards, Mrs Wilson, he's got a soft spot for you and yer fam'ly,' said Mrs Reeves. ‘Would yer be after anything off me stall?'

‘Well, something for the girls to wear for school?'

Mrs Reeves beamed again. ‘Tell you what, Mrs Wilson, I'll get Bobby to bring yer round a bargain box of stuff this evenin'. 'E knows yer girls. There's a few nice frocks 'anging there, and more in the stock that come this mornin'. Bobby and me'll see he brings you a nice selection, an' yer girls can try them on. Bobby'll price anything you want to buy. Is yer 'ard luck times a bit better?'

‘Much better,' said Maggie. ‘Mrs Reeves, that's really nice of you.'

‘Well, we all got to pull together,' said Mrs Reeves, a motherly body. ‘No good relyin' on no Government to 'elp us out, I don't know what we 'ave Governments for. Chuck 'em all out, Mr Reeves says. Can I 'elp you, lady?' She addressed the question to a shabby-looking woman who had been hovering and who had advanced to tentatively finger one of the hanging frocks. Maggie smiled, said goodbye and left Mrs Reeves to make a sale.

Bobby appeared at the stall ten minutes later. Monday morning business in the market was desultory, and his mum had time to chat to him. He was a little peaky from his illness, but as alert as ever, and he wanted to know what had happened to a prime fox fur and a winter coat with a fur collar that had been among the stock that had arrived during the morning.

‘Upstairs,' said Mrs Reeves. She and her family lived in the flat above the shop that was behind the stall. ‘We put them aside for that special customer I told yer about.'

‘Well, they've gone missin',' said Bobby.

‘Where's yer father?' asked Mrs Reeves quickly.

‘Blimey,' said Bobby, and gave his mum a wry look. ‘He's nicked 'em, he went off with a parcel ten minutes ago.'

‘He's goin' to flog 'em,' said Mrs Reeves. ‘Jewels, they are, Bobby, that fox fur an' coat. 'Ardly been wore. We could of got near to thirty bob for 'em.'

‘I'm off,' said Bobby.

‘Where?'

‘To Dad's second home. The pub,' said Bobby, and was off at speed to the Sir William Walworth public house, his dad's favourite haunt. He was under age, but he went into the public bar all the same, and made straight for his dad, sitting at a table in the corner, with a crony. The proprietor turned a blind eye. He knew Bobby, and he knew Bobby's dad.

Mr Reeves was a thin, wiry man of forty-five, with bright beady eyes that looked everywhere at once from beneath his ever-present bowler hat.

‘'Ere, what you after, Bobby?' he asked. ‘Yer can't come in 'ere, not at your age, son, you'll get Gus nicked, an' me as well.' Gus was the proprietor, temporarily blind of eye.

‘D'you mind if I speak to me dad private?' asked Bobby of the crony, a burly man.

‘Yer welcome, son,' said the man, and moved to another table, taking his half of old and mild with him. Bobby sat down next to his father.

‘You perisher,' he said, having spotted the parcel under the table.

‘'Ere, 'old 'ard,' said Mr Reeves, ‘yer talkin' to yer lovin' dad, yer know, yer young rip.'

‘I'll give you lovin',' said Bobby. ‘What's lovin' about nickin' the fam'ly's bread an' butter for a whole bleedin' week?'

‘'Swelp me,' said the pained Mr Reeves, ‘was yer brought up to use that kind of language to yer 'ard-workin' dad? No, yer wasn't, and I got a good mind to clip yer one.'

‘Well, Dad,' said Bobby, ‘you can clip me a packet, if yer like, but it won't 'elp. It grieves me to use unkind language to you, but it's time you mended yer ways. It also grieves me to tell yer you're not hard-workin', yer bone idle and shifty as well.'

‘Gawd bleedin' blimey,' said Mr Reeves, 'is me ear'oles 'earing right?'

‘I reckon,' said Bobby. ‘You're livin' off mum an' Lucy.' Lucy was his fourteen-year-old sister who had a job in a factory for seven bob a week. ‘It's not to your credit, yer know.'

‘Them's uncharitable words to use to yer father,' said Mr Reeves, shaking his head in gloom that he could be so misjudged by his own son. ‘Is it my fault I ain't bin able to get a job?'

‘Yes,' said Bobby.

‘Eh?'

‘Yes, it's your own fault. You're a shirker, Dad, and dead crafty as well. You pinched that fox fur an' the coat with a fur collar, good as brand new, and yer waitin' here for some bloke you're goin' to flog them to. Is that nice, is it fam'ly-minded? We're all fond of yer, you got some good points, but we're not proud of yer.'

‘Well, sod me if I ever 'eard the like of this,' said Mr Reeves, even more pained. ‘'Ow would yer like it if I took me belt to yer backside?'

‘You'd have a job,' said Bobby.

Mr Reeves took a huge draught of his old and mild and gazed forlornly at the empty glass mug.

‘You ain't well, son,' he said, ‘it's yer tonsillitis that's done it. It's give yer brains a nasty tannin', so I don't bear no 'ard feelings.'

‘I got sore feelings myself,' said Bobby, ‘all on account of havin' a dad that nicks from 'is own fam'ly. It's honest-to-God grievin', yer know, me and me sisters not able to hold our heads up. I met a really nice girl just recent, with a nice fam'ly, and I don't want to have to tell them that the father of me own fam'ly pinches our bread and butter. I'm not goin' to meet a nicer girl, not even if I live to be a 'undred, so I'm askin' you very reasonable, Dad, to mend your unhappy ways, because they're very grievin'.'

‘Now look, son – '

‘What's that?' asked Bobby, looking over the top of his father's bowler hat. With a guilty start, Mr Reeves took a hasty look over his shoulder. Bobby swooped, came up with the parcel and walked away with it, the publican grinning as the boy disappeared fast through the public bar door.

‘Bleedin' hell,' said Mr Reeves.

‘Done it on yer, 'Enry,' said Gus. ‘Time you got learned a thing or two, and I'll have that glass back if you've finished with it.'

‘Done me,' gloomed Mr Reeves. ‘Me own flesh an' blood.'

‘You got a good 'un there, 'Enry.'

Mr Reeves, an eternal optimist, perked up, ‘Don't I know it,' he said proudly.

‘Blank walls?' said Inspector Greaves tersely, his moustache itself stiff and bristling.

‘It happens in cases like this one,' said Nicholas, ‘where there's no motive like revenge or jealousy or blackmail.'

‘Do I need that kind of information?' asked the Inspector. A bombardment of sarcasm from the Press was being aimed at Scotland Yard and scoring hits that were damaging him. ‘Come with me. We're going to see a Mrs Stubbs of Walworth. She's been to Rodney Road. She wants to talk to someone about her lodger. She can talk to us.'

Mrs Doris Stubbs lived in Crampton Street, not far, Nicholas realized, from Steedman Street. She was a stout woman, busy and bustling, her husband a costermonger. Her children were all married, her lodger's contribution to the rent a welcome thing.

‘Yes, and 'e gets on well with me old man. Men don't like other men in their 'omes unless they get on with 'em. Well, what I want to tell yer is that when one of yer constables first come and asked if we 'ad a lodger an' was 'e out that Friday night of the murder, I've been wondering if I give 'im the right answer.'