The Lodger (34 page)

‘It'll be a pleasure,' said Harry, lighting his pipe. Maggie smiled again. He looked at home, and that made him seem a comforting man as well.

‘Would you come an' look at houses with me, an' give me advice, like tellin' me if I'm gettin' value for my money? I can afford three hundred pounds for one.'

‘Can you? Well, good old Uncle Henry. It'll be a sound investment.'

‘D'you think so? I like to feel I do 'ave some sense, but men know a bit more about – about – '

‘Bricks and mortar?' said Harry.

‘Yes, I wouldn't want to buy something and not know if it was goin' to fall down.'

‘I get regular Sundays off,' said Harry. ‘We could take the girls with us.'

‘They'd like that,' said Maggie, ‘but wouldn't they be a bother?'

‘Not to me.'

‘Four girls can be a lot.'

‘Yes, a lot of fun if they're like yours,' said Harry.

‘Not all the time,' said Maggie. His pipe had gone out. She rose from her chair and handed him a box of matches from the mantelpiece. The slanting evening sun, too powerful to be subdued by the dusty air of Walworth, beamed light through the window and tinted her hair with gold. Harry thought her entirely irresistible then.

‘Yes, I suppose it's easier for me to see them as fun,' he said. He struck a match and applied the flame to his pipe while wondering if all of them, Maggie and her four girls, would take him on. He knew himself in love with the mother. It was a lot to ask, since all the girls would have to be agreeable to it. Step-fathers weren't acceptable to every child. Resentment on the part of one could mean permanent trouble. ‘Tell you what I'll do, Maggie, I'll bring some local papers carrying house advertisements.'

‘Somewhere nice, like Herne Hill,' said Maggie.

‘There's Trary's schoolin', of course. You'd need to get her into a similar school, she ought to have the benefit of stayin' till she's sixteen.'

‘There, that's what I want,' said Maggie, ‘good advice. I don't know I'd manage without someone givin' me some.'

‘You'd manage, Maggie, the same as you managed to get through your hard times.'

‘The Salvation Army was a great help one time,' said Maggie with a smile.

‘The Salvation Army?' enquired Harry.

‘Yes, don't you remember? It was you that collected their big box of food an' sent it round with Bobby. I don't think Trary's ever goin' to forget openin' that door an' seeing him with the box on 'is head.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Harry, ‘I remember.'

‘I never knew anything more kind, Harry. I suppose I 'ave managed to manage, but you won't mind if I lean on you a bit about buyin' the house and everything?'

‘That's what friends are for, Maggie.'

‘Yes, some friends,' she said. She looked at him. Little trails of smoke ran upwards from his pipe. She felt a surge of warm affection. A man about the place. She knew the girls would like it, providing he was the right kind of man. Trary could hardly wait for him to become her new dad, and Meg thought him fun, which oddly enough was something she hadn't said about Mr Bates. As for Lily and Daisy, all they'd ask for was someone to tease them, tickle them and make them giggle. ‘You're a kind friend yourself, Harry.'

‘It's me duty as your local copper,' said Harry. ‘You're a fine woman, Maggie, with four fine girls.'

‘That's promising, thought Maggie. But I think he's going to make haste slowly. He hasn't asked a single question about just how much money I'm going to get, he's acted like it isn't his business. I'd better make it his business. It might be a lot for him to take on, me and the girls, but I'd better get him to marry me. I wouldn't like a man like him to go to waste. My girls could do with having him around. So could I. Then would be the time to tell him we've got a nice little nest egg. I wonder if he's got a weakness for a lady's new petticoat?

‘Oh, Lord,' she said aloud, and laughed.

‘What's the joke?' smiled Harry.

‘Oh, I was just 'aving some thoughts.'

‘Penny for 'em,' said Harry.

‘No, I couldn't,' she said, ‘you'd fall about laughin'.'

There were sudden girlish shrieks from the kitchen.

Bobby was making himself at home too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘You want to get something done about that back of yours,' said the gas company superintendent, ‘or you'll end up bent over permanent, like a cousin of mine. Lumbago's cripplin'.'

‘Who said it was lumbago, I didn't,' observed Herbert Stephens, one of the company's collectors. ‘It's just a weak back.'

‘It's all lumbago, back trouble, ask anybody,' said the superintendent. ‘Ask your doctor, for a start.'

‘I've asked him, more than once, super,' said Stephens. ‘Well, I've asked him what my weakness is, and I can't recall he's ever said lumbago.'

‘It's all lumbago,' said the superintendent again. ‘Get it properly treated before it gets incurable. Have you tried a Thermogene pack? I've heard they're a help.'

‘Thermogene's for women's backs,' said Stephens, inspecting his collecting bag and his new book.

‘Anyone's backs. Ask your doctor. Buy yourself one and wear it. You don't want to get yourself into a condition where you can't do your job.'

‘Here, steady on, super, I can't afford to turn myself into an invalid. I can manage, I can live with it. I'm not saying I like it, but I can still put up with it, and I don't ask for time off.'

‘Well, we wouldn't want to lose you,' said the superintendent, ‘you've always done a good job.'

‘And I'll still do a good job, for the sake of my wife. All right, perhaps I'll pick up some Thermogene from the chemist's, but Maudie won't like the look of it. She worries enough, as it is. She'll worry more when she sees me wrapped up in Thermogene. On the other hand, I don't know, though, it might make her laugh her head off for a change.'

‘Well, you do that,' said the superintendent, ‘you try a Thermogene pack. Can't do any harm. Anyway, you've got what you wanted, a transfer to the Walworth round, startin' from today. It's an easier round, and closer to your home.'

‘Well, I've thanked you for that, super, and I'll thank you again,' said Stephens, and went out to begin his new round.

Maggie was working the morning away at the newsagents. She felt it only fair to see a second week through, so that Mr Gardner would have time to find someone to take her place. He shouldn't have any trouble. Any amount of women would gladly help him out for five bob a week. Yes, said Mr Gardner, but in a shop like this he didn't want a woman who'd got light fingers. That would cost him money he couldn't afford.

‘Now,' said Miss Russell, ‘who can tell me why the Restoration came about?' Several hands went up. ‘Yes, Jane?'

Jane Atkins stood up. You always had to stand up to address a teacher. It was good manners and showed respect.

‘Well, it was either that or being governed by the Army, Miss Russell.'

‘Or?' said Miss Russell encouragingly.

‘Or what, Miss Russell?'

‘What was the other alternative?'

‘Oh, I'm stumped there, Miss Russell,' said Jane, and sat down.

‘Edna?' said Miss Russell, choosing to ignore Trary's raised hand for the moment.

Edna Cook stood up, ‘It was riots, Miss Russell.'

‘Yes, the possibility of riots, Edna. What would we call that?'

‘Larky,' said Agnes Moore.

‘Hardly,' said Miss Russell. ‘Do you know, Edna?'

‘I forget the word,' said Edna.

‘Does anyone know?'

‘Could I say, Miss Russell?' asked Trary, who had been rolling the word around her tongue.

‘Yes, enlighten the class,' said Miss Russell, and Trary came to her feet in a new school frock, her glossy pigtails dancing at her back. The class quivered in anticipation.

‘It's anarchy, Miss Russell,' said Trary, ‘which is rule by mobs. Of course, if you don't mind me sayin' so, there was something else besides that and Army rule. Actu'lly, Miss Russell, the people were sickeningly fed-up, they'd lived problematical lives for years an' years because of Oliver Cromwell and what came after him. I think people can put up with an awful lot, don't you, Miss Russell, but not if there's no dancing or singing. I think General Monk could see that, and I think he had a long talk with himself. Talking's important, well, I think it is. I happen to have a friend – '

‘Dick Turpin,' said Jane with a giggle.

‘Who?' asked Miss Russell.

‘That's his name,' said Jane.

‘Pardon?' said Miss Russell.

‘I shouldn't take any notice of Jane if I were you, Miss Russell,' said Trary, rising above all giggles. ‘I'm surprised how uneducated she is. I mean, fancy anyone not knowin' Dick Turpin's been dead for nearly two hundred years. He was hanged at York, you know, in 1739, so he must be dead. Miss Russell, I was goin' to say this friend of mine does so much talkin' that I'm sure he talks to himself when he's not with me, and I think that's what General Monk did, I think he – ' Trary stopped to search for the right word.

‘Conferred with himself?' suggested Miss Russell.

‘Yes, that sounds just right,' said Trary, ‘yes, I think that's what he did, he conferred with 'imself about what was best for the people.'

‘And then?' said Miss Russell.

‘He decided to side with them and put King Charles II on the throne, he knew King Charles would bring back dancing and singing, and do away with puritan miseries.'

The class of girls whooped in exuberant agreement.

‘Thank you, Trary.' Miss Russell smiled. ‘If the school ever puts on Shakespeare's
Prince of Denmark
, I'll ask for you to play Hamlet.'

‘Oh, yes, I like ‘To be or not to be,' don't you, Miss Russell? I don't know – '

‘You may sit down now, Trary,' said the captivated history teacher.

Trary wanted to tell Bobby that her mum was thinking of buying a house in Herne Hill, but her mum didn't want anyone to know about it yet. However, she did tell him she'd mentioned him to her history teacher.

‘I'm honoured,' said Bobby, walking her home.

‘Yes, I said you were so talkative that you probably talked to yourself when you weren't with me. Do you do that?'

‘Not much, an' not out loud,' said Bobby.

‘I bet you confer with yourself all the time,' said Trary. ‘I mean, I've never known you when you weren't talkin'.'

‘You can't 'ave a proper conference on your own, Trary.'

Conference? Conference? Oh, the rotten beast, he was always doing that, getting one up on her. ‘I never met such a show-off as you, Bobby Reeves.'

‘Yes, me mum says I'm pretty good, she says I can leave me dad standin', and he's a lot older than me.'

‘Of course he's a lot older, what a daft thing to say. Does your cap feel smaller?'

‘No, why should it?'

‘Because your head's gettin' bigger,' said Trary.

Bobby laughed. They both laughed. And Bobby thought that Trary's new school frock and her mother's new silk dress had to mean the Wilson family weren't as poor as they had been.

On Tuesday, Inspector Greaves was studying reports. He came across one from Detective-Sergeant Chamberlain, concerning a woman who had been followed home by a man on Friday night. The name of the woman was all too familiar. Mrs Emma Carter. He read the report carefully, then called Nicholas in.

‘What the 'ell's up with you?' he asked.

‘Frustration, mainly,' said Nicholas.

‘Don't get clever, my son. You interviewed Mrs Emma Carter again on Sunday. This is your report. Sunday, eh? I put it to you, what's today?'

‘Tuesday, Inspector,' said Nicholas, ‘but the report's been on your desk since yesterday.'

‘Don't stand there 'anding me baloney. Why wasn't I told first thing?'

‘I haven't seen you since Friday, sir, you've been – '

‘You'll get trodden on if you keep answerin' me back. I've seen some incompetent reports in my time, this is the pansy of em all. Listen, my son, you've made a cock-up of it. Vague description, eh? That's all she could give you? My eye. Treated 'er gentle, did you? You forgot, did you, that witnesses can remember a lot more than they think they can if you help them shake their brains about? A state of shock is only temp'rary. You're goin' soft, my lad.'

‘Far from it,' said Nicholas. ‘Mrs Carter accused me of bullying her.'

‘Well, well, well. Gave you a nasty turn, did it, the said witness goin' for you while being sound of mind? So you went soft on her. Wasn't there someone else? Yes, Linda Jennings. That makes two of 'em.'

‘I'd like to point out – '

‘Don't, my son. I'll interview Mrs Carter myself this afternoon. This here footnote about the tram conductor, it's all you got out of 'im?'

‘He remembered Mrs Carter getting off his tram, but couldn't remember anyone else doing so. Nor did he spot anyone who might have been the suspect. He wasn't looking. He'd rung the bell and the tram was away before Mrs Carter reached the pavement. We've hit another blank wall, sir.'

‘Oh, we have, have we?' growled the Inspector. ‘Well, they're no problem to our man, the bugger's out and about, and jumpin' over all of 'em.'

‘With any luck, he'll break his neck one night,' said Nicholas.

‘Bloody 'ell,' said Inspector Greaves, 'is that supposed to be funny? It's not makin' me laugh.'

Emma opened her door to a knock that afternoon. A middle-aged man confronted her. His bushy eyebrows and thick moustache were peppered with grey. He wore a dark blue suit and a black Homburg hat, and had a look of authority. There was another man with him, younger but of the same ilk, except that he wore a bowler.