The Pearly Queen (25 page)

‘Eyes off, if you don't mind,' said Aunt Edie. ‘I brought some of my own things to put in the wash. Go an' read your paper.'

‘I didn't know pillow cases were like this,' said Dad.

‘Leave it be,' said Aunt Edie, ‘it's not a pillow case, and you know it.'

‘Can't be, now I come to give it a proper look,' said Dad. ‘It's got holes both ends.'

It was a waist petticoat, Aunt Edie's. She gave him a look. He gave her a grin.

‘D'you want your ears boxed, Jack Andrews?' she said.

‘Lace too,' said Dad, ‘it looks a bit sinful to me.'

Aunt Edie, suppressing her true feelings, said, ‘I suppose Maud wears flannel, does she?'

‘Couldn't say,' said Dad, unpegging sheets. ‘I 'aven't seen anything of Maudie's for years.'

‘Well, all those years you were away in the Army, you didn't see anything of her, either.'

‘You could say that,' said Dad.

Suspecting what he really meant, Aunt Edie said through gritted teeth, ‘Time you stood up like a man, Jack Andrews, and gave 'er a good hidin'.'

‘Now, Edie—'

‘I've a good mind, next time I see 'er, to do it for you. It's all very well bein' peaceable, but what about your kids? What do they think about you lettin' their mother walk out on them and not liftin' a finger to stop her?'

‘Best way,' said Dad, his arms full of dry washing.

‘Easiest way, you mean.' Aunt Edie gave him another look. A man like him, she thought, still healthy and vigorous, and that wife of his probably hadn't let him touch her since little Betsy was conceived. She hadn't liked having a third child, especially a whole four years after Patsy was born.

‘The kids'll manage, Edie,' said Dad pacifically.

They probably would too, thought Aunt Edie, because of him. They liked their dad, they knew about the war and were proud of him. He took the dry washing in. She followed with an armful. They placed it in the tin bath for her to go through when she was ready to iron. Dad sat down at the kitchen table and picked up his paper again.

‘Sorry,' said Aunt Edie abruptly.

‘What for?' asked Dad.

‘Sticking my nose in.'

‘Well, I like it,' said Dad. ‘You always did 'ave a good-looking nose, Edie old love.'

‘Oh, blow you, Jack Andrews,' she said in an angry little way.

‘What for?' asked Dad again.

‘Never mind,' she said, ‘just never mind.'

Lily Shaw, button-eyed and a growing young busybody, latched herself on to Jimmy, Patsy and Betsy as they crossed from Manor Place into Browning Street.

‘Where yer goin'?' she said. ‘I'll come with yer, I ain't doin' nothing else. 'Ere, we 'eard yer Aunt Edie's stayin' with yer again.'

‘I expect everyone's heard,' said Jimmy. ‘Dad's been standin' in our doorway shoutin' it through a trumpet. He doesn't want anyone not to hear, like the people in Crampton Street and the Walworth Road. Still, if they didn't, perhaps you'd go round an' tell 'em, Lily.'

‘Yes, it wouldn't be right if there was people who 'adn't heard,' said Patsy.

‘Oh, I'll ask me mum,' said Lily, ‘she'll be pleased to oblige yer. 'Ere, don't Jimmy look all brown, Patsy? Where's 'e been goin' to?'

‘Oh, ain't you heard?' said Patsy. ‘Betsy, fancy that, Lily's not heard about our Jimmy.'

‘Crumbs, what a shame,' said Betsy.

‘Don't bein' all brown make Jimmy look 'andsome?' said Lily. ‘Come on, where you been goin', Jimmy?'

‘Tell you what, Lily,' said Jimmy, ‘I'll get Dad's trumpet out tomorrow, and holler it through that.'

‘Oh, would yer, Jimmy?' said Lily. ‘I ain't never seen yer dad's trumpet.'

‘I ain't neiver,' said Betsy.

‘Mind, you could tell me now, if yer like, Jimmy,' said Lily, ‘only me mum's been sayin' where's that Jimmy Andrews goin' off to every day. Well, we ain't 'eard you've got a job yet. ‘As 'e got a job, Patsy?'

‘'Ave you got a job, Jimmy?' asked Patsy.

Browning Street was quite balmy in the evening sunshine.

‘Have I got a job, Betsy?' asked Jimmy.

Betsy thought as she trotted beside her brother. ‘'E's met a girl,' she said.

‘What girl?' asked Lily jealously.

‘'E met 'er in 'Yde Park,' said Betsy, ‘she's ever so pretty. 'Er name's Soapy. Or somefing like that.'

They turned into King and Queen Street. People were at their open doors, catching the evening air and gossiping. Street kids were about, coming from the East Street market. Not all the stalls had packed up for the day. The kids were carrying specked or overripe fruit stallholders had let them have.

‘'Strewth,' said Lily, ‘fancy 'aving a name like Soapy, and I bet she ain't as pretty as I am. What yer all goin' down 'ere for, are yer goin' to the market?'

‘What we goin' down here for, Jimmy?' asked Patsy.

‘Well, now you come to ask,' said Jimmy, ‘I forget.'

‘Toffee-apples,' said Betsy.

‘Are yer well orf, then?' asked Lily.

‘Not yet,' said Jimmy. The shop was open and there were trays of upside-down toffee apples in the window. Jimmy bought a dozen for sixpence, gave two to Lily and carried the rest back home. Lily was ecstatic, her long pink tongue going rapturously to work on the darkly golden toffee. She wanted to come in with them when they got back home, but Patsy said their dad wasn't having visitors this evening, he'd got a bone in his leg that was playing him up. It was one of his wounded bones, she said, and it would get a headache if visitors came in.

They all enjoyed the toffee apples, Dad and Aunt Edie as well.

Sunday was cloudy and not as hot, but they enjoyed the day. Aunt Edie, busy, cheerful and mothering, did roast beef with Yorkshire pudding for dinner, and another apple pie. Everyone had seconds of the apple pie, except Dad.

‘I suppose your Dad doesn't like it,' said Aunt Edie.

‘You 'appen to have given me a slice as big as my loaf of bread,' said Dad.

‘Well, fancy that,' said Aunt Edie, ‘I didn't know there was anything as big as your loaf of bread, Jack Andrews.'

Dad roared with laughter. Betsy burst into giggles. Aunt Edie gave Dad one of her old-fashioned looks.

‘Aunt Edie, you're funny,' said Jimmy.

‘So's my apple pie,' said Aunt Edie.

‘I think I'll 'ave seconds, after all,' said Dad. ‘Seems a shame to let that last piece sit there all by itself.'

‘You don't 'ave to have it,' said Aunt Edie.

‘I'll 'ave it,' said Dad.

‘You sure?' said Aunt Edie. ‘I mean, if you don't like it—?'

‘Me old sergeant-major once said—'

‘I'll give you your seconds up your waistcoat if you bring that old sergeant-major of yours in again,' said Aunt Edie.

Dad roared with laughter again. Patsy and Jimmy joined in. Betsy giggled through pie and custard.

‘You're a born pearly queen, you are, Aunt Edie,' said Jimmy.

‘Here,' said Aunt Edie and served Dad the last piece of apple pie.

Dad looked at it. ‘Is that all?' he asked. ‘You sure you ain't robbin' me, Your Pearly Queenship?'

Aunt Edie brought the house down then. She leaned across the table and pushed a spoonful of custard into his mouth. She did it as if she wanted to do it, as if suddenly she couldn't resist the fun of it.

Then she was laughing.

Crikey, thought Patsy, our mum was never like this.

Later, they all took a tram to Peckham Rye, Aunt Edie carrying a shopping bag containing food for a picnic tea, Dad carrying a carpet bag containing an old primus stove, a tin kettle, a teapot and a large bottle of water. The sun came out and the warm afternoon light flooded the Rye and the rooftops of Peckham. Patsy thought Aunt Edie looked a picture in her large white Sunday hat and full-skirted white dress. Cockney women had a great liking for white on summer Sundays, as if they were in defiance of what smoky London could do to it. They dressed their daughters in it, and wore white blouses themselves.

Jimmy brought his cricket bat and ball, with stumps, and despite Aunt Edie saying she hadn't played cricket since she was a little girl, she had to play this afternoon. Everyone insisted. Betsy wanted to bat first, so they let her. Patsy bowled underarm to her, Betsy aimed to biff it and missed. She lost her balance and fell on the stumps.

‘Out first ball, you pickle,' said Dad.

Betsy wasn't having that. Nor was Aunt Edie. ‘It ain't fair,' said Betsy, ‘I'll scream.'

‘So will I,' said Aunt Edie.

‘What a palaver,' said Dad.

So Betsy had another go. Her biff connected this time. But Jimmy caught her out. Betsy yelled in disgust.

‘You're in, Aunt Edie,' said Patsy.

‘Oh, lor',' said Aunt Edie, but took the bat and stood at the wicket. Her hat was off, her piled hair shining in the light. She walloped the first ball from Patsy and laughed in triumph.

‘Run, Auntie, run!' cried Betsy, and scampered after the ball.

‘All right,' said Aunt Edie. Hitching her dress with one hand and carrying the bat with her other, she ran to the bowler's mark. Dad grinned, so did Jimmy. Aunt Edie running, skirts tossing, was a cracking Sunday afternoon sight. She missed the next ball from Patsy and it struck the skirt of her dress.

‘Was that lbw?' asked Dad.

‘What's lbw?' asked Aunt Edie. ‘Some of your French?'

‘Leg before wicket,' said Jimmy.

‘Yes, was it?' asked Patsy.

‘Told you we'd have problems,' said Jimmy. ‘I mean, where's her legs? Can you see 'em, Dad?'

‘Not from 'ere,' said Dad.

‘The ball hit her just there,' said Patsy pointing.

‘Is that where 'er right leg is?' asked Jimmy.

‘Could we 'ave a look, Edie?' asked Dad.

‘Yes, could we, Aunt Edie?' asked Patsy, one with her dad and brother when larks were on. ‘It's only fair.'

‘Think I'm daft, do you?' said Aunt Edie. ‘That's it, gather round, the lot of you, but you'll be lucky, young Jimmy, an' you Jack Andrews, if you think I'm goin' to show my legs to the whole of Peckham.' The Rye was the playground this afternoon of scores of families.

‘Not fair, yer know, keepin' yer hidden talents covered up at cricket,' said Dad.

Aunt Edie went for him. Amid Betsy's shrieks of joy, she lifted the bat and rushed. Dad turned tail and ran. Aunt Edie chased after him. A frisky dog joined in. Dad fell over it. Aunt Edie caught him. Patsy yelled with laughter as her dad took a thump from the bat on his backside.

‘Ruddy sergeant-majors,' said Dad.

‘I'll give you sergeant-majors,' said Aunt Edie, and gave him another thump.

‘That's done it,' said Dad, and with a quick supple movement of his long wiry body he was up. Aunt Edie dropped the bat, picked up her skirts and fled, putting herself behind Jimmy.

‘Stop 'im, Jimmy!' she gasped.

‘Go it, Dad, go it!' cried Patsy.

‘Patsy, oh, yer demon!' gasped Aunt Edie, and ran round and round Jimmy, with Dad at her back, a huge grin on his face. He didn't catch her, of course. It was the threat that governed the spirit of the moment.

‘Keep goin', Aunt Edie,' said Jimmy, ‘good game of cricket you're playin'.'

It was all part of the best Sunday afternoon the family could remember. And everyone told Aunt Edie what a good sport she was. Dad boiled a kettle of water on the primus stove, and they made tea to have with the picnic. Jimmy and Patsy noted that Aunt Edie hardly told Dad off at all. She wanted to know how long Jimmy's work at Anerley would last. Jimmy said until sometime in November, according to Mr Gibbs. Aunt Edie said she'd keep an eye open in Camberwell for a job for him.

‘Bless yer, Aunt Edie,' said Jimmy. ‘I wouldn't mind givin' you a kiss and a cuddle for that.'

‘'Elp yerself, Jimmy,' said Dad, ‘it's a nice afternoon.'

‘Who's laughin'?' asked Aunt Edie.

‘Me,' said Patsy.

Later, on the way to the tram home, Patsy spoke to Jimmy.

‘Has that girl give you a kiss and a cuddle yet?'

‘What girl?' asked Jimmy.

‘Sophy Gibbs,' said Patsy, her best Sunday frock lightly rippling around her legs.

‘Oh, only when I arrive and when I go, and in between,' said Jimmy. ‘She's a bit reserved, yer know.'

‘Hark the 'erald angels sing,' said Patsy.

At Speakers Corner in Hyde Park, Father Peter was declaiming to a crowd, his voice booming above the heckling. Lady Repenters handed out pamphlets, while Mother Mary guarded herself and her sisters with her umbrella, and Mother Magda quivered a little sinfully to the rolling thunder that rose up from the minister's deep chest whenever a heckler derided the word of the Lord. The policeman on duty kept his ear open, as usual, for any incitement that would lead to a riot, but intervened only once, and that was to advise Mother Mary she was disturbing the peace a bit.

‘It's that there brolly of yours, madam. Once you start trying to poke people's eyes with it, you're making an unlawful weapon of it, which means you'll have to come along to the station with me.'

‘What impertinence,' said Mother Mary, ‘I've met your kind before. I'll 'ave you know it's the Lord's 'and that guides me umbrella, and I don't know what I'd do without it when there's all them disgustin' blasphemers interruptin' our minister something shockin'.'

‘I'll see to them,' said the constable, ‘you see you just use your brolly for keeping off the rain.'

‘Well, all right,' said Mother Mary, ‘but I'll give them something if they don't pay no attention to you.'

On Sunday evening, Aunt Edie entertained the family by playing the piano again. It was not the only parlour piano that was being used in Walworth. Relations like uncles and aunts and grandmothers and grandfathers visited on Sundays, and such days finished with songs around family pianos. Even some of the poorest families owned a piano that dated from Victorian times.