Well, at least one problem was answered straight away. Mr Vale stood proudly holding onto a cage in which sat a beautiful canary. As you find in many couples, ‘opposites attract’ and this saying certainly applied here. He was in fact extraordinarily slight and delicate, so much that I could’ve probably carried him out myself. In fact, it looked as if even holding up the birdcage was an effort for him.
‘Sit down, Mrs Vale – here let me pour the tea,’ I said, as we both sat in adjoining armchairs with the table in between.
‘He bred the best canaries in the country. People used to come from all over the place to buy them from him for breeding . . . it was his passion. Please help yourself to a nice piece of cake. I only made it this morning,’ she said, taking a slice for herself.
‘I love birds too,’ I said, wiping the crumbs from my mouth. ‘I keep chickens but one day I hope to have an aviary and keep exotic birds. How many canaries did Mr Vale have?’
‘Oh, now let’s see, he must have at least eighty and when the dawn breaks – to hear them singing! It’s so beautiful. It lifts the spirits. Shall I take you to see them after we’ve finished our tea?’ she asked eagerly.
‘I’d love that, but it’s so dark we won’t see much,’ I said.
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’s got all the mod cons up there, Mr Cribb. He put in electric light and everything. I think he thought more of those birds than he did his own child,’ she said with a wry smile.
After I’d been sitting there nearly an hour listening to her stories, she seemed to be a lot more composed, so I thought the time was right to broach the subject of removing Mr Vale from the house, as time was marching on.
‘So . . . it was sudden, I take it? It’s always such a shock when—’
‘Well, no, it wasn’t sudden as in unexpected. He’d been ill for a number of years. He had emphysema, you see. He’d been a very heavy smoker all his life. In the latter years he wasn’t able to go to the bird shows like he used to as he was constantly fighting for his breath. A few weeks ago he got a bad dose of the flu, which went straight to his chest. The doctor put on his death certificate that death was caused by emphysema and pneumonia, but even though it wasn’t sudden-sudden, if you know what I mean, it’s still a huge shock.’ She then pulled her handkerchief out and started crying again.
I now knew the doctor had been in and certified death, so another question was out of the way. ‘Of course it is. These times are the hardest we have to face,’ I said, leaning forward and topping up her teacup.
‘Oh, that’s gone cold now. Let me go and make a nice fresh one; nothing worse than coddly tea,’ she said, sniffing and wiping her nose, but she managed a brief smile as she stood up.
‘I’m fine, no more tea for me, thank you. In fact I should be making a move soon. I’ve a very early start in the morning and I’ve been here over an hour already,’ I said, making to stand up.
‘But you haven’t been down to the aviary yet. You said you loved birds,’ she said sadly.
‘I do, it’s just with it being dark outside I don’t think it’ll do them any good if we go in there and turn the lights on. They’ll be all puffed up and asleep. We don’t want to shock them, do we? I promise I’ll see them next time I’m around, in the daylight,’ I explained, hoping that she wouldn’t insist. I was shattered, I’d only had two hours’ sleep before coming to see her and we had a ten o’clock funeral.
‘Well, if you don’t think it’s a good idea let me show you this, just quickly before you go.’ She went over to the sideboard and pulled out one of the biggest photo albums I’ve seen. I suddenly felt slightly hysterical. This album would take hours to go through and I just couldn’t do it. I had to think quickly. ‘Have you a toilet I can use please? Tea always has that effect on me,’ I said quickly.
‘Yes, of course, it’s still out the back, I’m afraid. The birds got all the mod-cons, not us.’ She smiled again. ‘Just round to your right, there’s a light inside.’
I went and sat on the toilet seat. I had to get out now. If I started looking at that album I’d be stuck for another hour at least, and she obviously didn’t want to discuss the removal of her husband. I might as well go home and sort it out in the morning. I rested my head against the cold wall, preparing myself for when I went back in.
‘Mr Cribb, Mr Cribb, are you OK?’A shout accompanied by violent banging woke me with a start. I was completely disorientated.
‘Mr Cribb, can you hear me?’ a panicky voice came from outside.
Realisation dawned. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I said, still not with it.
‘Are you sure? I thought you might’ve come over bad or something,’ she said, concerned.
I opened the door. I was so embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep.’
‘Oh, thank goodness for that! She laughed from the relief of knowing that she didn’t have two bodies on her hands in one evening. ‘You poor thing, you must be exhausted to fall asleep in an outside lav,’ she chuckled. ‘Come on, come back in the warm; it’s parky out here,’ she said, rubbing her hands together.
I was like an imbecile as I followed her into the warm scullery.
‘Now you sit back down and pull yourself together; you’re all groggy. I’ll go and make you a cup of strong coffee to wake you up.’
‘No, thank you. I really must go,’ I insisted.
‘But you can’t drive home like that! You’ll fall asleep at the wheel and I don’t want that on my conscience. Come on, now, sit yourself down,’ she said, virtually pushing me back into the armchair. I was powerless to resist. It felt like a freight train forcing me back. She then picked the photo album up and put it on my lap. ‘There you go, that’ll take your mind off sleep. Have a good look through that,’ she said excitedly as she bustled back to the scullery. I had a sneaky suspicion she would’ve put a little skip into her step if her weight had allowed.
I looked at the front cover. It read: ‘Bird shows – 1960–1964’. Another bout of panic hit me. We were now in 1968. I quickly turned around and looked at the slightly open door of the sideboard and spotted another album of a similar size.
I felt weepy. I was trapped.
I started mechanically going through it when she returned with the coffee. ‘What do you think, Mr Cribb, lovely aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they’re beautiful. He was obviously a very gifted breeder. You must have been very proud,’ I said wearily.
‘Oh, I was . . . so proud of him.’ She then decided to manoeuvre herself onto the arm of my chair, pinning me in as if she was intentionally reducing my chances of escape. She took off her glasses, breathed on them, then started polishing them with alacrity on the corner of her housecoat. ‘Right!’ she said. ‘I’m ready. Now let’s turn back to the beginning and I’ll explain each photo to you,’ she said gleefully.
I mechanically turned page after page. Her huge body so close to mine was radiating so much heat it felt like a huge hot-water bottle. My eyes were getting heavier and heavier, and her enormous bosom, which was pushing against my shoulder, felt like a lovely soft pillow and I longed to lay my head against it and drift off; how I didn’t I don’t know. As we came to the end, a wave of relief flooded through me. I could see by my watch it was close to 5.45 a.m.
‘Lovely!’ I said, quickly closing the album and placing it on the table. ‘And I look forward to seeing the real thing when I come back next time.’ I started to dislodge myself in order to stand up but thought better of it as she was still perched on the arm and if I got up suddenly the counter-balance would be lost and I’d send her flying.
‘But what am I going to do with them, Mr Cribb?’ she said. ‘Our son isn’t interested. I’m obviously going to have to get rid of them, but I don’t know where or . . .’ She trailed off, deep in thought and started to wipe her eyes again.
‘Just take each day as it comes, Mrs Vale. There’s no rush to do anything. It’ll all fall into place, just give yourself time. Now, I’m sorry, b
ut I must be going.’
‘Oh listen!’ she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, pushing me further down into the armchair. She cocked her head to the window. ‘Can you hear it?’
‘What?’ I asked, not particularly bothered.
‘The birds!’
Oh, please God, NO!
‘They’ve woken up, they’ve started to sing. Dawn’s here already,’ she said excitedly, standing up. ‘We can go up to see them now.’ As she stood up I shot up at the same time, so quickly black spots appeared in front of my gritty eyes.
‘No!’ I said, louder than I should’ve done. I put my hand onto the mantelpiece as a wave of lightheadedness swept over me. I couldn’t spend another hour there. ‘I have to go,’ I said pitifully. She looked surprised at my unexpected outburst. ‘I’m sorry I raised my voice . . . it’s just that I do need to get back, as I said I have a very early funeral.’
I then heard a key in the front door. She quickly turned to the clock. ‘Goodness, it’s our son John. I didn’t expect him so soon,’ she said, as she headed over to the hall door, calling, ‘I’m in here, John, you’ve made good time. I didn’t expect you for another hour or so.’
A man in his late thirties walked in carrying a small suitcase, and he looked puzzled when he saw me standing there.
‘Mr Cribb, this is John, my son, he’s come to help with the arrangements. John, this is Mr Cribb the undertaker, he’s been here nearly all night keeping me company.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Cribb,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘Thank you for sitting with Mum.’
‘No problem at all,’ I smiled, relieved that I could now leave. Turning back to his mother I said, ‘Would you mind if I popped upstairs before I go?’
She looked at me oddly. ‘You want to go upstairs?’
‘Yes, if that’s OK, just to take a quick look.’
‘Well, OK, do you want me to come with you?’ she asked.
‘No, no that’s fine; I’ll just be a few minutes.’
I walked into the hallway and she was behind me. ‘The room at the top is our spare room, the one along the passage was John’s, and the one at the front is ours.’
‘OK, thank you, I shan’t be a minute.’ I went up, taking the stairs two at a time. I only had to measure him and I could be on my way.
I headed directly to the room at the front, but as I looked towards the bed it was empty. What on earth . . . where the hell was he? I was even tempted to drop to my knees and look under the bed, but even in my sleep-deprived state knew I was being ridiculous. I headed back to John’s old room . . . nothing, then the spare room – nothing!
‘Are you looking for something, Mr Cribb?’ Mrs Vale called from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Where’s your husband?’ I asked, utterly confused.
‘In the hospital,’ she said strangely.
‘In the hospital!’ I said, as I started to walk downstairs. ‘But I thought he’d died here.’
‘What on earth gave you that idea?’ she said surprised.
I was furious, but I couldn’t let on.
‘Well, normally when we get a night call it’s to collect the body or make arrangements to pick them up early in the morning. I’ve never had a call-out at that time of the morning when there hasn’t been a body,’ I said, as calmly as I could.
Just then, John came to the doorway. ‘I thought it was odd you were here, Mr Cribb. That’s why I was a bit taken aback when I saw you.’ He turned to his mother. ‘Mum, I can’t believe you called out the undertakers. Why did you do it?’
The poor woman looked mortified. ‘Oh God, I feel so embarrassed, it’s just . . . well, I didn’t know what to do.’ She looked at John. ‘I knew you would take at least four hours to get here after I called, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.’ She then turned to me. ‘Your advert says call us night or day. I told you I hadn’t done this before. I just thought, well, I just thought you’d come and keep me company until John arrived. Oh dear. I feel such a fool,’ she cried.
‘I’m so sorry,’ John said, as he glanced over at his mum who had now collapsed with humiliation into the nearest armchair. ‘I can only apologise.’
‘Please don’t,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s been a first for me, but as long as your mum’s OK and I’ve helped her get through the night, then that’s what’s important.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate it. I’ll take Mum to get all the paperwork done and then I’ll bring her down to Rathbone Street to make the funeral arrangements,’ he said.
‘Fine, I’ll see you both later. See you later, Mrs Vale,’ I said, looking back to the armchair.
‘Cheerio, Mr Cribb, and I’m so sorry for . . .’
‘No problem, forget about it,’ I said quickly, in case she started again. I shook hands with the son and finally headed home.
But I still couldn’t believe it. All night I’d sat there thinking there was a body upstairs and all the time he was in the hospital mortuary. I’d never experienced anything like it. I didn’t particular like night-time call-outs. I did them because I had to, but most of the time I was on autopilot and just got on with it . . . but this!
When I got home I only had time for a quick wash, changed into my suit and headed off to the shop. Luckily the boys weren’t up, so I didn’t have to deal with a barrage of questions from the ‘inquisition’ – that could wait until later and, by then, hopefully they would have forgotten all about it.
Uncle was already sitting there with Jack, going over the morning’s funeral arrangements with their cups of tea.
‘Dear God, you look awful!’ he said helpfully, as I hung my coat up.
‘Thanks,’ I said feebly.
‘What you been doing all night? Was one of the children playing up?’ he asked.
‘No, nothing as simple as that. At least I would’ve got some sleep, as Joan would’ve dealt with it. But listen to this. I had a call–out at 2.30 a.m. thinking there was a body to collect from a house and all along the chap had died in hospital. Do you believe it? The lady just wanted me there for company until her son arrived from Oxford. Over three hours I was there!’ I said angrily.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘What do you mean, “Well?”?’ I asked in disbelief.
‘Well, what’s wrong with that? What happened that’s upset you so much?’
‘I got there at three, she was a bit upset and I didn’t want to bring up removing her husband before I’d settled her down. She asked me if I wanted a cup of tea which I said “yes” to in order to give her a bit more time,’ I explained.
‘That was nice of her; especially at that time of the morning . . . don’t you think that was nice, Jack?’
‘Very nice, Tom,’ he exclaimed, nodding.
‘Then?’ he said, picking up his cup.
‘Then she told me how her husband bred canaries . . .’
‘Really? Now that’s interesting . . . were they good ones?’ he asked, picking up a biscuit and dunking it in his tea.
‘Yes, lovely; he won Best in Show loads of times.’
‘No! That’s marvellous and you love birds . . . so why weren’t you interested?’ he said curiously.
‘It’s not that I wasn’t interested,’ I said angrily. ‘I was shattered and knew we had an early start and wanted to get some sleep. I needed to find out if she wanted us to take her husband away but I couldn’t get her to talk about it and thought I was wasting my time.’
‘Wasting your time! Comforting a woman who’s just lost her husband, who seems to me was being very nice to you and all you could think of was sleeping – that’s a disgrace, boy. What d’you think, Jack?’ he asked.
‘Disgraceful’, he said, tutting and shaking his head.
‘But she was purposefully keeping me there,’ I said. ‘I even fell asleep in her toilet . . .’
‘WHAT!’ he said, leaning back in the chair and holding his head. ‘You fell asleep in her sodding toilet. I don’t believe it!’
> ‘I went out there to think and just fell asleep. She found me twenty minutes later, thought I’d come over bad, so took me back in and insisted I have a strong coffee, as she wouldn’t let me drive home in case I had an accident.’
‘This woman sounds a saint. What time was it now?’
‘Nearly 4.30,’ I said quietly. Jack was sitting looking at me with his mouth hanging open still shaking his head.
‘So you had the coffee and left . . .’
‘No, that’s the point, she made me the coffee then gave me an enormous photo album full of her husband’s achievements and she was big! I’ve never seen a woman, or man for that matter, so big. She then decided to sit on the arm of my chair, pinning me in and looking right over my shoulder she went through it page by page, which took another hour . . . I was literally trapped. If I’d got up she would’ve gone flying! Then just as we’d finished she says “Listen” and looks towards the window,’ I said, my voice becoming a bit pitiful.
Uncle leans forward. ‘What was you listening for?’ he says eagerly.
‘The canaries had woken up and had starting singing,’ I explained.
‘Oh lovely! I love hearing a canary sing, don’t you, Jack, lifts the spirits.’
‘It certainly does,’ he said and nodded again.
These two were like a double act; I was starting to get worked up again.
‘Then?’ Uncle said.
‘She only wanted to take me down to see them!’
‘Now don’t tell me you didn’t go,’ he said, leaning back again.
‘NO, I DIDN’T! I told her I couldn’t, I had to go it was late, I would see them next time.’ I was exasperated.
‘Well, that seems very rude to me, boy . . . very rude . . . what’d you think, Jack?’ he asked.
‘Very rude,’ he said, now shaking his head.
I jumped up, grabbing my coat. ‘RIGHT! I’ve had enough of this . . . you two are unbelievable! I’m going up the yard to check on everything,’ I said.
‘Hold your horses, boy!’ Uncle shouted. ‘You haven’t finished your story . . . so what happened then?’
‘What happened then? I’ll tell you what happened then! Her son turns up from Oxford, who she’s been waiting for all night, and that’s when I found out the reason why I was there. I shot upstairs to take some quick measurements before I left only to find Mr Vale wasn’t there. He was, as Mrs Vale then decides to tell me, in the bloody hospital mortuary,’ I screamed frustratedly.
An East End Farewell Page 17