So that was it, thought Frankie, as he entered the room with great trepidation. A twin brother! No wonder he was the living image of Elsa’s husband.
‘Frankie. This is Mr and Mrs Jack and Celia Barclay.’ Then with a look of immense satisfaction, Elsa turned back to her obviously unwelcome visitors. ‘And this is my friend – Misster Frank Lewis!’
Barclay paused only briefly, refusing to acknowledge the boy’s presence. ‘Where does this dog come from?’ he asked, none too sure of the beast who was glaring at him.
‘’E’s mine, sir. ’Is name’s Winston. But ’e’s quite ’armless. ’E don’t bite.’
Celia Barclay smiled. ‘My husband’s not afraid of dogs, young man,’ she said confidently. ‘They always respond very well to him.’
Barclay put his hand out to stroke Winston. But he quickly withdrew it when, accompanied by an angry growl, Winston’s lip started to quiver. Quickly turning to Frankie to hide his embarrassment, Barclay curtly asked, ‘Are you a neighbour of my sister-in-law?’
‘No, sir. I live in number 1 Merton Street.’
Barclay and Celia exchanged a puzzled look. ‘Merton Street?’ asked Celia casually. ‘Is that local?’
Elsa, a smug grin on her face, was happy to answer. ‘Quite local.’
By now, curiosity was practically killing Celia. ‘Then – how did you two get to know each other?’
Jack Barclay was eager to hear Elsa’s reply, and she knew it. But Elsa was savouring this moment too much to let it pass quickly. To keep her brother-in-law guessing gave her a wonderful feeling of power, for there had never been any love lost between them. As Barclay waited for her reply, Elsa’s mind went back to the time when Robert, who was the younger of the twin brothers by one minute, first announced that he was going to marry a German Jewish woman. Jack had done everything in his power to talk his brother out of the marriage. Robert had often told Elsa about his childhood days with Jack, who had been the bully of the family. How different the brothers were, thought Elsa. How extraordinary to think of those two identical Englishmen who had nothing in common whatsoever . . .
‘Misster Frankie works for me in the shop.’ Elsa was beaming at Frankie, who was standing in the middle of the room, looking very awkward indeed. ‘I don’t know how I could manage without him.’ She pursed her lips and, glancing straight at Frankie, hoped that he would give the right reply. ‘Isn’t that so, Frankie?’
For a brief moment, Frankie was nonplussed. But he suddenly understood what she was asking. ‘Yes, miss – I mean, Mrs Barclay.’
Celia was shuffling uneasily on her seat, but Elsa was thoroughly enjoying the mystery she was creating.
‘Elsa.’ Barclay suddenly became very businesslike. He crossed the room, picked up a chair, and placed it very close to his sister-in-law, and sat facing her. ‘I hadn’t meant to discuss this matter today, but—’ He was suddenly aware that Frankie was still standing in the middle of the room. ‘I wonder if you would be good enough to leave us for a moment?’ he snapped irritably. ‘I have some private business to talk over with my sister-in-law.’
Frankie turned to leave.
‘No!’ Elsa’s voice was strong and firm. ‘Stay where you are, pleass, Frankie.’ Then she turned to Barclay. ‘You can speak quite freely in front of Misster Lewis. We have no secrets from each other.’
‘Sit over there by the books, Frankie,’ suggested Elsa. Then, turning to her brother-in-law she said quite pointedly, ‘This won’t take very long.’
Barclay waited for Frankie to sit down by the bookshelves on the far side of the room. For a rare moment in his life he felt at a disadvantage, and he didn’t like it one bit. ‘Elsa,’ he said, feeling ill-at-ease, ‘for some time, I – that is, Celia and I – have been very worried about what would happen to you if – well, if you were taken ill or something.’
‘Oh yes?’ Elsa, her elbow resting on the arm of her chair, and her chin resting on the palm of her hand, was staring very sceptically straight into Barclay’s eyes.
‘What I mean is, if you were unwell or something, there’d be no one to – to look after you, and take care of – this house, the shop – everything. D’you follow my meaning, Elsa?’
‘Yes, Jack. I follow your meaning very well.’
Elsa didn’t have to look at Jack Barclay to know what he was leading up to.
‘So I was thinking – what Celia and I were thinking – well, if there’s anything we can do to help . . . After all, I do feel responsible for you. Robert would turn in his grave if he thought I’d just left you to cope all on your own.’
Elsa was feeling sick. The hypocrite! She knew only too well that ever since Robert died it had riled Jack that only a wretched German Jewess stood between him and his brother’s share of the family inheritance. But it was in Jack Barclay’s interest to retain as good a relationship as possible with his sister-in-law, for Elsa had absolutely no relatives of her own.
‘That’s very considerate of you, Jack.’ Elsa, still staring straight at Barclay, briefly flicked her eyes across to Celia, who smiled nervously. ‘So, what do you suggest?’
Before Barclay answered, everyone was distracted by the loud voice of a man calling from outside, ‘Lights!’ It was the street Air Raid Warden who had noticed that one of Elsa’s blackout blinds had not been fully lowered. Elsa got up immediately, went to the window, and yelled back, ‘Sorry!’ while quickly attending to the offending blind.
‘The thing is, Elsa,’ continued Jack immediately, ‘the war’s coming to an end. In my opinion, you should start thinking about what you’re going to do with the shop, and . . .’ At this point, his eyes were scanning the room. ‘Well – this house, for instance.’
Elsa was still standing by the window with the drawn blind. ‘This house?’
‘I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Elsa. I don’t want to interfere in your private affairs, but – both Celia and I think it’s about time you made a will.’
Celia was nodding eagerly in agreement. ‘Not that anything is likely to happen to you for a very long time, my dear. But it does leave things . . . tidy.’
‘I’m sure it does.’ So now it was the house he was after! ‘But what makes you think I haven’t made a will?’
Jack and Celia swung a panicked glance at each other. ‘Well, of course, I don’t know,’ said Jack, tensely. ‘I just presumed . . .’ By this time, he had, unwittingly, almost squeezed the shape out of his trilby hat. ‘Why?’ he tried to ask, casually. ‘Have you?’
Elsa smiled, and began putting on her hat, which she had left with her fur coat on the settee. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said sweetly.
‘Don’t remember?’ Jack was getting irritated. ‘You don’t remember if you’ve made a will or not?’
‘I don’t remember, because it’s not important.’
‘Oh but it is important, my dear,’ said Celia, trying to sound as though she was Elsa’s closest confidante. ‘In wartime, one has to be prepared. One never knows what each day will bring. I mean, let’s face it, it would be criminal for the Tax Man to get his hands on all your assets.’
Frankie was moving from one foot to another, doing his best to appear deaf to the extraordinary conversation.
By this time, Elsa was putting on her fur coat. ‘So I should make a Will? Is that what you’re suggesting?’
‘At least talk it over with a solicitor,’ said Barclay in his most reasonable voice. ‘I could help you with that.’
‘Our chap is a real gem,’ assured Celia. ‘He’ll do anything to help.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he would,’ replied Elsa, in her most acid voice.
Barclay exchanged another look with his wife. ‘So would you like us to speak to him on your behalf?’
‘I’ll think about it. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have some business to attend to in the shop.’ Without another word, Elsa picked up her handbag and strode out into the hall.
Barclay and his wife watched Elsa go in disbelief. Then, with Winsto
n tagging on behind, followed her out, ignoring Frankie as they went.
Elsa was standing near the front door, holding her huge leather handbag in both hands, as though it were a weapon. ‘It was so good of you both to call, Jack. I’m very grateful.’
Barclay kissed Elsa on the cheek. As he did so, Elsa looked into his eyes. For one fleeting moment she could see her Robert there, warm, loving, caring . . . The brothers were so alike – and yet, although they were physically identical, there was only coldness in her brother-in-law’s eyes. Jack wasn’t a bad man, she knew. But he was foolish and greedy . . . ‘Keep in touch, Elsa’ he whispered in her ear. ‘If you’d like to talk to our man, just drop us a line.’ Then he put on his trilby hat, which was now quite shapeless.
Celia also kissed Elsa on the cheek and, as she did so, whispered in her ear. ‘He really is very good, my dear. Worth a try.’
Elsa smiled sweetly, turned off the hall light, then opened the door. As he left, Barclay glared briefly at Frankie without saying a word to him. Then he and Celia made their way down the steps to their small car. Elsa watched them go, and called out, ‘Next time you’re passing by from Hertfordshire, please call in!’
In a moment, Barclay and his wife were gone, the sound of their car quickly disappearing into the Seven Sisters Road and narrowly missing a number 653 trolley-bus as they went. Elsa closed the door. ‘So!’ she said. ‘And what do you think of my brother and sister-in-law?’
Frankie looked flustered. ‘They’re – peculiar, in’t they?’
Elsa roared with laughter. ‘Very perceptive of you, Frankie!’ He and Winston followed her back into the sitting-room. ‘Turn off the paraffin stove, please. We don’t want to waste the heat!’
Frankie duly obeyed. ‘Wot’s all this about me bein’ your assistant? I didn’t know I was supposed ter be workin’ for yer.’
Elsa turned off the sitting-room light, leaving only the hall light to guide them out. ‘I thought you wanted to buy that terrible machine in Pascall’s window?’
‘I do!’
‘Then you have to work for it, don’t you? Come to the shop after school in the evenings. Three shillings a week – and by next summer you can save enough for your machine. Yes – or no?’
Frankie’s excitement suddenly turned the blood in his body red hot. ‘Yes, miss!’
Elsa reached the front door, paused, and turned slowly. There was a warm smile on her face. ‘Then if we are going to work together, don’t you think it’s about time you called me – Elsa?’
Frankie looked at her for a moment, then he, too, broke into a wide smile. ‘Yes, miss – I mean – Elsa.’
‘Well, let’s get going!’ said Elsa, with a flourish. ‘It’s getting near Christmas. We have a lot of work to do!’
Elsa turned out the light, and within a few moments she, Frankie, and Winston were making their way slowly down Hadleigh Villas, then into Tollington Road, and on towards the jumble shop in Hornsey Road. There weren’t too many people around, for the evening had all the signs of being one of the coldest of the winter so far.
As they strolled together, arm in arm, with Winston padding not so far behind, Elsa and Frankie made an odd couple, two tiny silhouettes leaving their footprints behind them on the white frosty pavements.
Chapter Seven
The closing weeks of 1944 were anxious ones. After the great surge of public optimism generated by the June D-Day landings in France, September had seen the tragic massacre of British and American airborne troops at Arnhem in Holland, and then, on December 16th, General von Rundstedt launched an aggressive and well-planned offensive against Allied forces in the Ardennes region of Belgium. This was a bitter blow to Winston Churchill, for the German onslaught had the effect of delaying the deployment of General Eisenhower’s great assault on Hitler’s own Nazi fatherland.
In London, the earlier expectations of a swift Allied victory were giving way to depression – and fear. Each day the Germans’ deadly V2 rockets were being fired across the English Channel from Holland, and landing in and around the London area. They arrived without warning, causing havoc, massive destruction – and the greatest number of fatal casualties since the great London blitz in 1940. Islington had been one of the early victims of the bombardment, with the Guy Fawkes night rocket attack on a residential street in Upper Holloway. The smoke from the explosion had been seen easily from Merton Street, where once again windows were shattered and ceilings collapsed. Day by day the skies above the street were regularly streaked with the long white vapour trails of the Nazis’ most vicious weapon.
By the last week before Christmas, however, Merton Street was looking like its old self again. Although the blackout regulations were still in force, small Christmas trees had appeared in the front room windows of practically every house, and the coloured lights on them could be seen quite clearly during the day until dusk. By popular consensus, it was the Gorman brothers who had the best Christmas decorations. Every window in their house had the words, Merry Xmas, stuck on in cotton wool, colourful homemade paper chains could be seen dangling across the front room ceiling, and the street door itself was beautifully adorned with cotton wool ‘frost’ and a home-made wreath of holly leaves. The Robinsons at number 22 had quite a good show too, but theirs was much more tasteful, with decorations bought from Gamages Department Store in Holborn. Even old Clancy in number 78 made an effort. Each year he put up the same small Father Christmas doll he had bought in Woolworths before the war. It always hung in the same place, the window of the front room parlour. As the curtains were permanently drawn, day and night, it was the only view of the inside of his house that any of the passing residents could ever see. Clancy himself usually spent Christmas alone, and only went out for a quick pink gin at the Eaglet pub on Boxing Day. Occasionally, one of his ‘gentleman friends’ would visit but he spent most of the time listening to his favourite ballet music on gramophone records.
Without doubt, the most disappointing house in the street was number 1. Gracie Lewis had always considered that spending money on Christmas decorations was a terrible waste. However, Frankie and Helen had tried to make something of their bedroom. Helen had stuck cotton wool ‘frost’ around her dressing-table mirror and Frankie had painted an old piece of cardboard with the words, ‘Merry Xmas to all’ and stuck it in the window. Unfortunately, as their bedroom window overlooked the back yard, no one could really see it except the occasional passing cat.
For Frankie, the last few weeks before Christmas turned out to be hectic. Each afternoon he rushed home from school, quickly did his homework, and, with Winston at his side, made his way to Elsa’s jumble shop on the corner of Hornsey Road. Once there, he really earned the three shillings a week Elsa was paying him, for he dusted, polished, swept, moved boxes, tidied up, wrote out price tickets for the jumble stock on sale, and did things that he had never done in his whole life before. And he loved it! By Christmas Eve, Barclays jumble shop had never looked so organised.
Helen was also in great spirits. During the previous three weeks she had received two letters from Eric, both heavily censored, but full of hope about their future together. On their last secret weekend together in Bognor Regis, Helen had been convinced that she was deeply in love with her soldier boyfriend, and all she wanted to do was to be his wife and bear his children. That dream came nearer to reality just a week before Christmas Day, when she received a third letter, in which Eric proposed to her. From that moment on, Helen’s whole attitude to life changed. For the first time ever, she had real hope, not just dreams and wishes, and it didn’t matter how difficult life was at number 1 Merton Street, now. But for the time being, the only two people Helen confided in were her friend Ivy, and Frankie. Frankie was delighted to see his sister so happy, but he reckoned that if he heard Corporal Eric Sibley’s name mentioned just once more, he’d go bonkers!
After helping in the shop for a month, Frankie had earned himself twelve shillings, which he carefully tucked away in a jam jar underneat
h his pullovers in the chest of drawers and although he remained one of ‘Boggy’ Marsh’s few mathematical failures at school, Frankie estimated that by the summer of the following year he could be well on the way to buying his dream bike in Pascalls’ window. But he earned a great deal more than just money during his evening job. For one thing, he read seven more books from Elsa’s collection at 19 Hadleigh Villas and, although he had to admit failure with the History of the Steam Traction Engine, Elsa’s choice of Tom Brown’s Schooldays, Wuthering Heights, and Huckleberry Finn made compelling reading for him.
In those final weeks leading up to Christmas, Frankie’s work in the jumble shop transformed the place. Cardboard boxes were emptied of their contents which were then stacked on the proper shelves; silver and gold plate items were polished, furniture was gathered into its own corner, books were dusted and indexed, and all the secondhand clothes received clear price-tags.
Winston added his own contribution by catching a rat in the back yard, for which he was rewarded with a huge piece of apple cake. Frankie also revealed a hidden talent for shop design, and his Christmas window display was a triumph, with passers-by constantly stopping to peer in at the wondrous selection of secondhand goodies and Elsa gradually built up a collection of new customers. For the first time ever, it seemed she was actually beginning to make a profit. Elsa, however remained the boss, ordering Frankie to sweep this and dust that, orders which Frankie was always willing to carry out. But Elsa occasionally allowed him to serve customers, which meant that he could use the cash till. Such a responsibility made him feel very important and responsible and, Elsa noted, most important of all, he was starting to act more like a boy of his own age.
Ever since the night when he was first hauled into Elsa’s front hall, Frankie had hardly set eyes on his pals in the Merton Street gang. They knew, of course, that he was working in the jumble shop, but because they still thought of Elsa as ‘the old Kraut’ and some kind of Nazi monster, none of them ever attempted to pursue him there. However, the Prof was eventually invited by Frankie to meet Elsa, and when he saw the shop for the first time, he was terribly excited by all the secondhand electrical equipment on show.
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