Our Street

by Pemberton, Victor

  Winston, eyes blazing red, bared his teeth at Barclay, and Frankie had to hold the dog firmly by his collar.

  All Frankie could think about was how Barclay was responsible for his mother’s accident, and how he would like nothing better in this world than to smash his face in. Fortunately, he was distracted by the sound of someone hammering in nails. Practically pushing Barclay to one side, he rushed straight past him to find that a workman had already boarded up the jumble shop’s windows, and was now doing the same to the front door. ‘Wot’s goin’ on ’ere!’ Frankie yelled at the top of his voice.

  Barclay came up behind him and placed a driving-gloved hand on his shoulder. Lips quivering with mounting anger, Winston watched Barclay’s every move. ‘Nothing for you to worry your young self about, my boy. This property is now my possession.’

  Frankie angrily wrenched his shoulder away from Barclay’s hand. ‘Who bloody says so? You in’t got no right!’

  ‘Oh, but I have.’

  Hearing the disagreement going on behind him, the workman briefly stopped what he was doing. But he quickly continued when Barclay’s bossy signal ordered him to do so.

  ‘You clearly aren’t aware that in the absence of a will, I am the sole beneficiary of my brother’s Estates.’

  Frankie could feel the blood rising in his veins. ‘This shop belonged ter Elsa. She told me so lots er times!’

  Barclay smiled apologetically and shook his head. ‘Wrong again, I’m afraid. Both properties – this shop and number 19 Hadleigh Gardens were in both my brother’s name and hers. Elsa Lieberman had no heirs.’

  Frankie could feel the tension in his breathing, and he hoped he would not humiliate himself by having an asthma attack in front of Barclay. He’d always known in his heart of hearts that this day was bound to come. After all, he was only an employee who was paid a weekly wage to work in the shop. But as the workman carried on knocking nails into the wood across the front door, he felt as though every one of them was tearing into his own flesh.

  ‘I understand you have a key to the shop, and to number 19 Hadleigh Villas?’

  Frankie refused to answer. He just kept looking past Barclay to watch what the workman was doing.

  Barclay held out his gloved hand. ‘If you’d be so good?’

  Barclay was lucky that Winston didn’t bite his hand off, for the sudden movement angered the dog even more, and he was now straining at his leash.

  Frankie slowly turned to glare straight at Barclay. But Frankie knew that this was as far as he could go, so he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out both sets of keys and slammed them angrily into Barclay’s suede-gloved hand.

  ‘Thank you so much.’ Barclay quickly put the keys into his jacket pocket, but by the time he had done so Frankie and Winston had already rushed across the road at the traffic lights. Barclay called after him. ‘Oh – by the way! There’ll be a week’s wages coming to you – in lieu of notice!’

  Now on the opposite pavement, Frankie stopped only briefly to turn back and give Barclay the aggressive ‘V’ sign he deserved.

  It did not, however, have the same connotation that Winston Churchill had intended . . .

  Hurrying off down the road, Frankie didn’t know which road he was in or which direction he was heading towards. What he had just gone through had devastated him. The shop – Elsa’s shop – that wonderful Aladdin’s Cave that he had loved ever since he first set foot inside the place – gone forever! Jack Barclay had won the day.

  It didn’t bear thinking about, not even the idea of Barclay walking around the shop and touching all the ‘junk’ that he and Elsa loved so much. Where was the justice in this world, Frankie kept asking himself? This is not what Elsa would have wanted. The more he thought about it, the more shattered he felt. He now had no idea in which direction life would be taking him.

  A few weeks later, Frankie applied for a job as a shop assistant in Jones Brothers Department Store in the Holloway Road. The wages were pathetic, and, to his way of thinking, some of the assistants there were a bit on the snooty side. However, he had to earn his keep somehow, for his meagre savings were rapidly dwindling. But working in Jones Brothers – or anywhere else for that matter – depressed Frankie, for his heart was still amongst all that secondhand ‘junk’ in what had once been called the ‘Aladdin’s Cave of Hornsey Road.’

  It was after three o’clock in the afternoon when Frankie got back to number 1 Merton Street. At the other end of the street, they were carrying old Clancy’s coffin out of number 78 to the hearse waiting at the kerbside. The usual group of neighbours were gathered outside, like a flock of crows, Frankie thought, gaping and gawping with mock sympathy, and paying Clancy more attention than they ever did when he was alive. Nobody appeared to know what the poor old thing had died of, only that he’d been taken to hospital two weeks before and that he ‘passed away’ there. But then, all that tight little group of women with their kids in prams were really interested in was an opportunity to pass a few minutes of idle gossip on a hot afternoon in June. Frankie didn’t wait for the hearse and its solitary mourners’ car to leave the street. He saw no point.

  To his surprise, as soon as he turned the key in the lock Maggs threw herself into his arms and hugged him. For Frankie, it was like a breath of fresh air. It was over a week since he had seen her, and the way he was feeling right now, he needed her more than ever before.

  ‘Is that you, Frank?’ Reg called from the front room.

  ‘Come inside, Frank,’ whispered Maggs. ‘There’s someone waiting for you.’

  Thoroughly mystified, Frankie went into the front room where he found his father and two other people, one of them Gertrude Rosenberg and the other a dumpy middle-aged man, smartly dressed in a dark pin-stripe suit with a small red carnation in his buttonhole.

  ‘Ah! There yer are, son,’ Although he was looking less strained than he had been over the past few weeks, Reg seemed a little nervous about his visitors’ presence. ‘This lady and gentlemen have come ter see yer. I fink yer know Miss—’

  Frankie went straight to Gertrude, who was sitting on the sofa smoking one of her exotic cigarettes. ‘’Allo, miss. It’s good ter see yer again.’

  Gertrude sniffed, but held out her limp hand without getting up. ‘Personally, I never knew vot Elsa could see in you,’ she said, acidly.

  Frankie exchanged a sly smirk with Maggs, and shook Gertrude’s hand. He was relieved to know that Elsa’s friend hadn’t changed a bit since he’d joined them both for that memorable New Year’s Eve dinner party at number 19 Hadleigh Villas!

  ‘How d’you do, Frankie,’ said the man who was sitting at the side of Gertrude on the sofa, as he got up to shake hands. ‘My name is Michael Carrington.’ Frankie thought he had rather a posh voice. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Mr Carrington is Elsa’s solicitor, Frankie,’ said Maggs, rather mysteriously.

  Frankie looked as bewildered as ever, and could only respond by shrugging his shoulders. ‘Wot’s it all about?’

  The solicitor picked up his briefcase, and brought out a wad of papers. ‘Frankie, I’ve been acting on behalf of Mrs Barclay for several years now. I want to talk to you about her will.’

  ‘’Er will?’ Frankie looked genuinely surprised. ‘I din’t know there was one.’

  The solicitor smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, neither did I. If it hadn’t been for Miss Rosenberg here we could have assumed that one didn’t exist.’

  Maggie could see how confused Frankie was looking, so she decided to try and explain. ‘It seems that over a year ago, Elsa gave a copy of the will she’d made to Auntie Gertrude.’

  ‘So what happened to the original?’ asked Frankie, trying hard to fathom it all out.

  ‘A good question,’ replied the solicitor, referring back to his notes. ‘Her brother-in-law, Mr Jack Barclay, assured me he had searched for it in both the shop and number 19 Hadleigh Villas. Apparently it had mysteriously disappeared.’

  ‘
Ha!’ grunted Gertrude, clenching her teeth tightly on her cigarette holder. ‘Jack Barclay!’ She sniffed, and snapped her fingers indignantly.

  Maggs slipped her arm through Frankie’s. ‘We’d never have known anything about the will if it hadn’t been something my mother said quite casually to her cousin who still keeps in touch with Auntie Gertrude. It was about you being – well, my friend, and how after all the hard work you’d done for Elsa, you’d been thrown out of the shop.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Frankie, utterly bewildered. ‘I don’t understand all this.’

  ‘What seems to have happened,’ explained the solicitor, ‘was that when she heard about you being thrown out of the shop, Miss Rosenberg became suspicious that Mrs Barclay’s will had not been executed. And since it appeared that Mrs Barclay had died intestate, everything had gone to her brother-in-law, Mr Jack Barclay.’

  Maggs again joined in. ‘Luckily, Auntie Gertrude tracked down Mr Carrington here.’

  ‘Yes!’ snapped Gertrude, wagging a reprimanding finger at Frankie. ‘And you should know the trouble it took to do so!’

  Frankie suddenly felt guilty, as though he was somehow responsible for all the fuss. ‘But I still don’t understand,’ he said, weakly. ‘Wot’s Elsa’s will got ter do wiv me?’

  ‘Ha!’ Gertrude slapped her knees disapprovingly, and practically bit off the end of her cigarette holder. ‘Vell you may ask!’

  ‘Frankie,’ continued the solicitor, calmly. ‘Mrs Barclay has made you her chief beneficiary.’

  ‘’Er wot?’

  Gertrude clasped her hands together and directed them up towards the ceiling as though calling for divine intervention. ‘I knew it! I knew it! Elsa, you are a dumm Frau! Didn’t I always tell you zo!’

  Poor Mr Carrington had clearly had quite an afternoon with Gertrude, and he sighed in frustration. ‘It means, Frankie, that as soon as you reach the age of twenty-one, you will be inheriting everything that Mrs Barclay had bequeathed.’ Before continuing, he referred to the copy of the will which was spread out on his lap. ‘There are, of course, one or two personal bequests, such as some clothes, jewellery, and a small amount of money to Miss Rosenberg . . .’

  ‘Ha!’

  Carrington was determined not to let Gertrude interrupt again. ‘But Mrs Barclay was emphatic that the bulk of her Estate should come to you.’ He looked up to take in Frankie’s reaction.

  The news was too much for Reg Lewis to take in, so he quickly sat down in the armchair nearest to him.

  All Frankie could do was to stand in the middle of the room with his mouth and eyes wide open. ‘Me!’ he spluttered, in total disbelief. ‘Elsa’s left everyfin’ she ’ad – ter me?’

  ‘Yes, Frankie.’ The solicitor looked up from the will, a warm smile on his face. ‘From the things she’s written down, she had a deep affection for you. I’d say she saw in you the son she never had. Clearly you made the last years of her life the happiest she had known since her husband died.’

  Frankie was stunned. ‘But – wot about Jack Barclay? When ’e ’ears about this, ’e’s goin’ ter cut up rough, ain’t ’e?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the solicitor, immediately becoming strict and business-like again. ‘I’m well aware of what Mr Barclay will do – or at least try to do. I think you can take it that I am more than prepared for the dialogue I intend to have with him.’

  Frankie stood in the middle of the room, still bewildered by the enormity of all that had taken place during the past few minutes.

  He exchanged a brief smile with Maggs, and then turned to Gertrude. ‘But miss, surely yer must ’ave known? When Elsa give yer the will – din’t yer know she was goin’ do – all this?’

  Gertrude sat bolt upright on the sofa. ‘Know?’ she snapped indignantly. ‘Do you think I would open a sealed envelope, marked PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL? Do you think I am a common criminal – like Jack Barclay!’

  ‘But, Mr Carrington,’ said Maggs, stepping in to stem Gertrude’s outrage, ‘if Elsa was so determined not to let Jack Barclay have her property, why didn’t she get you to draw up a proper will for her?’

  ‘I think I know why.’ This time Frankie felt confident enough to answer. Remembering what Elsa had told him about her experience with the authorities when she was interned on the Isle of Man during the war, he replied with a smile, ‘She ’ated officials. No matter where they come from. She just din’t trust ’em.’ Then he quickly turned to the solicitor, adding, ‘No offence meant, sir.’

  Mr Carrington smiled. He wasn’t at all offended.

  ‘Zo! Vot are you going to say to me, Misster Frankie Lewis?’

  For the first time in ages, Frankie’s face broke out into a broad grin. ‘Fank yer, miss! I’m very grateful to yer for all yer’ve done.’ Then he turned to the solicitor again. ‘I’m grateful ter you, too, sir.’ Then suddenly, his thoughts seemed to wander. ‘An’ I’m grateful ter Elsa.’ He lowered his eyes, and for a brief moment he was silent. ‘The fing is though – it’s goin’ ter be funny ’avin’ all this wivout ’er bein’–’ere. I’m tellin’ yer, if yer could get ’er back fer me, I’d give it all back.’

  There was a hushed silence, only broken by the sound of Gertrude sniffing and wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘It’s time we were going!’ she said, hurriedly. Both she and the solicitor got up, and made for the door. Maggs kissed her godmother goodbye, and both she and Reg thanked the solicitor for all he had done.

  Before leaving, Gertrude allowed Frankie to kiss her on the cheek. Life without her dearest friend would never be the same again . . .

  Once Gertrude and the solicitor had gone, Frankie had a lot to talk over with his father and Maggs. After all, he would soon have a business of his own to run, and that needed an awful lot of planning. As soon as he could reopen the jumble shop, Frankie was determined to make it the sort of place that Elsa had always wanted it to be – a place that everyone in the whole neighbourhood could be proud of.

  Elsa would have approved of that.

  The rest of the year continued to be a time of great depression throughout the country. In June, London recorded the hottest day for forty years, but during the winter there were strikes in all parts of industry, and it was so cold that the Minister of Power, Emmanuel Shinwell, had to ration the supply of electricity and gas.

  But for Frankie, it was a very different story, with the second half of 1947 turning out to be a milestone in his young life. Although Elsa’s property and assets were placed in a trust until he reached the age of 21, Frankie was allowed to take over the shop and run it as a viable proposition. Before that took place, however, the executors of Elsa’s estate took Jack Barclay to court with a writ that charged him with confiscation of property that did not legally belong to him. The outcome was that he was made to return every item of goods that he took out of the shop, and anything that had been destroyed had to be replaced. By the autumn of that year, Barclay’s jumble shop on the corner of Hornsey Road had not only been given a bright new coat of green paint, but it also became a favourite meeting place for the people who lived near by.

  After an agonising four months in hospital, Gracie Lewis was finally allowed home in August. But once again she had to learn how to start a new life, confined as she was to a wheelchair for the rest of her days. However, what she lost in personal freedom, she gained in the love of her family. Reg gave up his job at the Hornsey Road Baths and dedicated his life to looking after his wife. Frankie promised his parents that, as soon as he came into his inheritance, he would buy them a really nice little cottage in the country. But Gracie said she hated the country, and would sooner stay in good old London where she belonged, and they were comforted by fortnightly letters from Helen, who kept her promise to send Gracie snapshots of little Josie, and also of the new addition to the family, a seven pounds four ounce baby boy called Martin.

  During this time, Frankie and Maggs fell even more deeply in love. They often wondered whether they would ever see Patty Jackson again
– Alan, fed up with his wife sleeping around had divorced her and remarried, and somebody in Merton Street said that Patty had gone off to America with a GI she had met at a dance on a US Air Force base in England. Somebody else swore that she had been seen working as a waitress in a Lyons Corner House Café in Streatham. As for Jeff, well – navy life apparently suited him, so he’d signed on for another seven years.

  And so, as Merton Street prepared to move into another year, Frankie and Maggs joined them all in a New Year’s Eve party in the main hall of Pakeman Street School. Despite the fact that for the rest of the year hardly any of the neighbours ever seemed to talk to each other any more, come New Year’s Eve it was just like wartime, when people stood at their front garden gates and nattered about anything or anyone that came into their heads; when they all joined together as ARP Wardens, and kept a look-out for stray incendiary bombs from enemy aircraft (while still managing to down the odd glass of brown ale as they did so!). Yes, but for this one night of the year, Merton Street was now a very different place, and it would never be the same again.

  The snow on New Year’s Eve was just like it was in the pictures, but it was the kids and teenagers who had the most fun. Nobody who put their face outside their doors was safe from snowballs – and when snooty Mrs Robinson was pelted by kids as she made her way to a midnight service at the Emmanuel Church, they never heard the last of it.

  Frankie and Maggs had a great time at the New Year’s Eve party. Of course, Frankie still hadn’t learnt to dance a step (not on a hall floor, that is), and despite Maggs’ valiant efforts to make him do the ‘jitterbug’, the two of them invariably finished up falling flat on their backs on the school hall floor.

  At about two minutes to midnight, Maggs began to get a little concerned when she realised that Frankie had been away at the toilet for rather a long time and she decided to go and look for him. However, when she met up with her friend, Iris, she was told that Frankie was outside in the school playground.