On Mother Brown's Doorstep

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Daddy, you stinker!’

  But she was heart and soul into the fun of it, as she always was when any kind of game was just between her and Boots and she had him all to herself. All her affinity with him surfaced then.

  Will thought the watching man and woman were very taken with her. Well, she wasn’t bad at tennis. She had energy, enthusiasm and a good eye for a ball. Her enthusiasm was infectious. She screamed when Boots put a short one over, but she flew to get at it and just managed to plop it back. It left Boots stranded. She jumped up and down in her joy.

  ‘Isn’t she a young sport?’ said Annie. ‘I wish I could play tennis, it looks fun.’

  ‘If I could play meself,’ said Will, ‘I’d teach you. Mind you, Annie, I’ve played football for the battalion. Like me to teach you that?’

  ‘It’s always been me dearest wish to play football, I don’t think,’ said Annie, sitting close to him because she liked being close, and Will began trying to puzzle out why the natural pleasure of the contact set off the little stirring sensations that threatened to sensitize his bronchial tubes, as they had the other evening.

  Rosie yelled again.

  ‘Daddy, I’ll stick pins in you!’

  ‘Play up, Rosie.’

  ‘Will, what a lovely girl,’ said Annie.

  ‘She’s Rosie Adams,’ said Will, ’and that’s her dad, Sammy’s eldest brother.’

  ‘Crikey, d’you know them?’ asked Annie.

  ‘Yes, I met all the Adams fam’ly, through Susie,’ said Will.

  ‘’Ave they all turned posh, then, the Adams?’

  ‘Not posh, no,’ said Will. ‘They used to live in the house we live in now. They bettered themselves when they left.’

  ‘I don’t blame them,’ said Annie. ‘I wish me dad had a chance to better ’imself, I bet he’d take it with both ’ands. Still, he’s not down in the dumps about it, nor me. Nor you, are you, Will? I mean, well, I think we’re betterin’ ourselves just sittin’ in the park and watchin’ the tennis, don’t you?’

  ‘Are we?’ asked Will, trying to ignore vibrations.

  ‘Well, if we were sittin’ on a doorstep in the Old Kent Road, we’d be more lower than better, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘More lower than better, yes, see what you mean,’ said Will, who thought the strong-looking man on the other bench was concentrating a very fixed pair of mince pies on the scampering Rosie.

  ‘It’s nice we agree,’ said Annie. ‘I thought, when I first met you, I thought what an ’orror, I bet his parents despair of ’im. I don’t know how you’ve managed to be such an improvin’ feller; it must be the improved company you’ve been keepin’. ’Ave you been goin’ out to look at cathedrals with our vicar? He’s ever so improvin’, and nice as well.’

  Will grinned. He watched Rosie serving, he watched her dance on quick feet as she waited for the return. He thought about Sally. Sally had quick feet and enthusiasms. He could just see her dancing about on a tennis court if she’d been given the chance to learn the game.

  On the other bench, Madge said, ‘Don’t you wish she was yours, Henry?’

  ‘What?’ said Henry Brannigan.

  ‘I mean don’t you wish she was your daughter? She’s a bit young for you otherwise.’

  ‘I’m lookin’, that’s all,’ he said.

  ‘You ought to ’ave ’ad kids, Henry,’ she said, ‘then you wouldn’t be such a lonely man. Come on, let’s go back to the flat and I’ll do us a nice Sunday tea, which I’d like to do, seein’ ’ow good you’re bein’ to me.’

  He had increased her allowance to two pounds a week because she was giving him suppers and Sunday dinner. She didn’t think he’d only want food and company for ever. Well, when he wanted what was good for any real man, she’d be very willing.

  Will and Annie left a few minutes later, Will deciding not to intrude on Boots and Rosie by making his presence known to them. Annie said he was going to have Sunday tea with her and her family, wasn’t he? Will, who had kept the vibrations at bay simply by listening to Annie and watching the tennis, said he’d be pleasured.

  ‘Pleasured?’ said Annie. ‘I ’ope you don’t have larks in mind.’

  ‘What larks?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know exactly how improved you are,’ said Annie, ‘you might not be improved all that much.’

  ‘I think I’ve got larks comin’ on,’ said Will.

  Annie’s laughter gurgled.

  I’ll have to watch he doesn’t put his head under the table again, she thought.

  She experienced little vibrations then, but they weren’t quite as alarming to her as Will’s were to him.

  ‘Me mum says you can stay to Sunday tea, Cassie,’ said Freddy, who’d managed to resist her demands to be taken up the park again with her barmy cat. He’d persuaded her to ride around all the back streets instead, although she’d made his ears ache with her complaints that they wouldn’t get to see the Prince of Wales or soldiers on horseback or the lady of a hundred and one nights. Freddy had had to ask the lady of what? Cassie, who naturally did a lot of reading, said there was a book about her and that she told stories to a sheikh on a white horse every night. Freddy said if he spent every night sitting on a white horse, he was as crackers as she was. Cassie complained he wasn’t listening properly. Freddy said he was, that was why his ears were aching, and that anyone who told stories for a hundred and one nights was going a bit short of sleep. Cassie said well, she thought it was a hundred and one, and that she told her stories while she was wearing a big red ruby in her tummy button. Blimey, said Freddy, no wonder the sheikh couldn’t get off his horse, with a big red ruby staring at him. Cassie complained he wasn’t paying attention, and Freddy said he couldn’t pay attention and ride his bike as well. Anyway, when they finally got home, Mrs Brown said Cassie could have Sunday tea with them, if she liked.

  ‘Please, what yer got for tea?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘Boiled eggs, bread an’ butter, salmon and shrimp paste, raspb’ry jam and cake,’ smiled Mrs Brown.

  ‘Crumbs, I’d like that,’ said Cassie, ‘but I’d best go ’ome first an’ tell me dad I’m ’aving tea here.’

  ‘I’ll ride yer there,’ said Freddy. A mate was a mate, even if she was scatty.

  ‘No, I’ll do a bit of walkin’,’ said Cassie, ‘I don’t think me bottom wants to sit on yer bike any more today.’

  ‘Freddy, didn’t you give her a cushion to sit on?’ asked Mrs Brown.

  ‘Course I did,’ said Freddy, ‘she gives me a rollickin’ if I don’t.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve gone all numb,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Cor,’ said Freddy in glee, ‘Cassie’s got a numb bum.’

  ‘Now, Freddy, you didn’t ought to say that in front of Cassie,’ said Mrs Brown.

  ‘Oh, the Little Princess ’ad one of them,’ said Cassie, ‘when she sat on six velvet cushions that ’ad an ’ard pea under them. Well, I won’t be long, I’ll just go an’ tell me dad.’ Off she went, leaving Freddy grinning and Mrs Brown smiling. Will, Susie and Sally were all out, and Mr Brown was in the parlour, his feet up.

  Along the pavement twinkled Mr Ponsonby, beaming at the sight of Cassie turning into Caulfield Place, her cat in her arms.

  ‘Well, well, what a day, what a peaceful day,’ he said, stopping.

  ‘Yes, it’s Sunday,’ said Cassie.

  ‘Sunday? Dear me, are you Cassie?’

  ‘Yes, I’m goin’ to ’ave tea with Freddy Brown,’ said Cassie. She thought. ‘I’m ’is mate. This is Tabby, me cat.’

  ‘Charming, what a delightful picture,’ said Mr Ponsonby happily. ‘Have you had your photograph taken?’

  ‘No,’ said Cassie. ‘Could yer take one, please, of me an’ Tabby?’

  ‘What a charming idea,’ said Mr Ponsonby. ‘I must find my camera. Dear me, where did I put it? Never mind, we must meet again, Sally—’

  ‘I’m Cassie.’

  ‘Why, yes, how pretty. Have a peppermint, Cassie.’ Out came
the paper bag. Cassie took one of the sweets. Tabby shifted about.

  ‘Thanks ever so, I’ll save it till after tea,’ she said. ‘Oh, could I ’ave one for Freddy?’

  ‘Of course, of course, everyone must have a peppermint,’ said Mr Ponsonby, and Cassie took one for her mate. Mr Ponsonby went pigeon-toed on his way, talking happily to himself. There were prospects, prospects.

  Cassie arrived at the Browns’ house with her cat. Freddy groaned.

  ‘But ’e wanted to come,’ said Cassie, ‘’e told me so. Well, ’e likes salmon an’ shrimp paste.’

  ‘An’ boiled eggs?’ said Freddy.

  ‘No, just salmon an’ shrimp paste,’ said Cassie, ‘as long as it’s Kennedy’s.’

  In the parlour, Mr Brown shuffled his Sunday paper, turning again to a report on the Bermondsey murder. There was a reproduction of a Brownie snapshot of the unfortunate girl, and an artist’s impression of the two missing girls. The Bermondsey scrap yard was mentioned more than once, and Collier and Son also featured. But not Adams Enterprises. All the same, Mr Brown neatly ripped out the relevant page, folded it and put it into his pocket.

  Mr Brown was an old-fashioned guardian of his family’s peace of mind. Susie, of course, knew the yard was the one he’d been promoted to manage, but none of the others did. More peaceful to keep it like that.

  On the other hand, if the police caught the bloke, he might have to appear at the trial as a witness to the discovery of the body. Then all the neighbours would be coming round to ask questions of his dear old Dutch and to say fancy your Jim finding that poor girl under his shed at work. Oh, well, thought Susie’s cheerful dad, I’ll look after that worry when it arrives, like old Noah said about the flood.

  When Will finally said good night to Annie at her front door, he was in two minds about kissing her. Blimey, he thought, what a load of old turnips that was, any bloke being in two minds about kissing a girl like Annie. All the same.

  ‘Well, Annie, it’s been—’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Annie, and he wasn’t given a chance then to do more shilly-shallying, because Annie wasn’t in two minds herself. She kissed him. Well, of course, that did it for Will and he kissed her back, doing what came naturally instead of mucking about like a bloke who didn’t know his knee from his elbow. Annie went wobbly with bliss and wondered what was happening to her legs. It felt as if they were going for a walk without her, leaving her with no support. So she hung on to Will. Ruddy marvels, thought Will, kissing her again, we’re bosom to bosom and I like hers better than mine. Vibrations chased about, but nothing happened to his minor bronchial tubes. He felt A1 and in good order, and he also felt Annie was definitely just what the doctor ordered for Easter. So he kissed her some more. ‘Help,’ she said, coming out of a final kiss.

  ‘Yes, I feel like a lie-down meself,’ said Will. ‘I’ll go and collapse on me charpoy.’

  ‘Your what?’ said Annie faintly.

  ‘Me Hindustani bed,’ said Will. ‘Good night, Annie, see you sometime durin’ the week.’

  ‘Good night, Will.’ She closed the door when he’d gone. She felt breathless from being well and truly kissed. Oh, lor’, me legs, they’ve run off somewhere.

  It caught Will forty minutes later, the sensitization of his tubes. The time was twenty to eleven and he was just about to undress for bed in the room he shared with Freddy. Freddy was sound asleep and everyone else had retired. Knowing his coughing and wheezing would wake his young brother, Will just had time to get down to the kitchen before he began to fight for breath. He swallowed a tablet with difficulty, and then his coughing was racking him. He hoped his noisiness wouldn’t disturb his parents, who occupied the downstairs bedroom between the kitchen and the parlour.

  Mrs Brown lay awake listening to him and sighing for him. It was cruel, what life had done to her son, a young man only twenty. Poor Will. She wanted to get up to see if there was anything she could do for him, but she knew there wasn’t, and she knew too that Will would rather be left alone.

  It went on for what seemed like ages. It was for ten minutes, actually, but it left Will drained. You’re bloody hopeless, mate, he told himself. It was a while before he took himself upstairs again.

  Mrs Brown heard him go up.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SUSIE HAD SPENT Sunday with her three closest girl friends, Evie Kent, Cora Bargett and Marjorie Willet, because it was her last Sunday as a single young lady. Accordingly, her friends weren’t really sure if it was a Sunday of lamentation or celebration. They didn’t put it quite like that, of course. If they had, they’d have thought they’d swallowed a dictionary. They’d never found the need to, not as Sammy had when establishing himself as a businessman who wasn’t going to be out-talked.

  As far as Evie was concerned it was more like poor old Susie, you’re done for now. Cora suggested Susie could still be saved if someone came up with a just cause. Evie wanted to know what kind of just cause. Cora said some knowing bloke might be able to stand up in the church and yell bigamy on account of the bridegroom already having six wives. Evie said crikey, yes, that could save Susie. Marj said Susie might not want to be saved, that she didn’t look as if she did. Susie said don’t mind me, just keep talking. Evie asked her if she wanted to be saved. Only from you lot, said Susie.

  Cora said Susie was bound to have worries. Have you got worries, Susie? Marj asked the question. Course she has, said Cora, she’s got the terrible worry of being jumped on on her wedding night. Evie said you ain’t half getting common, Cora. Come on, girls, let’s clap hands and sing ‘Here Comes The Bride’, said Marj. Evie said what, on Clapham Common? You bet, said Cora, and let’s do a knees-up as well. All right, said Marj, but let’s all have a drop more port first.

  Susie put a stop to that idea. A girls’ picnic with port wine and lemon on Clapham Common was all right, but not a knees-up. Still, they all had a riotous hen party and tea out as well.

  Susie went into Sammy’s office first thing on Monday morning, presented herself to him as a very personable private secretary, said she was pleased to see him and gave him a kiss.

  ‘I liked that, Miss Brown, and I won’t say I didn’t, but what was it for?’

  ‘You,’ said Susie.

  ‘I naturally hope so, Miss Brown,’ said Sammy, ‘I’m against it bein’ for anyone else.’

  ‘It’s for that great box of daffodils, Sammy darling.’

  ‘A small token of me feelings, Susie, on account of you bein’ invaluable in the office and highly desirable on your mum’s parlour sofa. That’s when your mum’s not actu’lly there, of course.’

  ‘Lucky for you she’s not,’ said Susie, ‘she’d be shocked at the way you interfere with my bosom. Still, I love you for the daffodils, the house is full of them, except that Cassie’s cat ate one at teatime yesterday, I’m told.’

  ‘Who’s Cassie?’ asked Sammy.

  ‘Freddy’s young lady mate,’ said Susie.

  ‘Good on Freddy,’ said Sammy. ‘Did you enjoy a lively hen party?’

  ‘Well, we had a port wine picnic and a knees-up,’ said Susie.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On Clapham Common.’

  ‘Here, hold me up, I’m fallin’ over,’ said Sammy. ‘A knees-up on Clapham Common and you nearly me better half?’

  ‘Oh, the knees-up was only nearly too,’ smiled Susie. ‘By the way, Boots says there’s a mountain of post.’

  ‘Right, see what our share is all about, Miss Brown, and let’s get down to some work.’

  ‘Yes, very good, Mister Sammy.’

  Sammy popped into Boots’s office later and asked him how Emily was. Boots said she was in her office. Sammy said he knew that. The point was, why was she getting so thin? Anaemia, said Boots briefly. You can be fat and still have anaemia, said Sammy. I know, said Boots, and you can be thin too. She needs lots of liver and exercise, said Sammy. I know, said Boots. I don’t like to see her looking skinny, said Sammy. Nor do I, said Boots. Thought I’d
ask about her, said Sammy. Yes, thanks, said Boots.

  Just after twelve, Mrs Rachel Goodman knocked on Susie’s outer door and entered.

  ‘Good morning, Susie,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, good mornin’, Mrs Goodman,’ said Susie. If there was one woman she’d really been jealous of, it was Rachel Goodman, a dark and lustrous beauty who, in Sammy’s younger days, had been his one and only girlfriend. According to Boots, she paid Sammy a penny to kiss her, and Sammy had acquired a small fortune in pennies from her. During his growing years, Sammy refused to kiss or be kissed unless he was given a penny. Susie suspected Rachel still had a soft spot for Sammy. Further, she really was a beautiful woman, a cockney Jewess whose father had given her an excellent education and helped her acquire a flair for always looking superbly dressed. Today she was wearing a light spring coat over a silk dress of lilac blue, and a dark blue cloche hat.

  For her part, Rachel was careful not to go straight to Sammy’s office. She had always done so before Susie became engaged to him. Nowadays she announced herself to Susie first, much though it went against the grain. As a girl she had adored Sammy, her gentile boy friend who not only took her roller-skating but also to his home to enjoy a Christian Sunday tea with his family. As a woman she still hankered after being close to him. Her husband, Benjamin Goodman, was a course bookie and coming up in the world. Horse-racing did not interest her in the least. Clothes did, and so did the rag trade. She was a shareholder in Adams Fashions Ltd and on the board of directors with Sammy, Boots, Tommy and their sister Lizzy. It was her way of being part of Sammy’s life.

  ‘Is Sammy in?’ she asked.

  ‘Is he expecting you?’ asked Susie, and the fair and lovely clashed with the dark and lustrous. The dark and lustrous smiled.

  ‘My life, Susie, must he be expecting me?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a sort of informal call?’ said Sammy’s extremely personable private secretary.