Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  ‘Agreed,’ said the girl.

  They looked at Henry.

  ‘Agreed,’ he said slowly.

  ‘And now,’ said the woman and she turned to the girl, ‘I think we ought to introduce ourselves. You already know who I am, but you neglected to tell me who you were when we last met because you were talking so much.’

  The girl burst out laughing. Henry envied her confidence. Then, to his embarrassment, he found them both staring at him.

  ‘Henry,’ he mumbled to the girl.

  ‘And I’m Grace. Grace, Grace, the family disgrace,’ the girl chanted. ‘That’s why I’ve come here to live with my Great-Aunt Florence. My other aunts have washed their hands of me. So here I am.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you are,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘or maybe I shouldn’t be. Have you robbed a bank?’

  ‘Worse,’ said the girl.

  Henry looked suspiciously at her. She didn’t look the violent type.

  ‘Tried to burn down the Houses of Parliament?’ asked Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘Even worse than that, I’m afraid.’ She turned suddenly to Henry. ‘How many schools have you been to?’

  ‘Two,’ said Henry.

  ‘I’ve been to twelve.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘are we talking expulsions here?’

  ‘Yes. Or polite letters to my parents, asking them to remove me. I just thought I ought to warn you.’

  ‘Well, thank you for that, Grace,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘but will these expulsions interfere with our enjoyment of The Lady Vanishes?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Grace. ‘At least I don’t think so.’

  The queue began moving again.

  ‘Now tell me about this great-aunt of yours.’

  Henry was relieved Grace was such a chatterbox. It meant that neither she nor Mrs Beaumont would notice how shy he was to be so close to Grace after secretly watching her.

  ‘So she lives in the same road as I do,’ he heard Mrs Beaumont exclaim.

  ‘Yes. With an old maid. I moved there a few weeks ago. My parents live abroad. My father’s a diplomat. I’ve got three brothers but they’re much older than me and they live all over the place too, so I don’t see much of any of them really,’ she said cheerfully.

  They had almost reached the box office by now.

  ‘What does that say?’ she asked, pointing to a large placard.

  Henry was puzzled. It was in huge letters. She obviously needed glasses.

  Mrs Beaumont looked at her for a moment in surprise and then read out, ‘Margaret Lockwood, Michael Redgrave, Paul Lukas in The Lady Vanishes. For four days.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Henry handed over his ticket money to Mrs Beaumont, as did Grace, and they stepped into the Grecian portals of the Classic.

  Although Henry sat apart from them throughout the two films, they were waiting for him in the foyer afterwards. Without discussion they walked back together past the fenced-off, unlit bombsites. It wasn’t until they had reached his street and were about to walk past his house that he plucked up the courage to speak.

  ‘I live here,’ he said, awkwardly.

  ‘Now remember. Next week. Odeon cinema,’ announced Mrs Beaumont. ‘I shall be there from one o’clock to make sure I get a seat for the one-forty programme. You can pop round one evening this week after you’ve finished at the grocers to do a job for me in exchange for a ticket. How about Wednesday?’

  ‘Yeah. All right,’ said Henry shyly.

  And then they were off. When they reached the end of his street they turned and waved.

  ‘See you Wednesday night!’ Mrs Beaumont called out.

  Henry waved back and watched them till they disappeared round the corner.

  He didn’t tell his family where he was going on Wednesday night, not even his gran. For some reason, he wanted to keep his friendship with Mrs Beaumont private. He let them think he was going to the Pictures. After supper he headed down Victoria Road to her house, pushed open the large wooden gate and walked up the tiled path to her front steps. He paused for a moment and peered down a deep stone trench at the side, where steps led down to a heavy front door leading to what looked like a basement flat. Above him at the top of the steps, inside the open porch, were two doors and they were both open. The inside one was an imposing carved wooden door with stained glass windows, the vivid patterns outlined in black. He hesitated, not feeling he could walk in or call out. He raised a heavy doorknob in the shape of a lion’s head on the outer storm door and knocked loudly. Within seconds he heard footsteps coming from downstairs. Mrs Beaumont peered round the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said eagerly, and beckoned him to follow her up a wide stairway. He let his hand drift along the largest banister he had ever seen. It was smooth and the wood was a rich, dark brown. Supporting it were heavy ornate rails, which looked like a series of table legs.

  At the top of a second flight of stairs was a large landing with four doors leading off it and even more stairs going upwards. She stopped outside the door on the left and stared at it as if gathering strength.

  ‘This is something I’ve avoided looking at for months,’ she said. ‘I hope you’re feeling strong,’ and she swung open the door.

  They stepped into an enormous room with two high windows and a tiled fireplace, packed with furniture, boxes, trunks, suitcases and crates of books. There was more in the room than in the whole of Henry’s house.

  Two single beds, which had been taken apart, were spread out in sections. An armchair was stuck in the middle with four oriental rugs piled on top of it, and a wooden table was submerged beneath suitcases and boxes. In the alcove by the fireplace nearest one of the windows was a massive mahogany wardrobe. A cupboard over a deep drawer was built into the alcove on the other side of the fireplace, unreachable behind a pile of chairs and a chest of drawers. Mrs Beaumont looked thoughtful for a moment and then climbed over some boxes to the centre of the room.

  ‘Right, she said, ‘let’s start.’

  Between them they put the two beds together and cleared the area by the wall opposite the fireplace. They heaped most of the boxes and suitcases on to the beds and stacked the rest up against the wall next to them. Once the table was cleared, they carried it through the door and out on to the landing, and returned to stack more of her brother’s belongings up by the fireplace.

  Henry noticed Mrs Beaumont gazing sadly through the doorway.

  ‘So many people used to come and visit my brother and sit round that table: writers, actors and actresses, photographers, musicians. He was a shy man but a good listener, and he liked to feed hungry people. There’s been a lot of laughter round it. I kept it up here because I thought it would be a bit silly sitting at it on my own. It seats eight, you see.’

  ‘Do you want it back in the bedroom?’

  ‘No. Let’s take it down to the kitchen.’

  As they picked it up, Mrs Beaumont suddenly smiled. ‘I wonder which seven people will join me round it.’

  Henry crept past his gran’s room and slowly turned the kitchen doorknob. Uncle Bill was sitting at the table reading one of his Penguin New Writing paperbacks. Henry suddenly became aware of his stepfather’s hands. His skin was so rough and blemished from working in railway cabs that they looked dark against the pages of the book. He glanced up at Henry.

  ‘Your mother’s gone to bed. Good film, was it?’

  Henry nodded.

  ‘Those cinema seats must be very neglected,’ he remarked casually.

  Henry glanced down at his jersey and trousers. They were covered in dust. He removed the remains of a cobweb from his sleeve and quickly slipped into the scullery to clean his teeth.

  *

  Knowing that on Friday morning Mr Finch would be asking them about their research, Henry called again at Mrs Beaumont’s house on Thursday evening.

  ‘You must come upstairs immediately,’ she insisted as she opened the front door. She seemed very excited.

  Henry wa
s staggered when he walked into the huge junk room, only it wasn’t a junk room any longer.

  ‘It looks like a proper bedroom now,’ she stated, and she threw open the doors of the large fitted cupboard on the left of the fireplace. Behind it the rows of deep shelves were now neatly filled with books and magazines. ‘I’ve unpacked all his books,’ she declared. ‘And put his film magazines on the bottom shelf.’

  The shelves reached the ceiling. Henry was surprised to see some of the Penguin paperbacks that Uncle Bill had read, on the top shelf. The magazines were stacked horizontally. Beside them was a black case.

  ‘His typewriter,’ she said. ‘He used to type up my stories.’

  ‘Do you write stories?’ Henry asked, surprised.

  ‘Did. But since I moved here, I’ve done no writing at all.’

  ‘What kind of stories?’

  ‘Not westerns or thrillers, I’m afraid. Children’s stories. For annuals. That sort of thing.’

  ‘I’ve never met a writer before,’ said Henry.

  ‘Well, now you have,’ she said. ‘Now, this is what I want to show you,’ and she walked over to a trunk, snapped open the lock and eased back the lid. ‘They’re not movie cameras. You’re looking at 1899, aren’t you? Most of them will probably be too old for your presentation. The zoetrope!’ she exclaimed. ‘That might be fun.’

  ‘What’s a zoetrope?’

  ‘It’s a machine that makes a set of almost identical picture cards look as if the images are moving when it spins round. Oh, my goodness!’ she cried, picking up a small tan leather camera case, ‘I remember him buying this just before he died.’ She unbuckled it and drew out a slim black camera.

  Henry gasped. It was a beauty.

  She pressed a silver button at the side and it flew open, the lens springing forward from bellows. Surrounding the lens was a circular silver dial with numbers etched into it, a little silver lever at its side. Behind it was another dial in black, which also had numbers on.

  ‘It still has film in it.’ She looked at him for a moment. ‘Here,’ she said and held it out to him.

  As he took it, Henry noticed that his hands were shaking.

  ‘Finish it.’

  Henry stared at her, puzzled. Finish what? he thought.

  ‘The film. Finish it.’

  ‘But don’t you want to do that?’

  ‘I’m not in love with it. You are,’ she said simply.

  He couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘Then I can get it developed,’ she added.

  And that’s when Henry told her about the darkroom.

  ‘But the school caretaker doesn’t think we’ll be able to get hold of any black paint.’

  ‘He doesn’t, eh?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Well, I’ll just have to put on my thinking cap, won’t I? By the way, what do you have to do with all this research?’

  ‘Give a presentation. In groups.’

  ‘How many are there in your group?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘And your fellow information collectors are pulling their weight, are they?’

  Henry nodded awkwardly.

  ‘Well, if you want to bring them round here, they’d be very welcome.’

  No sooner had he stepped into the hall than Gran’s door flew open. She was in her nightdress.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she asked. ‘You didn’t come and kiss me goodnight last night.’ She glanced at the camera case. ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘A camera.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? What you doin’ with it, then?’

  ‘Someone’s lent it to me. She’s helping me with the Victorian presentation.’

  Her face lit up.

  ‘Ah ha! That’ll show that Mr Finch, eh?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Henry quietly.

  6. The audition

  ‘COULD YOU ALL COME TO THE FRONT PLEASE,’ SAID THE usherette.

  The children who were auditioning for the choir had been asked to stay behind after the Cinema Club. Henry had been dreading this moment all week. Singing in a choir was kid’s stuff, but he knew Gran would get upset if he didn’t turn up. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Grace. She turned and smiled at him. Henry pretended not to see her. Boys who were seen being friendly with girls were called sissies.

  The choirmaster walked on to the stage and stood next to the pianist.

  ‘I’ll hear the girls first,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry if you can’t think of a song. Happy Birthday or God Save the King will suit the purpose. Now I need you to call out your names in a nice loud voice, please,’ and he nodded at Grace.

  ‘Grace, Grace, the family disgrace,’ she chanted.

  ‘I hope you won’t be disgraceful here,’ the man said firmly and went on to the next girl.

  Henry wondered why she did it. It was almost as if she did it without thinking. As the girls were called up to sing solo in groups of three, he slid further down into his seat in an attempt to make himself invisible. After listening to several renditions of Cherry Ripe, Molly Malone and Bobby Shaftoe among high-pitched versions of God Save the King, he watched Grace go up with the final three, knowing it would soon be time for him to humiliate himself on stage.

  ‘And how old are you?’ the choirmaster asked Grace.

  ‘Thirteen. Almost.’

  ‘Have you prepared something or would you like the pianist to play God Save the King?’

  ‘I’ve prepared something,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘Another English folk song, is it?’

  ‘No. It’s called It’s Magic. It was sung by Doris Day in the film.’

  ‘Well, that sounds interesting,’ said the man, ‘I don’t know it, I’m afraid, but I’m sure you’ll sing it in tune.’

  ‘Do you mind if I find the right note to start with?’ she asked.

  Before the man could answer, she walked over to the pianist and said, ‘May I?’

  She looked so comfortable up there, Henry thought. He would never have had the nerve to speak up there, let alone ask for a favour. The pianist looked a bit ruffled. Then he nodded and allowed her to find the note she wanted.

  ‘That’s the one,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a little low, isn’t it?’ he commented.

  ‘Oh, no. It’s just perfect.’

  She strode to the centre of the stage and gazed up at the dress circle.

  ‘You sigh, the song begins

  You speak and I hear violins

  It’s magic,’ she sang.

  Henry was aware of giggling from the girls. Unlike the high, piping sounds of the ones who had auditioned before her, Grace’s voice was deep. By now their smothered laughter had reached the boys. Henry couldn’t understand why she didn’t stop. It was so embarrassing.

  ‘She’s got a voice like a man!’ one of the boys muttered and they exploded into laughter.

  By now the choirmaster was looking flustered. Grace suddenly began humming the melody, interspersing it with the occasional, ‘It’s Magic.’

  ‘I’m doing the orchestra’s bits,’ she explained mid-flight.

  Before she could be stopped, she was singing the verses again, only now it was difficult to hear the words.

  ‘Why do I tell myself

  These things that happen are all really true,’ she sang above the noise,

  ‘When, in my heart I know,

  The magic is my love for you.’

  She stopped, looked at the man and smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Grace,’ he said stiffly.

  And then she glanced down into the auditorium.

  ‘Why are they laughing?’ she said in surprise.

  When the choirmaster announced which girls had been chosen, there was no Grace among the names. What made it worse was that she was the only one not on the list.

  ‘All the girls may now leave,’ he said. ‘I will send rehearsal details to your parents.’

  Henry looked across at her. He couldn’t see her face because her head was bowed.

  ‘Now for the bo
ys. Anyone here whose voice is breaking?’

  Henry raised his arm.

  ‘We’ll have you first.’

  As Henry dragged his burning body up to the stage he consoled himself with the thought that it would be all over soon. He was halfway through yodelling Happy Birthday when the man stopped him.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ he said.

  At least no one was laughing at him, Henry thought, as he returned to his seat.

  When the list of chosen boys was read out, to Henry’s relief, he wasn’t on it. He could now at least tell Gran that he had tried.

  The boys couldn’t get out of the auditorium fast enough. Henry took his time. He liked being in the auditorium and he was in no hurry to leave. But then he spotted Pip’s mother clearing away the debris of the children’s matinee from behind the seats and he walked quickly towards the foyer.

  As he was passing the Ladies he heard sobbing. Before he realised what he was doing, he found himself walking back down the aisle.

  ‘Hello, love. Have you lost something?’ asked Mrs Morgan.

  ‘No. It’s just . . . ’ He hesitated. ‘There’s someone crying in the Ladies.’

  ‘You leave it to me,’ and she headed swiftly up the aisle.

  Henry followed her and watched her disappear into the Ladies. He hovered outside.

  ‘He didn’t choose me,’ he heard the girl cry. ‘No one ever does. No one ever wants me.’

  ‘Come ’ere, my love,’ Henry heard Mrs Morgan say. Henry realised now that the girl was Grace. He backed away out of the auditorium, ashamed of himself for being as unfriendly to her as the others had been.

  As soon as he saw her step outside he sprang to his feet. He noticed her face was still flushed from crying.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, surprised, and she gave a brave smile. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Waitin’ for my friend Charlie,’ he lied. ‘I thought he had a leave weekend but he ain’t turned up. I must’ve got the dates mixed up. I thought you girls had already left.’

  ‘I wanted to look at what was on next week, that sort of thing,’ she said brightly.

  ‘I didn’t get in the choir,’ he said.