‘And they all looked so happy,’ commented Jessica, ‘as if they liked being filmed.’
‘Well, it was like magic to them,’ Daniel said.
‘And the horse-drawn carriages. And big old cars!’ said Henry.
‘Which film did you like best?’
‘When those men were pulling down the brick wall and the film went backwards and it looked as if they were rebuilding it again. And that bit where a big chunk of it goes up by itself.’
‘I liked the one set in the garden best,’ said Jessica. ‘Where the old man was watering the plants with a hose and the boy sneaked up behind him and put his foot on it to stop the water coming out.’
‘And he looks into it to see what’s wrong and the boy takes his foot off and it squirts water in the old man’s face,’ added Henry, grinning.
‘And he chases the boy,’ said Jessica, ‘and he’s absolutely furious.’
‘That was the beginning of using film to tell a story,’ said Daniel.
‘They were really good,’ said Henry enthusiastically, ‘but . . . ’ He hesitated.
‘But what? Spit it out, old man.’
‘Well, talking about films, it’s a bit like . . . ’ He paused, struggling to find the right words. ‘It’s . . . ’
‘As odd as listening to someone dance,’ interrupted Jessica.
Henry grinned.
‘Yeah. Sort of. I mean, it’s all in the pictures.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Daniel. ‘In other words you’d like me to come and show these films to your form.’
‘No! I mean . . . ’ stammered Henry.
‘That’s agreed, then.’ He turned to Jessica. ‘Like to come with me?’
‘Why not?’ she said.
Henry found himself laughing. He tried to imagine Mr Finch’s face when he told him. He would have to be friendlier with him now, wouldn’t he?
‘You realise this is madness,’ Mrs Beaumont exclaimed as Henry and Jessica carried the trunk on to the pavement. ‘Once I have to sell up the Sternsea house I shall have to bring it all the way back again.’
Henry couldn’t help staring at her. He felt as though she was someone else, with her newly cut bobbed hair. She looked ten years younger. And it was the first time he had seen her wearing powder and lipstick.
‘But why do you want to leave Sternsea?’ said Henry. ‘It has twenty cinemas.’
‘And the Kings Theatre and the Theatre Royal and the Coliseum. And that’s wonderful, but I miss having like-minded people around me. I feel I’m atrophying.’
‘Brain rot,’ translated Jessica, glancing aside at him.
A black cab drew up.
‘Oh, my goodness, he’s here already,’ cried Mrs Beaumont. ‘We’d better hurry with the rest of the luggage.’
‘I thought this was it,’ said Henry.
‘There’s a gramophone, and a wooden case with records in it that I want Grace to hear.’
‘And this,’ added Jessica. She handed Henry a heavy cylindrical object wrapped in canvas. ‘Black paint.’
He beamed. Now Mr Finch would be able to have his darkroom.
‘Thanks!’
On the train journey home, Henry decided to tell Mrs Beaumont the truth about his film group. He liked her too much to deceive her any longer. As he poured out how difficult it was for him to go anywhere near Pip and Jeffries and told her about the contents of the envelope he had been given, Mrs Beaumont listened to him in silence.
‘And now Mr Finch keeps ignoring me. And he doesn’t ignore anyone else.’
‘Perhaps he’s giving you a taste of your own medicine. Perhaps he wants you to know how it feels.’
And Henry knew she was right. It was so obvious that he felt stupid not to have realised it.
‘Mrs Beaumont, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Oh, I think you do.’
He nodded.
‘When we get back to your house,’ he said, ‘can I use your telephone?’
10. Unexpected friends
‘TOP FLOOR,’ WHEEZED THE STOUT LANDLADY AT THE FRONT door, a half-smoked cigarette clinging to the corner of her mouth, ‘right-hand side.’
At the foot of the fourth flight of stairs, Henry could see a door on the left of a landing. A sloping skylight window looked out on to the roof. As he walked up he could see another door tucked under an alcove on the right. Under it was a single gas ring on a tiny tiled table. He knocked nervously on the door.
It was Mrs Jeffries who opened it. Instantly, Henry could see she was as nervous as he was, which was strange because he couldn’t imagine anyone who sounded posh being afraid of him. In spite of her shabby clothes and gaunt face, there was something elegant about her.
‘Thank you for letting me come and see Jeffries,’ Henry said politely, breaking the silence.
Jeffries peered out from behind her.
‘Hello,’ he said shyly.
‘Come in,’ she said.
Henry followed them into an attic room with sloping ceilings. A window looked out at the neighbour’s top window and roof. One tiny bed was pushed up against the wall underneath, and another narrower bed was placed against the wall on the left. On the opposite wall stood a black sewing machine and a towering pile of enormous stiff pink corsets. A box overflowing with coils of elastic and stocking suspenders was on the floor beside it. Henry didn’t know where to look. As he turned to close the door he noticed a tiny fireplace where a fire had been laid. Jeffries and his mother were wearing thick pullovers.
‘Tea?’ she asked.
‘Yes, please, Mrs Jeffries.’
She picked up a kettle and took it out on to the landing. He heard the voomph of the gas as she lit the ring. It didn’t take long for Henry to realise that he was the one who was going to have to do the talking.
‘I came about the History presentation,’ he began awkwardly. ‘I didn’t say much before because I hadn’t got much to say.’
Jeffries nodded but Henry could see that he didn’t believe him.
‘But I was in London yesterday.’
‘London!’ exclaimed Jeffries.
‘Yeah. And this man, Daniel, he showed me some old films. They’re not exactly 1899. They’re 1895 and 1900.’
‘And you actually watched them?’ gasped Jeffries.
‘Yeah. And he says he’ll bring them down here so we can show them for our presentation.’
‘But this is splendid!’ exclaimed Jeffries.
Henry was a bit taken aback. Splendid was the sort of word posh actors used.
And then he watched Jeffries’ face fall.
‘But if he does that, we won’t be doing anything.’
‘He wants us to introduce it all. And then of course there’s the piano playing.’
By the time they had finished talking about the presentation, tea was ready and Jeffries had his Picture Goer’s Annuals and other film magazines spread out.
‘One of the Lumière brothers died last year, you know,’ he said. ‘It’s in the Picture Goer’s Annual.’
In spite of his dislike of books, Henry found himself immediately drawn to the annuals. He told himself he wasn’t being disloyal to his grandmother or his father’s memory, since they were mostly pictures, photographs of the stars and interviews, and extracts from films presented like a comic strip.
‘Christmas presents from Mother,’ said Jeffries, indicating the annuals.
It sounded odd to Henry to hear a fourteen-year-old boy calling his mum Mother. And there was something else he noticed. Jeffries spoke posher than the way he spoke at school, almost as if there were two Jeffries.
Jeffries dragged out a couple of wooden boxes from under his bed. They were filled with books. Henry spotted War of the Worlds.
‘We went through Woking yesterday,’ he said.
‘See any martians?’
‘No. They must have been indoors.’
And though it wasn’t particularly funny, they laughed so long that it hurt. It was the strangest th
ing – he and Jeffries got on together.
‘So did you go to a cinema in London?’ Jeffries asked.
‘No, but I did see a film, Bicycle Thieves.’
‘Bicycle Thieves!’ yelled Jeffries. ‘Director, Vittorio de Sica.’
‘Yeah,’ said Henry, feeling like he was a millionaire from Jeffries’ reaction.
‘It’s won awards, you know. And you saw it! What was it like?’
To his embarrassment, Henry found himself struggling for words.
‘I couldn’t speak when it was over.’
‘That good, eh?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you have to be home for dinner?’ asked Mrs Jeffries.
It was the first time Mrs Jeffries had spoken since she had begun sewing.
‘Yes, Mrs Jeffries.’
‘Only it’s half-past twelve.’
‘Is it?’ said Henry, surprised. He turned to Jeffries. ‘I’m seeing Pip this afternoon. To tell him about the silent films and all that.’
‘Good,’ said Jeffries. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’
As they closed the door behind them and stood in the alcove on the landing, Jeffries said, ‘We’ve struck gold with this room.’
‘Yeah,’ said Henry, not knowing quite what he meant.
‘Because we’re this side of the landing, Mother has her own private barre.’
Henry stared at him, still no wiser.
‘Ballet barre,’ he explained. ‘She can do her pliés and battements, all that sort of thing, using this banister rail on the landing. Good, eh?’
‘Was she a ballet dancer?’ asked Henry.
‘Yes. She used to tour all over the place.’
‘Can’t she still do ballet?’
‘No. She’s too old now. And she wants us to stay here so Daddy can find us. She did teach but . . . ’ He stopped. ‘Can’t say any more. Walls have ears, you know.’
Jeffries came down the four flights of stairs with him. As they stood in the hall, the awkwardness returned, neither of them knowing what to say.
‘Pip will be so excited,’ Jeffries said eventually.
‘Pip is always excited,’ said Henry.
And they both grinned.
‘See you at school,’ said Henry.
He was about to leave when he remembered something else.
‘I’ve got some black paint for the darkroom. I’ve been helping Sergeant, you see, and I wondered . . . ’
‘Yes,’ said Jeffries, ‘I would like to help.’
Pip lived in a basement. It wasn’t even a room, just a bit of a hallway with a screen for privacy at night. Being a big house, it was a large hall. As Henry came downstairs he could see a window below ground level, which looked up to a path at the side of the house. Under the window was a stone sink and beside it a wooden draining board like the one in the scullery in his house. Several buckets stood underneath. He walked over to a door and was just about to knock on it when he heard a voice say, ‘We’re here!’ Henry swung round.
It was Pip. He and Mrs Morgan stood side by side by the stairs. Behind them, under the stairway, a camp bed was folded neatly on top of a narrow bed. Two chairs and a table were pressed up against the wall opposite.
‘Hello, Henry,’ said Mrs Morgan, smiling. ‘I’ve left ginger beer and buns for you and Pip.’
‘You call him Pip too?’ he blurted out.
‘Yes. I was that surprised when I found out people knew his second name was Philip and had shortened it. When I heard the name again in Great Expectations, I thought, well, why not? What’s good enough for my son’s friends is good enough for me.’
So she has no idea it’s short for pipsqueak, thought Henry and if she did, she wasn’t letting on.
‘I’m sorry I can’t stay. I have to get to work but Pip will look after you, won’t you, love?’
She made no mention of the incident in the cinema when she had comforted Grace, and Henry knew instantly that Grace’s secret would be safe with her. She kissed Pip, gave him a hug, and headed for the stairs.
‘Sit down,’ said Pip excitedly. ‘You’re my first visitor.’
‘Thanks.’
Henry noticed a suitcase, a pile of comics and a small black paraffin stove standing beside the table with a battered saucepan on it. He put his hand near it for warmth but it was cold.
‘I haven’t been talking to you much,’ began Henry, embarrassed.
‘I know. Jeffries explained everything.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes. He said you were helping get a darkroom ready and you were working really hard and that you were too busy to talk to us.’
Henry felt ashamed.
‘Yeah. But I’ll soon be finished. I brought some black paint back from London.’
‘London!’ exclaimed Pip.
He leapt up from his chair and proceeded to jump up and down, waving his arms. A thin, exhausted-looking woman carrying a bucket filled with dirty dishes was puffing down the stairs but Pip carried on with his whirling dance.
‘Boy’s mad,’ Henry heard the woman mutter.
He returned to his chair and leaned forward eagerly.
‘More,’ he said, ‘tell me more.’
When Henry told him about Jessica he asked, ‘Do you think she’d let me see the music?’
‘I suppose so. Why?’
‘I might be able to play some of it.’
‘Pip, it takes years to learn how to play a piano.’
‘I’ve been learning for years,’ said Pip simply. ‘I practise on the one in the Plaza. Mum got permission for me to use it. She lets me in early before school. I can’t play in the interval in the Cinema Club, though. That would be favouritism, see.’
It was obvious to Henry that Pip wasn’t very good. If he had been, he would have been roped in to play the piano at school. He quickly changed the subject and started telling him about Bicycle Thieves.
‘We’re so lucky, me and Mum,’ said Pip.
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Not being poor like that boy in the film.’
Henry said nothing. He remembered complaining about having to share his bedroom with Molly. At least he had a bedroom. Compared to Pip, he was rolling in it.
‘Mum says if there’s a storm, we’re in the safest place in the house, and we’ve got a sink on the same floor so we don’t have to carry our dishes up and down the stairs.’ He paused. ‘I wonder what it’s like to have a dad.’ He looked at Henry with such directness that it made him feel uncomfortable. ‘My dad was killed in a car crash before I was born. Mum says he’s in heaven and she knows that he loves me very much.’
Henry felt embarrassed. He had never heard a boy talk about love. That was sissie stuff.
‘About the darkroom,’ he said swiftly. ‘Jeffries is going to help me out.’
‘Oh. So he’ll be busy. He won’t want me around any more.’
‘No. I mean, we thought . . . ’ Henry was aware he was stretching the truth a bit, ‘we thought you’d like to help.’
Pip beamed and leapt to his feet.
‘You’re right.’
‘Shall we eat the buns?’ said Henry, seeing another display of strange dancing fast approaching.
‘Good idea,’ said Pip, grabbing a bun and sitting down again. ‘I still haven’t had any luck at the Plaza. Mum asked the manager if I could go upstairs but he said, “If I let every Tom, Dick and Harry up to the projectionist’s box, there’d be mayhem.” But I’m still keeping my fingers crossed.’ And he bit into the bun.
Once he left Pip’s lodgings, Henry walked over to the school on the off chance that Sergeant would be about. He found him replacing a hinge on a classroom door.
‘Hello, Dodge,’ he said, ‘you’re back early!’
‘I’ve got some black paint, sir.’
‘Ah.’
‘And three volunteers, me included.’
At this Sergeant gave a broad smile.
‘That’s music to my ears.’
‘I was thinking maybe we could come in and do it tomorrow,’ said Henry, ‘to give Mr Finch a surprise on Tuesday.’
‘I like it, boy. I like it. Now give me the names and addresses of your volunteers.’
From his trouser pocket, Henry produced the envelope Mr Finch had given him.
Back at home Henry told no one of his visits. He felt so drained he didn’t even have the energy to push Molly off his knee. She must have sensed his lack of irritation because she sat quietly on his lap, sucking her thumb, and fell asleep against him. Uncle Bill lifted her up gently and carried her upstairs to bed.
‘Tired?’ his mother asked.
Henry nodded. As soon as Molly was settled he cleaned his teeth and went up to their room. Wide-awake, he lay back on the pillow, his mind whirling. He thought about all the things his grandmother had said over the years about Jeffries and Morgan and he mulled over what had happened that day.
‘I like them,’ he whispered. He rolled over on to his stomach and gazed at the pot of paint now standing under the window. ‘And I’m going to see them both again tomorrow.’
11. And then there were four
HENRY AND JEFFRIES WERE ALMOST WEEPING WITH LAUGHTER. The three pairs of overalls Sergeant had brought to the school fitted them but drowned Pip. The crotch of his overalls hung so low that it reached his knees, making it impossible for him to walk, let alone paint a wall. The only part of him which was visible was his head.
‘Stand on that chair,’ commanded Sergeant.
Pip gathered the bottom half of the overalls up to his armpits and struggled to climb on to the seat.
‘Dodge, you take the bottom of one trouser leg. Jeffries, you take the other. Now roll them up. I’ll tie this piece of string round your waist, Pip.’
Eventually Pip’s plimsolls came into view.
‘Are you sure you’re fourteen?’ he asked Pip, rolling up his sleeves.
‘Quite sure. Can we begin painting?’
As soon as they had begun covering the walls with the paint, Pip started humming. Henry was used to this, because sometimes Pip got into trouble for doing it in class. Watching him closely, it was now obvious to Henry why he did it. Happiness made Pip hum.
Just Henry Page 10