Rosie Hogarth

by Alexander Baron

  “Here, come off it,” Jack said, “here I am! They’re all about, all of ’em.”

  Barmy’s high-pitched voice grated on. “All them lovely kids, they’re all gone. All right that was, playing with the kids. You can’t beat it. Lovely kids they was. Used to hold my hand. Never shouted after me, none of ’em. ‘Ba-army!’ ‘Ba-army!’ That’s what the kids scream after me now. Go near one of ’em, woman comes out. ‘You leave my child alone, Barmy Naughton, or I’ll call the police.’ Menace, I am —”

  “Gah way!” Jack consoled, “You’ll be all right now. Wait till I’m settled down. You’ll have a home to come to, just like you used to. You’ll always be welcome. Play with my kids you can, and welcome, any time. That’ll make a difference, won’ it?”

  Barmy blinked at him piteously. “Can I? Honest?”

  “Of course you can.”

  Barmy suddenly swerved across Jack’s path, laid his hand on Joyce’s arm and said eagerly, “Can I, Joycie? Can I come and play with your kiddies?”

  “My kiddies? — Well of all the nerve!” Jack was pleading with her, in grimaces, over Barmy’s shoulder, shaping with his lips the words, “Be nice to him. It’s only for now. Get him quiet.” She said to Barmy, “Now you go back and talk to Jack, go on.”

  “Oh, go on, Joycie,” Barmy pleaded, “can I come in your kitchen every day? Wash up? Little stool by the gas stove, nice and warm there it was.”

  “Look here,” she exclaimed to Jack, “he’s your precious pal. Get him off my arm. Let him ruin your evening, not mine. It’s, all very well playing up to him like this, you’ll never hear the last of it. He’ll be round every day on the strength of this, you see if he won’t, and when I complain, you’ll say, ‘Well, we promised him, Joycie, didn’t we?’ Well, I’m not promising anything and I’m not wet-nursing anybody, and,” she turned to Barmy, carried away by anger, “you’re the last one I ever want crawling across my doorstep, and don’t you forget it.”

  “Oh, you mean bitch!” Jack cried. “Haven’t you got any kindness in you?”

  “Yes,” she answered defiantly, “plenty, and it’s all for you. When there’s any left over, I’ll let you know.”

  Barmy was walking rapidly away into the crowds. Jack hesitated. “Look, I’ve got to — Look, Joycie, I never meant that just now. I’ve got to get hold of him, though, state he’s in. I’ll take him back to Mick’s place. I’ll see you at home later.” He went in pursuit of Barmy.

  Barmy plunged on through the crowds, leaning forward as if he were butting against a gale. The young couples who thronged the pavements in the gay glare of the shop lights, hastening to dances and restaurants, pouring out of the cinemas or strolling to their assignations in the parks, bumped into him without noticing him, or turned to laugh at him and then forget him in their happiness. He ignored Jack, who hurried at his heels pleading with him.

  He turned into a narrow side street, hastening along beneath the high blank wall of a cinema. As he turned a bend, with Jack still following, the clamour and excitement and the pearly dazzle of lights were left behind, rolling up behind the walls in a faint red-tinged glare and a muffled roar of pleasure; so that now Jack could hear what he was saying to himself.

  “Oh, that was a lovely show. Old Florrie Forde wasn’t arf grand...”

  “But she wasn’t in the show,” Jack protested, unheard.

  “...You’re all right, Kate, you are. You’re a blessed sweet angel to me. I’d cut my throat in a day without you. Nobody else in the world has got eyes for me. They all look where I am, as if I wasn’t there. Everybody in the world. All them people, millions of ’em, hurry about, here and there, I ain’t there, not for them. Katie, what have I done to them? I can enjoy life. I do, with you. I can talk. I can when I’m with you, can’t I, Katie love? I can talk like anyone else, can’t I? You know I can talk properly, don’t you? Here, Kate, they got them synchronised pictures up the Olympia. Let’s go there. It’s only down Shoreditch. It ain’t far. You hear the chap sing. You see him on the pictures and you can hear him singing. Bloke told me about it. Bloody marvel it is. Talking pictures. Kate, take us, sweetheart, take us for a treat. Here, Kate, I had an idea. I’ll take Rosie to school every day if you like. Kid her age oughtn’t to cross that big road all by herself, all that traffic, four times a day. Here, know what she said to me yesterday? In the kitchen, she said to me, ‘When I’m a big girl, guess who I’m going to marry?’ ‘Who?’ I says. ‘The Prince of Wales,’ she says. So I says, ‘When’s the happy day?’ And she says, ‘When I’m ten.’ And then she says, ‘And you can be my page-boy.’ Laugh? She’s a wonder, she is!”

  Jack seized Barmy by the arm and pushed him up against the wall. “Here, what’s up, ol’ lad? Here, come on boy, it’s me, it’s Jackie.”

  Barmy stood there trembling. At last he said, “What you want?”

  “You come on home, boy, come on, there’s a good chap.”

  Barmy walked on, at a slower pace than before. Jack kept at his side. “I know when I ain’t wanted,” Barmy said.

  “Don t be daft. You don’t want to take no notice of what women say when they’re in a temper.”

  “I ain’t wanted and I know it. You don’t want to waste time on me, Jackie. Bloody old nuisance. Old rags and lumber. In the way. There was only one wanted me, that was her.”

  “Steady boy. You ain’t the only one that loved her. We all miss her.”

  “Not like I do. She was good to me.”

  “She was good to all of us.” They had reached the side door of The Lamb.

  “Not like she was to me. You don’t know. Nobody ever know. I never let on. She says, ‘I trust you, pet,’ she says, ‘I trust you, my love. A still tongue means a wise head.’ I never let on to anyone. ‘Not in the house,’ she says, ‘it’s a sin in the house. Up the church, in the porch,’ she says, ‘it’s dark and quiet, we can’t be seen, and there’s never a soul goes by at night. The Almighty won’t mind,’ she says, ‘some might, but not Him. When I’ve put the kids to bed,’ she says, ‘I’ll be there with you.’ ”

  “You get to bed, lad. We’ve had a lovely evening. You cheer up and smile, and we’ll go again soon.”

  “Many a time we went there. Late at night. It was lovely and quiet.”

  “All right, boy. You got a key? Get up to bed now.”

  “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Course I do. Open the door now.”

  “Nah, you don’t believe me. Who would? You don’t believe any woman’d put her arms round Barmy, do you?”

  “Course I do.” Barmy’s assertion had aroused in Jack a sudden frantic eagerness to get away. His brain, as if struggling not to absorb what he had heard, span clouds of irrelevant and unrelated ideas. He felt as if his ears had just been boxed. He was trying at once to account for what he had heard, to pretend he had not heard it, and to avoid hearing any more. “G’night, boy.”

  “Wait!” Barmy’s voice was harsh and angry. “You wait here. I’ll show you! I ain’t fit to be loved, am I? Barmy Naughton, who’d touch him? Fancy the queen of ’em all picking him of all people! Makes you die of laughing, don’ it? You wait here, I’ll show you something!”

  Jack heard his own voice, hollow with unbelief. “Kate? Her, with a man? She was a good woman, she was.”

  “Too true she was a good woman!”

  “But her — She — She was our mum, she was.”

  “She writ me a letter. You wait here.”

  He waited in a daze, wanting to run away, till Barmy had returned from within the house.

  “Here.” Barmy handed him the letter. “God forgive us, I swore I’d never show this to no-one.”

  Jack took the letter between deadened fingertips. It was dirty and splitting at the folds. It was headed, Broadstairs, August 22nd, 1939.

  “That summer,” he muttered, “a week before the war. When she went on holiday.”

  ‘My dearest lamb, (he read silently), How do you feel being all on your ow
n, and a man of responsibility for a week? Just think, you are master of a pub, not to mention me relying on you to keep an eye on the youngsters. You see, dear, we trust you more than anyone. Everything is wonderful here, the weather is blazing hot, the sea is so blue and sparkling, it’s years since I’ve seen it like this. It makes me like a young girl again, I buy ice cream cornets, and laugh like anything, I feel so light on my feet I want to run down to the sea on tiptoes, but alas, that’s one thing I’m past. When I lay back in a deckchair I shut my eyes and feel the sun, and all my cares fly away. I think, well, I have had my troubles, who hasn’t? — but they’re all behind me now. My sweet children are growing up, bless them, and everything — I have made up my mind — everything is going to be beautiful from now on, for it’s about time...

  ‘ “The week before the war,” Jack said softly. ... ‘And that is true for you, too, my dear. I shall never desert you. My home will always be open to you, there will always be a chair at my table, and we will always squeeze up to make room for you at the fire. Yes, and when you need me that badly, there will always be a kiss and a cuddle for you. Why not? It’s not shameful, my poor pet, God made us so that we can’t live without it, and we all need a loving heart to turn to, don’t we? But people have wicked tongues, and I treasure my children’s good name more than anything else in the world. But I know I can rely on you. You are a clever, clever dear, and you know that a still tongue means a wise head...’

  Jack looked up for a moment, and sighed. All his notions about life were crashing down like the streets of a city when the earth trembles. New questions and ideas were flashing across his mind. He could not grasp a single one of them, but he already felt tantalised by the new pages of knowledge that waited, as yet beyond the range of his eyes, to be read. Beneath the shock and confusion there lurked no anger or disappointment nor even, to his surprise, disgust that Barmy had been the man, but a strange sweet hurt, as if his spirit grieved because she was dust in the grave and it was too late for him to look at her again, with new and wondering eyes.

  ‘...So don’t fret, dear (the letter ended), a week is not a long time to be alone. Don’t forget, dear, keep an eye on the youngsters for me, and tell Milkie I’m sorry I missed him before I went, I’ll pay him next week. With love, Kate.’

  When Jack had finished reading he folded the letter, gave it back to Barmy, said, “Good night, boy, God bless,” in a quiet, heavy voice, and walked slowly home.

  Chapter Five

  Nancy had posted a card to Jack, to reach him on Monday morning. “We’ve got Gran into hospital. She’ll be better looked after there. I’m visiting, Tuesday, three o’clock. Come if you can get time off.”

  Jack arrived at her flat early on Tuesday afternoon. “I’ve just put baby down to sleep,” she said. “I won’t wake her up, but you can have a peep. The woman next door is coming in to watch her while we’re away. Sit down and I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Jack refused, but agreed not to say ‘no’ to a cup of tea. He asked about Gran’s condition, which was not alarming, answered Nancy’s enquiries about the Wakerells, told her that he had been able to come because he was now on short time (it felt, he said, like being on holiday to walk the streets on a weekday afternoon) and mentioned that he had been wanting to see her for the last couple of weeks. The conventional exchanges exhausted, he fell into a brief silence, sipped his tea, and asked, “Heard from Rosie lately?”

  “No. I suppose she’s been busy. Why?”

  “I been seeing her. Did you know?”

  “No, dear. Oh, I am glad. How is she?”

  “She’s all right.” There followed a grunt which Nancy took for a laugh. “Suppose so, anyway. We didn’t exactly part on speaking terms.”

  “Mmm?” Nancy’s mouth was full of cake. A moment later she uttered an incredulous laugh and said, “Whatever are you talking about? Do you mean you had a row? What on earth have you two got to quarrel over?”

  “Oh, I dunno.” He leaned back and let his head lie against the crossbar of his chair. “She’s a hellcat, your sister, ain’t she?”

  “A hellcat? — Jack, are you delirious or am I dreaming?”

  He continued to study the ceiling. “Blowed if I know! Maybe she ain’t, I don’t know. I’ve had a few shocks these last few days, women this and women that. Never know where you are with them, I can tell you.”

  “Yes, but what’s it all about? I always used to think you were so fond of her.”

  He sat up. “You can say that again. I was crazy about her. I worshipped the ground she walked on. And I ain’t kidding, either. Ever since we were kids. Never guessed that, did you?”

  Nancy pondered, looking troubled. “Not like that. Brother and sister, yes, but — do you really mean like that, to? —” she looked helpless — “like when people marry each other?”

  “I’ll say! Day and bloody night!”

  “Mum said so once. I told her not to be silly. She said, ‘There’s a packet of grief waiting for that poor boy one of these days.’ I said rubbish — you were tarting around with that Maisie Keenan just then. She said, ‘I know him, he’s all eyes and no tongue, and that kind can wait till doomsday before our Rosie notices them.’ Well I mean, Jack, after that time you never showed the slightest sign of interest in Rosie, and certainly, by the way you acted when you came home, nobody would have guessed. What’s been happening between you two?”

  “Oh, nothing much.” He rose from his chair. “Forget it. Hadn’t we better be going?”

  “There’s plenty of time. You sit down.”

  He walked to the window, where he turned to face her. “Look, I’ll give it to you straight. I’ve been having a rare old tear-up with that girl. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I started going out with her, a few weeks ago. One thing led to another — you know how it is. Specially with a girl like that. I spent a bloody fortune on her. Took me home, she did, give me the bloody works, all right. Then wallop, out on my bloody ear’ole, and bang went the door.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know! The things people get up to! It’s all beyond me. I’ve got my little home, and that’s all I know. There’s only one thing I do know, and that’s not to judge. She’s a strange girl, our Rose. I would never set up to understand her. But she’s never done anything wrong, not that I know of. I can’t imagine what led her to give you encouragement — if she did encourage you. And you, Jack! What about poor Joyce?”

  “That’s what she said. Not a stitch on, and she sat there talking about Joyce. She said, ‘You go back to Joyce, and kiss and be happy.’ Can you beat it?”

  “Well, there’s wrong been done, and I’m sorry to hear it. It frightens me, Jack, what I see and hear, the things other people do. It almost makes me glad that me and Tom are such a couple of Jumbos.” She smiled sadly. “But if it’s done with, it’s done with, and thank the Lord for that. It’s Joyce you must think of, from now on.”

  “That’s all right, love. I know a good girl when I see one. I wouldn’t give her up for a bloody pension. No —” he hesitated — “What I was thinking about — Well, next time you see Rose, you tell her, forget it. From me, I mean. Tell her, no hard feelings. I can’t make her out, and that’s a fact, but I wouldn’t like her and me to go on having the needle for each other, not after all these years. The life she leads, anyway, I don’t suppose I should have expected anything better from her.”

  “Jack, don’t start on that! I’ve told you, there’s nothing wrong with Rose or with the life she leads.”

  “The facts speak for themselves, don’t they?”

  “No, they don’t. There’s a few things you ought to know, and if she’d let me, I’d tell you. But she won’t, and it’s up to her.”

  “I don’t know,”Jack groaned. “Bloody mysteries you make!”

  “Never mind that now. Jack, why don’t you go yourself, and make up with her, and have a proper talk with her.”

  “Have a heart, Nance, how can I?”

  “Why no
t?”

  He made inarticulate noises.

  “Well,” she said, “Write to her, dear.”

  “I’ve tried. Look, you go, Nance. You could put it better than me. Proper Joe Muggins I am. I never know what I’m going to say next.”

  “All right, dear. You can put your mind at rest. I couldn’t bear to think there was any ill feeling between you two. Anyway, I must confess I’m all in a muddle after what you’ve told me. I should like to hear what Rose has to say about it. I’ll see her, Jack, as soon as I can.” She considered. “I’ll tell you what, this very night. Tom won’t mind staying in with the baby. I shan’t sleep easy till I’ve seen her, so I might as well get it over and done with.”

  The doorbell rang. “That’s Mrs. Elmore,” she said, “come to mind the baby. We can go now. All right, Jack, dear, don’t you worry. After I’ve seen Rose and I’m clear in my own mind, we’ll have another talk. It breaks my heart, all this silly business about Rose, and it’s time it was settled once and for all.”

  * * *

  At the hospital, Nancy noticed that Jack appeared depressed as they made their way through the echoing, yellow-walled corridors. His face was pinched by a vague fear as he looked at the trolleys and glimpsed through open doors the murmuring doctors, the mysterious rows of bottles on dispensary shelves and the wan, too-cheerful faces of patients. The set of his nostrils suggested that he was sniffing for the sweetness of corruption that underlay the sharp clean smell of antiseptics. Nancy’s serenity was undisturbed. Her step was as quick and eager as on any other visit that she was glad to make. He caught her glance and said, “Put the wind up me, these places do.”

  “Oh, dear,” she laughed, “Tom’s just the same. Like little boys, you are.”

  Gran did not see them when they entered her ward. She was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, listening to a young woman in a hospital dressing-gown who sat beside her.

  Nancy said, “Hallo, my darling. You do look nice and comfy,” and kissed Gran’s cheek.