‘If they were jewels, we could go to Bognor,’ Tony says.
‘We’ll have to save up, then we can go.’
‘What’ll I save up with – shirt buttons?’
‘In a year or so you’ll be able to do a paper round. Then you’ll have some money,’ I say. ‘Anyway, Aunt Min’s started giving me sixpence a week pocket money. If I save it all, it shouldn’t be long before we’ve got enough.’ I have no idea how I’ll shake Mum off from wanting to come with us. There’s no way she’d let us go on our own. But I want to see the same look on Tony’s face as when he told me about being the best man at Fred and Lori’s wedding. I’m afraid it’s gone forever. Everything about him is flat. Deep down I know that nothing, other than Fred and Lori deciding to stay in Blountmere Street, will lift him. Even then, perhaps neither of us will altogether be able to trust them again.
Mum and I peep from behind our net curtains in the front room, as the taxi draws up outside to take Mr Stannard and Miss Lorimore to Tilbury Docks to board the ship for New Zealand. Mum and I called to say goodbye to them yesterday, but Dad didn’t bother. “We wish you every happiness,” Mum said, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t wish them happiness. They’d taken our hopes away, Tony’s and mine. I wished them snakes and spiders, boils and diarrhoea. I wished them a horrible son. I wished them unhappiness. That’s what I wished them.
Mr Stannard, Miss Lorimore and the Addingtons are already standing in a knot on the pavement. Miss Lorimore is dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I can see that Angela is crying. It shocks me. Angela never cries, at least never outside. Mrs Addington looks as if she’s been carved from plaster. Her legs are thicker than ever with bandages.
Tony steps back a little from the group. I can see him stiffen when Miss Lorimore kisses him. He doesn’t hold out his hand when Fred goes to shake hands with him. Then, just as Mr Stannard and Miss Lorimore are about to step into the taxi, Fred turns to Tony and hugs him. Tony isn’t stiff anymore and sags against him.
The Addingtons each wave a sad, droopy wave. Then as the taxi glides away down Blountmere Street, they hurry back inside.
I don’t see Tony until the next day on our way to school. We nod at each other in the usual way, so that no-one will link him with me, but I know he’s as sad inside as I felt when I thought Mum was dying. I’ve got Mum back, but Fred and Lori are gone for good. Already the Addingtons have got a new lodger. a colourless stick of a woman, and Mum says someone’s moving into Miss Lorimore’s place at the end of the week. It’s almost as if Mr Stannard and Miss Lorimore never existed. Apart from our memories, the photos Tony and Angela have of them on their wedding day are the only real reminders that they actually lived in Blountmere Street with us all.
Tony comes down to our place most evenings after school now. Outside it’s cold and fog with dense black spots in it hangs over Blountmere Street. Our place is warm. It doesn’t have a draught anywhere since Dad jammed newspaper around the windows and in every crack, and Mum made material sausages to stop the fog sneaking under our doors.
‘I won’t be able to stay long.’ Tony licks the crumbs left from one of Mum’s date slices from his lips. ‘Angela gets the pip if I don’t help her.’ Tony lowers his voice. ‘Mum’s not well, see. It’s her legs. They’re playing her up bad and they stink something rotten.’ Tony holds the end of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. I’m sorry about Mrs Addington being sick, and about Tony’s tangled hair, his dirty school clothes and the way his bones have begun to stick out.
Mum hands Tony three more date slices wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘Here, take these with you,’ she says. ‘I don’t expect you ever have cakes.’ I glare at Mum. Why does she have to say things like that? Why doesn’t she just hand them to him and say something like, “These are for your Mum and Angela”? But that’s Mum - always having to prove we have more than everyone else. Tony doesn’t seem to mind, though, and stuffs the package in his pocket.
‘Thank goodness for school dinners,’ Mum says when Tony’s gone. ‘They’re the only square meals those kids upstairs get. Things have certainly taken a downward turn since Mr Stannard and Miss Lorimore left. And, of course, Dolly Addingtons’ never been one to cope well.’
There she goes again! Without saying as much, she’s comparing Mrs Addington with herself and, of course, Mrs Addington hasn’t scored anywhere near so high as Mum.
That evening I leave half my chop, a small mound of mashed potatoes and some carrot. It’s all I can manage without Mum becoming suspicious. As it is, she says, ‘Feeling peaky? It’s not like you to leave your food.’
‘I’m full,’ I tell her, patting my stomach.
‘If you’re going to leave your dinner, you’ll have to forego a cake when you come in from school,’ Mum grumbles.
I take my plate to the sink. Instead of scraping the food left into the bowl we use for Jack Moody’s pig bin scraps, when Mum’s dishing up rice pudding for afters, I tip what I’ve left into a tin. I tighten the lid, sidle out of the kitchen and hide the tin under my bed. Tomorrow morning I’ll wait for Tony to come out of his front door on his way to school and give it to him.
Whenever I can, and when I think something won’t be missed, I take it and hide it under my bed to give to Tony. He always looks pleased when I give the things to him, and he takes the paper bag, and shuts his door quickly before anyone can see us. It’s our secret. I know he doesn’t tell Angela or his mother where the food comes from. It makes me feel like I did when I forged the note to Mrs Colby saying Tony was ill and couldn’t go to school.
‘I could have sworn I had a tin of peas,’ Mum says, moving packets, boxes and other tins around the cupboard.
I busy myself setting the table.
‘I don’t know where my mind is lately. I’ve never found that tin of peaches I was sure I had.’
‘It’s the weather,’ I say. ‘Mrs Colby says that when it gets colder, your memory sort of ices up.’
‘Well, I’ve never heard of that before, but she’s a teacher after all, so I suppose she knows.’
I’ll have to ease up on the tins and take some of Mums preserves. She’s got so many, she probably won’t miss them.
Today I got a letter from Mr Stannard and Miss Lorimore. It’s written on sort of tissue paper. Mum says that’s so it won’t cost so much to send. It’s not very long. Most of the letter is written in Mr Stannard’s bold writing and says what a beautiful country New Zealand is and that the weather is warm and sunny. It sounds as if he’s talking about a photo and that the beauty he’s describing doesn’t mean much to him. Miss Lorimore’s part of the letter is scrawly and difficult to read. She hardly mentions New Zealand. Instead, she asks what the weather’s like in London, and if the sycamore tree outside the baker’s is bare now. She asks if we’ve had much fog and the price of lamb chops. They’re very cheap there, she says. I can’t understand why she wants to know such ordinary things, but her questions sound sad.
‘Angela and I’ve had a letter from Fred and Lori, too,’ Tony says that evening in our kitchen, when I tell him I’ve had a letter from New Zealand.
‘And I’ve got my postcards.’ He says it in the show-offish sort of way he does every time he mentions them. He pats his jacket where I know his postcards are in his inside pocket.
‘They’re from different places round the world Fred and Lori went to when they were sailing to New Zealand,’ he tells me for the umpteenth time.
‘I know.’
‘Fred says there’s a lot of beaches in New Zealand. They’re not as good as Bognor, I bet.’
‘Why don’t you ask him in your letter?’
‘My letter?’
‘You’re going to reply, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve never written a letter before.’
‘I’ll help you. Then we can send our letters together.’
It takes a bit of persuasion to get Tony to write, and when he does, he chews t
he end of my fountain pen I’ve let him borrow. His letter doesn’t cover a page, but I know there’s a lot more that he wants to say, but can’t express.
‘That’s it,’ he says as he signs his name.
‘Aren’t you going to put a row of kisses?’ I ask.
‘That’s sissy,’ he replies. Just the same he puts two crosses and sniffs hard.
Chapter Eight
Tony’s stopped coming to our place. Perhaps he thinks we might suddenly up and leave like his father and Fred and Lori. When he left his flat yesterday, I ran down the path after him and whispered that I’ll never leave him and that we’ll always be where we are now. He mumbled something like “San Fairy Ann”. I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s his way of saying he doesn’t care. He does. I know he does.
I think another reason Tony doesn’t come is because Mrs Adddington’s health is getting worse and worse, and he’s trying to get as far away from her sickness as he can. Sometimes he doesn’t come home from school until really late because he goes to his friend, Herbie’s place. When he gets back, he opens and closes the front door quietly and I don’t hear his footsteps on the stairs, but I know when he’s entered their kitchen because I hear Angela shouting at him, demanding to know where he’s been.
‘Things can’t go on in the same way much longer.’ Mum tucks her chin into her chest in her prophetess kind of way. ‘Mark my words, Dolly Addington’s heading for hospital.’
‘But what’ll happen to Tony and Angela?’ I ask, all at once becoming frightened.
‘The Lord knows. They’ll be put into a home, I suppose.’
‘But can’t we do something? Couldn’t Angela stay in my room, and Tony have our front room? And why don’t you pop up and see Mrs Addington?’
‘Look here, girl, we’re respectable citizens and respectable citizens keep themselves to themselves, and don’t go poking their noses into other people’s business.’
‘But the Addingtons are desperate, and Tony’s frightened, I know he is.’
‘It doesn’t mean we have to look after every waif and stray in Blountmere Street. Your father doesn’t hold with it,’ Mum pauses. ‘Anyway, Dolly Addingtons’ not in hospital yet. She’ll probably be as right as rain in a day or two. She’ll just have to pull herself together. She relied too much on the Stannards; that was her trouble.’ Mum pulls her shoulders back. ‘She needs to learn to stand on her own two feet and pay her own way.’
‘How …’ But Mum has already swept out of the kitchen, leaving me with a dozen questions, such as how can Mrs Addington pay her own way, when there’s nothing to pay it with?‘
‘They took Dolly Addington into hospital this afternoon,’ Mum tells me when I get home from school. She’s almost off-hand in the way she says it. ‘What did I tell you?’ she continues. ‘And we’ve had that Angela here asking if she and Tony can stay for a bit, but your father’s said no. She was in a bit of a tizzy. She said the authorities are going to put them away, but it won’t be until tomorrow, seeing as their lodger will be there tonight to keep an eye on them.’
All the time Mum’s talking, Dad sits in his armchair. His gaze never wanders from his newspaper.
‘Why can’t we have them here?’ I demand of Dad, but he doesn’t answer.
‘I said, why can’t we have them?’ My voice is rising and Mum says, ‘Don’t talk to your father like that.’
‘It’ll probably only be for a few days.’ I drop my voice and try wheedling, ‘Please, Dad, please.’
There’s no movement from behind the newspaper and I want to tear it from Dad’s hands, but I know I daren’t.
‘I’m going to see Tony.’ I run into the passage to take my coat from the hook behind the door. As I’m shrugging my arms into the sleeves, I remember Tony sauntering with Herbie after school to Herbie’s place, and that he probably won’t be home yet. I could go round to Herbie’s, but that will give our secret friendship away. Anyway, we’ve got until tomorrow to think of something. I take my coat off and hang it back on the peg.
‘That’s a sensible girl,’ Mum says. ‘Come and eat your tea and stop getting yourself into a state. Some of those children’s homes are very nice.’
When I hear a commotion on the Addington’ stairs I think it’s Angela having her usual yelling fit. There’s another voice. It’s probably Miss Selska, the Addingtons’ new lodger, but then I hear a man speaking. I unlock the front room door, dash in and peep through the curtains. Mum joins me at the window. A car is parked under the street light. ‘It’s probably the people from the home, come to make arrangements to pick the children up tomorrow,’ she says.
A shaking motion that starts in my stomach immediately fills my arms and legs and in a strange sort of way, my head.
‘We’ve got to stop them.’ I make for the door, but Mum holds me back.
‘Wait ‘til those people have gone. I don’t expect they’ll be long. That Miss Selska might be able to do something. If not, there’s sure to be someone hereabouts who will take them in for a couple of days.’
‘But what about us?’
‘You know what your father said.’
‘He can change his mind, can’t he?’ My all-over shaking is making my voice wobble, and the shouting from upstairs is getting louder. I can hear banging, as if drawers are being opened and shut. Angela screams and the woman raises her voice. The stairs shudder and creak as what sounds like at least a dozen pairs of footsteps thunder down them.
Before Mum can stop me, I run to the front door and unfasten the catch.
Outside a woman is pushing Angela along the path towards the car.
‘Move!’ the woman commands, but Angela resists. Then she puts her head down and bites the woman’s arm.
‘You bitch,’ the woman slaps Angela across the face.
As the scuffle continues, Tony walks behind with his head down. Then, as he gets to the end of the path, he turns and begins to run. He’s probably trying to get to Herbie’s place to ask them for help. I expect Angela’s told him we don’t want them.
‘Hey, you young upstart. Where d’you think you’re going?’ The man calls after him, but Tony is a blur as he heads for Whitely Square.
‘You come back here.’ The man begins to chase Tony, while he shouts over his shoulder to the woman to get into the car with Angela.
‘You stay where you are, young lady,’ Mum orders me. ‘Don’t interfere in what isn’t our business.’
I take no notice and dash towards the car. When I get to it, the woman and Angela are in the back and the woman has locked the door. Angela is still screaming and the woman is practically sitting on her.
I bang on the window. ‘Let her go. Don’t take them away.’ I yell, but the woman takes no notice of me. Suddenly, I’m aware of Mum and Miss Selska standing next to me on the pavement. Miss Selska is crying and saying something in her German accent that sounds like, ‘It’s just like the pogroms. Oh my God, just like the pogroms.’
‘I wonder where that boy’s gone to?’ Mum says. ‘Running away’s not the answer.’
‘Wouldn’t you try and escape if they were going to put you away?’ I shout at her.
I hope the man doesn’t catch up with Tony. I hope Tony makes it to Herbie’s, and that they’re kinder to him than we’ve been. Even as I’m sending up one garbled prayer after another that he won’t get caught, in the distance I see the man rounding the corner into Blountmere Street. He has Tony by the arm.
I begin rushing towards them. It isn’t until I’ve reached Old Boy Barkers that I’m close enough to talk to the man. ‘Where are you taking them? We’ll look after them,’ I say, not knowing how I’ll manage it.
‘These two little sods are coming with us. Our orders are to take them to a couple of orphanages tonight and that’s where they’re going.’ The man is wheezing from his exertion in the sooty night air.
‘But what orphanage are you taking them to?’
‘That’s not for you to know. Somewhere that’ll ke
ep this young hooligan under control, you can be sure of that.’
‘I thought I could get Herbie’s family to take us in.’ Even though Tony is recovering his breath quicker than the man appears to be, he doesn’t seem to have the energy to struggle anymore.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say as I squeeze Tony’s free hand.
As we get closer to the car, I notice a piece of Angela’s dress is caught in the door. Inside, she looks like a rag doll.
‘Ang! Ang!’ Tony calls, but his voice seems to bounce back to us.
When we reach the car, the man calls to the woman to open the back door and pushes Tony in next to Angela. I peer inside and see Angela throw herself on to Tony.
‘Where are you taking them?’ I call into the car, but the man is already in the driver’s seat and starting the engine.
‘I’ll write,’ I shout. ‘I’ll find out where they’ve taken you and I’ll write.’
Mum sidles next to me and puts her arm around me. ‘They’ll soon be back. Once they’ve sorted Mrs Addington out, those kids’ll be back here quicker than a wink.’
The next day, Mum takes me to visit Mrs Addington in hospital. In Mum’s bag she’s packed a couple of oranges and apples, some peppermints, a couple of date slices and last week’s copy of the Woman’s Weekly. I know she’s only going because she feels guilty.
Inside the hospital, the smell of disinfectant is so strong it makes me cough, even more than the smutty atmosphere outside does.
Mrs Addington’s ward is at the end of a corridor that seems as if it’s going to go on forever and she’s in a bed tucked into a corner, as unnoticeable as she herself is. She’s the colour of the clotted cream we ate on holiday in Devon. Her head seems to be drowning in the pillows. She has a cradle over her legs that causes the counterpane on her bed to rise and flatten like a green volcano.
Even before she asks how Mrs Addington is, Mum begins unpacking her bag.
‘Now tell me,’ Mum says, bustling about. Mum’s very good at bustling. ‘Where have they taken those children of yours? I imagine they’ve given you an address, so that you can write to them when you’re feeling a little better. Paula’s brought her stationery set so she can write a few lines for you, if you don’t feel up to it yourself.’
The Best in Blountmere Street (The Blountmere Street Series Book 2) Page 7