Mrs Addington rubs a shaky hand across her eyes. ‘Actually they haven’t given me any addresses. I’ve asked the Hospital Almoner, but all she says is that Tony and Angela are in separate orphanages and that it’s best I don’t know where they are. That way I won’t be tempted to get in touch with them. The Almoner says it’ll only unsettle the children if they hear from me.’ She takes a choking sigh.
‘It sounds very harsh to me, but I suppose they know best.’ Mum places the Woman’s Weekly on the bedside cabinet next to Mrs Addington and gives the front page a couple of fond pats.
‘I don’t think they know best,’ I say, sounding bolder than I am. ‘I think it would make Tony and Angela feel much better if they heard from you.’
Mrs Addington manages a weak smile. ‘Of course, you’re right. I’ll talk to the Almoner again. Perhaps I’ve given in over some things too easily before. This is something worth fighting for.’ A fight is the last thing Mrs Addington looks as if she needs.
Outside in the wintry South London Street, Mum says, ‘If you ask me, Dolly Addington’s not going to get out of that hospital too quickly by the looks of her.’ She sniffs.
‘When they were taken away, you said Mrs Addington wouldn’t be in hospital for long and that Tony and Angela would soon be home.’ Here’s another example of not being able to trust all Mum says.
‘I’m not a fortune teller.’
‘Then why do you act like one?’
Mum ignores me and continues, ‘I’m afraid you have to face the fact, they could be away for a fair time.’
I hadn’t imagined Tony and Angela being away for good or at least a very long time. I’d been convinced it was only going to be a temporary shift in their lives and consequently in mine. Their presence in the upstairs flat has been an accompaniment to my life, like the music that’s played as a background to films. Our flat doesn’t seem like home without the familiar sounds of Angela and Tony banging up and down the stairs, and their footsteps overhead causing our lights to swing as if they’ve been caught in a gale. Now the only sound is the shudder of water pipes when Miss Selska turns on the tap.
Mum takes hold of my arm to cross the road, as if I can’t cross on my own. ‘There’s no point in getting yourself upset. It’s not as if there’s anything more we can do. Whatever happens, you can’t allow it to interfere with your school work. After all, you’ve got your Eleven Plus examination coming up. You don’t want to miss the chance of a place at a grammar school, now do you?’ Mum shifts her hand from my arm to my shoulder. ‘I might not have been given the opportunity, but my daughter’s going to have it.’
The next time we visit Mrs Addington she’s looking better. The cream colour of her face has faded to an off white.
‘You look more cheerful now you’ve had a letter from Angela, especially as the girl seems happy enough,’ Mum observes.
‘Yes, it’s a relief and especially good that she’s given me the address of the orphanage she’s in. I’ve already written to her. Would you mind posting it for me on your way home?’
‘No trouble at all. We aim to please. Anything we can do, we will.’ Mum says in her best “good turn” voice.
‘I’ll write to her, too,’ I add.
‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with your study,’ Mum jumps straight in.
I sigh. I can’t spend every waking moment preparing for the Eleven Plus examination. In any case, there isn’t that much to prepare for. In the mock exam I’d achieved what Mum wanted and come top. What else can I do? Anyway, there are more important matters than exams.
‘I wish they’d tell you where Tony is,’ I begin.
‘At least they’ve taken my letter to pass on to him. It shouldn’t be long before he writes,’ Mrs Addington replies.
‘We have to be grateful for small mercies,’ Mum adds.
I’m sick of small mercies. All my life I’ve had to be grateful for small mercies. I want big ones, like Tony coming home. Then I’ll be grateful.
Chapter Nine
The day after the Eleven Plus examination, a dirt-streaked envelope lands on our doormat. It contains a letter from Tony, written on what looks like part of a paper bag. I think it says someone in the village is posting it for him. I can’t understand much of it, but he doesn’t seem to like it at the orphanage. Underneath is a scrawled address, crossed out, then started again.
‘Can you read it?’ I offer the piece of paper to Mum who takes it, squints and moves it closer to her eyes, then further away. ‘It’s a disgrace the boy should have got to this age without being able to read and write properly. Goodness knows where he would have been if you hadn’t helped him, but then I suppose not everyone can be as clever as my girl.’ Mum strokes my hair. ‘I must say, I’m impressed with the way you’ve handled your exam, not getting yourself worked up like some of the others.’
Yesterday had been like any other day. The eleven-plus exam hadn’t been difficult. I’d pretended to have struggled because all the others said they had, but inwardly I’d thought they were just saying it, and that they’d found it as easy as I had. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. I wished that for once Mum would be like Dad and not mention it at all.
‘Just read the address,’ I urge.
‘Patience is God-given, so just exercise some.’ Mum waggles her finger in front of me as if I’m three.
The next time we go to the market, we meet Bill, but this time it’s not coincidental. Mum is immediately suspicious.
‘You mean to tell me that you and Bill just happened to bump into each other while you were getting a couple of errands for me in the High Street, and now we just happen to have run into Bill again here at the market.? Mum ignores Bill, who appears to be studying the bridal outfits in a shop window. She speaks directly to me.
‘That’s exactly how it was, Lily.’ Bill turns to face Mum. ‘Paula told me about the youngsters who live in the flat above yours being put in an orphanage. She said she’d love to see Tony, that’s his name isn’t it, but the orphanage is a bit of a way off. Since Paula told me, I’ve actually been thinking about it, so our chance meeting here couldn’t have come at a better time.’ I think Bill sounds convincing, but Mum sniffs one of her “I don’t believe you” sniffs.
Bill continues, ‘I haven’t got anything arranged for Saturday. I’ve got the van, and I’d be more than happy to take you both to see him. I know it’s winter, but it would make a nice day out.’
‘You must be mad.’ Mum glances from my eager face to Bill’s non-committal one.
‘Please, Mum. We’d never make it by train. It’s such a long way out in the country, and Tony sounds so unhappy. Fancy them not even allowing him to send a letter to Mrs Addington.’
‘Now look here … ’
‘We could leave Dad’s lunch for him, like we do when we go shopping for the day. That’s probably where he’ll think we’ve gone.’ I widen my eyes and tilt my head to one side in order to look innocent.
‘I’ve never yet deceived your father and I’m not about to now,’ Mum replies at the same time staring at Bill.
‘What do you think, Lil? It would be good for the lad to see someone he knows. It must be pretty tough on the boy.’
‘How many times do I have to say “No”?’
‘Where’s the harm in it? From what I hear you’d make a lonely kid happy and give yourselves a day out into the bargain.’
‘Much as I feel sorry for the boy, we’re not gallivanting all over the place to see him.’
Bill eyes Mum like a bird wondering whether it should peck at a crumb. ‘I hear Paula sat her Eleven Plus recently. It’d be a nice treat for her, especially as I hear she tried really hard.’
He’s done it! He’s pecked at just the right crumb!
‘I suppose it would be a bit of a reward for her,’ Mum concedes.
‘It would indeed, Lil.’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t.’
‘Go on, Mum, go on.’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s against my better judgment but … I suppose we could go.’
Bill winks at me and fleetingly touches the inside pocket of his jacket. I guess that’s where the letter I’d written him is hidden.
The orphanage isn’t the dungeon I’d imagined it to be. It’s a posh red brick building. There aren’t any bars at the windows or barbed wire on top of the walls. Instead, it’s covered in red ivy and cradled in woodland.
‘It says “Reception” over there.’ Mum’s best navy blue shoes make sharp sounds on the gravel as she hurries in the direction of the arrow. Bill catches up with her and takes her arm. ‘It’s a pity it isn’t spring, Lily, or you’d be able to walk among the bluebells and blend in wonderfully. You look a treat in that coat.’
‘Get on with you.’ Mum’s face is straight, but I can tell she’s happy with the compliment. It’s the first coat I’ve known Mum to buy for herself. It’s what the Woman’s Weekly is describing as a “swagger”. In my opinion, Mum looks far more beautiful wearing it than any of the women in the Woman’s Weekly. She’s grown her hair so that it no longer sticks to her collar, but spirals softly towards her shoulders. Just the same, she’d been irritable with me this morning when I said how lovely she looked.
“There’s no need to draw your father’s attention to what I’m wearing,” she’d whispered. Mum had given Dad the impression we were going shopping for the day. She’d made a big fuss about writing a shopping list and getting the shopping bags ready to take with us. It seemed to be contrary to what she’d said about deception.
The reception area is no more than a cubbyhole, on one wall of which a poster informs visitors, “Jesus loves the little children”, while underneath a yellowing notice states, “Dogs will not be tolerated”. There are no chairs and the three of us hardly leave any room for a lumpy lady, whose lumpy breasts practically touch my face.
‘I’m the Matron of the orphanage, and I’m afraid the children aren’t allowed visitors.’ She looks as if she’s filled with the kapok Bill puts into his armchairs.
‘But we’ve come all the way from London to see Tony Addington. We live in the maisonette downstairs, you see.’ Mum offers her best “afternoon tea” smile.
The woman doesn’t seem to be impressed, and continues, ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me how you found out Tony Addington was here.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t divulge our sources. Our contacts are strictly confidential.’ Bill joins the conversation, then winks.
‘Be that as it may, you are not supposed to be here.’ The Matron takes a deep breath and her breasts rise upwards and then sink. ‘It’s kinder to the children if they don’t have visitors. It only unsettles them. Your contact should have told you that.’
‘Surely half an hour wouldn’t do any harm. If he’s not in, or it’s not convenient, we can go away and come back later.’
‘Mr … um,’
‘Masters.’
‘Mr Masters, you and your wife don’t seem to have understood what I’ve said. We do not allow anyone to visit. Have I made myself clear? I am sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, but that isn’t my fault. There’s a teashop in the village. If you wish, you can refresh yourselves there.’
‘I beg your pardon, but Mr Masters and I are definitely not … ’ Mum’s face is painted deep red.
‘What Mrs Masters means is we are certainly not happy about this.’ Bill doesn’t look as disapproving as he’d probably like to and the Matron squeezes herself through the door. ‘I am sorry about that, but I have some work to do. See yourselves out.’
When we’re outside once again, and with Bill holding her arm, Mum says, ‘I told you this would happen.’ Even though she’s frowning, Mum still looks beautiful in her blue coat and with the colour in her face fading to pale rose. ‘We’ve come all this way for nothing, so we might as well be going. There’s no point in hanging around.’
‘But what about the picnic? We can’t go back without having it. It’s bad enough we won’t be able to see Tony.’ I peer around at the windows, scanning them for a glimpse of him, but I can’t make out any movement. It’s as if the place is empty. Perhaps there aren’t any children here at all and it’s a trick to keep people from knowing where they’re really hidden.
Mention of the picnic reminds Mum of the contents of her shopping bag. ‘I forgot we’ve brought all this stuff for Tony. Surely they’ll let us leave it for him. I’ll call the Matron back.’
‘Wait a minute. I don’t think we should give up that easily,’ Bill restrains her.
‘Look, Bill, if they say we can’t see him, we can’t see him.’
‘I’m not so sure. First, let’s find somewhere to eat this picnic.’
Out of sight of the house we discover a bench surrounded by snowdrops. In true Mum fashion, she spreads a starched cloth over part of the seat on which she places enamel mugs of thermos flask tea.
‘We’ve got bloater paste sandwiches. We don’t usually have bloater paste.’ I take one and put it on my plate, on which Mum has first placed a doily.
‘Your mother must have remembered they’re my favourite,’ Bill replies.
‘What makes you think I’d remember something as inconsequential as that!’ Mum responds. ‘I’ve far more important things on my mind.’ She busies herself screwing the cap back on the thermos flask. ‘It’s a relief to me the Eleven Plus is over,’ Mum brings the conversation to the subject that hasn’t been far from her thoughts during the past months. ‘Though you wouldn’t think there’d been an exam at all the way Paula’s acted.’ Mum offers Bill another sandwich. ‘Her teacher says she’s a definite for a grammar school place.’
‘Mum, please!’
‘She’s clever like you, Lily.’
‘Yes, well, I never got the opportunity to do anything with it. Her teacher says she’ll probably enter her for a scholarship to one of those posh private schools. It’ll cost a fortune to rig her out with all the hockey and tennis gear and what have you, but I’ll manage it somehow.’
‘What’s your plan to find Tony?’ I ask Bill, steering the conversation from exams, scholarships and private schools.
‘Ah yes, the plan, my dear Watson,’ Bill rubs his chin. ‘It’s very complicated and calls for intelligence and cunning. In fact, it needs …’
‘Get on with it, Bill. We’ve got to get home,’ Mum urges, failing to take her own advice about exercising patience.
‘What I think we need to do is have a scout around and see if we can find someone who might know where young Tony is. Then you, Paula, might be able to sneak in and have a few minutes with him.’
‘Sneak in!’ Mum has never sneaked anywhere in her life. ‘She can’t do that!’
‘Why not? We’ve come all this way and my guess is the boy would be more than pleased to see her, despite what that bulldog of a matron says. Anyway, the worst that can happen is that they’ll pick us up by our lapels and fling us out. Not that I’ll let them pick you up by your lapels, Lil. Your coat is far too lovely for that. No, I’d pick you up myself, like this.’ Bill lifts Mum off the ground and swings her into his arms.
‘Don’t be so daft and put me down.’
‘I was only copying some of the things Paula does in her ballet class.’
‘She doesn’t go to ballet now. She’s doing piano instead,’ Mum says, as she straightens her coat after Bill has put her back on the ground. ‘Being able to play the piano will be much more useful to her as she gets older. I mean to say, she won’t want to kick her legs around when she’s twenty, but she will be able to play the piano.’
Bill laughs. ‘I’m sure there’s some logic to that somewhere. What I say is, if Paula wants to learn to play the piano, that’s all that matters. What sort of thing do you play?’
‘At the moment, I’m practising The Moonlight Sonata. I can also play from a book called Tuneful Graded Studies’
‘She’s very good. Her teacher says she should be able to take an exam soon.’ Mum butts into the conversation.
I shake Mum’s arm. ‘Why do I have to be the best at everything?’
‘Because you are. It’s as simple as that.’
Before I can say how stupid that is, in the distance we see a girl. She looks to be about the same age as me and she’s dressed in something red.
‘Quickly, go and ask her where Tony is,’ Bill practically pushes me towards her, then he runs after me and hands me sixpence. ‘Here, give her this’’ he says.
The girl tells me Tony’s probably in the recreation room, which is on the other side of the building. She points to where it is, then skips away clasping the sixpence.
By this time Mum and Bill have joined me, and we edge our way around the building trying not to be seen.
‘Honestly, Bill, this is silly,’ Mum says, unsnagging her coat from a rose bush.
Bill puts his arm around her shoulder and says, ‘It’s all for a good cause, Lil.’
We come to a larger window. I pop my head up and see a group of children at tables that are piled with cardboard, paper and string. I duck down as a woman comes into sight. I wait, then try again. This time I see the bent-over form of a boy with dark curly hair. He looks as if he’s painting something.
‘Can’t you see him yet? All this crouching is killing my legs,’ Mum complains.
Suddenly the boy looks up. It’s him! I don’t know what to do. I can’t knock on the window and I can’t walk round to the side door and go inside. I begin to wave my arms about until a boy with ginger hair sees me.
‘Tony,’ I mouth. ‘Tell Tony.’
The boy walks round the tables to Tony and whispers to him. Tony looks up, brushes his hand across his eyes as if he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, and begins walking across the room. He doesn’t once smile and his shoulders have sagged since I last saw him.
Eventually, Tony appears at the door and creeps along the wall. ‘What’re you doing here?’ he whispers. ‘Is Mum all right? She isn’t worse or … or … ’
The Best in Blountmere Street (The Blountmere Street Series Book 2) Page 8