by Joan Moules
‘From home. It looked like Mummy’s writing.’
‘Haven’t you opened it then?’
‘I forgot.’
Johnny was amazed. ‘Forgot! Go on, open it now. I’m going to the bathroom anyway so you’ll be nice and private, like you like.’
Anita giggled. ‘Miss Coventry would be after you if you said that in her class. “Like you like indeed”, she’d say, “now who can tell me the correct phrasing?” ’
Johnny laughed. ‘Her voice squeaks more than that. Miss Clark is much nicer anyway. As teachers go,’ he added.
When he returned from the bathroom Anita had a card and a pound note in her hand.
‘Tell you what we’ll do, Johnny,’ she said. ‘We’ll go to the baths in Bushton on Saturday for a swim, shall we?’ She waved the note in the air.
‘What’s that for? Is it your birthday?’
She nodded. ‘Next Monday. But Mummy and Daddy will be away then – they sent it early so I can buy something.’
‘Well, you don’t want to spend it on going to the baths then.’ He turned to go but she put her hand on his arm.
‘I do Johnny, honestly. It will be more fun to do that than to go out and buy something, really it will. And I’ve still got most of last week’s pocket-money, so we’ll have plenty.’
‘No, Annie, it’s yours. I got me own pocket-money.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘OK. I’ll ask Janet instead.’
‘You do that.’
They were both so quiet when they came down in their pyjamas and dressing-gowns for their nightly drink that Mrs Dover asked if they were feeling well.
‘You’re usually chattering nineteen to the dozen,’ she remarked. ‘What’s got into the pair of you?’
‘Nothing. Just feel a bit fed-up,’ Anita mumbled.
In bed that night Johnny had an idea. He would ask Mrs Dover to make Annie a birthday-cake.
She didn’t slip into his room for her usual nightly chat, which was always conducted in whispers so the Dovers wouldn’t hear, and when he tapped and popped his head round her door she appeared to be asleep.
‘Poo, bloody poo,’ he said to the picture of the Spanish lady hung on the wall opposite his bed. ‘She’s only a girl anyway, not me best mate.’
Nevertheless he had forgotten his chagrin the following morning, and woke early feeling very excited. It would be a surprise, this birthday-cake, and he’d buy her a present too. On Saturday, that was when he’d do it – when she went to Bushton with Janet. He would nip down to the shops in the square and have a look round.
Mrs Dover had two shocks that morning. The first was that Johnny, whom she usually had to call at least three times, was up, washed and dressed almost an hour earlier. The second was his request.
‘A birthday-cake, Johnny?’
‘Sshh, keep your voice down – I don’t want her to know. I’ll pay for all the stuff you use.’ He waggled his head from side to side in what he hoped was a knowledgeable way. ‘On Monday. Can you do it? Please?’
‘It isn’t money that’s the problem, son. It’s getting the ingredients. A lot of them are rationed – butter and sugar for a start.’
‘I’d forgotten that.’ He heard Annie moving around upstairs. ‘OK. Leave it now and I’ll work on it.’
He thought about it for most of the day, earning himself playtime detention writing out a hundred times, ‘I must pay attention in class’. It was while he was doing this, being careful to spell ‘attention’ as Miss Clark had at the top of the page, so as not to have to forfeit another free time, that the idea came to him. He would buy Annie a birthday-cake. He could get it from the baker in the square. They were allocated extra because it was their living – he remembered hearing that somewhere, and now he came to think about it, only last week he’d seen a big wedding-cake in the window.
He scrawled the last twelve lines and skidded down to Miss Clark’s desk. ‘I’ve finished, miss. Can I go out now?’
She looked at her watch, then smiled at him. ‘Go on, you have seven minutes left,’ she said.
He hugged his secret to him all the way home from school. ‘I want to go into town, Mrs Dover,’ he said. ‘I won’t be gone long.’ He took the stairs two at a time, and standing on the chair in his bedroom he pulled his case from the top of the wardrobe. Frantically he counted the money in his cocoa-tin. Five shillings and sixpence. His mum had promised him some extra pocket-money when she visited, but when would that be? It was March already. Heck, he needed it now. He had already spent his two ten shilling notes on Christmas presents for his family and going halves with Annie on a plant for the Dovers.
Clattering down the stairs he heard Mrs Dover’s voice (she had never become ‘Auntie’ to him), but didn’t wait to hear what she was saying.
‘Be back in half an hour,’ he shouted, slamming the door and running down the path and all the way into town. He was breathless when he reached the baker’s shop.
‘Yes, sonny, what can I do for you?’
‘I want a birthday-cake.’
‘Oh, you do. Well, well. And what sort of birthday-cake had you in mind then?’
‘Not too big, and I want some writing on it. I want it to say: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNIE.’
‘Not so fast young fellow. Where do you suppose I’m going to get the ingredients for a birthday-cake from in the first place. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’
‘’Course I do. Aren’t me two bruvvers in the army, and me mum and dad doing war-work in London; but you get extra, don’t you?’
The baker leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his chin in his hands, ‘Know it all, don’t you? Well I can’t make you a birthday-cake unless you can produce this extra you’re on about, because I don’t get it.’
‘You got a cake in the window – a wedding-cake.’
The man glanced towards it. ‘Quite right, sonny, so I have. I’ll make you one like that if you want me to. I’ll have to charge of course, and paper and cardboard are getting scarce now, but I could probably manage that! For a price, you understand.’
‘Paper. You mean.…’
‘That’s right. The cake on display in the window is made from cardboard, Master Know-all.’
When he reached 14 Kerry Avenue, entering through the back door as usual, Mrs Dover was in the kitchen.
‘In a tearing hurry, weren’t you, Johnny? Don’t you do that again. I’m responsible for you while you’re under this roof, and I want to know where you are all the time. Understand?’
Anita came into the kitchen, and grinned wickedly at him. He kicked her ankle.
‘Ouch.’
‘Well, Johnny, I’m waiting. Where did you go?’ Mrs Dover watched him.
He held back the cheeky answer that almost escaped, because he remembered in time that he might want Mrs Dover to make him a cake.
‘I had to see a man about, you know, what we talked about this morning.’
‘What are you on about? Now listen to me, your mother telephoned this afternoon. She’s coming down to visit you on Saturday. Just as well she wasn’t here today as a surprise – what she would have thought I don’t know.’
‘Mum? Coming here? Hey, Annie, d’you hear that? Me mum’s coming in two days’ time. Yippee.’
That evening after dinner Johnny helped to clear the table with Anita, as he knew was expected of him. Then he took the tea-cloth from the rail and volunteered to wipe up. If Mrs Dover was surprised she didn’t show it. ‘Thank you, Johnny,’ she said.
Half-way through he knew he must sort the birthday-cake business out with her quickly before Annie appeared again.
‘About that cake, Mrs Dover.’
‘It’s not possible, Johnny. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make some of those cornflake cakes we had the other week. As a special treat.’
Disgustedly he clattered the cutlery into the drawer and banged the plates about as he put them away.
‘Be careful Johnny, you’ll break them.’
>
‘Me mum’ll make a cake,’ he said. ‘She’ll manage it somehow.’ He knew she would too, but how to get a message to her. Tomorrow was Friday – not time enough for a letter to reach her, and they hadn’t a phone at home. A telegram. That was it. He could send a telegram. If he did it on his way to school tomorrow morning she’d have it within hours and she could bring the cake with her on Saturday. Then they could hide it in his bedroom until Monday after school. He began to whistle and Mrs Dover shushed him.
‘Mr Dover likes quiet while he’s reading the evening paper, you know that,’ she said. ‘Now run along and fetch your book.’
Johnny bounded upstairs. Annie’s door was ajar and she called to him as he went past.
‘Can’t stop,’ he told her, ‘I’ve something important to do before I come downstairs. And don’t ask me to tell you about it now, ’cos I can’t. It’s a dead secret.’
He dragged the chair over to the wardrobe and climbed up to get his case. Annie had been scathing when she first saw it, but she had changed since then, he thought. She was OK, a real pal. It wasn’t exactly her fault she’d been to a posh school before.
The cocoa tin yielded his five shillings and sixpence. A bike might have been quite good down here in the country, still he could probably earn a bit doing a newspaper-round or an errand boy’s job. This was for Annie’s cake and the telegram. He replaced the lid and once more clambered to the top of the wardrobe with his suitcase.
He didn’t hear anyone come upstairs and go into the bathroom.
‘What do you think you are doing, young man?’ Mr Dover’s voice almost made him fall from the chair. It wasn’t often he spoke to either of them, and he certainly had not been into their rooms before.
‘Getting something,’ he mumbled, pushing the case well on to the top of the wardrobe and jumping down. No need for quiet now.
‘Be more specific please.’
‘What? I mean pardon?’
‘Exactly what were you getting?’
‘Something out of me case.’
‘I asked you a civil question. Answer it.’
‘It’s private,’ Johnny mumbled.
Mr Dover came closer, and Johnny moved away towards the bed. Suddenly he felt very powerful. He put one hand on his hip and faced his inquisitor. ‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ he said.
Mr Dover pushed him on to the bed. ‘You cheeky young upstart. We’ll soon see about that.’
His face had turned a purple colour, and Johnny hoped he wasn’t going to have a heart attack. Turning towards the door, but keeping Johnny pinioned on the bed with his podgy hand, he called, ‘Ethel, Ethel, come here quickly.’
She came bounding up the stairs with Anita close behind her.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I found him hiding something on top of the wardrobe.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Johnny said.
‘What were you doing then?’ She looked puzzled.
‘I was getting something. I told him it’s private. In my house we was allowed that. Me mum reckons everyone has their rights like.’
‘Well you’re in our house now, and our rules are different. What have you got in your hand?’ She prised his fingers open and the money fell on to the bed; eight sixpences and six threepenny-bits.
‘Where did you get that?’
‘It’s mine.’
‘Where did it come from? You’ve had no pocket-money since you’ve been here. Not to my knowledge you haven’t.’
‘I have. It’s mine I tell you. I saved it.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Anita broke in, ‘he’s already told you it’s his money.’
Mrs Dover turned to her. ‘How dare you speak to me like that. In my own house too. Oh, I knew we should never have taken evacuees, but I did think you would be all right, coming from a good school and family …’ she looked towards her husband. ‘Are you all right, William? You know you shouldn’t get worked up, it’s bad for your blood pressure.’
She took his arm. ‘Come along, it does appear to be his own money. And you two,’ she paused in the doorway and glared at them, ‘as a punishment for such ill-mannered behaviour you will go to bed now, without your evening drink.’
Anita gathered the coins together and gave them to Johnny. She grinned at him as the Dovers left the room.
‘Poo, bloody poo,’ she said, and they both fell on to the bed laughing.
Mrs Dover was very cool with them the following morning, and Mr Dover was in his study with the door shut. Johnny wanted to ask what time on Saturday his mother was arriving, but thought it wiser not to risk it in case they cancelled the visit.
‘I shouldn’t stay if they did,’ he said to Annie on their way to school.
He had his money with him, and when they reached the square he said, ‘Listen, I’ve got to get something, something private, so you go on and I’ll see you later if I don’t catch up with you.’
‘OK. But don’t be late for school, will you?’
It was half past eight and school didn’t begin until ten to nine. He hurried along to the post office but it was closed. Johnny pondered, but only for a moment; he would have to wait because once he was in class he wouldn’t be able to get out on any pretext. He examined the notice by the stamp machine and discovered they didn’t open until nine. It took great will power, but he didn’t swear, even though no one was listening. Annie had convinced him that it was unnecessary and, well, no one could say he wasn’t trying. He laughed out loud now at the memory of Annie and what she had said last night. It sounded so funny coming from her; but not really nice.
Concentrating his mind now on the current problem he wondered if he could sneak into the classroom without anyone seeing. No, Miss Clark always called the register early. Well, he’d say he had an important thing to do, that was the truth – and that it could only be done at nine o’clock. Miss Clark was a reasonable person – not like the Dovers, he thought, and if he told her candidly he’d probably get away without lines or anything. With luck he could be in school by ten past nine.
At ten past nine Johnny was still waiting for the post office to open. There were a lot of others waiting too, and one of them went off to telephone the postmaster to find out what was happening. At half past a little lady arrived with the keys, and five minutes later she let them all in.
Although he had been there first Johnny found himself at the end of a long queue. After a while another woman came to help and things moved more quickly, but even so it was nearly ten o’clock when Johnny reached the counter.
He had written out in his school notebook what he wanted to say, but he realized it might need altering, depending on the cost. The rushed and flustered little lady who had unlocked the door helped him with it, and eventually it read: Need cake saying Happy Birthday Annie. Please bring Sat. love Johnny. At the last moment he cut out the word love, which he now always put on his letters to her. This reduced the message to ten words, which pleased him.
He looked at the clock in the post office when he had finished and decided it wasn’t worth going to school now until dinner-time. It would take too much explaining. Maybe it would be best not to go in at all today, to pretend he had been sick. Looking around he thought what a wonderful chance it was to enjoy himself and explore a bit. He’d not had much freedom since coming here, it was only Annie who really made the place bearable. Gosh, if he had a bike. Still, he had two legs, and it was a glorious day. He set off through the square and out into the country, the real country.
Johnny had a marvellous day. The March sun was gently warm and as he swung along he whistled the way he always did back home in London. He wasn’t allowed to whistle in the Dovers’ house because Mr Dover always seemed to be working on someone’s accounts, even though he was retired.
Johnny left his satchel behind a tree about half a mile from the town. He could collect it on the way back and be outside the school when they all came out.
Miss Clark saw Anita d
uring the mid-morning break. ‘Where is Johnny today?’ she asked.
The girl looked at her in amazement. ‘I – er – he wasn’t too well.’
Something in Anita’s attitude made her say, ‘Did you bring a note?’
‘Oh no, miss. He’ll be all right tomorrow I expect. He – er, might even come in this afternoon. If he feels better.’ she added in a rushed sort of voice.
‘Thank you, Anita. Off you go then. Get some fresh air, it’s a beautiful day.’
She went to the staff room where Miss Coventry was already pouring herself some tea.
‘Dorothy, would you say that Anita Evesham was a truthful child?’ she asked her colleague.
‘Anita? Oh yes. Why?’
‘Young Johnny Bookman isn’t here and I simply asked her where he was today, and I’m pretty sure she was lying. But she looked so startled too, and I’m wondering now where he is and what he’s up to. I mean I wouldn’t put it past him to try to make his way back to London. I think he misses his folks terribly.’
‘Does he? Mmm. I’ve not had much to do with him, of course. Anita is in my class. She is a very self-assured child for her age, and used to being away from home, I gather. The two of them do seem to be close – of course they are in the same billet. What did she tell you?’
‘Said he wasn’t well, but from her attitude I think she didn’t know he wasn’t here, and she was trying to cover for him. Maybe I’ll ring Mrs Dover.’
‘Can’t do any harm. On the whole the evacuees have settled well, haven’t they? And this term, with quite a number gone back life has been easier in the classroom.’
Miss Clark didn’t have an opportunity to telephone Mrs Dover until after lunch. She had a very strong feeling that something was wrong, yet she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. In the months Johnny Bookman had been in her class she had enjoyed having him there, which was more than could be said for some of her pupils. He was a lively youngster, with an unfortunate habit of swearing as part of his natural speech, but she was hoping to cure him gradually of this. Preferably before he had the rest of the class following suit. She smiled to herself as she waited for the telephone to be answered.