“You ain’t kidding!” Barker jerked his head at his friends and slowly they closed in, so that Hilary couldn’t have got away to the safety of Sophie’s shop, even if her shaking legs would have carried her there.
And then there was all hell let loose. With a blood-curdling yell, young Barker launched himself forward, his chain-wrapped fist aiming directly at Richard’s face. With a sudden twist, Richard threw himself forward at the same time, aiming at Barker’s legs to bring him down in a crisp Rugby tackle.
Simultaneously, Stephen, Philip and John were tangled with some of the other boys round the stall, and in moments there was a screaming, failing mêlée of arms and legs.
Hilary was thrown aside by Richard’s sudden leap, and fell heavily, rolling under the stall, where she lay, weeping helplessly, her hands over her ears. All round her there was noises, voices shouting, the ominous cracking of wood as the stall trembled and lurched under the impact of several young bodies, and the uglier sound of the crunching of blows finding their mark on unprotected faces.
With a superhuman effort, Hilary started to crawl clear of the stall, and almost without knowing how she had managed it, she found herself on the pavement, in front of Sophie’s shop. The old lady was standing there, shrinking against the doorway, screaming with a monotonous high-pitched note in her cracked voice, and as Hilary managed to get to her feet, the old lady shrieked even louder. Hilary stood for a moment, leaning breathlessly against the glass window, staring round at the scene with wide, terrified eyes.
There was fruit everywhere, as apples and oranges and pears rolled in wild abandon off the rocking stall. All round there were bodies locked in hand-to-hand fighting, as Richard and the boys tried to get the best of the bunch of hooligans who were piling on top of them. And then the stall finally gave up under the struggle, and collapsed in a pile of splintered wood and squashed fruit as a couple of big boys, with Stephen under them, fell against it. Stephen, with a strength that surprised even him, managed to scramble clear of his two assailants, and with a wild blow— for he couldn’t possibly see what was happened, because of the blood that was running into his eyes from a cut on his forehead— managed to send one of the other boys flying. The boy slipped on a squashed tray of grapes, and landed heavily against the window of Sophie’s shop, so that the glass starred into a huge mass of splinters.
Hilary was never quite sure what happened next. She threw herself forward against the old lady, confusedly aware of the need to protect Sophie from the dagger-sharp glass, as a sudden squealing of car brakes made itself heard above the din. And then there were blue uniformed men everywhere. Policeman seemed to appear almost out of the ground, as one after the other grabbed the fighting boys and separated them. Not more than a few minutes after the fight started, it was all over.
Hilary, clutching the now pathetically weeping Sophie, was dimly aware of the man in the brown raincoat standing beside her. “Come on,” he said, gently urging her towards the car that stood in the cluttered street. “Come on, you two. Better get you to the hospital.”
“Richard—Stephen—” Hilary gasped, looking up at the man and clutching at him as though he were her oldest friend— and indeed, he seemed like a friend now. “Where are they?”
“I’ve got them in the car too, so not to worry. Come on, now—better get those cuts seen to.” He gently led them to the car in the kerb.
Hilary looked down at her hands in vague surprise. They were covered in blood, for the flying splinters of glass had lacerated the backs of both her hands, though she hadn’t felt it when it happened. Old Sophie, her face pale grey with terror, took one look at Hilary’s hands and turned even paler, if that were possible.
“Come along now,” the man said again. “Better get you looked after, hadn’t we? Old lady’s had a nasty fright.”
As the police driver pulled away from the kerb, Hilary looked through a sort of daze at the ghastly mess in the gutter, the wreck of Yossell's stall, and the gawping crowd of shoppers and stallholders before she closed her eyes in the nearest thing to a faint she had ever experienced in her life.
Once again, they sat around the table of the dining-room in the big shabby house, silent and thoughtful. Richard had a black eye, blue and puffed round the closed lid, and a strip of plaster across one cheek. Philip and Stephen were also adorned with strips of plaster, and on John’s forehead there was a big blue-black lump that he occasionally touched with tentatively exploring fingers. Hilary, her hands heavily bandaged, was pale under her red hair, and only Jane, Barbara and Jojo, who had mercifully been away at the time of the fight, were unmarked.
“Thank God it was no worse,” Jane said at length, as she poured another cup of tea for Richard. “I daren’t think of what might have happened.”
John nodded soberly. “I don’t mind a fight, as long as it’s a decent one— but that lot—” He lapsed into silence again.
It was now Saturday afternoon. The previous two days had been a nightmare for all of them. The four boys had all been kept in hospital, “for observation” the doctor had said, in case any more damage had been done than was apparent. But as Jane said, it could have been worse, for it was now sure that they had all escaped with no more than cuts and bruises. Though there had been some anxiety about the possibility of concussion in Richard’s case, for he had been knocked unconscious at one point.
The police had been fairly sympathetic, for they had been talking to witnesses around the market, and there was not the slightest doubt that it had been Barker’s son and his friends who had started the fight. But this didn’t help the Coopers and Jacksons very much, for, as Richard said miserably when he came home from hospital, “How are we to face Yossell when he gets backs? His stall is ruined.”
It was: completely beyond repair. There seemed to be no part of if that was not shattered and splintered. At first they had hoped it could have been repaired, and Peter had spent long hours trying to patch it up again. But the truth had to be faced, and now they were trying to decide what to do. The stall was useless, and it would cost a great deal to replace it, certainly more than the money they had earned during their short time as stallholders. This money added up to close on a hundred and thirty pounds, now, counting the stock-buying money, but even so, they were miserable, for enquiries by Jane had discovered that as stall could cost as much as two hundred pounds, what with such things as scales and so on to be replaced.
“What shall we do?” Jane said for the umpteenth time, nearly in tears. “Poor Yossell.”
As she subsided again, frankly crying now, for her tender heart remembered Yossell’s pride in his “little business” all too vividly, the knocker on the front door rattled sharply.
It was John who sent to answer it, and he returned to the silent room with Mr Percival in tow.
The tall man, once again clad in a black jacket and striped trousers, stood and surveyed them all with a hint of a smile on his smooth face.
“Bless my soul,” he said at length. “You do look miserable— May I sit down?”
With a belated attempt to be hospitable, Hilary pulled another chair up to the table, and Mr Percival, carefully hitching his neatly creased trousers at the knees, sat down, putting his brief-case on the table in front of him.
“Now,” he said benevolently. “Aren’t any of you going to ask me why I’m here this afternoon? Or aren’t you interested in the very good news I’ve got for you all?”
Chapter Thirteen
HILARY looked at him with a lack-lustre eye. Stephen, Philip and Barbara didn’t even to do that, and only John allowed a flicker of interest to show on his face.
“What sort of good news?” he said cautiously.
Richard said caustically, “I suppose it’s that at last the police aren’t going to take any action against us,” while Jane sniffed surreptitiously and wiped her reddened eyes.
Mr Percival really laughed now. “Bless us!” he said. “You really are the most miserable collection I’ve seen this we
ek— and I’ve seen a few, I can assure you!” He became businesslike. “No, much better than that. I’ve been talking to your friend, Barker, senior.”
“Friend!” Hilary snorted. “Do you mind! I mean— I don’t want to be rude, but honestly!”
Mr Percival looked at her with a sympathetic smile, and went on, “He’s a somewhat more subdued gentleman than he was, I can assure you. These bullying types do deflate rather rapidly when they’re faced with a situation they can’t bully their way out of— as at present, with Mr Barker.”
The young people stirred a little, and began to look hopeful. “How do you mean?” John asked. “What situation?”
“Briefly, it’s this. Young Barker— his graceless son— has been in trouble with the police before. And the old man knows perfectly well that it’ll be touch and go, when this case comes into court.”
“Into court?” Hilary said.
Mr Percival looked at her in some surprise. “Of course. The police are preferring charges against young Baker and his friends, for disturbing the peace, and Mrs Bechovsky— she is suing them for malicious damages against her premises. And you lot have a case, too, you know.”
“We’re not going to court, Mr Percival,” Richard said hastily. “If we do, the folks and my uncle and aunt will get into a terrible stew— we can’t possibly!”
“Now, relax!” Mr Percival said soothingly. “And hear me out. As I was saying, Barker knows that it will be touch and go when his son gets into court. He’s already been on probation once, and the chances are that this time he’ll be sent to Borstal— and that’s the last thing Barker wants to happen. But— and this is the whole crux of the matter— if, when the case comes to court, the magistrate is told that full restitution has been made to the injured parties, it is just possible that young Barker will be given another chance on probation. You see?”
“Not exactly—” Hilary wrinkled her forehead. “I’m not much good at understanding these legal things.”
“I have persuaded Barker that to settle the thing out of court would be his best course of action. And he had agreed to pay Mrs Bechovsky for the repair of her window, and for the loss of trade she has suffered while her shop is being repaired—and—” he smiled broadly— “and he is also going to pay you people for the damage done to your friend’s stall, and for the loss of trade suffered by you because the stall is unusable.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his brief-case and looked at the neat figures on it. “I have discussed this with an accountant friend of mine, and we have settled on the sum of three hundred pounds for the stall, and thirty pounds per trading day lost.”
Richard jumped to his feet, and came round the table to stare over Mr Percival’s shoulder at the figures. “Do you mean that Yossell will get his stall repaired?” he asked excitedly.
“Precisely,” Mr Percival beamed up at him. “Replaced, actually, rather than repaired. As it stands, it’s no fit for much more than firewood. Baker will also pay you the sum of thirty pounds per trading day lost. Now as far as I can work out, you have lost Friday and Saturday this week, and six trading days next week—that’s eight days at thirty pounds a day—that’s two hundred and forty pounds, plus three hundred for the stall, I make that a grand total of five hundred and forty pounds. And here—” Mr Percival fished in his brief-case again— “here is Barker’s cheque for that amount!”
He put the cheque into Richard’s hand. The tall boy stood and stared at it in dumb surprise, while the others rushed to his side to stand and peer at the blue slip of paper, over his shoulder.
“Oh, my word!” Hilary breathed at last. “It’s like a dream, really it is! Here we were wondering how we would face Yossell when he got back, and now this!” She turned a brilliant smile on to Mr Percival and then threw her arms round his neck to hug him tightly. “Of, Mr Percival, I just love you!”
John’s voice cut across the others’ excited chatter. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are, Sir,” he said in rather stiff way. “Please—tell us, can you, how you heard about this business?”
“I’m your guarantor, remember?” Mr Percival said. “The police notified me as soon as this happened, for that reason. I decided that I'd set about tidying things up for you before coming to see you. I thought that would be rather nicer for you.” He looked round at the beaming young faces that surrounded him. “And I’m very glad I did! It’s not often a solicitor get as much satisfaction as this from a job. One has grateful clients, of course, but this —well—!” he smiled even more broadly, his smooth head nodding with pleasure.
“Um.” Richard looked a little uncomfortable. “That reminds me. You really must let us pay your fee, Mr Percival. I mean, you’re a busy man and this must have taken a lot of your valuable time. So please, do let us settle our debt to you.”
Mr Percival looked at the eager young people, and the way they all nodded violent agreement. Then he said briskly:
“Very well. You have been running this stall in a pretty businesslike way, I gather, so I would not presume to treat you as other than businesslike people. My professional fee will be seventeen shillings and sixpence.”
“That doesn’t sound much,” Hilary said doubtfully.
Mr Percival bent a stern gaze on her. “Young lady, I do not tell you how to sell apples. Do not tell me how to be solicitor. Seventeen shilling and sixpence is my fee, and that is that.”
“Thank you very much indeed, Sir,” he said. “Jane is in charge of finance—and we’ll settle that fee at once.”
Jane hurried to the bookcase to take out the encyclopedia and presented Mr Percival with a pound note, receiving a half-crown change, and a beautifully written receipt for the sum of ‘seventeen shillings and sixpence, for professional service rendered’ in return.
“I suppose you’ll be buying a new stall now?” Mr Percival said as he packed up his brief-case. “I could not, in all conscience, demand more than a week’s trading loss from Barker. You’ll be able to set up business again in a week, I imagine.” He smiled reminiscently. “My word, but I wouldn’t like to be in young Barker’s shoes just now. This escapade of his has cost his father close on a thousand pounds, what with the cost of the damages he’s paid to Mrs Bechovsky. The old man’ll make that boy’s life a misery for a while, I imagine. And I think that is almost the best thing about it all. it’s time young Barker got his comeuppance, from what the police told me about his activities!”
Richard was thinking. “About a new stall— I’m not sure. I mean Yossell is due back here at the end of next week, anyway. He might prefer to buy a new stall himself. The only thing is, there’s the pitch. We might lose it for him, if it’s unoccupied.”
“Oh, I don’t think you need worry about that. Shall I have a word with the trading licence people for you, explaining what has happened? Then they won’t assign the pitch to anyone else, even if it isn’t occupied this week.” He caught sight of John, opening his mouth to speak. “Of course, I would have to charge you another seventeen and sixpence for my professional services if I did that,” he added hastily. John closed his mouth and looked satisfied.
“Please would you do that, Mr Percival?” Hilary looked round at the others. “I don’t think any of us are in a fit condition to carry on, really I don’t. The boys have been in hospital, and I'd hate them to have to get up at the crack of dawn just now, really I would.” After a moment, the others nodded in agreement.
“It’s been fun, running the stall,” Philip said frankly. “But the edge has gone off somehow, now. As long as Yossell isn’t in any danger of losing his pitch, I’m all for packing up. The folks won’t be away much longer now— the last three weeks have gone very quickly— and we can enjoy the rest of the holiday in the ordinary way will they do get back, swimming and that.”
They saw Mr Percival off in a troop, with repeated expressions of thanks, and his promise to telephone them as soon as he had settled the business about safeguarding Yossell’s pitch, something he assured them he would deal with
first thing on Monday morning. Just before he went, he said to John, in a low voice, “And I won’t let you father know anything about this, my boy. I have a great respect for him, I assure you, but somehow I do not think he’ll understand, hmm? So don’t worry about that. And I must say, I’m delighted— delighted indeed, to have met you all. Not often these days you find young people with so much enterprise— hmm, hmm,” With an embarrassed little cough he ran down the steps to his car which was surrounded by the small Irish and Cypriot children who lived on the street. He had to shoo them away before driving off with a last friendly wave out of the window.
They positively danced back into the living-room, to attack what was left of the mean they hadn’t been enjoying much before, while they gloated over the cheque that Richard propped up against the teapot in a position of honour.
“Isn’t it marvellous?” Hilary stretched, and wiped the last crumbs of chocolate cake from the plate with a wet finger, to lick them a with a pointed red tongue. “We’ve made a lot of money for Yossell, and he’s still got his pitch, and now he can have a spanking new stall in the bargain! And Mummy and Daddy are due back soon— oh, these have been marvellous holidays!”
“I could have done without this,” Stephen drawled, touching his plastered face, and wincing a little. “But even that has its compensations— when I get back to school—”
Philip chortled fatly. “Oh, when you get back to school! I can just hear it! You’ll have 'em thinking you’ve been fighting the whole of London’s criminal population single handed!”
Stephen opened his eyes in wide innocence. “But of course!” he said equably. “A fellow’s got to make his mark in that place—somehow—and I’m not exactly hot stuff on the playing fields. I must make capital where I can!”
Jojo looked wistfully suddenly. “I wish I'd been at the fight,” he said. “When I go back to school—” He sighed. “I shan’t be able to tell anyone about anything!”
Shilling a Pound Pears Page 13