Shilling a Pound Pears

by Claire Rayner

  Hilary hugged him warmly. “Never mind, love! I’m jolly glad you weren’t there! And you can always tell the other boys that if it hadn’t been for you and Barbara coming back that morning, when you did, we'd never have had to get help from Mr Percival, and if it hadn’t been for him, we'd have been in awful trouble still!”

  It was while they were washing-up in the kitchen that a scrabbling at the back door announced the arrival of Gregory and his friends. Jane let them in, and they all perched on the kitchen table, while the eight Coopers and Jacksons told them— not without a great deal of interrupting and correcting each other—what had happened.

  Gregory, ever the business-man, looked brightly at Richard when they had finished, and said eagerly, “'Ere—this means you won’t be wanting the timber from the stall now— the bashed stall I mean”

  Richard laughed. “You want it for firewood, I suppose? Sure—you’re welcome!”

  “Nah! Better than that!” Gregory winked at his four silent friends. Some of it’s only fit for firewood, but there’s enough good stuff there to rig up a nice little 'andcart—wheels and all! We’re thinking of startin' a laundry service.”

  “Laundry service?” Hilary asked.

  “Sure—we collect people’s washin', take it to the launderette, shove it through those flippin' machines, and bring it back. Sixpence a load. We’ll do nicely, we will. Your Mum let us do 'ers for 'er, eh?”

  “Probably!” Hilary said. “We use the launderette, and she hates dragging the stuff there. Come and see her when she gets back!”

  “I’ll 'ave to do somethin', see?” Gregory was solemn for a moment. “My old man— seems he’s givin' up the fair. 'E’s not a bloke as can do an indoor job, I reckon, before 'e get something that suits’im—so I’ll have to earn a bit extra for a while.”

  “Why is he giving up the fair?” Jane asked. Doesn’t he like it?”

  Gregory looked disgusted. “Nah! He sent a message, see? Reckon’s’e ought to be at 'ome more—now I’m gettin' older. 'E’s got some screwy idea I’ll get into trouble if 'e’s not around to give me a beltin' now and again. I ask yer!”

  Winston laughed richly. “He ain’t wrong man. You got more ideas than anyone I knows. Guess you could do with someone around to keep you down a bit.” Gregory threw a mock blow at him, which the Jamaican boy parried good-humouredly.

  “Mind you,” Gregory said, “I’m not sayin' my old man’s right— but the cops, they’re always tougher on geezers like me, if they think there’s no one round to keep an eye on us. Anyway— I like my dad, see?” He glared at his friends ferociously. “'E’s a good feller— not one of yer berks, not 'im. 'E’s not scared of cops, but 'e says there’s no percentage in buckin' 'em. There’s more of them than there is of us, and 'e says if you can’t lick 'em, you join 'em. I mean, 'e don’t mind if a feller makes the most of 'is opportunities, but 'e says only a right berk would do anything really crooked— and I reckon 'e’s dead right Look what happened to Barker’s mob! In the nick the lot of 'em.”

  Krishna said suddenly, in his lilting voice, so soft and yet so easy to listen to, “What your father needs Gregory is a nice little stall— like the ones our friends here have been looking after. He would be very good with the apples and pears, eh, Gregory?”

  Gregory jumped down from the table and grimaced. “So what’s the use of talkin'? There ain’t no pitch going'. 'E’s got enough put by to get a stall, I think, but if there ain’t no pitch, there ain’t. Come on you lot— we got work to do. Got a few nails to spare, guv'nor?”

  “In the shed,” Richard said in a resigned voice. “You really are the world’s biggest scrounger. What are you going to do? Collect the broken stall now?”

  Winston snorted with laughter. “We done collected that stall as soon as Minsky gave up trying to mend it,” he said. “It’s all over Gregory’s bedroom, and his Anna— man, is she mad! Say’s he'd better get that gear out fast, or she’ll scrag him!”

  “Then you'd better borrow the shed next week— just till Yossell gets back.” Richard tossed the key over to Gregory. “Look after it, now!”

  Gregory, with a flash of white teeth, grabbed the key, and the five small boys scuttled away, while the Coopers and Jacksons, joyfully finished the washing-up, decided to spend some of their now dwindling store of food money— the money left them by Mrs Cooper— on a big blow out a the local Chinese restaurant.

  “We’ll celebrate with fried rice and noodles!” Hilary said greedily, and she ran upstairs to change into a tidier dress. “Come on, Jojo— if you don’t hurry, they’ll have sold out of the chicken chop-suey and egg rolls!” And Jojo, who liked Chinese food even more than coconuts, if that were possible, flew up the stairs after her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE BIG arrival lounge at the airport was bustling with people, late though it was. Travellers, laden with hand luggage and with coats over their arms, came hurrying up the escalators from the Customs area, to greeting their friends joyfully.

  Hilary peered at her watch for the hundredth time, said anxiously, “Do you suppose he missed the plane? He did say due in at eleven-thirty in his letter.”

  “He’s probably held up in Customs,” John said practically, and gently moved the sleeping Jojo, who was leaning against him on the wide padded bench, to a more comfortable position.

  They were all waiting for Yossell, whose somewhat mysterious letter had arrived the previous day. “I come at half an hour before midnight on the airplane from Vienna,” he had written in his cramped, spidery hand. “I have for you such news as will make you so happy for me and my Gitty. I come to your house to see you first thing on Friday morning.”

  But they had decided that they couldn’t wait till Friday morning to see him, and had come, all of them, even Barbara and Jojo, to London Airport to meet him, for, as Richard said, “the sooner we tell him what has happened, the better. No point in putting it off.”

  Barbara, who had been wandering about looking at the shop windows in the big lounge, more to keep herself awake than from real interest, suddenly came running back to the bench they had taken over for themselves, her dark hair flying.

  “Look—look?” she gaped, pointing towards one of the escalators. “There’s Yossell!”

  There he was indeed. His fat little body encased in a tight grey suit, his white head shining above the many scarves that were wound about his fat neck. He was carrying two cases, as he walked off the moving stairs, he solicitously fussed over a tall lack-haired girl, a girl wearing a vivid red coat, who was obviously with him.

  Hilary, with a fine disregard for the properties pealed on to the bench, and waved wildly.

  “Yossell—Yossell!” she shrieked. “Over here!”

  Yossell peered round, and at the sight of them, beamed from ear to ear. He shoved one of the suitcases under his am, to release a hand, and grabbed the hand of the girl in the red coat, came trotting across the wide lounge as fast as his short legs could carry him, with complete disregard for the frankly amused people who scattered in front of him.

  “My 'Ilary— my friends!” he panted, as he came up to them, dropping his cases and the girls’ hand, who looked faintly surprised, threw his arms round Hilary to hug her warmly.

  “You come to meet old Yossell! Such darling friends I have—such lobbuses to be up out of their beds at such an hour— so nice to come— I’m so 'appy to see you!” He shook hands all round, giving an embarrassed Barbara and a very surprised Jojo smacking great kisses into the bargain.

  He stood back then, and surveyed them all, pleasure written all over his face. Then, with a sudden air of shy pride, he pulled the girl in the red coat forward.

  “My Gitty,” He said simply. “My granddaughter— Gitty— I want you should all meet her.”

  Richard, with an unexpected look of interest on his young face, was the first to hold out his hand, and he, looked at the dark girl— who really was extremely pretty, with a perfectly oval face and unexpectedly blue eyes
fringed with long black lashes—so admiringly that she blushed and dropped her gaze.

  “She speak no English,” Yossell said apologetically, and turning to his granddaughter, launched into a stream of explanatory German. The dark girl listened gravely, and then smiled at the eight young people.

  “'Ow—'ow do you do,” she said, in a low voice, and shook hands all round, blushing a little as she managed the few English words. Yossell beamed with pride, and said happily, “She can say this! My clever Gitty.” He squeezed her arm proudly.

  “So why you all come?” he said then, beaming at them all. “You are not too tired after a long day at the market? Me, after a day in the market—I am dead with work!” He blew expressively through pursued lips.

  Hilary and Richard exchanged embarrassed looks. They were far from tired, having spent the day lying in the sun in the park near their home, as indeed they had spent nearly every day for the most of the previous week, when they weren’t swimming. Their suntanned faces bore mute evidence of the lazy time they had had.

  Richard grabbed Yossell’s two cases, and said hurriedly, “We can’t talk here. Come to the coffee bar. We’ll have a drink, and tell you what’s been happening.”

  The group moved across the lounge to esconce themselves at two tables, pushed together, Jojo livening up considerably at the possibility of food.

  They ordered coffee and pastries and milk shakes for Jojo and Barbara, and when the waitress had served them Richard took a deep breath.

  “A lot has happened, Yossell, and if you aren’t too tired after your journey, p'r'aps we'd better explain.”

  By mute agreement, they left the talking to Richard. He left nothing out: what had happened at the shed, the episode of the coconuts—which amused Yossell hugely— and finally, with much tut-tutting and head-shaking from Yossell, all about the fight.

  “I’m sorry about it all, Yossell, really I am. We all are,” Richard finished. “But we’ve got your money—” Jean pulled a big brown envelope from her handbag, and envelope bulging with pounds notes and Barker’s cheque, and pushed it into Yossell’s hand—”and there’s enough for a new stall. I only hope it won’t take too long for you to get going again. Your pitch is quite safe till Monday—Mr Percival fixed all that—and—and that’s all,” he finished lamely.

  They all looked at Yossell expectantly, waiting to hear what he would say, wondering whether even his happy temper would give way under the weight of all they had said. But the response they got surprised them immensely.

  He threw back his head and laughed, laughed so that other people in the coffee bar stared round in amazement, laughed till tears squeezed out from under his tightly closed lids, laughed till his whole body rocked.

  “Is marvellous!—marvellous!” he gasped at length, wiping his rosy cheeks. “Such things—that you should have such trouble makes me sad, believe me—but for me—it couldn’t be better!” He went off into another paroxysm.

  “For haven’s sake, Yossell!” Hilary said at length, a little irritated. “Let us in on the joke.”

  Gradually Yossell regained his breath and calmed down. “So I tell you,” he said, his eyes dancing with joy. “My Gitty here— my lovely Gitty— she sing—chee— how she sing!” He waved his hands, and beamed at his silent granddaughter, who, realising he was talking to her, blushed pettily, much to Richard’s admiration. “She sings at the opera,” Yossell went on, “and the people, they love her. They cry for more— bis-bis!” He clapped his hands in imitation of the audience at the opera house, but by this time, people didn’t even look round at the odd party in the corner of the coffee bar.

  “So afterwards— after the opera is finished, and there are people they are crying, my lovely Gitty makes such a marvellous Micaela.” For a moment, Yossell seemed to contemplate singing Micaela’s aria himself, but went on talking instead. “Afterwards, a man comes to my Gitty’s dressing-room to talk. Me, I am there. My old sister, she is there, we are all crying, we are so happy, so proud.” His eyes glistened reminiscently. “This man, he say Gitty is marvellous too. He wants— what he wants!”

  For a moment Yossell was almost overcome as he remembered the scene. Then he went on again.

  “He want my Gitty should come to Canada. She would come, he says, to be the prima dona in a new operate company they make in a place near Toronto. Is a wonderful chance, hein? She work regular. No worry; will she get a part, won’t she. She can develop.” He beamed happily. “This an opera singer must have. She must belong to a company regular, See? And this chance my Gitty have now! And one day— one day she sing a the Metropolitan Opera in New York. She is world famous— my little Gitty!” He looked tenderly at the quiet dark girl beside him.

  She seemed to understand that he had been telling his friends about her wonderful opportunity, about the shining future that stretched in front of her, for the mouth trembled into soft smile and her yes sparkled in a way that almost overcame the watching Richard.

  “So you see?” Yossell finished triumphantly. “It all works out for the best, hey?”

  Jane looked puzzled. “I’m sorry, Yossell, she said apologetically, “But I don’t understand—what has this to do with the stall?”

  Yossell spread his hands wide, and opened his eyes to their fullest extent.

  “But of course I come to Canada also. With my Gitty. In a few months, when we have a house all ready, my sister, she come too! We start a new life, in a new world. We are one happy family— at last after all the bad years! The bad years are finished. I come back to sell up my business— but you have done this for me! You save me much trouble.” He patted the envelope. “Here is the same money I get for my stall anyway— more maybe— and me I have no troubles! I love you! Such wonderful people you are!” He leaned across the table and shook hands with them all again.

  The broke into excited talk, congratulating Yossell and Gitty joyfully, exuberantly patting each other on the back in self-congratulations, almost hysterical with pleasure. Only Jojo. Busily finishing everybody else’s pastries— for his elders were far too excited to eat— and Richard were quiet, for Richard was clearly dashed at the thought that this pretty girl who had impressed him so much was to go so far away.

  Amid the excited chatter, they collected themselves and went out to the car, on the way back to Camden Town. For Richard, the day was made complete when it was arranged that Gitty should stay at the Cooper house, until she and Yossell left for Canada the following Monday (for all that had been arranged by the agent of the Canadian opera company, from Vienna). There was no room for her at Yossell’s tiny room in his boarding house, and Yossell was pathetically grateful at Hilary’s insistence that Gitty should stay with them.

  “We’ve got lots of room,” she assured Yossell, above the rattle of the car and the roar of the engine, as Richard went speeding along the North Circular Road towards home. “No need to look for a hotel!”

  By the time they all got home, and a bed had been made for Gitty, and she had been tucked away to sleep exhaustedly, it was extremely late. But somehow, except for Jojo, they were all too alert to feel the need for sleep.

  They collected in the big sitting-room, to drink yet another cup of coffee, and talk about what had happened. Now that they had told Yossell of the events of the past month, and the excitement had subsided a little, they felt a little flat, a sense of anti-climax dampened their spirits.

  “In a way, it was sort of a waste of time,” Richard said suddenly. “I mean, if was fun— except for the fight. But now Yossell doesn’t want his pitch any more— well it just seems it wasn’t worth it.”

  “Oh it was, Richie!” Hilary said. “We'd have been awfully bored with nothing to do, all these weeks— and we really have made some money for Yossell. He’s going to need it, isn’t he, in Canada? Though I know what you mean. It would have been nicer somehow if he had been going on using the pitch.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then Stephen said disgustedly, “Now I suppose old Barker’
ll get the pitch after all. That really rankles, doesn’t it?”

  They all sat silent and glum as they thought of Baker on “their” pitch.

  Barbara, her eyes bright, looked at them all, and then yawned with great theatricality. “I’m tired,” she said, elaborately casual. “I’m going to bed.”

  “We'll be up in a minute,” Hilary said absently. “'Night, Bar.”

  But once she had closed the sitting-room door behind her, Barbara made no attempt to go upstairs. She took her coat from the hall stand, and carefully pocketing the front door key, slipped out of the house.

  She shivered a little in the cool night air of the silent street, and pulling her coat more closely round her, ran soft-footed down the street, towards the market. She met no one on her way, apart from a prowling alley cat, and turned into the little cul-de-sac where the shed was.

  Above her, the dark half-open window of Gregory’s bedroom showed the soft flutter of a scrap of net curtain, and with her lower lip between her teeth, Barbara tossed a pebble up to it. She missed the first time, and tried again, and this time, the stone went in through the window.

  There was a sudden scuffle from inside, and then Gregory’s tousled head appeared, his right hand holding a large jug perilously near the edge.

  “Get orf!” he snarled, “or I’ll give you the lot— I’m warnin' you. 'Op it!” He tipped the jug so that a trickle of disinfectant and water dropped to the ground at Barbara’s feet.

  “It’s me, Gregory— Barbara!” Barbara ducked, and hissed again. “it’s me— you ass— watch what you’re doing!”

  Gregory peered at her in the dim light, and then looked amazed. “What do you want? Somethin' the matter? 'Ere— 'ang on. I’ll be down.”

  He disappeared for a moment or two, and then Barbara saw his legs appear over the edge of the window. He shinned nimbly down the rough wall, to land breathless at her feet.

  “What’s up?” he asked, as he buttoned his hastily donned shirt and trouser. “Where’s the fight?”