Shilling a Pound Pears

by Claire Rayner

  “No fight,” Barbara said. “But there’s something important you ought to know— where can we talk?”

  Gregory looked at her for a moment, and then with a sudden gruff shyness, said, “The shed’ll do— come on. If we hang around here, my Anna’ll hear and she’ll be out like a flippin' bomb.”

  He pulled at key out of his capacious pocket, and unlocked the padlock. They settled themselves on the pile of broken timber inside, and Barbara started to talk.

  She told Gregory of what had happened that evening, how Yossell was off to Canada, and that the pitch was now vacant.

  “Don’t you see, Gregory? Your father wants a pitch, doesn’t he?”

  “Well, sort of— I mean, 'e’s never said— but I reckon it'd suit 'im down to the ground. But what can I do? I mean, I can’t get the pitch for 'im. 'E’s got to get it 'imself.”

  Barbara was impatient. “I know that, you ass. That’s why I came to see you tonight— I mean, this morning.” She blinked up at the dark sky, for the moon had already set. “As far as I can tell, news gets around this market pretty fast, doesn’t it?”

  “You ain’t kidding,” Gregory said, grinning in the darkness. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

  “And once people know Yossell is back, and they don’t see him getting a new stall, they’ll guess he’s leaving the pitch—and once that gets around, old Barker’ll be after it. Won’t he?”

  Gregory nodded slowly. “Yeah— so if my dad wants that pitch, he’ll have to go after it pronto.”

  “Exactly!” Barbara said triumphantly. “So I though if I came to tell you right away, you could let your dad know to come at once, and get it.”

  “Cor, 'ere’s a right turn up for the book!” Gregory said. “Just what we need, and all, and 'ow do we get it?”

  “Can’t you send your dad a telegram?” Barbara asked eagerly. “Do you know where he is right now?”

  Gregory nodded again. “Sure— 'ere' at Barnet. They’re there till Saturday.”

  “Well then!” Barbara said, and sat back expectantly.

  “A telegram won’t do,” Gregory said, after a pause. “'E’s not much for a one for reading, my dad—'e’ll probably get it all wrong if I send a telegram. Look— I reckon I'd better go and find 'im. ’tisn’t far to Barnet— a few miles outa London on the North. Get there on the old tube.

  Hew jumped to his feet, “Ta, Barbara,” he said awkwardly. “Ta, for lettin' me know, I mean. It was right good of you.”

  “That’s all right,” Barbara said. “I just thought it'd be the best thing to do. What do we do now?”

  “We?” Gregory said, a little taken aback.

  “We,” Barbara said firmly. “Aren’t we going to find your father right now?”

  The small boy stared at her a moment, and then said, “First trains’ll start in an hour or so. Must be close on four in the morning. You don’t want to hang around waiting with me, do you? You 'aven’t ad a kip yet, 'ave you?”

  “I’m not tired.” Barbara really wasn’t, oddly enough. “And I’m coming too. Have you got enough for fare money?”

  Without answering, Gregory turned, ran to the wall beneath his window, shinned up it again, with a born skill of long practice, and disappeared through the window. When he returned, he had brushed his hair into some semblance of order, and was clutching a small brown wallet in one hand.

  “O.K.,” he said shortly. “Come if you’re comin'.” The two small figures slipped back through the silent street to stand huddled against the iron folding door of Camden Town station, to wait for the first train to Barnet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  HILARY was nearly demented. She prowled restlessly from the window to door, her dressing-gown hugged round her, her eyes still glazed with sleep.

  “Where is she, for heaven’s sake? Something awful must have happened! She’s never done this before. Oh, Richard, what shall we do?”

  Richard, also dressing-gowned, and nearly as frantic as Hilary, tried to hide his own mounting panic behind a façade of calm good sense.

  “Look, Hilary. She’s not a baby. She must have just gone our early for something.”

  “But her bed wasn’t slept in,” Jane said, worriedly, from the table where she was pouring tea for them all. Somehow this had seemed the best thing to do in the crisis. It had been Jojo who had discovered Barbara’s absence, when he had wandered into her room in search of an apple, hoping she had one beside her bed. He was too lazy to go all the way downstairs for one, and when he had seen her smooth unrumpled bed, he had raised the alarm that had brought them all, including Gitty, tumbling out of their rooms to look for her.

  It was close on eleven o'clock, for even Jojo had slept late after the excitement of the previous night, and there was no sign of Barbara at all. Gitty, who had slipped away to dress herself during the panic, was sitting anxiously at the table, looking from face to face, in a vain attempt to understand what was going on. Richard had tried, in halting German, to explain matters, and she had seemed grateful for his efforts, but not much nearer comprehension.

  “Look,” Hilary said with sudden decision. “I’m going up to get dressed, and then I’m going to the police. We can’t just sit here— we’ve got to do something.”

  The rest of them followed suit, and within fifteen minutes they were all at the front door, ready to set of together for the police station. But as Richard opened the door, Barbara and Gregory came running up the steps, a short dark man wearing a black sweater over shabby black trousers following them.

  “Barbara!” Hilary shrieked, and flew to meet her, hugging her until her ribs seemed to crack under the onslaught.

  “You wicked girl— where have you been?— have you been out all night?— why didn’t you go to bed?— what’s happened?— who’s this?— why’s Gregory here?—”

  Barbara extricated herself, and looked up at her sister with a bleary grin on her dirt-smudged face. “I’m sorry, Hilary,” she said blithely. “I’ve been to Barnet?”

  “Barnet? What’s at Barnet? And why?” Hilary was all set to paunch another stream of questions, but Jane pulled on her arm, and dragged her back into the house, the others following much to the disappointment of the small crowd of children who had gathered in the street to watch what was going on.

  “Breakfast,” Jane said practically. “Talk after.” Despite the boys’ arguments (for they were more anxious to hear what had happened to Barbara than to eat) she refused to allow another word to be said until piles of toast and eggs and bacon were on the table.

  Jane insisted that Gregory and the silent man with him should stay too, for as she privately said to Hilary in the kitchen “he’s obviously got something to do with it, so we'd better keep him here till we know what’s been going on.”

  Over breakfast, as she ate eggs and bacon as though she had never seen them before, Barbara told her story, not without plenty of antiphonal comment from Gregory.

  “We got to the fairground at Barnet at about six, but we had to ask all over the place before we found where Gregory’s father was staying. And then we found the caravan he was sharing with another man—”

  “A Strong Man,” Gregory put in. “Fattest bloke I ever saw. 'Ad two bunks to hisself, he did.”

  “—and when Gregory had told him about Yossell’s pitch, he reckoned it was a marvellous idea,” Barbara went on.

  “The strong man did?” Stephen said, puzzled.

  “No—Gregory’s father, idiot!” Barbara smiled brilliantly at the still silent Mr Popodopoulous, who was stolidly eating toast and marmalade and drinking tea with every evidence of enjoyment. “And then he— Mr Popodopoulous— he had to find someone to take over on his roundabout for him— it’s a lovely one with motorbikes on it— and there was a man who said he'd do it, and then Gregory and Mr Popodopoulous, and me, we had to come back here, and wait till the town hall opened, so we could apply for the licence to Yossell’s pitch.

  “It didn’t start till half-
past nine, in that office they 'ave for licences,” Gregory said disgustingly. “Some people don’t 'arf 'ave a cushy number!”

  “And he’s got it!” Barbara finished triumphantly. “Old Barker’ll be sick when he finds out. Gregory’s dad says he’s going to sell jewellery— he knows a place where he can get beads and bracelets and brooches very cheaply, and he says that there’s enough fruit stalls on the market anyway. And he says he won’t have to set up so early with a jewellery stall, because you don’t have to go to markets to buy it. You buy it in showroom in the daytime, he says.”

  Stephen looked with some awe at the speechless Mr Popodopoulous, who was still eating steadily, whispered to Philip, “I don’t believe he ever says anything. He must use sign language.

  “So there you are! I’m sorry if you were worried about me, but I couldn’t come back till it was all settled, could I? I mean, not after all the trouble there was about Jojo and me working on the stall and everything. It was all right helping Mrs Minsky, of course—” she smiled across at Hilary, feeling somehow that Hilary might be offended if she criticised Peter’s grandmother— “but I just had to do something to help. You all looked so dire when you thought old Barker'd get the pitch. So—so—” she suddenly gave a jaw-cracking yawn— “So I hope it’ll be all right now.”

  Now that their anxiety about Barbara’s absence was over, it most certainly was all right. Even Richard hugged his young sister, and assured her gruffly that she'd done a jolly good job, and that as long as she promised never to go out alone at night again, he'd say no more about it.

  Hilary and Jane hauled the now almost comatose but blissfully happy Barbara off to bed, while the boys washed the breakfast dishes (“Do you s'pose Mr Popodopoulous would lick the plates clean for us?” Stephen said privately to Philip as they cleared the table), and Gregory, almost bouncing with pleasure in his silent father’s company, solemnly shook hands all round and thanked them all with a politeness that sat oddly on his cheeky frame.

  Mr Popodopoulous, suddenly standing up and stretching, grinned round at them all, and followed his son on the hand-shaking expedition. Then he directed Gregory towards the door, with a jerk of his hand.

  “Ta,” he said unexpectantly, in a deep husky voice. “Right nice of you. Ta.” The two of them went clattering of down the steps into the busy street. As he reached the bottom one, Mr Popodopoulous suddenly turned, and ran back up the steps to Richard.

  “For the girl,” he muttered, and thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket, pulled out a string of gaudy red beads. “From the fair. Prize shooting,” and with another jerk of his head at Gregory, disappeared down the street towards the market.

  Honestly, Yossell, I'd much rather you didn’t,” Richard said, his voice thick with embarassment. “I wasn’t mad on the idea at first, I’ll admit, but I didn’t do it for money really I didn’t.” he looked helplessly at the bundle of banknotes that Yossell had thrust into his hand and refused to take back.

  “So what are you? A lunatic or something?” Yossell said with mock anger. “You earned it— so I pay. An' if you don’t want it, you should give it to a cats’ home— though I tell you, you do such a thing, I think you gone screwy. So take. Is a good car: old like me, but good like me, huh? Got years in it, if you take care. So now you buy new kishkas for this good old car.”

  “Kishkas?” Richard asked, diverted.

  “Kishkas— guts— insides.” Yossell waved a hand. “Buy new inside for your car—and no arguments. I won’t listen, you hear?”

  Richard pushed to notes into his pocket, all fifty of them, and accepted the situation with what grace he could muster. They were at the airport again, saying goodbye to Yossell and Gitty, off on their long flight to Canada, and while Yossell turned to fuss with tickets and passports at the desk, with Hilary and Jane’s help, the rest of the party had a marvellous time taking their own photographs on the automatic passport photographic machine in the big lounge, and Richard had a moment to talk to Gitty.

  He stood silent, cursing himself for not working harder at learning German while he was at school and had the opportunity. Gitty put her hand out, and shyly took Richard’s.

  “Danke schon, t'ank you,” she said, and smiled at him. Richard blushed a brick red and muttered, “it’s a pleasure— I just wish you weren’t going so far away— oh, hell!” and subsided again at the sight of her questioning expression.

  Yossell, coming back at this point, looked shrewdly from face to face, and grinned a little.

  “I tell you, Richard,” he said with apparent inconsequence. “Is a great country, Canada— much work for engineers from the university, hey? One day you come to see us in Canada, maybe, huh? We like to see you, Gitty and me, eh, Gitty?” And he spoke to Gitty in rapid German, and she smiled at Richard and nodded and said, “Ja—gut.”

  Richard smile back at her and said, “You know, maybe I’ll do just that, Yossell— one of these days.”

  Barbara and Gregory and Jojo and Mr Popodopoulous were having a whale of a time. It was late on Saturday afternoon, and they were wandering from roundabout to roundabout, from the Wall of Death to the hot-dog stall, from the coconut shy to the candy floss machine. They rode on everything in sight, and never stopped eating. Winston and Krishna and Tony and George had lost themselves in the crowd long before, but now it was getting dark, and even the lure of the Dodgems was losing its ability to keep them at the fair much longer.

  “I never thought anything could be so mavellous,” Barbara sighed blissfully. “Going to a fair with someone who knows all the people in it, so you don’t have to pay for anything! Thank you, Gregory and Mr Popodopoulous. It was lovely of you to bring us—wasn’t it, Jojo? Say thank you.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Jojo said in a small voice.

  And he was.

  Peter leaned over the parapet of the bridge, and threw a stone into the dully gleaming water. Hilary too, leaned over to watch the ring spreading till they reached the ducks on the other side of the pond, and rocked them gently.

  “I do like Regent’s Park, Peter,” she said, after a moment. “I think it’s the nicest park in London. So friendly and— well, just so London, if you know what I mean.”

  Peter looked down at the rd head beside him, and smiled. “Yes—I know what you mean.”

  They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the ducks in the dim light of early evening, and then Peter said awkwardly, “Thank you for coming out with me this afternoon, Hilary. I have enjoyed it.”

  Hilary smiled up at him. “Don’t thank me—I’ve had a lovely time. Did you really want to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Open Air Theatre, or did you bring me just because you thought I'd like it?” she asked, a little impishly.

  “A bit of both, really,” Peter said honestly. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would— it’s much better to see it like that, in the open air, than to read it at school. It’s a bit dull, at school.”

  They began to stroll towards the Baker Street gate, passing late children scuttling home to supper, and a few couples with their arms intertwined round each other’s waists.

  “I suppose we won’t be able to do this again?” Peter said, a little sombre suddenly. “I mean, I’ll be at Police College in September, and you’ll be back at Drama School. But I wish we could. Go out together again, I mean.” He stared very hard ahead of him, trying not to notice the young couples walking arm in arm and hand in hand along the same path. He would very much like to have held Hilary’s hand, too.

  “I don’t see why not,” Hilary said, softly. “Won’t you get any free time? I will.”

  Peter grinned down at her, pleasure all over his face, and grabbed her hand a little clumsily.

  “I’ll phone you,” he promised, “and we can arrange things. Right?”

  “Right,” Hilary said and laughed, and together they strolled towards the blinking traffic lights at the Baker Street gate to the park.

  Jane looked uncertainly
in the mirror. She was sitting in Hilary’s bedroom, the top drawer of the dressing table open in front of her. Face powder, lipstick and sticks of assorted greasepaints jostled in the untidy interior, and with a rather shaky hand, Jane pulled out one of the lipsticks.”

  Now, my girl,” she said to the solemn reflection in the mirror. “You have to wake your ideas up a bit. If you’re going to the London School of Economics, it doesn’t mean you have to be a complete drear. Make-up looks nice on Hilary, so why shouldn’t it look nice on you?”

  Her reflection mouthed back at her, and Jane laughed a little shamefacedly at herself.

  “I mean it,” she said to her reflection, “You are going to wear make-up, and have boy-friends like Hilary does as well as work… “ And she carefully drew the pink lipstick across her mouth.

  “There!” she said again, as she regarded the effect. “not bad at all— but I warn you— the folks’ll have a fit when they see it. But stick to your guns— and your lipstick, Jane Jackson!”

  She thrust the lipstick back in the drawer, and hurried downstairs to make supper for the others.

  Stephen paused, his polish-laden duster clutched in one dirty hand.

  “When I get back to school—” he began.

  “When I get back to school, buster,” Philip said, “remember I’ll be there too. So you'd better not embroider the events you’ll be bragging about too much—or I will Tell All!” He shook his duster out of the window.

  “I was about to say,” Stephen said with dignity, “before I was interrupted with such appalling and disgusting rudeness, I was about to say that it would be quite a welcome rest. I am sick and tired of washing dishes and dusting and sweeping”

  “We had to get the place clean before your parents got back,” John said mildly. “I mean, Richard wouldn’t like it if they came home to find the house like a pigsty.”

  “Richard has a complex about tidiness,” Philip said bitterly. “He’ll make someone a wonderful wife one of these days. Is this room finished, would you say?”