Replacing the egg tenderly in its hollow, he slid in the drawer. There would have to be some other way to hurt his father… and there was only one other thing that his father professed to treasure. All Bertie needed was the method. He slumped over the top of the cabinet. Oh God, he was so bored! Maybe he would find something next door to take his mind off things.
* * *
‘Hello there, stranger!’ Ella Daw showed great surprise at her young visitor. As far as she knew, Rachel’s embargo on this house was still in force. ‘I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong time for your visit, I’m just off to work.’ She noticed the sparkles on Bertie’s jacket. ‘Is it still raining out there?’ Bertie said it was and she clicked her tongue. ‘I’ll have to get me umbrella out and I don’t know where the hell it is.’ She rummaged about in a cupboard. ‘I expect that lad’s gone by now, isn’t he?’
‘He’s stopping till the war’s over.’ A sullen Bertie swung his leg back and forth.
‘Oh, why’s that – ah, here it is!’ She emerged clutching the umbrella.
‘The priest he lives with has gone to Belgium instead.’
‘Your mother won’t be too pleased, then. How’re them sisters o’ yours? I don’t see much of ’em these days.’
Bertie said neither did he, and sat down to watch Ella brush her hair. Since switching from making chocolates to munitions she had had it bobbed. Bertie, who loved to watch his mother brush out her waist-length mane, thought the style ugly.
Ella caught his inspection. ‘Like it, d’you?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s all right.’
‘How gallant you are, Bertie.’ She moved away from the mirror, taking quick mincing steps in her hobble skirt, and pulled on a navy blue coat. ‘Has your mother heard anything from your dad?’
Bertie fixed his eyes to Ella’s shoes with their buttoned gaiters and shook his head. His father hadn’t even sent him a card for his birthday – not that Bertie had wanted one, but it just showed how much his father really cared. Some birthday it had been with Fuzzball there.
‘I had a postcard from my Jack.’ Ella reached onto the mantel and showed the picture postcard to the boy. ‘It doesn’t sound as if they’re having too bad a time of it – your dad should be safe enough.’
Her attempt at reassurance was dismissed, as was the card. ‘I’m not bothered if he is or not.’
This comment did not seem to surprise Ella, who tucked the card back behind the clock. ‘Ah well, I’m sorry, Bertie, but I haven’t time to listen to grievances. If you want to have a moan come back tonight.’ With not seeing much of Rachel now, she was out of touch with the Hazelwoods’ situation and would like to be brought up to date. ‘Don’t let your mother cop you though.’ She clipped the dog’s lead to its collar. ‘I’ll have to trot. Kim wants his walk before I go to work an’ I’m late already.’
‘D’you want me to take him?’ came the unexpected offer.
‘Oh, you are a pal!’ She handed him the lead, then took tuppence from her purse. ‘Here y’are. Walk him down past the shop and get yourself some sweets, they might help you feel a bit happier. When you’ve brought him back lock the front door and shove the key through.’
Bertie followed her down the passage. When she reminded him that his mother might see him from her window he replied that she had just set off to look after his father’s shop, thereby giving Ella another snip of information. Once on the street, Ella hoisted her umbrella and strode ahead while the boy took his time with the dog.
After walking all of three yards, the old dog was none too keen on going further, though being of small stature had no choice but to comply with the boy’s insistent hauling. On his return, Bertie shoved his black lace-up under the dog’s tail to assist him up the step. Old Kim growled and bared his teeth at such disrespect. Bertie delayed retaliation until he had closed the door, then gave the terrier a sharp kick which launched it, yelping, into a somersault. Then he imprisoned it in the front parlour and began a tour of the house, devouring Kim’s personal supply of chocolate drops in the process and conserving his own sweets for later.
Taking the dingy staircase, he examined the upstairs rooms. Only one was in use. He sat on the Daws’ marital bed, scooping chocolate drops into his mouth and looking round at the sparse furnishings. When his palm was empty, he wiped it down his shorts and went through the contents of each drawer. This done, he looked under the bed to see what kind of chamber pot the Daws employed, then went on to the wardrobe. Aunt Ella’s clothes were of a drabber nature than his mother’s. Rachel, being her own seamstress as well as milliner, always kept up with the modern styles – though Bertie was grateful she had retained her more feminine hairstyle. His fingers travelled the short row of dresses, then on to Daw’s best suit, searching the pockets to see if there was anything of interest. There wasn’t.
He pushed the clothes aside to check on the bottom of the wardrobe: one pair of men’s shoes, one pair of women’s. Behind the shoes lay a bundle. Bertie’s prying fingers grappled with it. It was heavier than he had anticipated. He unwound the linen… and found a solution to his problem.
* * *
‘What does she want to see me for?’ Charlie was taken aback, not to say overawed, when his half-brother relayed Mrs Daw’s request, mainly because Bertie never spoke to him other than to insult. But today he was unusually civil.
Bertie stationed himself on the end of his sisters’ bed, showing little interest in the game of tiddlywinks that was being played on the rug. ‘She’s got a surprise.’
‘Bertie, get your big foot out o’ me hair,’ complained Lyn, seated directly below him. ‘Charlie, it’s your go.’
Charlie transferred his bemused face to the board and flipped the small disc. ‘Are you sure she wants me?’ Mrs Daw had never appeared to be very friendly towards him when he saw her in the yard.
‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’ urged Bertie. ‘Hurry up or she may change her mind.’
Charlie asked the girls if they would object to him slipping next door.
‘You know we’re not supposed to speak to Aunt Ella now,’ cautioned Rowena.
‘And you’ll be disqualified,’ came Lyn’s ominous addition.
Charlie craned his head to look up at his half-brother. ‘You’d better ask Mrs Daw if it’ll wait.’
Bertie responded by kicking Lyn in the back. ‘Don’t listen to her! Who wants to play stupid tiddlywinks anyway? It’s for kids.’ He lifted his knees out of Lyn’s range as she lashed out.
‘I’d just better finish…’ began Charlie.
Bertie applied his toe to the board, scattering the discs over the room.
‘Oh, Bertie, you pig! Now we don’t know where everyone is.’ Beany thumped the floor in temper, whilst Lyn knelt up to aim several more punches at the culprit before righting the board. ‘We’ll have to start all over again.’
‘Then you won’t need Charlie,’ parried her brother, and ducked as she hurled the board at him. Tugging at Charlie’s collar, he made for the door. ‘Come on!’
Charlie, encouraged by this sudden fraternization, allowed himself to be led. ‘We’re not letting you play any more!’ yelled Lyn, then to Becky who was following the boys, ‘Where d’you think you’re off?’
When Becky replied that she was going with the boys, her brother pressed a hand to her chest. ‘You can’t come.’ She pushed his hand away and asked why. ‘Aunt Ella doesn’t want you, she only wants Charlie and me.’
Her chin jutted out. ‘I always go where Charlie goes.’
‘Look.’ Bertie spread his hands. ‘I can’t help it if Aunt Ella doesn’t want you to come.’
‘Then I’m going to tell Mother you disobeyed her,’ sulked Becky.
Charlie joined the argument. ‘That’s mean.’
She swung her shoulders pleadingly. ‘Well I want to come with you, Charlie.’
‘I don’t think you’d better.’ Becky was all right to have around when there was no one else, but now that his brother
wanted his company …
The hurt showed, but still she insisted, ‘I want to come!’
‘Look, do we need a sledgehammer before you take the hint?’ shouted Bertie. ‘He doesn’t want you. Now stay there!’ He took Charlie onto the landing, slamming the door on his sister as emphasis.
Becky waited a few moments, then followed.
Bertie’s bonhomie was maintained as they took to the stairs, replying to Charlie’s query as to what the surprise was with, ‘Ah, wait and see! But it’s a good one.’
Charlie could not help an embarrassed laugh. ‘Bertie… I thought you didn’t like me.’
‘Course I do!’ came the glib response. But Bertie did not meet his eye.
They reached the front door. Charlie decided to test the new relationship by extending a hand. ‘We’re friends, then?’
Bertie’s lips parted. He stared indecisively at the hand, his own on the doorknob. Then, with the briefest possible contact of that hated flesh, said cheerfully, ‘Friends!’ and swung the door open.
Charlie felt a tidal rush of gladness. Beaming widely, he followed Bertie’s example and cocked his leg over the low wall between the houses. Had the journey been longer he would have draped a brotherly arm over Bertie’s shoulders – he had always wanted someone to whom he could do this. Often he had gazed from his prison window and watched other boys link fraternal bodies with their pals and had yearned to find some other male with whom to share his affection. The girls were all right, but boys could say things to each other that one could not mention to females. Anticipating this pleasure, he moved up to the door behind his brother.
Two women, on their way to the shop, happened to hear the boys’ voices and looked over their shoulders. One gave a swift nudge to her friend. ‘Eh look, he’s there!’ Both paused now to stare at the dark-skinned boy who was about to enter the Daws’ house.
‘After you!’ Bertie held the door open and Charlie stepped in.
When he had disappeared, the women hurried on. ‘Mrs Phillips said he’d gone back to Africa at the end of August,’ said one. ‘Eh, watch her face when I tell her something she doesn’t know!’ They both chuckled and made for the shop.
Bertie escorted the other towards the back room, neither boy wiping his feet. The imprisoned dog yapped and snuffled at the door of the front parlour as they moved along the passage. Charlie tapped on the wood before entering, then looked around. ‘She’s not here.’
‘She said for us to come straight in and wait,’ explained Bertie, pointing to a chair. ‘Sit down, she won’t be long.’
Charlie lifted a pair of Ella’s stockings from the seat and put them over the back of the chair before sitting. ‘Where is she?’ He folded his hands on his lap. Bertie told him she was upstairs. ‘I can’t hear her.’ Nothing had altered in his brother’s approach, yet Charlie suddenly experienced a flicker of suspicion. ‘And I thought she usually went to work until the evening?’
‘She’s ill,’ announced Bertie. ‘She’s having a lie-down. Let’s go up and tell her we’re here.’
‘We can’t do that! She might be undressed. Let’s shout to her.’ Charlie went to the foot of the stairs and called Ella’s name. The only reply was renewed barking from the dog.
‘You go back in there,’ ordered Bertie. ‘I’ll go up and see what she’s doing. She won’t mind, she asked us to come, didn’t she?’
Whilst Bertie did this, Charlie stepped back into the kitchen, where he squeezed his knuckles uneasily and sat on the very edge of the chair as if for a quick getaway. Becky waited too, peering through the back window to see what Aunt Ella’s surprise could be. She ducked below the sill as Bertie returned. What he held jerked an amazed Charlie from his seat. ‘Where did you get that?’
Bertie toted the Mauser with pride. ‘Terrific, isn’t it? Aunt Ella’s just told me we could play with it.’ Charlie was sceptical that an adult would allow free access to such a dangerous weapon and said so. Bertie gave a mocking laugh. ‘It’s not dangerous, you fool! Go up and ask her if you don’t believe me.’ Seeing that Charlie was going to take him literally, he stepped into his path. ‘No, better not. She might have gone back to sleep. Here, come and have a closer look.’
On the other side of the window Becky watched spellbound as the two boys took turns to handle the weapon – then suddenly a knot of ill-omen formed in her breast. The rifle was being pointed. Even at her age she knew from her questions to Mr Daw while he was cleaning his gun that one must never point a firearm at anyone.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not loaded,’ she heard Bertie’s faint words.
There was only time for her to shout, ‘Don’t!’ as the Mauser bucked upwards, emitting a tongue of flame, and the boy crumpled on Aunt Ella’s carpet.
Frantic, Becky hauled and rattled on the doorknob but it was locked. She scampered out of the back gate and all the way round to the front of the house where she gained entry and ran to the kitchen. Here she fell beside the body and cried out in horror at the blood on his clothes – then turned accusing brown eyes on the perpetrator. ‘Oh, Charlie, you’ve killed our brother!’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Now don’t churn yourself up, Mrs Hazelwood!’ The doctor tried to calm Rachel who, fearing the worst, had stayed behind in the kitchen while her son was being examined. ‘It’s merely a flesh wound. Your boy is in no danger.’
Rachel almost collapsed with relief. She had not been in the shop five minutes when Biddy had come bullocking in and announced that Master Bertie had been ‘kilt by the black fella’, uncorking a fountain of hysteria from Rachel, who had to be given smelling salts by a customer before being able to proceed. When she had arrived home and seen all the blood… oh, dear God! Luckily Biddy, acting out of character, had had the presence of mind to fetch the doctor and have two neighbours carry Robert to his bed.
‘Can I see him?’ Rachel begged the doctor now.
‘Surely.’ The man’s face was kind. ‘But just let me take a look at you first, you must be shocked.’ He proceeded to do so, talking as he did. ‘Where is the other boy who was involved?’ Rachel didn’t care, but looked at Biddy for answer. The maid said she wasn’t sure, but told the doctor he hadn’t been hurt. ‘Well, if he shows signs of delayed shock then send someone for me.’ Rachel was needled that everyone seemed to be so concerned about Charlie, but she nodded at the doctor. ‘I don’t know what your neighbour was thinking about, leaving a loaded weapon lying about the house. I hope she has a satisfactory answer for the police.’
The police! Rachel’s blood pressure soared. ‘Is there really any need to bring them into it, Doctor?’
‘Why yes, a firearm wound…’
‘But it isn’t as if it was a malicious wounding, just a schoolboys’ prank gone wrong.’ If this should get into the papers and bring Mrs Ingram back, Rachel knew that she would lose her mind altogether.
‘I’m surprised you’re so benevolent, Mrs Hazelwood.’ The doctor closed the jaws of his bag. ‘Your son was lucky not to have been killed. I do think your neighbour should be given a lecture at the very least.’
‘She’s at work,’ provided Rachel swiftly. ‘But you can be sure I’ll have some words for her when she comes in.’ She escorted him to the door, making light of the episode. ‘I hardly think it’s a matter for the police, though. They have enough to do with this war.’ The doctor asked if she knew whether the gun was licensed and Rachel told him that Mr Daw did not need a licence, being a member of His Majesty’s forces.
‘He won’t be much good on the front without his gun,’ said the doctor.
Rachel grew more flustered. ‘Well, it isn’t the one he uses for his soldiering – oh look, Doctor, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble, especially when they’re serving their country. Can’t we just let it rest?’
The doctor took his hat from her. His expression was uncertain. ‘Well… the police are very busy, that’s for sure, and far be it from me to impugn those who’re fighting for us – but I must be su
re that the gun will either be locked up securely or disposed of altogether, or I shall be in serious trouble myself.’ After being assured by Rachel that she would report the matter herself should Mrs Daw not comply, he departed, saying he would be calling again to see Bertie.
Once he had gone Rachel spun on the maid. ‘I hope you realize that I hold you responsible for this!’
Biddy’s jaw dropped. ‘Me?’ She had expected commendation for her speedy action.
‘Yes, you! The children were left in your charge. How could you be so incompetent as to allow it to happen?’
Pouting lips endorsed the maid’s objection. ‘Sure, I didn’t know he was going to do an eejit thing like that.’
‘You’re supposed to keep an eye on them!’
‘I only have the two eyes, ma’am, an’ I use them for the babies. Sure, I would’ve thought Master Bertie could’ve been trusted to take care o’ himself.’
‘Master Robert could if he didn’t have to keep company with savages! Really, Biddy, you know how difficult it is for me to look after the shop, the millinery, the household…’ Rachel pressed a hand to her brow.
‘’Tis not my fault the master’s run off an’ left yese.’
The despairing pose was swapped for one of outrage. ‘How dare you! Mr Hazelwood has not run away, he has gone to do his duty. If I hear you saying such things again I shall sack you without reference and then see what fool would employ you. Now get about your business!’
‘Yes’m,’ was the dull reply.
‘And what of the culprit?’
‘Nobody’s seen him since the accident, ma’am.’
‘There’s no wonder no one’s seen him, it was no accident! My God, he could be running all over the district showing himself to everyone.’
My Father, My Son Page 28