‘It was already called that when I moved in!’
‘But you didn’t change it, did you?’ said Ella craftily.
‘That’s plain daft!’
‘Aye, it bloody is! Just as it’s daft to bully this lad. Now get on with you, you soft old sod. Charlie, get off to bed and don’t worry, if there’s any fines to be paid then I’ll be paying ’em.’ She turned back to Wilson as Charlie closed the door. ‘But it won’t be for failure to shield a light, it’ll be for actual bodily harm. ’Cause if you don’t stop your gobbing and get out o’ that yard I’m gonna take that torch and shove it somewhere painful!’
Charlie sighed with relief as the man’s grievances moved to someone else’s yard. Going to the table, he looked at the maths book. All the exercises were completed; he must have done them before nodding off. Stacking the book and pencil on the dresser he turned off the lamp and went to bed. A slit of light shone from under the parlour door. Mrs Hazelwood was still up. He wondered for a moment whether to go in and tell her about Rowena’s worry, but then thought better of it and went up to his attic.
But his earlier catnap prevented him from sleeping. He rolled from his left side to his right, back to belly – even tried lying with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet on the pillow. Counting sheep did not work either. He made a tent of the covers, using himself as the pole, and sat cross-legged inside the dark cocoon, wondering if he stayed under here for long enough, would he suffocate? Just because you got our brother killed you needn’t think you’re the boss, came Lyn’s voice. That was what kept him awake. It’s not true. I wasn’t responsible for getting him killed. Another voice came: no, but you’re glad he’s dead, aren’t you?
I’m not!
He tried to shut his mind to the voice, but it persisted. Yes, you are. You have no reason to feel sorry, he meant nothing to you.
He was my brother!
No, not really, he didn’t even like you. Look at all the names he called you, the way he treated you, the way he tried to come between you and Father.
I still didn’t want him to die!
Yes you did, admit it. You’re glad he’s gone. Because now you’re the only son, aren’t you?
I just want Father to love me!
Yes, and when he comes back now he’ll have to love you, because you’re his only son.
Charlie shot from the bed, trying to escape the voice. He caught sight of a shady, anguished face in the standing mirror and, after slight hesitation, went right up to it, staring at the reflection. Fresh voices came. Afrikaans voices from his childhood. Git your black arse out of my way, Bantu! Was this why his father didn’t want him? His brown skin. Then Bertie’s voice chanted Fuzzball, Fuzzball, Fuzz…
Yes, I am glad you’re dead! shrieked his mind. I am, I am! Spinning from the mirror, he went to the cabinet that housed the birds’ eggs and began to pull out the drawers one after the other. Look, Bertie! I’m touching the eggs. See! he put a finger to each egg, you can’t stop me, I can do this as often as I please because you’re dead and now I’m the only son. The only son, and that gives me the right to Father’s love.
Leaving the drawers as they were, he fell to his knees by the bed and clasped his hands in fervent prayer, eyes shut tightly. But he couldn’t bring himself to pray for forgiveness… for he had meant every word.
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘Rowena won’t get up,’ announced a tousled Beany, coming into the kitchen the next morning.
‘There’s no need for her to,’ muttered Charlie, wishing she wouldn’t shout; he had a splitting headache that extended right into his eye sockets. ‘She hasn’t got any school today.’ He had taken his arm out of the sling and was coping in an awkward fashion. This afternoon should see an improvement; he was going to get the plaster cut off – that was if Mrs Hazelwood remembered. He placed a pot of tea on the table. Beany asked why her sister didn’t have to go to school. ‘She’s been suspended.’
‘What’s “suspended”?’ But Beany didn’t hear the answer. She had noticed the table and now stood gawping, as did the others who followed her. The table was neatly laid with racks of toast and a bowl of cereal at each setting, a jug of milk… indeed, how it had always been before Mother went funny. Lyn, climbing onto a chair, demanded to know who had done it.
‘I have,’ said Charlie. ‘Your sister needs a rest so I’ve taken over.’
Lyn set her mouth. ‘I told you last night! Don’t think…’
‘Would you care to prepare breakfast tomorrow?’ offered Charlie. ‘And dinner and tea?’ He received a sullen no. ‘Then sit down, shut up moaning and eat your food. I’ve got to see to Squawk.’
‘Becky’s peed the bed again,’ Lyn informed him spitefully before he reached the door. ‘That’s four wet nightgowns instead of two. They’re on the floor, sopping.’ Charlie said, hadn’t it occurred to her to bring them down? To which she replied, ‘Wena always sees to that.’
‘Well, she won’t be seeing to it this morning!’
Beany asked again what ‘suspended’ meant and was told by Lyn that it meant ‘hung’. At her look of alarm, Charlie said testily, ‘It means she doesn’t have to go to school, that’s all.’ When Beany asked why, he sighed heavily. ‘She’s just taken something that didn’t belong to her.’
‘You mean stolen something?’
‘Not real stealing! And you’re not to say anything to her about it.’ He turned back to Lyn. ‘Go fetch those wet things down.’
‘I’m not touching them!’ Lyn jabbed a thumb at Becky. ‘It’s her what’s done it.’
‘Whoever’s fault it is, that’s no reason to leave everything to Wena!’
Rhona giggled. ‘Ooh, Charlie, your voice went all funny!’
Charlie gave an annoyed cough. His voice had been playing all kinds of tricks on him lately, sounding all right one minute and the next it would give a sort of hiccup. ‘Becky, you’d better come back in with me tonight. I’ll have had the plaster off then.’
‘Thank God,’ muttered Lyn as he dashed off to the nursery.
Charlie accosted the crying child, wiped her face with a flannel, sat her on the chamber pot then brought her down for some breakfast, by which time his efforts had been well demolished by the others. There was a request from Becky for more toast. Charlie looked at the empty rack whilst pandering to Regina’s tastes. ‘Who’s eaten it all?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Lyn crossly and left the table to fetch her books.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ shouted Charlie. She turned back to him. ‘You didn’t ask my permission to leave the table.’
She was enraged. ‘I don’t need your permission, bugger!’
‘You do if you’re going to eat any dinner – and stop swearing.’
She didn’t know if the threat was genuine or not, but thought it wise not to test him. Slouching back to her seat, she plonked herself on it and said pettishly, ‘Please may I leave the table?’ This was as bad as Bertie being here.
‘You may.’ Charlie grinned at Becky as her sister flounced out. ‘Oh heck, you want some more toast, don’t you.’ Finishing with the youngest, he glanced at the clock. ‘I think I’ll just have time to do some, but make sure you’re ready for school while I’m doing it.’
‘Biddy always did plenty of toast the first time,’ taunted Beany, who had also demanded more.
‘Well, Biddy’s not here,’ replied Charlie. ‘And if you throw that at me again you’ll be another one who isn’t going to get any dinner. You’ve all got to start behaving yourselves. It’s all this disagreement that’s made your sister ill.’
‘It’s nowt to do with me!’ Beany’s eyes turned misty.
‘Yes it is! And if I’m going to look after you I’m going to expect some gratitude and a bit more help.’
‘You big show-off, you won’t get it from me!’ Eyes brimming over, Beany charged out.
Charlie sighed, then concentrated on the toasting fork.
‘I wish
Father would come home,’ said little Rhona. ‘Nothing funny’s happened in ages.’ She grinned in reminiscence and shuffled round to talk to Becky. ‘D’you remember how he used to dress up as a lady and peep through the window? Ooh, he was funny!’
‘Yes, well, I don’t suppose Father’s having much fun now,’ murmured Charlie, handing out a piece of toast to each of them.
‘Is this all we’re getting?’ Rhona held it up derisively. Now that she had started school she had an air of self-importance which she paraded quite regularly. Charlie tried to snatch the toast back. In avoiding him, she dropped it on the floor. Covered in bits, it was uneatable. ‘That was your fault!’ She too, stormed from the room. Charlie flopped into a chair as Regina started to grizzle. This was no good at all. Somehow he was going to have to get round them.
* * *
Shortly after midday, the children returned to find a strange woman in the kitchen. Mother must have hired a new maid at last. By the appetising smell coming from the range, it seemed she was a good cook too. Her back was to them as they entered. Rowena was sitting on the sofa and obviously feeling much better after her prolonged sleep. She smiled at their entry, then hid her face as the maid spoke in a queerly pitched Irish accent. ‘Away now an’ wash yer hands before I set yese dinners out! Ye’ll have me thinkin’ I’m entertainin’ a load o’ coal-miners. An’ I want it all eatin’ up else I’m going to take one o’ yese to clout the rest.’
The puzzled girls did as they were told, trooping meekly past the maid and into the scullery to wash their hands. Rhona, the last in line, glanced inquisitively at the newcomer as she passed. The maid tossed her a look over her shoulder. Rhona turned away – then looked back quickly and burst into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, Charlie, you rott’ner!’ and, bounding up to the grinning ‘maid’, delivered a punch before doubling over in a fit of giggles.
Charlie, dressed in the mobcap and dress that Biddy had left behind, kept up the pretence, mincing up to the range and bringing the steaming container of soup to the table. Beany and Lyn had obviously not forgiven him yet for this morning; they did not laugh as much as the others – though it was hard trying to keep a straight face with Charlie looking such a fool.
The noise of long-forgotten merriment served to lure Rachel from her parlour tomb. She took one look at Charlie, tutted, ‘Stupid clown,’ and turned to go.
‘Mother.’ Rowena, guilty at having disturbed her mother’s bereavement with her laughter, jumped up and entreated her, ‘Won’t you have some of Charlie’s soup?’
Rachel looked back. ‘He made it?’
‘Yes!’ He grinned from beneath the frilled mobcap. ‘I got it from one of your cookery books. Shall I dish you some out?’
She turned away, murmuring, ‘No thank you, I’m not hungry.’
Charlie tried not to let this worry him and moved around the table ladling out soup. When he came to Rhona, she smiled up at him and with a look of fondness said, ‘I like you, Charlie. You’re funny.’
He grinned back. ‘I like you too, Mo… Rhona.’ He glanced at Beany and Lyn to see if they had softened at all, but they were having a private conversation.
‘If Father is killed, I wonder who’ll get the eggs now Bertie’s dead.’
‘Oh, Lyn!’ Rowena put her spoon down. ‘What a thing to say!’ Her eyes glistened and she buried her head in her hands before slipping from the table.
‘What’s up with her?’ demanded Lyn. ‘I mean, everyone knows Bertie’s dead. I don’t see why we shouldn’t talk about him.’
‘There’s ways and ways of talking about people!’ Charlie’s voice had a sharp edge to it. ‘You wouldn’t have said that in front of your mother, I’ll bet. And it was very callous to anticipate Father’s death.’
A shamefaced Lyn turned on him. ‘Well, you needn’t think you’re getting the eggs! By rights they belong to the next in line and as Wena isn’t interested that means me.’
‘I’d be entitled to them if I wanted them,’ argued Charlie. ‘After all, I was older than Bertie.’
‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything! You’re not one of us, are you? The eggs are a family heirloom.’
Deeply hurt, he told her scathingly that he didn’t even want the eggs. ‘I could start a collection of my own if I wanted. That’s the whole point of having a collection, accumulating them yourself.’
‘Yes, well, if you do start a collection don’t you dare take the ones in the Elephant Tree!’ Charlie told Lyn there was no such thing. ‘The tree on the other side of the Knavesmire, stupid! I call it that ’cause its branches are like elephant’s legs.’
Beany pushed her and said through clenched teeth. ‘I thought we were going to keep that a secret?’ The nest was high up and well-hidden in the branches.
Lyn’s face blackened further at her own slip, but Charlie scoffed, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t go pinching your daft eggs. Just get on with your dinner. I have to go to the hospital this afternoon to get the plaster off.’
* * *
Rachel had forgotten, as he had expected she might. She looked at him blankly when he pointed at the clock and said, ‘We’d better set off shortly.’ Only when he touched the pot on his arm did she stir.
‘Oh… oh, yes.’ She began to rise lethargically.
‘I could go on my own, if you like,’ offered the boy, though not really wanting to; he was afraid of what the doctors might do to his arm.
She stopped rising, ‘All right, I feel awfully tired,’ and fell back in her seat to stare at the fireplace.
‘Would you like me to go with you?’ asked Rowena.
Rachel suddenly became more decisive. ‘No, you’d better stay at home. It wouldn’t look good, you wandering the town whilst suspended from school. I’m sure the boy can manage to find the hospital, can’t you?’
Charlie confirmed this and left, returning three hours later with his arm back down the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Did it hurt?’ Rowena examined the proffered arm, which looked rather emaciated and a lighter colour than its partner, with bits of skin peeling from it.
He smiled and shook his head, raking his fingers along it. ‘No, it just feels a bit funny, as if it doesn’t belong to me. Ooh, it’s lovely to be able to have a good scratch!’ He pulled his sleeve down, then noticed the time. ‘I’d better start thinking about making the tea, the others’ll be in any minute. Oh, Lord, there’s the sheets to bring in! I hope they’ve dried. Then the little ’un to see to! A woman’s work is never done.’
A chuckling Rowena stopped him from leaving his chair. ‘The sheets’re back on the bed and I’ll see to Squawk. She’s probably still enjoying her nap. You sit here and have a cup of tea. There’s one freshly made.’ Charlie asked if he should take one to her mother. ‘No, she’s got one.’
‘Has she said anything to you, about school and things?’
Rowena shook her head sadly.
‘Never mind… and never mind Squawk either! Wait till you hear her crying before trailing up there. Sit and have a cup of tea and talk to me.’
She sat down and accepted the cup he brought her.
Charlie settled back and crossed his legs. ‘Nice, this, isn’t it? Just you and me before the brats come in,’ he said like an old married man.
Rachel joined them for tea but as usual ate little. Besides not having much appetite she just couldn’t seem to swallow. Her hand was raised and lowered automatically from plate to mouth but she had no idea what she was eating. She simply stared at the cloth and chewed until she could stomach no more, then left them for the quietude of the front parlour.
Rowena went to wash up, leaving the others at the table. Rhona showed considerable interest in the state of Charlie’s arm as he scratched furiously, producing a puff of dry skin. ‘Eh, Charlie… I wonder if you keep scratching skin off, will you be white underneath?’
This made him thoughtful. ‘Would you like me better if I was?’
She examined his arm for signs of whiteness. ‘No, you’re
best when you’re brown. You wouldn’t be half so nice if you were the same as us.’
‘I’d still be the same person if I was white.’
Becky gave her opinion on this. ‘That’s daft! Course you wouldn’t. Anyway, you’re special. No one else round here has anybody brown in their house.’
‘But brothers and sisters are usually the same colour, aren’t they?’ he pressed, thinking of what Lyn had said earlier – you’re not one of us. ‘Maybe you’d feel I was more like a brother if I was white.’
‘We’ve had a white brother,’ said Rhona.
‘D’you think… well, is it my fault that Bertie was killed?’
Rhona was obviously too young to understand, but her ten-year-old sister looked pensive. What Becky should have replied was, no, it’s my fault, he went away because he thought I didn’t care about him any more. But then, if Charlie hadn’t come here in the first place she would still have been treating Bertie the same, wouldn’t she? So really it was Charlie’s fault, for making her love him. Hence she said bluntly, ‘Yes.’ Then, as his eyelids lowered, added, ‘But I don’t blame you, Charlie. I still love you.’
‘So do I,’ agreed Rhona. ‘When’re you going home?’
He gave a worried smile and shrugged. Two years he had been here now. Never in those early months had he envisaged the barriers lasting this long. One by one, though, he reassured himself, you’re breaking them down. You’ve got these two on your side, and Rowena. Pulling his sleeve down, he gave a final rub, then said to Lyn and Beany, ‘Come on then, show me this Elephant Tree of yours.’
Lyn took the chewed pencil from her mouth. ‘Huh! So you can swipe our eggs.’
‘How can they be your eggs while they’re still in the tree?’
My Father, My Son Page 46