by Bates, H. E.
‘Now, now. Now, now. Temper. And where’s Tweedledum? We got to ‘ave a word with Tweedledum too, see? Old pink-cap, we mean, see?’
‘Yeh, got to ‘ave a word with everybody, see? Old mother coconut, pink-cap and palsy-walsy. The lot. On account of we don’t want no trouble in court, see? Don’t want to ‘ave nobody saying nothing they don’t mean, like, see?’
Pop, trembling now with anger, shook a turkey leg in the air like a threatening club.
‘Now I give you jokers just ten seconds –’
‘Don’t you wave no bony-wony at me, palsy-walsy boy. Else I might make pretty patterns on your kiss-woz, see?’
Pop saw Jed whip a hand into his inside jacket pocket but before he himself could move Mr Candy stepped forward.
‘I suggest you go,’ he said, ‘unless you want me as a further unfriendly witness.’
“Ark who’s talking! ‘Ark who’s unfriendly. Old parson’s nose. Old clergy-wergy’
‘I merely –’
‘Keep your big mouth shut, clergy-wergy. Belt up.’
‘Unless you want me to shut it for you,’ Jed said. ‘What say?’
‘Oh! you shut it,’ Mr Candy said with great politeness. ‘It’s so much easier.’
‘I bloody well will an’ all!’
A second later Jed aimed a cruncher at Mr Candy’s jaw but Mr Candy, with an alacrity so smart that Pop had never been more surprised in his life, ducked smartly and was astonishingly revealed ready for instant action as a southpaw.
‘Cut him to bacon-rind, Jed!’
‘Your move,’ Mr Candy said. ‘Come on.’
Jed came on, two fisted, and a moment later Pop had the second surprise of his life. Mr Candy suddenly had a half-nelson on Jed so well locked that any moment Pop expected to hear the crack of a bone.
‘Shall I break it?’ Mr Candy said. ‘Won’t take a second.’
Jed started to yell in vicious pain.
‘Knock him off! Knock him off!’
‘Call your whippet off,’ Mr Candy said. ‘Or I’ll break it.’
‘God, you parson bastard!’
In answer Mr Candy put another ounce or two of pressure on the half-nelson. Jed screamed in wild agony.
‘You’re not even chicken.’ Mr Candy said. ‘You’re just the white of the egg.’
‘Let me go! Let me go!’
To Pop’s infinite astonishment Mr Candy let him go.
‘Now scramble,’ he said. ‘Scramble. Pronto. Or next time I’ll break it. I’ll break both of them.’
Only a moment or two later Mr Candy and Pop were alone in the tent, Pop so astounded that for once in his life he was completely speechless. He simply couldn’t think of a thing to say. He even went so far as to do another utterly unprecedented thing by picking up Mr Candy’s glass of lemonade and taking a long, sharp swig at it. By God, he’d go to Jericho. He’d ruddy well go to Jericho.
‘Did a fair bit of it at one time,’ Mr Candy said. ‘Had to. At the club. I broke a bone once. Nasty sound. I thought perhaps I might have been a little out of practice.’
At this moment Pop, still utterly speechless, could think only of the sharer of all his secrets, Ma. He simply had to tell Ma. He simply had to! and with a sort of hunting cry he rushed from the marquee, leaving Mr Candy in a mood of what seemed to be quiet reflection, helping himself at the beer keg.
*
Ma, rather to Pop’s surprise, was no longer at her easel and he could only guess that she’d gone upstairs for a lay-down. He profoundly hoped so anyway. In that case he could kill two birds with one stone.
He went upstairs and, so excited by events that all thought even of Jasmine Brown had gone from his mind, hastily opened the bedroom door, poked his head in and said:
‘Ma, my little old sunflower. You there?’
Ma was there, tucked up in bed, a bottle of aspirins and a glass of water standing on the table at the bedside. Pop stood greatly astonished. He could think of only one good reason why Ma should come to bed on a Sunday afternoon and it had nothing to do with aspirins.
‘All right, my old sunflower? Not feeling dicky?’
Ma, he couldn’t help thinking, looked a tiny bit pale round the gills.
‘Just tired.’
‘Long day. Too much excitement. Upset you to tan the twins too, I expect?’
‘Didn’t tan them after all. Hadn’t the heart.’
Ma sounded sort of limp, Pop thought, and urgently asked if he couldn’t get her a drop of something brandy, port, rum or perhaps a cocktail?
Ma shook her head and refused without a word, so that Pop was compelled to ask if she’d had one of her turns?
‘No. Nothing like that,’ Ma said. ‘I probably shouldn’t have started painting. But I wanted to get it down as a sort of memento.’
Pop suddenly sat down on the bed, all prepared to tell Ma about the exciting revelation of the new athletic Mr Candy and how the hooligans had been routed but Ma merely said:
‘Don’t bump about, Pop. Please.’
Pop was now quite certain that Ma must be feeling a bit dodgy and said:
‘Sorry Ma. What I came up to tell you about was something terrific that just happened in the marquee. Perfickly terrific. Mr Candy –’
‘Not now. Later.’
Pop felt greatly mystified, even rebuffed. What made it worse was that the idea of killing two birds with one stone clearly wasn’t on any more. It was all a bit worrying and suddenly he leaned over Ma, kissed her very lightly on the forehead and said:
‘Sure I can’t get you a drop of somethink, Ma?’
‘No, thanks. Just leave me.’
This, Pop thought, was a bit serious. Ma was obviously more than off colour. She wasn’t often like this he said, was she?
‘Well, I have been once or twice.’
‘Oh?’ Pop said. ‘How’s that, then? Whatever’s the matter, Ma?’
Ma turned in the bed. Her dark eyes were soft and sleepy.
‘Oh! it’s nothing very much,’ she said, ‘but somehow I don’t think it’ll be very long before we have another christening.’