‘I bet I could teach Tipsy to drink that,’ said Tim, at which point Cassie and Freddy entered the shop.
‘Well, look who’s here,’ said Emily. Cassie and Freddy were both well-known to the family. Freddy’s elder sister, Susie, was married to Boots’s youngest brother, Sammy, and Cassie’s eldest sister, Annie, was married to Freddy’s brother, Will.
‘Hello there,’ said Boots, whom Cassie regarded as an uncle. Freddy also saw him more as an uncle figure than a once removed brother-in-law.
‘Oh, ’ello, Uncle Boots, how’d you do, Auntie Em’ly and ev’ryone, what a nice day, I’m sure,’ said Cassie with enthusiasm.
‘Oh, how’d you do, Cassie,’ said Rosie, smiling, ‘how’d you do, Freddy, you’re together as usual.’
‘Yes, I’m still Freddy’s best mate,’ said Cassie. Freddy rolled his eyes. ‘We’ve come to see if there’s any live talkin’ parrots. Queen Mary’s got hundreds, did yer know that, Uncle Boots? She keeps them in a conservat’ry at Windsor Castle.’
‘Where they talk the roof off,’ said Freddy. Rosie laughed. Everyone liked Cassie and Freddy.
‘You’re lookin’ very pretty today, Cassie,’ said Emily, who wouldn’t have been as thin as she was if her appetite had been healthier.
‘Yes, I’m pretty most days,’ said Cassie, ‘me dad says so. Doesn’t Rosie look nice, Aunt Em’ly? Rosie, ’ave you come to buy a talkin’ parrot too?’
‘Well, no, Cassie, I haven’t,’ said Rosie, ‘we’ve got Tim and Daddy. They do nearly all the talking in our house, and I don’t think they’d like competition from a parrot. We’re here to help Tim choose a hamster.’
Tim was offering a finger to the little creatures, all of which had had a sniff and had turned it down. The proprietor, having heard there was a possible customer for a parrot, brought a caged specimen to the counter.
‘One talking parrot,’ he said.
‘Freddy, look,’ said Cassie excitedly. It was a colourful specimen.
‘What is it, a bob’s-worth of parrot?’ asked Freddy.
‘Gertcher,’ said the parrot.
‘Crikey, it talked, I ’eard it,’ said Cassie, and advanced on the bird. It cocked an eye at her.
‘Gertcher,’ it said again.
‘Mind your manners,’ said Rosie.
‘It’s a nice colour,’ said Emily.
‘Dad, what about my hamster?’ asked Tim.
‘I’m gone on Tipsy myself,’ said Boots.
‘Can I have it, then?’
‘All yours, old chap,’ said Boots. ‘And a hutch as well,’ he said to the proprietor. ‘And a bottle of hamster beer until we get it teetotal.’
‘Dad, the man said not beer,’ protested Tim, ‘he said strong water.’
‘Daddy, you’re a yell,’ said Rosie.
‘An amateur comic, more like,’ said Emily.
‘Gertcher,’ said the parrot.
‘Freddy, it really talks,’ said Cassie.
‘Yes, but if that’s all it can say, ask if it can read and write,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, can it, mister?’ asked Cassie of the proprietor.
‘Not yet,’ he said.
‘I hope it’s not backward,’ said Rosie.
‘Bright as a button,’ said the proprietor, transferring Tipsy to a new hutch.
‘I just want one that talks,’ said Cassie. ‘Me and Freddy can teach it to say poetry, like The Pied Piper.’
‘Not if I can ’elp it,’ said Freddy.
‘Mister, how much is it?’ asked Cassie.
‘It’s a five-bob bird, believe me,’ said the proprietor, ‘but I’ll sell it to you for three-and-six.’
‘Crikey, three-and-six?’ breathed Cassie in shock. ‘Freddy, is ’e serious?’
‘Are you serious, mister?’ asked Freddy, and Boots and Emily exchanged smiles.
‘Well, I wouldn’t call three-and-six serious,’ said the proprietor, ‘I’d call it a bargain, and I can find you a cage for four bob, fully furnished.’
‘Freddy, ’e’s makin’ me feel faint,’ said Cassie. ‘Mister, me and Freddy’s only lookin’ for a shilling one.’
‘Sell you six packets of birdseed for that,’ said the proprietor.
‘Crikey, I bet I could buy six packets from Queen Mary for a penny if I went to Windsor Castle,’ said Cassie. ‘Well, she knows me dad. Well, I think she does, I think they met once. Mister, I suppose you don’t ’ave a talkin’ parrot for just a shilling, do you?’
‘Gertcher,’ said the three-and-sixpenny bird.
‘Sorry, little lady,’ said the proprietor.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Cassie resignedly, ‘me and Freddy’ll just ’ave to save up for an expensive one.’
‘I’m not goin’ to,’ said Freddy, ‘but I’ve got a feelin’ I will.’
Boots, settling for the hamster and the hutch, remembered a murder trial at which he, Freddy and Cassie had all been witnesses. Cassie had faced up to the ordeal like a young trouper.
‘I think it’s time I treated you, Cassie,’ he said.
‘Oh, you treated me once before, Uncle Boots, with a box of choc’lates,’ said Cassie. ‘It was after that trial at the Old Bailey. You treated Freddy as well.’
‘That was ages ago,’ said Boots. ‘I think a new treat’s overdue, don’t you, Em?’
‘Well overdue,’ said Emily.
‘Right,’ said Boots, ‘one talking parrot and a cage, Cassie, how will that do?’
Cassie nearly fell over in her bliss, but found enough excited breath to inform Boots he’d go to heaven one day, but not till he’d lived happy ever after with his family for a hundred years. I’ll have whiskers down to my knees, said Boots. And a bathchair, said Rosie. And no teeth, said Emily. And a bald head, said Tim. Oh, no, said Cassie, you’ll still look nice, Uncle Boots, and with lots of teeth, and I’ll come and look after you sometimes.
Emily laughed. Rosie smiled. She could have said that if Boots needed anyone to look after him when he was old, it was going to be herself. She was attending West Square Girls School now, and sixth-formers from the adjacent boys’ school were really giving her the eye now that she was over fifteen. She wasn’t in the least interested in any of them. Her family filled her life.
‘Right,’ said Boots to the proprietor, ‘put Gertcher in a new cage, the fully-furnished four-bob one.’
‘Oh, couldn’t I call it Gertie?’ asked Cassie. ‘Is it a girl, mister?’
‘Leave off,’ said the parrot.
‘Freddy, did you ’ear that, it talked some more,’ said Cassie in delight.
‘I think it’s just told you it’s not a girl,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, I don’t mind, I quite like boys, me cat’s a boy,’ said Cassie.
‘I wish you ’adn’t said that,’ remarked Freddy.
‘Why?’ asked Rosie.
‘Her cat’s barmy,’ said Freddy.
Cassie took no notice of that. She was watching the proprietor transferring the parrot to a new posh-looking cage that had a perch, a seed tray and a water well. Apart from trying to nip the man’s finger and having a bit of a go at the perch, the bird accepted its move without turning the shop upside-down. Once settled on the perch, it looked silently around, as if trying to decide if it had anything worthwhile to say. Apparently not, for it said nothing.
To help Cassie in her guardianship, the proprietor gave her some helpful tips plus a list of printed instructions on how to keep the bird happy and make it love her in four quick lessons. Cassie assured him she was easy to love, her dad said so. And I can say so meself, she said. And so can Freddy, can’t you, Freddy?
‘I ain’t listenin’ at this exact minute,’ said Freddy.
The purchase completed, including a cover for the cage, Cassie delivered kisses of thanks all round, and they all left the shop, Cassie carrying the cage. With the hood on, the parrot had gone quiet, thinking it was bedtime. Freddy took hold of his bike, which he’d left propped against the shop front, and infor
med his mate she’d have to balance the cage on her head for the ride home. Cassie at once set her mind to finding an alternative.
‘Well, here you are at last, we thought you must be buyin’ up the shop for Tim,’ said a new arrival. It was Boots’s mother, Mrs Maisie Finch, known to her family as Chinese Lady. Mr Edwin Finch, her second husband, was with her. He was a worldly and well-travelled man of fifty-six, and an agent for the British Government. He was desk-bound at present, working on codes and cyphers. Chinese Lady was a cockney woman, fifty-three, and like most of her kind she saw everything in clear black and white, being dismissive of all shades of grey. She had an upright walk, a resilient character, a matriarchal attitude towards her sons and daughter, and a wifely respect for her husband, who in turn regarded her as an admirably incurable Victorian, and altogether a woman he cared for.
‘Look who found us in the shop, Mum,’ said Emily.
‘Bless us,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘it’s Cassie and Freddy.’
‘Oh, how’d you do, Mrs Finch,’ said Cassie, ‘how’d you do, Mr Finch.’
‘A pleasure, Cassie,’ smiled Mr Finch, who had rubbed elbows with Walworth’s cockneys during his years as a lodger with Chinese Lady, and had come to admire their robust nature and the cheerful way they fought hardship.
‘Tim’s got his hamster, I see,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and what’ve you got, Cassie?’
‘It’s a talkin’ parrot; Uncle Boots treated me.’ Cassie was a little breathless in her excitement of ownership. ‘Well, Freddy and me couldn’t afford it ourselves, so Uncle Boots paid. It wasn’t just because I’m pretty. Well, I don’t think it was, more because ’e’s nice, I think, and I told ’im I hope he lives happy ever after with ’is fam’ly and keeps all ’is own teeth.’
‘Don’t mind Cassie, Mrs Finch,’ said Freddy, ‘she likes goin’ on a bit. It’s turnin’ me a bit grey, but me mum thinks I’ll live.’
‘Well, we don’t want to lose you, Freddy,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and nor do we want to stand about on the pavement when we’re supposed to be in Lyons havin’ a pot of tea and some buttered buns. Would you and Cassie like to come with us?’
‘Oh, yes, please,’ said Cassie. ‘Can I bring me parrot?’
‘Yes, come on, bring it,’ said Rosie.
‘Cassie, you can leave it with the shopkeeper,’ said Freddy.
‘It might prefer Lyons and a buttered bun,’ said Boots.
‘Oh, d’you think so?’ asked Cassie.
‘Let’s give him a go, shall we?’ said Boots, and off they all went, although Chinese Lady informed Mr Finch that it was just like Boots to think of having a parrot sit at the table with them. I expect he’ll want it to have a cup of tea with us, as well as peck at a bun, she said. Well, Maisie, said Mr Finch, human behaviour being what it is, we have to allow there’s a first time for everything. Chinese Lady said she’d never brought Boots up to make a spectacle of himself in a Lyons teashop. Emily, hearing that, laughed.
‘Oh, he caught this sort of complaint when he was young, Mum,’ she said, ‘and nobody’s been able to cure him.’
‘More’s the pity, then,’ said Chinese Lady.
Rosie, walking with Boots, whispered, ‘Daddy, you’re fun, and I don’t want anyone to cure you.’
‘Too late now, poppet, in any case,’ said Boots.
‘Oh, good,’ said Rosie.
The parrot, when Cassie removed the hood in Lyons, didn’t seem to think much of the place or the company. Cassie sat with the cage on her lap, encouraging the bird to say something. It cocked a supercilious eye at her.
‘Come on, Cecil,’ she said, ‘would you like a bit of me bun when it comes?’
‘You’re calling him Cecil?’ said Rosie.
‘Yes, I like Cecil.’
‘Cassie, nobody in Walworth calls anyone Cecil,’ said Freddy.
‘Nor my hamster,’ said Tim, the hutch on the floor beside his chair.
‘Cassie, what made you want a parrot?’ asked Emily.
‘There’s a lady that’s moved into the empty house near Freddy’s,’ said Cassie. ‘She’s got a parrot, and an ’usband and brother-in-law.’
‘Oh, that house has been taken now, has it?’ said Emily. Most of the family knew its history.
‘Yes, and it’s ’aunted, yer know,’ said Cassie.
‘Cassie, that’s only what the kids say,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Cassie blithely. ‘Cecil, you ’aven’t told us if you’d like a bit of me bun.’
Cecil emitted what sounded very much like a burp.
‘What was that for?’ asked Tim.
‘Indigestion,’ said Boots, ‘and that’s before he’s even seen a bun.’
Mr Finch cast an eye about in search of a Nippy. The teashop was fairly full, all Nippies busy. Chinese Lady asked Freddy what his new neighbours were like. Freddy said they’d come from the East End.
‘H’m,’ said Chinese Lady, who considered East End people not as respectable as they could have been.
Up came a Nippy with a pencil and pad. Mr Finch smiled at her.
‘Can I take your order, sir?’ she asked.
‘Push off,’ said Cecil.
And he said the same thing to Cassie’s family when she finally got him home.
Chapter Three
‘OH, NO YOU don’t, get off!’ cried Miss Tilly Thomas, an unmarried young woman of twenty-six mindful, at this moment, of her virginity. And since she had recently seen a revival of the bloodcurdling Victorian melodrama, Maria Martin And The Red Barn, at the Elephant and Castle Theatre, she chose her next words in the manner of a Victorian virgin. ‘Unhand me, d’you ’ear, you villain?’
‘Come on, what’s a kiss and a bit of slap-and-tickle, eh, me beauty?’ said the villain of the moment, the man who rented the house in which she lodged in Brandon Street, Walworth. Burly bachelor George Rice reckoned he was entitled to a bit of what he fancied with his female lodger. After all, hadn’t he let her have her two rooms cheap, just six bob a week? And treating her to some lovey-dovey was doing her a favour. She wasn’t getting any from anyone else, stuck as she was at her sewing-machine at all hours, making clothes for her customers. What a figure, what a bosom, a real bit of all right she was. With his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her close. He bellowed then, for he received a punch in his paunch from her right knee. ‘Oh, yer bleedin’ vixen!’ he gasped, letting go of her shoulders to clasp his wounded avoirdupois.
‘Serve yer right,’ said Tilly, ‘I’m a – oh, yer swine!’
He’d grabbed her again.
‘I’ll learn yer,’ he growled, ‘and then treat yer to a bit of what I fancy. Come ’ere.’ He tightened his hold. Tilly, endowed with an abundant figure and no lack of vigour, kicked his shin with the pointed toe of her shoe. The pain crucified his leg for a suffering moment and he let go again, hissing with torment. ‘I’ll ’ave yer for that, I bleedin’ will,’ he gasped. Tilly picked a vase off her bedroom mantelpiece, and hit him with it as he came at her once more. It broke and shattered as it connected with his hard head. The blow staggered him and floored him. He rolled over, then sat up and clutched his bruised head. ‘Sod yer,’ he said in mangled fashion, ‘that’s yer lot, that is, yer fat ungrateful bitch.’
‘Fat? ’Ow dare you, you ’orrible ape!’ Tilly was furious at being called fat, when she simply had a fine, fulsome figure which she carried off well at her height of five-feet-eight. ‘It’s not your lot, mister, I tell you that. No, I ain’t finished with you, I’m goin’ out now to find a copper. I’ll give you assault me proud integrity.’
‘Copper my bleedin’ eye,’ growled George Rice, getting totteringly to his feet, ‘you just done me grievous bodily ’arm, you ’ave, and I could get yer six months for it. Ruddy ’ell, there’s blood as well.’
‘Think yerself lucky I didn’t knock yer ’orrible ’ead right off,’ said Tilly ferociously.
‘Yer finished ’ere. Finished. Out yer go. You got tomorrer to pack, th
en out yer go first thing Monday, bag an’ baggage. Got it?’
‘I wouldn’t stay ’ere, not if you paid me a fortune,’ said Tilly, ‘so put that in your pipe and smoke it. Now get out of me bedroom, or I’ll do you real injury with me poker.’
Growling, scowling, but wary of the poker, George Rice took himself and his bleeding head down to his kitchen. Tilly closed the door, put the poker back and sat down on the edge of her bed. She was shocked, but not downhearted. She had all the resilience of a born cockney. She’d left the family home in Peckham six months ago, mainly because she couldn’t get on with her step-mother. Her mum had died four years ago, and Tilly had stayed with her widower dad, her two sisters being married, while she herself was undergoing a prolonged courtship by Frank Golightly, a decent enough bloke who was always planning a wedding date without ever actually fixing it. She worked for a dressmaker, but if it hadn’t been for her dad, who needed someone about the house, she’d have left her job and forced Frank to fix a date. Then her dad was silly enough at the age of fifty-one to fall for a woman of thirty, and a bit of a tart in Tilly’s eyes. Dad had a fairly secure job with the council’s parks department, and that tart of a woman saw him as some kind of insurance, of course. Dad married her only a month after meeting her, and Tilly, high-spirited, was at loggerheads with her right from the start. To begin with, she was always showing her legs, especially if any of Dad’s men friends were present, or even Frank for that matter. Secondly, she soon made Tilly feel surplus to requirements, and it wasn’t long before Tilly told Frank she was leaving home, and that they might as well take the plunge and get married. Frank said he wasn’t quite set up for that, not quite yet. Probably in another six months, he said. Blow that, said Tilly, it’s now or never. We’ll see, said Frank, but in any case you can’t leave home, he said, it’ll make your step-mother think you don’t like her. I don’t, said Tilly. She’s a nice woman, said Frank. All right if you like them tarty, said Tilly. Don’t say things like that, said Frank, it ain’t nice, nor kind. You’ve got to stay, he said. Excuse me, said Tilly, but is that an order? Well, you’re me fiancée, said Frank, and I naturally expect you to observe me feelings and wishes. That got Tilly’s goat. I was your fiancée until a minute ago, I ain’t now, and here’s your ring back, which you can pop down me step-mother’s permanent cleavage and tickle her bumps with it, she said. You can follow it with your eyeballs, she said, seeing they’re nearly always popping out.
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