‘Yes, it’s smelly and ’orrible,’ said Tilly, and opened the door to the yard. ‘Go and play in the yard for a bit, you gels.’
‘Can Dad come wiv us?’ asked Bubbles.
‘Not now ’e can’t,’ said Tilly.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Bubbles, and into the yard she and Penny-Farving went, to play with an iron hoop. Tilly closed the door.
‘Now, Mr Rogers,’ she said. Dan had lit the gas under the saucepan. ‘About today. I ought to set a dog on you for landin’ me with the responsibility of lookin’ after your daughters. Talk about takin’ advantage of me good nature, I was never more imposed on. It was downright—’
‘Believe me, Tilly, I was never more pleased meself to see a helpful young woman on me doorstep,’ said Dan.
‘Will you stop interruptin’ me?’ said Tilly. ‘I’ll ’it you in a minute. Look ’ere, it’s not that I don’t like kids, but you’ve got two young gels there that’s bein’ brought up like little terrors. They’re in and out of mischief all the time, and they even pinched apples off a stall down the market this mornin’. Just how old are they?’
‘Bubbles is nearly four, Penny-Farvin’ nearly five,’ said Dan. ‘What made ’em pinch apples?’
‘What made ’em? You did,’ said Tilly. ‘You ’aven’t taught them what’s right and what’s wrong, nor ’ow to behave. They were throwin’ bits of bread at each other over breakfast after you left. And what’s more, you ’aven’t even taught them to dress properly. They don’t put any vests on, which means they could catch their death in winter.’
‘D’you wear vests?’ asked Dan.
‘Kindly don’t be personal,’ said Tilly.
‘Well, I daresay—’
‘I ’aven’t finished yet,’ said Tilly. ‘Normally, I’d mind me own business, but ’aving been landed with your gels all day, I feel I’m entitled to say a thing or two, if only for their sakes.’
‘Well, you go ahead, Tilly, I like you for it,’ said Dan, taking a look at the potatoes heating up in the saucepan. ‘And I’m a good listener. Regardin’ mashin’ the potatoes, I’d use marge to cream them if there was any, but I’ve only got butter. The fact is, Bubbles and Penny-Farvin’ don’t go much on marge.’
‘’Aven’t you heard anything I’ve said?’ asked Tilly. ‘’Ave I been talkin’ to meself? Those gels of yours need lookin’ after properly. Where’s their mother?’
‘In a circus,’ said Dan.
‘In a what?’
‘Circus. A travellin’ one.’
‘I’m hearin’ things, I am,’ said Tilly. ‘You’ve got two young daughters and you let your wife travel around in a circus?’
‘On a tightrope,’ said Dan, ‘and in spangles and tights, but she ain’t exactly me wife.’
‘What d’you mean, not exactly?’
‘Well, between you and me,’ said Dan, ‘I can’t recollect we ever got married.’
‘Are you sayin’ you’re not married to your children’s mother?’
‘It’s not something I tell everybody,’ said Dan. The water in the saucepan began to bubble. He turned off the gas, picked up the saucepan and tipped the contents into a colander over the sink. The water drained away and he put the potatoes back into the saucepan. He began to mash them with a fork. ‘Do us a favour, Tilly, bring us the milk, pepper and butter from the larder, would yer?’
Tilly exhaled breath to stop herself exploding, marched into the kitchen and returned with the required ingredients. Dan showered pepper over the potatoes, added butter and milk, and set to again with the fork. The whipped mash began to turn creamy.
‘Am I expected to believe you’re not married to your gels’ mother?’ she asked.
Dan said they’d meant to marry, but on the first occasion they had to cancel the ceremony because Elvira forgot to turn up. She was doing her tightrope act in Birmingham. On the second occasion, they postponed it because Elvira was in hospital giving birth to Penny-Farving. Dan said he thought they forgot about making new arrangements. Well, Elvira was away a lot, and when they did get together, there were always other things to do.
‘I bet there were,’ said Tilly, ‘and I suppose the next thing that ’appened was Bubbles. I don’t know ’ow a grown-up man and woman could be so irresponsible. It ought to be against the law, people bringing children into the world without gettin’ married.’
‘Well, Elvira didn’t seem too bothered about holy wedlock,’ said Dan. ‘She was a lot more bothered each time her condition kept her off her circus act.’
‘Me heart bleeds for her,’ said Tilly. ‘Is that ’er name, Elvira?’
‘Professional monicker,’ said Dan, taking a look at the saveloys. ‘Elvira Karona, the ’Ungarian tightrope marvel. Her real name’s – let’s see, Gladys Hobday or something like that. I met her when her circus was pitched on Hampstead Heath six years ago, and she took a fancy to me, which surprised me no end, seein’ I’ve never been a handsome Harry. But what an eyeful she was in her spangles and tights, and on top of that there was all her Hungarian passion. It made me feel I’d fallen into a hot bath.’
‘Don’t be disgustin’,’ said Tilly. ‘And don’t be daft, either. She’s not ’Ungarian, she’s a Gladys Hobday, and it’s time she did what was right, it’s time she married you and became a mother to the gels.’
‘She doesn’t go much on domestic stuff,’ said Dan. ‘Her dad was a fairground sword-swallower, and her mother told fortunes, so she had a bit of a gipsy unbringing. Anyway, let’s have supper, shall we?’
‘When was she last ’ome?’ asked Tilly.
‘About ten months ago,’ said Dan.
‘D’you mean she ’asn’t seen her children for nearly a year?’
‘I suppose you could say she’s married to her tightrope,’ said Dan, sounding so airy-fairy about it that Tilly felt he ought to be hit with a sack of coal until he came to his senses. He opened the scullery door to the yard and called the girls in for their supper.
Tilly decided she might as well sit down and eat with them. There was a lot of unfinished business about, and for the sake of the girls someone ought to make Dan Rogers see that he’d got to take their mother in hand and marry her, even if the woman then went back to her bloody tightrope.
Dan put a mound of creamy mashed potato and three hot saveloys on each of four plates. Bubbles and Penny-Farving immediately set about skinning their saveloys with their fingers. Having done that, they wiped their fingers on their frocks and began to tuck in. Tilly didn’t say anything, but she gave Dan a telling look.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘Can’t you put bibs on your gels for them to wipe their fingers on?’ she asked.
‘Where’s your bibs, girls?’ asked Dan.
‘What bibs, Dad?’ asked Penny-Farving.
‘Don’t ’ave any bibs,’ said Bubbles.
‘Yes, you do,’ said Dan.
‘Blessed old bibs,’ said Bubbles. ‘You get them,’ she said to her sister.
‘No, you,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘You’re oldest,’ said Bubbles.
‘I’m even older,’ said Dan with a grin. He got up, pulled open one of the dresser drawers, fished around and came up with two white linen napkins that were creased and crumpled but clean. ‘Here we are,’ he said. He tucked one down the neck of Penny-Farving’s frock and the other down the neck of Bubbles’ frock. The crumpled napkins rested untidily on bodices.
‘They want ironing,’ said Tilly.
‘Alice Higgins does our ironing,’ said Dan.
‘How old is she?’
‘Sixteen,’ said Dan, ‘and out of work, so I pay her ten bob a week to look after the girls and the housework. I’ll pop along to her house after supper and see how she is.’
‘It would make more sense if you popped along to a certain circus and brought Gladys ’Obday home,’ said Tilly.
‘Who’s she, Penny-Farvin’?’ asked Bubbles.
‘I dunno,’ said Penny-Farving.
/>
‘I asked the gels their real names, Mr Rogers,’ said Tilly, ‘and they told me they couldn’t remember. Children shouldn’t be brought up not knowin’ their proper names.’
‘What’s your proper name, Penny-Farvin’?’ asked Dan.
‘Olga,’ said Penny-Farving, and pointed her fork at Bubbles. ‘And she’s Carla.’
‘They’re foreign names,’ said Tilly.
‘Hungarian, I suppose,’ said Dan.
‘I could say a lot to that, but I won’t,’ said Tilly, ‘except I’d like to know why this bright pair told me they couldn’t remember.’
‘Oh, we’re always forgettin’, ain’t we, Bubbles?’ said Penny-Farving.
‘Yes, and we remember later,’ said Bubbles.
Tilly refused to be captivated by the precocious little angels, whose father obviously spoiled them. She listened as they regaled him with far-fetched accounts of how they’d spent the day, accounts that included downright fibs, recognizable as such. But he didn’t pull them up, he simply laughed. As soon as she’d finished her meal, Tilly thanked him for it, then said she had work to do.
‘Work?’ said Dan.
‘I do ’ome dressmakin’, said Tilly, ‘and I’ve got some orders to get on with.’ She had decided that the unfinished business had to stay unfinished as far as she was concerned, or her good nature might make a fool of her. She would be a fool if she interested herself in the welfare of his young girls, she’d find herself committed. He was old enough and resilient enough to sort out his own problems. Besides, she wanted to discover if there were any single men in this neighbourhood who might find her attractive enough to offer her some enjoyable social occasions. ‘So I’ll go up to me rooms now, if you don’t mind – oh, before I do, you might like to think about me makin’ some nice dresses for your little gels. Those long frocks of theirs make them look like little old ladies.’
‘D’you think so?’ said Dan. ‘I had an idea they gave them a look of Alice in Wonderland.’
‘The pictures in the book I read once didn’t show Alice in any long frocks,’ said Tilly.
‘She don’t like our frocks, Bubbles,’ said Penny-Farving.
‘Is she cross wiv us again?’ asked Bubbles.
‘No, course I’m not,’ said Tilly, ‘but if your dad likes to give me an order for dresses, I’ll make nice pretty ones for both of you.’
‘Take an order now,’ said Dan.
‘Is that serious?’ asked Tilly.
‘You bet,’ said Dan.
‘Two dresses each?’
‘They’d like that,’ said Dan, ‘and so would I.’
‘All right,’ said Tilly, ‘I’ll let you know ’ow much I’ll charge. By the way, what about me rent and a rent book?’
‘I’m not askin’ any rent for today,’ said Dan, ‘I owe you for today, Tilly. Can’t tell you how obliged I am. Tell you what, come Saturday and you can pay your first bit of rent then. Say half a crown, and then seven-and-six Saturday week and onwards. How’s that?’
‘Well, I won’t complain about that,’ said Tilly, and made for the door. She turned and said, ‘But listen, don’t try and take advantage of me good nature tomorrow. I won’t ’ave any time to look after your gels tomorrow.’
‘Understood, Tilly,’ said Dan breezily.
‘Good evenin’ to you, then,’ said Tilly, and found a smile for the girls as she left.
Upstairs she did some more sorting out so that she could settle down to a few hours work at her sewing-machine.
She heard Mr Rogers and the girls in the passage thirty minutes later.
‘Come on, then,’ she heard him say, ‘let’s go and see how Alice’s fractured foot is.’
‘Can Tilly come wiv us?’ That was Penny-Farving asking the question.
‘’Fraid not, angel, she’s busy.’
‘Oh, dear, poor woman,’ said Bubbles.
Tilly smiled. She heard the front door open and close, and the house became quiet. She closed her own door, then sat down at her sewing-machine in front of the back room window. The evening sun danced on the crowded rooftops of Walworth.
Chapter Six
THE BALMY MAY evening had brought Boots and Mr Finch out into the garden. Boots, having finished mowing the lawn, put the machine away in the shed. At the same time, his stepfather finished his diligent work with a hoe, and they sat down together at the garden table. They both looked as if physical exercise in the open air agreed with them, although it hadn’t done very much for their gardening clothes. Ancient trousers, suffering wear and tear, stayed up as much by force of habit as by such help as old belts were able to give. And their open-necked shirts looked long past retiring age.
Rosie appeared on cue, carrying a tray on which stood two bottles of light ale and two glass tumblers.
‘Refreshments, Daddy, with Mummy’s compliments,’ she said, placing the tray on the table. ‘She says you’re both deserving, but I have to tell you that Nana says you both look sights.’
‘We’ve all got problems,’ said Boots, ‘but take a bow for bringing the refreshments, poppet.’
‘Oh, I’ll make do with five bob extra pocket money for next month,’ said Rosie.
‘Sounds a reasonable offer, Rosie,’ said Mr Finch.
‘Five bob’s reasonable?’ said Boots.
‘Yes, aren’t you lucky I’m not a grasping girl?’ said Rosie. ‘Shall I undo the beer stoppers for you?’
‘Not if you’re going to charge me for that as well,’ said Boots.
‘Should I charge him, Grandpa?’ asked Rosie.
‘Why not?’ smiled Mr Finch, thinking the girl a picture in the warm evening light. Rosie, he thought, would be a quite beautiful young woman by the time she was nineteen. And her personality was totally engaging. There she was, a teasing smile on her face. She had combed out her wavy hair to let it hang down her back, a blue ribbon around it. Her attire was simple, a white button-up blouse and a short blue skirt. Rosie would always go for simplicity, not frills and flounces. ‘It’s an art, Rosie, freeing stoppers from beer bottles. Yes, you should charge.’
‘All right, say another five bob, Daddy,’ she said.
‘Hold on,’ said Boots, ‘it’s your granddad’s turn to fork out.’
‘No, this is just between you and me,’ said Rosie, picking up one of the bottles. ‘Another five bob will make it ten bob in all. No, say seven-and-six, then you’ll make a profit of two-and-six. That’ll mean we’ll both be in the money. Can’t say fairer, can I? There.’ She twisted the stopper free, and did the same with the second bottle. Froth rose and put a light brown foamy cap on each bottle. ‘Shall I pour, Grandpa?’
‘Don’t say yes, Edwin,’ said Boots, ‘or it’ll cost me another five bob. Go and help yourself to a lemonade, Rosie, then come and join us.’
‘Oh, don’t you want to have men’s talk?’ asked Rosie.
‘We’d like some young lady’s talk as well,’ said Boots, ‘as long as there’s no charge.’
‘Oh, I never charge for talking,’ said Rosie, and sped back into the house.
Boots and Mr Finch poured their ale and drank thirstily, counting themselves as deserving cases after their gardening stint. They chatted in the easy way of men always completely at home in each other’s company. Rosie rejoined them, a glass of fizzy lemonade in her hand. She sat down, a lithe girl of natural grace. Boots observed her, the fun girl of his life. She had always been that. He wondered how long it would be before he lost her by reason of marriage. Rosie would never be less than very special.
‘You’ve something on your mind, Rosie?’ said Mr Finch, noting her thoughtful expression.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so, Grandpa,’ said Rosie.
‘Something serious?’ said Mr Finch, who had not forgotten Sunday’s strange phone call.
‘Well, yes,’ said Rosie. ‘It’s a message from Nana. She said if both of you don’t give your disreputable gardening trousers to the dustmen, she’ll burn them. She said that never in all
her born days has she seen more disgraceful trousers, except on ragged hooligans. She said they’d even look disgraceful on a scarecrow.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr Finch.
‘H’m,’ said Boots.
‘H’m won’t do you any good, Daddy,’ said Rosie, ‘you’ll have to think of something better than that. You too, Grandpa. I can’t go and tell Nana you just said “ah” and Daddy said “h’m”. She wants action, like both of you taking your trousers off this very minute and putting them in the dustbin.’
‘Tell her we’ve all got worries,’ said Boots.
‘No, that won’t work, either,’ said Rosie.
‘All right, kitten,’ said Boots, ‘try telling her that your Grandpa and I are working on it.’
‘Some hopes if you think she’ll swallow that,’ said Rosie. ‘She told me your gardening trousers are a shame and disgrace to the whole family, and the neighbours as well.’
‘There’s a problem,’ said Boots. ‘Not about putting our trousers into the dustbin, that’s easy enough. But what about the disgrace and shame to the family – and the neighbours – if the dustmen give them back?’
Rosie shrieked with laughter. Then she jumped up and ran indoors.
‘There’ll be no quarter given, Boots, when Rosie delivers that message,’ said Mr Finch.
‘Well, get ready to field the brickbats,’ said Boots.
‘I’m fond of my relics,’ said Mr Finch.
‘I feel married to mine,’ said Boots, and refilled his glass. They sat waiting, and Rosie came out again after five minutes.
‘You’re both in real trouble now,’ she said, ‘Nana’s taken umbrage.’
‘Is she bringing it out here?’ asked Mr Finch.
Missing Person Page 6