The Sparrows of Edward Street

by Elizabeth Stead

  *

  ‘I sat for the painter today.’ I hoped the news would cheer her up, but Hanora gave a weak smile and a nod and put her hands on her ears. The draught came through the gap in the walls like a poltergeist and twisted itself around almost visibly, with a mixture of icy cold and the tropics.

  ‘Was he nice, love?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She asked no more questions. ‘My head feels so heavy, love. I’m shivering. I’m hot. Oh, I don’t know what I am.’

  ‘Sounds like the ’flu. Get into bed properly, and I’ll bring some hot soup.’

  ‘Where’s Rosy?’

  ‘I don’t know. She probably had to work late.’

  ‘She should be home by now, love.’

  ‘She’s a big girl, so you keep telling me, so stop worrying.’

  ‘I really don’t want to be here in this place any more, love.’ Hanora did not look at all well. ‘Could you bring a basin in case I’m sick?’

  I tried to think of something I could stuff in the gap between the wall and the roof of her cell, but there was nothing. I tucked her blanket tight around her. Hanora shivered and there were beads of sweat on her face. I crushed two aspirins and mixed them with water. She drank the mixture, but very soon afterwards threw up.

  Rosy! Where the bloody hell are you? Why is it always me?

  When Hanora was reasonably comfortable I went to the laundry to ask about a doctor who might make calls.

  ‘There is a bloke up the road – Rogers, I think his name is,’ said a washerwoman.

  ‘Yes,’ said another. ‘Nancy Biddle’s had him. The number’s on the noticeboard.’

  I rang from a telephone box that had been repaired for the hundredth time. It was ‘after hours’, of course.

  The doctor’s wife answered. She sounded young and quite nice, and asked me what the trouble was so she could pass it on. Fever – shivers – vomiting – bad headache etcetera.

  Dr Rogers was brief. ‘Fluids, no aspirin. I’ll come in the morning.’

  And I thought: Hang on! Shouldn’t that have been ‘Take two aspirin and ring me in the morning’? What sort of a doctor was this man, I wondered. And he was nice to me. Nice? He sounded nice.

  Rosy was late. When she came slowly up the steps it was after eleven. I was not used to Rosy being that late. I still worried about her, but tried hard not to fuss.

  ‘Where have you been? Hanora’s sick.’

  ‘I can’t very well let you know, can I? How is Mother? What’s the matter?’

  ‘’Flu with knobs on, I suspect. A doctor is coming in the morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Aria.’

  ‘There’s soup, if you’re hungry.’

  ‘I’ve had dinner.’

  ‘Neville?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘Never mind! Did you think I’d never have men in my life? You have plenty in yours!’

  ‘You make me sound like a hooker!’

  ‘Is that you, Rosy?’ Words from somewhere between a cough and a wheeze.

  ‘Yes, I’m coming.’

  ‘You’re late, love.’

  ‘I had dinner with a friend. Sorry you’re not well.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Male?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is he nice?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Hanora.

  ‘I wish Aria could be as trusting as you, Mother. Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Could you rinse the basin out, love, and freshen it up for me?’

  ‘Aria!’ cried Rosy. ‘I don’t think I can cope with this.’

  *

  I told Rosy I would wait for the doctor. He came at a quarter to eight.

  Dr Rogers was indeed a kind, young man. He was sympathetic. As a matter of fact, I thought he was very unusual. The advice was bed rest, keep warm, plenty of fluids. He gave Hanora a couple of pills from his bag for the nausea, and did not charge for them. He said she could wait for the pension to pay for the visit.

  ‘These huts are terrible for draughts. The sooner she’s out of here the better,’ he said as he left. ‘I’ve written twice to the Housing Commission about it – had no reply of course. Typical!’

  ‘Yes, I think you’re right!’

  That night I planned a visit to the Minister’s office for the week after next. In the meantime I asked Mr Sparkle if he could rig something temporarily in Hanora’s cell to keep out the damp and the draught, at least while she was ill.

  ‘A few hessian bags should do the trick,’ said Mr Sparkle. ‘And I know where I can lay my hands on them.’

  ‘When could you do it?’

  ‘When do you want it?’ This was a different Mr Sparkle: firm of voice, and decisive.

  ‘Before it starts getting too damp and windy. Tonight, if you can manage.’

  ‘Done! I’ll be around in an hour.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Sparkle. I’ll warn Mrs Sparrow – she’s in bed.’

  ‘’Flu, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s a bit of it going around.’

  ‘Mr Sparkle, I must take this opportunity to congratulate you upon your success. It has been such a pleasure for us to see you “blossom”, as it were.’

  ‘All due to the Sparrows, especially you, Aria.’

  ‘The Housing Commission must have it in mind to move you to a house, soon. Your family must be pleased. You’ll all be together again.’

  ‘It’s a funny thing, Aria, but I don’t really need the Housing Commission so much now. Nice if they gave me a house, but it’d have to be close to my work here. And brick – I’d want brick. I’d be paying a decent rent, and I’d probably be able to buy it off them in a couple of years.’

  Mr Sparkle had become a household name in the area, especially in the butcher’s shop. His pies were very popular, and the ice man was delighted with his regular supply of fresh rabbits. Mr Sparkle even had to engage a local on a part-time basis to do the carrots and the onions, and a country local to help with the ferreting. It was not unusual to see migrant Poms and even shoppers from the proper side of the fork in the road picking up their orders. In addition to all that, he had a contract with a city furrier for the skins. A lot of rabbit fur was used to make men’s hats, he told me. Mr Sparkle had become an astute businessman. Hanora and I were very proud of him. I thought it a pity that he’d gone to pieces during the Royal Visit ‘luncheon’, but everyone has their off days.

  ‘I’ve bought myself a couple of quality ferrets – great pair. The kids look after them.’

  ‘Lovely!’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Ferrets, rabbits, dirt roads and corrugated iron, half an hour away from a major city. This was another world, a metallic and dusty space within spitting distance of houses with good furniture and gas stoves and trees and hedges. The Camp was like a poor country’s rubbish tip where only the toughest and bravest survived.

  But experience is everything, they say.

  I had posed for a number of stories for Mr Booth at the Weekly. The last one had required a tattered girl with full-blown currencies trapped in an underground ‘prison’ made of corrugated iron, and when he described it to me I knew I would feel right at home. Later he congratulated me for the ease with which I had fallen into the role.

  ‘It’s what I live in.’ And I’d left it at that.

  *

  ‘Mr Sparkle will be here shortly to stuff up the wall gaps in your cell.’ I thought Hanora looked pale but interesting, despite her dripping nose and eyes. She only needed a couple of white camellias and a Russian accent. She had a warm, red paisley scarf tied around her head and face.

  ‘Get my hat, Aria, please.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I feel less naked with my hat on.’

  ‘You’ll be covered up. You’re wearing a nightdress, for heaven’s sake. He won’t see a thing.’

  ‘He’s a man, Aria.’

  ‘Could you drink a cup of tea?’

/>   ‘Thank you, love.’

  ‘I’m going to see the Minister the week after next.’

  ‘So soon! You are clever, love. I’m glad. I think we must try to leave this awful place.’

  ‘Well, that’s the general idea. I can only try.’

  After a pause, she said: ‘You know I’ll go with you, love. If you want me to, I will, but you’re so good with people.’

  ‘I’ll go alone. I’d rather go alone.’ What else could I say?

  ‘What will you wear?’

  ‘Haven’t thought.’

  ‘Wear the pink seersucker and the white mules, love. You look stunning in that outfit.’ And between us flashed the briefest glance – one quick sparrow to another? – and not another word was said. Later I wondered if I’d imagined it.

  The Studio – A Curious Account of Substance?

  ‘Boston’s have a new account. They want a few shots to go over.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Leon. Sandsoap? Bras? Cake tins? What?’

  ‘Swimsuits.’

  ‘What?! You mean clothes – things made of cloth?’

  ‘Well, almost. Leisure wear, they call it. I told them you’d be perfect.’

  ‘Oh, Leon, thank you! Thank you!’

  ‘I knew you’d be pleased, but don’t get too excited.’

  ‘A swimsuit is fashion. Leisure wear is fashion. I can smell the coathangers already!’

  ‘I told them you had the figure for it.’

  ‘You mean tits.’

  ‘Afraid so. Eli can’t wait.’

  ‘I’d better tell Naomi what we’re doing.’

  A new account was, naturally, a big job for Leon, and he took a great deal of professional care. Some of the swimming costumes had wrap-around skirts and cute tops that magically transformed them into day- or night-wear. I couldn’t have been more pleased. There was even footwear to go with the outfits. Clogs, mostly. I liked the clothes so much I was pretty sure I would photograph well in them. Leon seemed pleased. We enjoyed working with each other.

  And later: ‘They’re an American company.’

  ‘Were the shots okay, Leon?’

  ‘They’re terrific.’

  ‘I hope they liked them upstairs. When can I see them?’

  ‘When “upstairs” have finished with them. How is Hanora?’

  ‘Much better, but I’ve absolutely got to move her away from that Camp. I must manage it somehow.’

  ‘I guess everyone living there wants the same thing.’

  ‘I know, but please don’t make me feel guilty. I wish I could get them all out, but in the meantime I have to try just for us. It was Hanora who reminded me that there was a time to think of ourselves, and I think it’s definitely now. It is possible I’ll fail. The Minister will listen, but will make no promises.’

  ‘But Aria Sparrow has something planned. I can smell it.’

  ‘I have an appointment with the Minister next week.’

  ‘Well, that can’t do any harm! What are you wearing?’

  ‘You’re the second person to ask that question. I thought I’d go as a nun.’

  ‘But topless. Don’t waste your assets.’

  ‘Leon, that’s a terrible thing to say!’

  ‘Why are you grinning, then?’

  *

  The news from Boston’s ‘upstairs’ was extremely pleasing for Leon, and absolutely amazing for me. An opportunity had knocked loud enough to be heard on Mars. Even by Rosy! The new account had praised Leon highly for his work and I had been asked to model the swimsuits and accessories at fashion shows, on actual catwalks. I am so close to the coathangers . . . so close.

  Does anyone on this earth realise – does anyone know – that the perfumes and the beauties of Paris and Rome are so potent they are able to cross oceans on ribbons of silk? One of them flew in through the studio window today and tied itself into my hair – I swear it!

  *

  It was Friday. I’d cancelled the date I had that night – I hadn’t been too interested – and left the studio early. On the way home I’d bought lamb chops, new potatoes and one pound of fresh peas. At the station stop for the Camp bus I’d bought a bottle of Chianti, and didn’t care that it was in a brown paper bag and made me look like a wino.

  The woman I sat next to in the bus tut-tutted, and reminded me that alcohol was not permitted on public transport. She obviously knew where I lived.

  ‘You think I’m from the Camp, don’t you?’

  ‘I know you are, dear.’

  I assured her it wasn’t common grog I carried; it was nectar from a place not far from Florence, the cathedral of art, and this was its altar wine, not common alcohol at all, but something rich with love and beauty – just right to go with lamb chops and peas. That shut her up.

  19B Edward looked almost as though a welcome mat had been laid out, but I just put it down to the mood I was in. I was sure the lemon-scented gum had grown during the day. Even in the dusk it looked fresh and green. I was astonished it had not been vandalised, but then, I had made my intentions pretty clear to the local kids. I had been told in the laundry that the kids were a bit scared of me. It was only because I showed no fear – simple, really.

  Hanora had been in a limp, weak state of recovery for a while. She had a dry-lipped, brittle-haired, scraped-nose look. I found her flopped in her chair, scarf and straw hat on, listening to something soothing from the record player. Rosy had not returned yet.

  ‘You’re early, love.’

  ‘I’ve had an amazing day. I have some good news for a change. I bought some lamb chops and trimmings to celebrate.’

  ‘That was kind of you, Aria. Mr Sparkle called to see how I was, and I asked him to sell us a pie. Sorry, love, I know you’re sick of them, but they’re so easy. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat much, but Rosy will be pleased with your shopping. She’ll be pleased we have something different to cook, love.’

  ‘Oh, bugger Rosy! I just want you to get back on your feet. It wouldn’t occur to Rosy to buy something for dinner – I don’t care if she starves.’

  ‘Aria!’

  ‘Well, you’re always on about Rosy!’

  ‘She’s not strong like you, love.’

  ‘She’s never had to be.’

  ‘I thought you were going out tonight.’

  ‘I cancelled. Just a male model I met in the studio – looks like a Greek statue, and he’s quite nice, but boring as hell. No conversation at all! And he’s always combing his hair.’

  ‘Pity,’ she said.

  ‘I’d much rather go out with Leon, but he’s queer, of course. All the most interesting blokes are.’

  ‘Pity,’ she said.

  ‘Do you want to hear my news or not?!’

  ‘Of course, love. Of course I do.’

  ‘Boston’s have a new account. It’s an American leisure-wear company, and they want me to do real modelling on catwalks for them – as well as photographic work. There! Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Aria! I’m so proud of you. Of course I had no doubt that this would happen – you grow more beautiful every day. Will they pay you a decent amount for it?’

  ‘I didn’t ask about the money. I didn’t think of it. But you are pleased, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I am, love.’

  Hanora had not put a match to the kindling in the stove, so I used the electric frypan for the vegetables, and when they were almost cooked I put the chops in the griller. I saved the unveiling of the wine for when the ironing board was cleared and dinner was ready. The rabbit pie was in the ice chest, naturally free of charge. I knew that Rosy would be pleased as Punch with our slightly up-market dinner. But Rosy was late again. I kept her plate warm. When she eventually turned up she ate in silence. At least she had the good grace to thank me for the food and for cooking it. I looked at her closely for signs of a change of some sort. She wasn’t pale or sickly, love-wise. She wasn’t anything else either. I imagined the woman with the sharp eyes and the cauliflower hai
r would have picked the problem as quickly as an intake of breath.

  ‘Rosy, I’m getting feelings about you. Am I right or wrong? Was it Neville again or, God help us, someone else you’ve picked up?’

  ‘It wasn’t Neville – and I don’t pick up men! Stop interfering in my life, Aria. I’m sixteen, nearly seventeen, and I’m not a fool.’

  ‘You’re not nearly seventeen yet.’

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘A while to go, Rosy.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Aria!’

  But there was something about my sister that worried me. It was an instinct, and my instincts were rarely wrong.

  ‘Are you all right, loves?’ A voice from the front cell.

  ‘Yes, we’re perfectly all right,’ I said while I continued to stare at Rosy for a clue of some kind.

  Hanora floated slowly into the living cell.

  Mr Sparkle had done a good job stuffing the gaps in the walls in Hanora’s cell with hessian. I think it had helped her recovery, not having a constant draught day and night. Unfortunately the hessian had brought its own visitors. There’d emerged from the stuffing a huntsman spider the size of a saucer, and two crickets.

  ‘Can you take the broom into my room, Aria?’ Hanora said. ‘A spider came out of the hessian. It’s so big!’

  ‘Rosy will be there in a minute.’

  ‘No! I’m not up to it,’ cried Rosy.

  ‘Not Rosy – you,’ said Hanora.

  ‘I hate spiders.’

  ‘We don’t hate them, love; we are just uncomfortable with them.’

  I did sometimes wonder, if I was treated like the ‘spider-killing’, ‘screw-driving’ man of the house for long enough, would I change into a man? I wondered if male hormones would take me by force. Would I be raped by testosterone? I took the straw broom into Hanora’s cell but the spider took fright and ran back into the stuffing.

  ‘Sorry, the best I could do.’

  ‘I won’t sleep a wink now.’

  ‘Take a pill. It’s as scared as we are; I don’t think it will come out of hiding.’