‘Yes, very amusing,’ said Boots.
‘Oh, yes, a hoot, I don’t think,’ said Annabelle.
‘Never mind, sweetie, all over now,’ said Boots, who knew it wasn’t.
‘What d’you mean, all over?’ said Annabelle.
‘Isn’t it, then?’
‘Yes, but I’ve still got the scars of my wounds,’ said Annabelle.
‘I see,’ said Boots with suitable gravity, ‘you’re now thinking up ways to push young Mr Harrison over a cliff, are you?’
‘Uncle Boots, how can you say a thing like that? I’m surprised at you. Don’t you love me any more?’
‘Treasure you,’ said Boots, ‘you’re my sister’s first-born and my mother’s first grandchild. However, if it’s not all over between you and the stinker, will you be going to the committee meeting in Walworth this evening?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Annabelle. ‘Well, perhaps I might, but only to resign. After all, when a young lady doesn’t want a certain person ever to darken her doorstep, she can’t sit on the same committee as him. Uncle Boots, it’s the worst case of stuck-up pride I ever heard of, not wanting me for his one and only girlfriend just because he doesn’t earn very much.’
‘So that’s it,’ said Boots.
‘Pardon?’ said Annabelle.
‘I thought it was all to do with him refusing to accept an invitation to Sunday tea.’
Annabelle turned pink.
‘What did I say, then?’ she asked.
‘That he’s refused to have you as his one and only lady love.’
‘Oh, I didn’t say that, and I wouldn’t, it’s too corny.’
‘Have some coffee,’ said Boots, and ordered two from the Nippy who’d served them. The teashop was fairly full, but he and Annabelle were tucked nicely away. ‘Tell me, young lady,’ he said, ’is this all still a game to you, or do you have your first serious feelings?’
‘Oh, help, must I say?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ said Boots.
‘It’s just that – oh, blow, I don’t like saying so, but I’d hate not to see him again, Uncle Boots, even if he is a rotten case of stuck-up pride. D’you think that means serious feelings?’
The Nippy brought the coffees, and a smile as well.
‘There we are, Mr Adams.’
‘Thanks, Molly,’ said Boots.
‘Anytime, Mr Adams.’
‘Springtime’s favourite with some people,’ said Boots, and the Nippy giggled herself away.
‘Uncle Boots, you’re a shocker,’ said Annabelle, ‘she’ll expect you to meet her in the park on Easter Sunday.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Boots, ‘she’s six months engaged to a bloke who’s seven feet tall. Where were we?’
‘Oh, it was did I know if my feelings were serious,’ said Annabelle.
‘Are you going to the committee meeting this evening or not?’ asked Boots.
‘I suppose I should,’ said Annabelle, ‘I suppose it would be the polite thing to do, to tell them in person that I’m resigning.’
‘Well, instead of your dad driving you there, I will,’ said Boots. ‘Then I’ll be able to meet the stinker and let you know what I think of him.’
‘Oh, yes, I’d value your opinion,’ said Annabelle. ‘Uncle Boots, you’re not still laughing at me, are you?’
‘Perish the thought,’ said Boots.
He arrived with Annabelle well before the meeting started that evening, which gave him a chance to sum up the young man. Like Ned, he thought there was nothing to quarrel with in respect of Nick’s vigorous and wholesome looks, nor with the fact that he was unmistakeably adult compared to the boys Annabelle had been going around with during the last few years. Further, his sense of humour was immediately apparent, and Boots valued a sense of humour in people. It helped them put up with those who took life too seriously.
Boots noted that Nick and Annabelle were wary with each other, Annabelle still suffering from being a woman scorned, and Nick, without Boots knowing it, still sure that he was in no position to court a girl as lovable and respectable as Annabelle. He’d have to tell too many lies.
Boots said he’d heard of the famous football committee meetings. Nick, of course, said he didn’t know they were famous. Boots said that was the impression he’d formed from talking to Annabelle. Nick grinned and said they’d lately turned into hen parties. Blessed sauce, said Annabelle, looking gorgeous in her sweater and skirt. Boots asked just how they’d turned into hen parties, and Nick said there were three blokes and three females, and the blokes accordingly were outnumbered.
‘Did you hear that, Uncle Boots?’ said Annabelle. They were in the warm and cosy parlour, the fire burning. ‘Did you hear him call us females as if we’re just anybody?’
‘A slight gaffe on your part, Nick,’ said Boots, the room reminding him of Chinese Lady’s well-kept parlour in the old family house in nearby Caulfield Place. They all looked similar, Walworth parlours. As in most, this one had an aspidistra in the bay window, a table in the centre surrounded by upright chairs, a piano in the corner, and a sofa and armchairs suitably placed. If there was a difference, it was that some parlours, like this one, looked cosier and more welcoming than others. ‘I presume you’re thinking about the accepted fact that two girls are always the equal of three blokes, and that three outdo them?’
‘It’s a losing battle,’ said Nick, ‘but we take it like men. Hope it won’t offend you if I tell you your niece always leads the charge.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ said Annabelle, ‘he’s talking as if I’m not here.’
‘I think you’ll win’, said Boots, and Nick thought him a man very much at his ease, a man one immediately liked. Annabelle’s dad had had a similar air. ‘Well, shall I get out of the way before the rest of the committee members arrive?’
‘If you’re not in any hurry,’ said Nick, ‘you can meet my family, and once you’re in the kitchen, Ma will make a pot of tea.’
‘Your father’s not home on leave yet?’ said Annabelle, who’d been waiting ever since she arrived to have Nick say something that would tell her he wanted to walk with her into a summer sunset.
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Nick, ‘but you’re welcome to meet my mother and sisters, Mr Adams.’
‘Yes, I’d like to,’ said Boots.
What happened then, of course, was that he spent the whole time in the kitchen getting to know Ma and the girls. He rarely had problems mixing with people, any more than Sammy did. People meeting Sammy for the first time felt after ten minutes that he’d been waiting all his life to get acquainted with them. Those meeting Boots for the first time thought what a decent bloke he was. Ma thought exactly that. Alice and Amy wished they’d put their best Sunday dresses on, and Fanny wished she had an uncle like him …
While Boots was being entertained by the family, and was entertaining in return, the committee meeting hardly touched on football. Well, who would have expected it to when there was so much to say following Dumpling’s complaint that she was going to have to live soppy ever after with Danny come Easter Saturday? Danny, of course, said it didn’t have to be soppy, that Dumpling had the wrong idea concerning conjugal rites. He didn’t actually use that phrase, he simply said she had the wrong idea about what happened, but he knew what he meant. Cassie said she didn’t know much about what happened herself, as she’d never been married, but she’d heard it was swoony. Same as fainting, I suppose, said Freddy. I’ve had some of that personally, he said.
‘Freddy, what d’you mean?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Well,’ said Freddy, ‘I was sittin’ on our parlour sofa with Cassie one foggy Saturday, and playin’ cards with ’er. Our knees touched and we both fainted. Funniest feelin’ I’d ever had, it was.’
‘Well, I’ve got nice knees, they’d make anyone faint,’ said Cassie. ‘Of course, I fainted meself out of shock.’
‘Cassie, you scream,’ said Annabelle.
&
nbsp; ‘Might I point out we haven’t yet got as far as reading the minutes?’ said Nick.
‘Well, fancy anyone worrying about the minutes when Chrissie and Danny have just got engaged,’ said Annabelle witheringly.
‘Now look here,’ said Nick, ‘this—’
‘He’s off,’ said Dumpling. ‘I told you ’e gets like this sometimes, Annabelle. Then it’s all now look ’ere, you lot, and so on. Still, ’e can’t ’elp it, bein’ our captain—’
‘And everything else,’ said Annabelle. ‘Chrissie, I’m sure you’ll love getting married, and if you’re going to buy a lovely bridal gown, I could get a generous discount for you in one of my Uncle Sammy’s dress shops.’
‘Oh, I thought one of me Sunday frocks would do,’ said Dumpling, ‘so’s that I could change out of it quick, as there’s always a football match Easter Saturday afternoon. Mind you,’ she said gloomily, ‘if Danny plays as usual, I’ve got a feelin’ ’is mind won’t be much on the football. I just ’ope that won’t mean he’ll let me beloved Rovers down on ’is weddin’ day.’
‘But, Chrissie,’ said Annabelle, wanting to shriek with laughter, ‘you and Danny will go on honeymoon after the wedding, won’t you?’
‘What, and miss the football match?’ said Dumpling. ‘I’d never forgive meself. Besides, I don’t know I want any ’oneymoon. I’ll be all alone with Danny, and Lord knows what ’e’ll get up to. It’s bad enough sometimes in me mum’s parlour.’
‘Read the minutes,’ said Nick.
‘There he goes again,’ said Cassie. ‘Freddy, can’t you do something about Nick always wanting to talk about the minutes and ’ow much money there is in the kitty?’
‘Well, it’s like this, Cassie,’ said Freddy, ‘it’s what we’re actu’lly gathered ’ere together for.’
‘Freddy, stop bein’ a spoilsport,’ said Cassie, ‘Chrissie and Danny gettin’ engaged is a lot more excitin’ than reading some old minutes.’
‘Yes, of course it is,’ said Annabelle.
‘Still,’ said Danny, ‘proud and ’appy as I am that Dumpling’s consented to be me better ’alf, we ought to get on with the meetin’.’
‘It was me dad that consented,’ said Dumpling.
‘You sure?’ said Freddy. ‘I mean, who’s Danny engaged to, then, you or your dad?’
‘Freddy, you barmy or something?’ said Dumpling.
‘We all are,’ said Nick. ‘At least, I know I am. I’ll need locking up soon.’
‘All right, I’ll read the minutes, shall I, Nick?’ said Dumpling.
‘Not if it’s going to interfere with the wedding,’ said Nick.
‘My word,’ said Annabelle, ’isn’t the captain an old stickler, and a bit sarky as well?’
‘Yes, it’s not every day two of us get engaged to be married,’ said Cassie.
‘Don’t keep remindin’ me, Cassie, I still ain’t over me gloom,’ said Dumpling.
‘Dumpling, if you don’t read the flaming minutes, I’ll pull your football shorts down myself next time you wear them,’ said Nick.
‘Well, what a brute,’ said Annabelle, ‘I wouldn’t like to come face to face with him on a dark night.’
‘Freddy, chuck her out,’ said Nick.
‘Chuck who out?’ asked Freddy.
‘All of ’em,’ said Nick, ‘then let’s have a committee meeting.’
‘Nick, I don’t know why you’re carryin’ on so alarmin’,’ said Cassie, ‘you never used to have a bad temper. You ought to be singing the ’appy Weddin’ March on behalf of Chrissie and Danny’s engagement.’
‘You’ll be singing in a minute,’ said Nick, ‘but it won’t be the Wedding March, it’ll be with your head tucked underneath your arm after I’ve chopped it off.’
‘Cassie, hit him,’ said Annabelle.
‘Oh, he don’t mean it,’ said Cassie, ‘he likes me really. He ’ad a last waltz with me once at a dance at Browning Hall, didn’t you, Nick?’
‘How thrilling,’ said Annabelle. Nick muttered.
‘That reminds me,’ said Dumpling, ‘I ’ope you’ll all come to me weddin’. I told me mum and dad I’d like all the football committee there, that it might ’elp to cheer me up a bit, specially now Nick’s goin’ to be best man, bless ’im.’
‘I’d love to be there, Chrissie,’ said Annabelle.
‘I’ll be in a corblimey asylum,’ said Nick, ‘and if they won’t let me out for the day, Freddy’ll have to take my place.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Annabelle, ‘he is in a state, isn’t he?’
‘I’ve said it all along,’ remarked Cassie, ‘he’s in love. It gives you funny turns. Freddy’s the same. He’s always ’aving funny turns.’
‘Meeting’s over!’ bawled Nick.
‘Eh?’ said Dumpling.
‘What’s he shouting for?’ asked Annabelle, who had given up on her intention to resign.
‘Yes, what yer shoutin’ for, Nick?’ asked Danny. ‘The meetin’ ain’t properly started yet.’
‘It’s not started at all,’ said Nick, ‘it’s just another hen party natter so far.’
‘Oh, lor’, you do sound upset, Nick,’ said Dumpling, ‘I’d best get on.’ She read the minutes, Nick reported on the parlous state of the finances, and then on the fact that the fixture list was now full all the way to the end of April. The loss of the Portland Road team’s fixture had been taken care of with a new one. He was happy to announce that, he said.
‘He’s feelin’ better now,’ said Cassie.
‘I didn’t know he could feel better,’ said Annabelle.
‘Oh, Nick ’as lots of nice moments,’ said Dumpling. ‘It’s the weight of all ’is responsibilities that sometimes makes ’im out of sorts.’
‘And bein’ in love,’ said Cassie.
‘Perhaps it’s unrequited,’ said Annabelle.
‘Beg yer pardon?’ said Danny.
‘Is that something to do with movin’ the goalposts?’ asked Freddy.
‘Course not,’ said Dumpling, ‘goalposts are sacred. It’s one of Annabelle’s educated words.’
‘What I mean,’ said Annabelle, ’is that perhaps the girl our captain’s in love with doesn’t return his feelings. Perhaps he shouts at her like he does at us.’
‘Crikey,’ said Dumpling, ‘if I can put up with all Danny’s daft cuddling and kissin’, she ought to be able to put up with Nick shoutin’ a bit. All the Rovers put up with ’im chuckin’ his weight about, it’s for the sake of the team.’
‘Yes, and who is this girl that’s upsettin’ Nick?’ asked Cassie.
‘Yes, what yer keepin’ her dark for, Nick?’ asked Danny.
Nick did a bit of hard breathing before opening up a letter lying on the table in front of him.
‘We’ve had an application from a bloke called Johnny Richards,’ he said. ‘His family’s just moved into Walworth from Peckham. He used to play for a team called Peckham Albion. He’d like to join the Rovers.’
‘All right, tell ’im we’ll give ’im a trial game,’ said Freddy.
‘Nick, you ’aven’t mentioned who this girl is,’ said Cassie. She had a good idea herself who it was.
‘Freddy, bash Cassie’s head in with the coal shovel,’ bawled Nick.
‘He’s shouting again,’ said Annabelle.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what’s come over ’im,’ said Cassie.
The door opened, and Alice looked in.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked. ‘We keep hearin’ someone hollering.’
‘Oh, it’s all right, Alice,’ said Dumpling, ‘Nick’s just a bit out of sorts again.’
‘Well, keep your voice down, Nick,’ said Alice, ‘Annabelle’s uncle thinks someone’s breakin’ up the furniture. Good evenin’, Annabelle, Nick’s not hollering at you, is he?’
‘No, at everyone generally,’ said Annabelle.
‘Nick, what’s up with you?’ asked Alice.
‘Don’t ask,’ said Nick.
‘I’ll be
bringing you all cups of tea in a tick,’ said Alice.
‘How’s my uncle getting on?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Just like one of the fam’ly,’ said Alice, ‘and Fanny wants to keep him. Won’t be a minute with the tea.’
She brought it in not long after, and at a moment when Nick was having to put up with more chat about Dumpling’s forthcoming marriage to Danny. Everything had gone to pot again. But the hot tea and slices of homemade cake were welcome and civilizing. The meeting came to an end ten minutes later, and Dumpling, Danny, Cassie and Freddy departed. Nick saw them out and took the opportunity to buttonhole Freddy and Danny on the doorstep.
‘Listen, you two, now that you’re full members of the petticoat brigade, wear jumpers and skirts at all future meetings.’
‘Eh?’ said Freddy.
‘Beg yer pardon?’ said Danny.
‘You heard,’ said Nick. ‘Those girls are taking the committee apart, and you’re helping them. You’ll both look pretty in jumpers and skirts, and I’ll know where I stand, one bloke against five jumpers.’
‘What’s Nick sayin’?’ asked Cassie from the gate.
‘Search me,’ said Freddy, ‘’e sounds as if he’s gone off his chump.’
‘Oh, ’e’ll be all right tomorrow,’ said Dumpling.
‘There y’ar, Nick, you’ll be all right tomorrow,’ said Danny, and he and Freddy left with their girls. Nick closed the door and went back into the parlour, where Annabelle had donned her hat and coat. Nick gave her a challenging look.
‘You’re a monkey,’ he said.
‘Well, thanks very much,’ said Annabelle. ‘But at least I don’t bawl and shout at people.’
‘I think you’ve been playing games with me ever since we met,’ said Nick.
‘I haven’t, really I haven’t.’
‘By the way,’ said Nick, ‘I’m starting a new job with a firm of exporters and importers at the beginning of March.’
‘You’re what?’ said Annabelle.
‘Your great-uncle arranged it, did you know?’ said Nick.
‘No, of course I didn’t,’ said Annabelle. ‘Is it a better job?’
‘Much,’ said Nick.
‘Well,’ said Annabelle, ‘if he’d known that you bawl and shout at people and knock their heads off, he’d have given you the sack, not a much better job. I never dreamt, when I first met you, that you were actually a hooligan.’
Pride of Walworth Page 28