Blue Moon (18 page)

‘I cannot invite you to Mrs Grimes’s,’ he said, oblivious to what was really being discussed.

Ruby lowered herself into the chair opposite. Although it was clean, his shirt was crumpled. It looked un-ironed. He was wearing a different suit, and Ruby guessed he had bought it from a second-hand repository with the two pounds she had given him in advance. (No chance of getting her money back then, even if she had the courage to ask for it.) Isaac’s face was haggard and he had dark circles under his eyes. At first he met her steady
gaze, but then lowered his eyes and fiddled with his hat, which lay on the table in front of him.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked softly.

He managed a small smile. ‘You have troubles of your own,’ he said apologetically.

‘Tell me,’ she coaxed. ‘Have you heard something about your family back in Germany?’

‘I have no family now, Miss Bateman,’ he said simply. ‘They are all dead. I came to England for peace, but now I must leave.’

‘Leave? Why must you leave?’

‘Mrs Grimes,’ he sighed. ‘She has a new lodger.’

‘And?’ said Ruby.

‘The lodger and Mrs Grimes … they like each other,’ said Isaac, clearing his throat with an embarrassed cough. ‘I am in the way. He makes trouble for me.’

Ruby bristled with indignation, but as she busied herself making the tea, a plan was forming in her mind. The kettle boiled and, as she poured the tea, her mother came through the back door with a washing basket on her hip. Isaac leapt to his feet.

‘Mother, this is Isaac,’ said Ruby. ‘He’s a friend of Jim’s.’

Bea put her basket on the draining board and wiped her hand on her apron before shaking hands. She was pale and her face was expressionless, just the way Ruby had found her when she’d come home a couple of days before. Mrs Dart had told her that her mother had finally wept for her father, and that the doctor had given her a sedative. Since then, Bea went through the motions of doing what she was supposed to do, but it was
obvious that something had died within her. Their friends and neighbours told Ruby it was just the grief, but she had a funny feeling it was more than that.

Once again Isaac offered his condolences.

‘Isaac is a refugee from Germany,’ said Ruby. ‘He is also looking for lodgings.’

Bea seemed astonished. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said, ‘we’re not ready yet. My husband … the room …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Please, madam,’ said Isaac, obviously embarrassed, ‘I intrude.’

‘Perhaps if you came back at the end of the week,’ said Ruby, ‘we would be ready then.’

Isaac shook his head. ‘You don’t have to …’ he began.

‘My mother and I had discussed getting a lodger.’ Ruby spoke directly to Bea, giving her a quizzical look. ‘I feel sure we could be ready by Friday. Do you have anywhere to stay until then?’

‘Miss Bateman,’ Isaac began again, ‘you are very kind, but I have little money.’

‘What happened to the Parks and Gardens department?’ Ruby frowned.

‘I still work there, but the money …’ He shrugged.

‘I’ve been thinking about your skills as a bootmaker,’ said Ruby.

‘Boot-mender,’ he corrected her. ‘I am – how do you say? – a cobbler.’

‘I’ve heard people around here saying they could do with a cobbler,’ said Ruby. ‘They want a man who will charge sensible prices and who is good at his job.’

Isaac shrugged. ‘I have no tools.’

He looked defeated, but Ruby was on a mission now. ‘There’s a place on the corner of Lyndhurst Road and High Street,’ she said. ‘We call it The Ark, because they have just about everything you could wish for there. What would you need most?’

‘A cobbler’s last,’ said Isaac. ‘Leather, nails, a good knife …’

‘I’m sure we could find enough to get you started,’ said Ruby.

‘But where will I do it?’ cried Isaac.

Ruby sat down, clearly stumped. Bea smiled to herself and began to fold the washing ready for ironing. Isaac sipped his tea.

May came in from the small courtyard garden and interrupted them. ‘Can I have some tea for my dolly’s tea party?’

‘Bring your teapot and I’ll give you some,’ said Ruby. A moment or two later the tiny china teapot appeared, and Ruby filled it with lukewarm milky tea. ‘That’s all there is,’ she cautioned. ‘Don’t drink it too quickly.’

‘It’s not for me – it’s for dolly,’ said May crossly. ‘She drinks it.’

‘Well tell her to be careful to make it last,’ said Ruby with a smile. ‘Where are you having your party?’

‘By the shed,’ said May, skipping out of the back door.

Ruby looked up at her mother. ‘The shed,’ she said. ‘Isaac can mend his boots there.’ Bea was nodding.

‘I do not understand,’ said Isaac.

‘There’s an old shed outside,’ said Ruby, getting excited. ‘People can come in through the back gate.’

‘It’s still full of your father’s fishing gear …’ said Bea. Her voice died away.

‘Percy made it clear he doesn’t want to fish,’ said Ruby, ‘so what’s the point of keeping it? We could sell it and use the money for something else.’

Isaac put his head in his hands. ‘Aye-eeh-aye, what is this?’ He put his hand in his pocket and drew out two pound notes. ‘I came to give you these back,’ he said, ‘and now what have you done?’

Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘I’ll explain later, Mother,’ said Ruby. ‘Isaac, you keep it. I still want my lessons and we can do them here. Use the money to buy your equipment.’

Isaac looked up, his eyes moist with tears. ‘It will take me a long time to pay you back.’

‘We know,’ said Ruby.

‘Pay her back for what?’ Bea said, but neither of them was listening.

‘We’ll do it properly,’ said Ruby. ‘Give you a rent book, and everything. So … what do you think?’

‘I think you are amazing, Miss Bateman,’ he said.

‘Isaac, Ruby … will one of you tell me what is going on?’

Half an hour later, when Isaac had gone and Ruby had explained everything, Bea shook her head. ‘It’s going to be a lot of hard work, getting ready for this. And what about our Percy?’

‘You heard Percy say that he wanted to move out, Mum,’ said Ruby.

‘But that was before your father died,’ said Bea.

Ruby chewed her lip anxiously. ‘We don’t know if he’s ever coming back,’ she said softly. ‘He promised you that he’d write. It’s been weeks since he went, and you haven’t heard a thing.’ It was always a bit of a struggle not to feel cross with her brother. She couldn’t blame him for going, and he had told her as long ago as the day of the High Salvington outing what was on his mind. Father had made his life a misery, and in times past Percy had even taken the blame for some of the misdemeanours she’d committed. He knew how much she’d hated being shut in the coal-hole, and she’d loved him dearly for accepting a tanning – and even the belt once – to spare her having to sit in the cold and dark for hours on end. In one sense, it wasn’t Percy’s fault that he wasn’t here right now. He clearly had no idea their father was dead, but, by clearing off like that, he had in effect left her with all the responsibility.

Bea nodded miserably. Ruby put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘Don’t you see, Mother?’ Ruby smiled. ‘It will help us in the long run. Once Isaac’s got going, he’ll be paying us two lots of rent: one for the room, and another for the shed. That can’t be bad now, can it?’

Bea shook her head and dug Ruby in the ribs. ‘You’re always organizing somebody, aren’t you?’ she scolded good-naturedly. ‘Bossy boots!’

CHAPTER 13

It was the best half a crown Percy had ever spent. He had read Oswald Mosley’s book,
The Greater Britain
, from cover to cover. What inspiration. What common sense. What genius! The more he read, the more he admired the man who had penned the words: ‘A corporate state and a government with absolute power to carry out the will of the people’. Now that really would get things done. If only those in power had listened to what Mosley had proposed when he was in government two years before, the country would be in much better shape. Faced with two million unemployed, Mosley had put forward a grand plan to get things moving. After the stagnation of the twenties, following the crippling debts brought on by the Great War, his ideas seemed so logical. Raise the school leaving age and embark on a huge programme of slum clearances – it was a bold move, but the fools in Whitehall had thrown it out, in what Mosley called a ‘spineless drift towards disaster’. Percy’s blood boiled every time he thought about it. He closed the book and smiled to himself.

‘Finished?’ said his room-mate.

Percy nodded. ‘Pretty good stuff.’ He swung his legs down and got to his feet with a stretch and a yawn.

The day he had walked out of his home, Percy had decided – just to spite his father – to join the Blackshirts. One thing was for sure: he didn’t want his father turning up at headquarters and demanding that his son get back to fishing. And so, thumbing a lift or two, he’d walked for miles to get to London. After meeting a few Blackshirt members, he’d spent a period of time at their training centre in Whitelands House, the building formerly used by the college of the same name. Now renamed the Black House, it was only a stone’s throw from Chelsea Barracks, with its own sleeping quarters, a drill hall and sports facilities. He paid his way by working in the kitchen and doing menial tasks that no one else wanted to do, like cleaning the bathrooms and toilets, as well as knuckling down to a strict routine of physical training and instruction. As if that wasn’t enough, he also had the opportunity to learn to drive and, because the leadership wanted its trainees to have an all-round knowledge of everyday life, Percy got to discover what lay under the bonnet as well.

During his very limited free time, he enjoyed walking in the extensive grounds and ate with the other men in the canteen. Of course he still had to pay thirty bob a week for his board and lodgings, but it was worth every penny of the money he’d saved. He’d almost forgotten the money; in the heat of trying to get away from Nelson, he suddenly realized that he’d left the money in its hiding place, and had to go back to the house to
fetch it. He’d been terrified of being caught, but his father had already gone fishing. Ever since Linton Carver had told him that his father had done something awful with the other lads during the war, Percy had hated him even more. He’d tried to press Linton about what actually happened, but he wouldn’t be drawn. Percy could only guess, and his imagination knew no bounds. What a hypocrite! All that claptrap about being on the side of right and good, and all the while his father had a dark, hidden secret.

After years of being put down, ridiculed and squashed, Percy was proud to think he could be part of something that was going to make a real difference in the country. Although not a great reader, now that he’d finally waded through
The Greater Britain
he was positive that, once Mosley had convinced the British people of his sincerity, the takeover of power by the BUF would only be a matter of time.

The door burst open and Lance Corporal Willis came into the room.

‘Lieutenant Johnson wants to see you, Bateman.’

With her mother resting upstairs, Ruby noticed that her father’s best Sunday coat was still hanging on the nail by the back door. Somehow it had been missed in the great clear-out that her mother had started. Ruby took it down and studied it carefully. He’d seldom worn it, preferring older, more familiar things, even though they were shabby. A button was hanging by a thread, but that was easily remedied. Once the button was sewn
back on, she went through the pockets, but there was nothing of any consequence. She brushed the coat with the clothes brush. The next time the suitcase came back, she would put it inside, and then everything that had belonged to Nelson would be out of the house.

As he followed the lance corporal through the house, Percy was racking his brains, wondering why he’d been sent for. He had earned the respect of his leaders and was often praised for his enthusiasm and agility, so he couldn’t imagine why he’d been summoned to see Lieutenant Johnson. After a brisk march down a long corridor, he found himself in the officers’ room. Percy stood smartly at the desk and waited.

‘At ease,’ said Johnson languidly.

Percy relaxed. Was he going to be offered promotion and a more responsible position, or was he going to be asked to leave?

‘Someone from your family has been making enquiries about you,’ said Johnson. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘He has been to staff HQ in Worthing several times during the past few weeks.’

So his father was looking for him. The idea of Nelson turning up several times to look for him was hugely satisfying to Percy. He felt justified in leaving instructions that he was to remain uncontactable, whatever the circumstances. Perhaps now that his son wasn’t at his beck and call, the old man would appreciate him a bit more. Having no contact with the rest of his family was a small sacrifice to pay and, once his mother saw
what he had made of his life, Percy felt sure she would understand. After all, it was only six weeks – and what could possibly go wrong in six weeks?

‘The memo-writer doesn’t say why there have been enquiries,’ said Johnson, looking at his fingernails, ‘but I’m sure, if there were something amiss, he would have mentioned it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Percy smartly.

‘You’re nearly at the end of training, aren’t you?’ said Johnson.

‘Five more days, sir.’

It had been a proud moment when Percy had gone to his first rally as a fully fledged Blackshirt steward. The shirt itself cost only a few shillings, and was fastened by a row of buttons on the left shoulder. It had been designed by Mosley himself and modelled on his fencing shirt, because it could be worn without a collar and tie. And it prevented anyone being half-strangled in the rugby scrum that often accompanied the meetings.

‘You could agree to make contact straight away,’ said Johnson, sitting up straight and picking up his baton as he rose to his feet, ‘but I’m sure a few days more won’t make any difference.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If, on reflection, you change your mind, talk to the lance corporal. That’s all. Dismissed.’