House of Trembling Leaves, The (12 page)

‘‘You're 'avin' a laugh! Daan't you know there's a bleedin' rally on? The plods closed off most of Euston and 'alf the roads northeast of Hyde Park.''

‘‘What sort of rally?''

‘‘Marches against mass unemployment. Also a load of lefties 're rallyin' against the fascists.''

‘‘Our train's at 6 p.m.''

‘‘For an extra two bob I can swing you through Kensington and Piccadilly then up through Farringdon, 'a is that?''

‘‘Good man.''

The taxi headed south.

‘‘Those dinosaur bones were quite something, don't you think?'' beamed Adrian.

Pietro patted his coiffure. ‘‘A trip to the museum is a bit like playing hide the thimble, don't you think? Wonderful fun as long as it doesn't go on for too long.''

As they skirted Hyde Park and passed Queen's Gate, Lu See started to notice more and more people gathering. Many streets became impassable. Near Kensington Gore one of the roads was blocked off by an abandoned double-decker bus advertising Schweppes Sparkling Lime.

‘‘What's that up ahead?'' she asked, grasping Adrian's arm. ‘‘Who are all these people?''

‘‘Mosley's fascists,'' Adrian spat from under his homburg.

‘‘Ask him to turn the car around.''

‘‘Don't be silly, goosey.''

The mood on the streets was different to the scenes they'd witnessed earlier on. This wasn't a controlled demonstration; this was more like a rebellion. The streets were suddenly filled with hard ugly faces, about thirty men dressed in matching black shirts and black caps; some handing out copies of
Fascist Week
.

Sum Sum stared, bewildered. ‘‘Why do they have Hindu swastikas on their arms?''

‘‘Tell the driver to turn around, Adrian,'' insisted Lu See.

‘‘We'll be fine.''

The taxi driver peered into his mirror. ‘‘It's aw gone pear-shaped, guv. The bloomin' right wing's accusin' the Jews of tryin' ter push Britain inter war with Germany. The lefties 're callin' Baldwin an 'itler stooge. And naa you 'ave the Trade Unions causin' grief. Lawd above, the world's gone barmy. You lot better keep your 'eads daan.''

As the taxi passed the Albert Hall, Lu See saw more hardened faces. ‘‘I have a bad feeling about this, Adrian.''

‘‘
Ayo Sami
, that man there in trouble!'' cried Sum Sum.

Lu See pressed her face to the window. From a distance she saw a crush of people milling about and as their car drew nearer her anxiety grew stronger. ‘‘I don't want to continue any further, Adrian.''

A carthorse reared, kicking and neighing.

‘‘Yes, let's go back, Adie!''

Twenty yards away, down a narrow side street, she saw three blackshirts shouting at an old man, pushing him to the ground, pulling at his beard and curly sideburns and spitting on his yarmulke.

‘‘Stop the taxi,'' Adrian ordered.

‘‘You wot?''

‘‘I said stop the car!''

Adrian threw off his homburg, jumped out of the door and sprinted towards the trouble.

He grabbed one of the black-clad men by the collar and shoved him aside. Pointing his finger at the others he told them to back away as he helped the old man to his feet. At first the blackshirts appeared dazed by his courage but slowly their expressions turned nasty.

‘‘Fuck off, you yid lover!'' one yelled. He had a mop of blond hair and a sawtooth scar across his chin. ‘‘And a fuckin' Chink one at that!'' Lu See watched in horror as the blond man's fist flew at Adrian. Flinching, Adrian raised an arm as a shield as another kicked him in the knee, buckling it. They circled Adrian like a bask of crocodiles.

‘‘Do something!'' Lu See screamed to the cab driver.

‘‘Not on your porridge knife! Your Chinese bloke's on 'is own!''

The three men surrounded Adrian now. They held on to his hair and overcoat trying to wrestle him to the floor. Struggling from the clinch, Adrian's arm swung in a wide arc as they swayed.

If they get him on the floor, they'll kick him in the head, thought Lu See. She heard them grunt as their limbs entwined like a knot of snakes.

‘‘Sum Sum, Pietro!'' Lu See bawled. ‘‘We have to help him!''

‘‘
Lai-lah, lai-lah!
'' Sum Sum removed a hatpin from her bag. At the same time Lu See grabbed the taxi driver's umbrella. They leapt from the car just as a fist smashed into Adrian's face.

The three blackshirts jeered as Adrian went down. The punch caused dark stars to appear behind his eyes. The crack of the blow resounded in his head. There was blood in his hair and scalp too; he could feel it trail and pool in his ear. He collapsed on to one knee but as soon as he saw Lu See, Sum Sum and Pietro rushing from the taxi Adrian held up his free hand and ordered them to stay back.

‘‘Get away!'' he yelled.

Thick arms grappled with him, pulling his overcoat sleeves behind his back, catching him in a wrestling lock. He felt a claw of fingers snatch at his hair, yanking his head from side to side. From the corner of his eye Adrian spotted the girls still advancing. Panic surged through him. ‘‘No! Get back!''

Ashen faced, the girls stopped.

‘‘Not so brave now, eh, my Chinky-chink friend.'' The blond-haired man in front kicked Adrian in the stomach. His belly ripped hot with pain and a gasp escaped his throat.

Adrian swung his head round and stared hard at the girls. The last thing he wanted was to get them involved in this. ‘‘Stay away,'' he mouthed. His teeth were crimson with blood.

The blond slapped his face and sneered. ‘‘Fucking yid lover. Now see what you've done. Our Jew friend's gone and run off. Sprinted home to count his shekels.''

The others laughed.

‘‘No matter, a Chink's as good as a Jew when it comes to the end of my boot!''

People stared out of windows. A pack of onlookers gathered, keeping their distance; clustered ravens in greasy clothes. ‘‘Leave him alone!'' someone shouted from afar.

The man holding Adrian in a wrestling lock relaxed his grip slightly as he peered around.

Still on one knee, Adrian sensed his moment. This was the chance he'd been waiting for. He squared his shoulders and threw his head backward. The reverse head-butt clattered into the face of the man behind. At the same moment he stomped on his assailant's foot. Stunned, the man released his hold completely and Adrian pulled free. Stepping to one side, Adrian wrenched off his overcoat and raised his hands like a boxer.

‘‘Feisty little cunt, aren't you?''

‘‘You have no idea.''

The blond blackshirt swung at him. A clenched whoosh of flesh and knuckle skimmed past Adrian's cheek, grazing his shoulder. Bobbing and weaving, Adrian searched for a gap and then let fly with two swift whiplash jabs –
Snak-smaack! Snak-smaack
! – followed by a thumping uppercut. There was a crunch of teeth. When the mop of blond hair hit the ground Adrian drove his boot into his chest, but the man was already out cold.

‘‘You fucker!'' wailed the second blackshirt as he grabbed Adrian from behind. Whirling round, Adrian caught hold of his wrist and snapped it as he would a chicken neck. Then Adrian hooked his thumb into the blackshirt's eye and swung his right elbow hard, catching him on the point of the chin. He collapsed with a cry of agony.

With two men down, Adrian stepped forward, ducked his head, and took aim at the last man. He skimmed a jab at the base of his throat and then with a roundhouse right drove his fist into his opponent's face, following up with a hard left. There was a horrible
crack
of bone against cartilage. The man's nose blew apart and blood sprayed up and doused the street like a squirt gun.

At that point Adrian heard a clear high-pitched sound. Up the street a constable sprinted their way; whistle clasped between his lips; he had one hand on his bobby's helmet as he ran so that it wouldn't fall.

A covered lorry pulled up fifty yards back. Adrian ran toward Lu See and Sum Sum, seizing them by the arms as a fresh load of blackshirts poured out of the lorry. More policemen arrived. A roar of noise erupted as the two sides clashed.

Seconds later Adrian bundled the girls and Pietro into the taxi, sprang into the back seat and slammed the door. ‘‘Go, go, go!'' he yelled.

The taxi sped off, leaving the bobby with the whistle in its wake.

‘‘Cor, you 'eaven and 'ell clocked that last bloke, guv. I bet they could even 'ear his nose breakin' over in Timbuktu.''

‘‘Are you okay?'' asked Lu See.

‘‘You're ever so brave, Adie!''

‘‘
Wahh!
You just like Gary Cooper!
Bing, bang, bang!
''

Adrian didn't say a word. He simply rubbed his right hand where a patch of red glazed his knuckles and breathed uneasily, in swallows. Blood pulsed behind his eyes. His head felt light, the ends of his fingers twitched – it was the same sensation as when he'd almost lost his footing at the top of Trinity spire last August. When he looked down he saw his heart thumping so hard it was shaking the torn fabric of his blood-splattered shirt.

‘‘Are you okay?'' Lu See asked once more.

‘‘I'm fine. Did that old man get away safely?''

‘‘Yes.''

‘‘Good,'' he said with a smile, pulling a comb from his trouser pocket.

‘‘How …?'' Lu See's voice shook. ‘‘How did you learn to …?''

His throat, dry as scorched hay, felt constricted. ‘‘Kung-fu lessons at Chung Ling High School when I was a bit younger,'' he shrugged.

‘‘You could've been killed.''

‘‘And I could have lost my Schiaparelli hat!'' cried Pietro.

‘‘I was trying to save that man from being killed, goosey,'' he insisted, quietly. ‘‘Anyway, those fascists had it coming.''

‘‘You scared the hell out of me.''

Adrian touched the small gash on his lower lip. ‘‘Oh hell, I left my overcoat behind. I loved that overcoat. Do you think we can go back and get it?''

Lu See pinched him hard on the leg.

Adrian grinned and calmly ran a comb through his blood-stiffened hair.

‘‘Dear, dear, oh-dear, all this has made me ever so faint.'' Pietro brushed a hand across his eyes theatrically. ‘‘Would you mind if I called off our supper tonight. I'm simply drowning here with exhaustion.'' He swooned. ‘‘Too much exhaustion.''

Midway through April, when the last traces of the winter which had chilled Lu See to the bone had dissipated, the postman shoved an envelope through the letter flap.

Lu See was standing on her head, nibbling on a biscuit as Sum Sum scooped the mail off the floor.

‘‘For you, lah.''

Lu See's heart lifted when she saw the postmark. ‘‘It's from Malaya.''

Tearing open the envelope and settled into one of the suede armchairs. She recognized her mother's handwriting immediately. Her mother explained how she had tracked her down by writing to the Admissions Office at Girton.

 

I had hoped that nobody would have to learn the truth. That we could say that you had gone abroad simply to study, but it was not to be. The Chows have learned the truth and are livid. Their son openly brands you a strumpet. The loss of face you have caused us is great. Your Ah-Ba naturally is most upset, the raw betrayal stings him, as does all the unavoidable talk and gossip of our neighbours and friends. He calls you a black sheep, says he should have thrown you out when he had the chance, instead of letting you pour humiliation on the family. His words pain me too, of course, but the truth is that neither of us can come to terms with what you have done – slipping out of the house the way you did, like a thief in the night … the ultimate rejection. And with a Woo! Chee-chee! I rub my fingers together and say shame on you.

 

The angry tone of her mother's words upset Lu See. Despite the warmer temperatures, Mrs Slackford still lit a fire every morning to soothe her old bones. Lu See strode over to the stone fireplace and threw the letter into the flames. With a mutinous expression, she watched the paper burn.

She spent the next hour drafting a response, punching out her reply on her new Smith & Corona typewriter. Lu See decided to keep her response civil: she apologized for embarrassing the family, explained how she was now happy and settled, and also stressed that her interview at Girton College was a success. She made no mention of her arrangement with Second-aunty Doris nor the search for a pipe organ. She signed the letter with a flourish and ran a blotter over the ink.

Pushing back the drapes and seeing that it was one of those glorious glimmering spring mornings she decided to walk to the post office for some stamps. By now she was a loyal customer of the Royal Mail (with letters to Second-aunty Doris and Conrad P. Hughes of London), a regular at Fitzbillies cake shop and a fixture at Heffers booksellers.

Shrugging on her coat she made her way down the crooked cobbled street and immediately came across Adrian who was on his way to the library.

‘‘Morning, goosey.''

‘‘Fancy seeing you here.'' She glanced at his shock of a hairdo. ‘‘Don't tell me you've been jamming your fingers in electric sockets again.''

‘‘My hair looks fine.'' He gave it a stroke.

Lu See could always tell if Adrian had been out climbing the night before. The state of his hair invariably gave it away. Whipped up by the wind and rain it stood up on its own and being rebellious he refused to oil it down with lacquer like everyone else. He once claimed that the look gave him a ‘Marxist air'. Today he resembled someone who was falling down a mineshaft.

‘‘Where are you off to?''

‘‘Sending a letter to my mother.''