Memories of You (23 page)

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Authors: Benita Brown

BOOK: Memories of You
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He had treated himself to a cup of tea and a Chelsea bun at the café in the garden and then settled on one of the benches to read his book about unsolved London murders. They were all true stories and Danny was fascinated by them. He decided that he would visit the various locations himself and try to put himself in the detective's shoes. Or those of the murderer . . .
Perhaps he would do this when the weather got a little cooler. The late September sun still held some warmth but a nippy little breeze was already stirring the leaves of the sheltering trees.
Then something made him look up from the page. He couldn't see anyone at first, but something, he never knew what, made him turn his head and look at the young woman hurrying along the path that wound towards him. Taller than he remembered, still slim, and still with that determinedly hopeful manner. It was Helen.
Normally so in control of his emotions, Danny felt a surge of joy. His first instinct was to leap up and hurry towards her, put his arms around her and hug her, but immediately all the reasons why Joe and he had decided it would be better not to get in touch with her came flooding back.
First of all there was what had happened on the cliff top at Haven House. How could they ever tell Helen the truth of it? And if they didn't, how could they lie to her?
Then there were other things they wouldn't be able to tell her about . . . Essentially, everything that had happened since they came to London. Joe didn't think Danny knew about his taking money to dope the dogs. Sometimes Danny felt offended that his brother should think him so naïve and unquestioning about the fact that he could afford to pay for board and lodgings for both of them from a kennel lad's pay. Danny knew about Joe's secret stash of cash. There was nothing much he didn't know about the late-night callers at Myra's house and what went on at the dog track.
Any moment now Helen will be near enough to recognize me if she looks my way
. . .
As his sister came within calling distance Danny fought down the urge to get up and run towards her. Hesitant after the years apart, he decided to leave it to fate. I'll go on reading, he thought. If she glances my way and recognizes me then this was meant to be. If not I'll stay silent. His nerves stretched agonizingly tight, and unable to hold his gaze, he looked down at his book. His heart began to beat erratically; he could feel his temples throbbing. He held his breath.
Then when Helen's sensible shoes entered his field of vision he looked up. But his sister hurried by. She had not bothered to glance at the solitary figure sitting there with a book. She looked eager and purposeful as she left the garden and crossed the road.
Danny let his breath out in a long, regretful sigh. So that's that, he thought. It wasn't meant to be. But nevertheless he got up and hurried after her. He stood on the pavement and watched as she entered one of the houses, and after a moment he followed and read and memorized the names on the various brass plates near the front door. Business premises, he thought. Helen doesn't live here.
By the time she came out again the streetlamps were lit, and away from the pathways there were mysterious areas of darkness in the garden. As Helen hurried along the path she never noticed the figure that detached himself from the shadows and followed her home.
Chapter Twelve
31st October 1934
Halloween. A crowd of bright young people came into the restaurant this evening. They were dressed as witches and ghosties. This must have been one of the coldest days of the year so far and some of the poor girls in their silky costumes were shivering with cold and had red noses and goose pimples they hadn't bargained for. None of them stayed long. They were all on their way to clubs or private parties where the festivities would go on until midnight and probably long into the early hours of the morning. Stefano joked that in the morning the street cleaners would be sweeping up drunken hobgoblins along with the rubbish.
One or two of the merrymakers were carrying pumpkin lanterns which they lit when they left the restaurant. Some of them had fortified themselves against the cold with a drink or two, and as they lurched off down the streets their lanterns swayed violently, the candles sputtering and smoking.
As I watched them I was overcome with a nostalgia so strong that I was almost transported back in time. Back to the kitchen in our old home where I was helping my mother make lanterns from four turnips. Turnips because they were cheap and also because we could cook the bits we'd hollowed out. Turnip with potato to make soup, or mashed up with carrots and butter and seasoned with pepper. I wonder if Stefano knows how delicious this humble root vegetable can be.
When Joe and Danny were old enough to be trusted with a knife they were allowed to help. Joe would attack his turnip enthusiastically, eating bits of raw turnip as he went. Danny was good at making the faces: slanted eyes, a triangular nose and a scary mouth with teeth like fangs. Elsie never made her own lantern. She would sit and watch while Mother or I made it for her and she always wanted it to be ‘pretty'. I don't think anything we made ever lived up to her expectations.
With the candles secured inside the lanterns off we would go, wearing witches' hats made from rolled-up paper and cloaks fashioned from old tablecloths or curtains. Now that I remember, we didn't do much more than run up and down the street whooping wildly, and the only creatures we frightened were the neighbourhood cats. But when we went home Mother would have the soup on the table and either a toffee apple each or a big plateful of cinder toffee.
Once Elsie was in bed we would put the light out and sit by the fire and tell ghost stories. We all had a turn. Mother and I tried not to make our stories too frightening but we needn't have worried. Neither of the boys took them seriously. Joe's stories were usually a mixture of comic book horror and farce, and Danny's were fantastical rather than bloodcurdling.
So what shall I do tonight? It is almost midnight. Dorothy will not be coming home, she hardly ever does these days, and I must face the witching hour alone. Well, I am not completely unprepared. I shall sit by the fire drinking hot spiced cider and eating the large slice of gingerbread I bought at Eli's. And I shall open the book I have borrowed from the library,
The Best Ghost Stories of Algernon Blackwood
. But no matter how engrossing the stories, it will be difficult to banish the memories of those four children in their home-made costumes running up and down the street with their turnip lanterns all those years ago.
 
 
One of the other kennel lads had brought a pumpkin lantern to work and Raymond had raised the roof. ‘Do you want to start a fire and burn the place down?' he'd yelled. ‘Get it out of here and don't bother to come back. I can't afford to employ halfwits!'
The lad, Alfie, was only fourteen and this was his first job. As he turned to go there were tears in his eyes but he didn't attempt to plead with Raymond. That would do no good at all, everyone knew that.
Joe slipped out after him. ‘Wait,' he said. ‘What will you do?'
‘Go home, I suppose, although I don't know what I'm going to tell them.'
‘You'll have to tell them you've been sacked. There's no getting round that, but you can say you're after another job.'
Alfie looked puzzled. ‘But I'm not.' He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
‘Don't do that,' Joe couldn't help saying. ‘Whatever job you go after you don't want to present yourself with snot all over your sleeve.' Joe reached into his pocket and drew out all the coins he had there. ‘Here you are,' he said. ‘Go on, take it.'
‘What this for?' Alfie asked but he held out his hand uncertainly.
Joe tipped the coins into the lad's palm. ‘First go and buy yourself an evening paper. Then go to the nearest café, get yourself whatever you want to eat and go through the jobs column. You might strike lucky – even if the only job you can find is an errand boy.'
Alfie looked uncertain.
‘Go on,' Joe said. ‘It's worth a try. That's what I did when I arrived here without anywhere to sleep even.'
‘Yeah, but we all know how clever you are. Raymond's top lad.' There was a hint of a sneer in Alfie's tone. ‘I'm just a halfwit, remember.'
Controlling a spurt of annoyance, Joe said, ‘You will be if you don't take my advice. That's the best chance you have coming to you tonight. Now get out of here and take that stupid pumpkin with you.'
Joe watched him go. He didn't really hold out much hope for the lad. Times were hard and Alfie didn't do much to help himself. But at least he had given him a chance. And he wasn't sure why. Had it been the pumpkin? Had the sight of it brought back memories of the Halloweens they had all enjoyed together as children with their turnip lanterns and the cinder toffee their mother or Helen had made for them?
He wished he wasn't working tonight. He wished he could take off with Danny. Perhaps the pair of them could go up west and watch the silly sods with more money than sense making fools of themselves with the drink. Then he would take Danny to a nice restaurant and treat both of them to the best the menu could offer.
He wondered what Elsie would be doing tonight. Would her rich adoptive parents have a party for her? They probably would. And Helen. What would Helen be doing? And who would she be with? Suddenly he felt sorry for both his sisters. Wherever they were they were not together, whereas he had Danny. He and his twin would never be parted if Joe had anything to do with it, and as soon as work was over tonight he would get Danny from their shared room, where he would be reading as usual, and take him along to the all-night café next to the station. Sid's Caf might not compare to a West End restaurant but the food was good and the helpings generous. And these days Joe had money to spare.
 
Before Tom Chapman was allowed to go out with his friends his mother persuaded him that it was his duty to help out at the party she always gave for Shirley. Tom knew that persuade was hardly the right word for it. No one ever mistook Darlene Chapman's polite requests for anything other than an order from on high. In this case he was perfectly agreeable. He was actually fond of his younger sister and he thought her friends a jolly bunch of girls, especially as most of them seemed inclined to hero worship as far as he was concerned. It did a chap no harm at all to know that he was appreciated by the fair sex. So long as he didn't let it go to his head and start behaving like a rotter. Like some people he knew.
When he told Perry, his friend, rather than being put out, offered to come along and help. Tom accepted the offer gratefully, not remembering until it was too late that Perry had an ulterior motive. He behaved himself well enough, helping out with the games, soothing those who got muddled or upset and fetching cool drinks for the overheated. But Tom would have been blind or stupid if he had not noticed the way Perry's eyes followed Elise Partington's every move. Annoyingly he didn't put a foot wrong so there was nothing Tom could say.
Then, to his surprise, when Perry did make a move, it was another girl altogether that he set out to charm.
During the game of ducking for apples Ernestine Fry managed to soak not just her face and her hair but her clothes as well. When she stood up triumphantly clasping the stalk of the apple between her teeth everybody laughed. Poor Ernestine sensed that the laughter was not exactly friendly, dropped the apple, looked down at herself and began to cry. Perry snatched a napkin from the buffet table and hurried forward. He led her away and helped her to dry herself, all the time keeping up a flow of conversation as if what had happened was perfectly normal.
By the time Darlene Chapman had sent a maidservant over with a towel Ernestine was smiling again and looking up at Perry adoringly. Ernestine was led away to find a dress of Shirley's that would fit her. Difficult, Tom thought, when Ernestine was on the chubby side of sturdy and his sister was so athletic and trim. However, that was not his problem.
What happened next took him by surprise. He was on his way over to speak to Perry when Elise Partington forestalled him.
‘That was very kind of you,' Tom heard her say.
‘Kind?'
‘To comfort Ernestine like that.'
‘I only did what anyone would have done.'
‘But no one else did anything. That's my point. They were just laughing at her.'
‘I got there first, that's all.'
‘Perhaps. But people can be so cruel, can't they?'
Perry looked at Elise intently. ‘Yes, they can. But never to you, I think.'
Tom was just about to cut in; he thought the conversation had gone far enough, when to his surprise it was Perry who broke away. ‘Well, I must get back to my duties,' he told Elise. ‘I think we have to get some sort of team game going. A pumpkin relay. Ah, there you are, Tom. I'm ready for duty. Lead the way.'

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