The Best in Blountmere Street (The Blountmere Street Series Book 2) (7 page)

Today I got a letter from Mr Stannard and Miss Lorimore.  It’s written on sort of tissue paper.  Mum says that’s so it won’t cost so much to send.  It’s not very long.  Most of the letter is written in Mr Stannard’s bold writing and says what a beautiful country New Zealand is and that the weather is warm and sunny.  It sounds as if he’s talking about a photo and that the beauty he’s describing doesn’t mean much to him.  Miss Lorimore’s part of the letter is scrawly and difficult to read.  She hardly mentions New Zealand.  Instead, she asks what the weather’s like in London, and if the sycamore tree outside the baker’s is bare now.  She asks if we’ve had much fog and the price of lamb chops.  They’re very cheap there, she says.  I can’t understand why she wants to know such ordinary things, but her questions sound sad.

‘Angela and I’ve had a letter from Fred and Lori, too,’ Tony says that evening in our kitchen, when I tell him I’ve had a letter from New Zealand. 

‘And I’ve got my postcards.’  He says it in the show-offish sort of way he does every time he mentions them.  He pats his jacket where I know his postcards are in his inside pocket.

‘They’re from different places round the world Fred and Lori went to when they were sailing to New Zealand,’ he tells me for the umpteenth time.

‘I know.’ 

‘Fred says there’s a lot of beaches in New Zealand.  They’re not as good as Bognor, I bet.’

‘Why don’t you ask him in your letter?’

‘My letter?’

‘You’re going to reply, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve never written a letter before.’

‘I’ll help you.  Then we can send our letters together.’

It takes a bit of persuasion to get Tony to write, and when he does, he chews the end of my fountain pen I’ve let him borrow.  His letter doesn’t cover a page, but I know there’s a lot more that he wants to say, but can’t express. 

‘That’s it,’ he says as he signs his name.

‘Aren’t you going to put a row of kisses?’  I ask.

‘That’s sissy,’ he replies.  Just the same he puts two crosses and sniffs hard.

Chapter Eight

Tony’s stopped coming to our place.  Perhaps he thinks we might suddenly up and leave like his father and Fred and Lori.  When he left his flat yesterday, I ran down the path after him and whispered that I’ll never leave him and that we’ll always be where we are now.  He mumbled something like “San Fairy Ann”.  I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s his way of saying he doesn’t care.  He does.  I know he does. 

I think another reason Tony doesn’t come is because Mrs Adddington’s health is getting worse and worse, and he’s trying to get as far away from her sickness as he can.  Sometimes he doesn’t come home from school until really late because he goes to his friend, Herbie’s place.  When he gets back, he opens and closes the front door quietly and I don’t hear his footsteps on the stairs, but I know when he’s entered their kitchen because I hear Angela shouting at him, demanding to know where he’s been.

‘Things can’t go on in the same way much longer.’  Mum tucks her chin into her chest in her prophetess kind of way.  ‘Mark my words, Dolly Addington’s heading for hospital.’

‘But what’ll happen to Tony and Angela?’ I ask, all at once becoming frightened.

‘The Lord knows.  They’ll be put into a home, I suppose.’

‘But can’t we do something?  Couldn’t Angela stay in my room, and Tony have our front room?  And why don’t you pop up and see Mrs Addington?’

‘Look here, girl, we’re respectable citizens and respectable citizens keep themselves to themselves, and don’t go poking their noses into other people’s business.’

‘But the Addingtons are desperate, and Tony’s frightened, I know he is.’

‘It doesn’t mean we have to look after every waif and stray in Blountmere Street.  Your father doesn’t hold with it,’  Mum pauses.  ‘Anyway, Dolly Addingtons’ not in hospital yet.  She’ll probably be as right as rain in a day or two.  She’ll just have to pull herself together.  She relied too much on the Stannards; that was her trouble.’  Mum pulls her shoulders back.  ‘She needs to learn to stand on her own two feet and pay her own way.’

‘How …’  But Mum has already swept out of the kitchen, leaving me with a dozen questions, such as how can Mrs Addington pay her own way, when there’s nothing to pay it with?‘

‘They took Dolly Addington into hospital this afternoon,’ Mum tells me when I get home from school.  She’s almost off-hand in the way she says it.  ‘What did I tell you?’ she continues.  ‘And we’ve had that Angela here asking if she and Tony can stay for a bit, but your father’s said no.  She was in a bit of a tizzy.  She said the authorities are going to put them away, but it won’t be until tomorrow, seeing as their lodger will be there tonight to keep an eye on them.’

All the time Mum’s talking, Dad sits in his armchair.  His gaze never wanders from his newspaper.

‘Why can’t we have them here?’  I demand of Dad, but he doesn’t answer.

‘I said, why can’t we have them?’  My voice is rising and Mum says, ‘Don’t talk to your father like that.’

‘It’ll probably only be for a few days.’  I drop my voice and try wheedling, ‘Please, Dad, please.’

There’s no movement from behind the newspaper and I want to tear it from Dad’s hands, but I know I daren’t.

‘I’m going to see Tony.’  I run into the passage to take my coat from the hook behind the door.  As I’m shrugging my arms into the sleeves, I remember Tony sauntering with Herbie after school to Herbie’s place, and that he probably won’t be home yet.  I could go round to Herbie’s, but that will give our secret friendship away.  Anyway, we’ve got until tomorrow to think of something.  I take my coat off and hang it back on the peg.

‘That’s a sensible girl,’ Mum says.  ‘Come and eat your tea and stop getting yourself into a state.  Some of those children’s homes are very nice.’

When I hear a commotion on the Addington’ stairs I think it’s Angela having her usual yelling fit.  There’s another voice.  It’s probably Miss Selska, the Addingtons’ new lodger, but then I hear a man speaking.  I unlock the front room door, dash in and peep through the curtains.  Mum joins me at the window.  A car is parked under the street light. ‘It’s probably the people from the home, come to make arrangements to pick the children up tomorrow,’ she says.

A shaking motion that starts in my stomach immediately fills my arms and legs and in a strange sort of way, my head.

‘We’ve got to stop them.’  I make for the door, but Mum holds me back. 

‘Wait ‘til those people have gone.  I don’t expect they’ll be long.  That Miss Selska might be able to do something.  If not, there’s sure to be someone hereabouts who will take them in for a couple of days.’

‘But what about us?’

‘You know what your father said.’

‘He can change his mind, can’t he?’  My all-over shaking is making my voice wobble, and the shouting from upstairs is getting louder.  I can hear banging, as if drawers are being opened and shut.  Angela screams and the woman raises her voice.  The stairs shudder and creak as what sounds like at least a dozen pairs of footsteps thunder down them.

Before Mum can stop me, I run to the front door and unfasten the catch.

Outside a woman is pushing Angela along the path towards the car.

‘Move!’ the woman commands, but Angela resists.  Then she puts her head down and bites the woman’s arm.

‘You bitch,’ the woman slaps Angela across the face.

As the scuffle continues, Tony walks behind with his head down.  Then, as he gets to the end of the path, he turns and begins to run.  He’s probably trying to get to Herbie’s place to ask them for help.  I expect Angela’s told him we don’t want them.

‘Hey, you young upstart.  Where d’you think you’re going?’  The man calls after him, but Tony is a blur as he heads for Whitely Square.

‘You come back here.’  The man begins to chase Tony, while he shouts over his shoulder to the woman to get into the car with Angela.

‘You stay where you are, young lady,’ Mum orders me.  ‘Don’t interfere in what isn’t our business.’

I take no notice and dash towards the car.  When I get to it, the woman and Angela are in the back and the woman has locked the door.  Angela is still screaming and the woman is practically sitting on her.

I bang on the window.  ‘Let her go.  Don’t take them away.’  I yell, but the woman takes no notice of me.  Suddenly, I’m aware of Mum and Miss Selska standing next to me on the pavement.  Miss Selska is crying and saying something in her German accent that sounds like, ‘It’s just like the pogroms.  Oh my God, just like the pogroms.’

‘I wonder where that boy’s gone to?’  Mum says.  ‘Running away’s not the answer.’

‘Wouldn’t you try and escape if they were going to put you away?’  I shout at her. 

I hope the man doesn’t catch up with Tony.  I hope Tony makes it to Herbie’s, and that they’re kinder to him than we’ve been.  Even as I’m sending up one garbled prayer after another that he won’t get caught, in the distance I see the man rounding the corner into Blountmere Street.  He has Tony by the arm.

I begin rushing towards them.  It isn’t until I’ve reached Old Boy Barkers that I’m close enough to talk to the man.  ‘Where are you taking them?  We’ll look after them,’ I say, not knowing how I’ll manage it.

‘These two little sods are coming with us.  Our orders are to take them to a couple of orphanages tonight and that’s where they’re going.’  The man is wheezing from his exertion in the sooty night air.

‘But what orphanage are you taking them to?’

‘That’s not for you to know.  Somewhere that’ll keep this young hooligan under control, you can be sure of that.’

‘I thought I could get Herbie’s family to take us in.’ Even though Tony is recovering his breath quicker than the man appears to be, he doesn’t seem to have the energy to struggle anymore.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say as I squeeze Tony’s free hand.

As we get closer to the car, I notice a piece of Angela’s dress is caught in the door.  Inside, she looks like a rag doll.

‘Ang!  Ang!’  Tony calls, but his voice seems to bounce back to us.

When we reach the car, the man calls to the woman to open the back door and pushes Tony in next to Angela.  I peer inside and see Angela throw herself on to Tony. 

‘Where are you taking them?’  I call into the car, but the man is already in the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

‘I’ll write,’ I shout.  ‘I’ll find out where they’ve taken you and I’ll write.’

Mum sidles next to me and puts her arm around me.  ‘They’ll soon be back.  Once they’ve sorted Mrs Addington out, those kids’ll be back here quicker than a wink.’

The next day, Mum takes me to visit Mrs Addington in hospital.  In Mum’s bag she’s packed a couple of oranges and apples, some peppermints, a couple of date slices and last week’s copy of the
Woman’s Weekly
.  I know she’s only going because she feels guilty. 

Inside the hospital, the smell of disinfectant is so strong it makes me cough, even more than the smutty atmosphere outside does.

Mrs Addington’s ward is at the end of a corridor that seems as if it’s going to go on forever and she’s in a bed tucked into a corner, as unnoticeable as she herself is.  She’s the colour of the clotted cream we ate on holiday in Devon.  Her head seems to be drowning in the pillows. She has a cradle over her legs that causes the counterpane on her bed to rise and flatten like a green volcano.

Even before she asks how Mrs Addington is, Mum begins unpacking her bag.

 ‘Now tell me,’ Mum says, bustling about.  Mum’s very good at bustling.  ‘Where have they taken those children of yours?  I imagine they’ve given you an address, so that you can write to them when you’re feeling a little better.  Paula’s brought her stationery set so she can write a few lines for you, if you don’t feel up to it yourself.’ 

Mrs Addington rubs a shaky hand across her eyes.  ‘Actually they haven’t given me any addresses.  I’ve asked the Hospital Almoner, but all she says is that Tony and Angela are in separate orphanages and that it’s best I don’t know where they are.  That way I won’t be tempted to get in touch with them.  The Almoner says it’ll only unsettle the children if they hear from me.’  She takes a choking sigh.

‘It sounds very harsh to me, but I suppose they know best.’  Mum places the
Woman’s Weekly
on the bedside cabinet next to Mrs Addington and gives the front page a couple of fond pats.

‘I don’t think they know best,’ I say, sounding bolder than I am.  ‘I think it would make Tony and Angela feel much better if they heard from you.’ 

Mrs Addington manages a weak smile.  ‘Of course, you’re right.  I’ll talk to the Almoner again.  Perhaps I’ve given in over some things too easily before.  This is something worth fighting for.’  A fight is the last thing Mrs Addington looks as if she needs.

Outside in the wintry South London Street, Mum says, ‘If you ask me, Dolly Addington’s not going to get out of that hospital too quickly by the looks of her.’  She sniffs.

‘When they were taken away, you said Mrs Addington wouldn’t be in hospital for long and that Tony and Angela would soon be home.’  Here’s another example of not being able to trust all Mum says.

‘I’m not a fortune teller.’

‘Then why do you act like one?’

Mum ignores me and continues, ‘I’m afraid you
have to face the fact, they could be away for a fair time.’

I hadn’t imagined Tony and Angela being away for good or at least a very long time.  I’d been convinced it was only going to be a temporary shift in their lives and consequently in mine.  Their presence in the upstairs flat has been an accompaniment to my life, like the music that’s played as a background to films.  Our flat doesn’t seem like home without the familiar sounds of Angela and Tony banging up and down the stairs, and their footsteps overhead causing our lights to swing as if they’ve been caught in a gale.  Now the only sound is the shudder of water pipes when Miss Selska turns on the tap.

Mum takes hold of my arm to cross the road, as if I can’t cross on my own.  ‘There’s no point in getting yourself upset.  It’s not as if there’s anything more we can do. Whatever happens, you can’t allow it to interfere with your school work.  After all, you’ve got your Eleven Plus examination coming up.  You don’t want to miss the chance of a place at a grammar school, now do you?’  Mum shifts her hand from my arm to my shoulder.  ‘I might not have been given the opportunity, but my daughter’s going to have it.’

The next time we visit Mrs Addington she’s looking better.  The cream colour of her face has faded to an off white.

‘You look more cheerful now you’ve had a letter from Angela, especially as the girl seems happy enough,’ Mum observes.

‘Yes, it’s a relief and especially good that she’s given me the address of the orphanage she’s in.  I’ve already written to her.  Would you mind posting it for me on your way home?’

‘No trouble at all.  We aim to please.  Anything we can do, we will.’  Mum says in her best “good turn” voice.

‘I’ll write to her, too,’ I add.

‘As long as it doesn’t interfere with your study,’ Mum jumps straight in.

I sigh.  I can’t spend every waking moment preparing for the Eleven Plus examination.  In any case, there isn’t that much to prepare for.  In the mock exam I’d achieved what Mum wanted and come top.  What else can I do?  Anyway, there are more important matters than exams. 

‘I wish they’d tell you where Tony is,’ I begin.

‘At least they’ve taken my letter to pass on to him.  It shouldn’t be long before he writes,’ Mrs Addington replies.

‘We have to be grateful for small mercies,’ Mum adds.

I’m sick of small mercies.  All my life I’ve had to be grateful for small mercies.  I want big ones, like Tony coming home.  Then I’ll be grateful.