The Way Ahead (17 page)

Someone tapped lightly on the bedroom door.

‘Come in,’ said Chinese Lady.

The door opened and in came Phoebe, bringing her beguiling prettiness with her. She wore a blue dress common to the girl pupils of the local nursery school.

‘Grandma?’ She whispered the word. ‘Mummy told me and Paula about Grandpa when she fetched us from school. We’ve just come in. Is he all right?’

Chinese Lady was touched. There she was, Phoebe, the little girl who, orphaned and sad, had been cared for by Sammy and Susie, and adopted by them two years ago to become Phoebe Adams, a child happy at last. She had not suffered a single accident in bed since the night Susie and Sammy told her they were her mum and dad.

‘He’s sleeping, pet,’ said Chinese Lady, and Phoebe ventured to the bedside to look down at the sleeping man.

‘I like Grandpa, don’t I?’ she whispered. ‘He’s nice. Grandma, I’m awful sorry he’s not very well. Still, he’ll be better soon. Mummy and Paula’s
coming
up in a minute to see him, and Auntie Lizzy too.’

‘Oh, your Aunt Lizzy’s arrived, has she?’ said Chinese Lady. She had phoned daughter Lizzy earlier.

‘Yes, she’s come to see Grandpa,’ said Phoebe, still whispering. ‘And Daddy, well, I fink he’s sure to come and see him when he gets home. Will Uncle Boots come and see him too?’

Bless the child, thought Chinese Lady. She hadn’t seen a lot of Boots, but he’d quickly become a likeable uncle to her.

‘You remember your Uncle Boots, Phoebe?’

‘Yes, I liked him lots, didn’t I?’

Boots, of course, had made a great fuss of her, and she had laughed and giggled her way into his affections.

‘He can’t come to see Grandpa just yet, Phoebe, he’s a soldier and he’s having to go overseas.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Phoebe. ‘Still, when he does come, Grandpa will be better.’

‘We hope so,’ said Chinese Lady, and Susie and Lizzy came in then, with nine-year-old Paula – Paula tiptoeing so as not to disturb Grandpa Finch.

‘Grandma, is Grandpa ill?’ she asked.

‘He’s tired,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘How is he, Mum?’ asked Susie.

‘Yes, how is he?’ asked Lizzy, very attached to her stepfather. Years and years ago, in her early teens, she’d thought she’d like him to take the place of her dead father.

‘He’s been a bit restless, but he’s sleeping nice and quiet now,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Mum, it can’t be serious, or the doctor would have had him taken to a hospital,’ said Susie. She owned an undiminished fairness and was slender compared to her sister-in-law Lizzy, who still retained a fulsome Edwardian figure. Happily so. Lizzy, in her forty-sixth year, believed women should be well-endowed. Her husband Ned concurred. Well, he’d been close to Lizzy’s generous endowment for years, and always found it very comforting.

‘He does look pale, Mum,’ she said, regarding the sleeping man with concern.

‘I hope he’ll be sitting up and looking fairly perky by the time Sammy gets home,’ said Susie with forced cheerfulness. She and Sammy now had their eldest son, Daniel, living here with them, much to the pleasure of Paula and Phoebe, who played rousing, racketing games with him. That pleased Chinese Lady. She liked the noisy sounds of family life.

‘Yes, Daddy won’t like seeing him not very well,’ said Paula.

‘Oh, he’ll be better soon,’ said Phoebe.

‘Well, we all hope so, don’t we, lovey?’ said Lizzy, wishing she had small ones like Phoebe and Paula to mother. Little moments of that kind went out of a woman’s life when her children became adults. ‘We hope that very much.’

‘Oh, yes, Grandpa’s the bestest,’ said Phoebe.

‘Darling, we’ll tell him that,’ said Susie. She loved her adopted daughter, and found her endearingly quaint sometimes.

‘Phoebe, you sure he’ll be better soon?’ said Paula.

‘Yes, I fink so,’ said Phoebe a little shyly.

‘It’s instinct, I expect,’ said Lizzy.

‘Well, I’m sure it’s a nice sound instinct,’ said Chinese Lady, who believed, anyway, that the Lord bestowed exceptionally sound instincts on women, much more so than on men. Which was why women were more sensible than men. If the Government had taken notice of her own instincts, they’d have arranged to do something about Hitler long before he went to war.

Humane though she was, Chinese Lady meant something nasty.

Edwin Finch slept on, soundly. Perhaps his own instincts told him that the people around him loved him.

Saturday morning

MRS RACHEL GOODMAN PICKED
up a letter from her mat on her way out of her Brixton house in company with her younger daughter, Leah. They both worked for Sammy Adams. Rachel read the letter on the bus taking them to his offices at Camberwell Green. It was from Leah’s Gentile boy-friend, Aircraftman Edward Somers, whose parents were old and close friends of Rachel herself. In the letter, Edward put down in clear terms his feelings for Leah and went on to say that when he was twenty-one he intended to ask her to marry him. By then, he hoped the war would be over, and that Leah would accept his proposal. If so, he also hoped that Mrs Goodman and Leah’s grandfather would give the marriage their approval. He was writing in advance, he said, in order to allow them plenty of time to think about this. You can be sure, he said, that your combined blessings would be very welcome. He finished by mentioning he had
spoken
to Leah about his intentions, and that she had been helpful and encouraging.

Rachel sighed.

Leah, glancing at her, murmured, ‘Mama?’

Rachel came to and said, ‘It’s from Edward, but we can’t discuss it now. We’ll wait until this evening.’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Leah, but experienced little quivers.

Rachel, placing the letter back in its envelope, said, ‘Did you know Edward was going to write to me?’

‘Yes, Mama.’

‘I see,’ said Rachel, and thought about the implications, the uniting of Jewish and Christian families. And of all of the latter, Leah was choosing the Somers family, a branch of the Adams’, of whom so many members had been Rachel’s warm and steadfast friends for many years. Her reservations about the marriage concerned the possibility that Leah would gradually absorb all the tenets of the Adams’ religion and finally adopt them herself. Rachel felt, however, that such reservations would probably not cause her to withhold her consent and approval. She was far too attached to Lizzy and Ned, and all the others, to feel any real dismay. But her father, while not strictly orthodox, was devoted to his faith and she knew he would prefer both his granddaughters to marry their own kind. He would almost certainly mention her late husband Benjamin, and suggest Benjamin would not have been happy.

Later, Rachel spoke to Sammy in his office about Leah and Edward.

‘Eh?’ said Sammy.

‘Weren’t you listening?’ asked Rachel, currently eschewing her meat ration and all potatoes in favour of apples and salads. In her forty-second year, the fulsome nature of her figure was threatening to become expansive. I should want to look like a barrel wearing a hat, she asked herself, not likely.

‘Did you say my well-educated nephew Edward is going to ask Leah to marry him?’ enquired Sammy, still holding on to his blue-eyed electricity.

‘Yes, Sammy.’

‘Well, upon me soul, Rachel,’ said Sammy, ‘if that’s what his good education has done for him, I extend me congratulations to his educators.’

‘Sammy, be serious,’ said Rachel.

‘I am serious,’ said Sammy.

‘You’re in favour of having Jewish relatives?’ said Rachel.

‘I’m in favour of having your family as relatives,’ said Sammy. ‘In fact, I’d be tickled. If I’m not mistaken, Rachel me old friend, we’ve talked about Edward and Leah before, and I believe I told you, you can’t stop a clock from ticking unless you jump on it with both plates of meat. If Edward and Leah want to get married, let it happen.’

‘Will Lizzy and Ned think like that?’ asked Rachel.

‘Lizzy’s a bit old-fashioned,’ said Sammy, ‘but if she likes Leah enough, she won’t throw a fit. Ned won’t worry either way. Ned’s an old soldier, and
old
soldiers like peace and quiet. Besides, they’ve already told me they won’t mind. But what about Isaac?’

Isaac was Rachel’s father. Isaac Moses.

‘He’ll put up a fight,’ said Rachel.

‘Well, I know he’s of the faith, and has been all his life,’ said Sammy, ‘but he won’t fight with the gloves off, will he?’

‘No, he won’t make loud noises or bang a drum, Sammy,’ said Rachel, ‘but I know he’d prefer Leah to marry into the faith. I think he’ll say so.’

‘How exactly do you feel?’ asked Sammy.

‘I feel, Sammy, that I want Leah to be happy,’ said Rachel.

‘She’s a sweet girl, and deserves some happy-ever-after,’ said Sammy. ‘Wartime’s not much fun for girls her age. They’re stuck in no man’s land, if I might coin that as suitable wordage. They’re not old enough to fit themselves into a uniform, and nor are they ready to slip into something silky and come-on.’

‘Sammy, could you fascinate me by explaining something silky and come-on?’ asked Rachel.

‘Yes, the kind of frock Mattie Harry wore as a spy for Kaiser Bill,’ said Sammy, ‘and which sent French generals cross-eyed on account of there not being much of it.’

‘God help me if you give me hysterics at my age,’ said Rachel. ‘You’re talking about girls like Leah wanting to be old enough to be a Mata Hari.’

‘Well, we’ve all had dreams,’ said Sammy. ‘I just suppose girls like Leah don’t like having to wait while old-enough females are swanking around in
uniforms
. Listen, me remarkable friend, I’ll consider myself a fortunate bloke if Leah ends up as a niece of mine, and that’s my last word on this particular subject.’

Rachel smiled.

‘You’re a good man, Sammy,’ she said.

‘Pardon?’ said Sammy.

‘I should say you aren’t?’ said Rachel.

‘Rachel, you ought to know by now I’ve been a hard-hearted and armour-plated businessman for years,’ said Sammy. ‘I’ve had to be, and it’s – Rachel, is that you laughing?’

‘I should be crying, Sammy?’

‘No, but laughing?’ said Sammy.

‘Yes, I think you said you were hard-hearted and armour-plated, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t mind people knowing it,’ said Sammy.

‘Sammy, you’re priceless,’ said Rachel.

‘Granted,’ said Sammy. ‘Shall we do some work?’

‘Yes, Sammy, and thank you,’ said Rachel softly.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Sammy, whose attitude to many things was entirely easy-going unless they constituted a threat to his business. It was then that he put on his armour-plating.

Saturday afternoon

Mr Finch was much better, and Sammy and Susie’s eldest son, Daniel, had helped to buck him up.

Seventeen-year-old Daniel, named after his late grandfather, Chinese Lady’s first husband, was perky, self-confident and voluble. He had his mum’s blue eyes, his dad’s dark brown hair, and the
lanky
legs of the family’s males. Like his cousin Edward, he was on the thin side.

Working at the Adams garment factory in the Belsize Park area, he had been asked by his Uncle Tommy to pop down to the local ironmonger by Camberwell Green this afternoon for a supply of sewing-machine needles. The factory was running short, and an expected delivery from the suppliers hadn’t yet arrived. Would Daniel get some and bring them in on Monday? Certainly, said Daniel.

After he’d arrived home from work and eaten lunch, he went down to the shop in Camberwell New Road. He was now looking at a selection of nails.

‘Look, Mister Broom, I said sewing-machine needles, not nails,’ he expostulated to the ironmonger, whose shop he admired. What a place. It was a cavern of treasures with its multitude of shelves, cupboards, drawers and boxes full of this, that and the other. As a young man with a leaning towards the fundamentals of turning wheels, he was in tune with ironmongery that related to the mechanical. Things like cogs, springs, ball-bearings, spanners and so on.

‘Now now, hold yer horses,’ said Mr Broom, aged but not simple. He had grey sideboards, thinning grey hair, tea-stained whiskers and gaps in his teeth. ‘I pride meself I can hear as good as the next man, but I ain’t able to hear all that good when me customers mumble and gargle. Nails, that’s what I thought you said. Are you sucking a gobstopper?’

‘Give over,’ said Daniel, looking pained. ‘I grew out of gobstoppers when I was ten, didn’t I? Besides,
the
war’s taken them out of sweetshop jars. Come on, Mister Broom, sewing-machine needles, if you please. I’ve been requested by the management to get a handful from you and take them in on Monday. The factory’s still waiting for its ordered supply. That’s the war again. I tell you, Mister Broom, I’ve never been in a war like this before, you can’t even get stick-on rubber soles for footwear. That’s boots and shoes, y’know.’

‘I’m obliged for the information,’ said Mr Broom, a pencil stuck behind his right ear, and an old brown shop coat draping his stringy but enduring body. ‘And regarding orders for needles, might Hi be so bold as to say I notice you don’t place orders with me? It’s a pleasure for me, is it, to have you bounce into me shop once a year just for a handful of minor odds and ends?’

‘If you’ll excuse me saying so, Mister Broom, I don’t happen to have been working at the factory for a year, just a few months,’ said Daniel. ‘But I’d like to point out that in those few months, I’ve come to give you some personal custom at least six times.’

‘And ain’t I bowed to you each time, Yer Worship?’ said Mr Broom. It was always a lively and enjoyable set-to whenever Daniel Adams appeared in his shop. ‘Now, sewing-machine needles, is it? Could you speak up in the affirmative, like?’

‘Certainly,’ said Daniel. ‘Sewing-machine needles!’ he shouted, but with a grin on his face.

‘That’s it, you young rip, wake the dead,’ said Mr Broom, and his lined brow darkened. ‘There’s been a lot of that about these last four years, dead and
dying
. Still, it’s not my doing, it’s them German hooligans. Time they was all put under the ground. They’ll complain, of course, like they did after the last war. Can’t stand being beat. Now let’s see.’ He turned, pulled open a drawer, produced three tobacco tins, placed them on the counter and released the lids. Each tin was full of gleaming steel needles. ‘What’s your pick, young man?’