Dancing the Charleston, page 8
I wished he had a grave in the churchyard too so that I could feel close to him. I knew he was buried somewhere in France, with lots of other soldiers. I had a sudden astonishing thought. When I was older I would have enough money to take a ship to France and visit his grave. One thousand one hundred pounds plus interest! I could go anywhere I wanted.
I took my little china doll out of my treasure box and balanced her on the back of my hand. Then I steered her across the waves of my blue eiderdown, taking her to France, to Italy, all the way to America – to all the faraway lands in Miss Nelson’s atlas of the world.
‘Sail away, little Farthing,’ I said, and she waved her tiny china arm and slid all the way down the Niagara Falls of my leg.
She wore a wisp of a dress, just crumpled muslin, so as soon as Aunty had finished the four-letter monogram I begged her to make my doll a new purple silk party frock out of a scrap left over from Mr Benjamin’s pyjamas.
‘I’ve got too much to do, sewing all the children’s clothes,’ said Aunty. ‘I shouldn’t have spent all today sewing the silk pyjamas, but I wanted to have them ready for when Mr Benjamin next visits.’
‘Haven’t you got enough little clothes now to take them to one of the big department stores in London? Mr Benjamin said to try Harrods,’ I reminded her.
‘I’m not sure he was serious. Harrods is a tip-top department store,’ said Aunty, ‘and London is a very big city. It isn’t just a matter of getting the train. I’ll have to take an omnibus too, and it’s all so noisy and confusing, and I’ll be lugging the suitcase full of clothes and getting so flustered I’ll hardly be able to say my own name, let alone persuade the buyer of the children’s department to take my little garments. It’s making my heart flutter just thinking about it.’
‘I’ll come with you, Aunty,’ I said.
‘Don’t be silly, Mona. I’m not having you missing school.’
‘We could go on Saturday. Oh, please let’s. It will be such an adventure!’
‘I can’t afford the fare for me, let alone for you,’ said Aunty.
‘I can afford our fares,’ I said grandly. ‘We can go to the bank and draw out some of my money.’
‘I told you, we’re not touching a penny of it,’ she said.
‘You said we wouldn’t spend it unless there was a dire emergency. And it is, sort of,’ I said. ‘You need to sell the clothes and get orders for more.’
‘I’ll go to Hailbury and sell them there,’ said Aunty.
‘They won’t want quality stuff in Hailbury. Mr Benjamin said you’d be better off trying in London,’ I insisted.
‘Yes, well, it’s easy for Mr Benjamin to say that when all he has to do is call up his chauffeur and get driven wherever he wants,’ said Aunty.
‘We could ask him to take us in his car,’ I suggested.
‘Don’t be so silly, Mona!’
‘But he’s our friend now.’
‘Yes, but not so that we can ask him for any more favours! For goodness’ sake, child, we have to know our place,’ said Aunty.
That was the trouble. We didn’t seem to have any place in society. We weren’t villagers. We weren’t gentry. We didn’t have our own gentleman to look after us.
‘I wish we weren’t always the odd ones out,’ I said.
‘So do I,’ said Aunty. She kneaded her forehead, frowning.
‘Have you got a headache?’
‘It’s nothing, child,’ she said, but she looked very pale.
I ran to the kitchen, held the tea towel under the cold tap, and then wrung it out carefully.
‘Here, Aunty,’ I said, and I made her sit back in her chair while I stood behind her and pressed the cold towel to her forehead. ‘Is that nice?’
‘Yes. Lovely,’ Aunty murmured. ‘You’re a good girl, Mona. Bless you, dear.’
‘And we’ll go to London on Saturday, you and me?’ I begged. ‘I’ll run home from school quick as quick tomorrow, and we’ll go to see Mr Freeman at the bank in the village and take out the money for our fares.’
‘No, Mona!’
‘Yes, Aunty! Yes, yes, yes!’ I insisted.
I went on saying yes, emphasizing the last letter so that I hissed like a snake, and eventually Aunty gave in. She really needed to sell the clothes and she could see that Mr Benjamin’s idea made sense. She seemed scared of going to London though. It wasn’t just because it was a big city. She didn’t really like going out anywhere, not even down to Rook Green. She always sent me to do the shopping or run errands. After we’d been to the bank with the cheque she had to have a lie-down. She always thought people were staring at her, even when they barely gave her a second glance.
Poor old Aunty, I thought. I’d look after her when we went to London. I’d help her carry the case and we’d find our way to Harrods. If Aunty got tongue-tied, I’d speak up. We’d sell all those dinky little dresses and Aunty would be thrilled.
The next day, the minute we were let out of school I started running.
‘Hey, Mona, wait for me!’ Maggie called indignantly.
‘Well, get a move on. I’m in a hurry,’ I said.
‘Why? Where are you going?’ she demanded.
‘Somewhere,’ I said. I couldn’t tell her about going to the bank because I’d promised Aunty not to talk about my inheritance. And I didn’t really want to tell her any more, even though she was my best friend. She was starting to get on my nerves a bit.
‘Tell me!’
I held my nose and wiggled it in reply, indicating that she was being a nosy parker.
‘Don’t be horrid,’ said Maggie. She ran faster and caught hold of my arm. ‘Are you meeting up with Peter Robinson?’
‘No! Are you mad?’
‘Then are you seeing that fancy-pantsy Mr Benjamin?’
‘Don’t call him that!’
‘Well, he is. We all think he looks a right sissy in them clothes. I don’t know why you think he’s so wonderful.’
‘You just don’t understand fine clothes,’ I said, sniffing.
‘Oh, shut up, you swanky mare,’ said Maggie.
I had to stop running because I was out of breath, but I walked as quickly as I could. Maggie kept pace with me, but we didn’t say another word until we got to her cottage. Bertha was tethered to the doorknob, toddling barefoot through the grass. When she saw me she shouted happily and held up her arms.
‘No, sorry, Bertha, I’ve got to run home,’ I said.
‘Aren’t you even coming in for your bread and dripping?’ Maggie asked.
‘Not today,’ I told her.
Maggie flounced off, and went to pick Bertha up herself.
I shifted from one foot to the other, wondering if I should try to make up with her. Then I thought of spending Saturday in London, and ran on without even saying goodbye.
I was worried that Aunty would pretend she’d forgotten all about going to the bank. I was all prepared to drag her out of her workroom – but she was standing at the door waiting for me, wearing her coat and hat.
‘Wipe your face and get changed quick, dear,’ she said.
I did as I was told, putting on my hat and my little white gloves too. Visiting the bank was as solemn a thing as going to church. We walked back down into Rook Green, Aunty scarcely glancing to left and right to avoid making eye contact with anyone. If someone greeted her, she gave them a quick nod but walked rapidly past. Most village women stood and had a natter whenever they met, but not Aunty.
Old Molly was sitting in the doorway of her shop, her eyes still bright in her old wrinkled face. ‘Afternoon, Miss Watson,’ she said.
Aunty nodded.
‘Where are you two going then, all dressed up to the nines?’ Old Molly asked.
‘I’m on business,’ Aunty answered curtly, and tried to hustle me past.
Old Molly hooted with laughter. ‘On biz-niz! Who do you think you are, Miss High and Mighty?’
Aunty walked on, pretending she hadn’t heard.
‘You might talk with a plum in your mouth like gentry, but you’re no better than you ought to be – I know,’ said Old Molly, cackling.
Aunty flushed. ‘Hurry!’ she hissed at me, practically running. I had to take extra little skips to keep up with her.
‘What did Old Molly mean, Aunty?’ I asked.
‘I’ve no idea. She’s just a horrible, vulgar old woman,’ she said.
‘Why is she so nasty to you though?’
‘It’s just her nature,’ said Aunty. ‘I don’t want you going to her shop any more.’
‘But I get my library books from her!’
‘You’ve got your own books. Old Molly’s books are cheap and nasty and none too clean. I don’t want you catching a disease from those greasy pages. Now stop arguing!’
We hurried on down the street to the bank. I was looking forward to seeing Mr Freeman again. He had told me I was a lucky young lady and had shaken my hand as if I was a grown-up. But when we went into the cool green room and stood at the mahogany counter and asked the young lady for Mr Freeman, she shook her head.
‘I’m afraid you can’t, he’s at a meeting,’ she said.
‘Then we’ll wait,’ said Aunty.
‘No, dear, he’s away at head office, and won’t be back today.’
Aunty flinched. She hates anyone calling her dear. I don’t know why – they’re only being friendly. And I sensed she’d taken an instant dislike to this lady: her cheeks were very pink, and Aunty disapproves of rouge. She smelled of perfume too, a heavy, musky scent, not at all like Mr Benjamin’s heavenly cologne.
‘Then we will have to come back tomorrow,’ said Aunty.
‘We can’t, Aunty! It’s Saturday tomorrow,’ I cried.
‘And we’re not open anyway, not at the weekend. But Mr Freeman’s left me in charge. I’m fully trained. I’m sure I can help you, dear,’ said the lady.
Aunty’s smile tightened at the second dear. ‘I think we’ll wait to see Mr Freeman next week,’ she murmured.
‘Oh no!’ I said. ‘Please let’s take my money out now!’ I stood on tiptoe and peered over the counter at the lady. ‘My name is Mona Smith and I have my own account at this bank. Could I take two pounds out please?’
‘No, no, Mona. We can make do with one,’ Aunty protested.
‘Two,’ I insisted. ‘Just in case.’
‘Two whole pounds for a little girl like you?’ said the lady, raising her thin eyebrows.
‘Aunty and I are going to Harrods in London tomorrow!’ I explained.
‘Mona! No need to tell everyone our private affairs!’ Aunty said, looking mortified.
‘Oh, I say! Two whole pounds! That’s going to be a shopping trip and a half! You have to fill in a form for your money and then sign it. Write neatly, dear.’ She nodded at Aunty. ‘You have to sign too as she’s a minor.’
I was trembling with excitement so my signature was a little wobbly. I added a couple of fancy flourishes at the end to make it look more grown-up. I glanced at Aunty, wondering if she’d tell me off, but she was looking up at the ceiling, biting her lip, her own cheeks red though she hadn’t gone near a rouge pot in her life.
‘My, my!’ said the lady when she consulted the big red book and saw how much I had in my account. ‘You’re a lucky girl!’ When Mr Freeman had said exactly the same thing it had sounded pleasant, but when she said it I felt a little squirmy, and Aunty was clearly dying of embarrassment.
The lady went over to the cash box, counted out two pound notes and put them in an envelope. ‘There you are, dear,’ she said, handing it to me.
‘I’ll look after it for you, Mona,’ Aunty said faintly, putting the envelope in her bag.
‘Well, enjoy Harrods,’ said the lady. ‘You’ve certainly done all right for yourselves, haven’t you!’
Aunty took me by the hand and marched us out of the bank.
‘Why was that lady acting so weirdly, Aunty? Sort of nice and nasty all at the same time?’
‘Because she’s a sow,’ Aunty murmured.
‘What did you say?’ I said, stunned.
‘I didn’t say anything.’ She clasped her bag tight under her arm all the way home, as if thieves were about to dart out of the hedgerows to snatch it. When we got back we had a cup of tea, and then Aunty opened her bag and carefully unpeeled the envelope and laid out the two green notes as if she was dealing cards.
We stared at them in awe.
‘We needn’t go to London, you know,’ said Aunty. ‘We might do just as well in Hailbury. I’ve enough change in my purse to get us there and back. We don’t have to touch your money. We can take it back to the bank on Monday, and then you’ll have your full hundred pounds in your account.’
‘Mr Benjamin says you should go to Harrods. We have to try. And I want to go to London so much. Please let’s, Aunty,’ I begged.
‘I don’t know what to do for the best!’ she wailed. Then she stood up and went to the sideboard. She brought out the little bottle of medicinal brandy, poured a few drops into a clean teacup, and then put it to her lips and swallowed. She shuddered, and I wondered if she’d spit it straight out as it obviously tasted horrid. But she swigged the last dreg and then set the teacup down resolutely.
‘There!’ she said defiantly. ‘All right, then. We’ll go up to London first thing tomorrow.’
‘It’s like a ride at the Whit Fair!’
7
When I woke up on Saturday, I saw my little doll, Farthing, lying beside me on the pillow, wearing a beautiful purple party dress. She even had little gossamer wings stitched onto the back so she could pretend to be a fairy.
‘Oh, Aunty, you angel!’ I cried, making Farthing fly through the air.
Aunty must have been up half the night. She’d not only made Farthing’s fairy frock, she’d washed my white socks and my white gloves and my white knickers in a blue rinse, and now they looked like a soap-powder advertisement. She’d pressed all the creases out of my daisy dress, and even ironed my pink satin hair ribbons. She’d polished my shoes until they looked brand new, and hammered Blakeys into the worn soles and heels so that I sounded like a tap dancer when I slipped them on.
She’d polished her own shoes too, and sponged and ironed her clothes and turned up the hem of her best black frock a couple of inches, so that it was very nearly calf length!
‘Oh, I say, Aunty, you’re showing your legs!’ I said.
‘I don’t look vulgar, do I? I hate short skirts, but I was worried they’d think me dowdy in Harrods,’ she confessed.
‘How could they possibly? You’re always the smartest lady in the village. You knock spots off Mr George’s wife!’ I paused wickedly. ‘Of course, Barbara’s a different matter. She’s absolutely the queen of elegance.’
Aunty stared at me, astounded, and then burst out laughing. ‘You bad girl! You shouldn’t mock your betters,’ she said. ‘And she has a certain Bohemian style all of her own.’
‘Oh come on, Aunty. She looks like a scarecrow,’ I said.
‘You’re such a saucebox. I don’t know where you get it from,’ said Aunty.
‘Was Mother a saucebox too?’ I asked hopefully.
‘I dare say she had her moments. Now eat your breakfast quick – and tuck the tea towel into the neck of your dress just in case. I’ve made porridge to sustain us for the journey.’
Aunty’s porridge was usually a grim affair, a grey mess of watery oats, but this time she’d added milk and even allowed me a spoonful of syrup. I wanted to take my time, pouring a yellow M on top of my porridge and savouring every sweet mouthful, but Aunty ate hers standing up, urging me to hurry.
‘The bus goes from the market square at seven. We need to catch the ten-to-eight train, so I hope it isn’t late,’ said Aunty. ‘Wipe your mouth now, and then pay a visit. Heaven knows when we’ll next find a lavvy.’
I did as I was told, and then we walked down to the market square as smartly as we could, Aunty carrying the suitcase, me holding the carpet bag. Mine wasn’t really heavy – it just contained the surplus children’s clothes and a lot of tissue paper – so I felt free to tap a little dance in my reinforced shoes.
‘Stop that now! You’ll get them all dusty,’ Aunty remonstrated.
I walked sedately, but I took Farthing out of my pocket and made her swoop through the air, perching on pussy willow and swinging on catkins.
‘You’re such a funny kid,’ said Aunty, shaking her head at me. ‘You talk like a little old woman half the time, and yet you still play all your daft baby games.’
We were in the market square by five to seven. There was already a long queue at the bus stop. Aunty started worrying that we wouldn’t get onto the bus. As the church clock struck seven there was still no sign of it.
‘Oh Lord, what if it’s been held up somewhere? We’ll miss our train and it’s an hour till the next!’ said Aunty, and chewed at her bottom lip anxiously.
Then we heard the chug of the motor, and the green bus appeared round the corner. There were people in all the window seats, and Aunty shifted from one foot to the other in agony. However, we managed to squeeze on, although I had to sit on Aunty’s lap, with the case by our side and the bag clutched in my arms.
The driver fussed about the case, saying it was an obstruction, and insisted that it should be stowed in the cubbyhole.
‘Anyone could make off with it,’ Aunty argued, but he was adamant. ‘All right then – let’s get going. We’re late enough as it is,’ she snapped.
‘For pity’s sake, the church clock’s only just struck the hour. We arrived dead on time! You’re the one holding us up with all this extra luggage,’ said the driver, but he set off again.
Aunty peered at her pocket watch whenever people got on and off at each stop. ‘We’re going to miss the train, I just know it,’ she kept muttering.
‘Then we’ll get the next one,’ I said.
‘It’s a bad omen,’ said Aunty. ‘This whole journey is just a waste of money. Your money, Mona. I feel dreadful about it. Once we get to Hailbury we should turn round and go straight home. We’ll put the money back in your bank account on Monday – I can pay the bus fares out of my own money.’
