Lenny hurtled round the bend anxious to get back to his session with 1Charles Atlas. He was out of breath and slowed his pace to a fast walk as he crossed over the road. Seeing them all out front, he was about to bark out the bad news when he spotted the pest sauntering along in the opposite direction. He waved at his father and shouted, “He’s just coming now.” It was immediately obvious to him that Rayne had been messing about on Mullond’s Beach. But he wasn’t going to say anything; let someone else pick up on it. Be that as it may, he was a tad more than angry at having been seconded to go out and search for him just as he was getting into his stride with the chest expander. Besides which, even from this distance, he could see the relief flooding his mother’s face. And though he would never admit it, even to himself, he felt a little of that relief too.
Once she knew that Rayne was safe, Lizzy rolled her eyes heavenward, threw her husband Morris a look of intense irritation, then spun on her heel to go back into the house. Their evening meal would be at least a half-hour late now, she thought, clicking her tongue several times to show her exasperation and cover her relief.
Morris was standing at the top of the porch steps, leaning against a support post and not looking particularly angry, but his sigh of irritation masked the faint drumming in his chest, which instantly started to ease on exchanging a told-you-so glance with his father, Andrew. Andrew, the patriarch of the family, looked perfectly relaxed as he puffed on his pipe. But only moments before Lenny’s welcome cry, his gnarled old hands had been gripping the arms of a rickety garden chair, the fingers leeching to white and looking dreadfully pale against the peeling olive-green paint.
They each acknowledged Lenny with a short nod as he rushed past them and on into the house. They heard his feet clatter noisily on the stairs and swapped a shrewd smile, knowing that the sixteen-year-old was eager to resume his new pastime. Lenny was apparently labouring under the delusion that no one else knew about his efforts to inflate his muscles. This in itself was cause for great amusement in the family.
Rayne swung the gate closed behind him and picked his way up the garden path, playing his usual game of trying to avoid the cracks in the old paving stones. He reached the steps leading up to the porch and sat down on the bottom one. He was about to pass on Uncle Barney’s message but his open mouth jammed shut when his dad snapped, “And where d’you think you’ve been till now?”
Rayne twisted his head around and adopted an innocent look. “It’s not late.”
“You were s’pposed to come back right away. You know what your mother’s like. Lenny’s been out looking for you. Where were you?”
“Coming home!”
“Don’t be cheeky or you’ll be cleaning out that shed again. Better go and clean up. Your hands are filthy.”
Rayne pursed his lips and dragged himself to his feet. Catching the wink from his grandpa, he stifled a grin as he stomped past the two men. When he got to the doorway, he suddenly remembered the message he had to pass on. “Oh, Uncle Barney says sorry but he can’t come tonight.” He hesitated, on the verge of saying something about Aunt Evie, but then changed his mind. With a shrug of his shoulders he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
*
Rayne scooped up another spoonful of mashed potatoes but was prevented from transferring it to his plate when his mother called a halt. “No you don’t. You’ve got enough mash. More greens!”
He screwed up his face in distaste. But just to show willing he helped himself to another small portion of peas. Then, still eyeing the bowl of mashed potatoes, he waited patiently, hoping her attention would soon be diverted long enough for him to grab another serving. He wasn’t to know that he himself would create that very diversion. Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, the innocent words popped out of his mouth: “What’s a hor?”
While Rayne had been waiting on supper, he had picked his way through the Os in Grandpa’s dictionary, trying to put a measure of meaning to Evelyn’s ramblings. The only words he could find that sounded close to the particular one she had used were oar, ore and or, none of which made any sense within the context of what she had said. Then he had had a brainwave and looked through the aitches for anything sounding like hor. By the time Lizzy called everyone to the dinner table, his efforts to satisfy his curiosity were still hopelessly frustrated.
Rayne knew he had asked something significant when the clatter of cutlery stilled and everyone stared at him. Then Lenny suddenly started sniggering.
“Shut up!” Morris snapped at Lenny. Then, turning to Rayne, he asked, Where did you hear that?”
“Aunt Evie. She said it to me, this afternoon. She said ‘I’m a hor’. And she said a lot of other funny stuff as well. She looked a bit offside. Er, a bad head, I think. Something like that, anyway,” he ended lamely as everyone continued to gape at him.
“So that’s it then,” murmured Lizzy, almost to herself. Turning to Morris, she said, “I thought something was amiss when Franny mentioned she hadn’t turned up for her colour. I almost called in on Tuesday. Everyone knows she never misses getting her roots done. So, she’s off again.” Lizzy jerked her head indicatively. “Poor Barney. Even so, you’d think he’d let us know. Then again, he’s probably hoping it’s just a bit of a blip. He must be trying to cope by himself. You’d better nip down and find out what’s what.”
“He’s your brother.”
“And Evelyn’s your sister,” Lizzy shot back. “I’ve been on me feet all day. It wouldn’t hurt you to pop in while I’m clearing up after dinner. There’ll be time before your card game. Anyway, this is more important than poker.”
There was an unmistakable note of anger in Lizzy’s tone. Looking worried, she absently studied the tablecloth. Rayne seized the moment to help himself to more mash.
*
Rayne was sitting crossed-legged on his bed watching Lenny posing in front of the dressing-table mirror. Lenny stretched his arm across his body, grasped his wrist and thrust out his chest. Puzzled, Rayne absently scratched his head. “What’re you doing?”
Irritated, Lenny pursed his lips and snatched up his shirt. “Nothing!” he replied, after an angry pause. “It’s about time I had a room of my own.”
“If you’re thinking about Vinney’s room, I’d forget it. Mam treats it like church. I heard Grandpa say so.”
They were quiet for a while as Lenny finished dressing. Then: “Lenny, what’s a hor? I never got to find out.”
“It’s not hor, it’s whore.” Lenny spelt it out for him, between gentle dabs of Valderma on his spotty face.
Rayne was bemused – no wonder he hadn’t been able to find it in the dictionary. “Right. But what does it mean?”
Buttoning his shirt, Lenny paused, wondering how best to put it. “Well, you know that flashy woman in Milkway Lane? You know, Elsie Smythe, bright red hair and too much lipstick, always wears those very low cut blouses, showing off her big … er, big chest. She’s always parading herself and, er … going off with … well, going off. Anyway, she’s a whore.” Lenny threw Rayne a look over his shoulder and could see what was coming. He grabbed his jacket and bolted through the door, calling “Bye” on the way. He knew better than to stick around for the supplementaries.
*
Lizzy saw a streak of Brylcreem flash past the open kitchen door. “Leonard! You keep away from that no good Teddy boy gang, especially Tommy Borne, you hear?”
Lenny pulled up just two feet short of his escape exit, grimaced and rolled his eyes. But he answered sweetly. “Yes, Mam.”
“And if that ridiculous sausage on your forehead gets any bigger, I’ll take the gardening shears to it, you hear?”
“Yes, Mam.”
“All right. Off you go then. And watch your time.”
“Yes, Mam.” Then he rapidly escaped.