Next door, Mabel Holdcroft glanced through the window and watched her nephew, Lenny, come up the garden path. She clicked her tongue. “Now what!” She hadn’t had a minute to herself all day. And now, just when she had got the twins out of her hair and settled down to a bit of knitting, more interruptions. She was hoping to have completed another full sequence of the complicated knitting pattern she was attempting before having to trot next door to pay homage to her father-in-law, Andrew.
Her husband George looked up from his newspaper. “What?”
“Our Lenny’s here.”
They heard the back door click open, and waited.
Lenny popped his head round the living room door. “Hi, Uncle George.” He gave Mabel a nod. “Jack and Terry ready?”
“They’ve already gone, lad. Said they wanted to get the best table – whatever that means. I reckon they’ll save you a seat.”
Lenny looked momentarily puzzled. Why hadn’t they waited for him? Then he remembered that both his cousins were sweet on Betty Weaver and probably wanted a seat at the front – all the better to watch her showing off her long, shapely legs. But it wouldn’t have hurt them to let him know they were going early to be sure of getting a front table. “How long’ve they been gone?”
“About ten minutes,” Mabel answered.
“Righty-oh. See you then.” Lenny turned to go.
“Oi! Did you find out what’s going on at your Uncle Barney’s?”
Lenny paused, hesitant, wondering what to say. “I think Aunt Evie’s poorly. Dad’s gone along to find out. But I don’t think Uncle Barney and Aunt Evie will be coming tonight. OK? See you.” And, for the second time that evening, he made good his escape.
George rattled his newspaper. “Jesus! It’s going to be really boring round there tonight. I don’t know why we couldn’t have opted to go with our Roy to the pictures. Bloody poker. Playing for pennies. Jesus!”
“I don’t like horror films – and don’t take the Lord’s name in vain! And I know your Roy’s not too fond of them either. He’s only going in the hope it’ll give Gabby a scare. Besides, we have to go. No knowing what’s going on if we’re not there. You have to keep in your Dad’s good books. He’s clocking on. Who’s to say how long he’s got left. And if he has got anything squirreled away, we don’t want to miss out when the time comes.”
Behind his newspaper George rolled his eyes and bit back his thoughts on Mabel’s conniving.
“There’ll be hell to pay if he leaves it all to Morris and Lizzy, you know.”
“Whatever he’s got, I don’t think it’ll be worth arguing about.”
“There you go again. You’re forgetting that that house is in your Dad’s name. When he dies – what’s going to happen?”
George chewed his bottom lip, trying to shut out Mabel’s prattling and concentrate on the horse racing page. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he said, “I can’t see as how Dad’ll leave it so our Morris and Lizzy end up out on the street. Like as not he’ll have left the house to them.”
“But that’s not fair! They should be made to share the value of it with the rest of us. I bet all he’s got to leave is that house. Why should Morris get it all? What about us, and Evie, and Roy? … What’s your Roy say about it?”
“I haven’t asked him. Dad isn’t dead yet, so can we just cross that bridge when we come to it? And aren’t you forgetting that Morris and Lizzy look after Dad. If he becomes really infirm, do you want to offer him a room round here?”
“Harrumph!” Mabel sat and fumed, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself.
Some ten minutes later, when the clock chimed the hour, she laid aside her knitting and told George that it was time to go next door. George’s face turned sour as he flung down the newspaper. “Jesus! Well we’re not staying late!”
*
“What’re we going to do tonight, Tommy?”
Tommy Borne shrugged undecidedly. Too young to go to the pub, and too old, as far as he was concerned, to go to the youth club, there was more to the running of this gang than he had first thought. They were all looking to him to come up with something more exciting than hanging about on the corner of the High Street all night. What he wouldn’t give to be out on a job with Alfie. Alfie was his elder brother and Tommy idolized him. Alfie worked mostly nights, though what he did, precisely, Tommy wasn’t sure. He only knew it had to be more exciting than messing about with these gormless drips.
He shrugged again. “We can always go and give Ma Myott some grief.”
There was a collective groan.
“What?”
“Well, it’s just that we did that Wednesday, Tommy. She isn’t much fun. And my bloody shoulder’s still hurting where she caught me with that cricket bat. She don’t frighten one little bit, that one. Anyway, she said she’d call the constable if we knocked on her door again.”
“It’s kid’s stuff! Knocking on doors and running off,” piped up another member of the gang.
“If 2Rosy Apple’s all you’ve got, I’m off to the youth club.”
Tommy let out an audible sigh. Then, suddenly brightening, he offered, “What if we go see if Cartwright’s put up that fag machine outside his shop yet. If we can get in it, we won’t have to buy any fags for months.”
“I don’t know about that, Tommy. Me dad said if I get in trouble again they’ll pack me off to reform school. My probation officer’s said the same.”
“We can look, can’t we? There’s no harm in just lookin’. They don’t lock you up for that. We don’t have to do anything. OK?”
There was a collective murmur of dissention.
“Please yourselves. I’m going to give it the once-over. You can come or stay – it’s all the same to me. Tommy moved off. After a few steps, he flung a furtive glance over his shoulder and then smirked when he saw the other four boys following in his footsteps – if a little reluctantly.