Memories of You

Joe woke to the echo of the question that Ginger had asked him in the middle of the night. But this time there was a hint of menace in the voice. He opened his eyes and sat up quickly to find Tod Walker standing over Danny’s bed.

‘Stands to reason,’ he said. ‘Got to know who I’m talking to. And in this case I want to know who it was who took my piece of cake. But whatever your name is,’ he turned to stare at Joe, ‘I’m guessing it was you.’

‘Yes, I reckon this one,’ he pointed a thumb over his shoulder, ‘wouldn’t have dared take that last piece of cake. Not when I said it was mine.’

‘Is that what this is about? A flipping bit of cake, you big greedy baby? Now go away and leave my brother and me alone.’

Joe had been unable to conceal his scorn. He was aware of an air of shock: it was as if everyone had breathed in simultaneously, leaving the dormitory airless. Then the tension eased and somebody giggled, and another boy laughed out loud. Tod Walker, his eyes blazing in his pasty face, turned round furiously and surveyed the watching boys. They fell silent. Someone coughed nervously. No one, not even Ginger, could look Tod in the eyes.

One by one the boys turned away and began to get dressed and make their beds. Tod Walker stood glowering for a moment, fists clenched, then turned to Joe and said, ‘Think you’re clever, don’t you? Well, you’re not. Just wait and see.’

Joe’s fists were clenched as he watched Tod walk away. Danny got out of bed and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘No harm done.’

Joe turned to look at his more gentle brother. He doubted that very much, but he didn’t want to undermine Danny’s confidence by saying so. ‘Of course you can.’ He forced a grin. ‘Now let’s get dressed and get these beds made, then we can see what they serve up for breakfast here.’

Joe watched the others surreptitiously and saw how neatly they made the beds. Danny and he had never made their bed at home. They had simply pulled down the covers to air the sheets and someone – their mother or Helen – tidied their room and made the bed for them.

Ginger took over and soon had Joe’s bed looking neat and tidy. Then he turned to help Danny but was surprised to find that Joe’s brother had already finished.

All the while they had been talking Joe was aware that they were being watched. And now a group of boys hurried down the dormitory towards them, seized the bed covers on his and Danny’s bed and pulled them off, throwing them to the floor.

The lads ran off laughing, then Tod Walker strolled towards them. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to do that all over again.’

Tod raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? That’s what you think? Well, you’ll just have to find out how pathetic I am, won’t you? Now clear off, Ginger. Leave your new friends to sort this out themselves.’

Tod laughed and followed him out of the dormitory. At the door he turned and said, ‘You’d better not take too long about it. Those who are late for breakfast don’t get any.’

Joe was so angry that he was all fingers and thumbs as his mother used to say, and it was Danny who made both beds. ‘Don’t let him get to you,’ he said. ‘That’s just what he wants.’

With the beds made they hurried along the landing to the stairs and as they went down Joe was relieved to see that the orderly queue of boys was still filing into the dining room. They were the last in and when they took the only two seats remaining they found that Tod Walker was sitting directly opposite. Joe was pretty sure that Tod had arranged that somehow but it made him all the more determined that he wouldn’t get the better of him.

When Elsie woke up she stretched an arm across the bed and was surprised to find that she was alone. Helen must have got up early to help with the breakfast, she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep but soon a gentle crackling sound began to puzzle her. It was the sound of coals burning in the grate. She frowned. They had never had a fire in their bedroom. And during the bitter winter months, even with Helen to hold her close, she had always felt cold.

Now she was warm, warm as toast, and the bedclothes didn’t just smell clean as they did at home, they smelled of flowers as well. For of course she wasn’t at home with Helen and her brothers. The beautiful lady, Mrs Partington, had brought her here and as far as Elsie could understand it she wanted her to stay here. Forever.

‘Oh, darling, did I frighten you? I came in quietly so that I wouldn’t disturb you. But now that you’re awake, shall we have breakfast together? I’ll ring for Susan. Now just this once I’m going to help you get dressed.’

‘Of course you can, Elise, but Susan will help you in future. That’s the way we do things. And this morning I want to help you myself. I want to dress you in your nice new clothes. First of all put on this sweet little dressing gown while we go along to the bathroom.’

By the time they came back from the bathroom a small table had been placed before the fire and Susan had just finished laying out the breakfast.

Elsie was embarrassed. She would have liked to have told Mrs Partington that she already knew how to say please and thank you, that her mother had always insisted on proper manners and that it was her own fault that she hadn’t remembered them this morning, but Mrs Partington had turned her attention to the table.

‘Very good, Susan,’ she said. ‘Just bring a pot of coffee for me. Now, Elise, keep your dressing gown on while you eat your breakfast, we don’t want everything to go cold, especially the milk. I used to hate that when I was a little girl.’

‘No, sweetheart, I meant I hated the skin that formed on the top if you left the milk too long. Now come along, let’s enjoy our first morning here together.’

While Elsie started on her breakfast Susan returned with a pot of coffee for Mrs Partington. She was followed into the room by Mr Partington.

‘Oh, Hugh, don’t be peevish,’ Mrs Partington said. ‘You often breakfast alone simply because you insist on getting up at such an unearthly hour to get to the office.’

‘That’s right. Well, this morning I thought I would take breakfast with Elise, here by the fire. It’s nice and cosy.’

‘Hugh!’ Mrs Partington sounded shocked. ‘Pas devant! You must not talk like that. I do not regard Elise as a toy. I regard her as a daughter.’

‘A very good one, thank you. A pair of Craster kippers on the bone, nice and smoky, and with a couple of poached eggs on top.’

‘Well, why don’t I ring for Susan and get her to bring you a cup and a fresh pot of coffee. We can sit here together like a proper little family.’

Elsie had listened wide-eyed, fascinated by the way they talked. They called each other my love, my darling and sweetheart and behaved almost as though they were children rather than proper grown-up people.

Once Susan had brought the coffee for Mr Partington they seemed to forget about her. Mrs Partington began to tease her husband about the time he spent at somewhere called the office. ‘Honestly, Hugh, dawn till dusk every day.’

‘A slight exaggeration, Selma, and in any case I only do it for you, to make sure that we can afford anything your heart desires.’

His wife smiled but Elsie thought she was just a little bit cross when she replied. ‘I wish you wouldn’t think of me as a complete fool,’ she said. ‘I do have a brain in my head and believe it or not I actually read the stuffy newspapers that you have delivered.’

‘No, I don’t think of you as a fool, Selma. It is I who am the fool for not wishing to see you as you are. I like the illusion of a dear little wife to be protected from the hurly-burly of the world.’

‘Oh, you can protect me all you like. I don’t mind that. Just remember now and then that I’m a grown-up, not a sweet little child-wife.’

Elsie was beginning to get bored. She had drunk her milk and eaten her egg and all the toast soldiers. It had been a good breakfast but she realized she was still hungry. She wondered if she was allowed to ring for Susan and ask for more. There was a bell pull at the side of the fireplace. She was staring at it when Mrs Partington suddenly noticed that all the plates were empty.

‘Oh, what a good little girl,’ she said. ‘To eat up all her breakfast like that. Would you like some more toast, Elise? And perhaps some apricot preserve.’

Elsie wasn’t sure what apricot preserve was but she guessed it would be something like marmalade. And no doubt the toast would be hot and spread with butter. They had rarely had butter on their toast at home although her mother sometimes mixed some in with the margarine. But for breakfast most mornings they had mostly had bread and dripping or porridge made with water and just a little milk to pour on and cool it down.

Mrs Partington raised her eyebrows and laughed. ‘Of course you may, my pet. Isn’t she just too sweet, Hugh? Have you time for another pot of coffee?’

Elsie stared at them but they were looking at each other in the sort of way her brother Joe would have called soppy. For the moment she was excluded and she wasn’t sure if she liked that. Mrs Partington was so beautiful and so kind and she had brought her here to this lovely house where she was to live forever and ever and it seemed that she was to be their daughter.

She didn’t find that strange. After all she had no mother now and she couldn’t remember their father at all. And everybody should have a mother and father, shouldn’t they? She wondered briefly if her brothers would find a new father and mother. Surely they would want to have the same ones. And Helen. What about Helen? Perhaps not. After all, she was nearly grown up and Elsie wasn’t sure if grown-ups needed parents the way children did.

She tucked into the toast and apricot preserve. She decided it was delicious. And Susan had brought some more hot milk. The milk was all right but she wondered if she would be allowed to have coffee. Her mother had sometimes made what she called a coffee dash by adding something from a bottle to a cup of warm milk. The bottle had a label showing two men sitting by a camp fire drinking coffee. One was dressed in a kilt so he must be Scottish and the other had a funny cloth wrapped round his head. Joe had told her that this was a turban and the men were soldiers and this was what soldiers drank to keep their strength up.

Helen had laughed at this. ‘That’s what they want you to think, Joe,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t be fooled by the advertising.’

That conversation had been above Elsie’s head but she remembered it fondly and she wondered if the coffee that Mr and Mrs Partington had would taste just as delicious. Now they were talking about someone called Miss Chambers and someone else called Miss Barton. Apparently these two ladies were coming today and Mrs Partington was going to interview them – whatever that meant.

She was just spreading apricot preserve on the last piece of toast when she realized they had stopped talking. She looked up to find them smiling at her.

For a moment Elsie was alarmed. She remembered that Mr Partington had not seemed as keen to have her here as his wife had been. Was this going to be some sort of test and if she didn’t give the right answers she would have to leave?

When he had gone Mrs Partington sat down again and poured herself the last of the coffee. She took a sip and then leaned forward. ‘We’ve started well, haven’t we, Elise?’

‘And you do understand that I want you to think of yourself as Elise from now on? Elise Partington sounds much better than Elsie Partington, doesn’t it?’

‘There’s no suppose about it. Take my word for it, it does.’ In saying this Mrs Partington revealed that quick flash of impatience that Elsie had noticed before and which had so worried her. She stared down at her empty plate on the table and wondered how she could make Mrs Partington smile again.

Mrs Partington’s smile returned and she leaned forward. ‘You are going to live here as our little girl. My husband and I already think of you as our daughter. What do you think you should call me?’

Elsie hesitated. When her real mother had been alive she had called her Mam or Ma but somehow that didn’t seem right for Mrs Partington. And then something stirred in her memory, something from the storybooks that Helen had read to her. Books about children who lived in big houses and whose parents had servants just like the Partingtons did. Her face cleared.

The following week Helen was having breakfast with Eva. They were talking quietly because Aunt Jane had scolded them, saying their morning chatter carried all the way upstairs and woke her up too soon.

‘There can’t be that many with a telephone, and in any case from the sounds of it all you’ll hev to do is look out for the grandest address in town.’

Helen and Eva sat companionably at the table in the kitchen. This morning Eva had made porridge and had livened it up with a spoonful of black treacle. In the short while Helen had been at her aunt’s house the two girls had become friends. Well, almost friends, Helen thought. They could be chatting quite happily about nothing in particular when suddenly Eva would close her mouth, thin her lips and go silent.

After a while Helen realized this usually occurred after one of Eva’s regular tirades about ‘the missus’. She remembers I am her niece, Helen thought, but surely she can’t think I am cut from the same cloth. However, this morning her aunt’s maid was in a friendly mood.

‘Get away with you! But now that you mention it I don’t think what you propose to do is at all sensible. Or right for that matter.’

‘Lissen to me. Your little sister has been taken in by very rich people. Her life is going to be very different from yours and mine. And you said yourself that she seemed to take to Mrs Partington when she came to get her.’

‘Nor should you. For once I agree with your aunt. It would only upset little Elsie if you suddenly reminded her of things she can’t have any more.’

‘Your mam and you and your brothers all together in your snug little house. The bairn is young enough to let those memories fade.’

‘Can’t you see that’s cruel? I’m not saying your little sister will forget everything entirely. She hev happy memories that she’ll bring out and hev a look at now and then. But meanwhile if you really love her you’ll let her get on with her new life.’

Helen stared at Eva. The girl’s homely young face seemed to take on the aspect of a kindly old woman. ‘You’re very wise, Eva,’ she said.

‘Aye, I’m a pupil from the school of life, me. Now drink up your tea and haddaway. You divven’t want to be late for school, do you?’

‘What do you mean, “No”? Surely after all that’s been said you don’t still plan to take it to your sister, do you?’

‘Mebbe she did at first – until she got used to all the new dolls she’ll hev now. And hevn’t you listened to a single word I’ve said? For God’s sake let it be, Helen, and let the bairn get on with her new life.’

Eva rose abruptly and clattered the dirty dishes into the sink. Helen stuffed Maisie into her school satchel and slipping on her coat she left without another word. She was sorry that she and Eva were at odds with each other, and on the way to school she went over everything they had talked about. She thought about it again all morning at school and twice was scolded for being inattentive. By the time lunchtime came she had almost made her mind up but she had to be sure. And there was only one way of achieving that.

Instead of staying in the café for lunch, Helen bought a sandwich to take out and hurried along to the nearest telephone box to consult the directory. Eva had been right; there weren’t many Partingtons with telephones. The two who looked the most likely had the initials E and H. They didn’t live very far from each other and if she dashed she would just have time to at least look at the houses before hurrying back to school.

Not much later she found herself lurking in the gravelled driveway of a house opposite what surely must be the grandest house in Newcastle. Set a little way back from the road, surrounded by gardens that looked more like a municipal park, the Partington residence was more country mansion than townhouse.

The first Partington address she had passed had been grand enough – a tall terraced house with steps leading up to the front door and another set leading down to an area below the level of the pavement where no doubt the servants’ entrance was. Helen had stopped briefly to look at it and then hurried on. The grand terrace gave way to large villas with highly cultivated gardens and finally she had arrived at Redebank, the address listed in the phone directory as being that of H. Partington.

But what should she do? March up to the door and ask to see Mrs Partington? Then ask her to give Elsie her doll? Her aunt had told her that on no account must she do that. Helen remembered her aunt’s anger when she had asked if she could have the Partingtons’ address.

‘Why do you want it? You’re not planning to go and see her, are you, after everything that’s been said? After all the arrangements that have been made?’

‘What are you accusing me of? Do you think I would hand her over to someone who would treat her badly? Mrs Partington will care for her as if she were her own daughter and the child will have every advantage in life. You may be her sister but you could never provide for her, admit it.’

Helen stared down at her aunt who was sitting by the fire in the stuffy and overheated front parlour. Jane Roberts’ cheeks were blotched red with anger, which made her almost comical to look at, but Helen did not feel like laughing.

‘I thought you understood all this from the beginning, Helen,’ her aunt went on. ‘I distinctly remember telling you that Mrs Partington does not want Elsie to have any contact with her family. Even me. There are to be no visits, no letters and certainly no parcels containing a grubby old doll.’

‘For goodness’ sake. If only you could see yourself. Any minute now you’re going to start crying like a big baby. I’ve had enough of this. Instead of being grateful for everything I’ve done for you it seems you are determined to cause trouble and upset me. Go to bed now, Helen, and I refuse to discuss this matter with you ever again.’

That had been the evening before. Helen had accepted defeat because there was nothing else she could do. It sickened her to hear her aunt talk as if she really cared what happened to them and it had crossed her mind that money must have changed hands. The Partingtons were very rich and money could buy just about anything. Even a child.

The air was frosty and the ground iron-hard. Helen realized that her toes were so cold that she could hardly feel them. She glanced at her wristwatch. It had been a present from her mother when she had passed the scholarship exam to go to grammar school. She had stayed too long. Even if she ran all the way she was going to be late for afternoon school. That meant detention. Not that Helen cared. She would rather stay at school for an extra half-hour and sit in the classroom to do her homework than go back to her aunt’s gloomy home any sooner than she had to.

Just as she had decided to leave she heard voices – a woman’s voice and that of a child. She stepped back into the shadow of the large stone gatepost and waited, holding her breath as she watched the house opposite. The voices got nearer and eventually two figures appeared, rounding a curve in the drive. The child was running and the woman behind her lumbered along awkwardly, steams of breath misting in the air as she tried to catch up.

It took Helen every ounce of self-control not to leave the sanctuary of the tall hedge and run across the road towards her sister. For Elsie it was, even though the woman with her had called her Elise.

Her sister was wearing a heather-coloured tweed coat with a velvet collar that would have been fit for little Princess Elizabeth. A matching beret was trimmed with white fur. Her gloves and stockings were white and she wore shiny black patent leather shoes. She looked beautiful; she was like a child in a film about high society. Except that Elsie was more beautiful than any child film star Helen had ever seen. But most of all she looked happy.

And it was that that caused Helen the most pain. She was immediately ashamed of herself. Surely she hadn’t wanted Elsie to be miserable? Had she been hoping to see her sister’s face awash with misery and tears? How selfish I am, she thought.

The woman – whoever she was, she certainly wasn’t the sophisticated Mrs Partington – had caught up with Elsie and was standing on the pavement trying to catch her breath. She was dressed in a brown tweed coat and a matching felt hat. Helen had a surreal moment thinking that it was the belt of her coat that kept this cumbersome figure safely parcelled up.

‘That was naughty of you, Miss Elise,’ the poor woman said. ‘You know I can’t run as fast as you can. And anyway, you’re supposed to hold my hand when we go out.’

The woman, who had been visibly irritated, suddenly melted. ‘There, there, I dare say I’ll soon be as good as new. Now, will you take my hand and we’ll get along to the Dene for our nature walk.’

When they turned to go Helen edged back until she was behind the gatepost. She knew with certainty that she didn’t want Elsie to see her. It would be quite wrong to upset this happy, confident child just now when she was so obviously adapting to a new way of life. Mrs Andrews had been right; Eva was right. What could Helen offer Elsie now?

But one day, Helen thought as she watched the child and the woman walk away, one day we’ll be together again, all of us: Joe, Danny, you and me. I promise you this, Elsie, and I can only pray that you will not have forgotten all about us.

Helen accepted her detention cheerfully and dealt with Eva’s grumbles when she was late home for tea. That night she wrapped Maisie in an old scarf – the first scarf she had ever knitted when she was not much older than Elsie was now – and put the doll in her suitcase. She couldn’t bear to throw her away.

Besides, she thought, no matter how many beautiful toys Elsie has now, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see Maisie again. One day.

A yelp of pain woke everyone up. The boys sat up in their beds and looked down the dormitory to see Tod Hunter lying on the floor with one of the twins kneeling over him and apparently throttling him. Ginger sprang out of bed and raced towards the struggling boys, and while the other twin was still yawning and getting out of bed he tried to pull the figures apart.

The twin allowed Ginger to pull him up and then nodded towards the bed. ‘Look at that,’ he said. ‘A whole pisspot. He’s drenched me, too, the dirty bastard.’

‘Don’t use language, it’s not allowed here,’ Ginger responded automatically, but when he saw the bed his nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘Pooh, it stinks – and you do, too. He must have been saving it for days.’

Tod, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief, sniggered as he began to get up. ‘Thanks for dragging him off me, Ginger, but I didn’t need any help. I’d soon have got the better of him.’

Tod began to stroll away. He turned and said, ‘You’d better go and ask Matron for some clean sheets. Tell her you’ve pissed the bed like the dirty little slum kid that you are.’

The twin looked as though he was going to retaliate but Ginger grabbed a fistful of his pyjamas and held him back. ‘Let it go, Joe,’ he said, and he looked straight into his eyes.

Ginger leaned in towards him and spoke just as quietly. ‘Yeah, you swapped beds. You’ve been doing that regularly. You guessed that Tod would go after Danny and you wanted to fool him as long as you could. You knew I would work it out, didn’t you? Danny’s left-handed and you’re right-handed. Easy. Have to tell you some of the others have noticed, and even Tod won’t be fooled much longer. You’re going to have to teach Danny to stick up for himself.’

A mutinous look crossed Joe’s face and Ginger let go of his pyjamas. He sniffed his hand and wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘Now you’ve got me smelling like cat’s piss,’ he said. ‘Hawway, grab a quick shower and if you get some clean bedclothes, I’ll help you make your bed. What is it?’

‘Well, you can’t tell her the truth. No one tells tales, not even on Tod Hunter. You’ll just have to take it like a man. Can you do that?’

Before they went to the bathroom Joe and Ginger stripped the bed. As Joe picked the sheets up from the floor he found the enamel chamber pot that Tod had left behind. He looked inside and saw that it was not quite empty. He walked down the dormitory until he reached his tormentor’s bed.

‘This is your property, I think,’ he said. He emptied the remains over Tod’s slippers then tossed the chamber pot on the bed before carrying on his way to the bathroom.

‘Bad move,’ Ginger said to him when they got there. ‘For all his bluster I think he was beginning to realize he was on a loser trying to better you. Now you’ll only have made him worse than ever.’