‘A SAILOR SUIT?’ said eleven-year-old Freddy Brown in horror.
‘A nice sailor suit would look lovely for Susie’s weddin’,’ said Mrs Brown, his affable mother.
‘Not on me it wouldn’t,’ said Freddy. ‘I ain’t goin’ to wear no sailor suit, not for Susie’s weddin’ nor anyone else’s. I’ll fall down dead. You wouldn’t like that, I bet, me fallin’ down dead in the church.’
‘But, Freddy love—’
‘I’m eleven, I’ll ’ave you know,’ said Freddy, ‘I ain’t six.’
‘Still, you’d look ever so sweet in a sailor suit,’ said Sally, his fourteen-year-old sister. They were just home from school. They lived in Caulfield Place, off Browning Street, Walworth. Easter was approaching, so were the school holidays and so was their sister Susie’s wedding. It was a time of excitement for the Brown family, and for the whole street. A cockney wedding wasn’t the sort of event that concerned only the bride and her family. Everyone wanted to know everything about it, and Mr Brown kept saying to Mrs Brown that the way things were going the bridegroom would finish up finding himself married to every female in Caulfield Place. And Mrs Brown kept saying of course he wouldn’t, he’d get charged with multiplied bigamy if he did.
‘No sailor suit, if yer don’t mind,’ said Freddy resolutely.
‘Perhaps Freddy wants to be a bridesmaid, Mum, and wear a pink frock,’ said Sally.
‘Here, leave off,’ said Freddy, eating a slice of cake to keep the wolf from the door until supper.
‘Well, all right, love,’ said Mrs Brown, a natural peacemaker, ‘perhaps a nice dark grey suit, then, that you could wear afterwards for Sundays.’
‘With long trousers,’ said Freddy.
‘Long trousers at your age?’ said Sally.
‘I’ve made up me mind I ain’t wearing shorts at Susie’s weddin’,’ said Freddy, ‘they ain’t important enough.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about long trousers,’ said Mrs Brown, cutting away surplus greenery from a firm cauliflower. ‘You are only eleven, Freddy.’
‘All right,’ said Freddy, ‘I won’t wear no trousers at all, just me shirt, waistcoat an’ jacket.’
‘Oh, yer rotten ’orror,’ said Sally, ‘I’m not goin’ in that church if you’re not wearin’ any trousers.’
‘Can’t ’elp it,’ said Freddy, ‘me mind’s made up, I’m not wearin’ no trousers unless they’re long ones.’
‘Well, listen to ’im,’ said Sally, ‘just wait till Dad comes in, I bet ’e’ll make you sing a different tune.’
‘I bet ’e won’t,’ said Freddy, ‘I bet Dad wouldn’t wear no trousers, either, if Mum tried to put ’im in shorts for Susie’s weddin’.’
‘Dad’s a man, you soppy date,’ said Sally, ‘you’re only a boy.’
‘Can’t ’elp that,’ said Freddy, ‘me mind’s made up.’
‘Now, Freddy love, stop actin’ up,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Crikey, what a life,’ said Freddy. ‘Me mate Daisy’s moved and me mum won’t let me wear long trousers. I ’ope this kind of bad luck ain’t goin’ to last me all year.’
‘I’ll speak sympathetic to your dad,’ said Mrs Brown placatingly, ‘but as for Daisy, she and her fam’ly couldn’t help ’aving to move, love.’
Young Daisy Cook had been Freddy’s best street pal. She and her family had moved because their house had a rather unhappy history. A grisly murder had taken place there twelve years ago, in 1914.
Freddy, eyeing his sister, took on a puzzled expression.
‘What’s ’appening to Sally?’ he asked. His young sister, who had fair curly hair and hazel eyes, was getting pretty. And something else. Crikey, she’d stopped growing short, she was shooting up. He’d been taller than her, even though three years younger. Now she was suddenly above him. All in a few months. ‘Here, what’re you wearin’, sis?’
‘Me?’ said Sally, her blue school gymslip short. 1926 was the year of exceptionally short hemlines. Legs were in. Or legs had come out, according to how one thought about the fashion. ‘What d’you mean, what’m I wearin’?’
‘Whose legs you wearin’?’ asked Freddy.
‘Not yours,’ said Sally, ‘or Susie’s.’
‘Look at ’er, Mum,’ said Freddy, ‘she’s standin’ on some kind of stilts.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ said Mrs Brown, and smiled proudly at Sally. ‘Yes, she’s goin’ to be as tall as our Susie.’
‘Something’s goin’ on,’ said Freddy. ‘Come on, you Sally, let’s ’ave a proper look at them legs of yours, I don’t want me friends sayin’ you’re walkin’ on someone else’s.’
‘Keep off,’ said Sally. Freddy, as larky as any Walworth boy, sped around the kitchen table to get at her. Sally yelled and rushed.
‘Mum, stop ’im!’
‘Now, Freddy, leave Sally be, there’s a good boy,’ said Mrs Brown placidly. In all her forty-three years, nothing had ever seriously ruffled her, except the possibility, during the war, that her husband Jim might not survive his terrible life in the trenches.
‘Mum!’ shrieked Sally, as Freddy kept after her.
‘Freddy, stop teasin’ her,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Someone’s got to see whose legs she’s wearin’,’ said Freddy, but gave up when Sally put herself behind their plump mother.
‘Oh, yer daft ha’porth,’ said Sally, ‘how can anyone be wearin’ someone else’s legs?’
‘Yes, it beats me,’ said Freddy, ‘unless you bought a pair of long wooden ones down the market. I dunno what I’m goin’ to do if me mates find out one of me sisters is walkin’ about on wooden legs.’
‘Now you’re talkin’ silly, love,’ said Mrs Brown, going into the scullery to peel potatoes at the sink, ‘our Sally’s got nice natural legs.’
‘Yes, but ’ave yer seen what’s been ’appening to them lately?’ asked Freddy.
‘Sally’s growin’ up,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘I remember Susie growin’ up once,’ said Freddy.
‘Now how could anyone remember Susie only growin’ up once?’ asked Sally.
‘Well, I was only little at the time,’ said Freddy.
‘You’re potty,’ said Sally. ‘Mum, don’t you think it’s lovely our Will bein’ ’ome for the weddin’? Susie nearly cried when she saw ’im.’
‘It beats me, girls nearly cryin’ when they’re ’appy,’ said Freddy. ‘Mind you, Mum, I dunno that me brother’s all that well.’
‘He’s just got a bit of a chest,’ said Sally.
‘He’ll be all right now he’s home and not ’aving to suffer all that terrible heat,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘’Ope so,’ said Freddy. ‘Well, I think I’ll go an’ see if Ernie Flint’ll lend me ’is bike on Sunday, so’s I can cycle to Brockwell Park.’
‘I’ll come with you as far as Cotham Street,’ said Sally, ‘then I’ll go an’ see Mavis.’ Mavis Richards was a close friend. They shared the giggly little secrets of schoolgirls.
‘I don’t know I want you ridin’ bikes, Freddy,’ said Mrs Brown, ‘not with Susie’s weddin’ next month, you might fall off and hit your head on the road.’
‘With an ’ead like’s he’s got, I bet Dad would get a bill for road repairs,’ said Sally.
‘Our Sally’s nearly a comic sometimes,’ said Freddy.
‘Bless ’er,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘And ’er wooden legs,’ said Freddy.
Out he went with his sister. Sally was bare-headed, Freddy wearing a blue cap. From the open door of a house shot the figure of a neighbour, Mr Higgins. He was a tram conductor whose duties sometimes brought him home early, sometimes late. After him came a rolling-pin. It struck him between his shoulder blades. Down he went. Following the rolling-pin came Mrs Higgins. Mr Higgins was thin and bony, Mrs Higgins was buxom. Freddy and Sally could tell she was riled. She had a wealth of dark brown hair, the pins were loose and it was all over her head and face.
‘Get up,’ she said to her fallen husband, and she retrieved the rolling-pin.
‘What for?’ asked Mr Higgins, feeling safer on the pavement.
‘So’s I can give yer another one,’ said Mrs Higgins. ‘I don’t like ’itting you when yer on the ground.’
‘I can’t get up,’ said Mr Higgins, ‘I’m wounded, and me leg’s broke as well.’
‘I’ll give you wounded,’ said Mrs Higgins. ‘Look at ’im,’ she said to Sally and Freddy, ‘would yer believe ’im capable of it?’
‘Capable of what, Mrs Higgins?’ asked Sally.
‘Kissin’ and cuddlin’ ’is lady passengers, that’s what.’
‘Is he supposed to?’ asked Freddy.
‘Is’e what?’
‘Well, I only asked,’ said Freddy.
‘’E’s forbidden,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘but ’e done it. Stay where you are,’ she said to her husband, giving him a rap on his head with the rolling-pin. ‘Mrs Blake saw it all this mornin’, at the market tram stop. Me own ’usband, would yer believe, and in front of everyone in Walworth.’
‘Now would I do that?’ said Mr Higgins, his conductor’s uniform dusty from the pavement. ‘I’d lose me job.’
‘That’s what I’ve been tellin’ yer,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘and don’t answer me back in front of Sally an’ Freddy, they’ll think I don’t get no respect from you. Mrs Blake told me that when she saw it ’appen, she near dropped dead with shock.’
‘Pity she bleedin’ didn’t,’ muttered Mr Higgins.
‘What’s that? What’s that you said?’
‘I said I think me leg’s bleedin’.’
‘Shall I get ’im a bandage an’ some ointment, Mrs Higgins?’ asked Sally.
‘’E don’t want a bandage, not yet ’e don’t,’ said Mrs Higgins. ‘I’ll give ’im what for when I get ’im back indoors. ’E’ll need a doctor then, not a bandage. To think after all these years I’m burdened with the shame of what ’e’s done today, and in public too.’
‘Look, me pet,’ said Mr Higgins, ‘I just ’elped a lady off me tram with ’er foldin’ pram and baby. Yus, and a shoppin’ bag as well. She ’appened to be overcome with gratitude, I suppose—’
‘She what?’ said Mrs Higgins threateningly.
‘She was overcome with gratitude, Mrs Higgins,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean, that’s what Mr Higgins just said.’
‘Well, what else would’ve made ’er give me a kiss?’ said Mr Higgins. ‘I asks yer, me love, what else? I didn’t kiss ’er meself, nor cuddle ’er, it’s against the regulations.’
‘You’re answerin’ me back again,’ said Mrs Higgins.
Along came Mr Ponsonby, a lodger in a house farther down the Place. An eccentric, he was fifty years old, his lean body clad in a black frock coat, black drainpipe trousers, and a grey waistcoat. He also wore a bowler hat, a red bow tie and elastic-sided boots. And he carried a rolled umbrella. At first glance he seemed a dapper man, but a closer inspection revealed crumbs on his waistcoat, wrinkles in his bow tie and a dent in his bowler. And his boots were dusty. On the other hand, his smooth unlined face had a very neat look, as if nature had taken pains to put each feature tidily in place. Sometimes his expression was querulous, and sometimes that of a kind and gentle man. He could often be heard talking to himself. ‘Dear me, dear me, what a day, what a day.’ That sort of thing.
Up he came in dainty pigeon-toed fashion and looked down at Mr Higgins.
‘Mr Higgins? Dear me, what’s this all about?’ His voice had a piping lilt.
‘I ain’t sittin’ ’ere of me own accord, yer know,’ grumbled Mr Higgins.
‘No, of course not, of course not,’ said Mr Ponsonby.
‘’E fell over,’ said Sally.
‘Ah, who is this I see?’ enquired Mr Ponsonby, and peered at Sally. He smiled. ‘Ah, yes, a young lady.’
‘She ain’t a young lady, she’s me sister,’ said Freddy.
‘Now now, Freddy,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘course she’s a young lady, anyone can see that. My, ain’t yer growin’ up nice, Sally? Yer goin’ to rival Susie in a year or two. What’re you doin’?’ she demanded of her husband.
‘I was thinkin’ of gettin’ up,’ said Mr Higgins.
‘I’ll knock yer block off,’ said Mrs Higgins, ‘I ain’t finished with you yet.’
‘Come now, Mrs Higgins, have a peppermint drop,’ said Mr Ponsonby, and produced a paper bag from his pocket. He always had peppermint drops somewhere on his person, and offered them generously to all and sundry. The street kids knew this, and sometimes ran after him, asking for one, and he always obliged. He sucked them regularly himself, and breathed peppermint fumes.
‘Don’t mind if I do, I need something,’ said Mrs Higgins. As she helped herself from the bag, Mr Higgins came to his feet and disappeared indoors. It didn’t fool Mrs Higgins.
‘Gotcher!’ she cried. ‘I’ll learn yer!’ And she went bouncing in after him.
‘Tck, tck,’ said Mr Ponsonby and peered at Sally again. ‘Ah, yes, Sally, our pretty young lady. Have a peppermint drop.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ said Sally, and took one. In return, she gave Mr Ponsonby a happy little smile. Life was doing her proud at the moment. Not only was she going to be a bridesmaid in three weeks time, she had also started to grow again after a gloomy year of thinking she was going to end up as a real tich of a girl. She was positive she could actually feel her legs getting longer every week. Not every day, of course. Every week. With fashions so short, and flappers showing their knees, no girl who had just had her fourteenth birthday wanted to have legs that hardly went anywhere. It was bliss that she’d shot up inches in just a few months. Mind, she still had to wear dreary old black lisle stockings for school, but Susie had recently bought her imitation silk ones for Sundays. They made her lengthening legs feel ever so posh. Susie, her sister, though, wore real silk nearly all the time. Well, she had ever such a good job, of course, as personal assistant to her fiancé, Sammy Adams, who was boss of Adams Fashions and other enterprises. Sally could hardly believe he was going to be her brother-in-law. When she left school at the end of the present term, perhaps she could get a job in one of his shops.
Mr Ponsonby blinked in the sunshine of her smile.
‘Charming, charming,’ he said. ‘Well, good afternoon, good afternoon, I must get to my lodgings.’ He put the bag of peppermints away, then turned and began to retrace his steps. Freddy and Sally went after him.
‘Excuse me, Mr Ponsonby,’ said Sally, ‘you’re goin’ the wrong way.’
‘No, no,’ he said, stopping, ‘I’m going to my lodgings, I have things to do.’
‘Yes, but you’re still pointin’ the wrong way,’ said Freddy.
Mr Ponsonby blinked again.
‘Dear me, so I am, so I am,’ he said.
‘It’s back there,’ said Sally, ‘in Mrs Mason’s ’ouse.’
‘Thank you, thank you, how kind. My, you are a pretty girl. Have you had a peppermint drop?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Sally.
‘One can’t be too careful.’ Mr Ponsonby regarded brother and sister cautiously. ‘One is never sure who has had one and who hasn’t. Dear me, what a day, good afternoon.’ And off he went to his lodgings, the point of his umbrella clicking on the pavement. He stopped to inspect a chalked hopscotch design. ‘Bless my soul, what’s that doing there? Never mind, never mind.’ He hastened on.
‘Ain’t ’e funny?’ said Freddy.
‘You didn’t get a peppermint drop,’ said Sally, as they turned into Browning Street.
‘Nor I didn’t,’ said Freddy. ‘I’ll take two next time ’e offers, ’e won’t mind.’
‘Bet he won’t even notice,’ said Sally. ‘Don’t he talk posh, though? Mum says ’e’s prob’bly come down in the world.’
‘Yes, ’e prob’bly ’ad a wife that took to drink an’ drove ’im to ruin,’ said Freddy. ‘Still, ’e don’t go around cryin’ about it.’
‘No, but he blows ’is nose sometimes,’ said Sally.
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Well, lots of people blow their noses to ’ide they’re cryin’,’ said Sally.
‘Susie blew her nose a little bit when our William came ’ome,’ said Freddy.
‘There you are, then,’ said Sally. She parted from him at Cotham Street, where her school friend lived. Freddy stopped for a moment to watch her. He grinned. She was walking as perky as anything in her short school gymslip. Showing off, just because her legs were getting longer. But he couldn’t help grinning, he was fond of Sally, the cheeky one of the family.
He called after her in the fashion of a street urchin.
‘Oi, darling, ’ow’s yer farver’s tadpoles?’
Sally turned, saw him grinning, put a thumb to her nose and then went on. A man coming the other way took notice of her. Tall and muscular, his eyes were dark and hollow beneath the peak of his flat cap, as if he didn’t sleep very well, and his black serge overcoat was unbuttoned, his watch chain showing. Sally bridled because he was staring at her all the time during his approach. She didn’t like his eyes one little bit, nor their fixed stare. And he was coming straight at her, as if he was going to knock her down and walk over her. Sally had to dodge aside, and as he passed her his body seemed to bruise the very air.
‘’Ere, d’you mind?’ she said with spirit, but he just kept going, nor did he look back. Ugh, I don’t like his kind, thought Sally, I like the ones that Susie likes. Sammy Adams, and his brothers, Boots and Tommy. Why wasn’t there another brother, a younger one? One for her?
She laughed to herself then and went on to her friend’s house.
Freddy, on his way to Ernie Flint’s home in Rodney Place, approached a factory. Well, it had been a factory once, but had caught fire some years ago. It had all caved in except for a section at one end that used to house offices and storerooms. A high wooden fence had been erected around the devastated property, but kids could squeeze in because the double wooden gates had been busted open one time, and the repair job had been makeshift. When kids did get in, they played around over piles of bricks and rubble. They couldn’t, however, get into the section still standing. The door was padlocked and all windows heavily boarded up.
Passing the sagging gates, Freddy was brought to a stop by a girl’s voice.
‘’Ere, you boy, come ’ere.’
He went back to the gates and saw a face visible through the gap.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘I’ve lost Tabby,’ she said.
‘Who’s Tabby?’
‘It’s our cat, of course. Can you come through ’ere and ’elp me find ’im?’
‘Well, I’m on me way to—’
‘You’d better come and ’elp or me dad’ll wallop yer. I don’t like lookin’ by meself, not in ’ere.’
‘All right, I suppose I’m not specially busy,’ said Freddy, and squeezed his way through the gap. The girl, ten years old, looked him up and down as if she needed to be convinced he was capable of finding a lost cat. Well-brushed raven hair hung down her back. The black elastic of a straw boater was around her neck, the boater itself resting at the back of her head. Her face was a bit dusty, her gymslip likewise, but Freddy could see she had round brown eyes that were like Daisy Cook’s. ‘What’s yer name?’ he asked.
‘Cassie Ford. What’s yours?’
‘Freddy Brown. Me fam’ly lives in Caulfield Place.’
‘Oh, I know Caulfield Place,’ she said, ‘ragged kids live there.’
‘’Ere, mind yer tongue,’ said Freddy, ‘I ain’t a ragged kid.’
‘Well, all right,’ said Cassie graciously, ‘but what about me cat? Could yer start lookin’ for it? Then me dad won’t wallop yer. ’E’s good at wallopin’ boys. He give one to the boy next door last week, and it nearly done ’im in. When the boy’s dad came round about it, Dad gave ’im one too.’
Crikey, what a crackpot, thought Freddy. Still, all girls were a bit potty. Not that he minded. He liked girls, and you had to accept they were off their chumps most times.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘but you sure your cat’s in ’ere?’
‘Yes, a girl told me she’d seen ’im go in. Only I don’t like bein’ in ’ere alone.’
Freddy looked around. Mounds of bricks, mortar and rubble littered the place, the bright sunshine picking out all kinds of colours. Over on the right was the still standing section. It looked a bit desolate, even in the crisp daylight.
‘All right, you stay ’ere, Cassie, and I’ll go lookin’.’
‘No, I’ll come with yer,’ said Cassie. ‘I don’t want to be alone when one of them skeletons comes up out of the ground.’
‘Eh?’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, didn’t you know that if you’re alone in ’ere a skeleton comes up and rattles its bones at you?’ said Cassie.
‘Well, I’m blowed,’ said Freddy solemnly, ‘is that a fact?’
‘Fancy you not knowin’ that,’ said Cassie.
‘Well, like me dad says, you live an’ learn. Come on, then, and if we do see a skeleton rattlin’ its bones, I’ll chuck all these bricks at it.’ Freddy started walking and looking. ‘What did yer say yer cat’s name was?’
‘Tabby,’ she said, close on his heels. ‘’E’s always gettin’ lost.’
‘You’d be better off with a canary,’ said Freddy.
‘I don’t want a canary, I want our cat,’ said Cassie, and she followed Freddy around the large area of collapsed walls and roofs, around the mounds capped with brick dust, and they both kept callng the cat’s name. In and out of the gaps they went. ‘Tabby, Tabby, come ’ere, will you!’ called Cassie in exasperation.
‘I’ll chuck some stones about,’ said Freddy. ‘If ’e’s around, that’ll make ’im show ’imself.’
‘Don’t you throw stones at our cat, you might ’it ’im,’ said Cassie indignantly.
‘I dunno it wouldn’t serve ’im right if ’e’s always losin’ himself,’ said Freddy. ‘And if you ask me, I don’t think ’e’sin’ere.’
They reached the still intact section.
‘Oh, lor’,’ breathed Cassie, ‘’e couldn’t be in there, could ’e?’
‘Don’t see ’ow he could be,’ said Freddy, ‘it’s all boarded up. Mind, we could go an’ see if the door’s open.’
‘I ain’t goin’ in there meself,’ said Cassie, ‘it’s ’aunted. Me dad’s Aunt Tilda lived in an ’aunted house once, and it turned all ’er hair white, and me dad ’ad to go an’ see what was ’aunting it, and it turned all ’is hair white too, and when ’e was only twenty.’
‘Rotten ’ard luck, that was, Cassie.’
‘Yes, our milkman said it made our dad old before ’is time.’
‘Did ’e find a ghost?’ asked Freddy.
‘’E never said, I expect it was too ’orrible to talk about.’ Cassie eyed the boarded windows apprehensively. ‘We’d best go,’ she said.
‘Wait a tick, let’s ’ave a look,’ said Freddy, and made a beeline for the padlocked door. He’d noticed something. It was the padlock, it was hanging loose. The thick steel staple hadn’t been pushed in. He removed the padlock, released the metal bar and pushed the door. It swung open. ‘’Ere we are, Cassie,’ he called, ‘we can get in.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ begged Cassie, ‘you might get struck down or ate up.’
‘But someone’s been in,’ said Freddy, ‘and yer cat might’ve followed. I’ll take a quick look, I won’t give anyone time to eat me up.’
‘You goin’ in all by yerself?’ Cassie was awe-struck. ‘Can’t you just put yer ’ead in and call Tabby? Oh, suppose ’e’s trapped in there an’ can’t get out?’
‘I expect all ’is hair’s turnin’ white, like yer dad’s,’ said Freddy. ‘Still, I’ll give ’im a shout.’ He put his head in and bawled the cat’s name. Nothing came of that, except the echoes of his voice, which ran hollowly about. ‘Some cat,’ he said, ‘turned invisible, prob’bly. I’ll ’ave a look, Cassie, might as well.’
‘Oh, lor’,’ breathed Cassie. All the kids who lived close by said the place was haunted at night. Cassie thought it could be haunted by day as well, and the kids weren’t too sure because none of them came and played around the brick hills any more.
‘You stay there,’ said Freddy, and went in, seeing how worried she was about her daft cat. He entered a wide passage with doors on either side. The dusty floor was marked, proving someone had been in. The light from the open front door showed up the marks. Perhaps a night watchman came on duty sometimes. Or perhaps the owner came and took a look at the place now and again. He opened each door in turn, but saw only empty dusty storerooms. They all said a silent hello to him in the gloom of boarded-up windows. No cat appeared. There were stairs at the end of the passage. They creaked as he climbed them. He stopped when he reached the landing, he had a sudden odd feeling of being sort of cut off from the humming life of Walworth. It was even gloomier up here, and very silent. But despite the gloom he glimpsed a large spider scuttling along the foot of a wall between doors. It made no sound. Well, spiders didn’t, they were always silent. Bluebottles weren’t, nor bees, nor birds. And monkeys, talk about chattering, they could beat the band at the Zoo. But spiders, they’d invented silence, they had.
He stood still for a little while. He wasn’t a boy who suffered from nerves, but he had to admit it felt a bit creepy up here. Still, he’d better see if the cat had got trapped in any of the rooms. He moved along the landing, and the floorboards creaked under his feet, breaking the silence. He supposed everything was as dry as dust. He reached to open the first door, then held back as a plaintive little miaow came to his ears. That was the sound of a cat all right. He opened the door. Another empty room and no cat. I don’t know that Cassie would like that, she’d say he’d just heard the ghostly miaow of a cat that had died up here.
‘Come on, Tabby, is it you or not?’ he called. That brought a second miaow, and it pointed him at the next door. He opened it. All gloom again, but the room wasn’t bare and empty. He made out a table, a chair, and a truckle bed with rumpled blankets. On the table was a candle in a holder, and something else. He squinted. It was a sealed and labelled tin of corned beef. He heard a little movement then, and out from under the blankets leapt a cat. It darted past him and whisked through the door, a streaking bundle of tabby fur. Moments later he distinctly heard a glad yell from Cassie. His nose began to twitch, to pick up all kinds of smells. Cat smells, he supposed, mixed with others. The others probably had something to do with a watchman spending nights up here now and again. That was the reason for the bed, blankets and corned beef. And the reason why the padlock hadn’t been pushed home was probably because the bloke had been all bleary and careless the last time he’d left the place.
Freddy closed the door and shut the smells in, but as he went down the stairs he thought some of them were following him. He heard Cassie calling.
‘Freddy, come on out, I’ve got Tabby, and you ain’t fell down a hole, ’ave yer?’
He walked through the passage and emerged into the late afternoon light. Talk about the joys of fresh air and sunshine, especially as there’d been a lot of fog about up to a week ago. It was nearly like summer now. Well, spring, anyway. He pulled the door to, slipped in the padlock and fastened it with a click. He turned. The cat was in the girl’s arms, doing some daft purring.
‘Good idea if you got that cat chained up,’ he said.
‘Oh, yer cruel thing,’ said Cassie. ‘But fancy Tabby gettin’ in there.’
‘Well, I did say ’e might’ve followed someone in, there’s a room upstairs that looks like it’s used by a night watchman, except I dunno what ’e’s got to watch.’
‘More like a ghost, I bet,’ said Cassie. ‘Wasn’t you brave, goin’ in by yerself? Me dad’s brave too, ’e saved an ’orse once from drowning in the sea.’
‘How’d it get in the sea?’
‘It fell off a ship,’ said Cassie, cuddling her cat.
‘You sure?’ said Freddy. ‘I never ’eard of no ’orse fallin’ off a ship before.’
‘It slipped,’ said Cassie. ‘Or something,’ she added after a moment’s reflection. ‘It was when me dad was a sea captain, and ’e ’ad to jump in and rescue the poor thing, it couldn’t swim. They give me dad a medal.’
‘Who did?’ asked Freddy, walking back to the gates with her.
‘I can’t remember. Well, yes, it was the Horse Savin’ Society, I think. Yes, that was it. Mind, that was before ’e took to drink.’ Cassie sighed and her cat purred.
‘That’s funny,’ said Freddy, ‘I was only sayin’ to me sister Sally earlier that a neighbour of ours prob’bly ’ad a wife that took to drink an’ brought ’im to ruin. ’As yer dad brought yer mum to ruin?’
‘No, me mum died when I was little,’ said Cassie.
‘Well, I’m sorry for yer about that, Cassie.’
‘It’s all right, I ’elp me dad as much as I can,’ she said.
They rounded the final heaps of rubble and reached the gates, on the insides of which kids had chalked anti-social messages.
‘I hate Eddie Banks.’
‘I hate his bruvver.’
‘Loopy Lily Jarvis luvs Billy Palmer.’
‘What, him? She’s loopy all right.’
‘Elsie Nunn’s got a fat bum.’
‘Cissy Dawes don’t wear no drawers.’
‘YES I DO!!!’
‘Don’t read them, they’re rude,’ said Cassie.
‘Come on,’ said Freddy, and they squeezed their way out, the cat staying happily in Cassie’s arms. ‘Where d’you live?’
‘Blackwood Street,’ said Cassie.
‘That’s not far from us,’ said Freddy. ‘Well, I might see you around, Cassie, if I don’t see yer cat first.’
‘We used to live in a mansion in Dulwich,’ said Cassie. ‘That was when me dad worked at Buckingham Palace, servin’ the King an’ Queen. ’E used to take them their ’ot cocoa at night.’
‘You sure?’ said Freddy, hiding a grin.
‘Course I’m sure,’ said Cassie, ‘they liked ’ot cocoa. Well, goodbye, Freddy, thanks for findin’ Tabby.’
‘So long,’ said Freddy. She went one way cuddling her cat, and he went the other. Well, he thought, there’s some girls a bit barmy, some a bit dozy, and some real crackpots. Still, as his dad always said, blokes had got to live with that.
He found Ernie Flint at home and asked about the loan of his bike. Ernie said not likely, his bike wasn’t for lending, specially not on a Sunday. Get a bike of your own, he said. Me dad can’t afford it, said Freddy. Bet your sister can, said Ernie, the one that’s getting married. Girls about to get married can be a real soft touch, you could ask some of them for fifty bob easy and they wouldn’t even remember giving it to you, they’re at their soppiest when they’re getting married.
‘I dunno that Susie’s soppy,’ said Freddy.
‘Bound to be,’ said Ernie. ‘You could ask ’er for a fiver, seein’ what a good job she’s got, and if she ain’t soppy enough to give yer as much as that, tell ’er you’ll just take ’alf that amount. You can buy a decent bike for fifty bob.’
‘Crikey, I knew you’d got a bike, Ernie,’ said Freddy, ‘I didn’t know you’d got brains as well.’
‘’Ow would yer like a punch in the eye?’ said Ernie.
‘I don’t think I’ll stay for that,’ said Freddy, ‘it might spoil me supper.’
He went back home, whistling with optimist cheerfulness as he thought about touching Susie for the price of a bike. Of course, he wasn’t sure if her feelings about getting married really were soppy. She didn’t act soppy, not Susie, but she did go about sometimes looking as if she’d lost a penny and found ten quid. But she never went off to work wearing odd stockings or forgetting to put her hat on or what day it was. That would have been a sign that she really was soppy about her engagement to Sammy. Still, she was up in the clouds sometimes. Promising, that was, thought Freddy.