ON SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Annie and Will took to the winding paths of Ruskin Park along with other people, of whom there were plenty. The weather had warmed up. A fine Sunday always brought the cockneys of Camberwell and Walworth to the park, as well as better-off people from the neighbourhood of Denmark Hill. Annie had been able to put on her second best Sunday dress and to wear it without a coat. Will said it was nearly as highly fashionable as her white one. Annie said she was keeping that for his sister’s wedding, that she’d be able to get to St John’s Institute by a quarter to five. Was there really going to be dancing in the evening? Yes, to a three-piece band, said Will, and ‘Knees Up, Mother Brown’ would be performed.
‘Crikey,’ said Annie, ‘will the vicar be there?’
‘Yes, just for the knees-up,’ said Will, sauntering beside her.
‘I bet,’ said Annie. ‘Anyway, I’m not goin’ to do any knees-up in me highly fashionable dress, not with you lookin’.’
‘And the vicar,’ said Will.
Annie bubbled with laughter. The exciting little undercurrents of being in love exhilarated her, but she kept her head, she didn’t make the mistake of falling all over him in a manner of speaking. Of course, if he fell all over her – in a manner of speaking – she wouldn’t mind that. She asked if he’d thought any more about leaving the Army. Will, who felt the Army’s medical experts would make the decision for him, one way or another, said yes, he’d thought more about it, and that he’d make up his mind before his leave was up. Annie said she supposed it was sensible for him to take his time. It didn’t occur to her to ask him how long he’d signed up for simply because she didn’t know enough about the conditions imposed on a man when he entered the Army. Will said as soon as he’d made the decision she’d be the first to know outside his family.
‘Me?’ said Annie.
‘Well, you’re—’ Will checked. Better not to say because she was his young lady. If he was going to suffer asthma all his life, he didn’t think he could ask a girl to suffer it with him. Suppose, for instance, it took hold of him every time he made love to her? That wouldn’t make any wife rapturous, she’d think she’d married a wheezing old man. Mind, he’d only had one attack these last few days, and that was when he woke up on the morning after taking her to see Tom Mix. So he’d attended Dr McManus’s morning surgery. Dr McManus wanted to know exactly what had preceded the attack. Will said eight hours good kip. Dr McManus asked if he had feather pillows. Will said the Army doctors in London had mentioned feather pillows, but there’d been none in India, and in any case, this was the first time he’d had an attack while still in bed. Dr McManus wanted to know what was the last food he’d eaten the night before. Will said fried fish and chips. Might have been the frying fat, said the doctor, you might be allergic to its acidity. Will asked if he might also be allergic to being close to a girl, and he mentioned his evening out with Annie, their closeness in the tram and their extreme closeness when he kissed her.
‘Are we talking about physical excitement, Will?’ asked Dr McManus.
‘You did mention that,’ said Will, and the doctor said he supposed the Army medical specialists had mentioned a hundred and one possible elements. Will said they’d mentioned over-exertion as something to avoid, but hadn’t said a word about physical excitement. Ruddy hell, doctor, he said, if he couldn’t even kiss a girl without his bronchial tubes taking a hiding, what was the point of marrying one? Dr McManus said thousands of asthmatic men and women were married. Yes, said Will, but perhaps they can all do what comes naturally without wheezing and coughing over it.
‘Well, do those two things again,’ said Dr McManus.
‘What two things?’
‘Kissing your young lady and eating fried fish and chips. But not on the same day. Let’s see if one or the other affects you. If not, then do what you did before, enjoy them near to each other.’
‘Sounds barmy,’ said Will.
‘It might well be,’ smiled Dr McManus. ‘Do you carry your tablets about with you?’
‘I do now,’ said Will.
‘You should.’
So there it was, then. It wouldn’t do at this stage to give Annie any impression that he was courting her. It wouldn’t be fair to her. Annie deserved a bloke who was a hundred per cent fit.
‘Come on,’ she said, ‘what’s on your mind?’
‘Oh, just the Army,’ he said, ’and if I’m goin’ to be in or out of it.’
Annie wondered if his relationship with her had been anything to do with his idea about giving up the Army. She hoped he would.
They stopped by the tennis courts, all of which were being used.
‘Let’s sit and watch for a bit,’ she said. There was a bench vacant and they seated themselves. On another bench were a strong-looking man and a handsome woman. They were watching a tall man in a white cricket shirt and light grey flannels playing against a young and deliciously pretty girl in a white dress. Will recognized the players. The man, whom his family called Boots, was Sammy’s eldest brother. The girl, Rosie, was Boots’s daughter. Will had come to know them when Susie took him to meet the Adams family.
They were playing a typical father-and-daughter game, Boots teasing Rosie by making her chase from side to side, using his racquet in a lazy-looking way but making the ball fly over the net. Rosie, utterly involved, ran and scampered, the skirt of her short dress flying, her legs in white socks. She did more than chase after the ball, she yelled.
‘Daddy, you stinker!’
But she was heart and soul into the fun of it, as she always was when any kind of game was just between her and Boots and she had him all to herself. All her affinity with him surfaced then.
Will thought the watching man and woman were very taken with her. Well, she wasn’t bad at tennis. She had energy, enthusiasm and a good eye for a ball. Her enthusiasm was infectious. She screamed when Boots put a short one over, but she flew to get at it and just managed to plop it back. It left Boots stranded. She jumped up and down in her joy.
‘Isn’t she a young sport?’ said Annie. ‘I wish I could play tennis, it looks fun.’
‘If I could play meself,’ said Will, ‘I’d teach you. Mind you, Annie, I’ve played football for the battalion. Like me to teach you that?’
‘It’s always been me dearest wish to play football, I don’t think,’ said Annie, sitting close to him because she liked being close, and Will began trying to puzzle out why the natural pleasure of the contact set off the little stirring sensations that threatened to sensitize his bronchial tubes, as they had the other evening.
Rosie yelled again.
‘Daddy, I’ll stick pins in you!’
‘Play up, Rosie.’
‘Will, what a lovely girl,’ said Annie.
‘She’s Rosie Adams,’ said Will, ’and that’s her dad, Sammy’s eldest brother.’
‘Crikey, d’you know them?’ asked Annie.
‘Yes, I met all the Adams fam’ly, through Susie,’ said Will.
‘’Ave they all turned posh, then, the Adams?’
‘Not posh, no,’ said Will. ‘They used to live in the house we live in now. They bettered themselves when they left.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ said Annie. ‘I wish me dad had a chance to better ’imself, I bet he’d take it with both ’ands. Still, he’s not down in the dumps about it, nor me. Nor you, are you, Will? I mean, well, I think we’re betterin’ ourselves just sittin’ in the park and watchin’ the tennis, don’t you?’
‘Are we?’ asked Will, trying to ignore vibrations.
‘Well, if we were sittin’ on a doorstep in the Old Kent Road, we’d be more lower than better, wouldn’t we?’
‘More lower than better, yes, see what you mean,’ said Will, who thought the strong-looking man on the other bench was concentrating a very fixed pair of mince pies on the scampering Rosie.
‘It’s nice we agree,’ said Annie. ‘I thought, when I first met you, I thought what an ’orror, I bet his parents despair of ’im. I don’t know how you’ve managed to be such an improvin’ feller; it must be the improved company you’ve been keepin’. ’Ave you been goin’ out to look at cathedrals with our vicar? He’s ever so improvin’, and nice as well.’
Will grinned. He watched Rosie serving, he watched her dance on quick feet as she waited for the return. He thought about Sally. Sally had quick feet and enthusiasms. He could just see her dancing about on a tennis court if she’d been given the chance to learn the game.
On the other bench, Madge said, ‘Don’t you wish she was yours, Henry?’
‘What?’ said Henry Brannigan.
‘I mean don’t you wish she was your daughter? She’s a bit young for you otherwise.’
‘I’m lookin’, that’s all,’ he said.
‘You ought to ’ave ’ad kids, Henry,’ she said, ‘then you wouldn’t be such a lonely man. Come on, let’s go back to the flat and I’ll do us a nice Sunday tea, which I’d like to do, seein’ ’ow good you’re bein’ to me.’
He had increased her allowance to two pounds a week because she was giving him suppers and Sunday dinner. She didn’t think he’d only want food and company for ever. Well, when he wanted what was good for any real man, she’d be very willing.
Will and Annie left a few minutes later, Will deciding not to intrude on Boots and Rosie by making his presence known to them. Annie said he was going to have Sunday tea with her and her family, wasn’t he? Will, who had kept the vibrations at bay simply by listening to Annie and watching the tennis, said he’d be pleasured.
‘Pleasured?’ said Annie. ‘I ’ope you don’t have larks in mind.’
‘What larks?’
‘Well, I don’t know exactly how improved you are,’ said Annie, ‘you might not be improved all that much.’
‘I think I’ve got larks comin’ on,’ said Will.
Annie’s laughter gurgled.
I’ll have to watch he doesn’t put his head under the table again, she thought.
She experienced little vibrations then, but they weren’t quite as alarming to her as Will’s were to him.
‘Me mum says you can stay to Sunday tea, Cassie,’ said Freddy, who’d managed to resist her demands to be taken up the park again with her barmy cat. He’d persuaded her to ride around all the back streets instead, although she’d made his ears ache with her complaints that they wouldn’t get to see the Prince of Wales or soldiers on horseback or the lady of a hundred and one nights. Freddy had had to ask the lady of what? Cassie, who naturally did a lot of reading, said there was a book about her and that she told stories to a sheikh on a white horse every night. Freddy said if he spent every night sitting on a white horse, he was as crackers as she was. Cassie complained he wasn’t listening properly. Freddy said he was, that was why his ears were aching, and that anyone who told stories for a hundred and one nights was going a bit short of sleep. Cassie said well, she thought it was a hundred and one, and that she told her stories while she was wearing a big red ruby in her tummy button. Blimey, said Freddy, no wonder the sheikh couldn’t get off his horse, with a big red ruby staring at him. Cassie complained he wasn’t paying attention, and Freddy said he couldn’t pay attention and ride his bike as well. Anyway, when they finally got home, Mrs Brown said Cassie could have Sunday tea with them, if she liked.
‘Please, what yer got for tea?’ asked Cassie.
‘Boiled eggs, bread an’ butter, salmon and shrimp paste, raspb’ry jam and cake,’ smiled Mrs Brown.
‘Crumbs, I’d like that,’ said Cassie, ‘but I’d best go ’ome first an’ tell me dad I’m ’aving tea here.’
‘I’ll ride yer there,’ said Freddy. A mate was a mate, even if she was scatty.
‘No, I’ll do a bit of walkin’,’ said Cassie, ‘I don’t think me bottom wants to sit on yer bike any more today.’
‘Freddy, didn’t you give her a cushion to sit on?’ asked Mrs Brown.
‘Course I did,’ said Freddy, ‘she gives me a rollickin’ if I don’t.’
‘Yes, but I’ve gone all numb,’ said Cassie.
‘Cor,’ said Freddy in glee, ‘Cassie’s got a numb bum.’
‘Now, Freddy, you didn’t ought to say that in front of Cassie,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Oh, the Little Princess ’ad one of them,’ said Cassie, ‘when she sat on six velvet cushions that ’ad an ’ard pea under them. Well, I won’t be long, I’ll just go an’ tell me dad.’ Off she went, leaving Freddy grinning and Mrs Brown smiling. Will, Susie and Sally were all out, and Mr Brown was in the parlour, his feet up.
Along the pavement twinkled Mr Ponsonby, beaming at the sight of Cassie turning into Caulfield Place, her cat in her arms.
‘Well, well, what a day, what a peaceful day,’ he said, stopping.
‘Yes, it’s Sunday,’ said Cassie.
‘Sunday? Dear me, are you Cassie?’
‘Yes, I’m goin’ to ’ave tea with Freddy Brown,’ said Cassie. She thought. ‘I’m ’is mate. This is Tabby, me cat.’
‘Charming, what a delightful picture,’ said Mr Ponsonby happily. ‘Have you had your photograph taken?’
‘No,’ said Cassie. ‘Could yer take one, please, of me an’ Tabby?’
‘What a charming idea,’ said Mr Ponsonby. ‘I must find my camera. Dear me, where did I put it? Never mind, we must meet again, Sally—’
‘I’m Cassie.’
‘Why, yes, how pretty. Have a peppermint, Cassie.’ Out came the paper bag. Cassie took one of the sweets. Tabby shifted about.
‘Thanks ever so, I’ll save it till after tea,’ she said. ‘Oh, could I ’ave one for Freddy?’
‘Of course, of course, everyone must have a peppermint,’ said Mr Ponsonby, and Cassie took one for her mate. Mr Ponsonby went pigeon-toed on his way, talking happily to himself. There were prospects, prospects.
Cassie arrived at the Browns’ house with her cat. Freddy groaned.
‘But ’e wanted to come,’ said Cassie, ‘’e told me so. Well, ’e likes salmon an’ shrimp paste.’
‘An’ boiled eggs?’ said Freddy.
‘No, just salmon an’ shrimp paste,’ said Cassie, ‘as long as it’s Kennedy’s.’
In the parlour, Mr Brown shuffled his Sunday paper, turning again to a report on the Bermondsey murder. There was a reproduction of a Brownie snapshot of the unfortunate girl, and an artist’s impression of the two missing girls. The Bermondsey scrap yard was mentioned more than once, and Collier and Son also featured. But not Adams Enterprises. All the same, Mr Brown neatly ripped out the relevant page, folded it and put it into his pocket.
Mr Brown was an old-fashioned guardian of his family’s peace of mind. Susie, of course, knew the yard was the one he’d been promoted to manage, but none of the others did. More peaceful to keep it like that.
On the other hand, if the police caught the bloke, he might have to appear at the trial as a witness to the discovery of the body. Then all the neighbours would be coming round to ask questions of his dear old Dutch and to say fancy your Jim finding that poor girl under his shed at work. Oh, well, thought Susie’s cheerful dad, I’ll look after that worry when it arrives, like old Noah said about the flood.
When Will finally said good night to Annie at her front door, he was in two minds about kissing her. Blimey, he thought, what a load of old turnips that was, any bloke being in two minds about kissing a girl like Annie. All the same.
‘Well, Annie, it’s been—’
‘Lovely,’ said Annie, and he wasn’t given a chance then to do more shilly-shallying, because Annie wasn’t in two minds herself. She kissed him. Well, of course, that did it for Will and he kissed her back, doing what came naturally instead of mucking about like a bloke who didn’t know his knee from his elbow. Annie went wobbly with bliss and wondered what was happening to her legs. It felt as if they were going for a walk without her, leaving her with no support. So she hung on to Will. Ruddy marvels, thought Will, kissing her again, we’re bosom to bosom and I like hers better than mine. Vibrations chased about, but nothing happened to his minor bronchial tubes. He felt A1 and in good order, and he also felt Annie was definitely just what the doctor ordered for Easter. So he kissed her some more. ‘Help,’ she said, coming out of a final kiss.
‘Yes, I feel like a lie-down meself,’ said Will. ‘I’ll go and collapse on me charpoy.’
‘Your what?’ said Annie faintly.
‘Me Hindustani bed,’ said Will. ‘Good night, Annie, see you sometime durin’ the week.’
‘Good night, Will.’ She closed the door when he’d gone. She felt breathless from being well and truly kissed. Oh, lor’, me legs, they’ve run off somewhere.
It caught Will forty minutes later, the sensitization of his tubes. The time was twenty to eleven and he was just about to undress for bed in the room he shared with Freddy. Freddy was sound asleep and everyone else had retired. Knowing his coughing and wheezing would wake his young brother, Will just had time to get down to the kitchen before he began to fight for breath. He swallowed a tablet with difficulty, and then his coughing was racking him. He hoped his noisiness wouldn’t disturb his parents, who occupied the downstairs bedroom between the kitchen and the parlour.
Mrs Brown lay awake listening to him and sighing for him. It was cruel, what life had done to her son, a young man only twenty. Poor Will. She wanted to get up to see if there was anything she could do for him, but she knew there wasn’t, and she knew too that Will would rather be left alone.
It went on for what seemed like ages. It was for ten minutes, actually, but it left Will drained. You’re bloody hopeless, mate, he told himself. It was a while before he took himself upstairs again.
Mrs Brown heard him go up.