Goodnight Mister Tom (24 page)

‘Glad might know somethin’. Glad!’ he yelled. ‘Glad!’

A fat woman who was sitting playing cards looked up. She smiled, exposing three teeth in a large expanse of grinning gums.

‘Yeth, love,’ she lisped. ‘Wot ith it?’

‘Is Mrs Beech on night shift this week. She ain’t ’ere.’

‘Is she ever!’ retorted Glad. ‘Wot you wanna know fer?’

‘Man here looking for little Willie.’

‘Run away, has he? Didn’t think he had it in him.’

‘No. Man ses Mrs Beech wrote for him to cum home.’

At this Glad climbed over several sleeping bodies and lumbered towards them.

‘Wot you on abaht. She told me he wuth stayin’. Said he wath wicked and wuth bein’ sent to an ’ome fer bad boys.’

‘Boy was never bad with me. That I can vouch for,’ said Tom.

‘Oo are you then, sir?’ Glad asked.

‘Tom Oakley.’

‘Willie stayed wiv him for nearly six months.’

Glad shrugged.

‘I ’aint theen him thinth September.’

‘What about Mrs Beech?’ began Tom.

‘She keeps herself to herself. Bit of a madam. Thinks she’s a bleedin’ saint if you’ll excooth me languidge. She does night shifts so I don’t never see her. I live next door yer see. Mind you,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t arfhear some funny noises. Very funny.’

‘Ow do you mean?’ queried the warden.

‘Bumps and whimpers.’

‘Bumps?’

‘Yeh, like furnicher bein’ moved arahnd.’

‘What’s funny abaht that?’

‘At free in the bleedin’ morning?! That’s what’s funny. She’s probably dustin’ her bible.’

The warden turned wearily.

‘Looks like a dead end, don’t it, Mr Oakley?’

‘I’d still like to see where he lives,’ said Tom.

‘You cum wiv me, luv,’ said Glad. ‘You fond of that Willie, then?’

Tom nodded.

‘Queer that. You’re the first person I know who is. I don’t think his own Muvver is even fond of him.’

‘Mebbe she’ll see me,’ said Tom.

‘Blimey, I forgot. She’s gawn away. To the coast. For a Bible meetin’ or somethin’. She told me last week. Dunno why. She don’t usually condescend to even look at me.’

‘Why warn’t I informed,’ commented the warden.

‘It’s up to her, ain’t it?’

The warden gave a despairing sigh. ‘Do you still want to see the place, Mr Oakley?’

He nodded.

They had to wait a good two hours before they could leave. The small building grew foggy with tobacco smoke. A W.V.S. lady in green uniform visited them with tea and sticky buns and a man called Jack unclipped a rather battered accordion and started playing it. The small group that Glad was part of were in the middle of singing ‘We’re going to hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line’ when the All Clear was sounded, and they left it unfinished in their scramble to get out.

Tom was relieved to be outside again. His clothes smelt of stale tobacco and sweat. He breathed in the night air as if it was nectar. Glad was waiting for him. Together she and the warden accompanied him to Willie’s home.

‘She fancies ’erself, duth ahr Misses Beech,’ lisped Glad. ‘Sheeth got the downstairs and the upstairs room. She thumtimes rents her bedroom and thleeps downstairs – well so she seth,’ and she winked and gave Tom a nudge.

They stood outside Number Twelve and peered in at the window. One of the newspapers had slid to one side. The interior seemed dark and uninhabited. The window still had brown sticky tape on it to protect the room from the blast of falling glass.

‘Deserted,’ remarked the warden.

Meanwhile Tom’s attention was drawn to Sammy who had started to move in an agitated manner outside the window.

‘What’s up, boy?’ he asked. ‘You smell somethin’?’ He crouched down and stroked him. ‘What is it?’

Sammy began to whine and scratch frantically at the front door. He ran to Tom and, clinging to his trouser leg, he pulled him towards it.

‘No one in there, Rover,’ said the warden.

‘Mebbe,’ said Tom. ‘But it ent like him to fuss over nothin’!’ He jiggled the door knob.

‘You can’t do that, sir. That’s agin’ the lor.’

‘I think there’s someone in there,’ said Tom urgently.

A policeman who had been attracted by the commotion joined them.

‘This man reckons there might be someone in there,’ explained the warden. ‘I’ve looked inside, far as I can, and it looks empty to me.’

The policeman pushed back his tin helmet.

‘What evidence do you have, sir?’

Tom pointed to Sammy who had grown quite frantic. He began to bark loudly, still scratching feverishly at the locked door.

They all glanced at each other.

‘I’d like to enter,’ suggested the warden anxiously. ‘I’m worried about the mother and boy who live in there.’

They knocked on the door loudly but there was no answer. Sammy leapt up and hurled himself at it.

‘He can smell somethin’, by all accounts,’ said the policeman.

After much deliberation they decided to break the door down. Between them, Tom, the policeman and the warden broke the wood round the lock after only two attempts.

The door crashed open and they were greeted with a stench so vile as to almost set them reeling. It was as if an animal had died and was rotting somewhere. Sammy ran immediately to a tiny door below the stairway and barked loudly scrabbling at it with his paws. The odour was at its strongest there. The warden lifted aside the latch and swung the door open. The smell was rank, so much so that the warden turned his face away quickly for a moment as if to retch. The policeman pulled his torch out of his pocket and shone it into the hole.

17
Rescue

The small alcove stank of stale urine and vomit. A thin emaciated boy with matted hair and skin like parchment was tied to a length of copper piping. He held a small bundle in his arms. His scrawny limbs were covered with sores and bruises and he sat in his own excrement. He shrank at the light from the torch and made husky gagging noises. The warden reached out and touched him and he let out a frightened whimper. An empty baby’s bottle stood by his legs.

‘You give me that baby, son,’ said the warden but the boy tightened himself up, his eyes wide with fear. Sammy slipped in between the warden’s legs and sat patiently waiting for his master’s command. Tom turned to the policeman.

‘I’d like to talk to the boy. ’E knows me, like.’

The policeman nodded and left to call an ambulance and to disperse the crowd of neighbours who were now massed outside the front door.

Tom squatted down.

‘It’s Mister Tom,’ he said gently. ‘I was worried about you, so me and Sammy cum lookin’ for you.’

Will looked in his direction.

‘He’ll have to go to the hospital,’ said the warden.

Will let out a cry.

‘Don’t worry, boy,’ said Tom reassuringly. ‘We’ll stay with you. Now you jest hang tight to that ole bundle and I’ll untie you. This man’s yer old school caretaker. He didn’t know you was here and now he’s goin’ to help you git out. The light’s on so’s we can see the ropes more clear, like.’

Very gently and laboriously he untied him. The warden, realizing that the boy looked calmer when the old man was by him, left him to it and watched.

Tom told him exactly what he was going to do. He knew that Will’s limbs would be stiff and that they would be agony to move. He took hold of him firmly and manoeuvred him gently towards him. It was difficult because Will clung so tightly to the bundle.

After Tom had managed to ease him out, he heard an ambulance drawing up outside and the sound of doors opening and slamming. The policeman crouched down beside him and handed him a blanket. Tom wrapped it round Will and the bundle and carried him to the ambulance.

‘The dog’s mine,’ he said firmly to one of the ambulance men who was about to push Sammy out. ‘And I’m travelling with the boy.’

The warden climbed in after him and sat on the free stretcher bed in the back. The doors were shut behind them and the ambulance grinded slowly forward.

‘I’d like to git me hands on that woman,’ the warden growled furiously. ‘All pride and angel pie on the outside and inside, this,’ and he pointed to Will who was now lying on a stretcher in the warmth of Tom’s overcoat.

‘She must be orf ’er nut!’

Tom glanced at him.

‘I ’spose you’ll be lookin’ for her,’ he commented.

‘Try and stop me!’

His pride had been shaken badly. It was embarrassing to have that policeman think he didn’t know his job.

‘Thank you,’ said Tom quietly.

‘What for, guv?’

‘For listenin’ and breakin’ in.’

‘Any time.’

He gazed down at Will’s face. A tiny speck of colour appeared in his jaundiced cheeks and he began to move his fingers. The warden looked intently at the bundle and then at Tom. Tom gave him a nod.

‘Reckon we could find a blanket for the little ’un, like?’ he asked.

The warden caught on immediately.

‘I’m sure we could, Mr Oakley,’ and he unfolded one of the blankets.

‘William,’ whispered Tom. ‘Will.’

He opened his eyes and looked up at him.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Can I has a look at the little ’un?’

Will nodded and relaxed his fingers a fraction. Tom drew the folds of the cold bundle to one side. The baby had been dead for some time. It was thin and tinged with a greyish hue. He glanced at the warden. They didn’t need to say anything. The look told all.

‘I’ve just warmed this blanket up for the little chap,’ said the warden.

‘It’s a her,’ he croaked.

‘Oh, girl, is it? Wot’s her name, then?’

‘I calls her Trudy.’

‘Trudy. That’s nice,’ and he leaned towards him. ‘You feel this nice soft blanket, Willie.’

‘I ent.’ He faltered. ‘I ent…’

‘You ain’t what?’ he asked.

‘I ent Willie.’

The warden looked concerned.

‘Shock,’ he whispered. ‘Must have gawn orf his chump.’

‘No,’ explained Tom. ‘We never called him Willie.’

‘Oh,’ said the warden, still not quite understanding.

‘Will,’ whispered Tom.

‘Yeh.’

‘Well… Will,’ began the warden again. ‘Hows abaht givin’ ahr little Miss Trudy a blanket of her own, like yours.’

Will nodded and released his grip.

‘Hurts,’ he gasped as he attempted to move his arms.

‘Takes yer own time,’ urged Tom. Will smiled as he recognized the familiar saying. ‘And keep breathin’. Sammy’ll warm them arms, won’t you, boy?’

Sammy was curled up by Will’s legs. He stood alertly to his feet. Slowly Tom prized open Will’s stiff arms and with the help of the warden they took the baby and wrapped it carefully in the blanket.

Sammy was placed onto Will’s lap. Will jerked involuntarily. He was very sore. All he wore were the singlet and pants that Miss Thorne’s sister, May, had given him for his birthday. They were now a filthy grey and yellow. His bare feet were mauve with the cold and his filthy claw like toenails curled inwards. Tom squeezed them with his hands to try and eke some warmth into them.

Will’s stiff arms were now enfolding Sammy. Suddenly to be holding a warm body instead of the cold one he had just handed over made him aware that something was wrong with the baby. He glanced urgently across at the warden who was holding her.

‘It’s all right, son,’ he said. ‘I got her.’

‘Hurts,’ he whispered. ‘My arms. They hurt.’

‘They will do for a bit,’ said Tom. ‘You bin holdin’ em in the same position for a long time. They ent used to movin’ yet.’

The ambulance jerked to a halt and the doors were flung open. Tom carried Will out, followed by Sammy and the warden. They pushed their way through two heavy doors, into a lobby. A woman with glasses sat behind a small glass window. She looked up at them briefly as they sat down on some chairs.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘No dogs allowed in here.’

‘Ent there somewhere I can leave him?’ inquired Tom.

‘I’m afraid not. He’ll have to go.’

The warden stood up and exchanged a few words with her.

‘I see,’ she said, looking at Tom and Will. ‘There are some railings at the side of the hospital. You could tie him to one of those. I’m sure no one would disturb him.’

‘Tie ’im!’ exclaimed Tom.

‘Afraid that’s the best they can do, Mr Oakley,’ said the warden.

A cleaner bustled past them. She stopped.

‘Cheer up, luvs,’ she said with a jolly smile. ‘It ain’t the end of the world. You’ll be all right here. They looks after you real proper.’

Will and Tom stared blankly at her as she disappeared jovially down the corridor singing ‘Wish me luck as you wave me good-bye.’

A young man in a white coat came flying out of one of the doors in the corridor followed rapidly by a nurse. They walked in their direction. The young man glanced at the bundle.

‘Dead,’ he said abruptly.

‘Dead,’ whimpered Will.

‘Dead cold he means, don’t you, sir,’ said the warden, winking urgently at the doctor and indicating the boy.

‘Oh yes,’ said the young man. He was exhausted and hadn’t realized that the boy and the baby were together. He knelt down by Will and drew aside the coat and blankets. The nurse, a dark-haired fresh-faced woman who didn’t look more than nineteen, knelt down beside him. The doctor mumbled something about lacerations and delousing. He looked up at Tom.

‘You a relative?’

Tom shook his head.

The warden spoke up for him. He knew how strict regulations were about not allowing visitors who weren’t relatives.

‘The boy stayed wiv him for six months in the country. He went back home to his mother who said she was ill. He ain’t got no Dad you see and this gentleman heard no word so he come miles to find him. Mother’s left the boy.’

‘Looks like he found you in the nick of time,’ said the nurse and she gave Will a warm smile.

The doctor stood up.

‘Best take him to the Children’s Ward and clean him up. Bit late for stitches. He’d better have a tetanus jab.’

‘That an injection?’ asked Tom anxiously.

‘Yes. Nothing to worry about. It’s in case of infection.’

‘Good clean air’ll cure that,’ said Tom.