He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) (3 page)

‘Take a pew,’ Fred said, smiling.
 
I perched on the edge of a chair.
 
It was old and the springs creaked.

‘How’s school been today?’
 
Fred asked, offering me a liquorice allsort.

‘Fine.’
 
I took the sweet and held it while I spun the globe.
 
I didn’t want to talk about school.
 
I only wanted to spin and hear more of Fred’s adventures.
 
It was better than listening to
Dick Barton
.
 
When it stopped turning, I closed my eyes and pointed.
 

‘Well, well, well, South America,’ Fred smiled.
 
‘Brazil to be precise.’

‘Have you been there?’
 
I chewed on my sweet.

‘I surely have.
 
Of course, I haven’t seen all of it.
 
It’s a very big place.’

‘What’s it like, then?’

‘The beaches are some of the best in the world, with fine white sand and the sea is the colour of a blue summer sky.’

‘As good as Bognor?’

‘Just as good as Bognor,’ Fred smiled.
 
‘There are many churches.
 
It’s very hot, and the churches are cool inside and good places to go to get out of the heat.’
 
Fred crossed to the window and looked out.
 
I wondered if he was seeing Brazil instead of our bombsite.

‘Vast areas are jungle where there are monkeys and a lot of other wild animals.
 
There are still tribes of people who haven’t ever seen a white person.’
 

Fred came back to the globe and rubbed his finger over the patch that was South America.
 
‘Brazilian people speak Portuguese, because it was Portugal who discovered it.’

‘What do they eat?’

‘Mainly beans.’

‘Baked beans?’
 
What a place to live!
          

‘I’m afraid not.
 
They’re a different kind entirely – not to my liking at all.
 
Give me a good plate of Irish stew any day.
 
But the people are happy-go-lucky and dance a lot.
 
They call their national dance the samba.’
 
Fred laughed.
 
‘Not a dance for bones that are getting old like mine.’

I rested my chin in my hands and tried to imagine such a faraway place.
 
When I grew up, I was going to travel like that.
 
Maybe I’d join the Navy.

‘Why don’t Miss Lorimore and I take you to the library tomorrow?
 
You can get some books on South America, and Angela might like to choose a couple of books too,’ Fred continued.

‘Thanks, thanks very much.’
 
Having Fred live with us wasn’t at all horrible.

October came and it was too cold to sit on Paula’s back step.
 
We took to reading in her kitchen, where it was warm and Mrs Dibble often gave us queen cakes or date slices.
 
I was reading a Biggles book I’d got from the library when I’d last gone with Fred.
 
Since Fred came to live with us, I’d gone up two reading grades at school and earned some progress stars.

‘Fred's got a wireless set and he's put it in our kitchen.
 
He said, what's the point of having it in his room, when we can all enjoy it.’
 
I told Paula.
 
‘Now Mum listens to
Housewives’ Choice
while she does her sewing, and Lori pops in to listen to it, even though she’s got a wireless of her own.
 
I think she comes in all the time because Fred's a friend of hers.
 
It's funny the way she acts when he's around.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When she calls him
Fred
, she says it as if she’s
Betty Grable
.
 
Fred acts a bit strange in front of her too.
 
The other day he called her by her first name and said she was looking as lovely as when she was eighteen.
 
He had this silly grin on his face.’

‘What's Miss Lorimore's first name?’
 
It can’t possibly be Lori.
 
That’s only her nickname.’

‘I think it’s Amelia.’

‘Girls in books have that sort of name.
 
They’re the ones that go to posh boarding schools.
 
They don’t come from Blountmere Streeet.’

‘The other day while I was getting my shoes from the cupboard in the passage I overheard Fred and Lori talking.’

‘What did they say?’
 
Paula asked.

‘Lori said something about it not being proper they were alone in Fred's room, and what would Dolly think.
 
Fred said that if he hadn't been a fool all those years ago, they wouldn't have to worry about what anyone thought now.’

‘What did Lori say to that?’
 
Paula leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table.

‘Lori said she had waited for a long time.’
 
I scratched my head.
 
‘What had Lori waited for, do you think?’

‘Perhaps it was a wireless.’

‘Maybe.
 
Anyway, Fred went on about regretting whatever it was.’

‘Why did Fred regret Lori had to wait for a wireless?’

‘Dunno, but he sounded like he had water in his voice box.
 
Then he said, “I’ve asked her to let me go, but she refuses.”
 
Things went quiet after that and I didn’t want them to catch me snooping, so I collected my shoes and crept back down the passage.’

‘Grown ups have the strangest conversations.’

‘How are things going, having Fred around?’ Lori asked Mum one afternoon.
 
Although she had always been in and out of our place, now Fred had come, Lori practically lived with us.
 
As usual, I was in my corner reading.
 
My present book was about Australia.
 
I’d chosen it the last time I went to the library.

‘Everything’s going very well.’
 
Mum actually sounded enthusiastic.
 
‘Now I’m beginning to get busy with sewing, he’s such a help, and I can’t tell you how good it is to have him take over the housekeeping.

Our Old Man never lifted a finger to help with the dishes or cleaning.
 
He said it was women’s work.
 
Going shopping would have sent him barmy.

November rolled in with fog, and our bombsite looked like it was covered in a curtain.
 
The fog burnt my throat and made my eyes scratch.
       

Mum was speechless when Fred lugged in a bucket of coal and put it on the hearth.

‘Wherever did that come from?’
 
Mum asked looking up from her sewing.

‘I budgeted a little from the housekeeping to have a couple of hundred weight delivered and persuaded Les Dibble downstairs to let me keep it in the shed in his back garden,’ Fred explained.
 
He knelt in front of the fireplace, screwed paper into balls and criss-crossed wood over them before heaping on the coal.
 
He struck a match and held it to the paper.
 
Before long our flat was cosy and warm for the first time I could remember.
 

‘What a difference it makes,’ Mum smiled.
 
Her face had lost some of its sadness.

Fred straightened.
 
‘Now, young Tony, how about popping down those stairs and fetching some more coal?’
 
Fred handed me the coal scuttle.
 
I could tell it was a way of getting me out of the room while he spoke to Mum.
 

I bounded down the stairs, opened and shut the door with a bang, then I crept back again.
 
I wedged myself behind the door peeping through the crack.

‘I wanted to give you this, Mrs Addington.
 
It’s the money I’ve saved on the shopping.
 
I thought you might like to buy the children their Christmas presents with it,’ Fred said.

Mum’s voice was shaky.
 
‘I’ve never had the opportunity to save anything before.
 
It’s like an inheritance, Mr Stannard.’
 
I heard Mum blow her nose.

‘Tony was telling me how much he'd like a Meccano set the other day.
 
I think you'll find there's enough to buy him one, and it would still leave plenty for Angela’s present.’

A Meccano set!
 
I concentrated on keeping my feet on the floor in case I jumped up and down.

‘I've always said I'd like to get Angela a musical box, one with a ballerina on top like the one I once had.
 
Do you think this will run to one?’
 
Mum asked, her voice still sounding quivery.

‘I'm more than sure it will, and I think I know where you'll find just what you're looking for.
 
Jousins the jewellers in the Old Town have one in their window.
 
I’ll come with you to get it if you like.’

‘I’d be most grateful, Mr Stannard.’

‘Not at all, Mrs Addington’

I thought Christmas would never come.
 
Keeping my secret from everyone was like trying to keep a door locked when the key wanted to jump from my pocket and straight into the keyhole.

‘I don't care what stupid Paula
Dribble
gets, it won't be as good as this,’ Angela said on Christmas morning.
 
The ballerina twirled on top of her musical box to the tinkling of
The Sugar Plum Fairy
, while Angela pretended to be a ballerina.
 
I sprawled on the floor in front of the fire and screwed together pieces of Meccano to make a tank.
 
The smell of chicken and Christmas pudding wafted from the scullery.
 
There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the kitchen and Angela danced towards it.
 
‘Our lights are real, not stupid little candles like the Dibbles have on their Christmas tree,’ she sneered.
 

‘It doesn’t do to make comparisons,’ Fred smiled at Angela and she smiled back.
 
She hardly ever smiled and I couldn’t believe how different it made her look.
 
I must have been going soft or perhaps it was the Christmas tree lights, but she looked a bit like the angel Fred had tied to the top of the tree.

‘We'll be able to listen to the King's speech after dinner.
 
You can always rely on His Majesty to deliver a good few words, even if he does have a bit of a stammer.’
 
Lori called from the scullery.
 
Old Man Dibble downstairs was abusing his wife and she had to raise her voice to make herself heard over the row.
 
‘Let's turn the wireless on, so that it warms up,’ she said.
 

Chapter Three

Soon after Christmas, the weather turned nasty.
 
North winds froze our blood.
  
I had chilblains on my fingers and toes.
 
Fred gave Mum an old jersey.
 
She unravelled it and knitted Angela and me a pair of gloves and a scarf each, the first we’d ever owned.
 
Sometimes when the wind rattled the window panes, and ice painted the insides of the glass with a thick crust, Angela and I wore our gloves and scarves around the house.

‘Look at that icicle.’
 
I pointed to a length of ice, hanging like a dagger outside the window.

‘It’s not as big as the one outside my classroom.
 
It must be at least two feet long.’
 

‘Why d’you always have to go one better,’ I began.

Mum interrupted our argument.
 
She looked nervous.
 
‘I’ve been thinking.
 
It’s … well … I want to have you both christened.’

‘You can’t mean it.’
 
It was one of the soppiest things I’d ever heard Mum say.
 

Mum’s interest in God had begun a few months earlier when the vicar of St. Nicholas’ Church came knocking on our door.
 
I think he was trying to persuade people to join his congregation.
 
After talking to him, Mum dusted off her old Bible and went to church.
 
Sometimes Fred and Lori went with her.
 
They came back singing hymns and with a pint of winkles which Fred bought from the stall outside
The Perseverance
.

‘Your father didn't have any time for religion, but it doesn't seem right somehow that you haven't been sprinkled with holy water and blessed,’ Mum continued.

‘Babies get christened, not kids of our age.
 
We'd look daft.
 
Anyway, the vicar wouldn’t be able to pick us up,’ Angela said, and scowled.

‘He wouldn't have to pick you up.
 
It would be more of a grown-up service.’
 
Mum sounded as if she had rehearsed what she wanted to say.

‘You mean we wouldn't have to wear christening robes?’

She smiled at Angela. ‘Of course you wouldn’t. You'd wear your ordinary clothes.
 
I might even be able to make you a new dress.’

I knew she was bribing Angela, like Herbie’s Mum bribed him when she offered him a tanner if he went and got her a packet of fags.

‘I've spoken to the Reverend Roberts.
 
He says you should be christened, and he'll be happy to do it.’

‘We won’t get struck dead if we’re not done, will we?’

‘Of course not.
 
It's just that the Reverend Roberts says every child should be dedicated to God.’

‘I don’t care what stupid Reverend Roberts says, I’m not getting christened; dress or no new dress.’ Angela folded her arms.

Mum wasn’t to be put off.
 
‘Part of being christened is that you'll need godparents.’

‘Godparents!’

‘Two people who, if anything should happen to me, promise to support and look after you.
 
Of course it’s more of a tradition these days.’

‘If it's only a silly tradition, why bother?’

‘The Reverend Roberts says we must.’

I wondered if the Reverend Roberts would have so much to say if someone wanted to christen him when he was ten.
 
He wasn’t the one who’d look a chump.
 
What would the Gang say if they found out?
 

‘I'm sure it won’t be bad.
 
Reverend Roberts will only make a small cross with water on your forehead.
 
And if it makes you feel better, we'll ask if it could be done in a private service with only your godparents there.’

‘And who are going to be our godparents?’

‘It's usually people from your family, but Aunt Jess and Uncle Albert live in Northumberland, so we can't ask them.’

I puffed out a relieved breath.
 
Uncle Albert picked his nose and Aunt Jess had a squint that made it seem as if she was looking at you even when she wasn’t.

Mum squared her shoulders.
 
‘Actually, Miss Lorimore and Mr Stannard have said they’d do it’

‘Fred and Lori!’
 
Angela uncrossed her arms and the sulkiness drained from her face. ‘And you say I can have a new dress?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I choose the material and the pattern?’

‘Maybe not the material, but the pattern.
 
Miss Lorimore’s also suggested a special tea afterwards to celebrate.’

Angela stroked the sides of her face the way Fred did when he was considering something. ‘I suppose that makes a bit of a difference.
 
And you say no-one else will be there?’

‘No-one needs to know.’

‘In that case, I suppose it’ll be all right.’

‘Yeah, I suppose we might as well go along with it.’
 
I said, giving my opinion even though no one had asked for it.

‘I'll ask the Reverend Roberts to book us in, shall I?’

‘Might as well.’

As soon as she finished, I fled along the passage to Fred’s room.
 
‘Mum says you're going to be our godfather,’ I blurted as soon as he opened the door.

Fred nodded.
 
‘I like to think I’ll do a good job.
 
I'm afraid I didn't do so well with my own children.
 
I was away too much to have any influence on them.’

‘I didn't know you had kids.’

‘Two - a boy and a girl.
 
They both live abroad.
 
Shirley's in Canada with her husband and two daughters, and Ronald's in New Zealand.
 
He part-owns a business there.’
 
Fred reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet.
 
He took out two photographs and showed them to me.
 
One was of a young woman, the other of a tall man wearing glasses and dressed in a checked shirt and jeans like a cowboy.
 
Fred studied them as if he was trying to set every detail in his head.
 
When he had replaced the photos in his wallet, he crossed to the window and stared out at yet another snow flurry.
 
I edged closer to him and brushed my hand against his.
 
If his children didn't appreciate him, I did.

 
Fred stroked my shoulders, but it felt as if he was stroking my heart.
 
‘Sometimes we're given a second chance, what do you think?’
 
Fred asked me.

On the afternoon of our christening in St. Nicholas’, our breath swirled in front of us like white candyfloss.
 
Lori had exchanged her scarf for a fur stole, and Fred could have been an Admiral in his navy blue blazer and freshly pressed slacks, a crisp white handkerchief peeping from his top pocket.
 
The five of us stood around a strange looking basin which was half-filled with water.
 
I hoped the water wasn’t too cold.
 
At least it hadn’t frozen over like the ponds up The Common.

Lori and Fred had given each of us a Bible.
 
There was a coloured picture on the inside cover that showed Jesus, surrounded by children.
 
Underneath the picture, it said: “Suffer Little Children To Come Unto Me”.
 
I clutched my Bible to my chest, while Lori clung to Fred’s arm, Angela fidgeted and Mum gave her the sort of smile that said it wouldn’t be long now.
 
Reverend Roberts put on his spectacles and read from the black book in front of him.
 
After reading, he looked upwards and called out to God.
 
‘Our Father, bless these, Thy children.’
 
His voice bounced off the pillars and echoed from a hundred stone creases around the church.
 
My concentration wandered, and in my mind I tried to create a picture of God.
 
Each time, I imagined Him differently.
 
Old and bearded, like a cleaner version of Gabby Hayes in the films at Saturday Picture Club.
 
Next I imagined Him to look like the picture of Jesus I had in the front of my Bible.
 
I even saw him as a version of Old Dibble downstairs, silent and angry.

Something wet touched my forehead, making me pay attention as Reverend Roberts drew a cold cross on my forehead

‘May the God of Heaven watch over you,’ he said in a sing song voice.
 
I wished he hadn’t said those words. I didn’t want God spying on everything I did.

Next, Reverend Roberts turned to Fred and Lori and asked them to promise to carry out their duties responsibly.
 
I looked at Fred, who was standing upright like the trunk of the sycamore tree in Blountmere Street.
 
I knew he wouldn't let me down or run off with some fancy woman.
 
Reverend Roberts called God “Father”, but God wasn’t like my Old Man.
 
God was like Fred.