Just William's New Year's Day (2 page)

Mr Moss was certainly in a holiday mood. William pinched himself just to make sure that he was still alive and had not been translated suddenly to the realms of the blessed.

Mr Moss, with a last anxious glance at his watch, hurried off in the direction of the station.

William was left alone. He spent a few moments indulging in roseate daydreams. The ideal of his childhood – perhaps of everyone’s childhood – was realised. He had a sweet shop.
He walked round the shop with a conscious swagger, pausing to pop into his mouth a Butter Ball – composed, as the label stated, of pure farm cream and best butter. It was all his – all
those rows and rows of gleaming bottles of sweets of every size and colour, those boxes and boxes of attractively arranged chocolates. Deliberately he imagined himself as their owner. By the time
he had walked round the shop three times he believed that he was the owner.

At this point a small boy appeared in the doorway. William scowled at him.

‘Well,’ he said ungraciously, ‘what d’you want?’ Then, suddenly remembering his resolution, ‘
Please
what d’you want?’

‘Where’s Uncle?’ said the small boy with equal ungraciousness. ‘’cause our Bill’s ill an’ can’t come.’

William waved him off.

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘You tell ’em that’s all right. That’s quite all right. See? Now, you go off!’

The small boy stood, as though rooted to the spot. William pressed into one of his hands a stick of liquorice and into the other a packet of chocolate.

‘Now, you go
away
! I don’t
want
you here. See? You
go away
you little – assified cow!’

William’s invective was often wholly original.

The small boy made off, still staring and clutching his spoils. William started to the door and yelled to the retreating figure, ‘If you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

He had already come to look upon the Resolution as a kind of god who must at all costs be propitiated. Already the Resolution seemed to have bestowed upon him the dream of his life – a
fully-equipped sweet shop.

He wandered round again and discovered a wholly new sweetmeat called Cokernut Kisses. Its only drawback was its instability. It melted away in the mouth at once. So much so that almost before
William was aware of it he was confronted by the empty box. He returned to the more solid charms of the Pineapple Crisp.

He was interrupted by the entrance of a thin lady of uncertain age.

‘Good morning,’ she said icily. ‘Where’s Mr Moss?’

William answered as well as the presence of five sweets in his mouth would allow him.

‘I can’t hear a word you say,’ she said – more frigidly than ever.

William removed two of his five sweets and placed them temporarily on the scale.

‘Gone,’ he said laconically, then murmured vaguely, ‘thank you,’ as the thought of the Resolution loomed up in his mind.

‘Who’s in charge?’

‘Me,’ said William ungrammatically.

She looked at him with distinct disapproval.

‘Well, I’ll have one of those bars of chocolate.’

William looking round the shop, realised suddenly that his own depredations had been on no small scale. But there was a chance of making good any loss that Mr Moss might otherwise have
sustained.

He looked down at the twopenny bars.

‘Shillin’ each,’ he said firmly.

She gasped.

‘They were only twopence yesterday.’

‘They’re gone up since,’ said William brazenly, adding a vague, ‘if you’ll kin’ly ’scuse me sayin’ so.’

‘Gone up—’ she repeated indignantly. ‘Have you heard from the makers they’re gone up?’

‘Yes’m,’ said William politely.

‘When did you hear?’

‘This mornin’ — if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

William’s manner of fulsome politeness seemed to madden her.

‘Did you hear by post?’

‘Yes’m. By post this mornin’.’

She glared at him with vindictive triumph.

‘I happen to live opposite, you wicked, lying boy, and I know that the postman did not call here this morning.’

William met her eye calmly.

‘No, they came round to see me in the night – the makers did. You cou’n’t of heard them,’ he added hastily. ‘It was when you was asleep. If you’ll
’scuse me contradictin’ of you.’

It is a great gift to be able to lie so as to convince other people. It is a still greater gift to be able to lie so as to convince oneself. William was possessed of the latter gift.

‘I shall certainly not pay more than twopence,’ said his customer severely, taking a bar of chocolate and laying down twopence on the counter. ‘And I shall report this shop to
the Profiteering Committee. It’s scandalous. And a pack of wicked lies!’

William scowled at her.

‘They’re a
shillin’
,’ he said. ‘I don’t want your nasty ole tuppences. I said they was a
shillin’
.’

He followed her to the door. She was crossing the street to her house. ‘You – you ole
thief
!’ he yelled after her, though, true to his Resolution, he added softly with
dogged determination, ‘if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.’

‘I’ll set the police on you,’ his late customer shouted angrily back across the street. ‘You wicked, blasphemous boy!’

William put out his tongue at her, then returned to the shop and closed the door.

Here he discovered that the door, when opened, rang a bell, and, after filling his mouth with Liquorice Allsorts, he spent the next five minutes vigorously opening and shutting the door till
something went wrong with the mechanism of the bell. At this he fortified himself with a course of Nutty Footballs and, standing on a chair, began ruthlessly to dismember the bell. He was disturbed
by the entry of another customer. Swallowing a Nutty Football whole, he hastened to his post behind the counter.

The newcomer was a little girl of about nine – a very dainty little girl, dressed in a white fur coat and cap and long white gaiters. Her hair fell in golden curls over her white fur
shoulders. Her eyes were blue. Her cheeks were velvety and rosy. Her mouth was like a baby’s. William had seen this vision on various occasions in the town, but had never yet addressed it.
Whenever he had seen it, his heart in the midst of his body had been even as melting wax. He smiled – a self-conscious, sheepish smile. His freckled face blushed to the roots of his short
stubby hair. She seemed to find nothing odd in the fact of a small boy being in charge of a sweet shop. She came up to the counter.

‘Please, I want two twopenny bars of chocolate.’

Her voice was very clear and silvery.

Ecstasy rendered William speechless. His smile grew wider and more foolish. Seeing his two half-sucked Pineapple Crisps exposed upon the scales, he hastily put them into his mouth.

She laid four pennies on the counter.

William found his voice.

‘You can have lots for that,’ he said huskily. ‘They’ve gone cheap. They’ve gone ever so cheap. You can take all the boxful for that,’ he went on recklessly.
He pressed the box into her reluctant hands. ‘An’ – what else would you like? You jus’ tell me that. Tell me what else you’d like?’

‘Please, I haven’t any more money,’ gasped a small, bewildered voice.

‘
Money
don’t matter,’ said William. ‘Things is cheap today. Things is awful cheap today.
Awful
cheap! You can have – anythin’ you like for that
fourpence. Anythin’ you like.’

‘’Cause it’s New Year’s Day?’ said the vision, with a gleam of understanding.

‘Yes,’ said William, ‘’cause it’s that.’

‘Is it your shop?’

‘Yes,’ said William with an air of importance. ‘It’s all my shop.’

She gazed at him in admiration and envy.

‘I’d love to have a sweet shop,’ she said wistfully.

‘Well, you take anythin’ you like,’ said William generously.

She collected as much as she could carry and started towards the door. ‘
Sank
you! Sank you ever so!’ she said gratefully.

William stood leaning against the door in the easy attitude of the good-natured, all-providing male.

‘It’s all right,’ he said with an indulgent smile. ‘Quite all right. Quite all right.’ Then, with an inspiration born of memories of his father earlier in the day,
‘Not at all. Don’t menshun it. Not at all. Quite all right.’

He stopped, simply for lack of further expressions, and bowed with would-be gracefulness as she went through the doorway.

As she passed the window she was rewarded by a spreading effusive smile in a flushed face.

She stopped and kissed her hand.

William blinked with pure emotion.

He continued his smile long after its recipient had disappeared. Then absent-mindedly he crammed his mouth with a handful of Mixed Dew Drops and sat down behind the counter.

As he crunched the Mixed Dew Drops he indulged in a day dream in which he rescued the little girl in the white fur coat from robbers and pirates and a burning house. He was just leaping nimbly
from the roof of the burning house, holding the little girl in the white fur coat in his arms, when he caught sight of two of his friends flattening their noses at the window. He rose from his seat
and went to the door.

‘’Ullo, Ginger! ’Ullo, Henry!’ he said with an unsuccessful effort to appear void of self-consciousness.

They gazed at him in wonder.

‘I’ve gotta shop,’ he went on casually. ‘Come on in an’ look at it.’

They peeped round the doorway cautiously and, reassured by the sight of William obviously in sole possession, they entered, open-mouthed. They gazed at the boxes and bottles of sweets.
Aladdin’s Cave was nothing to this.

‘Howd’ you get it, William?’ gasped Ginger.

‘Someone gave it me,’ said William. ‘I took one of them things to be p’lite an’ someone gave it me. Go on,’ he said kindly. ‘Jus’ help yourselves.
Not at all. Jus’ help yourselves an’ don’t menshun it.’

They needed no second bidding. With the unerring instinct of childhood (not unsupported by experience) that at any minute their Eden might be invaded by the avenging angel in the shape of a
grown-up, they made full use of their time. They went from box to box, putting handfuls of sweets and chocolates into their mouths. They said nothing, simply because speech was, under the
circumstances, a physical impossibility. Showing a foresight for the future, worthy of the noble ant itself, so often held up as a model to childhood, they filled pockets in the intervals of
cramming their mouths.

A close observer might have noticed that William now ate little. William himself had been conscious for some time of a curious and inexplicable feeling of coldness towards the tempting dainties
around him. He was, however, loath to give in to the weakness, and every now and then he nonchalantly put into his mouth a Toasted Square or a Fruity Bit.

It happened that a loutish boy of about fourteen was passing the shop. At the sight of three small boys rapidly consuming the contents, he became interested.

‘What yer doin’ of?’ he said indignantly, standing in the doorway.

‘You get out of my shop,’ said William valiantly.

‘
Yer
shop?’ said the boy. ‘Yer bloomin’ well pinchin’ things out o’ someone else’s shop,
I
can see. ’Ere, gimme some of
them.’

‘You get
out
!’ said William.

‘Get out
yerself
!’ said the other.

‘If I’d not took one to be p’lite,’ said William threateningly, ‘I’d knock you down.’

‘Yer would, would yer?’ said the other, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

‘Yes, an’ I would, too. You get out.’ Seizing the nearest bottle, which happened to contain Acid Drops, he began to fire them at his opponent’s head. One hit him in the
eye. He retired into the street. William, now afire for battle, followed him, still hurling Acid Drops with all his might. A crowd of boys collected together. Some gathered Acid Drops from the
gutter, others joined the scrimmage. William, Henry, and Ginger carried on a noble fight against heavy odds.

It was only the sight of the proprietor of the shop coming briskly down the side-walk that put an end to the battle. The street boys made off (with what spoils they could gather) in one
direction and Ginger and Henry in another. William, clasping an empty Acid Drop bottle to his bosom, was left to face Mr Moss.

Mr Moss entered and looked round with an air of bewilderment.

‘Where’s Bill?’ he said.

‘He’s ill,’ said William. ‘He couldn’t come. I’ve been keepin’ shop for you. I’ve done the best I could.’ He looked round the rifled shop
and hastened to propitiate the owner as far as possible. ‘I’ve got some money for you,’ he added soothingly, pointing to the four pennies that represented his morning’s
takings. ‘It’s not much,’ he went on with some truth, looking again at the rows of emptied boxes and half-emptied bottles and the debris that is always and everywhere the
inevitable result of a battle. But Mr Moss hardly seemed to notice it.

‘Thanks, William,’ he said almost humbly. ‘William, she’s took me. She’s goin’ ter marry me. Isn’t it grand? After all these years!’