Sadler's Birthday (19 page)

‘Mr Sadler! Mr Sadler!'

Tom appeared on the landing above her, stuffing a clean white shirt into his trousers.

‘Is she there, Vera?' he asked.

‘What, duck?'

‘Is she there? My Ma's come. Didn't you know?'

‘No one told me, love. All I know is Madam's ringing for Mr Sadler.'

‘No she's not. It's for me. She wants me to go down and see my Ma. Tell her I'm coming, Vera. Just got to get my shoes . . .'

He ran to the airing cupboard where his shoes, damp from a river outing, had been put to dry. Vera, out of breath as always when she climbed stairs, stood where she was. She couldn't bear any kind of confusion. Confusion immobilized her.

‘I'm coming, Vera. I'm coming!' called Tom.

Then with his best jacket on he came flying past her, taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Well, I don't know . . .' Vera muttered.

She turned and began to go down, then thought grudgingly, if I don't tell Mr Sadler tea's ready it'll be flippin' cold before he gets to it and then he'll be whining for another pot. So she trudged back up to the landing, called again, and getting no answer, trod quietly to Sadler's door. The door was open. She could see Sadler standing at the window, his hands pressed against the glass.

‘Mr Sadler,' Vera said softly.

He jumped, turned towards her.

‘What is it, Vera?'

She noticed that he was pale and his eyes were red.

‘'Ere,' she said, ‘you all right?'

‘Yes, I'm all right, Vera.'

‘You don't look yourself, Mr Sadler.'

‘I'm all right.'

‘Tea's ready. Sure you're OK, dear? I could bring you up a cup.'

‘No, no.'

‘It's the news then upset you?'

‘News?'

‘Well, I just saw Tom. Said 'is Ma was here.'

‘Yes.'

‘Bit of a cheek, eh, after all that time?'

‘Um.'

‘Seem odd, won't it, if 'e goes?'

‘Yes.'

‘I think we've got quite fond of 'im, you an' I, though he is awkward. Remember when he first came, tiny little mite? Sat at the kitchen table all pale and scared to death. Now look at 'im!'

‘Yes.'

‘You're fond of him, aren't you, Mr Sadler? I can tell. You always had a soft spot for him, right from the start.'

‘Yes, I'll miss him, Vera.'

‘Oh well. Better fer him, I daresay. 'Ad to go back some time, didn't 'e?'

Sadler nodded. ‘You go on down, Vera, and have your tea. I'll join you in a minute.'

When she'd gone, Sadler locked his door. Without making any sound at all, he wept.

Vera waited for him and Madge waited for him. Vera got up, put the cosy on the teapot, sat down again, thought how very used to Tom they'd all of them grown and so no wonder really if Mr Sadler wasn't himself. If the boy left, things would change. Tea-time for instance. She supposed they wouldn't really bother about tea any more. She'd make a jam sponge for Madam now and then, and brandy-snaps for the Colonel if he asked for them, but all that bread and jam that Tom ate – at least a pot of jam a week – she wouldn't be putting that on the table any more. And it would seem strange to sit in the kitchen, just herself and Sadler, at five o'clock. There had been days, especially on winter afternoons, when Vera had felt that the three of them were very close. Even a bit, she sighed, like a family.

She heard Madge buzz again. More to protect Sadler than to demonstrate any eagerness to answer a summons, she untied her apron, stuck one or two loose pins back into her hair and went to the drawing room. When Madge's voice answered her little knock she went in.

‘Oh it's you, Vera,' Madge said. ‘Is Sadler out?'

‘Must be, Madam,' lied Vera. ‘I can't find him.'

Madge was sitting on one of the sofas, a cushion behind her head. There was no sign of Tom's Ma.

‘Well, come in a minute, Vera. I'm feeling so upset, I would like just to talk to someone.'

‘Certainly, Madam.'

‘Sit down, will you?'

‘Oh thank you.'

Vera perched, bony knees together, on the edge of a wide armchair that threatened each moment to engulf her in its padded comfort. She willed her body not to tilt.

‘I don't know . . . I don't know why I should feel so upset,' Madge began. ‘It's these people, Tom's mother and her . . . her man. I don't like to think of Tom going back to them. I feel I should try to stop him leaving, but what can I do? I've told Tom lots of times that he's welcome to stay. He's part of us all now. But I'm powerless, Vera. She's his mother and she has the right to take him back.'

‘Well, like I said to Mr Sadler, 'e had to go back some time, didn't 'e?'

‘I suggested they all went for a walk in the garden. Tom came running down and then when he saw his mother he just stared at her and wouldn't speak. I thought the sunshine might help. I thought without me there they'd feel happier . . .'

Vera's ankles were sending shafts of pain up into her knees. She longed to sink back into the huge chair, put her feet on a stool and close her eyes. It'd be bloody nice, she thought, to stay 'ere just like that till all this Tom business is over and everyone, yours truly Vera included, starts to chirp up.

‘Go on, dear,' said the Colonel.

‘Well, as I was saying, it was all quite unexpected. I've never been so unprepared for anything in my life. I mean, down they come, without even a letter or a telephone call. It was as if it was all on the spur of the moment, you know, like deciding one day to go and buy a tortoise.'

The Colonel was very tired. Coming back from London on the train he'd dropped off, head lolling, mouth open, pushing out tight little breaths that smelled bad – a body in dissolution. Brandy poisoned him. He couldn't drink it any more and not feel half dead a few hours after. Each time this happened, he promised himself he wouldn't drink the stuff any more. But then there'd been one or two of his ‘group' at the club; you had to have something after lunch if the group were there.

‘Tortoise?'

‘Oh you know what I mean, Geoffrey. I mean, why did they suddenly want Tom back now? I doubt they'd given him a thought in four years.'

‘Working age, Madge.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He's a wage-earner, dear.'

Madge stared blankly at the bits of the Colonel's face she could see through the candelabra.

‘That's
awful
, Geoffrey.'

The Colonel shrugged. ‘It's economics.'

‘I never should have let him go! I felt it at the time. There was something in me which told me I should be standing up to those people, and for some reason I just couldn't. I didn't hear half of what the man was saying. If only you'd been there, Geoffrey . . .'

‘What did he say?'

‘Oh something about the Trent house being bombed. She tried to make that the excuse. She said she didn't have a home to give Tom.'

‘Probably true. The East End had by far the worst of it.'

‘Well, I know, but
she
must've found somewhere to live. She probably moved in with Morrison or whatever his name was. Why couldn't Tom have gone there?'

‘Nuisance value.'

‘Well, that's just it. That's just my point. They didn't give a damn about Tom. They just didn't care!'

Madge felt sick. Vera had made an excellent cheese soufflé, one of her favourite things, but now she couldn't eat it. She turned to Sadler who was standing behind her.

‘I'm sorry, Sadler. I'm afraid I just can't eat tonight. Please tell Vera the soufflé was delicious – I'm just not hungry.'

‘Yes, Madam.'

Sadler moved forward and took her plate away. Madge took a tiny sip of her white wine. The Colonel ate in silence for a while, then he wiped his mouth, nodded to Sadler that he had finished, and said to Madge:

‘That was it, then?'

‘What?'

‘They just drove off with Tom?'

‘Well, it seemed as if he wanted to go, didn't it Sadler? He was terribly excited. He couldn't speak at first, so I suggested they went out for a walk, it was such a lovely morning. And then while I was chatting to Vera, Tom came back and said was it all right if he went home now. And I thought, home, what on earth is home, Tom, when you've been here for so long? But he was quite casual about it – you know, the way he always is. It was as if he'd been working here for an hour or two, something like that, and was asking me if he could go.'

‘Odd little chap.'

‘What could I say, Geoffrey? I said as much I could. I asked him if he'd thought about it. I said, you're welcome to stay, Tom, if you want to.'

‘Difficult for him.'

‘But the real reason, you see, never occurred to me. I can't forgive myself for that. If I'd just understood why they were taking him back, I could have warned him, couldn't I? But I was so confused. And that's always my trouble. I'm always saying how important it is not to let people down and then I go and let them down without meaning to, without realizing what I'm doing.'

‘Come on, old thing. You didn't let anybody down. I'd say you did what you could. We've been good to Tom. We've given him a home.'

‘Well, it can't have been much of a home if he was so keen to leave it.'

‘Well, that's only natural, I'd say.'

‘If it hadn't been for Sadler, it wouldn't have been a home at all.'

‘Sadler didn't mind, did you Sadler? You and Tom got on like thieves, didn't you?'

‘Oh yes, Sir.'

‘I'd say Sadler's the one to worry about, Madge, eh Sadler? Bet you're sorry to see the boy gone, what?'

‘Well I am, Sir, yes. We've had some good times.'

‘There, you see, Madge? Tom'll be all right. He'll learn a trade, I wouldn't wonder. Clever with his hands. He'll learn some kind of a trade.'

When Madge and the Colonel left the dining room, Sadler snuffed the candles and cleared the table. He felt tired but he didn't want to go to his room. Sitting with Vera for an hour or two would be better than going there. He knew Tom despised him for being so sad because packing the boy's suitcase with him, sorting and lovingly folding his things, he'd looked up to find him staring angrily at him.

‘Why can't you put them in, Jack? They're not the bleedin' crown jewels!'

He'd sat down on the bed and held out a hand to Tom.

‘I'll miss you, Tom.'

‘Well, yeah . . .'

‘You can't imagine how much.'

‘I'd've hated it here if it hadn't've been fer you.'

‘I love you.'

‘Well, yeah, in a way . . .'

‘In every way. I love you terribly.'

Tom turned away. ‘It's no good, all this. I can't spend my whole life like this!'

‘Why not? I could get another kind of job and rent a place for us. We could —'

‘Look, shut up, Jack. My Ma's waiting. I'll come back, won't I, an' see you? I always said I would. But I got to forget about all this an' go home.'

Sadler had kissed Tom before letting him go. He had pressed the boy's body against his own till he felt his resistance weaken a little and his mouth open. Parting from him then, wanting him and being given instead just the merest of smiles as Tom picked up his suitcase and left the room, gave him such pain that he stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming.

When Sadler went into the servants' hall, Vera was sitting on the grey couch, comfortable there with her knitting and comforted, after an upsetting day, by the familiar movements her fingers made. Only when she was following a very difficult pattern did Vera look at her knitting; usually she stared straight ahead, seeming not to notice what her hands were doing. She looked up and smiled at Sadler as he came in.

‘Finished early in the dining room, didn't they?'

‘Yes, I told you Mrs Bassett said she wasn't hungry.'

‘Not my day, was it? Bleedin' steak and kidney lunchtime . . .'

‘I'm sorry, Vera.'

‘Not your fault, Mr Sadler. Just that kind of a day. Never mind, eh?'

Sadler took his pipe from the mantelpiece and began to fill it. It wasn't yet dark outside. The summer evening with its weight of scent hung there.

‘Getting out, aren't they?' said Vera.

‘What, Vera?'

‘Evenings. Getting out.'

‘Oh yes.'

‘Nice time to be at the seaside, I wouldn't wonder. We went every year with my mum. End of May. We played battledore and shuttlecock on the sands. Whitsand Bay.'

‘You should go back there one year, Vera. Take an early holiday.'

‘Me? Oh lor no! Too old to paddle now.'

They both laughed. Sadler inhaled pipe smoke, thought how odd it was that Vera had a laugh twice her size. She stored up laughter, using it as she did so sparingly.

‘Bet 'e'd never been ter the sea, 'ad he?'

‘Tom?'

‘Yes.'

‘Only once, I think.'

‘Told you, did 'e, his Ma took 'im?'

‘No. I took him.'

Vera looked up at Sadler in surprise.

‘Remember the evening last summer when I got back too late to serve dinner?'

‘Do I!'

‘We got a bus to Cromer.'