Sons and Daughters (31 page)

‘Daniel, I don’t like you being so high up,’ she said. Daniel was outlined by the sky. ‘Hey, did you hear me?’

‘Sure I heard you,’ said Daniel, banging away. ‘But if I were lower down, I’d be hammering this bolt into the wrong bit of the wall.’

‘Oh, very funny,’ said Patsy, considered by the family to be much the best thing that had ever happened to Daniel. ‘Wisecracks are out while
you’re all the way up there. The ladder’s gotten trembles.’

‘Cuddle it,’ said Daniel.

‘Oh, sure, I grew up cuddling ladders,’ said Patsy. ‘Daniel, come down.’

Little Arabella, nineteen months old, piped, ‘Daddy.’

‘There, Arabella’s telling you to come down,’ said Patsy. Although she was just as adventurous as Daniel, she simply didn’t like to see him high up in the sky.

Daniel gave the bolt one last blow from the hammer, drove it fully home, and inspected it. Satisfied, he slid down the ladder athletically, which made Patsy give a little shriek. But he arrived quite safely.

However, she shook her finger at him.

‘Daniel Adams, don’t you ever do that again, d’you hear? It’s showing off and it’s dangerous.’

‘But, Patsy, you wanted me down, so I thought I’d do it the quick way,’ said Daniel.

‘Don’t give me any uppity talk,’ said Patsy.

Daniel looked at her. There she was, his Patsy, seen against the colourful background of the garden, which she sometimes called their back yard. Excitable, larky and lovely, an all-American girl, dark-haired and bright-eyed, Patsy was a free spirit with no inhibitions. Their attractive house, centrally heated, was their very own, given to them as a wedding present by his mum and dad. His dad had also made him joint manager of the property
company with cousin Tim, husband of blind Felicity.

‘Right, Patsy, I won’t do it again.’

‘Arabella and I simply don’t want you to break your neck,’ said Patsy.

‘Daddy,’ said little Arabella again.

Daniel put the hammer aside and picked her up, cuddling her like a warm bundle of soft treasures.

‘You charmer,’ he said, and she put her arms around his neck. ‘That’s my little cheesecake. By the way, Patsy, did you know my sister Bess found an American bloke up in the English Lakes?’

‘My stars,’ said Patsy, ‘was he lost, then?’

‘Dad didn’t say so when he told me. His name’s Jeremy Passmore, and he comes from Chicago. Dad wondered if you knew him.’

‘Well, sure, I know everyone in Chicago, don’t I?’ said Patsy.

‘Is that a statement of fact?’ asked Daniel, slightly smothered by his warm armful of infant girlhood.

‘Listen to him,’ said Patsy, rolling her eyes. ‘What a barmy bloke.’

‘That’s colloquial English,’ said Daniel.

‘It’s true,’ said Patsy. ‘Well, gee whiz, how would I know everyone in Chicago?’

‘Dad’s a bit concerned about Chicago bootleggers, like Al Capone,’ said Daniel.

Patsy yelled with laughter.

‘Your dad’s like you,’ she said through a potpourri of mixed gurgles, ‘a hoot. Bootleggers went out with dinosaurs.’

‘I told him that, in so many words,’ said Daniel,
‘but he still thinks Bess’s American guy is risking it a bit. He’s in Chicago at the moment, visiting his sick father.’

‘Tell your pa to keep smiling,’ said Patsy. ‘Bess’s find in the English Lakes won’t get gunned down.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Daniel, giving Arabella a kiss on her little nose. ‘Well, not unless one dinosaur disinters itself.’

‘Daniel?’ said Patsy.

‘Yes, Patsy?’

‘You’re cute,’ said Patsy.

At his home, in his bed, lovable old Uncle Tom, Vi’s dad, contracted pneumonia and passed away at the age of seventy-six.

Aunt Victoria was stricken. Vi and Tommy did their best to console her. Vi resorted to the comforting value of providing her with a nice cup of hot tea.

‘Thank you, Vi,’ she said. ‘Your dad was a good man, a good husband.’

‘Yes, Mum, I know,’ said Vi huskily.

‘I can’t help thinking I wasn’t always as patient with him as I should have been,’ said the sad widow.

‘Oh, he had his funny ways,’ said Vi, ‘but he understood you.’

‘Yes, of course he did,’ said Tommy.

‘But I never properly listened to him.’

‘Mum, he told me only two days ago that he had a good life with you,’ said Vi. ‘I think he wanted everyone to know that, I think he knew by then that he wasn’t going to get better.’

Boots arrived at that point. Chinese Lady was still sitting at the bedside of the dead man, a distant cousin. The doctor, still present and waiting for an ambulance to arrive while filling in a death certificate, assured Boots there had been no real suffering. Boots regarded the face of death, the peaceful face of a man who had known hardship and the trials of life. He thought of Elsie Chivers who, lamenting her mistakes, had also found peace in death.

‘Goodbye, old chap,’ he said, and went downstairs to offer his own consolations to Aunt Victoria. Listening to her expressing mournful self-reproach, he said, ‘There isn’t one of us who can claim to be perfect, or anywhere near it. Don’t we all wish there were words we’d never spoken, or tempers we’d never given in to? Think about the fact that whenever Tom needed you, you were always there. That, old girl, is your greatest consolation.’

‘Thank you, Boots, you’re so kind,’ said Aunt Victoria.

‘Tommy and I, we’ll see to all the arrangements,’ said Boots.

‘Of course,’ said Tommy.

Boots whispered, ‘Give her a brandy, Tommy, if there is any.’ There was.

If there was one thing the Adams family disliked to confront, it was a funeral of one of their own. In Chinese Lady’s time since her marriage to
Corporal Daniel Adams, there had been only two deaths and one funeral. A solder’s rites were accorded her husband, blown to pieces near the Khyber Pass. It was her daughter-in-law Emily who had had a funeral.

Now there was a second funeral, Uncle Tom’s. Even though only a distant cousin, he was still one of the family, as Aunt Victoria was.

Everyone had hated burying Emily, and no-one liked the sight of Uncle Tom’s coffin being lowered into his grave. It occurred to Polly that this extraordinary family either expected its members to live for ever, or thought they should by right. She murmured so to Susie.

‘You mean by wish,’ whispered Susie. ‘Well, I don’t ever want to lose Sammy, and I know he never wants to lose me. Who’d send his shirts to the laundry?’

Which made Polly think of Boots’s shirts, the shirts he wore so well. God, if I ever lost him, I’d jump off London Bridge.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Silently the family watched Uncle Tom laid to rest.

Someone, deft and noiseless as a cat stalking a mouse, broke into the ‘safe’ house in which two suspected war criminals were under protective guard. Without disturbing the custodians, he injected a sleeping woman with poison that killed her in brief seconds. And he did the same to a
sleeping man in the adjoining room. None of the four guards detected a sound or a movement.

‘A KGB agent, undoubtedly,’ said a security chief. ‘Ah, well, it’s solved a problem for us. The Russians knew too much for us to make double agents of them.’

Mr Finch, having been discreetly informed of the swift and sudden demise of Erich Kirsten and Hanna Friedler, phoned Boots.

‘I can believe a KGB agent found his way into the house and into two bedrooms without alerting the night guard or waking up either Kirsten or the woman?’ said Boots.

‘It seems so, but there’ll be an inquiry, of course,’ said Mr Finch.

‘Not in an open court, I imagine,’ said Boots.

‘It’s how some things have to be done, Boots.’

‘Well, the extinction of those two animals goes some way to satisfying me,’ said Boots, ‘but I fancy their victims would have preferred to see them slowly hanged.’

‘It’s a preference many of us understand,’ said Mr Finch.

‘Edwin old friend,’ said Boots, ‘do me another favour. Send a Christmas card to that KGB agent via the Soviet Embassy.’

‘We’ve no idea of his name,’ said Mr Finch.

‘Address it “To whom it may concern”,’ said Boots.

Mr Finch smiled as he put the phone down.

The firm’s Walworth store was stacked with Yuletide lines, and everything was illuminated by Christmas lights. Manager Freddy Brown and his assistants, Jimmy and Ruby, were busy.

In came a girl, cosily wrapped up in a maroon coat with a black fur collar, and wearing a woollen hat with a bobble. She spotted Jimmy, and spent time inspecting goods until he was finished with a customer. Then she advanced at a brisk walk.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I’m looking for— Well, I never, it’s you, Jimmy.’

‘Half a mo,’ said Jimmy, giving his eyes a treat, ‘I think that’s you, Jenny.’

Gorgeous Jenny Osborne looked as colourful as Christmas itself, her face glowing, eyes sparkling.

‘Where have you been all this time?’ she asked.

‘Working,’ said Jimmy, ‘and don’t give me any lip, such as all this time.’

‘But you might at least have sent me a card,’ said Jenny.

‘I might if you’d given me your address,’ said Jimmy.

‘Didn’t I, then?’ said Jenny. ‘But I did call to give you a snapshot of myself on the beach the morning you left. A fat lot of good that was. Your charlady told me you’d all departed at the crack of dawn, you rotter.’

‘Have you come here just to get my goat?’ asked Jimmy.

‘No, as if I would,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve come to buy two more RAF shirts. I hope you’ve still got some in stock. If you haven’t, I’ll do you to death.’

‘That’s what you’ve come for, shirts?’ said Jimmy. ‘I’m chuffed, I don’t think. Shirts, she says.’

‘And to make sure I was served by you,’ said Jenny. ‘I want all your attention.’

‘You can have my last farthing as well,’ said Jimmy.

‘Really? Jimmy, that’s sweet. Is it all right to give me your undivided attention? I mean, are you terribly busy?’

‘Not at the moment, not personally,’ said Jimmy. There were just two customers, apart from Jenny, and Freddy and Ruby were attending to them. ‘How’s Barry?’

‘He’s fallen for a Siamese art student, thank goodness,’ said Jenny. ‘Look, I’ve got tickets for a jolly pantomime at the Kingston rep theatre for the second Saturday in January. I love pantomimes. Jimmy, would you like to call for me and take me?’

‘Er?’

‘Well, would you?’

‘Do what?’

‘Oh, come on, Jimmy, don’t go gaga on me,’ said Jenny.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Jimmy.

‘It was happening all the time at Daymer Bay,’ said Jenny, ‘and I should have known it. I’ve thought about you lots. Have you thought about me?’

‘Only in a hopeless way.’

‘Well, my word, think positive, can’t you?’ said Jenny.

Jimmy cast a look at Freddy and Ruby. They were still busy.

‘I have to ask,’ he said, ‘exactly why d’you want me and not one of your close friends to take you to this show?’

‘Because you’re a sweetie, and I want us to see more of each other,’ said Jenny.

‘I saw a lot of you in your swimsuit,’ said Jimmy. ‘Talk about moments of joy.’

Jenny laughed, and Jimmy thought, as he had on other occasions, how it made her look sparkling.

‘Jimmy, you’re my kind,’ she said. ‘You’ll call for me at seven, say, if I give you my address?’

‘Not half,’ said Jimmy, ‘and if the snapshot you mentioned is one of you in your swimsuit, or your shirt and shorts, let me have that too.’

‘Well, congratulations, Jimmy, that really is positive,’ said Jenny.

‘My pleasure,’ said Jimmy. ‘Now, this way to the shirts.’

‘Silly man,’ said Jenny, ‘I didn’t really come for any shirts, I came to see you.’

‘You’re making my day,’ said Jimmy, a little lightheaded. ‘After all, I can sell shirts any old time.’

In came customers.

Jenny dug into her handbag, extracted a beach snapshot of herself in her shirt and shorts, and gave it to Jimmy. Her address and phone number were on the back.

‘There you are,’ she said. She glanced at the new
customers. ‘I’ll have to push off now, I suppose, but Happy Christmas, Jimmy.’

‘Happy Christmas, Jenny, and may all your days be sunny, as the dandelion said to the daffodil. “Look who’s talking,” said the daffodil.’

Jenny was laughing on her way out.

A little later, Freddy asked Jimmy if he’d let a customer escape without buying anything.

‘Which customer?’ asked Jimmy.

‘The peachy young lady,’ said Freddy.

‘Oh, she just wanted to tell me the time,’ said Jimmy.

‘The time?’ said Ruby.

‘Yes, seven o’clock on the second Saturday in January,’ said Jimmy.

‘Sounds promising,’ said Freddy, whose happy-go-lucky nature had taken a savage beating during the Burma campaign against the insufferable and inhuman Japs. His return home to Cassie and his children had restored a large amount of his cheerful appreciation of life. ‘Ought to be an entertaining evening, Jimmy, considering her high-class looks.’

‘Yes, where’d you find her?’ asked Ruby.

‘On a beach,’ said Jimmy.

‘Have I seen her before?’ asked Ruby. ‘She seems familiar.’

‘Not with me,’ said Jimmy, ‘she’s a well brought up girl.’

‘Gertcha,’ said Ruby.

Jimmy smiled. He was on a high.

Later that day, with the art college students on vacation, Jenny met her friend Fiona.

‘Did you see him?’ asked Fiona.

‘Yes, I saw him.’

‘What a sweetie,’ said Fiona.

‘Yes, isn’t he?’

‘I could eat him,’ said Fiona.

‘Well, hard luck, Fiona ducky, you’re not eating Jimmy,’ said Jenny, ‘he’s reserved.’

‘He’s got a girlfriend?’ said Fiona.

‘Yes, me,’ said Jenny.

Matthew and Jonathan set a trap that night, a cold and crisp night, very much like that which, according to legend, King Wenceslaus and his page had endured about a thousand years ago. The trap was formed by a large spread of stout rope netting, fixed very lightly halfway up the hedge and fanning out from there to the ground. When the foxes frisked through, they’d bring the netting down on top of them the moment they nosed into it.