The Accidental Time Traveller (21 page)

‘How can I pay them if the punters don’t come in?’

‘But you can, because they will. And you know that. But you’d better not bully any more young girls.’

The deal was done– maybe I’d missed my vocation as a trade union leader or UN negotiator – and I was quite pleased with myself. The girls were waiting for me in Silvino’s, and they took about five seconds to agree to the deal, so I went back to the office, and shared the story with the others. We were all laughing about it as I typed it up.

‘Good result. Good story,’ said Billy. ‘But you realise that they’d probably have been quite happy to strip off if the price had been right?’

‘Maybe, maybe not.’ I actually wasn’t so sure. ‘But if they’re going to do it, let them do it on their own terms, not bullied by some weaselly little beast.’

The men, of course, were suddenly all volunteering to be theatre reviewers.

‘Boys, boys, what sorry lives you lead,’ I said. I was just typing the last sentence when Billy came over.

‘Phil and I are going over to The Fleece,’ he said. ‘Fancy joining us?’ His eyes were still smiling from our laughter. Phil came and stood alongside him, smiling too.

‘Yes come on, Rosie. I think we’ve all deserved a drink today.’

This, believe it or not, was the first time I had been invited to the pub with the lads. A couple of them went over most days, sometimes after work too, but they had never asked me. I don’t know if they ever asked Marje. She always seemed to be scuttling off with her string bag to do her shopping. And I’d missed it. Not the pub necessarily, but the companionship I suppose, being part of a team.

So yes, I jumped at the chance to go to the pub. I ripped my story out of the typewriter, folded it ready to go to the subs, and grabbed my bag.

‘Afternoon, Jack,’ said Phil as we walked into the small bar. ‘Two pints of the usual, and … what would you like Rosie?’

‘Cider please.’

‘And a half of cider.’

Who said I wanted a half? But I wasn’t going to argue. See, I already knew my place.

‘So who’s this then?’ asked the landlord as he pulled the pints.

‘This is Miss Rosie Harford, a visiting journalist from America.’

‘I’m not …’ and I gave up again.

Phil got some crisps and we all sat in the corner and laughed again at the story of Marcella and Loulou. We had a game of darts and shared the last two curling cheese sandwiches, from under a plastic dome on the counter. Billy bought another and then, when the glasses were empty again, I got up. ‘My turn,’ I said, getting my purse out.

The landlord looked surprised, and Billy and Phil both objected.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I insist. Where I come from, if we work we pay our turn.’

‘Can we accept that?’ said Billy, turning to Phil in mock seriousness.

‘Do you know,’ said Phil, equally serious, equally mocking, ‘I think we can.’ And they took their pints.

‘Cheers,’ said Phil companionably.

Billy raised his glass and said, ‘Your very good health, Miss Harford.’ And his eyes smiled into mine. I leant back, sipping my cider, and a ray of dusty sunshine fell across my face. I relaxed. I almost felt I belonged.

Until I went home alone and Billy went home to his wife.

Peggy had beaten me to the bathroom. While I was being helpful and taking out the dishes she’d nipped upstairs and was now ensconced behind a firmly bolted door. I could hear the hot water gurgling and could smell Yardley soap and bath salts.

‘She’s got to make herself beautiful for her young man,’ said Mrs Brown equably. ‘She seems to be seeing a lot of him these days.’

‘That Lenny do you mean?’ asked Mr Brown over his copy of
The News.

‘Yes. Such a nice young man.’

Mr Brown snorted. ‘Too bloody nice if you ask me,’ was all he said and went back to the paper.

‘Well he’s obviously making our Peg happy and that’s what’s important.’

‘Doesn’t seem very happy to me. Don’t know what’s got into the girl lately,’ said Mr Brown. He looked prepared to put down his paper and discuss it.

‘Oh, you know what girls are like, especially when they’re in love,’ said Mrs Brown, dismissing his concerns. She was busy putting her shopping away. Every time she took something out of her basket, she took the brown paper bag it was wrapped in, shook it out, folded it carefully and put it in the cupboard next to the range. The cupboard that smelt of polish, candles and mousetraps.

‘We don’t seem to see her smiling much any more. She’s normally a real smiler,’ Mr Brown persisted. But Mrs Brown had disappeared into the pantry.

‘Now Rosie,’ she said when she emerged. ‘We’re off early tomorrow morning. We’re going to a christening. What a journey it’s going to be. A train and two buses. So you two girls will have to fend for yourselves. There’s plenty of that rabbit pie left, and you can do yourself some potatoes with it. And mind our Peggy doesn’t leave you with all the pots to do.’

I just wished Peggy would hurry up. Phil had said he would probably call round and I wanted to be ready for him.

There was a click of the latch at the back door and Janice appeared to creep around it. Even by her normal small and scruffy standards she looked particularly woebegone.

‘Hello pet,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Why, what’s the matter with you? Lost a sixpence and found a ha’penny, have you?’

Janice came and stood next to the range, as if trying to absorb all its heat. Her hair looked lanker, her face paler and bleaker than usual. Her socks had fallen down her bony grubby legs, and her shoes were so scuffed and battered it was impossible to tell what colour they had been. She looked like a little brown animal seeking shelter.

‘They’ve taken our Kevin and Terry away.’

‘Away?’ Mrs Brown looked alarmed. ‘Where to?’

‘Parkfields.’

‘Ah.’

There was a long silence. The room that had seemed so warm and cosy now suddenly seemed chill.

‘Parkfields?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘The asylum,’ said Mrs Brown.

‘The mad house,’ said Janice.

I realised that they were talking about the huge Victorian mansion I’d passed while in the van with George one day. It had locked gates and a high wall. ‘How old are Kevin and Terry?’

‘Thirteen. They’re twins. They’re the ones that howl,’ said Janice simply, in explanation.

‘But that’s dreadful! They can’t take children to a place like that.’

‘They say my mum can’t cope any more.’ Janice was rubbing her hand round and round the lid on the range’s hot plate.

‘Well it’s been very hard for her,’ said Mrs Brown kindly. ‘I don’t know how she’s lasted that long with them. And with all the little ones as well.’

‘But Kevin and Terry are getting better!’ said Janice fiercely. ‘They can do jobs around the house. They can feed themselves and dress themselves and they dig the garden. They can do all sorts now!’

‘I know, pet. But they’re not little boys any more. They’re turning into young men, getting bigger all the time. It will be hard for your mother to cope with them. And your dad … well.’

‘Dad works very hard!’ said Janice defensively.

‘Yes he does. He can turn his hand to anything in all weathers. But because he’s out working so much, it’s hard for him to do much for them, isn’t it? And after the window …’

I looked enquiringly.

‘When Janice’s mother comes to clean at the post office, she has to leave the twins at home, so she locks them in their bedroom. A few weeks ago they got so angry that they smashed the window and tried to get out. They were terribly cut. Blood everywhere, ooh it was a real mess.’

‘That’s when the doctor said it had to end. That if we didn’t do something, they would kill each other, or Mum, or someone else. But they wouldn’t, I know they wouldn’t.’

I expected her to be in tears, but she was fierce and dry-eyed.

‘What exactly is the matter with them?’ I asked.

‘They’re not right in the head,’ said Mrs Brown, with great brevity but not a terrific amount of clinical accuracy. ‘Never have been. There’s a few like that in her father’s family.’ While she’d been talking she’d been making a pot of tea and now she poured a cup for Janice, who took it and scuttled back to the shelter of the range.

‘It’s for the best. It really is,’ said Mrs Brown kindly. ‘They’ll be looked after there by people who are used to dealing with them. They’ll have those nice big grounds to be in. They can play cowboys there. They like that, don’t they?’

Janice nodded.

‘And your mother will be able to spend more time on the rest of you, won’t she? There’ll be more time and space for them too. You’ll still have four brothers at home and that’s more than enough! They’re all shooting up and wanting to be fed and clothed. Your mother will have her hands full enough. It’s for the best.’

‘Tell you what,’ said Mr Brown, ‘why don’t we find some polish and clean those shoes for you? You’re such a smart little thing, let’s look smart on the outside too.’

Janice pushed her shabby shoes off and almost hid behind the cup of tea. I tried to imagine those thirteen-year-olds in that institution, and hoped that Janice was comforted by the Browns’ kindness.

Into the gloomy silence came a cheery yell from upstairs. ‘Bathroom’s free!’

I went up and was almost knocked over by the smell of bath salts, talc, and the scented soap that Peggy had used in abundance. Lenny didn’t know how lucky he was that night. I stayed upstairs until I heard him arrive to call for Peggy. I thought it best, really, that I didn’t see him. I didn’t want to upset him.

When I went downstairs, Janice had gone.

‘Best thing that those boys are going to Parkfields,’ said Mrs Brown again. ‘How that woman’s managed all these years I’ve no idea. That husband of hers – well, he’s a worker I suppose, but he hasn’t got much up top either. All he’s good at is making babies. And look where that’s got him. And the house! Well, she does her best. But there’s no money, and what she does manage to do, those twins wreck.’

‘What are the other children like?’

‘Well, they’re normal enough I suppose, as far as you can tell, because they’re only young. But they’re not going to set the world on fire. No, little Janice has got all the brains in that family. Pity really that the only girl should be the clever one. It would have been much better if one of the boys had had the brains. They could have done something with them then.’

‘Little Janice might. She’s very bright,’ said Mr Brown peaceably.

‘Yes, well, that’s all very well, but then she’ll only go and get married and have babies like her mother’s done. A boy could really make something of himself.’

I was just drawing breath to leap in and slice this argument to pieces when the doorbell rang again. ‘That’ll be your young man, Rosie,’ said Mr Brown. ‘Aren’t our girls popular tonight? You get your coat, I’ll let him in.’

I swallowed hard and just contented myself by saying pleasantly to Mrs Brown, ‘And I’m sure Janice will make something of herself too,’ then I went to the hall where Phil was standing shyly.

‘I’ve got the bike, I thought we’d go out into the country,’ he said. ‘A pub perhaps?’

‘Great idea,’ I said as we went outside. I clambered on the back of the bike. I didn’t feel quite as nervous as before without a crash helmet, but I did still feel a bit vulnerable. I put my arms around Phil’s waist, companionably I didn’t long to cling to him and get as close as I could, not the way I had with Billy. We went up into the hills that surrounded the town. The road was narrow, not much more than a track in places, as we got higher into the hills. Then we were going along a ridgeway, looking down at the valley below. We came to a row of houses – you couldn’t really call it a village – and Phil stopped in front of a small pub with a bench outside.

‘Cider?’ he asked, taking off his big leather gauntlets.

‘Yes please. Can we sit out here?’

‘Of course. I thought you’d like the view.’

It was terrific. You could see for miles. I was trying to place the village we were in on the modern map that existed only in my mind and memory. It was on the edge of my consciousness somehow. I couldn’t quite reach it.

‘Here you are,’ said Phil, coming back with the drinks, which he placed on the rickety table, a table that clearly lived outside all winter and in all weathers.

‘Thanks.’ I took a mouthful of cider, still gazing at the view – the ridgeway, the sharply sloping hill, the town in a sort of bowl at the bottom …

‘It’s the motorway!’ I said suddenly. Phil was looking at me over his pint. ‘Sorry What did you say?’ he asked, looking puzzled.

‘Oh nothing, nothing at all,’ I said quickly and confused. ‘I was just admiring the view.’

What I wanted to say was that I recognised it because I always came back this way from seeing my parents. You come across the view suddenly, just past the Long Edge Services, so it sort of hits you – I always know that I’m nearly home, nearly back with Will. But here there was no motorway. Just a country road, and a cluster of cottages, and the baaing of sheep, sounding louder now the light was beginning to fade.