The Camberwell Raid (12 page)

‘Don’t be silly, Tommy, Rosie adores Boots and Em’ly. She’d never leave them. Well, not unless she got married.’

‘Rosie’s not twenty-one yet, and there’s no bloke in her life,’ said Tommy darkly.

‘Oh, lor’,’ said Vi.

‘We’re not partin’ with Rosie,’ said Tommy, ‘not after all she’s been to the fam’ly.’

‘Still, we can’t interfere,’ said Vi.

‘I’m goin’ to fall ill if any more things like this keep happening,’ said Lizzy Somers to her husband Ned.

‘We’ll all fall ill if Major Armitage manages to establish a claim on Rosie,’ said Ned.

‘What d’you mean?’ demanded Lizzy. ‘What claim could he have when Boots and Em’ly adopted her official?’

‘He’ll look for one if he wants to make her part of his own family,’ said Ned.

‘Boots and Em’ly will fight that till they drop,’ said Lizzy. ‘Honestly, though, wouldn’t you think from the way Boots behaved with Eloise’s mother, he could have found time to go to bed with the woman Milly Tooley as well?’

‘It’s not like you, Eliza, to be in favour of improper stuff,’ said Ned.

‘I’m not,’ said Lizzy, ‘I’m just saying that if Boots had had an affair with Milly Tooley as well, then both Eloise and Rosie could’ve become his natural daughters. It’s just like him to have been airy-fairy and casual.’

‘Can you support that piece of logic?’ asked Ned. ‘It all sounds a bit weird and wonderful to me. It seems you’re saying that Boots, before doing his wartime bit with his French bird—’

‘Don’t be vulgar,’ said Lizzy.

‘Eliza, you’re saying Boots should have asked his company commander if he could have time off to put a bun in Milly Tooley’s oven.’

‘Ned Somers, don’t be so common,’ said Lizzy.

‘Considering Boots hadn’t any idea at the time of who Milly Tooley was, you’re flying a bit high, aren’t you, Eliza?’

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ said Lizzy. ‘And Rosie would’ve loved to have been Boots’s natural daughter.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ned. ‘But I’ve always thought she’s enjoyed a special kind of happiness in knowing Boots and Emily wanted her and couldn’t wait to make her their own. I think however Major Armitage might go about establishing a claim and a father’s relationship with Rosie, he’ll never get the affection from her that she gives to Emily and Boots. In fact, if he makes
things
difficult for them, Rosie will quite likely blow his house up and him with it.’

‘Oh, Lord, she wouldn’t do anything like that, would she?’ breathed Lizzy.

‘Well, you know what I mean,’ said Ned, smiling.

‘It’s a peculiar thing,’ said Sammy, frowning, ‘but me whole life has been one fight after another. I’m still fightin’ to wear the trousers in this fam’ly, Susie, as a self-respectin’ husband and father should, and where’ve I got with that?’

‘Nowhere,’ said Susie, in private conversation with him.

‘It’s not for want of tryin’,’ said Sammy.

‘I never knew anyone more tryin’, Sammy,’ said Susie.

‘I’m serious,’ said Sammy.

‘So am I,’ said Susie.

‘I’m dead serious about not likin’ this bloke callin’ himself Rosie’s father.’

‘It seems he is her father,’ said Susie.

‘That means another fight,’ said Sammy.

‘Not yours,’ said Susie.

‘It’s everybody’s,’ said Sammy. ‘As a start, how much d’you think Armitage would take for disappearin’ into the fog again?’

‘I don’t think that will work, Sammy, I think he’s a landowner or something like that, isn’t he?’

‘You know, Susie,’ mused Sammy, ‘it often occurred to me Rosie didn’t come from ordin’ry stock, if you leave out that mother of hers.’

‘I don’t know if her mother was ordinary, Sammy, but from all I’ve heard about her, I’m sure her first love was for herself.’

‘There’ll have to be a fam’ly conference,’ said Sammy.

‘No, there won’t, not this time,’ said Susie.

‘There’s always—’

‘Not this time, Sammy.’

‘Susie, did your parents ever teach you not to interrupt your better half?’

‘No, Mum never mentioned it, nor Dad,’ said Susie.

‘Disgraceful,’ said Sammy. Susie smiled. He gave her a frowning look, and made a subconscious note of the fact that she and Rosie both had blue eyes like Wedgwood saucers. ‘Now look, Susie—’

‘No fam’ly conference, Sammy. I’ve spoken to Lizzy and Vi, and we’ve all agreed not to interfere.’

‘Interfere? Interfere?’ Sammy went slightly hoarse with shock. ‘Listen, Susie, when there’s a cry for help from any Adams—’

‘There’s no cry for help, Sammy love, not from Rosie or Boots or Em’ly, and your mum hasn’t asked any of us to come round, either. It was different with Eloise, when your mum wanted to make sure we all accepted her. This time we can mind our own business, and let Boots and Em’ly and Rosie sort out any problems.’

‘Susie, I’ve got an uncomfortable feeling you’re beginning to talk like the Prime Minister,’ said Sammy.

‘Oh, d’you really think so, Sammy love?’ said Susie. ‘Aren’t you sweet?’

‘Susie, you’re not the Prime Minister, and it’s me you’re talkin’ to,’ said Sammy. ‘I’m statin’ it’s my firm intention to rally round Rosie and make sure this so-called dad of hers doesn’t drag her off to his castle or whatever.’

‘Rosie’s nearly twenty,’ said Susie, ‘and won’t be dragged off anywhere by anybody,’ said Susie. ‘Still, to please you, Sammy, we’ll all rally round.’

‘Well, bless you, Susie.’

‘As soon as Rosie asks us to,’ said Susie.

‘Sometimes, Susie, as I’ve mentioned before, I get a feeling you don’t always listen to me,’ said Sammy.

‘I always listen to you,’ said Susie, ‘I like listening to you. You’re my lover. I’m carrying more proof of it.’

Sammy grinned.

‘Well, all I can say, Susie, is that if there’d been two like you, I’d have married both,’ he said.

‘Oh, I’d have drowned the other one,’ said Susie, ‘and you can believe that.’

Rosie and Tim, meeting Annabelle by arrangement, travelled on a bus with her to Brockwell Park to watch Browning Street Rovers playing another of their vigorous and highly diverting football matches. Not until they were off the bus and walking through the park gates did Annabelle speak about Major Armitage, when she said she simply couldn’t believe how he’d arrived out of nowhere. Rosie said she hadn’t been able to believe it herself at first. Annabelle pointed out what other members of the family had, that what was most unbelievable was the coincidence of Boots and Major Armitage both finding out they were unknown fathers.

Tim cut in to say it was a coincidence that nearly knocked him out. Rosie said they weren’t unknown fathers now, but that Major Armitage wasn’t necessary to the family as Eloise was. So Annabelle asked why Rosie was going to spend a day with the major. To
impress
on him that he wasn’t necessary to her, said Rosie.

‘But couldn’t you have told him that when he was with you and Uncle Boots?’ asked Annabelle.

‘I could have,’ said Rosie, ‘but he’d have thought that very unfair, my making that kind of decision when we’d only just met. So when I do see him again, I’ll be able to tell him I’ve had time to think and that we can only be pen-friends.’

‘Pen-friends?’ said the astonished Annabelle, a glowing brunette in a cherry-red coat and a little round black fur hat. ‘Did you actually say pen-friends, Rosie?’

‘Yes, I’ll write him the occasional letter and send a card each Christmas,’ said Rosie.

‘I hope I’ll be present when you tell him he’s only going to be a pen-friend,’ said Tim.

‘Well, something like that, Tim, but you won’t be there, you’ll be somewhere else with Eloise,’ said Rosie. ‘You’re both coming with me for the day to let him see we’re all part of a happy family, but I’ll spend a few minutes alone with him.’

Annabelle smiled. Although pen-friends sounded absurd, she knew it meant that Rosie, so attached to her adoptive family, was not going to take up a relationship with her natural father that would affect her relationship with Uncle Boots and Aunt Emily.

‘What’s Major Armitage really like?’ asked Annabelle, the football pitch in sight.

‘Quite distinguished, and quite the gentleman,’ said Rosie.

‘How does he compare with Uncle Boots?’ asked Annabelle.

‘Oh, very favourably,’ said Rosie.

‘If that’s bad news for Uncle Boots, I don’t think much of it,’ said Annabelle.

‘I only mean they’re both very civilized,’ said Rosie.

‘Anyway, Rosie’s against anything that’s bad news for Dad,’ said Tim.

‘Well, bless her,’ said Annabelle, ‘so am I.’

‘Bless us all,’ said Tim.

They arrived on the touchline, where they were greeted with exuberance by Dumpling, Cassie and all the other girl supporters, although Dumpling complained that because of her condition she was never going to get a game with the Rovers this season. It wasn’t, she said, as if she was in agreement with her condition, it had sort of come about when she had her eyes shut.

Girl supporters shrieked.

The teams ran onto the field.

At this moment, Major Armitage was in conference again with his solicitor, who was still discouragingly negative. Counsel had suggested an equable arrangement could only come about through the attitude of the adoptive parents and the young lady herself. Well, damn it, Major Armitage said, as far as I could judge her attitude is all in favour of the Adams family. Counsel informs us, said Mr Harvey Arnold, the solicitor, that the most you can hope for is confirmation by the natural mother that you’re the father, this to be further confirmed by a paternity test. But he’s adamant that you’ve no hope of setting the adoption aside, no hope at all, and we’re in debt to him for this opinion. You mean
I
am, said Major Armitage. However, he added, I’ll see what comes of my next meeting with my daughter.

SAMMY ARRIVED ON
the doorstep of the house in Red Post Hill on Sunday morning. Rosie, opening the door, smiled at him.

‘Hello, Uncle Sammy.’

‘Hello yourself, Rosie. I thought I’d drop in as I was passin’.’

‘Passing to where?’ asked Rosie.

‘Pardon?’ said Sammy.

‘I mean, on a Sunday morning, where can you pass to except to church, and it’s not time yet,’ said Rosie.

‘Blow me,’ said Sammy, ‘it was only yesterday that your Aunt Susie was talkin’ to me like the Prime Minister, and now you’re doing it. What’s happening to Adams females?’

‘Uncle Sammy, if you’ve dropped in to talk to me or to Daddy, come this way.’ Rosie, elegant in a Sunday dress of turquoise-green, took him into the sitting-room on the ground floor. ‘Well, Uncle Sammy?’

‘Well, Rosie, the fact is there’s a bit of a fam’ly crisis, I suppose,’ said Sammy.

‘Is there?’ asked Rosie.

‘Concernin’ some well-off Army gent presumin’ to be your natural dad,’ said Sammy.

‘If anyone’s a natural dad to me, Uncle Sammy, it’s your brother Boots,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it, Rosie.’

‘Oh, don’t mention it, Uncle Sammy.’

Sammy regarded her searchingly. She smiled.

‘Strike me pink, you’re a cool one, Rosie, which I might say makes you a bit like your Aunt Susie.’

‘My, that’s very flattering,’ said Rosie, ‘I’m a great admirer of Aunt Susie.’

‘So am I,’ said Sammy, ‘except I can’t get any change out of her, which puts me off-balance sometimes. However, in regard to the crisis that’s come about, I want to offer me heartfelt support.’

‘Aren’t you a love, Uncle Sammy?’

Sammy coughed.

‘Um, all for one and one for all, y’know, Rosie,’ he said.

‘Well, that’s famous, Uncle Sammy, the Adams musketeers riding to the rescue,’ said Rosie.

‘Something like that,’ said Sammy.

‘But there’s no crisis,’ said Rosie, ‘just a little hiccup. I can see to it.’

‘Rosie, you sure?’

‘Quite sure, Uncle Sammy.’

‘What makes you quite sure?’ asked Sammy.

‘I’m an Adams,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, so you are, Rosie, and always have been, and we know who made you one, don’t we?’ said Sammy.

‘Yes,’ smiled Rosie, ‘the Lord-I-Am.’

‘Now, Rosie, you don’t want to take too much notice of what your Uncle Tommy and me sometimes say about Boots. We’re only pullin’ his leg.’

‘Oh, but it suits him,’ said Rosie, who was in favour of her adoptive father’s easy command of life. ‘He wears the title with a natural air. Haven’t you said he
was
a natural Lord Muck when he was at school?’

‘Bounced off him it did, Rosie, every time the street kids called him that. He took the fam’ly over by the time he was sixteen. Chinese Lady didn’t notice it, but it happened. Well, you know your dad, he does everything sort of unnoticeably. But his best acquisition was you, Rosie, which is why we don’t want to lose you.’

‘Uncle Sammy, you’re very sweet,’ said Rosie.

‘You’re a one and only, university and all,’ said Sammy with honest admiration. ‘Mother O’Grady, Rosie, you’re goin’ to outshine all of us in the end.’

‘I don’t want to outshine any of you,’ said Rosie, ‘only to be one of you.’

‘You’ve been one for years, Rosie.’

‘I’m happy to think so, Uncle Sammy, because I mean to remain one,’ said Rosie. ‘Does that satisfy you?’

‘Comin’ from you, it does, Rosie. Still, now I’m here, I’d better show my kisser to your grandmother or she’ll want to know if I’ve gone off her as me everlastin’ Ma.’

‘Come this way, Uncle Sammy,’ said Rosie.

When Sammy got back home, Susie waylaid him and wanted to know where he’d sneaked off to. Sammy said he’d always been incapable of sneaking off, that he’d just gone out sort of absent-mindedly. A likely story, said Susie. It so happened, said Sammy, that he found himself passing Boots’s house, so he popped in, as it wouldn’t have been family-minded to pass by.

‘Oh, dear, I think you’re comin’ it, Sammy Adams,’ said Susie.

Sammy assured her it was nothing of the kind, but that he did happen to see Rosie.

‘Sammy, didn’t I tell you not to interfere?’ said Susie.

‘Crikey, Dad,’ said Daniel, he and Bess having put in an appearance, ‘you don’t half dig holes for yerself.’

‘Daddy, you’re only supposed to dig holes for flowers in the garden,’ said Bess. ‘Well, I fink you are.’