Tuppence To Spend (38 page)

‘I wanted to go on the picnic,’ he said.

‘Well, that didn’t mean you had to take Silver with you.’ She looked at his face and saw that it did. Taking Silver had been Muriel’s condition for asking him to the picnic.

Children! she thought with a wave of exasperation. They just didn’t live by the same rules as grown-ups. That was why you had to teach them, of course, that was why you had to discipline them and guide them and show them the difference between right and wrong. And you couldn’t blame Muriel, not when you knew what a terrible time she and Stella had had. Perhaps she shouldn’t blame Sammy either. But he should have known better. He
lived
with her and with Silver. He
ought
to have known.

‘Well, you’re a very naughty boy,’ she said again. ‘I’m very cross with you. You must never, ever, take Silver out of the house, do you understand? You must never even
touch
him again without asking me first. I’m sorry, Sammy, but I don’t trust you any more. I didn’t think you
could
be so naughty. Or so silly,’ she added.

Sammy stared at her. He’d been crying ever since they left the woods. He’d cried all the way home and she’d heard him sobbing when he was upstairs in his bedroom. He’d
come downstairs still shuddering with sobs, the tears only half dried on his face, and they’d been rolling down his cheeks as he sat miserably stirring his bread and milk. I’ve told him off enough, she thought. He knows he’s done wrong. I’m just taking out my own upset on him and that’s not fair. Yet she knew that there was even more to it than that. She’d already been upset by Jane’s words about children when she’d come home and the moment when she had discovered Silver missing had been much worse than just losing a pet, however precious. It had been like losing Jack all over again – Jack and all the chance she’d ever have of having her own children.

Fresh tears brimmed out of Sammy’s swollen eyes. He laid down his spoon and pushed away his bowl of bread and milk. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, and began to cry again, even more loudly than before.

Ruth took a step towards him, but before she could lay her hand on his shoulder there was a sudden harsh knock on the door. She jumped and Sammy quivered. They both looked through the open door of the kitchen along the passage towards the front door. There was another loud knock.

Sammy’s eyes dilated with fear.

‘What’s the matter, Sammy? Who is it?’

‘It’s the policeman,’ he said in a trembling voice. ‘He’s come to take me away for stealing Silver. I’ll have to go to proved school.’

‘Of course it’s not a policeman! You’re not going away.’ She went quickly along the passage, wondering what on earth could have happened now. Anyone from the village would have come round the back … She opened the door and stared at the man who confronted her.

He was big and dark, with black eyebrows. He was wearing rough working clothes and there was a cap on his rough black hair. He was nearly a foot taller than Ruth, and
she had to tilt her head back to look up into his face. He glowered down at her and she stepped back hastily.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘I’m looking for a Mrs Purslow,’ he said in a deep voice. ‘Someone told me she lived here.’

‘I’m Mrs Purslow.’ Ruth stared at him, feeling frightened. ‘Who are—’

‘You?’ The black eyebrows drew together in a frown and she stepped back. ‘But I was told you were a widow woman. I thought – I thought you’d be old.’

Ruth bit her lip. Then she said, ‘You still haven’t told me who you are or what you want.’

‘Well, I’m Dan Hodges of course! Sam’s father. I’ve come to see my boy. I suppose there’s no objection to that, is there?’ He sounded belligerent, on edge, as if he were either angry or nervous.

‘You’re Mr Hodges?’ Ruth’s heart sank. With her and Sammy both already upset, this was just about the worst time he could have come.

‘That’s what I said.’ He looked past her and his face changed a little. ‘Sam? Is that you?’

Ruth turned and saw Sammy standing in the kitchen doorway. She realised that the man probably couldn’t see clearly in the dimness of the passage. She hesitated. ‘Your dad’s come to see you, Sammy.’ For a moment she half hoped that Sammy would deny that this was his father. He was so big, so intimidating. But Sammy came slowly forward along the passage, his eyes fixed on the big man, and she knew that it was true.

‘You’d better come in,’ she said, standing back a little. ‘We – we were just having some supper. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I wouldn’t say no. It’s a long ride from Pompey.’ He glanced behind him. ‘Will the bike be all right out there? No one’ll half-inch it?’

‘It’ll be all right,’ she said stiffly. ‘We don’t have thieves at Bridge End.’

Sammy was still standing just behind her. He hadn’t rushed forward into his father’s arms and Dan Hodges didn’t seem to expect him to. Ruth glanced uncertainly from one to the other and went past Sammy to the kitchen. She moved the kettle over on to the range and went to the sink to empty the teapot. Behind her she heard their footsteps as they came along the short passage, then Dan Hodges was standing in the doorway, with Sammy still hesitating behind him.

‘Sit down,’ Ruth said, indicating the table with its four chairs round it. Hers and Sammy’s were still pulled out, where they had left them when they went to the door. Dan glanced at them, dragged out one of the others and sat down heavily. He looked tired, she thought, tired and miserable beneath his sweaty face and dark stubble. It
was
a long ride out from Portsmouth – at least twenty or twenty-five miles – and he’d probably done a day’s work first. And he still had to ride back. Unless he thinks I’m going to put him up here, she thought, but if he does, he’s got another think coming.

Sammy edged in through the door and slid round the table to his own place. He pulled his pudding basin towards him and looked at the contents. The milk had cooled and the bread swollen into a soggy, unappetising mass.

Ruth, feeling embarrassed, reached down and took the basin away.

‘You don’t need to eat that now, Sammy,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some oat biscuits in the tin. I expect your dad will like one as well.’

The tea made, she poured a cup for Dan Hodges and one for herself. Then she stood there, feeling ill at ease. Probably the man wanted to talk to his son on his own. Perhaps she ought to leave them to it. She picked up her cup and saucer.

‘I’ll go in the other room. Unless there’s anything you want to ask me, Mr Hodges? How Sammy’s been getting on out here, that sort of thing? I can tell you, he’s been a good boy, no trouble at all—’ She stopped, remembering what she’d been saying to Sammy when his father knocked on the door. A naughty, naughty boy. No longer trusted. And she hadn’t been keeping her voice down, either. Had Mr Hodges heard her?

She looked at him again. She had to admit he was a good-looking man, in a rough sort of way – big and dark, with straight brows when he wasn’t scowling, and firm lips. He was only wearing working clothes, of course, but in a good coat and trousers, with a clean shirt and a tie, he’d look really well set-up. The sort of man you’d notice, walking down the street.

Sammy was nothing like him, not a bit, he must take after his mother.

‘I just wanted to see how he’s getting on,’ Dan Hodges said. ‘I thought I ought to.’

Only
ought
to? Ruth thought, glancing at Sammy. He was nibbling an oat biscuit, taking tiny bites all round the edge. He always ate biscuits like that, nibbling all the way round and making them smaller and smaller until they disappeared. He was gazing at his father, but when Dan turned his dark gaze on him Sammy’s eyes dropped and he stared instead at the table.

‘Well?’ Dan said to his son, ‘ha’n’t you got nothing to say for yourself? Cat got your tongue?’

Ruth stared at him, shocked. ‘I expect he’s feeling shy …’ she began and faltered into silence when the dark eyes turned in her direction. ‘I mean – it’s none of my business, I know, but I have been looking after Sammy all these months and he does seem to be rather a shy little boy. And he hasn’t seen you for quite a long time.’

‘There’s a war on,’ Dan said curtly. ‘I ain’t had time to come traipsing out here to see him. I knew he was safe, or
meant to be. He said he liked it all right, when he wrote. Anyway, I’ve come now.’

‘Yes,’ Ruth said faintly. ‘Yes, I didn’t mean—’

‘Is our Gordon home from the proved school yet?’ Sammy broke in suddenly. He had nibbled the biscuit into a perfect circle, about half its original size. He stared at his father.

‘No, he’s not. He won’t be home for another year or more. You know that. I suppose he’s told you about my older boy,’ Dan said to Ruth. ‘Told you about the trouble he got into.’

‘Well, not much, no.’ Ruth took a breath and looked at Sammy. ‘He – why don’t you go in the other room and see if Silver’s all right, Sammy?’ She gave him an encouraging smile.

‘But you said I wasn’t to go near Silver again. You said I was a naughty, naughty boy, and you said you’d never trust me again.’

Ruth closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Yes, but I was cross with you then. I’m not cross any more and I know you’d never hurt him. Run along, now.’ She watched as Sammy left the kitchen, then turned back to Dan Hodges. ‘I don’t think we ought to talk about it in front of him, but he’s said hardly anything about his home – about you or his brother. In fact, I didn’t know for a long time that his mother had died.’ She met his eyes. ‘I ought to have been told that, Mr Hodges. It would have helped us both if I’d known about his mother.’

‘Why would it?’ He looked puzzled. ‘All you got to do is look after him. See he gets his dinner and cleans his teeth and goes to school. What difference does it make what you know about the rest of us?’

Ruth sighed. ‘It makes all the difference in the world, Mr Hodges. It makes the difference between a miserable, lonely child and one who’s happy – or as happy as possible in Sammy’s situation. I’m not just here to see that he’s safe
and warm and fed, even though all that’s important. He’s a little boy, he’s growing up, and I’ve got to be like a mother and a father to him. I’ve got to
help
him grow up.’ She sat down and leaned across the table towards him. ‘This war might go on for years, Sammy might be here for years. He can’t just be left to grow up on his own, as if all that didn’t matter.’

Dan stared at her and shook his head slowly. He looked tired to death, Ruth thought, as if he hadn’t slept properly for weeks, and she wondered what had happened to him during the raids. There had been a really bad one only a few nights ago. And what about those boys Joyce had told her about, being killed or injured by a bomb they’d picked up? Sammy must have known them, so must Dan Hodges. Maybe that was what had made Mr Hodges want to come and see his own son.

‘I dunno,’ Dan said. ‘I dunno about all that … Seems to me if a kid’s got somewhere to live and enough to eat, that’s all anyone can expect these days. It’s more’n I ever had. I was lucky to get one decent meal a day in me belly, I can tell you.’

He picked up his cup, fitting his big fingers into the handle with difficulty, and drank. Ruth stared at him. She couldn’t quite make him out. He looked and sounded rough, but there was still that other look about him, the impression that in different clothes, with a shave and a haircut, he’d look – well, quite imposing. And younger, too. At first sight, she’d put him at about fifty, but now she thought he couldn’t be more than forty, if that – not much older than she was herself. And she’d been wrong when she thought that there was nothing of him in Sammy. There
was
something – a fleeting expression, a touch of something vulnerable in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

‘Why don’t you go in the other room and talk to Sammy for a bit?’ she said more gently. ‘I’ll get you something to eat before you go back. You won’t want to be too long if
you’re on your bike, because of the blackout.’ It would take him a good couple of hours to ride back to Portsmouth, she reckoned.

‘All right,’ he said, standing up. ‘All right. But I dunno what we’ll have to say to each other. We never did have much. He was his mother’s boy, Sam was, ever since he was first born. It was Gordon took after me.’

He went out of the kitchen and into the other room. Ruth tried to remember if Sammy had ever told him about Silver in his brief letters home. Well, it would be something for them to talk about. And with any luck, Silver would have recovered by now and make most of the conversation himself.

She set about frying some mashed potato left over from dinner, with some onions and a bit of bacon. There was an egg too, that she’d been saving for Sammy’s tea and then not given him because she was cross. She put them in the frying pan and let them sizzle, listening all the while for Silver’s raucous tones.

But there was no sound from the other room. And when she went in to tell Mr Hodges that his meal was ready she found him slumped in her armchair, fast asleep, with Sammy curled at his feet and Silver, evidently exhausted by his own afternoon’s adventures, slumbering peacefully in his cage.

Ruth had to fry the potato all over again when Dan Hodges woke, and the egg was like leather. He ate it all the same, wolfing it down as if he hadn’t seen food for a week, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at her and she saw the awkwardness in his eyes.

‘Sorry. Nora tried to teach me manners, but when you’re hungry … I don’t get much home-cooked grub these days, and I come straight from work.’

She stared at him, trying to picture the house he must go back to after work. The cold fireplace, the empty larder. When did he have time to do his shopping, clean the house, wash his sheets? She tried to imagine this big man standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing at clothes on the washboard, or putting sheets through a mangle in the backyard, but she couldn’t.

‘Haven’t you got anyone to help you? A relative, or one of the neighbours?’

He snorted. ‘All me relations are down Old Portsmouth, where I ought to be. We never oughter gone to April Grove, only we were desperate for somewhere to live and a mate of mine told me there was a place for rent … It’s five bloody miles from one end to the other, Portsea Island is.’ He saw her blank look. ‘I s’pose you do know Pompey’s on an island. There’s just a bridge, that’s all, and April Grove’s right up that end, Copnor way.
Old
Portsmouth, where me and Nora come from, that’s down the other end, towards the harbour and Clarence Pier –’cept there’s not much left of
that
, since it was bombed.’