Tuppence To Spend (47 page)

He went off on his bike to cycle the length of Portsea Island, from Copnor down to Old Portsmouth. Sammy stood in the cold room, wondering what to do. It was only
six in the morning, still pitch dark and far too early to go outside. It would be hours before any other children emerged on to the streets. He couldn’t light the fire, there was barely enough coal to have it alight just in the evenings, and the shops wouldn’t be open until nine.

There was some tea in the pot, still quite hot, and a drop of milk left in the bottle. He poured himself a cup and took it back to bed, like his mother used to do. He climbed in and sat with the blankets wrapped around him, drinking his tea and letting the tears roll unchecked down his face.

I want Auntie Ruth and Silver, he thought, and then, suddenly missing his cat desperately, I haven’t even got Tibby. I don’t even know what happened to her, not really.

He finished his tea and put the cup on the floor. Then he lay down and rolled himself tightly in his blankets.

I want to go back to Bridge End, he thought desolately. I want to go back
now
.

The Budd boys were going back to Bridge End on Monday. Tim told him when Sammy met them in the street outside, kicking a ball against goal posts chalked on the black wall of the end house of March Street. Keith, whose ball it was, was practising keeping it in the air with one foot while he hopped on the other.

‘Stella and Muriel came for Christmas in our house too,’ Tim said. ‘Their dad’s still away, at sea. We’re all going back on Monday. Our dad says we can go on the train by ourselves now. When are you going back?’

‘I don’t know. My dad’s gone to work. He might not be back till Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday!’ The boys stared at him. ‘Who’s looking after you, then?’

Sammy shrugged. ‘Nobody. I’ll be all right.’

‘But you’ll be on your own
all night
,’ Keith said, his eyes round at the thought. ‘Tim and me haven’t ever been on our own all night.’

‘Wish we could be,’ Tim said. ‘It’d be smashing. Go to bed when we like – why, we needn’t go to bed at all if we didn’t want to. We could stop up all night and play games.’ He gazed enviously at Sammy. ‘You could even go out if you wanted. Go and see all the bomb-sites.’

‘In the dark?’ Sammy said. ‘There’s a blackout, in case you haven’t noticed.’

‘There’s a moon too. You’d be able to see all you wanted. Coo, wish I could do it, wish I could go out all night.’

Sammy played football with them for a while, but when they had to go in for dinner he was left on his own again. He wandered about for a bit, but there were no other children out to play and eventually he went back indoors and looked for something to eat. There was some bread and a tin of Spam and another of sardines, and there were some potatoes that could be baked in the oven. There were a few tins of vegetables – carrots, peas, butter beans – and two eggs. There was also a tin of Bournville cocoa in the cupboard and half a pot of blackcurrant jam. On the mantelpiece were his and his father’s ration books, and three shillings so that he could go and buy food.

Sammy wondered what would happen if his father didn’t come home at all. Suppose the ship got blown up? Would anyone bother to come and tell Sammy? Did anyone even know he existed? Even if they did, they probably thought he was out at Bridge End. He wondered if they had Auntie Ruth’s address. After all, the lady who had taken him there in the first place hadn’t even got his name right.

Mrs Budd came up the street to see him late in the afternoon, just as it was beginning to get dark. He was sitting in the cold house, trying to play all four positions of Sorry by himself, and came to the door with wide, scared eyes when she knocked. He looked up at her and saw the concern in her face, the motherliness, and wanted to cry.

‘Sammy, what’s this I hear about your dad not coming
home till Tuesday? Tim and Keith told me. They’ve got it wrong, surely.’

Sammy shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Mrs Budd. He just said he might have to go to sea for a few days. He has to see that the engines are working right.’

Jess Budd shook her head and tutted in exasperation. ‘I know that, Sammy, but didn’t he have any idea about whether he would have to go or not? Don’t you really know when he’ll be back?’

Sammy shook his head miserably, feeling that somehow this must be his fault. He gazed up at her and Jess Budd’s expression softened.

‘There, there, Sammy, I’m not cross with you. I’m just worried about you, here all on your own.’

‘I’m all right, Mrs Budd. I’ve got some Spam and some bread, and the milkman came this morning, and I’ve got a bar of chocolate Dad gave me for Christmas that I’ve only had one square of, and I’m allowed to turn on the wireless.’ The wireless was one Dan had built himself a few years ago, when everyone was doing the same. It crackled for about five minutes as it warmed up, and the voices faded frequently, usually just when you most wanted to hear them, but it was company and Dan said he’d had the accumulator charged only last week so it should be all right for a while.

‘Well, you’d better come down to us for tea,’ Jess said. ‘Tim and Keith and the girls are going back tomorrow, so we’re having a special tea for their last night. That’s unless your dad comes back,’ she added. ‘He’ll be wanting you to stop with him then.’

‘Can I come now?’ Sammy asked, not wanting to be left alone again. ‘I could leave him a note so he knows where I’ve gone.’

Jess agreed to this, and Sammy found an old envelope and scribbled his note on it, then put on the coat Ruth had given him and followed her down the street. He felt
cheered at the prospect of tea in the Budds’ house, where he had never been before, and an evening of games with children he knew well and often played with at Bridge End. It was even better that one of them was his best friend of all, Muriel Simmons.

Tomorrow they would be gone, back to the village. Sammy would be left alone again. But just for now he pushed the thought away.

Jess was not at all happy about allowing Sammy to go back to number 2 to spend the night alone, but as Frank said, you never knew if Dan Hodges might come back late and expect to find the boy there.

‘I know you’ve left a note, but it’s interfering just the same,’ he said. ‘Sammy’s his boy and it’s for him to say. If you ask me, it’ll be all the worse for him, stopping here when I take the nippers back to Bridge End.’

Jess had to agree. Still uneasy, she took Sammy back at nine o’clock and saw him into the empty house. With no fire lit it was icy inside and she was glad she’d brought one of their stone hot water bottles with her. She went upstairs and pushed it into Sammy’s bed.

‘Now, promise me that if the siren goes you’ll come straight down to us. You can come in our shelter. I don’t want you here by yourself.’ She looked around at the bleak little bedroom and sighed, thinking of her own boys snug in their bunk beds, with pictures of aeroplanes and ships cut from comics pinned up on their walls. The sooner this little chap’s back with Ruth Purslow the better, she thought. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Sammy?’

He nodded and she saw him into bed, then went back to her own house. At the door she had a sudden thought and went back again, knocking at the door of the Vickers’ house instead.

‘Would you mind keeping an ear out for young Sammy, next door? He’s in there all on his own, doesn’t know when
his dad’ll be back. I’ve had him down with us all evening but he’s determined he’s got be home now in case Mr Hodges does come home. I don’t like leaving him on his own, but what can I do?’

Tommy looked at her in concern and called to his wife. Freda came out to the step, pulling the inner door shut behind her so that no light would escape. ‘Don’t you worry, Jess, we’ll listen out for him. And if the siren goes we’ll take him down to our shelter. You’ll be crowded enough in yours, with eight of you.’

‘Well, I won’t say I wouldn’t be grateful.’ Jess looked at them unhappily. ‘You don’t think Dan Hodges means to keep Sammy at home, do you? Frank could have taken him back with our lot tomorrow, but Sammy doesn’t seem to think he’d want that.’

‘It’s a crying shame, the way that kiddy’s been treated,’ Freda said with sudden force. ‘You’ve seen what it’s like in that house, Jess. I’m not saying Dan Hodges doesn’t do his best, but he just doesn’t have the time to look after the place. And a man can’t make a home like a woman does. I tell you what, it’ll be a crime if he keeps that little boy at home now, after he’s been out in the country and had a good home.’

‘Well,’ Tommy said, ‘there’s nothing we can do about it if he does. He’s got a father’s rights. I know we stuck our oar in before and got Sammy moved out to the country, but that was because of the bombing. I don’t know that the authorities would be so bothered now. We haven’t had a proper raid for months.’ He looked at Jess. ‘Anyway, don’t you worry, Jess. We’ll keep an ear out and make sure he’s OK.’

Jess went back to number 14, feeling a little comforted. Tommy and Freda were a nice couple, she thought, and Sammy would be all right with them close by. Not that it was right, him being on his own in the house, but Tommy
was right, he was Dan Hodges’ boy and Dan had his rights. You could only interfere up to a point.

It was a shame Sammy couldn’t be going back tomorrow with her own boys and the Simmons girls, though. After all, what was the point of keeping him here when his father wasn’t even at home in the evenings?

I expect Dan will take him back next week, she thought. Perhaps he’ll get next Saturday off, or take him on Sunday. I expect that’s what he means to do.

Sammy lay in his narrow bed, his arms wrapped round the stone hot water bottle Jess had given him. She had rolled an old pullover with it and it felt comforting against him, but he was still lonely for Ruth and Silver and Tibby, his cat. The house, small as it was, seemed big and empty around him and it was cold despite the stone bottle.

He wondered when his father would come back and felt again the fear that the ship might be sunk and Dan Hodges never return. What would he do then? Would he be able to go back to Bridge End, or would he have to stay at number 2 for ever, to look after it if his father had gone? How did you pay for a house? He’d heard his father grumble about the rent often enough, but where did you get the money from? Would he have to go out to work? Could a boy his age earn enough to pay for rent and food and coal and everything? Would he even be allowed to stay here, on his own?

Freda Vickers gave him some dinner on Sunday and Mrs Budd came to see him into bed again that night. He could see that she didn’t like leaving him, but he assured her he wouldn’t be lonely and eventually she left, making sure the front door was firmly locked behind her. Sammy fell asleep at last and woke on Monday, sure that Dad would come home today.

But what if he didn’t? He went outside and saw Tim and Keith and the two little Simmons girls set off up October
Street. Jess Budd, Rose and Maureen went with them to wave them off on the train. Sammy stood at the bottom of the road, watching them go and wishing he could go with them.

Granny Kinch, Micky Baxter’s grandmother, was standing in her doorway as usual, her brown tweed coat buttoned up to the chin and a black crochet beret pulled over her steel hair curlers. She nodded at Sammy.

‘See
they’re
goin’ back, then. What about you, ain’t you going back to the country?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sammy said a little forlornly, then frowned and added with more determination, ‘Yes, I’m going as soon as Dad can get time off to take me. He rode his bike out to get me,’ he added.

‘Hm.’ It was difficult to tell whether she approved of this or not. ‘Our Micky’s never bin sent. My Nancy wouldn’t have it, her boy going away from her. She thinks families oughter stick together.’

Sammy said nothing. Like most of the children in April Grove, he was half afraid of Granny Kinch and half fascinated by her. She could be very sharp if she felt like it, yet at other times she’d send Micky up to the shops to buy a bag of toffees and she’d get all the children crowded round the door and toss the sweets among them for them to scramble for. At least, she used to do that before the war. Now there were neither so many children nor so many sweets.

She still stood at her doorway, though, watching all that went on. Nothing much happened in either April Grove or October Street without Granny Kinch knowing about it.

‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘I suppose if you really wants to go back, there’s nothing to stop you. What with your dad working long hours and nobody else at home, there ain’t much for you here. I can see that. Here.’ She felt in the pocket of her coat and dragged out a couple of pear drops, half melted and stuck together. ‘Here’s something to suck.
Always cheers you up, something to suck, that’s what I say.’

Sammy took the sweets and drifted back to number 2. They were fluffy from Granny Kinch’s pocket and although he would have had no hesitation in eating them from his own pocket, he didn’t somehow fancy them. Auntie Ruth would have made him throw them away, he thought, and regretfully did so, tossing them into the fireplace where they immediately became balls of cold ash. He sat and stared at them for a bit, thinking about Bridge End and wondering if the Budds were on the train yet and how long it would take them to get there. They’d probably arrive in time for dinner. His mouth watered at the thought of a thick stew, full of vegetables, with dumplings floating on the top. Or a lentil soup, made with a knuckle of bacon and some onions.

He looked in the cupboard. The tin of Spam was still there. He quite liked Spam, but he didn’t fancy it today. He wanted stew.

He went back into the living room and looked at the mantelpiece where the ration books lay, with the three shillings left for if Dad didn’t come home till Tuesday evening. Even though today was Monday, Tuesday night seemed like years away. He stared around the small, cold room, at the sagging armchairs with their stained upholstery, at the bare linoleum floor with its threadbare mat, at the scratched table and the wooden chairs, and suddenly he could bear it no longer.

He ran upstairs and pushed his few belongings into the brown-paper carrier bags Auntie Ruth had given him. He came down again, picked up the three shillings and his own ration book, and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.