‘Why isn’t there a fire in there?’
‘It’s half-term, remember?’
‘You could at least keep the room warm. It’ll take ages to get it warm again next week.’
‘I can’t afford it. Keeping that fire going all day is an extravagance. Perhaps if the university could donate something towards the cost.’
‘I give you enough, don’t I?’
‘Only just. Fuel is very expensive. It’s also getting hard to find. It means I can’t light a fire anywhere else in the house.’
‘But you don’t need to. You have that as a sitting room in the evening.’
‘And the daytime?’
‘I assumed you sat and supervised in there.’
‘Did you?’
Ralph could hear the tinkling of cups and saucers.
‘Mother, there’s no need to do that. I’m only making a passing visit.’
A passing check-up, Ralph thought.
‘Charles,’ began Mrs Egerton-Smythe, ‘this really is too big a house for one person. I’ve been thinking of taking in lodgers.’
There was an audible gasp. ‘Have you lost your senses?’
‘If I took lodgers,’ she continued, ‘I wouldn’t be dependent on you.’
‘You aren’t dependent on me. It’s Father’s money. I’m just delegated to give it to you when needed.’
‘I would have preferred it to be a solicitor.’
‘I am a solicitor.’
‘Outside the family.’
‘And let them take payment for it?’
‘Of course, if it had been left to me.’
‘You would have spent it in the first six months!’
‘You think I would. I’ve always done the household budgeting, remember?’
‘It’s hardly the same thing.’ He was beginning to sound bored. ‘Look, I must go. We’re expecting people. Sandra will wonder where I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
‘I could take law students,’ she went on. ‘Surely your father would approve of that.’
‘Law students! Living here?’
Ralph heard the door open.
‘You make it sound as if they’d be sleeping on an altar.’
The cupboard was suddenly dark and Ralph heard the door close. He stepped out cautiously and sprinted across the room.
His mother flung back the scullery door and dragged him into the kitchen. ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded.
His aunt and Joan were sitting at the kitchen table. Joan gave him a cursory glance before returning to her magazine. His aunt sat back on her chair and folded her arms. ‘I went to the theatre. It’s Friday.’
‘Does his breath smell?’ asked Auntie Win.
‘Don’t be silly, Win. He’s too young.’
He pulled out his pay packet and presented it to his mother.
‘It’s been opened,’ noted his aunt.
‘I took out a shilling for my theatre ticket.’
‘He still hasn’t told us where he’s been.’
‘Yes I did. The theatre.’
‘For both shows?’ his mother asked.
‘I stayed on a bit to help Mrs Egerton-Smythe.’
‘Mm,’ said Auntie Win, suspiciously.
His mother placed one piece of bread, a potato and a nub of cheese on to the table. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not much, love.’
Ralph drew up a chair.
‘She tried to save you some stew, but your dad said if you couldn’t be bothered to turn up for supper, you didn’t deserve any, so he ate what was left,’ his aunt said.
His mother turned away and hurriedly brought him out a mug of tea from the pot on the range.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said quietly.
She smiled and pushed the cup across the table.
‘Aren’t you having one? You look like you could do with a sit down.’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ she smiled, and she poured herself one.
She had hardly sat down when Joan glanced up. ‘I’m a wage earner too,’ she said scowling. ‘How come I don’t get one?’
Ralph’s mother gave him a ‘what’s the point’ shrug and was about to give her cup to Joan when Ralph caught hold of her arm.
‘No you don’t,’ he said. ‘Joan’s got legs. She can pour herself one.’
‘I didn’t notice you pouring yours out,’ she objected.
‘I’ve only just come in. I bet you’ve been sitting there for hours.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ said his mother rising. ‘I don’t want Joanie thinking I’m favouritising.’
Ralph sighed and got on with eating. His Auntie Win raised her newspaper. Within seconds there was a loud tutting noise from behind it. ‘Good show, was it?’ asked his mother when she eventually sat down again with another cup of tea.
‘Splendid,’ said Ralph.
His aunt lowered her newspaper. ‘Don’t I get a cup?’ she said affronted.
Ralph lay back in the dark mulling over the conversation he had heard. No wonder Mrs Egerton-Smythe was angry most of the time.
The bolster under his head had gone flat. He raised his head, plumped it up and sank back into it again, but he couldn’t sleep. He felt uneasy, not turning up at the house till Monday. He didn’t trust Charles Egerton-Smythe. He was more than a stuffed shirt. His voice was ruthless and condescending. From downstairs he heard faint noises and guessed it must be his father returning from the pub. He didn’t know which was worse, his being home in the evening with the tension between them or going out and leaving his mother sad and quiet. He knew he was the cause of all the friction but felt impotent to make matters better.
‘Ralph,’ came a sleepy voice from the other end.
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Keep still, will ya. You’re making me cold with all the draughts.’
‘Sorry.’ Ralph closed his eyes. ‘I must do something,’ he whispered to himself.
He decided to go to the tradesmen’s entrance as usual. He rang the bell, but no one answered. He peered into the kitchen – there was no sign of Queenie. He rang again and waited. He was about to leave when he noticed that the door to the garden shed was slightly ajar. He knew he and Mrs Egerton-Smythe had closed it. Maybe she was in there trying to open the small tin trunk.
He ran across the grass, and hesitated. He could hear movement from inside. He knocked at the door. There was a frantic shuffling. He waited again. ‘It’s me, Mrs Egerton-Smythe,’ he said politely, ‘Hollis.’ The scrabbling stopped. Ralph pushed the door aside and found himself face to face with Queenie. Her face was bright red and Ralph,