The Lodger by Mary Jane Staples Read Free Book Online Page B

a bit big, y’see.’
    â€˜Think I’m daft, do you?’ asked Trary.
    â€˜Hope not,’ said Bobby, ‘be a cryin’ shame if a girl as pretty as you was daft. Tell yer what, would yer like to come up the park with me Sunday? That’s tomorrow. I’ll call for you after me dinner.’
    â€˜You’ll be lucky,’ said Trary. ‘Comin’ round here, bashin’ our door, givin’ me grinnin’ looks and askin’ me up the park, you got more sauce than a tramful of monkeys, you have.’
    â€˜Well, I like that,’ protested Bobby, the crate swaying a little. ‘Is it my fault you’re pretty?’
    â€˜It’s not mine,’ said Trary. ‘I happen to be the ’andiwork of God.’
    â€˜Crikey, was it you said that?’ asked Bobby in admiration.
    â€˜Yes, it was. And I don’t go up the park with anyone I don’t know. You might be an escaped convict, I’ve heard about escaped convicts goin’ round knockin’ on doors. Kindly don’t knock on ours any more. What d’you want, anyway?’
    â€˜I come bearin’ gifts,’ said Bobby.
    â€˜What?’ asked Trary, coveting that phrase for her own use.
    â€˜In this here box,’ said Bobby, ‘which I’m willin’ to carry indoors for you, if yer ma’s name is Mrs Wilson. It’s come with the compliments of the Salvation Army from a friend of mine, and I’ve got to tell you it’s startin’ to push my head in.’
    â€˜Good thing too,’ said Trary, always able to play a notable part in a boy-versus-girl dialogue. ‘Boys like you shouldn’t have no heads, then they wouldn’t be so cheeky.’ She gazed in suspicion at the crate. ‘What d’you mean, Salvation Army? What’s in it?’
    â€˜Paper bags, mostly,’ said Bobby, ‘and they’re all full up. But I dunno what with, me friend didn’t tell me. I’ve brought ’em because I’ve got a kind ’eart.’ Bobby paused. ‘An’ because me friend give me tuppence,’ he conceded.
    Trary, mystified, said, ‘Look, you better not be havin’ my mum on. Or me, either, or you’ll get a punch in the eye.’
    â€˜Blimey,’ said Bobby, admiration climbing, ‘I like you.’
    Haughtily, Trary said, ‘Just wait there, boy, and I’ll see what my mum says.’
    â€˜All right,’ said Bobby, ‘but I’d be obliged if yer wouldn’t take too long. This lot’s goin’ to push me under yer door-step in a minute.’
    â€˜Oh, dear, what a shame,’ said Trary, and made for the kitchen. She stopped and turned. ‘Who did you say sent you?’
    â€˜A blue-bottle friend of mine.’
    â€˜Who’s he?’
    â€˜A copper, of course, name of Mr Bradshaw.’
    â€˜Mr Bradshaw?’ Trary’s bright eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, d’you mean the tall and nice one, with a kind smile?’
    â€˜Don’t ask me,’ said Bobby, ‘he’s just a copper. Decent bloke, though.’
    â€˜Well, don’t just stand there,’ said Trary, ‘bring the box in. Why didn’t you say about the policeman? I don’t know, I’m sure, but it’s aggravatin’ that boys can’t talk a bit of sense sometimes.’
    Bobby stepped in, steadying the crate with both hands. He followed Trary into the kitchen. Around the table sat Daisy, Lily and Meg. In the scullery, Maggie was busy at the frying-pan. The girls stared at the cheerful-looking boy with a large wooden box on his head.
    â€˜Who’s ’e?’ asked Daisy.
    â€˜â€™E’s got a box on ’is ’ead,’ said Lily.
    â€˜We never ’ad a boy with a box on his ’ead in here before,’ said Meg.
    â€˜Mum, come and look,’ called Trary. ‘You can put it down, boy.’
    Bobby lowered the crate to the floor. Maggie appeared, a