Chapter Three
Deeta
“How many more trays do we have?” asks Dec over his shoulder.
“Three sixty plug, four twelve plug…” Carris’s head appears from under the table. “And five medium pots.”
She waits expectantly for Dec to finish his mathematical calculations. I don’t usually bring them all down here at once, but Tom didn’t come back until half past five and I didn’t want the children to wake him. Dec is still thinking, a small furrow between his brows. Absently he holds his arm out towards Roydon who promptly rolls up Dec’s sleeve.
“Give me the sixty plug.” He commands at last, reaching an imperative hand out behind him.
Carris immediately thrusts the tray into his hand, and he begins to fill the plugs with soil from the sieve he is shaking above the tray. Finishing with the sieve he passes it to a waiting Roydon.
“Water!”
The command is scarcely out of his mouth before the watering can is placed into his hand. He measures the water carefully into the plugs, his eyes half closed.
“Seeds!”
Is the next order and Roydon passes him the container of seeds. Carefully, one by one, Dec places them into the plugs.
“Soil!”
He shakes the soil over the seeds and steps back to view his handy work, one hand held up in a gesture of silence.
“Say nothing, words are inadequate.”
“Just remember to label your trays this time: remember what happened last year,” I warn.
The greenhouses are, as usual, very bright and humid. Denny and Jan are watering at one end, and Tarri is on the floor digging in some soil. She loves the greenhouses, and often comes down with Uncle Jep.
“You look absolutely filthy, Dec!”
Dec looks up at Ralph Clark and wiggles his fingers in the air.
“Self sacrifice and all that jazz, Uncle Ralph!”
The children have always called Ralph ‘uncle’ even though he is no relation. As he is a close friend of Tom’s they seem to feel as though they have a right to claim him. Ralph, I know, is rather proud of the title.
“Ricky seems to have been self sacrificing in an entirely clean way though.”
“Huh, he used his fingers I used —”
“Everything else?” asks Ralph with a grin. “How are you, Deeta?”
“I am sacrificing myself as well, Ralphie. I didn’t know you were on greenhouse duty too?”
Ralph shakes his dark blonde head.
“I’m not; I’m on farm duty.”
“We aren’t exactly on the way.”
“No but,” Ralph grins, “I thought the boys might want to come along and help me.”
“I bet you did.”
“Why only the boys?” ask Carris indignantly.
Ralph swings her up into his arms easily.
“Because I can’t half inch the lot of you from Deet, can I?”
Carris sees the logic of this statement and agrees seriously.
“Well, how about it boys?” asks Ralph.
Ricky, Dec, and Roydon are straining at the leash to go, but Ricky, as thoughtful as ever, turns to me first.
“Perhaps we could go down later, when we’ve finished helping you?”
Although he is trying to hide it he’s very eager to go.
“You can go now, we’ve almost finished here anyway.”
The boys vault the table, which in the restricted space is quite alarming, to express their glee and Ralph is borne away in front of them towards the door.
“Hey, Ralphie; make sure there’re back for lunch would you?”
Ralph salutes and is swept from sight in the midst of three very excited boys. Within ten minutes I’ve finished my shift in the greenhouses and tidied up behind us. I pick Tarri up from the floor and dust her off.
“You look like you enjoyed yourself, chick?”
Her cheeks are flushed a rosy red and her pigtails have somehow become dishevelled.
“Yep, do we still have biscuits at home, Aunty Deet?”
“Yes we do, but you ate three straight after breakfast this morning so you can only have one more.”
We begin to return to the flat, but after the second flight of stairs Tarri tugs at my arm.
“Aunty Deet, my legs are too tired to go any further.”
I heave her into my arms, and proceed up the stairs with Carris close behind me.
We reach our floor breathless and stagger into the sitting room, whereupon Tarri informs me that she’s so thirsty she could drain a well. Being carried up the stairs must be so tiring.
I fetch three glasses of milk and a plate of biscuits through to the lounge, before sinking gratefully into a chair. For a moment there is silence as we recover.
“What shall we make for lunch then?” I ask at length.
Carris suggests bacon and egg butties, and Tarri several highly impractical delicacies.
“Bacon and egg butties sound great.”
Tom appears in the doorway of his room in the process of pulling on a jumper. His hair is tousled and he hasn’t shaved yet, the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow are dark on his face.
“You haven’t slept very long.”
“It was enough. How many flights did you make it up, mush?”
He moves into the room, picking up a biscuit and pulling one of Tarri’s pigtails.
“Only two, Uncle Tom, Aunty Deet carried me the rest of the way.”
“And what have you been up to, Carry?”
“We went to the greenhouses; I helped Dec plant tomatoes and beans,” answers Carris.
“And I helped Aunty Deet plant cabbage.” Tarri frowns. “I don’t know why we plant cabbage; it’s horrid.”
I smile at the face she pulls.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Tom?”
“Yes, please.”
Tom follows me into the kitchen and, as I put the pan on to boil, he leans against the work surface.
“Where are the boys?”
“Ralphie took them with him down to the farm. No doubt he’ll play the ‘I’ll be the master and you be the slaves’ game with them. Poor kids, they’ve no idea what they’re in for; they actually wanted to go!”
“Ralph’s a lot of fun, they’ll have a good time.” Tom makes a careful study of his shoes. “We’re going ‘out’ tomorrow.”
Tom has said this very same thing many times before, and it always has the same unsettling effect on me. My stomach seems to jump, and I get a funny feeling at the back of the tops of my legs. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it always leaves me feeling oddly drained.
“How long?” My voice is quiet, but I’m please to find I’ve kept it calm and steady.
“A few days.” Tom shrugs. “Will you stay up here while I’m gone?”
I always do but Tom always asks, he never takes it for granted.
“Sure, I’ll ask my dad.”
We lapse back into silence.
I hate it when Tom goes out.
It scares me.
Each time he does I spend the best part of four days and four nights worrying if he’s eating properly and warm enough. I try not to think of the dangers out there, about the guns, fire bombs, and ambushes.
“Thanks, Deeta. By the way; were you aware that you have mud on your face?”
“I happen to like it there; where is it?”
“Left cheek, your left.”
I brush a damp cloth over my face.
“Has it gone?”
“No, I can still see a dirty bit… oh no, wait, that’s you.”
Tom receives the dishcloth full in the face and sighs resignedly.
“The trouble I get into for trying to help!”
For that the tea towel joins the dishcloth.
I’ve always wondered what it is that Tom does while he’s ‘out’. I’ve only asked him about it once, and I will never ask again. I don’t talk about him going ‘out’ any more, he goes all quiet and I hate how uncomfortabl
e that makes me feel.
“It kills you doesn’t it, Deeta?” Tom smiles gently.
“What does?”
“Not knowing what we do?”
I’m surprised that he’s bringing this up; generally he avoids the topic as it is one of the few we disagree on. I look up to find him watching me, a faintly surprised expression in his eyes, as though he is a little unsure at himself for voluntarily starting this conversation.
“I have a new philosophy about that: what I don’t know about simply doesn’t exist to me, so I don’t need to worry about it. It’s better that way.”
Tom smiles again and we are silent as I spread butter over the bread I’ve just sliced.
“But you do wonder, don’t you?”
The knife in my hand stops moving. I stare at it for a long time before turning uneasy eyes on Tom.
“What is it, what do you want to know?”
Tom shrugs his shoulders, and opens the door of one of the cupboards nonchalantly as if looking for food. Tom knows this kitchen as well as I do, so the fact that that cupboard houses, and has always housed, plates is just another sign that something is not right.
“Just curious.”
I’m more than a little freaked out at this point. Tom is never ‘just curious’ about anything. He always has a reason for asking a question; in some way my answer was important to him.
As I break the eggs into the frying pan and check the bacon, I am uncomfortably aware of Tom’s eyes upon me. There’s an unfathomable expression in their depths that unnerves me. A cacophony of sound in the living room alerts us to the fact that the boys are home, and Ralph saunters into the kitchen.
“There you go, Deet; three rowdy hungry boys deposited at your feet in time for lunch.” Ralph grins at Tom. “Roydon said you were on duty until half five, if it had been me I’d have needed all day in bed to recover.”
Tom’s reply is drowned out as Roydon and Dec burst into the kitchen, and begin to chase each other around the table. Ralph comes to stand by my side and, as they dash madly around the room, he turns to me apologetically.
“Just for the record; I had nothing to do with this. They must have been mad before I got them.”
“Ralphie, you could get an Egyptian mummy excited, never mind the boys.”
I look at them helplessly.
Ralph will be no help in calming them down, he can’t undo the effect he has on them. Tom reaches out and grabs Roydon’s jumper.
“That’s enough,” he states mildly. The two boys stop, sit down quietly at the table, and grin up at Tom.
“What have you been up to?”
“We fed the pigs and mucked out the cows,” answers Roydon.
At this point Dec breaks in.
“Aunty Deet, you wouldn’t believe the mess the pigs made! It was much, much worse than our bedroom, and you’re always saying that’s a pigsty!”
“Oh, I think you could give the pigs a run for their money,” I assure him.
“And the cows, you wouldn’t believe the mess they made!”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Having cleaned the cow byre myself on numerous occasions, Dec could not be more mistaken. To hear him you’d think he’d never been down to the farm before instead of being a regular visitor. We have this discussion roughly twice a week.
“There was so much —”
“Dec!” warns Tom.
Dec turns his wide open blue eyes towards him.
“But, Uncle Tom, there was so much —”
“Dec.”
“Well there was,” mumbles Dec softly.
“I don’t doubt it, Dec.”
As they smile at each other I’m struck yet again by just how similar they are in looks. Their hair is the same wavy Jet black, and both of them have dark blue eyes. Yet it’s not just their colouring, their features are similar too. Dec's are softened by youth but Tom’s are clear cut and strong, defined by hardship and responsibility. Even now Dec has many of Tom’s mannerisms. I look up to find Ricky staring past me, a vaguely pained expression on his face.
“Say, Deet?” He looks at me as if unsure how to go on. “Do we like really well done bacon, you know, like bordering on burnt?”
I wrench the frying pan from the range to find that, thankfully, it isn’t more than a little scorched.
“Hello, there seems to be a great many people in my kitchen.”
The professor’s myopic eyes travel around the room and alight on Tom.
“Awake already, my son?” His hand rests briefly on Tom’s shoulder, and I pass him a cup of tea. “Deetina, my cherished one: you are a gift.”
As he unwinds his scarf, I help him off with his coat.
“You’ve gotten way too cold, Uncle Jep.” I scold as we move into the lounge.
Uncle Jep slips into his wingback chair, and Tarri climbs up to take her customary position on his knee.
“And what have you been doing little one?”
Tarri recounts the events of the day so far as she leans against his shoulder, her chubby fingers playing with his watch chain. I bring the sandwiches through, circumnavigating the chairs, a plate in each hand. Ralph is trying to talk to me, but with Roydon on the floor playing chess with Dec, and keeping an eye on Carris lest she drop the plates she is handing out, I’m not really listening to him.
“Deeta! I bet you didn’t hear a word I said,” laughs Ralph.
“Sorry, Ralphie.” I smile back at him. “But you’re quite right: didn’t hear a word! Never mind though, it probably wasn’t important.”
Tom relieves me of the plates of sandwiches as Ralph tries to assault my middle. After several frantic seconds it is Ralph who ends up being assaulted, with a cushion, after which we settle down to eat.
“I was asking you if you’re going to the dance tonight, Deeta,” repeats Ralph.
“Yes, I always do,” I answer, watching as egg oozes from Tarri’s roll. “Hold your plate a little closer, Tarri… that’s right. Why do you ask, Ralphie?”
“Just wondering… are you coming with Nella?”
I am tempted to say several things that spring to my lips, but refrain. Ralph is rather keen on Nella you see, so I only nod.
“Just wondering.” Ralph turns his attention to his roll.
I hide my urge to grin by biting my lip. Ralphie’s an unusual lad, a strange mix of boyish charm and maturity. At first he seems very much like Jamie, his brother. Both of them are built on massive lines, with curly dark blond hair. He’s more handsome than Jamie, I think, his face is broader and he has dimples. He’s hyper and somehow manages to make you feel happy and excited as well.
I must admit to feeling slightly anxious about his affection for Nell though. I think I told you that his brother, Jamie’s, overtures had been rejected by Nella. It caused a great stir at the time, and people still talk about it. Nell was rather emphatic, you see, and because so much was made of it, she can’t stand the sight of Jamie. It makes her uncomfortable to know that everyone is watching them. The trouble is her dislike of Jamie has carried over onto Ralph. I guess the similarities between them were too pronounced for her to give him a proper chance.
All of this Ralph knows, so he has never tried to pay her any particular attention. I just hope it doesn’t end badly. Fifty-eight floors is a pretty small world, there’s not really room to hide from embarrassment.
As I turn from my contemplation of Ralph, which I suppose must have lasted some time, my eyes meet Tom’s. There is something about his expression that causes the smile to slide from my face, and my gaze falters.
I hate it when he looks at me like that.
He never used too, but lately he has been doing it more and more. It’s not that his expression is disapproving precisely, but as though he is trying not to be disapproving.
Ralph has been telling a funny story, and the children laugh as he reaches the punch line. I think I envy Ralph. Despite everything, all his troubles, he still has the ability to laugh and to ma
ke others laugh too. He even makes Tom laugh and Tom has an unnerving habit of not even smiling at some peoples jokes, however funny they are.
Ralph is half way through his next story when, catching sight of the clock, a look of comic dismay enters his face and he jumps up from his seat. Amid profuse thanks for lunch, and tripping over the boys who are lying on the floor, he manages to reach the door and wrench it open. Pushing back the curls that have fallen forwards on to his forehead, he bids us good evening. He leaves the room as he always leaves a room: ringing with laughter.
------
“You’re worried.”
I jump, almost poking my eye out with a hairgrip. Nella has been lounging on my bed for the last twenty minutes without addressing a word to me. It’s just like her to wait until I’m working with weaponised head gear to startle me.
“Nell, be careful! You almost blinded me!”
Nella raises herself on to her elbow, shaking back the glossy chestnut hair from her face.
“Don’t change the subject; why are you worried?”
“I always am when you and Tom go ‘out’.”
“I know, but this is different.”
There isn’t much point trying to hide how miserable I am from her. Yet I can’t explain the difference to myself, so how am I supposed to explain it to her? I shrug my shoulders and say nothing.
“I’m just tired I guess…” My voice trails off as though embarrassed at having voiced so pathetic an excuse.
I slip the last grip into my hair and pat it smooth. Nella, I know, isn’t satisfied. As she helps to zip up my faded dress her face wears an expression of faint concern.
“Nell, promise me you won’t be mean tonight.”
She looks surprised.
“I’m not usually.”
“Yes you are; you spend the whole night making cutting comments to poor lads who only want to dance with you. Sometimes I think that you spend the weeks that separate one party from another thinking of crushing one liners!”
She makes a small adjustment to my hair, stubborn inflexibility marring the beauty of her face.
“Any particular reason why I’m receiving this homily?”
“I thought it was obvious?”
Nella, meeting my eyes in the mirror, raises an eyebrow.
“Please don’t be unpleasant to Ralph.”
Nella’s fingers stiffen involuntarily amidst the curls she’s fixing in place.
“I wouldn’t say I was unpleasant to him,” she answers evenly.
“You don’t think your attitude is friendly, do you?”
Nella tucks her hair behind her ear and purses her lips.
“Nell, I’m not asking you to fawn all over him. I’m just asking you not to say the first thing that comes into your head when you’re talking to Ralph, because invariably it’s the most cutting thing you could say!”
Nella continues to look at me with that hard look in her eyes.
“Then I guess I’ll have to ignore the second, third, and fourth things too.”
“It’s awkward for me if you aren’t nice to him and besides; he’s never rude to you.”
Nella obviously hasn’t noticed this because she looks faintly surprised and her eyes take on an unfocused expression. I can tell she’s trying to remember if this statement is true.
“Where’s your locket?”
My hand flies to my neck, but the chain isn’t there.