Free Opposite the Cross Keys by S. T. Haymon

pass before you were given the freedom of Opposite the Cross Keys?
    Fortunately for me, Mrs Fenner exploded in one of her enormous laughs and exclaimed, ‘Sylvie don’t want no truck wi’ that rubbish! What you think we are, bor, Frenchies?’ She picked up the snail, went and put it in one of the flower pots on the window sill. ‘There!’ she announced, returning to the table. ‘That’ll keep him happy till you’ve finished your dinner.’ To me, she said, ‘You heard the Frenchies eat ’ em, han’t you, jest like winkles? Funny ole world, in’t it?’
    Charlie Fenner, the youngest of the family, came in just then, and hung his cap on a peg on the door into the scullery. It was a surprise to see a he-Fenner bareheaded. Small and strong-looking, he was a younger edition of his father, only less good-humoured: no crinkly lines at the corners of his bright blue eyes.
    He was dressed nattily for a working man: navy blazer and grey flannels such as my brother Alfred often wore, yet not at all the same, really. An apology for a badge on the blazer, and trousers of that horrid thick cloth which seemed at permanent odds with the human form. Even though it was immediately obvious that we had got off on the wrong foot – all unknowingly, I was sitting in his place – I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him for being such a poor imitation of Alfred.
    When Mrs Fenner said, as one announcing good news, ‘We got gal Sylvie here for the day,’ his only acknowledgement was a querulous ‘Oh ah?’ He gave me an irritable once-over and went into the scullery for a stool which turned out to be much too low, only there wasn’t any other. His chin practically touched the table.
    â€˜You’re late.’ Maud plumped his plateful down so that he nearly stuck his nose in it. ‘Where you been, then?’
    Charlie did not answer; tucked into his dinner hungrily, though with no appearance of enjoyment. Mrs Fenner intervened mockingly, ‘What you mean, where’s he bin, on the Lord’s Day? Singing the praises o’ the Lord, tha’s where he’s bin – eh, Charlie?’
    Maud looked surprised.
    â€˜You been to Chapel? You never!’
    â€˜Wrong Lord,’ said Mrs Fenner. ‘Doreen, Mrs Lord’s little angel, over past the mill. Holds an organ service Sundays an’ every night o’ the week.’
    Charlie looked up from his food, suddenly cheerful and good-natured.
    â€˜Give over, ma. Didn’t you an’ pa never go courtin’?’
    â€˜Me an’ your pa?’ Mrs Fenner’s laughter rocked the room once more. ‘Picked him up under me arm an’ wouldn’t let him down till he said “I will!”’
    Mr Fenner smiled across the table.
    â€˜Tha’s right …’
    The two smiled at each other contentedly.
    When dinner was over, Tom went over to the geraniums, retrieved his snail with little soothing sounds, and dropped it back in his pocket. In a voice full of happy importance he said to me, ‘Better see about that toad afore somebody else gets his paws on it,’ and hurried out.
    As soon as he had gone Maud stated baldly, ‘If you’re thinking of taking a toad back to Norwich, Miss, you’ve got another think coming. One dumb animal’s as much as I can manage.’
    â€˜Oh! But Tom –’
    â€˜Never mind Tom. We’ll put it down somewhere he don’t see, before we catch the bus. No waterworks!’ she commanded, seeing from my face that I was getting ready to turn on the stopcock. ‘Where you keep a toad in St Giles?’
    â€˜I’m sure May Bowden would let me keep it in her garden. I could always go and play with it there.’
    Maud’s brow darkened as it always did at any mention of her rival.
    â€˜That one! Wouldn’t trust her with a grasshopper! And anyway, wild animals ain’t for playing