Free The Christmas Mouse by Miss Read Page B

knew about the Roses. They had been married some time before her own girls, she seemed to recall, and Betty’s mother had been in good service at Caxley. Other than that, she knew little about them, except that they were known to be a respectable honest pair and regular churchgoers. Dick Rose was a slow methodical fellow, who would never rise above his present job of road sweeper in Caxley, from what Mrs Berry had heard.
    ‘Any children?’ she asked.
    ‘Two!’ replied the boy. He looked sulky. Was this the clue? Was the child jealous for some reason?
    ‘How old?’
    ‘Jim’s eleven, two years older ’n me. Patsy’s eight, nearly nine. A bit younger ’n me.’
    That would be about right, thought Mrs Berry, trying to piece the past together from her haphazard memories, and the child’s reluctant disclosures.
    ‘You’re lucky to live with the Roses,’ observed the old lady, ‘and to have the two children for company.’
    The boy gave a sniff, but whether in disgust or from natural causes it was impossible to say.
    ‘You get on all right?’
    ‘Sometimes. Patsy tags on too much. Girls is soppy.’
    ‘They’ve usually got more sense than boys,’ retorted Mrs Berry, standing up for her own sex. ‘You notice it isn’t Patsy who’s run out into a storm and got into trouble.’
    The child stuck out his lower lip mutinously but said nothing. The drenched raincoat was now steaming steadily, and Mrs Berry turned it on the back of the chair. The boy’s thin T-shirt, which had been hanging over the fire screen, was now dry, and Mrs Berry smoothed it neatly into shape on her knee before folding it.
    ‘Patsy’s got a watch,’ said the boy suddenly.
    ‘Has she now?’
    ‘So’s Jim. They both got watches. Patsy and Jim.’
    ‘For Christmas, do you mean?’
    ‘No, no!’ said the child impatiently. ‘Patsy had hers in the summer, for her birthday. Jim had his on his birthday. Last month it was.’
    ‘They were lucky.’
    She waited for further comment, but silence fell again. The boy was clearly upset about something, some injustice connected with the watches, some grievance that still rankled. His fingers plucked nervously at a piece of loose cotton on the hem of the duffel coat. His face was thunderous. Pepe’s Latin blood was apparent as his son sat there brooding by the fire.
    ‘They’re their own kids, see?’ said the boy, at length. ‘So they give ’em watches. I reckon my real mum’d give me one – just like that, if I asked her.’
    Light began to break through the dark puzzle in Mrs Berry’s mind.
    ‘Do you know where she is?’
    The child looked up, wide eyed with amazement.
    ‘Course I do! She’s with me auntie. I sees her once a month. She says she’ll have me back, soon as she’s got a place of her own. Ain’t no room at Auntie’s, see?’
    Mrs Berry did see.
    ‘I want to know more about these watches. When is your birthday?’
    ‘Second of February.’
    ‘Well, you might be lucky too, and get a watch then.’
    ‘That’s what they say!’ said the boy with infinite scorn in his voice. His head was up now, his eyes flashing. The mouse had become a lion.
    ‘If they means it,’ he went on fiercely, ‘why don’t they let me have it for Christmas? That’s what I asked ’em.’
    ‘And what did they say?’
    ‘Said as there was too much to buy anyway at Christmas. Couldn’t expect a big present like a watch. I’d ’ave to wait and see.’
    ‘Fair enough,’ commented Mrs Berry. The Roses had obviously done their best to explain matters to the disappointed child.
    ‘No, it ain’t fair enough!’ the child burst out. ‘Dad Rose, ’e gets extra money Christmastime – a bonus they calls it. And all his usual pay. They could easy afford one little watch. The other two’ve got theirs. Why should I have to wait? I’ll tell you why!’
    He leaned forward menacingly. Mrs Berry could see why Pepe had had such a hold over poor stupid Gloria Jarvis. Those dark eyes could be