Cuckoo in the Nest. Michelle Magorian
pursed her lips. ‘Well I’m afraid holiday harvesting is not required here. You’ve been reading too much . . .’ She waved her hand as if searching for the right name.
‘A.G. Street?’ he suggested.
He could see that he had guessed right, but it was obvious he had little chance of a job. ‘If you want me,’ he stated firmly, ‘which I doubt, you can tell me what you want me to do. If I don’t know how to do it, I’ll find a way of doing it. I’m not witless, you know.’
‘Are you playing truant?’ she demanded.
‘No. I told you. Yesterday I was sacked from the paper-mill. If you don’t believe me you can contact them. I’m sure they’ll send you the worst letter of recommendation you’re ever likely to read.’
‘Paper-mill?’ she exclaimed. ‘What the hell were you doing at a paper-mill?’
‘My father took me out of school and got me a job there.’
‘He’s a bloody manager, isn’t he? Is this some kind of character-building experiment?’
‘No,’ said Ralph wearily. ‘Look, I need a job, but I want it on my terms now. I’m not spending any more time pretending I’m something I’m not.’
The faintest flicker of amusement passed her eyes. ‘Oh, lucky you. You know who you are, eh?’
Ralph opened his mouth, and then to his astonishment he burst out laughing. The woman strode across the room to a long velvet cord which she pulled. And Ralph couldn’t stop himself. It was as if the last four months of awfulness had finally taken their toll. He knew she was calling for the maid to take him back to the kitchen and out. And he was beyond caring. He had no job and he had ruined his first interview for one. He hadn’t had a conversation about any of the things he loved, like plays or the theatre or books or ideas, for months. His brain was atrophying and now he suspected he might be going insane. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
The door opened and Queenie entered.
‘Queenie, Hollis will be staying for tea.’ She turned to him. ‘You have no further appointments this afternoon have you?’
Too surprised to speak, he shook his head.
Queenie held the door open for him. He was about to move when Mrs Egerton-Smythe raised her hand. ‘No, Queenie, Hollis will have tea with me. In here.’
Queenie gasped. ‘But, madam!’ she protested.
‘Hollis and I have a lot to talk about,’ and she turned sharply to Ralph, ‘haven’t we?’
Ralph nodded again, amazed. The door closed.
‘Now, sit down, and we’ll discuss what we’re going to do with that jungle out there.’ Ralph just stared at her. ‘Or have you decided to look for work elsewhere? Don’t worry, it’s quite common. I seem to scare the living daylights out of most people who work here. I don’t know why.’
‘You mean I’ve got the job?’
‘Don’t be an ass, boy. Of course you have. Now do as I say and sit down. I want to interview you a little more.’
He lowered himself into one of the leather armchairs opposite her and grinned. ‘You mean, interrogate me.’
‘Exactly. Now where shall we start?’
It was already dark when Ralph wheeled his bicycle out through Mrs Egerton-Smythe’s small gate. He stopped for a moment to gaze back at the large forbidding house. He had a feeling Mrs Egerton-Smythe’s brusqueness was caused by some kind of pain but, in spite of her irritability, he liked her. He gave a broad smile.
As he cycled away, his spirits were so high that he found himself singing a Brandenburg Concerto. He headed towards the wide tree-lined road which led off Mrs Egerton-Smythe’s avenue. Once he reached the High Street, he turned left past the department store on the corner where his Auntie Win worked and the little dress shop a hundred yards further on where his cousin Joan worked, past two cinemas, a jeweller’s, a shoe shop, a butcher’s, past the tower with a clock on it which stood in the centre, past more shops until he was outside the Palace Theatre. He pulled on his brakes and glanced up at the hoarding advertising Ladies in Retirement. Next week, it announced, French Without Tears. ‘Charming, Amusing, a Delight!’
He mentally crossed his fingers and skimmed downhill towards the railway station and bridge.
The family were all sitting round the table when he arrived home. Several arguments were going on which were being refereed by his mother. His father was polishing his boots, a sign that he was going out.
‘You’re not old enough for the Saturday thriller, Elsie,’ his mother was saying. ‘You’ll have nightmares.’
‘I won’t,’ she insisted. ‘I know it’s just a story.’
‘It’s for grown-ups.’
‘So’s them books Auntie Win reads out. You let me listen to them.’
‘You’re not supposed to be listening.’
‘Mavis White’s allowed to go out to Saturday dances with her friends,’ interrupted Joan. ‘And meet boys there. He said that’s where he’d see me, and I promised.’
‘You had no right. If he wants to take you out he can come here and pick you up hisself. Elsie, clear the table.’
She turned and winked at Ralph. ‘’Ow’d you do?’ she mouthed.
‘I got it.’
‘Oh, Ralphie!’ And to his surprise she flung her arms round him, and then suddenly broke away blushing.
‘What’s that?’ said his father, looking up.
‘I got the job.’
‘Regular, is it?’
‘Occasional.’
His father gave a snort.
‘It’s a start,’ said his mother.
‘And if I do well she might spread the word to her friends.’
‘Gardener!’ he scoffed. ‘What kind of job is that?’
‘Mum,’ began Elsie, ‘couldn’t I listen to the first bit of it?’
‘No.’
‘What if I met him at the Odeon?’ pleaded Joan.
‘What’s wrong with him meeting you here?’
‘It’d scare him off. He’d think it was serious.’
‘It is.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Elsie, clear the table!’
‘Hello,’ said Auntie Win into her newspaper. ‘There’s another bigamist in here.’ She tutted and shook her head. ‘I dunno.’
Because they had only six chairs, it was Harry’s turn to sit on Dad’s bed at supper, but he accidentally spilt some gravy on it in the middle of his exciting rendition of the previous night’s episode of Dick Barton, Special Agent, which made his father almost hit the ceiling, since it was the one place in the house he could call his own. He was only to have slept in it temporarily but it had stretched to six months because Auntie Win didn’t feel she should share a room with her nieces. Ralph volunteered to change places, but his father said he didn’t want no slackers sitting on his bed. Elsie said Harry could share her chair and so they spent the rest of the meal giggling as one or other kept pitching to the side. After the meal, his Uncle Ted, a large portly man in his fifties, from two streets away, called for his dad. He had persuaded him to go greyhound racing with him. His father wasn’t interested in greyhound racing, but he told Ralph that he thought it was better for both of them if one of them wasn’t at home.