she had much more energy than the average sixty three-year-old. She
said: “I’m doing you a bit of fried bread.”
“Lovely.” He put the knife down and found a bandage. “Take care with
that knife. I done it a bit too sharp.”
She fussed over his cut, then; making him hold it under the cold tap and
count to one hundred, then putting on antiseptic cream, and gauze, and
finally a roll of bandage held with a safety pin. He stood still and let
her do what she wished.
She said: “Ah, but you’re a good boy to sharpen the knives for me.
Where you been so early, anyhow?”
“Took the dog up the park. And I had)o ring someone up.”
She made a disgusted noise. “I don’t know what’s wrong with the phone in
the parlor, I’m sure.
He leaned over the cooker to sniff the frying bacon. “You know how it
is, Mum. The Old Bill listen to that one.”
She put a teapot in his hand. “Go in there and pour the tea out, then.”
He took the pot into the living room and put it down on a mat. The
square table was laid with an embroidered cloth, cutlery for two, salt
and pepper and sauce bottles.
Tony sat nearest the fireplace, where the old man used to sit. From
there he reached into the sideboard and took out two cups and two
saucers.
He pictured the old man again, overseeing meal-times with the back of
his hand and a good deal of rhyming slang. “Get your chalks off the
Gain,” he would bark if they put their arms on the table.
The only thing Tony held against him was the way he treated Mum. Being
so handsome and that, he had a few women on the side, and at times he
would spend his money buying them gin instead of bringing it home.
Those times, Tony and his brother would go up the Smithfield market,
stealing scraps from under the tables to sell to the soap factory for a
few coppers. And he never went in the Army–but then, a lot of wise boys
went on the trot in wartime.
“What are you going to do–go back to sleep, or pour that tea out?”
Lillian put a plate in front of Tony and sat down opposite him. “Never
mind, I’ll do it now.”
Tony picked up his cutlery, holding his knife like a pencil, and began
to eat. There were sausages, hot fried eggs, a mess of canned tomatoes,
and several slices of fried bread. He took a mouthful before reaching
for the brown sauce. He was hungry after his morning’s exertions.
His mother passed him his tea. She said: “I don’t know, we was never
afraid to use the phone when your father was alive, God rest his soul.
He was careful to stay out of the way of the Old Bill.”
Tony thought they had had no phone in his father’s day, but he let that
pass. He said: “Yeah. He was so careful, he died a pauper.”
“But an honest one.”
“You know bloody well he was, and never let me hear you say no
different.”
“I don’t like you to swear, Mum.”
“You shouldn’t provoke me.”
Tony ate silently and finished quickly. He emptied his teacup and began
to unwrap a cigar.
His mother picked up his cup. “More tea?”
He looked at his watch. “No, thanks. I’ve got a couple of things to do.”
He set fire to the cigar and stood up. “That’s set me up lovely, that
breakfast.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you having a fickle?”
This annoyed him. He blew smoke into the air.
“Who needs to know?”
“It’s your life. Go on, then, I’ll see you later.
Mind you look after yousseff.”
He looked at her a moment longer. Although she gave in to him, she was a
strong woman. She had led the family since the old man went: mending
marriages, borrowing from one son to lend to another, giving advice,
using her disapproval as a powerful sanction. She had resisted all
efforts to move her from Quill Street to a nice little bungalow in