Dancing the Charleston Read online

  ‘Hello, what’s this? A hidden stash of money!’ the man said.

  I peered over – but it was just a silver sixpence.

  ‘I wonder if she got it out of a Christmas plum pudding long ago?’ he said. ‘Here, nipper!’

  He tossed it in the air and I caught it, quick as a wink, and popped it in my pocket.

  ‘Thanks very much,’ I said, thrilled. I might have ninety-eight whole pounds in the bank, but it wasn’t really much use if Aunty wouldn’t let me spend it. Sixpence was a fortune in our village.

  Aunty was too upset about Lady Somerset’s clothes to tell me off and make me give it back. I helped her lug the bulging dust sheet all the way back to the cottage. She shook out each garment carefully and then hung it on the special hangers suspended from the picture rail. When she was finished, there were headless ghosts of Lady Somerset all around us. It was very unnerving.

  ‘You’re not going to keep them all, are you, Aunty?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you going to try to sell them?’

  ‘I wouldn’t do any such thing!’ she snapped.

  ‘Then what do you want them for?’ I said. ‘They’re hideous.’

  Aunty blinked, and I realized how tactless I’d been.

  ‘They’re beautifully made, of course,’ I said hastily. ‘But they’re so old-fashioned.’

  ‘Of course they’re old-fashioned. I’ve been making Lady Somerset’s clothes for many years. And she liked them like that,’ said Aunty. She ran her fingers down the skirt of a dark evening gown decorated with shiny black bead flowers, then snatched her hand away when she saw me staring. ‘It took me days and days to stitch all that jet,’ she murmured.

  ‘Well, why not just keep that one then,’ I said, ‘and throw out the others.’

  ‘It would seem so disrespectful. And the materials are good quality. Perhaps I could rework them in some way …’

  ‘But the colours are all wrong. You’re making children’s clothes now. They can’t wear black and brown and navy,’ I pointed out. ‘Besides, they all smell of old lady.’

  ‘I could hang them up outside in the fresh air,’ said Aunty obstinately.

  In the end she repacked them carefully in the dust sheet and tacked it together at both ends. It looked like the shroud of a very, very large person. She made me help her carry it up the ladder to the attic and lay it on the unboarded slats. Then she went back to stitching blue shorts and tiny teddies, while I sat fingering the sixpence in my pocket, planning how to spend it.

  I took it to school with me and showed it to Maggie at break time.

  ‘Oh, my! A whole sixpence. What are you going to buy, Mona?’ she asked. ‘You could get a whole pound of chocolate drops from Mr Berner’s.’

  I wasn’t sure I fancied his manky old chocolate when I’d recently eaten the heavenly Harrods selection. Instead I thought about fruit drops, or sherbet lemons, or maybe liquorice bootlaces. I couldn’t eat them all myself, but I could share them with Maggie. She was looking at me eagerly.

  But then, I thought, in an hour or so they’d be gone, and I’d have nothing to show for my sixpence. I considered buying a toy instead: little friends for Farthing and an India rubber ball. Or a net bag of marbles. Or the tiny ship in a bottle in the window!

  I dithered, but in the end I didn’t buy any of them. Coming out of school, I saw Old Molly’s nephew, Big Alf, lumbering down the lane, his pockets bulging and emitting high-pitched yowls.

  ‘What you got there, Alf?’ I asked.

  ‘Mind your own business,’ he said. He didn’t like children. He didn’t seem to like anybody much.

  ‘Look, it’s a kitten!’ said Peter Robinson, pointing to a tiny face peeping out of Big Alf’s pocket.

  ‘Oh, how lovely!’ I said. ‘Is there a kitten in your other pocket too, Alf? Oh, do let’s see!’

  ‘Come on, show us, Alf,’ said Maggie, trying to get at his pockets.

  ‘You get your pesky hands off,’ he said, slapping her away.

  ‘The kittens can’t be very comfy in your pockets, Alf,’ I said. ‘And they look ever so young. Can’t you take them back to their mother?’

  ‘My boss told me to get rid of them. Their cat had three kittens and they don’t want no more cats about the house,’ said Big Alf. ‘Now leave us alone, I’ve got business to do.’

  ‘But what are you going to do with them?’ I asked.

  ‘Never you mind, Miss Longnose,’ said Big Alf.

  ‘You’re going to drown them!’ Peter realized.

  ‘So what if I am? The boss said to get rid of all three, so I’ve got to, haven’t I?’

  ‘How could you possibly drown such dear little kittens?’ I asked, horrified.

  ‘I drowns them in a bucket of water, don’t I?’ said Big Alf.

  ‘You mustn’t! Give them to me,’ said Maggie. ‘My mum won’t mind. She likes cats. And it will tickle our Bertha.’

  ‘Could I have one?’ asked Peter.

  ‘And me!’ I suddenly longed for a kitten with all my heart. ‘There you are, Alf. You don’t have to go to the bother of drowning them, which must be horrible. We’ll look after them for you.’

  Big Alf narrowed his eyes. ‘How much will you give me for them?’

  ‘You were going to drown them!’ I said indignantly. ‘You can’t suddenly start asking for money.’

  ‘Oh yes I can!’ Big Alf wasn’t as daft as he seemed. ‘How much?’

  ‘You’re very mean asking children for money,’ said Maggie. ‘You know we haven’t got any money. Well, you keep your kittens then.’

  ‘Ain’t you got no money, any of you?’ he said in disgust.

  ‘I have!’ said Peter, feeling in the pocket of his shorts. He brought out a handful of toffee wrappers and stubby pencils and his famous green glass marble – and a penny. ‘Here!’

  ‘A penny? That’s not nearly enough for three dear fluffy little kittens,’ said Big Alf.

  ‘Just one kitten then.’ Peter nodded at me. ‘She can have it. She wants it badly.’

  ‘So do I!’ said Maggie indignantly.

  ‘Well, none of you can have even one. A penny’s not enough. Tuppence it is. And that’s cheap for a kitten,’ said Big Alf, nodding authoritatively. ‘Well, suit yourselves. I’ll go and drown ’em. And it’ll be your fault.’

  ‘No! Wait! Look, I’ve got sixpence,’ I said. I knew he was conning us. I knew the kittens were very little, too young to be taken from their mother. They might only live a day or two. I knew Aunty would be very cross if I brought one home, but I couldn’t help it. ‘Sixpence for the three of them,’ I said, holding out my money.

  ‘No, it’s more than that,’ said Big Alf quickly. ‘A shilling for all three! That’s what they’re worth.’

  ‘No it’s not! You said tuppence for one kitten. And three twos are six, and that means sixpence for the three. So you give them to us now and I’ll give you this sixpence,’ I said, holding it out.

  ‘And if you don’t, you’ll be going back on your word, and I’ll tell my dad on you,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Oh, have the darned things then,’ said Big Alf, snatching my sixpence.

  We had to delve in his horrible greasy pockets to get the kittens. Maggie found a black-and-white one, Peter scooped up a little ginger one, and I got a tiny coal-black kitten, even smaller than the other two, but utterly perfect, with a heart-shaped face and pointy ears and preposterously long whiskers.

  Big Alf shambled away, pocketing my sixpence.

  ‘Can we really have one each?’ said Maggie. ‘Can I keep this one with its pretty white face and white paws? It’s the best one! I shall call it Mittens.’

  ‘Would you sooner have the ginger one, Mona?’ asked Peter. ‘It’s the boy, and it’s the biggest. He’s the best.’

  ‘Thank you, but no, I want mine. I love it ever so much. I’ll call it Sixpence,’ I said.

  ‘You always give your precious things money names,’ Maggie giggle