I did not wish to appear ungrateful as the woman was obviously trying to be kind, even though she had me confused with this cat business. I opened the door wider for her before she thought me impolite. I merely meant for us to talk through a larger opening. But she walked straight through, even though I had not formally invited her in!

‘Oh, you’re tidying up a bit. Men, eh – they’ve got no idea.’ She perused the place as if this was her home. Pushing her nose into corners, she walked the room as if inspecting some task she had asked of me. Alighting upon the sink she said, ‘Bit cracked, isn’t it? Still, you’re keeping it clean, that’s good.’ Now, as she was the landlady and at that moment viewing the sink, I thought to take the opportunity to ask something of her. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘but would you perchance have a basin that I might get a use of?’

‘A what?’

‘A basin,’ I repeated.

‘Sorry.’

‘A basin to put at the sink.’

‘A bee – to put what?’

‘A basin.’

‘I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

I thought to say it again slower but then remembered an alternative that would work as well. ‘A bucket,’ I said.

‘A what?’ she started again.

It was useless. Was I not speaking English? I had nothing but the potty to point at instead. But she would surely misunderstand that. And who knows where that confusion could take us? So I hushed my mouth.

‘Where did you get that thing?’ she said, pointing at my blanket. ‘It’s so bright. You need dark glasses for that.’ It obviously amused her. She began a giggle. ‘Did you bring it over with you?’ Moving past the blanket she went to warm her hands on the fire. She bent over closer to the flame. ‘It’s perishing today. I bet you wished you never left somewhere nice and hot?’ When I made no reply she looked to me and mouthed the words, ‘Cold today,’ as if I might have lost my hearing. ‘When it’s cold,’ she went on, ‘we say it’s “perishing”. Perishing cold. It’s a saying, like the cat got your tongue.’ She turned back to her hand-warming while telling me, ‘You’ll soon get used to our language.’

I told this Englishwoman, ‘I can speak and understand the English language very well, thank you.’

And she said, ‘No need to thank me.’ But I had not meant it to sound grateful. Still she carried on: ‘I’m sure there’s a lot I could teach you, if you wanted.’ And then she sat down on a chair and invited me to come and sit with her. But this was my home, it was for me to tell her when to sit, when to come in, when to warm her hands. I could surely teach this woman something, was my thought. Manners! But then I questioned, Maybe this is how the English do things when they are in England? So I sat.

‘That’s right – sit down.’ Did this woman think I did not understand the injunction, sit down? ‘You don’t say very much, do you?’

I held my tongue. Forbearance prevented me informing her that what I do say she does not appear to comprehend.

‘So how long have you and Gilbert been married, then?’

The barefaced cheek of the question sucked all the breath from me. Did she want to know all my business? I just look on her and wait. Soon this white Englishwoman must realise she is talking ill-mannered to me. But she say it again. This time in that slow way, as if I did not grasp her meaning the first time. But she tricked me. If this woman was to realise that I am an educated person then surely I would have to answer her enquiry. Cha.

‘Gilbert and I have been married for nearly six months,’ I said clearly.

‘Six. Six months?’

‘That is what I said,’ I told her, with vowels as round as my cheeks would allow.

‘What, altogether? You’ve only been married six months?’ I nodded. ‘But Gilbert’s been here about five months.’ Then, tipping her head, she looked on me playful. ‘Ah. You’re newly-weds, then,’ she told me.

‘I suppose so.’

‘Did you say “I suppose so”?’ she asked, amused. ‘You don’t sound too pleased about it. But Gilbert said you hadn’t known each other long.’

Oh, he did, did he? How typical of that rogue man to spread our business for everyone in England who want to hear. But I said nothing.

‘I knew Gilbert during the war,’ she went on. ‘Did he tell you?’ She might want to know everyone’s business but I was taught prudence – especially with a man who believes a gold tooth to be appealing. She began shifting on her seat, which caused the chair to creak so I thought it would collapse under her. But she paid this shabby furniture no mind. She folded her arms, then unfolded them. She took a breath then gave out a faint ‘Ohh’ as if a pain had stabbed her. A dainty pattern of red patches flushed on her cheeks and neck. I worried she would want a drink of water next for I was not sure there was a glass. But she was not distressed. She just brushed a blonde curl behind her ear and carried on as before.

‘He didn’t say, then?’ she asked me. I did not reply. I was weary of this conversation and I had work that I had only just begun. At last the woman raised herself slow from the seat. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you want anything I’m just downstairs. Just call down.’ Politely I stood to follow her to the door. Suddenly she looked on my face as keen as a child who needs you to join in their game. ‘I could show you round the shops, if you like. Show you where to get things.’

Pity had me soften. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

But this excited her. ‘No, don’t thank me. It’s no trouble. Be nice to have some company.’ I was nodding and smiling like a half-wit while all the time opening the door so this woman might leave me in peace. ‘Do you have pictures . . . films . . . where you come from?’ she wanted to know. What, this woman think Gilbert spill me from a bottle?

‘Of course we have films – cinema,’ I told her.

‘Do you like them?’

‘I have always enjoyed the films of Shirley Temple,’ I said.

The woman laughed so raucous I swear the window rattled. ‘Shirley Temple, I haven’t seen one of hers for a bit. Imagine you getting Shirley Temple where you come from!’

Again I did not reply. ‘Well, we could go if you like – to the pictures.’ And again she took my breath from me. Is this woman wanting to be friendly or is she wanting a friend? I was confused. What class of white woman was she? ‘Well if you want to go to the shops or anything I could show you how to use your ration book. It’s easy but takes a bit of getting used to.’ Then she looked upon me, puzzled. ‘Can you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Of course,’ I said, quietly.

‘Good. Well, give me a knock and I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go out.’ She then took her hand and placed it on my arm. She leaned in too close to me to whisper, ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind being seen in the street with you. You’ll find I’m not like most. It doesn’t worry me to be seen out with darkies.’

Now, why should this woman worry to be seen in the street with me? After all, I was a teacher and she was only a woman whose living was obtained from the letting of rooms. If anyone should be shy it should be I. And what is a darkie? I held the door polite for her and once more said, ‘Thank you,’ in the hope this would move her more promptly through it.

‘You don’t have to keep thanking me.’

She had misunderstood again. But then I remembered there was an urgent thing I needed to ask. Something that had been troubling me since Gilbert pulled the door behind him that morning. Now was my chance. But I waited until she was outside my door in case she had a mind to turn and sit back upon the seat. I said, ‘Excuse me. I will ask you something if I may? Can you perchance tell me . . .’ I raised my head to look upon her in the eye and asked, ‘How do you make a chip?’

Before

Twenty-three

Queenie

I was christened Victoria Buxton. My mother had wanted me to be christened Queenie but the vicar had said, ‘No, Mrs Buxton, I’m afraid Queenie is a common name.’