As the Crow Flies

He would have asked her to sit down but as he was occupying the only chair in the room, he couldn’t. He ordered Kitty to leave them alone. For a moment she stared defiantly at Charlie, but then left without another word.

“So what do you want?” asked Charlie once he heard the door close.

Rebecca Salmon began to tremble as she tried to get the words out. “I’ve come to see you because of what has happened to my parents.” She enunciated each word slowly and carefully and, to Charlie’s disgust, without any trace of an East End accent.

“So what ’as ’appened to your parents?” asked Charlie gruffly, hoping she wouldn’t realize that his voice had only recently broken. Becky burst into tears. Charlie’s only reaction was to stare out of the window because he wasn’t quite sure what else to do.

Becky continued shaking as she began to speak again. “Tata was killed in the raid last night and Mummy has been taken to the London Hospital.” She stopped abruptly, adding no further explanation.

Charlie jumped out of his chair. “No one told me,” he said, as he began pacing round the room.

“There’s no way that you could possibly have known,” said Becky. “I haven’t even told the assistants at the shop yet. They think he’s off sick for the day.”

“Do you want me to tell them?” asked Charlie. “Is that why you came round?”

“No,” she said, raising her head slowly and pausing for a moment. “I want you to take over the shop.”

Charlie was so stunned by this suggestion that although he stopped pacing he made no attempt to reply.

“My father always used to say that it wouldn’t be that long before you had your own shop, so I thought…”

“But I don’t know the first thing about baking,” stammered Charlie as he fell back into his chair.

“Tata’s two assistants know everything there is to know about the trade, and I suspect you’ll know even more than they do within a few months. What that shop needs at this particular moment is a salesman. My father always considered that you were as good as old Granpa Charlie and everyone knows he was the best.”

“But what about my barrow?”

“It’s only a few yards away from the shop, so you could easily keep an eye on both.” She hesitated before adding, “Unlike your delivery service.”

“You knew about that?”

“Even know you tried to pay back the last five shillings a few minutes before my father went to the synagogue one Saturday. We had no secrets.”

“So ’ow would it work?” asked Charlie, beginning to feel he was always a yard behind the girl.

“You run the barrow and the shop and we’ll be fifty-fifty partners.”

“And what will you do to earn your share?”

“I’ll check the books every month and make sure that we pay our tax on time and don’t break any council regulations.”

“I’ve never paid any taxes before,” said Charlie, “and who in ’ell’s name cares about the council and their soppy regulations?”

Becky’s dark eyes fixed on him for the first time. “People who one day hope to be running a serious business enterprise, Charlie Trumper, that’s who.”

“Fifty-fifty doesn’t seem all that fair to me,” said Charlie, still trying to get the upper hand.

“My shop is considerably more valuable than your barrow and it also derives a far larger income.”

“Did, until your father died,” said Charlie, regretting the words immediately after he had spoken them.

Becky bowed her head again. “Are we to be partners or not?” she muttered.

“Sixty-forty,” said Charlie.

She hesitated for a long moment, then suddenly thrust out her arm. Charlie rose from the chair and shook her hand vigorously to confirm that his first deal was closed.

After Dan Salmon’s funeral Charlie tried to read the Daily Chronicle every morning in the hope of discovering what the second battalion, Royal Fusiliers was up to and where his father might be. He knew the regiment was fighting somewhere in France, but its exact location was never recorded in the paper, so Charlie was none the wiser.