As the Crow Flies

“You all right, darling?”

“Yes. Just felt a little queasy,” explained Becky. “I decided that I needed a breath of fresh air.” She deftly slipped the letter into an unmarked envelope.

“Now I’m up,” said Daphne, “would you care for a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. I’ve already had two cups.”

“Well, I think I will.” Daphne disappeared into the kitchen. Becky immediately picked up her pen again and wrote on the envelope:

She had left the flat, posted the letter in the pillar box on the corner of Chelsea Terrace and returned to Number 97 even before the kettle had boiled.

Although Charlie received the occasional letter from Sal in Canada to tell him of the arrival of his latest nephew or niece, and the odd infrequent call from Grace whenever she could get away from her hospital duties, a visit from Kitty was rare indeed. But when she came to the flat it was always with the same purpose.

“I only need a couple of quid, Charlie, just to see me through,” explained Kitty as she lowered herself into the one comfortable chair only moments after she had entered the room.

Charlie stared at his sister. Although she was only eighteen months older than he she already looked like a woman well into her thirties. Under the baggy shapeless cardigan there was no longer any sign of the figure that had attracted every wandering eye in the East End, and without makeup her face was already beginning to look splotchy and lined.

“It was only a pound last time,” Charlie reminded her. “And that wasn’t so long ago.”

“But my man’s left me since then, Charlie. I’m on my own again, without even a roof over my head. Come on, do us a favor.”

He continued to stare at her, thankful that Becky was not yet back from her afternoon lecture, although he suspected Kitty only came when she could be sure the till was full and Becky was safely out of the way.

“I won’t be a moment,” he said after a long period of silence. He slipped out of the room and headed off downstairs to the shop. Once he was sure the assistants weren’t looking, he removed two pounds ten shillings from the till. He walked resignedly back upstairs to the flat.

Kitty was alr

eady waiting by the door. Charlie handed over the four notes. She almost snatched the money before tucking the notes in her glove and leaving without another word.

Charlie followed her down the stairs and watched her remove a peach from the top of a neat pyramid in the corner of the shop before taking a bite, stepping out onto the pavement and hurrying off down the road.

Charlie would have to take responsibility for checking the till that night; no one must find out the exact amount he had given her.

“You’ll end up having to buy this bench, Charlie Trumper,” said Becky as she lowered herself down beside him.

“Not until I own every shop in the block, my lovely,” he said, turning to look at her. “And how about you? When’s the baby due?”

“About another five weeks, the doctor thinks.”

“Got the flat all ready for the new arrival, have you?”

“Yes, thanks to Daphne letting me stay on.”

“I miss her,” said Charlie.

“So do I, although I’ve never seen her happier since Percy was discharged from the Scots guards.”

“Bet it won’t be long before they’re engaged.”

“Let’s hope not,” said Becky, looking across the road.

Three Trumper signs, all in gold on blue, shone back at her. The fruit and vegetable shop continued to make an excellent return and Bob Makins seemed to have grown in stature since returning from his spell of National Service. The butchers had lost a little custom after Mr. Kendrick retired, but had picked up again since Charlie had employed Mike Parker to take his place.

“Let’s hope he’s a better butcher than a dancer,” Becky had remarked when Charlie told her the news of Sergeant Parker’s appointment.

As for the grocer’s, Charlie’s new pride and joy, it had flourished from the first day, although as far as his staff could tell, their master seemed to be in all three shops at once.

“Stroke of genius,” said Charlie, “turning that old antiques shop into a grocer’s.”