“You forgot to say ‘excuse me.’ ”
But it was too late, he had to do a number two, right this second. He made a snap decision as to which would be the lesser of two evils—shorts on or off. What would Mr. Manners do? Not dirtying his shorts seemed the decent thing to do, so he followed the dogs’ example and squatted on the carpet.
His grandmother screamed as if she’d been confronted by a murderer. “What are you doing?”
“A shit,” he said, in the frenzy of the moment reaching for the word that his mother frequently used (“call a spade a spade”).
“A what?” She didn’t seem to be able to get her breath and reached to some ornamental thing (a jardinière actually) for support, sending it crashing to the ground. The commotion brought both Mrs. Kerrich and Thomas running.
“Yew filthy narsty little braaat,” Mrs. Kerrich said.
But the dogs did it! “Little sausages,” he said, appealing to his grandmother. Mr. Treadwell had arrived by now. It was incredibly embarrassing having all these people gathered around in this situation.
“You are the most disgusting boy who ever lived,” his grandmother shouted at him and he shouted right back, “And you’re a cunt!”
Whump! Somebody (Thomas, it turned out later) hit him and sent him skittering across the floor and spinning into the nearest wall.
He was sent to his room. “No supper for yew, li’ul Lord Fauntleroy,” Mrs. Kerrich said. “Yew’ll be lucky if you’re ever fed again.” His head was horribly sore where it had smashed into the wall. He wished he’d been run over by the train.
He was fed again. Mrs. Kerrich brought him a bowl of porridge the next morning and advised him to stay in his room and “lie low today,” which was where he was, lying very low indeed, when Teddy and Bertie arrived at Jordan Manor.
Eventually, after much pulling on the bell, the front door of Jordan Manor creaked suspiciously open.
Mrs. Kerrich led them down a long hallway. From the state of the hall, and the occasional glimpse through the open doors of the rooms that led off it, the neglect in the house was clear. “A touch of the Miss Havishams,” Teddy murmured to Bertie. They were taken into an enormous drawing room, occupied only by the now rather shrunken figure of Antonia. The Colonel was parked in the leaking conservatory as after Dominic’s death no one had the patience for him.
“Sorry to drop in unannounced, Antonia,” Teddy said.
They were all too tired to get home that night, so Teddy stopped off at a farmhouse that did B&B and then set off bright and early the next morning. “To market, to market to buy a fat pig,” Bertie said as Teddy started the car engine. It seemed to take even longer on the way back and both Bertie and Sunny slept soundly for the last part of the journey, curled up like kittens on the back seat of Teddy’s car.
Teddy had expected to have a bit of a fight on his hands with Antonia, but she’d given Sunny back without a struggle. “Take him,” she said, “you’re welcome to him.” Sunny had a nasty bruise on the side of his head and Teddy said to her, “I ought to call the police,” but he was really just glad to get Sunny out of that place.
Teddy put his hand out to touch Sunny and he flinched. Teddy tried again more slowly, as you would with a nervous dog, palm downward, and capped Sunny’s shorn head in his hand and felt his heart break for the boy.
The Colonel died the following summer but Antonia carried on rotting away for many more years. Social Services got involved and Thomas and Mrs. Kerrich were prosecuted for stealing from her. (“It were only li’ul things,” Mrs. Kerrich said in her defence.) They had also tried and failed to get her to change her will in their favour (she was ga-ga too by then, as if it were catching). Her will was still made out to Dominic when she died, so Bertie and Sunny inherited everything. Probate took years—shades of Bleak House in more ways than one, Teddy thought. By the time Jordan Manor was sold and death duties were paid they were left with a few thousand each. Bertie bought a new car and Sunny gave his money away to an orphanage in India.
As if by some instinct both children woke up when they rounded the corner into Teddy’s street. “Home again, home again, jiggety-jig,” Bertie said sleepily as Teddy parked the car in the driveway.
He had left Tinker with a neighbour and when she opened her front door and said, “Hello there, Ted, did you have a nice time?” Tinker nosed his way politely past her legs to greet them. Sunny’s heart was so full he could hardly speak and when Teddy said, “How about we go inside? I know I need a cup of tea and I’m sure you’d like some milk and cake, wouldn’t you, Sunny? I made your favourite—chocolate,” Sunny thought his heart would burst and spill over with happiness. “Yes please, Grandpa Ted,” Sunny said. “Thank you, thank you very much, thank you,” and Teddy said, “No need to thank me, Sunny.”
1943
Teddy’s War