After this had happened half a dozen times, however, Corky began to wonder whether Wilf thought that he was discreetly blackmailing him, which was most certainly not the case. Though Wilf was always genial towards him, Corky was wary of the older man, so he decided to accept the money he was given in future without mentioning hills or heavy traffic.
Almost imperceptibly, the days and the weeks passed, and Corky realised that he was truly happy for the first time in his life. Mrs Perkin might have offered him refuge for her own reasons, but what was wrong with that, after all? She had wanted help of a sort which he could provide, and in return she gave him a roof over his head, food in his belly, a comfortable bed and, above all, the feeling that he was accepted for himself, liked and trusted; that he could turn to her in need as she occasionally turned to him. He often ran errands for her, doing her shopping, accompanying her when she visited relatives in order to give her an arm when she needed one, and generally behaving almost like the ‘kind o’ nephew’ which she sometimes called him.
After he had lived with her for six or seven weeks, Corky knew that she had no nephews, and no nieces either. Her husband had been the youngest of a big family, but death had claimed them all save for two spinsters who lived in Hammersmith, and since she visited them at least once a week, Corky knew the journey across London quite well. At first, he had demurred over entering their house, had said he would amuse himself in the neighbourhood until Mrs Perkin was ready to return, but she had insisted that he stay with her, and he soon learned to be useful to her sisters-in-law, carrying water, coal, or anything else which was heavy, or laying a fire in a little-used grate. Such small acts were always rewarded, sometimes by an apple, or a piece of cake, or a penny to spend at the shops, but what Corky really valued was the feeling of being one of the family, accepted without question. At first, he had been awkward, shy, afraid to look around him in case his interest was labelled curiosity, and resented. Then he became easier with them, laying the table for a meal, peeling potatoes to save rheumatic hands the task, making a pot of tea as a matter of course the moment they entered the house. The old ladies were fond of a game called Pelmanism, or Pairs, which called for a good memory, and one of the sisters liked another card game, cribbage, and pounced on Corky as soon as he entered the kitchen, demanding that they begin a game at once because she knew ‘my dear sister Aggie’ would be happy to lay the table and get out the food for high tea.
As summer progressed, Corky settled deeper into the niche he had made for himself and became more and more reluctant to leave. His little store of money was growing nicely and he had no idea how he would earn more if he were to abandon the Perkin family. And of course, every extra day that he stayed, it became harder to leave. He truly felt that the Perkins were his family, that he belonged for the first time in his life. He was even prepared to pretend that there were no stolen goods hidden away in the spare bedroom, and when Wilf began to give him articles to take back to Herbee Place, telling him to put them well to the back of the existing stock and not to return them to the shop until he gave the word, which might not be for many months, he always accepted this without comment and tried to tell himself that there could be a perfectly honest reason for such behaviour, though in his heart he knew otherwise.
One hot summer day at the end of July, he had been told to take a very nice rolltop writing bureau to a house a couple of miles away. Because the sun was shining so brightly, it did not occur to Corky to pick up a dust sheet to cover the well-polished satinwood, but, fortunately, Mrs Wilf was in the shop and ran after him to throw a large dust sheet over the writing desk and say, a trifle
Almost imperceptibly, the days and the weeks passed, and Corky realised that he was truly happy for the first time in his life. Mrs Perkin might have offered him refuge for her own reasons, but what was wrong with that, after all? She had wanted help of a sort which he could provide, and in return she gave him a roof over his head, food in his belly, a comfortable bed and, above all, the feeling that he was accepted for himself, liked and trusted; that he could turn to her in need as she occasionally turned to him. He often ran errands for her, doing her shopping, accompanying her when she visited relatives in order to give her an arm when she needed one, and generally behaving almost like the ‘kind o’ nephew’ which she sometimes called him.
After he had lived with her for six or seven weeks, Corky knew that she had no nephews, and no nieces either. Her husband had been the youngest of a big family, but death had claimed them all save for two spinsters who lived in Hammersmith, and since she visited them at least once a week, Corky knew the journey across London quite well. At first, he had demurred over entering their house, had said he would amuse himself in the neighbourhood until Mrs Perkin was ready to return, but she had insisted that he stay with her, and he soon learned to be useful to her sisters-in-law, carrying water, coal, or anything else which was heavy, or laying a fire in a little-used grate. Such small acts were always rewarded, sometimes by an apple, or a piece of cake, or a penny to spend at the shops, but what Corky really valued was the feeling of being one of the family, accepted without question. At first, he had been awkward, shy, afraid to look around him in case his interest was labelled curiosity, and resented. Then he became easier with them, laying the table for a meal, peeling potatoes to save rheumatic hands the task, making a pot of tea as a matter of course the moment they entered the house. The old ladies were fond of a game called Pelmanism, or Pairs, which called for a good memory, and one of the sisters liked another card game, cribbage, and pounced on Corky as soon as he entered the kitchen, demanding that they begin a game at once because she knew ‘my dear sister Aggie’ would be happy to lay the table and get out the food for high tea.
As summer progressed, Corky settled deeper into the niche he had made for himself and became more and more reluctant to leave. His little store of money was growing nicely and he had no idea how he would earn more if he were to abandon the Perkin family. And of course, every extra day that he stayed, it became harder to leave. He truly felt that the Perkins were his family, that he belonged for the first time in his life. He was even prepared to pretend that there were no stolen goods hidden away in the spare bedroom, and when Wilf began to give him articles to take back to Herbee Place, telling him to put them well to the back of the existing stock and not to return them to the shop until he gave the word, which might not be for many months, he always accepted this without comment and tried to tell himself that there could be a perfectly honest reason for such behaviour, though in his heart he knew otherwise.
One hot summer day at the end of July, he had been told to take a very nice rolltop writing bureau to a house a couple of miles away. Because the sun was shining so brightly, it did not occur to Corky to pick up a dust sheet to cover the well-polished satinwood, but, fortunately, Mrs Wilf was in the shop and ran after him to throw a large dust sheet over the writing desk and say, a trifle
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