Mrs Greenwood’s voice and turned around. She was a neighbour, a cook who worked in a big house in a terrace near Regent’s Park.
‘I’m fine,’ he answered, and he did feel better. Whatever the pain had been about, it had gone away. He just felt a bit warm on this sunny day, and breathless.
When she arrived at his side, Mavis Greenwood peered at him intently, her warm, motherly face ringed with concern. ‘You stopped suddenly, and looked a bit odd. I can’t help thinking something is wrong.’
‘No, it isn’t. Not really. I just got out of breath and felt hot.’
She nodded. ‘Let’s not complain about the weather. It’s been raining cats and dogs for days.’
Jimmy laughed. He liked Mrs Greenwood. She often brought them some of her baked goods, as she called her marvellous concoctions, and he was especially partial to her gooseberry tart.
‘Where’s your dad, Jimmy? He shouldn’t let you push this barrow. It’s almost bigger than you.’
He grinned at her; then his face quickly changed. His expression sobered as he explained, ‘Dad’s taken Mum to see Dr Robertson. She says it’s just a cold, but me dad thinks it might be bronchitis, or – worse – pneumonia.’
‘Oh, I do hope it’s not, lad. They’re serious illnesses.’ Placing her handbag on top of the sack covering the contents in the wheelbarrow, she got hold of one of the handles. ‘Come on then, Jimmy, take the other handle, and I’ll help you push this to the market.’
Jimmy was about to refuse her help, but changed his mind at once. It would offend her. He did as she said, grabbed the other handle, and together they pushed the barrow, keeping in step with each other.
When he had first rented a stall at the Malvern Market, Matthew Falconer had made up his mind to be successful – and he was. The owner, Henry Malvern, soon took an interest in him, realizing what a good merchant he was, and when a new stall became available, it had been Matt who’d been given the chance to rent it. He did.
The Malvern was one of the few covered markets in the area, and because of its glass roof and stone walls, it was protected when the weather was bad. This meant the stalls were open to the public all year round; every stallholder appreciated this.
Jimmy and Mavis Greenwood pushed the barrow through the big iron gates, to be greeted by Tommy, the caretaker, who lived in the gatehouse. Then Jimmy and Mavis headed towards the area where the two adjoining sheds were located.
Once the shed doors were unlocked and folded back, Jimmy opened the doors of the storage rooms, which were like two small shops. Mavis Greenwood helped him to pull out the wooden sawhorses and the planks of wood which made the stalls when put together.
As she assisted Jimmy, she wondered how Matt Falconer had expected his son to do this alone. It baffled her but she remained silent. She knew it was best to mind her own business.
Once they were finished with the stalls, she picked up her handbag from the barrow, smiled at Jimmy. ‘And what treasures are hidden under that old sack, then?’
Jimmy pulled it off and showed her. ‘Copper kitchen utensils me dad got at an estate sale last week. From a big house up West.’ He pointed to a few items.
‘Look at ’em, Mrs Greenwood. Copper moulds for jellies, blancmange, salmon mousse; all the things you no doubt make at that big house where you’re Cook.’
She nodded and picked up a few items, looking them over carefully. ‘Lovely pieces, Jimmy, I’ve got to admit. How much is this mould then?’ she asked, taking a fancy to one.
‘Dad forgot to give me the price list, but you can have it for sixpence. I think that’d be about right.’
‘Sixpence! That’s highway robbery, Jimmy Falconer!’
‘Oh! Well, perhaps I made a mistake. A threepenny bit? How does that sound, Mrs Greenwood?’ He gazed at her, smiling. After all, she had helped him to get there. She deserved a bargain.
Mavis opened her handbag and took out her purse. She handed him the coin, gave him a big smile, and put the mould in her bag. ‘Thank you, Jimmy. You’ve been very fair. Now I’d better be getting off or I’ll be late for work.’
‘Thanks for helping me, Mrs Greenwood. Can I ask you something?’
‘Anything you want, but best make it quick, lad.’
‘Can you have a heart attack at fourteen?’ he asked, staring intently.
She stared back at him and exclaimed, ‘Don’t be daft, Jimmy! Anyway, you’re as fit as a fiddle. You must be or your dad wouldn’t expect you to push that heavy barrow up here.’
Once he was alone, Jimmy began to arrange the copper moulds on the stalls, following his father’s instructions to always put tall pieces at the back, graduating them down in size because the buyer’s eye would look at the first grouping and then move their eyes up to the taller items.
He worried about his mother as he did this task almost by rote, also wondering where his father was. How long would it take at the doctor’s? Now and then he turned around, looked down towards the gates into the market. It was still quite early, and stallholders were already there, doing the same job as him. Thoughts of Mrs Greenwood intruded, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt. She had blamed his father for his predicament on the road, but it was his fault. He had filled the wheelbarrow too full, piled in far too many moulds and a variety of additional items. He must explain that the next time he saw her. He didn’t want his father to look bad in her eyes.
Jimmy had just finished arranging the wares on the stalls when he spotted his father coming through the iron gates, hurrying towards him. His first instinct was to rush forward, but he restrained himself, as he had been taught from an early age – control yourself, be dignified. And so he waited.
Matthew Falconer approached his son, smiling, and drew the boy close to his body for a moment. ‘She’s got a very heavy cold,’ Matt explained, at once noting the worried expression in Jimmy’s blue eyes. ‘She’s back home in bed. The doctor gave her some good cough mixture. She’s to stay in bed, be kept warm and given lots of liquids.’
Beaming at his father, filled with relief, Jimmy said, ‘I’m thankful it’s not bronchitis or pneumonia.’
‘You can say that again. I’m as grateful as you, Jim. Now, I want you to go to your grandmother’s. I need her to give you a bottle of her raspberry vinegar concoction and some camphor bags, as well as any special advice she has. Lady Agatha won’t mind you going, if she’s still there. Your grandmother told me the family is going to France for the next two months, leaving today.’
The boy nodded. ‘I’ll go now. Shall I take the things home to Mother?’
‘Yes do, my lad. Grandmother will no doubt give you a sandwich and perhaps some food to take home for your mother.’
‘But what about you, Dad? We forgot to make our snacks before we left this morning.’
‘Don’t worry about me. The pie man usually comes around hawking his goods at one o’clock. I’ll manage.’
‘I’ll come back, after I’ve given Mother her lunch.’
