The Night Brother

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‘Oh my Lord. You’re that Little Lord Fauntleroy. You’ve had your hair cut. Aww, what a crying shame. I liked those curls.’

‘Get away,’ I grunt, but not harshly. I am having too much fun to be out of sorts. ‘May I make so bold as to effect my own introduction?’

‘How presumptuous,’ she says with a grin, fanning her cheek with her glove. ‘See my maidenly blushes.’ Her face is unruffled.

‘Madam, miss, my lady,’ I say, doffing my cap. ‘I am your humble servant, Gnome.’

‘What sort of a name is that?’

‘Mine, and none other.’

She laughs. It is a surprisingly delicate sound.

‘Gnome it is. Charmed, Sir Gnome. And I am Jessie.’

‘I know. It is my absolute favourite name for a lady. Now give me a ruddy sweet.’

‘All in good time.’

‘Now’s a good time.’

She sets down her cup. ‘You’re a caution, that’s for sure.’

‘Sure as eggs is eggs.’ She offers the bag of toffee and I shake my head. ‘Not so fast. Don’t give me second best. Chocolate, we said.’

‘Chocolate, you said.’

‘Chocolate!’

She rolls her eyes, slips a hand into the concealed pocket and draws out a paper bag. I make a grab for it but she holds it out of reach.

‘Now, now,’ she chides. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you how to behave?’

‘What mother?’

She gives me a careful look, unscrews the mouth of the bag and with great reluctance hands one to me. I snatch it before she can change her mind and cram it into my mouth. Syrup laced with cherry liqueur oozes down my chin.

I shove out my hand. ‘Go on,’ I say stickily. ‘Give us another.’

‘Not on your life!’ she says. ‘I’m not wasting high-class confectionery on the likes of you. That went straight down without touching the sides.’

‘So?’

‘There are some things in life best served by taking your time.’

‘Like what?’

She leans on her fist and grins. ‘No, I don’t think you’re ready.’

‘I am!’

‘Really?’

‘Really!’ I cry.

‘Be a good boy, then.’ I nod furiously. She waggles her fingers like a magician, dips into the bag and draws out another chocolate. She waves it a tantalising inch in front of my mouth, little finger cocked. ‘Open wide.’ I stretch my lips to their fullest extent. She pops the confection inside. ‘Slow down. No chewing.’

‘How can I eat it without chewing?’ I mumble.

‘Leave it on your tongue. And wait. And if needs be, you wait a bit blinking longer.’ She pauses, and stares at me dramatically. I hold still. ‘Wait,’ she says. The chocolate softens. ‘Wait.’

I obey. The centre dissolves, flooding my mouth with violets. It is the most delicious thing I ever tasted.

‘Oh, Jessie,’ I say.

She tips back her head and guffaws. There’s a band of dirt around her throat, but it’s the prettiest throat I’ve ever set eyes on.

‘Didn’t I tell you? You can take your angels and your harps and you can stick them. If there’s no chocolate in heaven then I’m stopping here.’ She drains her mug and slaps it on the counter. ‘I’m off,’ she declares. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Sir Gnome.’

I scamper to her side. ‘Wait,’ I gasp. ‘Let me walk you home. Go on.’

‘Home? I should cocoa. I’ve got work to do.’

‘Oh.’

Her gaze dances across my face, soft as feathers. ‘Penny for them?’ she says, peering down at me.

‘Nothing important,’ I mutter. A brainwave strikes. I turn out the contents of my pockets. The fortune glistens. ‘I’ll give you all of it. You don’t need to work.’

She stretches her hand across the space between us. I think she’s going to take the coins, but she runs her forefinger along the line of my cheek with a leisure that intimates she has all night to execute the gesture.

‘Bonny lad,’ she murmurs.

While I’m gulping air, she bids me a ladylike adieu and swirls away.

I sway home, head swimming like a chap with five pints of mild in him. I reflect on my new friends and it strikes me that of them all, the only name of which I am sure is Cyril. I push aside the uneasy thought and return to Jessie, a far more cheering proposition. There’s a sparkle in my chest that wasn’t there before. My shoulders prickle as though wings are budding, on the brink of breaking free. I’m growing into a man, so I am. What other reason could she have for supping tea with me?

There’s a commotion up ahead and I fly in its direction, like iron shavings to a magnet. I’m not the only one taking an interest and have to wriggle through a thicket of bodies to get to the front. The new tram-tracks at St Mary’s Gate have barely been laid a month and there’s already some idiot got his boot wedged in them.