Young Peter sat at the table in the kitchen helping Mavis with her letters. He'd write a letter out on the slate and she'd say what it was and the sound it made. He was working on the jay, when the doctor finally came.
Judy had been fussing for the couple of days, but early this morning her fever had spiked. Mam was worried and had finally given into the need for a doctor. She'd sent him down to the phonebox on the corner.
"Stay put," he said to his sister, getting up to answer the door.
He slid the chain and pulled open the door, stepping back as the hinges creaked. The doctor, an old cross-looking man, pushed his way in. "Where?" he asked tightly.
Peter pointed at the dim, narrow hall. "First door on the right."
The doctor's slight frame swayed as he passed the table without a look at the little girl. Peter sat in the chair and picked up the slate.
"Peter," Mavis whispered, hoping her voice didn't carry to the old man's ears. "Who is he?"
"Doctor Weldon. He's gonna make Judy better. Now get on with it," he said, passing her the chalk. "This one's jay. J- J- J- … like jacks."
He produced a couple of the little metal toys from behind her ear with a bit of sleight of hand. Mavis giggled with delight. Seizing the pointed objects, she repeated the sound before stopping suddenly. "Jay like J- J- Judy!" she exclaimed. Her face became more serious as she bent over the slate to copy her brother's writing.
Peter grinned and praised the squiggly letter before erasing it with his sleeve. "Right," he said, "now we got kay."
He carefully printed the neat lines as Judy's crying got louder. When he looked up to hand the chalk over, Mavis was staring over her shoulder and flinching slightly with each of the toddler's screams.
"Peter, is Judy going to be alright?" she whispered, accepting the chalk slowly. Her blue eyes were large and frightened and her bottom lip trembled as she spoke.
"Course she is," he said, trying his best to be patient. "I told you, Doc'll give her something and she'll be right as rain."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Doctor Weldon came back through the hallway. His expression was grim and the scowl seemed permanently fixed on his face. "Another Scarlet Fever," he muttered to himself as he went over to Peter and Mavis. "You two, stick out your tongues."
Mavis looked to Peter, who nodded and she slowly rolled out her tongue for the doctor to see.
"Sore, scratchy throat?" he asked, placing the back of his hand in turn on each of their foreheads. They both shook their heads as Mam appeared at the doorway. "These two aren't ill yet, but keep an eye out for the symptoms," he advised. "There is a serum for the girl, threepence."
"Threepence?"
Peter saw Mam's eyes working the calculation in her head. Mam was a seamstress and a good one, but most of the wages she brought in went to rent for the flat and food for them. He knew that sometimes she'd go to bed without eating to make sure they'd have enough. Since Da went away those times became more and more frequent.
She pulled down the tin can, carefully extracted three pennies, and placed them in Weldon's wrinkled hand. "Please, treat my daughter," she said quietly.
Mam and the doctor went back into the bedroom. Peter bit his lip. Tomorrow the rent was due and now, thanks to the doctor, they were short. And this wasn't for the first time, either. The landlord told them that the next time they were late or a bit short, would be their last and they'd find themselves on the street.
He didn't know what, but he had to do something. He stood up abruptly and took his cap from the peg, raking through his hair before placing it on his head. "Lesson's over, Mav," he said, pulling the door open. "Tell Mam I'll be back before dark."
He went down the steps sideways, picking up speed as he reached to bottom step and pushed open the outside door.
It was hot and sticky, and the smog in the air almost choked him. He coughed deeply, thinking back to the bright clean summer days in Wales years ago when Da worked and they could afford to visit Mam's relations.
"Wait up, Peter!"
He turned and spotted Mavis running as fast as her little legs could take her. "Go back home," he said shortly.
"I want to come with you," she protested, jogging behind him as he resumed his pace.
"No. Go home."
"Let me come or I'll tell Mam about you swiping Da's cigarettes."
Peter whirled on her and she bumped into him before taking a step and a half back. Her blue eyes stared up at him with a plea. "Please, Peter, I don't want to go home."
Had it been anyone else who threatened him then Peter would have belted her, but it was Mavis. She was his sweet - though often annoying - little friend who'd been tagging along behind him almost every day since she'd learned to walk.
"Right. Stick close and keep up," he relented. "Do exactly as I say."
She nodded happily and did as he said. While she didn't match him step for step, he was proud that she did indeed keep up, even as they got farther and farther from the flat. She was puffing when he suddenly jolted to a stop, peeking around the corner.
They seemed to have crossed some sort of imaginary line, as the street was full of well-dressed people. Men in dark coats with fine felt hats escorting women in dropped-waist suits wearing long beaded necklaces and fine white lace gloves. Mavis gaped for a moment, taking in many of the niceties that Mam only let her wear on Christmas or Easter and many more that she'd never seen before in her young life.
Peter was also scanning the crowds, but he was looking for something specific. Unfortunately most of them were moving too fast, as Da said, the scheme only works if you don't get hurt.
After two or three minutes watching, he finally found a likely mark. He turned to Mavis. "Stay here," he said firmly. "No matter what you see; stay put."
She looked at him curiously, but nodded her agreement. Satisfied, he slipped out into the crowd, weaving in between individuals and making his way to the street at just the right moment.
He feigned falling into the street and heard the screech of car brakes, audible gasps from the crowd and one woman's sharp scream. He closed his eyes, laying as still as possible.
"Is he alright?"
The question was posed from the owner of the vehicle, who was scrambling out. He swallowed a lump when he saw the limp, scrawny boy of about ten with dirty blond hair.
He knelt down, turning the boy over gently, but seeing no apparent injuries. "Oi, lad," he asked, his voice shaking. "Are you alright?"
Peter slowly opened his eyes, fluttering them once or twice and letting out a soft groan. "What happened?" He asked, doing his best to appear confused.
"You fell into the road. I - I think I struck you with my car."
Peter stood and then fainted against the man, who was so concerned for the young urchin that he failed to feel the wallet slip out of his inside coat pocket. "Easy, lad."
The man set the boy upright and asked where he was hurt. Peter smiled a devilishly charming little smile before putting on a shy, bashful air. "I'm okay, sir. I have to get home or me mum'll be worried."
"Perhaps I should get you to a doctor…"
"No, sir. I'll be alright. Honest."
Peter pulled out of his grasp before he had a chance to push any further and darted up the street. Rounding the corner, he grabbed Mavis' hand and tugged her along. Ignoring her tears and frightened questions, he pulled her into the alley and stopping only when he was a safe distance from the lift.
Mavis eyes widened when she saw him retrieve the leather billfold from his sleeve. "Where did you get that?" she whispered.
He counted out the money and was amazed to see there was over forty quid in various denominations. Da would have been tickled to get that kind of money from a mark. He then found the yellow card that authorized Mr Donald Sailes to operate a motor vehicle. "Come on," he said. "We need to find a phone box."
Mavis totted behind him like a little puppy as he searched for the red box. He found one three blocks over and he pulled the door open. Beneath the phone itself was a shelf where the phone book resided. Peter read aloud. "Sailes, Aaron G… Albert K…" He flipped the page over. "Bertram N... Caleb T… Ah, David C… There he is; Sailes, Donald F."
"Peter," the voice was small and wavering. "What are you doing?"
He looked down at her, an easy - practiced - smile masked his face. "I'm returning this to its owner," He lied. "I have to take a bit to pay for postage, but he'll be glad to have the rest of the lot back."
Mavis just stared, but kept silent - working out what was going on and what it meant - all the way to the post office and then back home. Mam had pitched a fit at the late hour. Worried sick, she was. She angrily cuffed Peter's ear - which he took stoically - and sent him to his room. Mavis crawled into the kitchen chair, as Judy's cries drew Mam to the other room.
She sketched out one of the first letters she learned on the slate. " Bee," she whispered softly, "as in b - b - b -bad."