Uncle Arthur’s room was a mirror image of his own, with a tall wardrobe, single bed, chair, chest of drawers, and small washstand and towel. The flower-patterned wallpaper was peeling off at a damp patch where it met the ceiling, and Tommy could see the silhouettes of dead flies in the inverted lamp shade. The wooden bed frame was scratched, and the pink candlewick bedspread had a dark stain near the bottom. The ashtray on the bedside table was overflowing with crushed-out filter-tipped cigarettes. The narrow window, which looked out on the Newbiggins’ backyard, where the dustbins and the outhouse were, was covered in grime and cobwebs. It was open about an inch, and the net curtains fluttered in the breeze.
First, Tommy looked under the bed. He found nothing there but dust and an old sock. Next, he went through the chest of drawers, which contained only Uncle Arthur’s clean underwear, a shaving kit, aspirin, and some items he didn’t recognize. He assumed they were grown-ups’ things. The top of the wardrobe, for which Tommy had to enlist the aid of the rickety chair, proved to be a waste of time too. The only place remaining was inside the wardrobe itself. The key was missing, but it was even easier to open a wardrobe than a door. Uncle Arthur’s shirts, trousers, and jackets hung from the rail, and below them was his open suitcase, containing a few pairs of dirty socks and underpants. No holdall.
Just before he closed the wardrobe door, Tommy had an idea and lifted up the suitcase. Underneath it lay the holdall.
He reached in, pulled it out, and put it on the bed. It was a little heavy, but it didn’t make any noise when he moved it. There was no lock, and the zipper slid open smoothly when he pulled the tab. At first, he couldn’t see what was inside, then he noticed something wrapped in brown paper. He lifted it out and opened it carefully. Inside was a gun. Tommy didn’t know what kind of gun, but it was heavier than any cap gun he had ever owned, so he assumed it was a real one. He was careful not to touch it. He knew all about fingerprints. He wrapped it up and put it back. Then he noticed that it was lying on a bed of what he had thought was paper, but when he reached in and pulled out a wad, he saw it was money. Five-pound notes. He didn’t know how much there was, and he wasn’t going to count it. He had discovered enough for one evening. Carefully, he put everything back as it was. What he had to work out next was what he was going to do about it.
THAT NIGHT, AS Tommy lay in bed unable to sleep, he heard hushed voices in his mother’s room. He didn’t like to eavesdrop on her, but given what he had just found in Uncle Arthur’s room, he felt he had to.
It was almost impossible to hear what they were saying, and he managed to catch only a few fragments.
“Can’t… money here… wait,” he heard Uncle Arthur say, and missed the next bit. Then he heard what sounded like “Year… Jigger says Brazil,” and after a pause, “… the kid?” Next, his mother’s voice said, “… grandparents.” He missed what Uncle Arthur said next but distinctly heard his mother say, “… have to, won’t they?”
Tommy wondered what they meant. Was Uncle Arthur planning a robbery or had he already committed one? He certainly had a lot of money. Tommy remembered the three men talking outside the pub. One of them must have given Uncle Arthur the holdall. What for? Did it represent the proceeds or the means? Were Uncle Arthur and his mother going to run away to Brazil and leave him with his grandparents? He didn’t believe she would do that.
The bedsprings creaked, and he thought he heard a muffled cry from the next room. His mother obviously couldn’t sleep. Was she crying about his father? Then, much later, when he was finally falling asleep himself, he heard her door close and footsteps pass by his room, as if someone were walking on tiptoe.
THE NEXT DAY at breakfast, his mother and Uncle Arthur didn’t have very much to say. Both of them looked tired, and his mother had applied an extra bit of makeup to try to hide the dark pouches under her eyes. Uncle Arthur’s hair stuck up in places, and he needed a shave. The two old ladies looked at them sternly and clucked.
“Stupid old bags,” muttered Uncle Arthur.
“Now, now,” said Tommy’s mother. “Be nice, Arthur. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
The conversation he had overheard last night still worried Tommy as he ate his bacon and eggs. They had definitely mentioned the money. Was his mother about to get involved in something criminal? Was it Uncle Arthur who was going to involve her? If that was so, he had to stop it before it happened, or she would go to jail. The money and the gun were in Uncle Arthur’s room, after all, and his mother could deny that she knew anything about them. Tommy had heard his mother insisting before they came away that they would each have a room. Uncle Arthur hadn’t liked the idea because it would cost more money, but he had no choice. Tommy knew what it was like when his mother had made up her mind.
The bag and gun would have Uncle Arthur’s fingerprints all over them. Tommy was certain Uncle Arthur must have handled the bag and the items in it after he had picked them up at the pub, if only to check that everything was there. But his mother would have had no reason to touch them or even see them, and Tommy himself had been careful when he lifted and opened the bag.
“Pass the sauce,” said Uncle Arthur. “What are we doing today?”
Tommy passed the HP Sauce. “Why don’t we go up the Tower?” Tommy said.
“I don’t like heights,” said Uncle Arthur.
“I’ll go by myself, then.”
“No, you won’t,” said his mother, who seemed as concerned about heights as she was about water.
“Well, what can we do, then?” Tommy asked. “I don’t mind just looking at the shops by myself.”
“Like a bloody woman, you are, with your shops,” said Uncle Arthur.
Tommy had meant bookshops and record shops. He was still looking for a used copy of Dr. No and hoping that the new Beatles single “Help!” would be released any day now, even though he would have to wait until he got home to listen to it. But he wasn’t planning on going to the shops, anyway, so there was no sense in making an issue of it. “I might go to the Pleasure Beach as well,” he said, looking at Uncle Arthur. “Can you give me some money to go on the rides?”
Uncle Arthur looked as if he were going to say no, then he sighed, swore, and dug his hand in his pocket. He gave Tommy two ten-shilling notes, which was a lot of money. He could buy Dr. No and “Help!” and go on rides with that much, and still have change for an ice cream, but he wasn’t sure that he should spend it, because he didn’t know where it had come from. “Cor,” he said. “Thanks, Arthur.”
“It’s Uncle Arthur to you,” said his mother.
“Yeah, remember that,” said Uncle Arthur. “Show a bit of respect for your elders and betters. And don’t spend it all on candy floss and toffee apples.”
“What about you?” Tommy asked. “Where are you going?”
“Dunno,” said Uncle Arthur. “You, Maddy?”
“You know I hate being called that,” his mother said. Her name, Tommy knew, was Madeleine, and she didn’t like it being shortened.
“Sorry,” said Uncle Arthur with a cheeky grin.
“Do you know, I wouldn’t mind taking the tram all the way along the seafront to the end of the line and back,” she said, then giggled. “Isn’t that silly?”
“Not at all,” said Uncle Arthur. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Give me a few minutes. I’ve just got to get a shave first.”
“And comb your hair,” said Tommy’s mother.
“Now, don’t be a nag,” said Uncle Arthur, wagging his finger. “Maybe we’ll see if we can call in at one of them there travel agents too, while we’re out.”