Читать книгу Six Bad Boys - Enid blyton - Страница 5

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Soon the three families were friendly with one another. Apparently Mrs. Berkeley decided that the Mackenzies were nice enough to know, and she smiled and nodded to Mrs. Mackenzie when she met her out shopping.

Mrs. Kent was also very friendly, and soon the three women had been to tea with one another. Mrs. Berkeley’s house was nicely furnished, and had some lovely rugs and pictures. Mrs. Kent’s things were beautifully kept, and she took a great pride in her house.

But Mrs. Mackenzie really didn’t like either of the women next door very much. She shook her head when her husband said he was pleased that she had found friends each side of her.

“Mrs. Berkeley is so discontented,” she said. “They had a big house, and because her husband lost his job, and had to get one not so good, she is very bitter. She thinks he is no good and she told him so.”

“Very disloyal of her, then,” said her husband. “You’d not say a thing like that about me if I lost my job and we had to move!”

“I could never say a word against you, anyhow whether you deserved it or not,” said Mrs. Mackenzie, darning a stocking quite fiercely. “And you don’t deserve it, Andrew. I had half a mind to tell Mrs. Berkeley not to talk against her husband behind his back. I will too, one of these days!”

“Maybe she’s just letting off steam to you,” said Mr. Mackenzie. “She might not tell anyone else.”

“Oh, but she says things in front of the children!” said Mrs. Mackenzie, indignantly. “What would you say, Andy, I’d like to know, if I told you you were a nitwit in front of the twins and Pat? That’s what she said to her husband—in front of me and her children!”

“It’s bad for the children,” said her husband. “But maybe she said it in fun, Jessie.”

“That boy is fond of his father,” said his wife, still darning at top speed. “It’s going to be hard for Tom if his mother tries to turn him away from Mr. Berkeley. It looks to me as if the girls side with her all the time.”

“Now don’t you get yourself all worked up about other people’s children,” said Mr. Mackenzie. “We’ve enough on our hands with ours. What do you think of that other boy—Bob Kent?”

“I like him,” said Mrs. Mackenzie. “But he does need a father! He bosses his mother around—or tries to, because she won’t let him! I know why he does it, he thinks he’s got to be the man of the house; and he adores his mother, but she wants to rule him. She gets tired of his domineering ways, and pushes him off. Poor Bob—he’d be all right in a proper family, like ours. He’s as good as gold with little Pat.”

“Yes. He’s nice with Pat,” agreed Mr. Mackenzie. “Pat’s our problem, isn’t she? She’s all drawn into herself, too shy, too alone—can’t say boo to a goose!”

“Yes. The twins make her miserable because they don’t want her. They’re quite sufficient for each other,” said Mrs. Mackenzie, laying down her darning for a minute. “And it’s so natural for twins to be like that, that I can’t really blame them! Families are difficult, aren’t they, Andy?”

She smiled at her husband. He smiled back. “They are never too difficult to handle if you face the problems, Jess,” he said. “But we’ve all got to pull together. Pat will be all right. We all love her and that’s what matters—even if she does feel one on her own. But maybe Bob will be good for her. And she’ll certainly be good for him! He needs a brother or sister as much as he needs a father.”

“That boy Tom is fond of his father,” said his wife, still darning at top speed.

“He wants a father like you,” said his wife, taking up the stocking again. “He could do with a spanking now and again. He’s a nice boy, but too big for his boots, sometimes. He just wants keeping in order. Like you keep the twins in order!”

Her husband grinned, and began to fill his pipe.

“Poor Donald! He got a whacking last week, didn’t he, for borrowing my bicycle without telling me, and putting it back in the shed covered with mud! But he knew he deserved it.”

“Well, you’re his father, and if fathers can’t keep their boys on the right road it’s a poor look-out for the boys!” said his wife. “Anyway he knew he’d earned the whacking. He won’t borrow things without asking again!”

So they talked over their neighbours, and in their turn their neighbours talked over the Mackenzies.

“Not quite our style,” said Mrs. Berkeley to her husband. “We wouldn’t know them if we were still living in our other house.”

“Speak for yourself, Amy,” said her husband. “I like that Scotsman next door. And Mackenzie’s a good fellow, and his wife seems a very nice little woman. I don’t like the way you look down on people. I never did.”

“And I don’t like the way you find fault with me!” said his wife. “Who lost his job and brought us down to this, I’d like to know! This potty little house, and having to send the children to school with boys like that Bob Kent!”

“I don’t see much wrong with Bob Kent either,” said her husband, exasperated. “He’s friendly with Tom and seems a jolly sort of boy. Tom wants a boyfriend. He’s only got sisters, and he’s a proper boy: the two girls tease him so, too.”

“Oh, there you go again—it’s always Tom that’s in the right, and the girls that are in the wrong,” said Mrs. Berkeley, her voice rising.

“Don’t let’s discuss the matter,” said Mr. Berkeley wearily, unfolding his newspaper. “I wish we were like the Mackenzies. I’m pretty certain they don’t nag and bicker all the time.”

“Mrs. Mackenzie doesn’t need to nag her husband!” said Mrs. Berkeley bitterly. “He does things without being nagged at. He ...”

The two girls came into the room. Mr. Berkeley frowned at his wife to make her stop. But she went on, raising her voice.

“If you were like Mr. Mackenzie and looked after your family properly, and could be trusted, and ...”

Mr. Berkeley got up and went out of the room, an ugly look on his face. His wife burst into tears, and Eleanor and Hilda hurried to her at once.

“Don’t cry, Mummy! Is Dad in a bad temper again? Don’t cry! It’s horrid of him to make you cry!”

And that evening neither Eleanor nor Hilda would look at or speak to their father, however hard he tried to break the ice! Tom was puzzled by their sulks, and sorry for his father. He began to tell him about a film he had seen, and his father, only too glad to have some friendliness from one of his family, listened with great attention.

But that, of course, made his mother and sisters angry with Tom, and as soon as Mr. Berkeley had gone out of the room to answer the telephone, they rounded on him.

“Sucking up to Dad!” said Eleanor, scornfully. “Always on Dad’s side! Just like you, Tom.”

“What do you mean?” said Tom, surprised. “Oh—has there been a row? Well, I didn’t know! This family is always having silly rows. Why can’t I talk to Dad if I want to, anyway? I wasn’t in the row!”

“You might stick up for poor Mother,” said Hilda. “You know quite well that if it hadn’t been for Dad’s silliness over his business we wouldn’t be here, in this little house, and having to go to school with children like Bob and the Mackenzies.”

“Why, what’s wrong with them?” said Tom, exasperated. “You girls! You’re always so catty and stuck-up and idiotic!”

“Oh, Tom—you’re getting just like your father!” said his mother, and tears fell down her cheeks again.

Tom couldn’t bear to see his mother cry, and she knew it. He looked at her, feeling suddenly miserable. He got up and went to her, but she pushed him away.

“No—you’re on your father’s side! Don’t come round me! You don’t love me as your sisters do.”

“I’m not on anybody’s side,” said Tom, staring miserably at his mother. “Why can’t we all get on together? I don’t mind this house being little. I think it’s nice. And I like the school and the children there—especially the Mackenzies. I don’t know why you turn your nose up at them. They’re clever and ...”

“He likes everybody except his own family,” said Eleanor, spitefully. “He likes those silly Mackenzies more than he likes his own sisters!”

Tom felt his temper rising. He rounded on Eleanor, glaring at her. “I don’t like you when you’re like this! I hate you! I’m not surprised I like the Mackenzies when my own family behaves like this—all because I talked to Dad, and ...”

“He said he hates me,” wailed Eleanor, who loved a scene as much as her mother did. Her mother drew her down beside her, patting her shoulder. Tom stared at them both, made a rude face at Hilda, and stalked out of the room. He would go and find Bob. They’d think of something exciting to do together.

Bob had been talking to his mother, about the Mackenzies. He liked them all very much, especially Mr. Mackenzie. The Scotsman’s mixture of kindness and firmness to his family fascinated Bob, who had no father to turn to or to respect.

His mother listened with half an ear. She was bored with this town of Lappington to which she had just come. She missed her old friends. She was bored with Bob’s conversation. She was even bored with Bob. How dirty and noisy and stupid young boys were, she thought. And how annoying Bob was when he tried to run the whole place, and lay down the law—trying to be the man of the house!

Bob couldn’t very well help trying to be the man of the house. He had a strong, determined nature, and no father to check it. He loved his mother and wanted to look after her, and the last thing his father had told him was to play the man and run things for his mother.

So Bob got in the coal—but expected to go with his mother everytime she went to the cinema. He took her early tea in the morning—but turned on the wireless full blast at all hours of the day if he felt like it, and glared when his mother turned it off. He fetched the papers for her—but stayed out as late as he liked at night!

Three families, all living so close together, and all so very different!