Dodger

ministrations of Mister Todd, and generally slicked himself down and made use of the privy. He thought, Well, I’ve made myself a hero to Mrs Mayhew, but it’s all about Simplicity, isn’t it? And Simplicity herself, it appeared, had totally understood what he had said the previous day and indeed was very keen on the walk.
    Dodger had never heard the term ‘the end justifies the means’, but when you had been brought up like him its principle was nailed to your backbone. So after a discreet interval during which he essayed an occasional groan, Dodger turned himself into a hero and strode out of the privy ready to meet his young lady.
    Mrs Sharples was waiting in the hallway, and this time she looked at him nervously, which you certainly should do when you’re looking at a man who is in the news, and what news! Since it had been such a good day, Dodger was generous enough to give her a little smile, and got a little simper in exchange, which suggested that hostilities, if not entirely forgotten, were at least temporarily suspended. After all, he was the wounded hero now, and that had to count for something, even to someone like Mrs Sharples.
    However, he noticed when she took a small book off the hall table that it was one of those that some people used for jotting things down, the ones with a tiny little pencil attached to them by a piece of string. That meant she thought she might have
occasion
to write things down, and Dodger – who had always kept a significant distance between himself and the alphabet – started to wish that he had perhaps spent more time getting to grips with the irritating business of reading as opposed to picking at the letters slowly, one at a time. Too late, too late, and now there was a certain amount of movement upstairs and Mrs Mayhew came down, holding Simplicity by the hand and descending very carefully, making sure that every foot had found the right place before the next foot joined it. This took some time, about a year by Dodger’s reckoning, until they were both standing in the hall.
    Mrs Mayhew gave him what you might call an inadequate smile, but Dodger looked just at Simplicity, and realized that Mrs Mayhew had been very careful to provide her with a bonnet and a shawl which covered quite a lot of her face, and therefore most of the bruises, which were already losing some of their colour. And just as Dodger looked at her, Simplicity beamed at him, and it was indeed a beam, because the bonnet made a sort of shield around her, so that the centre of her face seemed highlighted.
    He held out his hand and said, ‘Hello, Simplicity, I’m so glad you’ve decided to come for this little walk with me.’
    Simplicity held out her hand, grasped his very lightly and said . . . nothing that Dodger could hear; and her head turned very slightly so he could see the bruising to the throat, and that burden that he was carrying almost without noticing now whispered to him, ‘
You will make them pay!
’ In that moment, he thought he saw in Simplicity’s eye a glint like a falling star shining as it fell to earth; he had only ever seen one, a long time ago and a long way away on Hampstead Heath, and he had never seen another one since, because you don’t get many shooting stars when you are a tosher. But she hadn’t let go of his hand, which was extremely pleasant but not practical, unless he wanted to walk backwards.
    In the end, Dodger carefully let go and trotted around her to grasp her other hand, all in one movement, with no harm done, leading the way gently to the gate, tiptoeing through the very small front garden, where a few roses attempted to make a difference. You saw this more and more these days, he thought; people with enough money at last to live in a decent area set about trying to make their tiny little bit of land look like a very small version of Buckingham Palace.
    He didn’t often walk slowly in London; after all, he was Dodger, dodging here and there, and never there long enough to get caught. But now Simplicity was holding his arm and he was aware that she needed his support, which slowed him down, and that somehow also slowed his thinking so that the bits came together neatly, instead of in a hurry. He turned and looked at Mrs Sharples, walking behind them. It was early afternoon and around here it was pleasant to walk, and in this bright light he felt curiously happy and at home with the girl on his arm. She kept in step, and every time he glanced at her