Chapter Text
Jack had always thought there was a simple beauty to be found in lamp-lighting.
Matches carried in pockets, struck cleanly on sandpaper, passed their tiny flames onto the ends of Leeries’ poles; they reached above the heads of passers-by to light their way, brightening the streets and alleys underneath the lovely London sky.
Streetlamps all across the city were very much the same. They were the same shape, painted the same colour, they all most certainly worked in the same way. But Jack, like every Leerie worth his salt, knew that there were subtle differences from one to the next: the lamp on the corner of Charing Cross, for example, seemed to burn oil more quickly than the others and needed topping up more often; the one beside the gate in Russell Square had somehow been bent a little over the years, and you had to hold the pole at an angle to catch the wick; and the lamp on Cherry Tree Lane, for some peculiar reason, never quite seemed to want to light, and needed to be worked at for a minute extra every evening.
Jack didn’t mind spending the extra moments on Cherry Tree Lane. It was right outside Number Seventeen.
He propped his ladder up that evening, making sure it was stable before he climbed, glancing over at the Banks family home as he worked. It had been a few days since Mary had left them. He’d seen her, umbrella in hand, disappearing just beyond the clouds. He remembered seeing a similar sight as a boy. As he watched her go this time, he thought of dear old Bert, younger then, smiling through the soot on his face and telling him that she’d be back. If ever the wind would blow correctly, of course.
Bert had been right back then, Jack supposed.
He Just as the lamp took light, another came on inside the upstairs window of the house. He lingered at the top of his ladder, waiting for a moment as he watched a shadow move behind the curtains, then let out a breath as he saw them drawn back. Jane Banks gave him a smile and waved. He waved back, just as they had done as children, and tried not to worry about how gormless his grin might look to her – he couldn’t help how wide it was.
She seemed to laugh a little before she backed away from the window and out of Jack’s sight. He watched the window for a few seconds more – just in case she came back – before he clambered back down to the pavement. He often reminisced about old Bert while he tended the lamps on this street, and especially when Jane saw him. Bert had always scolded him in jest when he’d waved up there as a boy: “Don’t go gettin’ grand ideas, Jack, my boy. The Bankses ain’t no sweeps or screevers. They ain’t like you and me.”
He’d just laughed as a boy, waved once more before running to catch up, brushes and buckets in tow. But now he knew that Bert had been right. He still was, all these years later; that even though the Slump had not been kind to the Banks family, they were still a family of well-to-do bankers, and Jack was – well, Jack was on the bottommost rung.
“Is it frightening climbing up those ladders all the time?”
Jack almost tripped over his bike as the small voice startled him from his musing. He whipped around, knocking it against the base of the lamppost in clumsy confusion. As he stilled himself, he was met by a rather wide-eyed Georgie Banks, standing in the doorway of his home across the street.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Mister Jack,” the little boy said. “I just wanted to know. I never got to ask you about it before.”
Jack softened, and smiled at the child. “S’no problem, Georgie. And to answer your question – nah, it ain’t scary. I ain’t never fallen off,” he puffed his chest a little, earning a little laugh from the boy. “I knows what I’m doing.”
Georgie grinned. “Do you like being a Leerie?”
“I does indeed,” Jack nodded, walking across the road to lean against the fence at the front of the Banks’ garden.”Ain’t no happier blokes than us Leeries, ya’ know.”
“Really? But Auntie Jane says things aren’t good for people who do jobs like you do.”
Jack ignored the little jolt in his stomach at the mention of Jane’s name. “Was she tellin’ you about her marches, then?”
“She says she sees you at them,” Georgie nodded. “She says you never miss a single one.”
Of course the little boy was right, but Jack wasn’t expecting to hear it put so bluntly, in such a way that only a child could. He laughed it off and said, “Well, that’s true. Important stuff your Auntie does, Georgie.”
“She likes seeing you there!” He piped up. “I’d like to see you too, Jack – can I come to a march with you both?”
He smiled gently. “I thinks you’re a little young to be worryin’ yourself with all of that, Georgie. But you can always say hello to me, ya’ know. I’ll be round in the mornin’ to put the lamps out, like always.”
“Can I come out and watch you do it?”
“Course, if ya’d like to. Just ask your father, make sure he says s’alright for ya’ to come outside.”
Georgie nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning, then! I’ll bring Gilly.”
“You tell Gilly I’ll be waitin’.”
Georgie giggled. “Goodnight, Mister Jack,” he said cheerfully as he turned the knob on the front door – with some effort, as it was a heavy door for a small boy – and disappeared back inside.
Jack scratched his head, chucking quietly to himself as he turned and walked back across the road to pick up his things. He loaded his pole and ladder quickly onto his bicycle and threw his leg over the saddle, ready to be on his way, when he just happened to look upwards.
He caught a glimpse of Jane, closing the curtain quickly as if trying to pretend she’d not been there at all. She must’ve been watching him speak with her nephew – and Jack could have sworn he saw her giggling just before the curtain fell shut.
That night, Jack the Leerie kicked off from the kerb, and cycled home a very happy man indeed.