Work Text:
March 1925
From where he was stood, bent double in the dim alleyway, Yosiah could see the shapes of passersby through the corner of his eye. Some paused briefly beneath the gas lamp when they heard him, but most passed straight on. A scrawny kid puking his guts up was hardly an odd sight in the East End on a Friday night.
When the tall, smartly-dressed figure approached, Yosiah didn’t recognise him until he spoke.
“Moment of weakness?”
He squinted up at Harry, silhouetted in the light from the gas lamp.
“It’s not like that,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“Don’t worry, kid. Everyone does it at some point.” He peered appraisingly at the pool of vomit. “What was it?”
“Matzah brei,” he replied, then seeing Harry’s blank expression: “Fried egg and flatbread.”
A soft chuckle. “That’s what tempts you? Most go for chocolate. Or steak.”
Yosiah glared at him. “I told you, it wasn’t like that. I did it to get my mum off my scent.”
“Ah.”
He stepped back, leaning against the soot-stained, brick wall.
“She was asking questions. I had to distract her.” He closed his eyes while he waited for his head to stop spinning. “So I said ‘Hey, I could really eat something.’”
Another chuckle.
“What? It worked. She was so happy to be feeding me she forgot what she was saying.”
He opened his eyes to see Harry smirking at him from under the brim of his bowler hat.
“And how many times do you think you can pull that off?”
Yosiah shrugged. “I dunno. I’ll think of something better next time.”
Harry was quiet as he adjusted his silver cuff links.
“There is an obvious solution.”
“What?”
“Just stop going round.”
He narrowed his eyes. “She’s my mum, Harry.”
Harry smirked again as he reached into his breast pocket.
“Yeah I had one of those.” He pulled out a silk handkerchief and held it out. “Most of us do, funnily enough.”
Yosiah took it and cleaned his face as best he could.
“I can’t just disappear on her.”
“Why not? People do it all the time. Even the ones who aren’t like us.”
He tried to smile. “I think you underestimate how persistent Jewish mothers are.”
Harry reached out a gloved hand and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well you’ll have to do it sooner or later. Ten, fifteen years, she’ll start asking why her thirty-something son still looks like a teenager.” His pale blue eyes bore into his own. “You think scarfing down and puking up some eggs will be enough to distract her from that?”
Yosiah didn’t reply. Harry patted him again and smiled. You could almost mistake it for kindness.
“Come on, kid.” He cocked his head towards the exit to the alleyway. “Let’s get you some proper food.”