A Daughter's Choice (29 page)

‘The good owd, bad owd days, like,' he said, smiling as he stood with his hand on the open door.

‘More bad than good if I remember right,' she murmured, sitting on the sofa and gazing at the picture of the bluebell woods, feeling warm at the sudden memory of an outing to Kirkby.

‘Aye, well, I'll go and see how Donny's getting on making the tea,' he murmured. ‘He's keen, like, but he tries to do everything in a hurry.' And Mr Jones closed the door behind him.

Celia leaned back and shut her eyes, telling herself to forget the ‘owd days'. She concentrated on trying to visualise Andy Pritchard's face. Why had he let her down just when her confidence was building up? A heavy sigh escaped her and, getting up, she went over to the bookcases and peered inside. There was a whole row of Dickens, some R.L. Stevenson and several large thin books. Curiously she opened one of the glass doors and took one out:
Bibby's Annual 1922
. There was a knight in armour on the cover. He had his arm round a woman but he was not looking at her but sternly at some distant enemy. Celia thought, I want a man who enjoys looking at me!

Clothes were so important and she had spent some of her Pools win in November (her private means) on a new coat, two dresses, shoes and a decent pair of soft leather gloves, as well as a Christmas present for Katherine. She needed to recoup that money and there had been horse racing over the sticks that day so she had bet ten pounds on a horse the bookie's runner had tipped to win. It had fallen at the first fence, though, so she had lost her money. Accidents could happen to anyone, she had told herself, but decided not to trust that runner again.

A thought suddenly struck her. Maybe Andy had had an accident? How could she find out? She did not know where he lived but someone as important as he would surely get a mention in the
Echo
. He could have been run over by a bus or fallen down a coal hole! There could have been a fire and he'd stopped to help rescue people! What if …?

The door opened and her host entered bearing a tray. Donny followed, carrying a plate of biscuits and a milk jug. He walked carefully with a solemn expression on his face and the tip of his tongue protruding. Celia's heart was touched. He was so young, so earnest! She moved away from the bookcase and sat down, still holding the book. Tea was poured and biscuits offered. She placed the book on the arm of the sofa and Mr Jones picked it up.

‘I've worked for Bibby's since I was a lad. Me dad worked there and wasn't always sober, like. He fell in the East Waterloo dock one day and drowned.'

Celia made a sympathetic noise in her throat. ‘You've had your fair share of upsets, Mr Jones.'

He smiled. ‘That was a blessing, luv. He used to beat me mam and us lads something rotten. But after he kicked the bucket Bibby's were good to us. Gave me and another brother a job. And I'll be getting a nice little lump sum, like, for me accident. They're a good firm to work for. Have social clubs – not that I can get to them often with Donny to look after. But I'm chunnering on and I don't want to bore yer, like. Donny, pass Mrs Mcdonald another biscuit.'

Celia accepted another biscuit. She found the man's and boy's attention soothing, and besides, whilst Mr Jones talked she could let her mind drift to her next meeting with Andy Pritchard, hero! It was Donny who brought her back to where she was.

‘Was Katherine's dad Scottish?' he asked. ‘'Cos yer name is, like Flora Mcdonald who helped Bonnie Prince Charlie escape. Me granddad's told me all about them.'

Celia felt the colour rush up under her skin and her knees were suddenly shaking. What would this good man think if he knew she'd never been married? That Katherine was illegitimate? She thought swiftly and with a bright smile said, ‘That's right. He was a sailor and his ship went down in the North Atlantic. He was a very brave man.'

‘A hero,' said Donny, resting his head against her arm. ‘Yer must have been sad?'

‘I was, but it's a long time ago now.' She realised then that the thought of Mick no longer had the power to hurt or anger her. When had she stopped feeling like that?

‘It's ages and ages since Gran died, isn't it, Granddad?' said Donny. ‘Yer wanna see her picture?' He scrambled off the sofa. ‘Here she is wiv a veil over her head and a big bunch of flowers.'

Celia rose, expecting to see an ethereal figure, but Mrs Jones had been a big woman with a very determined expression.

She sought for something complimentary to say but could only wonder how the little man sitting in the armchair opposite had coped with her. Perhaps her death had been another blessing? She was shown a photograph of Donny's parents and he talked about them with affection and sadness in his voice. They chattered about this and that and Donny fell asleep against Celia's shoulder. By then they were Frank and Celia to each other and he offered to see her home.

‘No! It's time Donny was in bed. It's been very nice but I'll manage on my own.'

Frank helped her on with her coat. ‘Yer welcome to come again,' he said wistfully. ‘We've both enjoyed yer visit.'

She smiled but made no promises, her mind still on scanning the pages of the
Echo
for mention of Andy's heroics.

There was nothing in that evening's newspaper and Celia was downcast all the next day but on Monday Mrs Evans, who always got to read the newspapers first and was a keen peruser of the Births, Marriages and Deaths, prodded a finger on the newspaper and said, ‘Eight mentions for ol' Agnes Moore who I used to know at school. Got more money than sense some families – sisters, brothers, nieces. Look at them! They've all put something in.'

Celia looked, read, and read on.
Ethel Pritchard, dearly loved sister of Andrew, passed away peacefully on
…

Her spirits soared and she read no further. A death! She had never thought of a death. Of course he could not come to meet her when his sister had died! She glanced again at the newspaper to see when the funeral was to take place and where, and also more importantly the address where flowers could be sent. She was surprised but thought the word ‘Emporium' did have an impressive ring to it. She would buy herself a little black suit and a hat with a discreet wisp of veiling and go and pay her respects. Katherine had asked her to look after the shop that afternoon but that was out of the question now.

But when Celia told her daughter she was going out that day, Katherine was vexed. ‘You have to! You promised! I'm going out with Patrick. He's still getting over that wound, you know.'

Guilt caused Celia to go on the defensive. ‘You'll have to tell him you can't go. I've a funeral to attend.'

‘I can't do that! I don't know where he lives.'

‘That's stupid! Fancy not knowing where yer fella lives,' said Celia irritably.

‘I've never had to know where he lives!' Katherine scowled and paced the floor. ‘Oh, why do you have to mess up my day!'

‘It's not intentional,' said Celia sniffily. ‘But I feel I have to go to this funeral of a dear old friend.'

Katherine looked at her suspiciously. ‘You told me you had no friends but Rita?'

‘Well, I had this one! It's just that I forgot about her for a moment.'

‘She couldn't have been that dear, then.'

Celia put a hand to her chest and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘You're giving me palpitations. It's important I go. A last farewell. You're too young to understand the need for that yet.'

‘OK! But Patrick's going to be disappointed.'

‘Well, I'm sorry about that, luv. But he'll understand if he's worth having.' Celia hurried out of the room before Katherine could say any more.

Thursday came. ‘You'd think she was a widow at a husband's funeral feast,' said Mrs Evans, from her position near the Aladdin paraffin heater in the shop. ‘All dressed up like a dog's dinner.'

‘Black suits her now she's blonde, you have to admit that,' said Katherine reluctantly. She didn't know what had got into her mother lately. She was changing and Katherine sometimes didn't know where she was with her.

‘She was all right when she was that reddish colour. She's gone flighty since she's become a blonde,' commented Mrs Evans.

Perhaps that was it? thought Katherine. Now she had a flighty mother instead of a nervous one!

Patrick breezed in but his smile quickly faded. ‘You're not ready!'

‘Celia's had to go to a funeral,' she said gloomily.

‘Damn!' He rested both elbows on the counter and looked straight into her eyes and she felt a flutter in the region of her heart.

‘Less of that language, young man,' said Mrs Evans from her chair.

‘Sorry.' He straightened up before facing her and saying in wheedling tones, ‘Couldn't you mind the shop?'

‘No, I could not! That's what I pay Katherine for.'

‘Couldn't I pay you then to play out so we can be alone?'

A quiver raced across Mrs Evans's face. ‘That's impudence, young man! But if you could buy me a new pair of knees I'd take you up on the offer. I was young myself once.'

‘My gran has bad knees,' he said conversationally. ‘She reckons it was all the scrubbing she did years ago.' He turned back to Katherine. ‘So when?' he said softly.

Before she could answer a man entered the shop and asked for rabbit food. Patrick moved away from the counter and went over to the cage where several budgies were making a fair old racket. When the man left, Patrick went back to Katie. ‘Well?'

‘Shop closes on Wednesday. We'll go out then.' She kissed a couple of fingers and pressed them against his mouth. He took hold of her hand and kissed its palm a dozen times. Katherine found that really sensual and romantic and looked at him with stars in her eyes. He seemed about to say something more when another customer entered. ‘This is hopeless,' he whispered. ‘Wednesday it is! See you then, love of my life.'

She stared after him, wanting to be with him, and was annoyed with Celia for having to choose today for supposedly going to a funeral. A man! she would bet. There was definitely a man on the scene somewhere.

Celia stood on the edge of the gathering which had just emerged from St Oswald's Church and shivered in the cold wind that blew across the gravestones. Her faith was a simple one taught her in elementary school and by her grandmother who had taken her along to church when the mood took her. The service had been a Requiem Mass and Celia had quite enjoyed the solemnity and ritual despite not understanding the Latin bits. She had sat at the back near the aisle, having decided that was the best place to be noticed, and sure enough Andy had seen her as he followed the coffin out of church. His astonished smile had been worth all the expense of her new clothes.

The mourners started to make their way to the church gateway and suddenly there was Andy in front of her, dressed in a black pin-stripe suit. ‘Celia! I'm so pleased you've come.'

She beamed at him. ‘I saw it in the
Echo
. I had to come and say I'm sorry about your sister.'

His smile was replaced by a more sombre expression. ‘It was so sudden. You do understand that was why I wasn't at the meeting place? It happened that evening, would you believe! You will forgive me?' He had taken one of her black leather-gloved hands in his and was pressing it gently.

She was thrilled by his touch. ‘Of course I will! I was just worried you might have had an accident.'

‘It's nice to have you worrying about me. You'll come back and have a glass of sherry and a bite to eat?'

‘If you want me to. Although I won't know anyone.' She gazed anxiously up into his ruddy face.

‘You know me and that's the important thing. The rest don't matter. Unfortunately this graveyard's full so we have to go to the Yew Tree cemetery first. I'll see you into one of the cars.'

He did just that, squeezing her in with two middle-aged women and an elderly aunt who snuffled and blew her nose all the way to the cemetery and on the return journey to Prescot Road.

Celia had been astonished when she had read where Andy lived. She had not expected a man of his stature to live in a flat above a shop but that was forgotten when she set foot inside Pritchard's Toy Emporium. Even now a toy shop was a wonderland to her. The joy of playing with toys was something she had missed out on. Her mother had considered them a waste of money and her grandmother had always been instructed to buy her shoes or clothes instead. Now here was this magical place crammed with so many beautiful playthings.

She would have liked to linger but instead had to go upstairs which was very different altogether. It was as if time had passed it by. The windows were curtained in heavy green velvet and the net runners were lace-edged. The furniture was dark and heavy; Celia reckoned it was mostly good stuff but pre-Great War. The gloominess of the room was exaggerated by every mirror being draped in black crêpe.

Andy left her sitting in a chair while he went to get her a drink. She gazed into the fire, not wanting to catch anyone's eye in case they should come up and talk to her. For some reason she was nervous about explaining how she came to be there and who she was. But she was not to be left alone.

‘Hello! I'm Dolly from next door. You look lonely sitting here all on your own,' piped up a voice at her shoulder.

‘Oh, no! I'm fine,' stammered Celia, gazing at the bright-eyed, elderly woman hovering beside her chair. She rose to her feet. ‘I was just having a warm because it was a bit cold in the graveyard. Please, have my seat.'

‘That's kind of you.' Dolly sat in the chair and stretched her lisle-stockinged legs towards the fire. ‘I think we're in for more bad weather.' She held her head to one side. ‘Family, are you?'

‘No, friend,' said Celia swiftly, and could have bitten off her tongue. She was at least twenty years too young to be one of Ethel's friends.