A Kiss and a Promise (13 page)

Fright had forced Granny Bennett to abandon her ways for a while, especially since her sons were now refusing to contribute towards the upkeep of 17 Victoria Court. They had families of their own and did not intend to allow their mother to drown in a sea of Guinness, George had told her severely. They would pay up again when she stopped drinking.

‘It were that bleedin’ cocky doctor at the hospital what give the game away,’ Mrs Bennett had said savagely to Ginny, when she learned of her sons’ decision. ‘It’s like what they say in the Bible … an ungrateful child is worse’n a serpent’s tooth … ain’t that what the Bible say? And what do they think we’ll live on, the pair of us, if they don’t give their poor old mam a few coppers now and then? Fresh air?’

Ginny, thinking ruefully that her grandmother seemed to expect
her
to live on fresh air whilst she herself wallowed in Guinness, tried to look sympathetic and then put her foot in it by reminding Granny Bennett of the little brown envelopes which came across the sea from Ireland, regular as clockwork, every month. ‘They come from my dad, don’t they?’ she had said casually and had waited, far from casually, for the answer. Her granny had never mentioned the name of the man who sent the money, had always denied to Ginny’s face that it was her father, but Ginny was no fool. She had known for at least four years that every child has to have a father, had guessed from talk overheard that her father was still alive and living in Ireland. After that, it was a simple matter to question Addy, who had not scrupled to tell her that Michael Gallagher was a grand feller and sent money every month.

Unfortunately, Addy had never set eyes on Michael so could not describe him to his daughter, but she had known Ginny’s mother pretty well and confirmed that Stella had been beautiful as any princess, with a mane of shining, black hair and big, dark eyes.

‘So me red hair must have come from me dad,’ Ginny had mused aloud. And Addy had said that she supposed it must. Now, whenever Ginny pictured the sender of the envelopes, he was tall and red-haired, with blazingly blue eyes and white skin which freckled in summer, very like her own.

Mrs Bennett, of course, was no help whatsoever. To be sure, she gave Ginny money for messages but always made certain that there was never enough change for a decent pair of shoes and Ginny was determined that she would return to school complete with proper footwear. A great number of children in her position went to school in clogs, which the scuffers provided free, and Ginny knew very well that she had only to ask and a pair of clogs, the right size, would be handed to her. No one would buy such clogs off Granny Bennett, so she would be safe enough in that regard, but Ginny was proud. The thought of actually advertising her impoverished state really hurt her, particularly when she remembered that her kind and generous father sent money every month so that she need not be a charge on Granny Bennett. She had boasted about her father, that was the trouble, telling the kids in the court how wonderful he was, how he lived on a big farm in Ireland, owned boats and cars, and would send for her one day, when she was full grown. All children fantasise and accept each other’s tall stories without question, even knowing their own to be fibs. Johnny Briggs told everyone about his rich Uncle Ken, who had gone to America when the war had ended and made a fortune. Janet Tanner told everyone that she spent her holidays on her elder brother’s farm in the Welsh hills, although in fact, as Ginny knew, she spent them baby-minding for her sister, Kate, in a court off the Scotland Road. Danny Levitt said his family owned the jam factory and his mam sat in an office telling other people what to do all day. Ginny herself, of course, could only boast about her father, but that was good enough to make her dread the thought of the stigma of police clogs. She would tell the children that her father had bought the shoes and everyone would believe her as she believed Johnny Briggs, Janet Tanner and Danny Levitt, though she did take Danny’s stories with a pinch of salt. He and she were best friends, spending most of their waking hours together during the school holidays. In fact it had been Danny who had suggested that she should find a hiding place outside the house for any money she earned and might like to share his own secret spot.

At the end of Victoria Court towered the back of an enormous warehouse. Smoke-blackened and smelly, it reared storeys above the houses in the court and though it was used for ball games, the part against which the privy was built held no interest for anyone. Except for Ginny and Danny, that was. Right at the bottom, in the corner created by the privy, there was a loose brick. Years ago, Danny had told her proudly, he had eased it away from its fellows in order to hide small objects in the gap behind it. Wise now to her grandmother’s unpleasant ways, he had let Ginny into the secret, realising that she had even more need of it than he, and so far no one else had guessed that the brick was any different from the rest of the wall.

They had to visit their hidey-hole under the cover of darkness, but a trip to the privy was necessary before going to bed. Ginny waited until her grandmother was asleep before letting herself out of the door and crossing the yard like a shadow, wrapped in a dark shawl. Having made sure she was unobserved, she would then find the brick, her fingers recognising it even though her eyes could not make it out, and ease it from its place. Then she would add any pennies and ha’pennies she had earned to her small hoard and replace the brick.

Last night had been different though; last night she had been withdrawing her savings from the bank, so to speak, and today she meant to buy that all-important pair of shoes. Of course she would be unable to take them home, she knew that. But she had a friend of her own age – and in her own class at school – whose father kept the grocer’s shop on the corner of Washington Street. Annie had told her mother about Ginny’s predicament and Mrs Wait had agreed to keep the shoes provided they had been honestly acquired. Ginny, who in desperate moments had seriously considered prigging a pair, had earnestly assured her friend that the shoes would be bought with her very own money, sent her by her father, and Annie had reported back that not only would her mother keep the shoes, she would also take care of anything else which Ginny was afraid to take home. Granny Bennett was well known – and well disliked – by most of the small tradesmen in the surrounding streets, for she was not above asking for tick until the end of the month and then ‘forgetting’ to pay up.

Annie had offered to accompany Ginny on her shoe buying expedition, as indeed had Danny, but when it came to the point, neither was available on this bright August day. Annie had two little sisters and Mrs Wait was taking them to New Brighton for a day out; a treat which Annie could not possibly have missed. The kindly Waits had offered to take Ginny as well, urging her to put off her purchase for just one day, but Ginny had made up her mind that she would buy the shoes as soon as she had saved ten shillings and feared that, if she went to the seaside with the Waits, she would spend some of her hard-earned money on ices or a paper of chips. And the money
was
hard-earned too; she had chopped kindling, run messages, minded babies – in fact, done anything which would earn her a penny or two.

Danny, who was almost two years older than she, had had the enormous good fortune to get a holiday job, delivering bread for a local baker. It was not particularly well paid but Danny had assured her that the ‘perks’ were good. At the end of the week, he was given any stale bread or buns which had not been sold, and when you were the eldest of a large family of hungry girls and boys this was not to be sneezed at. And since today was Saturday, and therefore the end of the week, it would have been downright wicked even to suggest that Danny might accompany her.

So here she was, in Byrom Street, hoping to be able to buy a decent pair of shoes with the money she had been saving up. She slowed as she approached Scott and Metcalfe’s shoe shop. The window was big and shiny with a special section for children’s boots and shoes. Ginny moved across to it, examining the wares on offer with a critical eye. She wanted stout lace-ups because they would last longer than the pretty, shiny strap shoes on display. On the other hand, strap shoes were cheaper and her feet were growing as fast as the rest of her. It would be all right to cut holes in the toes as her feet grew, she supposed … might it be better to choose a cheap, cardboardy pair for 7/6d which would allow her to put a whole half crown back behind the brick in anticipation of other needs.

Sighing over the difficulties of choice, Ginny made her way into the shop. It was bright and cheerful with the walls lined with shoeboxes and two long mirrors so that customers trying on shoes could take a good look at themselves. There were customers already sitting in the smart little gilded chairs whilst young ladies kneeled before them, helping them into the shoes of their choice. One little girl, in a pink coat and matching hat, was trying on ballet shoes of pink satin and another child, about Ginny’s own age, was being fitted with elegant party shoes of patent leather with pom-poms on the toes and the fashionable Cuban heel. The other customers were all adults so Ginny moved to the section of the shop where the two girls sat, guessing that children would probably have an area to themselves. She wondered whether she should sit down, and was just about to do so when a middle-aged woman, wearing pince-nez spectacles on her long pink nose, came hurrying towards her. She was making shooing motions but Ginny stood her ground, though she hastily pulled a handful of loose change out of her pocket.

‘Out, out, out!’ the woman said. ‘This is a respectable shop and we don’t want children hanging about, waiting to run off with the stock, no doubt.’ She looked at the money in Ginny’s hand and gave a scornful sniff. ‘Where did you get that from, eh? I don’t doubt you thieved it from someone!’

Ginny felt the hot colour rush into her cheeks but she still stood her ground. ‘I don’t steal, not from anyone,’ she said loftily, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘And I’m here to buy meself school shoes … what’s wrong wi’ that?’

‘Where’s your mam?’ the woman demanded. It was obvious that she had expected Ginny to cut and run, and when Ginny had done no such thing it had surprised her. ‘Kids don’t come in here to buy their own shoes, their mams come with ’em, so where’s yours?’

‘Dead,’ Ginny said baldly. ‘I live with me gran, but she’s been poorly so she sent me out to get me own shoes. I dunno what size I am, but I know what shoes cost – I looked in the window – and I’ve got enough money for the pair I want.’

The woman was less sure now; Ginny could see the uncertainty in the beady eyes behind the gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘We-ell, I don’t know … I suppose I could show you a pair, though if you don’t know what size you want, I’d have to …’ Her eyes went down and settled, triumphantly, on Ginny’s bare and dirty feet. ‘Why, you nasty little ragamuffin, this is a decent shop for decent people! I ain’t puttin’ a pair of our good shoes on those feet! I doubt they’ve seen soap and water in the whole of your life … folk who buy shoes here wear shoes and stockings, so I’ll thank you to take yourself off.’

Ginny became uneasily aware that everyone was staring at her, and when she looked round she realised that what the woman said was true. The girl buying the party shoes was wearing long, beige, silk stockings and the child with the ballet shoes wore white ones. All the adults had stockings as a matter of course and Ginny realised, belatedly, that she should not have chosen such a posh shop. If she had kept on going, reached Great Homer or the Scottie, she could have got something just as good and probably far cheaper. And on the Scottie, they would be used to kids coming in to buy cheap shoes. However, there was nothing she could do about it now except to leave with what grace she could muster.

She was halfway to the door when someone shouted from the back of the shop. Ginny glanced back; it was a tall, heavily built man with a face like a bulldog, all wrinkled jowls, frown and squashed-looking nose. ‘Don’t lerrer gerraway,’ he bawled angrily. ‘If she’s been tryin’ to thieve from the shop then it’s the scuffers who should be telled … no use bein’ soft on her just ’cos she’s a gal! Stop thief, stop thief!’

He came towards her, meaty hands ready to grab, his short bow legs carrying the big and powerful body forward at a surprisingly fast rate.

Ginny heard the woman who had refused to serve her begin to say, rather uncertainly, that she rather thought Mr Bostock had got it wrong, that the kid was a real little ragamuffin all right, but … only the man charged on and Ginny suddenly decided that this was no place to linger. She doubted very much whether she would be allowed to give any sort of explanation once the big man got his hands on her … and she knew she could outdistance him; better to get well clear while she had the chance!

Accordingly, she shot out of the doorway and on to the pavement, turned right and scooted, whilst all around her the cry went up: ‘Stop thief!’ ‘Whazzat?’ ‘Thievin’ shoes from that there shop …’ ‘Stop her … it’s the redheaded one, the one what just fairly flew past us …’ ‘Too much of that sort of thing …’ ‘Tradespeople have gorra stick together …’

The remarks came thick and fast but Ginny paid no heed to them, for now panic had her in its grip. She felt as guilty as though she had, in fact, tried to steal shoes and simply tore along the pavement as fast as she could, eager only to get away. The rights and wrongs of the situation no longer seemed to matter, for she was the hunted and they, the hunters, would not stop to ask questions if they caught her. She simply ran, head down, as fast as she possibly could.

She might have escaped them all had it not been for a tram, coming to a halt beside her. She swerved to avoid the queue of people at the stop, slipped on something wet and messy on the paving stones, and crashed heavily down amongst the feet and shopping baskets. She tried to scramble up again, to continue her flight, but as she did so dizziness overcame her and she plunged into blackness.

It could only have lasted a matter of seconds, that momentary loss of consciousness, and then she began to scramble to her feet once more, suddenly aware that someone was holding her wrist in an iron grip. Helping her to her feet? One glance was sufficient to put that hope to flight. No rescuer this, but the bulldog, a vicious gleam in his small eyes and his mouth opening to explain, since one or two of the people in the tram queue were murmuring it were a shame, and what were that great hulking brute of a feller doing, grabbin’ a-holt o’ the little gal like that?