A Kiss and a Promise (20 page)

‘What’s that got to do …,’ Ginny gave a muffled gurgle as a dirty hand was clapped across her mouth. She fought free of it, saying penitently, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on, gerrit off your chest. I won’t say another word.’

‘Friday’s a good market day so the bins’ll be full. No one don’t want those rags an’ bits. The dustman takes ’em away, like I told you, but we could sell ’em to one of the raggies. There’s a firm in William Moult Street – I think it’s King’s – what’ll give us a fair price. Mind, we’ll need to borrow an old pram or a handcart, or some such; what d’you say?’

Ginny looked at him, feeling her cheeks warm and her eyes glow with enthusiasm. He was brilliant, was Danny. His ideas were always good ’uns, an’ this one sounded like a winner. Nicking was acceptable sometimes; she had often climbed over the wall into the station coal yard and come back with a sackful of bits when the weather was bitter and there was no money for fuel, and every kid nicked apples or a few spuds from a market stall if the opportunity arose. This was considered fair enough, though to steal from a shop was frowned upon. But Danny’s idea was actually legal! No one wanted the rags in the skip; if they didn’t take them they would only get thrown away – burned probably – yet she knew very well that the rag merchants would pay good money for such cast-offs. Why, there was a filthy, bearded old man, who wore a big black woman’s hat and a swirling cloak, dark with grime, who came round the houses and would pay for rags by giving you either a paper windmill or a glass jar. He had a thin, white face, one solitary yellow tooth, which showed when he grinned, and a perpetual dewdrop on the end of his nose. If he knew about the skip, he would undoubtedly visit it, but it was clear he did not.

‘Danny, you’re the cleverest lad in the world,’ Ginny breathed. ‘When’s the best time to go? Your mam’s gorran old pram – d’you think she’d lend it us? Only if we borrow the handcart from Johnny Wickes, we’ll have to pay ’im and mebbe he’ll want to know why we need it.’

Danny did not reply for a moment; he was obviously considering the question seriously. Then his brow cleared. ‘The best time to go to the skips is as soon as it’s light in the morning,’ he said constructively. ‘The yard is on the corner of Maddox Street and Bevington Hill and the gates open at dawn. Because it’s so early, Mam isn’t goin’ to need the pram and it’s a good big one; I reckon it’ll hold more’n Johnny’s handcart. So what say you meet me under the arch as soon as it’s light?’

‘I’ll do me best. Tell you what though, Danny, if I oversleep you could come in and give me a shake. I’ll leave the door unlocked … we usually do.’

‘Right,’ Danny said cheerfully. He climbed down off the railings and Ginny followed suit. ‘We’d better get back to the court an’ get to bed, so’s we’s fresh for the mornin’.’

Ginny agreed to this and the pair of them were actually on Rathbone Street before another thought occurred to her. ‘Danny, how come you know so much about Paddy’s Market?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘I’m sure I’ve been in there doin’ messages a good deal more often than you have, but I’ve never wondered what happens to the unsold stuff.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Danny said. ‘But remember, Ginny, I were deliverin’ bread until three days ago. Bakers start work turrble early – at three or four in the mornin’ – an’ a couple o’ times, when they were short-handed in the bakery, I were told to report there early to help unload sacks of flour and tubs of fat an’ to run messages to the baker’s; stuff like that. An’ I see the dust cart goin’ round pickin’ up rotten veggies and old rags. I didn’t put two an’ two together until a couple o’ days ago, when it just crossed me mind that there might be a few coppers in it. And then, when you went on and on about your bleedin’ skirt …’

Ginny considered thumping him, for she had not gone on and on about her skirt, but decided against it. After all, if they fetched away a goodly supply of decent rags, then they could take them to the feller in William Moult Street and be back on the Scottie by the time Paddy’s Market was opening up for business. She could buy the skirt, take it round to the Waits’ and be on the ferry, legally, with the money they had earned, in time for a full and glorious day at the seaside.

‘How’s old Granny Bennett? Still on the booze?’ Danny asked as they went into the court. ‘I know she were on the wagon for weeks, then began liftin’ her elbow again, but after endin’ up in hospital an’ all, I reckoned she might be a bit more sensible in future.’

‘She’s still drinkin’, Ginny admitted rather gloomily. ‘But less, I think … or not so openly, any road. I never see her tek so much as a mouthful o’ the stuff, but when I get back from a trip to the shops or wharrever, she’s reelin’ a bit … and sometimes she talks squiffy, though if I say anything she gets real nasty – you know what she is.’

‘Yes, nasty,’ Danny said fervently. He had more than once received a clout round the ear for trying to stop the old woman hitting out at Ginny. ‘Oh well, my mam says she’ll drink herself into an early grave and mebbe that’s what she wants.’

‘It can’t be a
very
early grave; she’s well over seventy,’ Ginny pointed out. They had reached her door now and she paused on the top step. ‘See you tomorrer mornin’, then.’

‘And don’t you be late!’ Danny shouted back, as Ginny slipped inside the house.

Despite Ginny’s fears, she woke in good time next morning, partly due to Granny Bennett. Ginny had returned to an empty house the previous evening and had made her way up to bed, guessing that her grandmother was probably at the pub, but knowing there was nothing she could do about it. If she spoke out, Granny Bennett would simply call her a nasty little liar, a right troublemaker, and with a straight face, too. Why, only the other day her Uncle George, who, to do him credit, did try to keep an eye on his mother, had congratulated the old lady, in front of Ginny, on her strength of will and abstinence.

‘You’ll be feelin’ a lot better, our mam, wi’out a bellyful o’ ale a-swishin’ round inside you,’ he had observed. ‘You’re lookin’ better an’ all, quite bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as they say. Oh aye, you’ll be gettin’ that telegram from the King one o’ these days.’

Granny Bennett had laughed and said that George was right, of course he was. ‘I feels much more the thing,’ she had assured her son. But she had avoided Ginny’s eye, and when George had said: ‘Ain’t your gran doin’ well, our Ginny?’ had given her such a threatening glance that Ginny, who had taken a deep breath to tell George that his mam still spent more money on drink than on food, wisely decided to keep her mouth shut.

So Ginny climbed the stairs and got into bed, first banging her head – gently – on the wall five times, in the hope that this would somehow manage to remind her to get up at five o’clock. Not that she had any means of knowing the time; her grandmother had pawned the big old clock which had once stood on the parlour mantel, and unless the wind was in the right direction the chimes of the nearest clock never woke Ginny, who was an excellent sleeper.

So she had settled down and slept at once, only to be woken some time in the small hours by a fearful banging and carrying-on from downstairs. Granny Bennett shouted and clattered about, the neighbours banged on the dividing wall and hollered at her to shut up and let others get some sleep, and, as the pearly light of dawn crept through her small attic window, Ginny finally decided that it must be time, and slid out of bed.

Downstairs, she found Gran sleeping at last, and snoring almost as loudly as, earlier, she had been yelling. The fire had died but since it was summer Ginny did not attempt to light it. Tea and porridge were highly regarded by Gran first thing; she said they helped to settle her stomach and to calm her raging thirst, but, on this occasion at least, if the old girl wanted such things she could, Ginny decided, get them for herself. For Ginny’s own part, she spread margarine on a cut off the loaf, poured herself a tin mug of cold water, ate and drank and then slipped out into the strengthening dawn.

Danny was there, crossing the court towards her, trundling the old pram, but when he looked up and spotted her, he gave a relieved grin. ‘I were just goin’ to come and wake you,’ he said. ‘But I weren’t lookin’ forward to it; Granny Bennett were on a bender last night, weren’t she? We heered her comin’ back, shoutin’ at the top of her voice. Me dad said she knows more bad words than he does, and he worked on the docks when he were younger.’

‘Yes, she were a bit wild,’ Ginny admitted. ‘The neighbours were hammerin’ on the walls, shoutin’ at her to let them get some sleep, but she don’t take a bit of notice, not when she’s had a bevvy or three.’

‘Well, she’s quiet enough now,’ Danny observed as they turned into Rathbone Street. ‘Why was it, do you suppose? There’s gorra be a reason for her goin’ on the binge like that.’

Ginny was about to reply that she could not imagine why her grandmother had leaped off the wagon so conclusively, when a mental picture came into her mind. She saw her grandmother’s head laid on the table and beneath one cheek was a brown envelope. Ginny stopped dead in her tracks, a hand flying to her mouth. ‘Oh my Gawd! Me dad’s money must have come while I were out yesterday … that means it came almost a week early. Ever since she were ill, I’ve stood there with me hand out and made her give me some of the money so’s I can buy food for the pair of us. But we were out all day yesterday, weren’t we, because your job were finished and I were doin’ messages for folk most of the day. And then we went down to the Pier Head … oh, why did me dad go sendin’ the money early!’

She half turned back towards Victoria Court as she spoke, with the wild idea of returning to see whether there was any money left in the envelope, but Danny, guessing her thoughts, seized her arm. ‘Don’t be daft, gal. It’ll have taken every penny of your dad’s money to get in the sort of state your gran were in last night,’ he said briskly. ‘What’s more, you’re goin’ to need every bit of the rag money to keep you in food for the rest of the month. Remember, we want to be first in the yard, so let’s gerra move on.’

Ginny saw the sense of this, and as they turned from Upper Duke Street into Berry Street she decided to forget her grandmother and the drink and to enjoy the day. The streets were so quiet! They were not deserted, since in front of them an elderly tom cat stalked, stiff-legged, along the pavement, and an old tramp stirred and yawned in a corner of St Luke’s churchyard, where he had made a sort of bed amongst the tombstones. But it was too early for most people to be about and as they crossed St Luke’s Place and entered Renshaw Street Ginny nudged her companion. ‘Ain’t it wonderfully quiet wi’ no folks about? And look at the sky!’

‘Aye, them colours is grand,’ Danny agreed. Above them the sky was a misty blue, but to the east the unseen sun was painting the clouds a delicate pink and gold. It was going to be a lovely day and for the first time since she had awoken, Ginny remembered that this expedition was only the start. If it was successful, the rest of the day would be spent in New Brighton, doing all the things that she liked most. Paddling came first, of course, though bathing would be even better, and then there was digging in the sand, searching for cockles, making a huge sand-castle, shell gathering; the delights of the beach were endless. They would have to have their dinner out; fish and chips would be best with an ice cream to follow, if the money would stretch to it. And then there was the funfair! They simply must save some pennies for the funfair!

They reached Lime Street, glancing at the station as they approached it, then turned into St John’s Lane so that they might walk through the gardens which, at this time of year, were in full bloom, the trees heavily laden with leaves which still showed no tint of autumn. ‘I reckon we’ve broke the back of it, ’cos it ain’t more’n a couple o’ miles from Victoria Court to Paddy’s Market,’ Danny said as they heaved the pram up the stone steps into St John’s Garden and trundled it across and on to William Brown Street. Ginny looked wistfully at the free library. She longed to become a member of this institution and to borrow books which she could read at home, but Granny Bennett’s habit of pawning or selling what did not belong to her whenever she was short of cash had made Ginny draw back. Furthermore, on the only occasion when she had plucked up her courage and gone into the library to ask if she might join, she had been told that she must provide both a reference and the signature of a parent who would be responsible if she lost or ill-treated the books.

She told Danny about her efforts to join the library as they turned into Byrom Street but he merely stared at her, apparently unable to believe that anyone would read a book from choice. He went to school regularly though, and she supposed that this meant he could read books whenever he wished to do so.

‘Did you get yourself some breakfast?’ Danny asked when they reached Scotland Place. ‘I only had a bit of Madeira cake and a cup o’ cold water and I’m dyin’ for a cuppa char. Do you suppose that little canny house on Ben Jonson Street will be open yet?’

Ginny, too, could have done with a hot cup of tea, for warm though the day might be later there was a nip in the air right now and, like Danny, she had breakfasted lightly. However, she did not imagine that the canny house would be open yet and in any event did not want to waste time since Danny had made such a point of getting to the yard early. She said as much, though glancing wistfully down Ben Jonson Street as they passed it. But they were nearing their destination and presently heard, ahead of them, the hubbub of Paddy’s Market getting into its stride. By now, early trams were trundling past them as well as horses and carts in from the country, whose destination was probably the vegetable market on Cazneau Street. One or two people looked curiously at them as they slogged along with their perambulator, but though folk called a cheery ‘Good morning’, no one questioned them as to why they were out so early.

‘Here’s Maddox Street at last,’ Danny said thankfully, pushing the perambulator into a far narrower street than the one they had been traversing. ‘See them huge gates? They’re already open, thank the Lord, so we’ll go straight in and start loading up.’