A Kiss and a Promise (21 page)

As they passed between the enormous corrugated iron gates, Ginny felt the first stirrings of unease. Suppose there was someone in the yard who would query their right to be there? Suppose the bin lorry turned in through the gates just as they were loading up with rags? But Danny seemed to have no scruples whatsoever. He guided Ginny and the perambulator round to the lower side of the skip, then hauled himself up on to the rim of the thing. ‘I’ll pick out an armful of stuff and chuck it down to you. Then you can go through it, putting the stuff into two piles. The poor stuff we’ll shove back into the skip when the perambulator’s full and the rest we’ll keep. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Ginny echoed manfully. She had done very much worse things in her time, she reminded herself. Pinching flowers from rich folk’s gardens, nicking vegetables when no one was looking, taking washing off the line when the house owners were away and flogging whatever she had prigged to the stallholders in Paddy’s Market. And anyway, Danny said the stuff would be dumped and burned if they didn’t take it, so they were really doing everybody a good turn.

When Danny threw down the first bundle, she examined it cautiously but very soon entered into the spirit of the thing. There was good stuff here: a lovely scarlet blouse, though it lacked buttons, and floral print dresses which scarcely needed more than a few stitches to make them wearable. And just before the perambulator was completely full, a school skirt! It was extremely dirty and the buttons that fastened it on the left-hand side were missing. The hem was half down and some of the pleats were no more than lines on the material, but by now Ginny had developed a discerning eye. If she washed the garment, bought and sewed on new buttons and stitched up the hem, it would be perfectly wearable – and it was free! She hung the skirt over the handle of the perambulator just as Danny leaned over and shouted at her to chuck the unwanted stuff up quick. ‘I see the bin lorry comin’ down Bevington Hill,’ he said hoarsely. ‘We ain’t stealin’, nor doin’ anythin’ wrong, but I’d rather be out of here by the time they arrives. Gerra wiggle on, queen.’

Much struck by this advice, for she knew an angry bin man could whack just as hard as Granny Bennett, Ginny began hurling the unwanted rags back into the skip, and seconds after Danny’s warning the two of them were belting out of the yard with their booty, turning into Maddox Street and then on to the Scottie. ‘Left, left, not right. We ain’t goin’ home, we’re goin’ up to King’s,’ Danny reminded her, ‘and there’s no need to hurry, queen, because now we’re just two kids what’ve been collectin’ old rags round the courts, tekking ’em up to William Moult Street to get wharrever old King will give us.’

Accordingly, the two slowed from a canter to an amble and Ginny began to look around her once more, no longer fearing pursuit. Who, after all, would pursue them? The stallholders had thrown the rags away and the bin men had no idea that the contents of the skip had been rifled. She looked wistfully at a large canny house – it was almost a restaurant – as they passed it, but knew better than to suggest going in for some grub. They would not be allowed to take the perambulator in, and if they left it outside she knew very well they would never see pram or contents again. Danny must have noticed her wistful glance for he said, bracingly: ‘It ain’t but a step to William Moult Street and as soon as we’ve sold this lot …’ he tapped the perambulator handle as he spoke, ‘we’ll have a good blowout wi’ some o’ the money. It’s hungry work gettin’ up so early and sortin’ clothes with one eye out for the bin lorry.’ He suddenly seemed to notice the skirt across the handle of the perambulator. ‘I say, that ain’t rubbish. That’s a good bit o’ cloth there; shouldn’t it go in the pram?’

Ginny put a protective hand on the skirt, eyeing it lovingly as she did so. That skirt represented fish and chips with ice cream to follow and maybe one of those bottles of cherryade, stoppered with a marble, which could be bought on New Brighton prom. ‘No! It’s mine – it’ll do nicely for school. It’ll save me havin’ to buy one, don’t you see?’

‘Oh aye,’ Danny said, nodding. ‘D’you know, I’d clean forgot why you wanted to get a bit of gelt together, but I ’member now.’ He looked at the skirt, rather critically this time. ‘It is good cloth, like I said, but there ain’t no buttons and the hem’s down and … did it have pleats once? Are you sure, queen, you wouldn’t rather buy one in better nick?’

Ginny shook her head firmly, pictures of fish and chips and ice cream still floating before her inner eye. ‘No, honest to God, this one’ll do. I’ve never sewed buttons or a hem in me life, but everyone’s gorra start somewhere. In fact, I doubt there’s a needle and thread in the whole of our house, but I can learn, I suppose.’

‘Tell you what, I’ll ask me mam if she’ll give you a sewing lesson,’ Danny said, inspired. ‘She’s a dab hand wi’ a needle is me mam, and she’s taught all the girls to sew and knit so I’m sure she’ll do the same for you. Now, tomorrow’s Sunday, so if you wash the skirt as soon as you get home and have it dry for tomorrow, you can bring it round to our place. Mam’s got heaps of needles and thread, but you’d best buy your buttons in Paddy’s Market as we pass.’ He grinned at her. ‘You’ll probably buy the very buttons the old skinflint cut off of this skirt before she chucked it away. Didn’t you realise why the rags in the skip didn’t have buttons, and the shoes didn’t have laces? The old girls on the stalls know they can always sell a pair o’ strong shoelaces or a set o’ six buttons.’

Ginny giggled as they turned into Bostock Street. ‘No, I didn’t know, but I should have guessed. Is it far now, Danny? Me legs is getting tired and it’s a fair old haul back to the court and then down to the Pier Head.’

‘We’re almost there,’ Danny said, turning the pram into an even narrower street. ‘Tell you what, queen, you’d best put that skirt o’ yours on and tie the waist up wi’ a bit o’ string, otherwise old King might chuck it on his scales and pay you for it before we knowed what had happened. See there? That’s his yard.’

Ginny did not have a piece of string on her but managed to tuck the top of the skirt into her knicker elastic, and once this was done the two of them pushed their pram into King’s yard. King himself – or the man in charge at any rate – was old and wizened with a straggly white beard and clothing quite as filthy and ragged as anything he bought. He gave the children an unfriendly stare, but when he began to rummage through the contents of the pram his expression became almost friendly. ‘Good stuff, good stuff,’ he kept muttering. ‘Did you come by it honest? There’s real good stuff here.’

He had a strange foreign accent and rather long, sinister-looking fingernails, but since he made no attempt to decry their wares, the children began to look upon him favourably.

‘Yes, it’s all right, it’s bin collected from folk who don’t want it no more,’ Danny said glibly whilst Ginny was still wondering what to say. ‘We can get more, too, if you pays us the right sort o’ price.’

The old man gave an appreciative chuckle; it was clear that he sensed the implied suggestion that sellers of such good material could easily go elsewhere, and did not resent it. He subjected the contents of the pram to another long stare and then began to pile the rags on to the big spring-balance scale, saying as he did so: ‘Grade one, grade one … five pounds, seven, nine …’

The children watched eagerly as the figures on the dial gradually rose, and when the pram was empty the old man turned to them with a benevolent smile. ‘What d’you say to eight bob?’ he asked, eyeing them with a mixture of cunning and hope. ‘Eight bob ain’t bad money for a couple o’ kids to earn in a day.’

Ginny would have replied that she supposed eight bob was fair, but Danny was made of sterner stuff. He gave a derisive snort. ‘Eight bob? D’you know how long it takes a couple o’ kids to gerra load like that together? No, shove it back into the pram, mister, and we’ll see what Packy’s will offer us.’

He moved towards the scale but the old man stepped forward protectively, spreading his arms wide as he did so. ‘I didn’t mean eight bob … votever vos I thinkin’ of? Let’s say – let’s say twelve bob, eh? Ten bob would be good, but twelve bob is princely. Oh aye, you von’t get more than twelve bob from anyone, apart from meself.’

Danny shot a quick look at Ginny and she thought that he was trying to say that if the old blighter offered twelve bob, then the stuff must be worth a good deal more. But suppose – suppose he called their bluff? She had no idea where Packinham’s yard was but feared it might be a good deal less accessible than this one. She tried to put all these things into her answering glance and saw, by the set of Danny’s mouth, that he had read her correctly but intended to take no notice whatsoever. Oh, well, she thought resignedly, he seemed to know what he was doing. When they went out together to beg orange boxes from friendly greengrocers, so that they might chop the wood into kindling and sell it around the crowded courts, he was always a far harder bargainer than she. Women who pleaded poverty, said they needed the kindling but did not have the necessary ha’penny, wrung no sympathetic tear from Danny’s bright eyes. He merely offered to call again later in the week and this usually resulted in some bad language, speedily followed by a ha’penny. So she would let him do the bargaining this time and see how they got on. There was always Packy’s after all.

‘Fifteen bob,’ Danny said at last. ‘I think fifteen bob’s fair.’

Mr King – if it was Mr King – rolled his eyes heavenwards, shrugged his shoulder up to his ears and groaned loudly. ‘Fifteen bob! You think I am made of money? If I gave every ragamuffin who came into my yard fifteen bob, soon there would be no yard, no business. What d’you say to thirteen and six?’

Danny heaved a sigh and shot out a grimy hand which Mr King immediately took, shaking it vigorously. ‘Right you are, thirteen and a kick it is,’ Danny said. ‘And you’ve had a bleedin’ good bargain, let me tell you, ’cos if me little partner here and meself hadn’t planned to go off to New Brighton on the first ferry, we’d ha’ taken our business elsewhere.’

‘And you’ll be back again, vith more good stuff?’ the old man enquired, digging into his pockets and producing a handful of silver and a bundle of extremely dirty notes. ‘You don’t wanna take your stuff to Pack’nham’s though; them fellers is real skinflints. They’ll beat you down and beat you down, and I’ll hear about it, so no use runnin’ back to me expectin’ me usual generous treatment, ’cos I wants first sniff at votever’s goin’.’ He had counted out thirteen shillings and sixpence into Danny’s grimy paw and hesitated, looking at the money as though he was considering snatching it back. Ginny was quite worried and was disproportionately relieved when the old man suddenly said: ‘Ve’ll make it fourteen bob. Here’s the extra sixpence, just so you don’t go runnin’ to no one else with a decent load like that.’

‘It’s a deal,’ Danny said joyfully, cramming the money into his pocket. ‘See you next week, mister.’

By ten o’clock, Ginny and Danny were on the ferry, heading for New Brighton. The money had been shared evenly between them, though Ginny had tried to insist that Danny should take the lion’s share, since it had been his idea and his bargaining powers which had got them such a good price. Danny, however, had said magnanimously that sharing, so far as he was concerned, meant fifty-fifty. Since Ginny knew the money would probably have to buy food for herself and Granny – Granny’s pension was not due again till next week – she agreed to this and tucked the cash into the pocket of her dress.

So now the children stood against the rail, watching New Brighton approach. The weather was brilliant, the sea calm, and everyone on the ferry was in a good humour. As the ferry docked, Ginny grabbed Danny’s hand. ‘D’you know, Danny, I’ve never had so much money all at one time in me whole life! Oh, I know we’ve made a bit from time to time, doin’ messages, babysittin’ and selling kindling, but I’ve never had seven whole shillings before. I’ll put aside two bob for spuds and that, but the rest I’ll bleedin’ well spend.’ She glanced around her, at the golden sunlight, the happy faces, the dancing water. ‘Yes, this’ll be the best day of me life!’

‘Well, Ginny? It were a good day, weren’t it? The sea were that warm, I could ha’ stayed in it all day, and weren’t the funfair grand? I reckon goin’ on the big dipper dried out me kecks, though they’re still a bit damp like round me waist. You were lucky, ’cos gals can swim in their knickers, but fellers can’t do that. Still an’ all, it were a grand day, weren’t it?’

Ginny nodded blissfully and put a well-salted chip into her mouth. The day had been every bit as wonderful as she had hoped and now, in the gathering dusk, the two of them were walking up James Street and sharing a paper of chips. The two shillings which Ginny had vowed to save had gone, alas, leaving only ninepence bumping against her knee as she walked. But last night, Gran drank all the money me dad sends and most of her pension as well, she reminded herself. So it’s up to her to go and see George and try to get him to part with the dibs. If she has to admit she’s drunk the money, then she’ll just have to face up to it.

‘Ginny?’ Danny’s voice sounded doubtful. ‘You said – you said you was goin’ to save two bob o’ the money towards food an’ that, but we’ve both been spendin’ like sailors. I’ve got ninepence left; how about you?’

‘The same,’ Ginny admitted. ‘Somehow, it just sort of … went. I reckon Granny Bennett will have to tell George the dibs ain’t in tune this week. She’ll think up some lie – say me dad’s money never arrived, or her pension rolled out of her purse and fell down the drain – but wharrever she says, I reckon George will shell out, even if he don’t believe a word of it. Not money, perhaps,’ she added hastily. ‘He doesn’t give her money, in case she drinks it. But he’ll come round wi’ a big canvas bag of veggies, a nice meat ’n’ potato pie, and an ounce or two of tea an’ sugar, just enough to see us through the week. He’s okay, my Uncle George, he won’t let us starve.’

Danny looked considerably relieved. ‘I were goin’ to offer you me ninepence, but if you don’t think you’ll need it, I’ll give it to me mam. Look, wharrabout next week? Are you on?’

‘Am I on! I just wish we could go every day; we’d be rich in no time,’ Ginny said enthusiastically. ‘You are so clever, Danny. First of all, you found the hiding place and let me share it wi’ you, so’s I could save up for me shoes, an’ now you’ve gorrus a way to make money which ain’t hurtin’ anyone. It’s a wonder no one else has thought of it.’