Dancing in the Moonlight (17 page)

‘All right, all right.’ He scooped the child into his arms, turning to Lucy and saying, ‘This is me eldest, Matthew. Say hello to the visitors, Matthew,’ as he ushered
them all past him into a large sitting room-cum-kitchen.

Lucy blinked as the smell – a combination of stale urine and fish and other things besides – met her nostrils, but as she glanced around she could imagine that in former days, when
the fishmonger’s wife was alive, it had been a bonny home.

A suite of patterned plush stood angled round the small fireplace, which had no fire burning in the grate, and a beautiful leaf-carved mahogany bracket clock ticked the minutes by on the
mantelpiece, with a large number of brass ornaments keeping it company. It looked as though every item of furniture had been chosen with care, from the mirror-back sideboard with a central
bow-fronted cupboard to a pair of bun-feet display tables on either side of the window, which had dead-looking aspidistras on them. One wall had a number of plaques of different designs and shapes
covering it – a large central plaque decorated with the Virgin Mary and Child between winged putti within a garland of lemons and vines taking pride of place. Against another wall a large
display cabinet held pretty porcelain figurines. This, along with everything else, was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the floor was strewn with toys and clothes and bits of food and other
debris.

The kitchen area was even more grubby. A large leather-topped table was covered with the remains of many meals, as were two smaller tables, and an enormous dresser was almost devoid of its
crockery and kitchenware, which was scattered in piles on any available surface. A black-leaded range took up most of the far wall and in front of this, on a thick clippy mat, a small child lay
curled up sleeping.

The fishmonger must have noticed Lucy’s expression because his voice was defensive when he said, ‘It’s a bit of a mess. I’ve got me work cut out in the shop. It was the
wife who used to take care of things up here an’ see to the bairns. I pay a neighbour to bring in one hot meal a day for us an’ see to the weekly wash, but the rest of it . . .’
He waved a beefy hand at the chaos.

‘Who looks after your little lads?’ Lucy asked quietly.

The fishmonger ruffled the hair of the child nestled in his arms. ‘Matthew’s a big boy, aren’t you?’ he said to his son, who didn’t look a day over five. ‘He
looks after the little ’un an’ I pop upstairs when I can. I need to keep me business going or we’re all in queer street,’ he added when Lucy continued to stare at him.

She nodded quickly, hoping she hadn’t offended him. ‘Of course. How old are the bairns?’

‘I’m nearly five an’ he’s three,’ said Matthew from his perch, pointing at his brother. ‘Charley was dry in the day afore Mam went to heaven, but he wets
himself all the time now. He makes himself sick an’ screams a lot an’ all, an’ yesterday he bit me. Look.’ He held out a skinny arm and Lucy saw where a set of small teeth
had punctured and bruised the skin.

Lucy looked from the child to his father, who stared at her helplessly. She was very aware of Ruby and John and the twins huddled together just inside the doorway, but she didn’t glance
their way. This was what her mam had meant; this was why she’d heard her voice this morning. She had to grab this opportunity with both hands or . . . She couldn’t follow through on the
‘or’.
This had to work.
Quietly, keeping the excitement from showing, she said, ‘It strikes me you need someone up here more than in the shop, but if you took us on, we
could all help out. I could see to things up here an’ look after the bairns when you weren’t too busy below, an’ once my sister and brother are back from school they could work in
the shop till it closes. Those women said you’re busier in the evenings than at any other time, is that right? The twins could play with Charley and keep him happy – they like little
ones – and be friends for Matthew too.’

‘Take you on?’ There was utter bewilderment in his tone. ‘The five of you? Here? Livin’ here, you mean? Are you barmy, lass?’

‘We’d work for our bed and board, you wouldn’t have to pay us anything, and you’d save paying out to the neighbour and the wage for someone in the shop. I could get
things nice in here and your bairns would be well looked after, I promise. It – it’d be a home again for you an’ them.’ In spite of herself she couldn’t stop the
pleading note from sounding in her voice. ‘And for us,’ she finished weakly.

Ruby and the others had the sense to keep absolutely quiet. It was the little boy, Matthew, who spoke, twisting round in his father’s arms to put his small hands either side of the florid
face as he whispered, ‘I don’t want to look after Charley all the time an’ be locked in, Da. Can they come? Please?’

Percival Alridge was not a man who was easily nonplussed, but, as he put it to himself, right at this moment he didn’t know which end of him was up. People would think he’d gone
stark staring mad if he took five more bairns on – and right at this moment Lucy appeared little more than a bairn to him – but there was a grain of sense, more than a grain, in what
the lass had said. But five of them . . . Brusquely he said, ‘How old are you, lass? An’ the truth, mind.’

‘Fifteen. And Ruby there is eleven, John’s eight, coming up for nine, and the twins have just turned five. Ruby is big for her age and John’s as strong as a horse. We’re
good workers, Mr Alridge, and—’

‘Enough.’ He raised a hand, palm upwards to her. ‘Let me think.’ A gust of rain hammered at the window, waking the little boy on the mat, who rolled over, crying even
before he opened his eyes as he whimpered, ‘Mammy, Mammy.’

Whether it was this that decided in her favour Lucy would never know, but as he gazed at his son, Perce muttered, ‘I must want me head testing for even considerin’ such a daft
notion.’ Then he turned to her. ‘Look, lass, the lot of you can stay the night and I’ll listen to your story. I’m not saying more than that. Now there’s a pot roast in
the oven, but Mrs Mallard’s only made enough for me an’ the lads, so I’ll go down an’ sort out some cod and haddock for you to do for your lot, all right? I dare say
you’re peckish.’

‘Thank you, oh, thank you.’ Telling herself she mustn’t cry, Lucy tried desperately to keep her eyes from filling up.

‘Aye, well. . .’ The fishmonger cleared his throat twice. ‘Like I said, I’ll hear your story once the bairns are settled.’ Even as he spoke, Perce knew he’d
lost the battle. It wasn’t so much the pickle he was in since Ada had died, or even the fact that he couldn’t deny Charley was going from bad to worse and Matthew’s little
shoulders couldn’t continue to carry the load. It was the look in the young lass’s eyes when she’d thanked him.

The flat had three bedrooms, but the third was still kitted out as Ada’s sewing and ironing room. After they had eaten their fill and John had been bedded down with the
brothers in their double bed, and Ruby and the twins on a big eiderdown on the floor of the sewing room with a heap of blankets over them, Lucy and Perce had their chat. Lucy said nothing about
Jacob, or Tom Crawford forcing himself upon her. She found she couldn’t even bring herself to mention his name when she spoke of the man who had been instrumental in causing the deaths of her
father and brother, and Donald to leave Sunderland.

Contrary to his nature, Perce listened without asking any questions or interrupting the flow. He was aware this child-woman was nervous – even frightened – of him. She had recoiled
when their hands had touched accidently as she’d handed him a cup of tea and she was as tense as a coiled spring as she spoke. It made him wonder if there was more to her story than she was
telling him. Was she in trouble with the law? Was that the real reason for the moonlight flit?

He immediately dismissed the idea. Lucy was honest. He’d bet his life on it. And after all she’d gone through she was bound to be worked up. One thing was for sure: if she and her
brood were prepared to work for their bed and board, he couldn’t lose on the deal. He was paying through the nose for what Mrs Mallard did and she wasn’t even much of a cook, and if he
didn’t have to fork out for another lad to help in the shop, he’d be quids in. More than that, he was sick of living in a pigsty and it’d be a weight off his mind to have Charley
and Matthew looked after. Ada would turn in her grave if she could see her home the way it was. She’d been houseproud to a fault, had Ada.

Lucy had finished her story and was sitting quietly with her hands in her lap, her great eyes fixed on his face as he came out of his reverie.

He looked at her for a moment without speaking. He’d never seen peepers like hers, he thought. She was a bonny lass altogether. Give it a year or two and she’d grow into a beautiful
woman, one who’d turn heads wherever she went. There was a sweetness to her face that got you somehow.

Running a hand through his bristly hair, he leaned forward slightly and again noticed the almost imperceptible movement of her body away from him. Always one for calling a spade a spade, he said
quietly, ‘Do I frighten you, lass?’

Lucy blinked, the colour suffusing her face almost scarlet. She wanted to deny it; he’d hardly take them on if she admitted the truth, but the words wouldn’t come.

He nodded slowly as if she had affirmed it. ‘Look, lass, I might be a bit rough an’ ready, but you’ve nothing to fear from me, all right? It’s me way to be a bit
bumptious and mouthy. Well, you saw me in the shop, didn’t you, and the customers like it, that’s the thing. But I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head. Nor the little
’uns.’

Lucy nodded, her throat full. He was a nice man, she could see that, and it wasn’t his fault he was so big and hairy and sweaty. Swallowing hard, she said shakily, ‘I know. Really, I
know.’

He nodded again. ‘So, the way I see it, you’re in a pickle and I’m in a bit of a one meself. My Ada was a good wife an’ mother, an’ the bairns miss her, especially
Charley. I was thinkin’ I might have to get someone in to mind ’em and to see to the house full-time, a housekeeper you might say, but to tell you the truth I couldn’t afford what
they’d ask, not with paying a lad down in the shop an’ all. If you an’ the others are prepared to work for your keep – not the two little ’uns of course, I don’t
mean them – I think we might have got ourselves a satisfactory arrangement all round. Your brother an’ sister can help me downstairs once they’re back from school of an
evenin’, an’ in the mornin’ for a couple of hours afore they go, an’ if I need you during the day I can shout up and you can come down for a bit. That shouldn’t happen
too often, but you can never tell what a day’ll bring.’

He stopped, clearing his throat – something Lucy was to learn was a habit when he was embarrassed or out of his depth – before he said, ‘There, there, lass, don’t take
on, there’s nowt to cry about.’

‘You – you’re so kind.’ The tears streaming down her face, Lucy tried to pull herself together.

‘Aye, well, I don’t know about that, you’ll have your hands full an’ no mistake.’ He smiled at her, revealing surprisingly white, even teeth. ‘We’ll see
about a couple of beds for you an’ your sisters, an’ you can organize that room how you want it. You’ll find a stack of material in there. Ada was always buying bits that caught
her eye and makin’ something or other. I dare say you can use a sewing machine?’ – Lucy couldn’t, but she nodded anyway, telling herself she would soon learn –
‘so you can run a few things up for yourself and the bairns when you’ve time.’

Lucy nodded again. She was well aware they looked a motley crew. ‘We’ve some things in the trunk,’ she said quietly. ‘Blankets and a few bits from home.’

‘Aye, well, everything’ll come in useful, lass. I’ll bring it up later and you can sort out tomorrow. For now’ – he rose ponderously to his feet – ‘you
get away to bed. You’re goin’ to be busy tomorrow sure enough.’

‘Thank you.’ Lucy had stood up when he did and now she faced him, wetting her lips before she said, ‘That’s not enough, to say thank you, but I promise you won’t
regret taking us in, Mr Alridge. We’ll work day and night to pay you back.’ Even as she said it she wondered how she was going to make Ruby come up to scratch.

‘Aye, well, you can start paying me back by forgetting the “Mr Alridge”, lass. Makes me feel old enough to meet my Maker, that does. The name’s Perce, short for Percival.
Ada always used to call me Percy, but she was the only one who did.’

Realizing she ought to have said it before, Lucy murmured, ‘I’m sorry about your wife, Mr – Perce.’

‘So am I, lass. So am I.’ There was a depth of sadness in his voice. ‘Known each other from bairns, me an’ Ada, an’ she was one of the best.’ Briskly now he
turned from her, saying over his shoulder, ‘I’ve things to do downstairs for mornin’, so I’ll say goodnight.’

Lucy stood staring after him when he had gone. She had seen his eyes fill up just before he’d left; he must have loved his wife very much. The thought was comforting and for the first time
since she had walked into the shop she found herself relaxing a little. Letting out her breath in a great sigh, she glanced round the room. It was grubby and messy, and the square of carpet in the
sitting room and the clippy mat in front of the range stank from where Charley had wet himself numerous times. The smell in the boys’ bedroom had knocked her backwards too.

In spite of her exhaustion she itched to get started on transforming the fishmonger’s home back to how it used to be, but telling herself that tomorrow was another day – one more of
her mother’s aphorisms – she crept into the room where Ruby and the twins were sleeping. Just as she was, she crawled under the blankets next to Ruby, who was snoring softly, and in
spite of the hard floor, which the eiderdown did little to alleviate, she was asleep within moments.

The next weeks were ones of hard work and adjustment for the occupants of the house-cum-shop in Long Bank, but by the middle of June, when suffragists were mourning the death
of Emmeline Pankhurst, the First Lady of women’s suffrage, Lucy and her brother and sisters were settled into a routine. Lucy had resisted attempting to find out news of Jacob, although she
thought of him all the time. There was little possibility he’d pulled through, but if he had, he was still lost to her as finally as if he were dead. Tom Crawford was dangerous – just
how dangerous she hadn’t fully realized until that night in May – and his last words rang in her ears when she thought of Jacob. Tom would kill Jacob if she went to him. She’d
heard the truth in his voice when he’d threatened her and she believed absolutely he would do it. She had to forget her old life and make this new one work. There was no other choice.