The Girl From Seaforth Sands (14 page)

‘Aye,’ Gran said briefly. She held out the bulging bag of clean linen. ‘Here you are. You’d best gerroff now, queen, ’cos young Amy can’t go to school till you’re there to look after the babby. Unless Albert’s staying behind today?’

Suzie snorted, taking the bag of clean linen, and turned towards the door. ‘Bill wouldn’t let Albert stay behind on a day like this, Gran. A fine September is a grand month for the shrimps and now that Charlie’s livin’ away, Bill needs Albert as well as Gus. Mind, if it looks as though I’m goin’ to be held up, young Amy will bring the babby down to meet me. Not that she minds bein’ late in school ’cos she’s a clever kid, top of her class. She’s got big ideas, has Miss Amy, and her dad encourages her. Still, there you are. Men’s often fools over their daughters I’m told.’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Gran said, as Suzie opened the door, ‘havin’ only had sons meself. And how come Mr Logan is suddenly Bill, eh?’

Suzie, halfway out of the door, chuckled. ‘That’s just between ourselves,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, there’s a load of perks attached to this job an’ I’m not goin’ to risk muckin’ things up by gettin’ too familiar. I’ll call him Mr Logan . . .’ she smiled wryly at the older woman ‘. . . until he asks me to use his Christian name,’ she finished and shut the door gently behind her.

Walking up Seafield Grove with the heavy bag of clean linen, Suzie saw Amy poised on the pavement outside her own home. As soon as the girl noticed the woman approaching she jerked her thumb at the open door behind her. ‘She’s asleep,’ she called softly. ’Awright if I go now?’

‘Aye, you bugger off,’ Suzie bawled cheerfully. She would not have said such a thing had Bill been at home, but it amused her to try to shock Amy when there were no other members of the family within earshot. Not that Amy ever acted shocked, but Suzie had a shrewd suspicion that the girl was aware how Isobel would have disliked such language. ‘Got your carry-out, chuck?’ The question was rhetorical, since Amy always saw that the family had food of some sort for their midday meal; Bill liked his bread cut fresh in the morning and not prepared the night before. Suzie baked the bread, or rather Mr Marsh, the local baker, did the actual cooking, while Gran or even Aunt Dolly usually made and proved the round cottage loaves. Suzie
could cook and at first had taken some pride in making bread for the Logans, but Bill had complained that the loaves were heavy and lay on his stomach like lead. He had suggested that Suzie should buy bread, but since Isobel had not done so, Suzie pretended that the loaves were heavy because she was trying to use Isobel’s recipe and had commandeered Gran for the task. Bill, totally unaware of this, had been heard to tell friends and relatives about Suzie’s delicious bread, and although Amy might purse her lips and give an exasperated sigh, she had not mentioned the facts of the case. Suzie concluded that either Amy was ignorant of the ruse or she had some other motive for keeping her own counsel. Whichever it was, it suited Suzie’s book to be thought a first-rate cook, for she had a plan of her own, which she had confided to neither the Keagans nor the Logans.

Softlee, softlee, catchee monkey, Suzie thought to herself, as she moved around the Logans’ house, which was twice the size of her own and infinitely more pleasant. If I play me cards right I’ll be so indis . . . indis . . . Oh, I’ll be so useful to ’em that when I say I’s got to leave they’ll do anything, just about, to get me to stay. Oh aye, Bill Logan has gorra rely on me so much that he won’t know how to go on wi’out me. Once I gorrim to that stage, it’ll be plain sailin’ for Suzie Keagan, ’cos nothin’ will be too good for me. Thank Gawd, our gran knew how to pot shrimps, though, or there wouldn’t be the money for any extra perks lerralone the ones I get already.

She dumped the basket of linen on the kitchen table and went over to the cradle. The baby was sleeping, as Amy had said, but Suzie knew that it would not be long before the child awoke and
demanded attention. In the meantime there were the breakfast dishes to wash up, the porridge saucepan to scour and a number of small jobs to be done, before she dressed the baby and took her up the road to do the messages. Amy could be persuaded, or even commanded, to do a great deal, but she stuck her heels in over such things as the porridge pan. She told Suzie frankly that she was too busy on school mornings to heat water for the dishes. ‘I do more than my share,’ she had said bluntly, right at the beginning, when Suzie had first started working for the Logans. ‘But I’m not a skivvy to keep your hands out of water, Mrs Keagan, when my dad thinks you do the lot. And if you don’t wash up and keep baby Becky nice when I’m at school, I’ll tell my Dad, honest to God I will. I’ll do what I can, but I won’t be pushed around and nor will Albert, not if I can prevent it.’

But that had been back in March, when Albert was still in school. Now, with Albert working; on the fishing boat alongside his father and his brother Gus, there was no question of Suzie having two helpers. When it came to peeling the shrimps, of course, she had both Gus and Albert to help, and often managed to rope Paddy in as well, but for the ordinary everyday running of the house she had to make do with Amy.

It often crossed Suzie’s mind to wonder why Amy, who she knew had never liked her, did so much of the housework without ever complaining to her father. There must be something behind it. Perhaps she’s writing lists of what I do and what she does and one of these days, when I need to have her on my side, she’ll split on me to her dad and it’ll be all up wi’ me, Suzie thought. But she had always
lived for the moment and knew that whatever the challenge, she would face up to it when it came. She was aware that the longer she worked for Bill the less likely he would be to believe ill of her. So if young Amy was storing up grievances she would probably find, when the time came to reveal all, that she had left it too late. By then, even if he believed her, Bill Logan would not be able to envisage life without Suzie.

Smiling with satisfaction, Suzie hauled the big kettle over the fire and began to pile the dirty dishes in the low stone sink.

Amy, meanwhile, making her way to school, was also thinking about Suzie and the future. Not that she called her Suzie, of course; Bill would have been outraged at such familiarity. He always addressed her as Mrs Keagan and expected the children to do likewise. But Amy, though she did as she was bidden, always thought of Suzie by her first name and usually with contempt. She told herself that she was well aware of the game Suzie was playing but was not prepared to put a spoke in her wheel, since she knew, probably even better than her father did, how dependent they were on the older woman. Without Suzie they would not have old Gran Keagan’s help, just for a start. Nor would Paddy allow himself to be roped in for the shrimp shelling and even Paddy’s Great-Aunt Dolly had her uses to the Logan family, though Amy was not supposed to know this.

So, for the time being at least, as Suzie had guessed, Amy made a mental note of each and every one of Suzie’s peccadilloes and having a phenomenal memory – which stood her in good stead at
school – knew she would be able to recite the ever lengthening list, should it become necessary. This gave her some comfort when she was up to her eyes in work and saw Suzie idly slopping around the kitchen with a cup of tea in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Bill did not approve of women smoking, but so far he had never caught her at it. Amy thought the smell of the Woodbines, the cigarettes which Suzie favoured, was disgusting and always knew when the older woman had been having a crafty puff, but Bill was a pipe man, so she assumed that his nose was so used to the smell of the strong shag he smoked that other smells tended to pass him by. When Amy had first started noticing how Suzie behaved she had faced Bill with some of her less pleasant tricks and had been astonished at Bill’s reaction.

He had grabbed her by both shoulders, given her a good shaking and slapped her face so hard that his fingermarks had lingered for a whole day. ‘You wicked, clat-bearin’ little liar,’ he had shouted, his eyes glittering with fury. ‘We couldn’t manage wi’out Mrs Keagan and well you know it! She’s been a grand friend to this family, none better, and I’ll thank you never to let another spiteful word pass your lips when you’re speaking of someone who’s saved our family from bein’ split up. If it hadn’t been for her, likely you an’ baby Becky would’ve been sent to the Culler children’s home by now. How d’you think I’d ha’ looked after two little girls on me own, once your mam was gone, eh?’

Amy, who had been her father’s favourite for so long, had been appalled by his violence towards her and shocked that he could call her a liar. As for his blindness over Suzie’s faults, she could only marvel
at it, but for the time being, at least, she held her tongue.

‘Hey, Amy! Ain’t you a-goin’ to say hello to your pals, then? I hollered to you twice as you were comin’ up the road and you never so much as looked up.’ Ruth, with a younger sister on either hand, came panting up beside Amy and immediately all thoughts of Suzie and the Keagan family went out of Amy’s head.

‘Sorry, Ruth,’ Amy said contritely. She took hold of the other hand of the smallest Durrant and the four of them began to walk along the pavement in the direction of the school, ‘Have you got a carry-out or is it a ha’penny for a milk roll today?’

‘Slice of bread and jam, but the jam’s spread awful thin,’ Ruth said, patting the pocket of her faded tweed jacket. It had once belonged to a man and had probably been bought second- or even fifth-hand from Paddy’s Market, but Mrs Durrant was good with her needle and had cut it down to make her daughter a coat for school. ‘I say, you know that Paddy Keagan, the one whose mam works for you?’

‘Course I know him, worse luck,’ Amy said scornfully. ‘Wish I didn’t know him, nor his mam neither, but I do. Why? What’s he done
this
time?’

‘He’s been an’ gone an’ got hisself caught nickin’ sweets from Miz O’Mara’s confectionery on Whitefield Road,’ Ruth said. ‘He’s gorra good job, too. Me mam says he don’t need to nick sweets when there’s two of ’em in work and they’s ever so generous in the dairy. He gets milk, butter, cheese – oh, all sorts – give him to take home at the end of each week. So why nick?’

‘I dunno,’ Amy said doubtfully. She did not like Paddy any better for being thrust into his company
when shelling shrimps, but she did acknowledge, albeit grudgingly, that he did his share without more than the usual grumbling. Furthermore, she did not envy him having a mother like Suzie, who always put herself first. ‘I think he probably has to make his own carry-out and I expect his mam takes most of his money, if not all. Besides, who said he nicked the stuff? That Mrs O’Mara is a right spiteful old gal. If he so much as touched a liquorice stick, or a sherbet dab, she’d want to be paid for ’em. Did she call the scuffers?’

‘No-o-o,’ Ruth admitted, having thought the matter over. ‘I don’t know as how she’d caught him, come to think. But she told Mrs McGregor and she told my Aunt Ethel, and Aunt Ethel told me mam that young Keagan had been nickin’ when the shop was busy, so I thought . . .’

‘Well, of all the nerve!’ Amy gasped, truly shocked that her friend could repeat such unfounded gossip as if it were fact. ‘I’m not saying anything against your Aunt Ethel, but I wouldn’t trust mad ole Ma McGregor as far as I could throw her, which isn’t far since she’s the size of an elephant. Don’t you go saying that to anyone else, Ruthie, or you’ll get in real trouble, so you will. Paddy’s horrible, I can’t stand the sight of him, but fair’s fair. I mean, when we were kids, most of us nicked the odd fade off the market – what’s one rotten apple to a stallholder, after all – or a handful of aniseed balls, if they were parked low on the counter. Human nature, isn’t it, when your mam and dad can’t afford to give you the odd ha’penny?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Ruth admitted. ‘I won’t say nothin’ to nobody else then, Amy. It was just . . . well, now he’s got a job . . . it seemed worse
somehow than a schoolkid takin’ the odd sweetie. Still an’ all, mad Ma McGregor is a nasty piece of work and she do hate Mrs Keagan. She reckons Mrs Keagan took her job at the pub last year and she says as how she might’ve fallen for the shrimp pottin’, if Mrs Keagan hadn’t shoved her nose in.’

‘Huh!’ Amy said succinctly. She did not like having Mrs Keagan around the house, but the thought of mad Ma McGregor shuffling around their kitchen, smelling like a midden and poking her long nose into everything, made her realise that things could have been worse. And she felt quite proud of having scotched the nasty story about Paddy before it had really got going. She might not like him – in fact she absolutely hated him – but she had defended him almost as though he had been a Logan.

She had looked into the shippon when doing messages for Suzie along Great Homer Street and had thought Paddy was lucky in his work. She liked horses and a dairy had a great many horses for pulling the milk carts, and she also liked cows, with their big soft eyes and, at certain times of year, their wobbly-legged calves trotting at heel. She thought it must be an amusing place to work and when she went into the dairy to buy a dewy slab of butter or a triangular cut from one of the big cheeses she quite envied the young girls in their neat white coats, who sliced the butter, weighed and wrapped it in an instant. She was only twelve, of course, but she was sure that her time remaining in school would pass like a flash and she wanted to choose a job for herself, rather than take anything that was offered. She was bright, top of her class in almost everything and her teacher, Miss Musgrove, had told her mother the previous autumn, ‘Young Amy has great potential and might easily go on to higher education, if you so wished.’

Amy was well aware, however, that further education was unlikely to be an option now. While her mother was alive and Mary at home, they would have managed somehow, but as things stood at present Amy’s help, and eventually her wage, were essential to the Logan family. So instead of letting her mind dwell on a future as a teacher, secretary, or bank employee, she thought about shops, the dairy or possibly even a waitress in a dining room. But she would have preferred a job that kept her out of doors; she had had enough of being cooped up in the house to last her a lifetime she had decided.