The Girl From Seaforth Sands (25 page)

‘Suzie’s already got a steak and kidney pud ready to put on to boil when the time’s right,’ Amy shrieked after them. ‘And Gran’s made a nice apple pie for afters, so don’t you be late, fellers.’ She turned to Mrs O’Leary as the boys disappeared. ‘If Dad’s being in hospital has done one good thing it has made me and Suzie get on much better; you could say we were friends even. She’s worked like a right one these past weeks and never a cross word between us. Dad’ll be right pleased when he realises we’re pals.’

Mrs O’Leary, who had set about cleaning some of the whiting for display on the front of the stall, looked up quickly. ‘Aye, it’s true you’ve been much easier wi’ one another whiles your Dad was out of the way,’ she said slowly, ‘but human nature is human nature, queen, and jealousy is one of them emotions you can’t just stifle – or not for long, any road. I don’t want to seem to look on the black side, but it wouldn’t surprise me if your stepma don’t revert to her old ways once your dad comes home.’

‘Oh, I don’t see why she should do that,’ Amy said. Surely the good understanding which had grown up between herself and Suzie could not simply disappear just because Bill was home? ‘I’ll keep on being friendly and helping her as much as I can without giving her dirty looks, so Dad will be able to love the pair of us and not have to choose.’ She turned back to the stall and picked up the two big wooden buckets which stood behind it. ‘Shall I go for the ice, now, Mrs O? Looks like we’ll need it with all those lovely whiting to sell.’

It seemed strange to Bill to leave the white, echoing cleanliness of the Stanley Hospital and to breathe the cold March air into lungs that were used to the mixed smells of disinfectant, carbolic soap and boiled cabbage, which seemed to make up the air in his ward. What was even stranger was the chill which touched his cheeks and hands, and the sudden realisation that his legs were no longer to be relied upon. Instinctively he clutched at Suzie’s arm and felt the reassuring strength of it, even as Charlie, on his other side, grasped him firmly by the elbow.

‘Feelin’ kind o’ shaky, Dad?’ Charlie asked gently. ‘Never you mind, I dare say anyone would feel the same if they have been flat on their backs for gerrin’ on two months. But don’t worry, we ain’t goin’ to ask you to walk all the way to Seaforth, there’s a cab waitin’ in the road, so you’ll travel home like the King of England.’

Suzie, on Bill’s other side, gave his hand a comforting squeeze. ‘Tek it slow,’ she advised, helping him across the pavement. ‘The cab’s no more than three yards away and Charlie and me’s strong, so lean on us.’

‘I’m awright,’ Bill said a trifle breathlessly, as he climbed the creaking steps into the cab. He lowered himself gingerly on to the warm leather seat, while Suzie settled herself beside him and Charlie jumped aboard, carrying a small carpet bag which contained Bill’s few possessions. ‘My, but don’t it take it out of you? I’ve always been a chap as could tackle any physical work and I thought I were doin’ well in hospital, but right now I feel as weak as any kitten.’

‘Never mind, Dad.’ Charlie gave him a reassuring grin. ‘They tell me when a woman has a babby she feels uncommon shaky when she first leaves her bed. Just you pretend you’re a nursin’ mother and . . .’

‘Stop your clack, you wicked young devil,’ Bill said, giving a reluctant grin. ‘I don’t need to pretend nothin’; it’s not many fellers as recover from con . . . concussion
and
the nastiest attack of pneumonia the doctor said he’s seen for a long while. Anyroad, once I’m in me own home and had a good night’s sleep in me own bed, I’ll be beatin’ you at your own game, young Charlie. Why, I’ll be fishin’ in a week or so!’

Suzie and Charlie exchanged quick, guilty
glances and Bill, settling back against the seat with a sigh of relief, grinned to himself. He knew well enough that it would be impossible for him to stroll down to the beach, let alone go out in the boat, for many weeks to come, but it would do no harm to pretend to be fitter than he really was. He had no intention of risking his future health by being foolish, for though he knew the boys had done well – or well enough – in his absence, he also knew that neither Charlie nor Gus had yet gained that special knowledge of the waters they fished, which it had taken him almost fifty years to acquire. Besides, Charlie’s heart was in the Midlands. The boy enjoyed the work and the independence and, of course, the company of his young lady and would, Bill knew, be reluctant to exchange his new life for the terrible harshness of fishing. Charlie worked under a roof during the severest months of the winter, whereas a fisherman would be out in all weathers, risking his life for his catch, which sometimes rewarded him well and at other times seemed scarcely worth the effort.

Edmund, working on distant water trawlers, had an even worse and harder existence, but trawlermen did at least get amply rewarded for their work – they were not known as ‘three-day millionaires’ for nothing. Bill sometimes thought that if something should happen to him, Gus might follow Edmund up to Fleetwood; perhaps the two boys might end up sharing a trawler between them, for fishing off the Great Burbo Bank was becoming harder, as fish stocks shrank and more boats came in to search for what fish there were. Now that he came to think of it, if Gus did go, Albert, Paddy and himself could manage the
Mersey Maid
and still make a living. Paddy was not experienced, but he was a
hard worker and was already a useful member of the crew when one or other of the boys was unable to work; he would do very well once he had built up some experience.

The cab lurched as the horse left the smooth surface of Crosby Road South and entered Seafield Grove. It jolted on for a short way, then the driver’s face appeared in the trapdoor. He was grinning encouragingly. ‘We’s arrived, lady and gents,’ he said, then withdrew and descended. He opened the door, seized Bill’s bag, stood it on the pavement and offered Suzie his hand. ’Out wit’ you, queen,’ he said breezily. ‘You go ahead and open the front door, so’s I can give your man me arm.’

And presently Bill, with a sigh of contentment, found himself sitting in his own chair, beside his own fire, with the kettle hopping on the range and Suzie bustling around making the tea. Despite himself Bill felt a slow smile spread across his face. They had been kind in hospital, the food hadn’t been bad, the other patients were friendly and the staff nursed the inmates devotedly. But it was not home. Bill, looking around him, felt confident that his true cure had begun.

Paddy came along Crosby Road and turned into Seafield Grove, then hesitated. It was Bill’s first day home and he knew he ought to go into the Logans’ house to have his tea and say hello to his stepfather. The nicer side of his nature wanted to do just that, for he was extremely fond of the older man and thought of him as the father he had never known. Bill had been kind to him from the very beginning – not just when he became his stepfather – but ever since he and Albert had become bezzies. Paddy
often told himself that he no longer hated Amy, who had stood by his mother when she had needed help most. However, old habits die hard. Try though he might, Paddy could not forget the stuck-up, know-all Amy, who had so often made him look a fool by twisting his words, so that a sneer meant to make her look small ended up by making him appear spiteful and ignorant.

So now, standing undecidedly on the pavement, he reminded himself that if he went in for his tea, Bill would not realise that he had been forbidden the house by Amy Cleverclogs Logan. It was not that he wanted to get Amy into trouble, exactly. It was not even that he wanted to live under the Logan roof once more. He rather enjoyed staying with Gran and being the man of the house, though he missed Albert’s constant companionship. It was more that he felt he had been cheated of his rights as a stepson. Amy, when all was said and done, was only a girl with no right to boss him around. Dammit, she was two years younger than him and, though he admitted he had been in the wrong when he told Bill Amy had deliberately flouted his wishes, that had been two months ago. He had apologised, hadn’t he? Surely by now the unpleasantness should have been forgotten? He could not imagine Bill bearing a grudge and thought that if he played his cards right he might yet see Amy humbled and himself brought back into favour.

So if he went into tea now, Bill would think everything was normal and would not discover that his stepson only came into the Logan kitchen on sufferance. On the other hand if Bill was still in the kitchen when tea was over and Paddy about to depart, surely he would ask where the boy was bound?

While Paddy hesitated, a hand smote him between the shoulder blades and a voice bellowed cheerfully, ‘Hey up, Paddy! Wharrer you doin’ standin’ in the middle of the road, gaping like a cod? Ain’t you comin’ in for tea? It’s Dad’s first night home and your mam’s made a steak an’ kidney pud.’

‘Albert! You damn near knocked me teeth down me bleedin’ throat,’ Paddy said aggrievedly. ‘Well, I dunno. It’s your sister; she . . . she may rather I went back to Gran’s.’

‘Well that’s something new, you worrying what our Amy thinks,’ Albert observed, linking his arm with Paddy’s. ‘Amy never says a word when you come in for tea, you know she don’t.’

‘Ye-es, but today’s kind o’ special,’ Paddy pointed out, but he allowed himself to be pulled down the jigger and into the Logans’ small backyard. Presently he found himself in the warm kitchen, with his mother about to dish up a large steak and kidney pudding and Amy bustling about, setting the table and making a big pot of tea. Baby Becky, who was scarcely four, had had her tea and been put to bed earlier, and Bill was sitting in his usual chair, looking tired but happy, and Paddy forgot his doubts and the desire to see Amy in trouble, melting away under the warmth of Bill’s greeting. He handed over the bag of bull’s-eyes and Bill stuck one in his cheek at once, promising the rest of the family that they might have one later, once tea was finished, but adding that most of the bull’s-eyes would follow the one at present in his mouth, for they were easily his favourite sweets.

Paddy was still grinning over the success of his small gift when Gus came in from the backyard, carrying more driftwood for the fire and Charlie followed close on his heels with a net slung over one arm. They both greeted Paddy pleasantly and very soon the family were settled at the table, with the best meal they had had for weeks before them, though Bill remained in his fireside chair with a tin tray on his lap. And somehow, Paddy did not quite know how, he realised that clever Amy had managed to slip into the conversation the fact that he, Paddy, was no longer living squashed up in the boys’ room above stairs, but was staying down the road with Gran and Aunt Dolly.

‘Since Gran’s been ill, Paddy’s been the man of the house, doing all their messages and keeping an eye on the old ladies,’ she observed, smiling with saccharine sweetness into Paddy’s enraged face. She had done it again, he thought bitterly. If he told Bill now that Amy had slung him out of the house on the night Bill had been taken into hospital it would merely make him look bad. What was more, everyone round the table, and possibly even Bill himself, would realise that he was trying to get Amy into trouble. All his old animosity against Amy flared for a moment, then died into sulky mutterings. It was no use; he would have to accept what Amy had said with a good grace and see how things panned out.

‘If you’ve finished your tea, Paddy, you might take a tray round to Gran and Aunt Dolly. I promised them their tea tonight, seem’ as it was somethin’ special,’ his mother said when Paddy’s plate was empty. ‘And your gran’s got an apple pie cookin’ in her oven, so you can bring that back with you. If she hasn’t cut it, you can take off a couple of slices for them and bring the rest back here.’

Paddy got to his feet but Amy was before him. ‘No need for that,’ she said sweetly. ‘Paddy can take the pudding helpings round – they’d be a bit heavy for me – but I’ll go with him and bring back the apple pie. He can eat his piece with Gran and Aunt Dolly so there won’t be any need for him to go out in the cold again.’

Paddy opened his mouth to protest but Bill said, rather wearily from his place by the fire, ‘I don’t think I’ll be having apple pie, thanks, queen. I dunno how it is but I feel as if I’ve run a mile today. I’ll be makin’ me way up to me bed and maybe, Amy love, you’d fetch me up a cup o’ tea next time you put the kettle on.’

So Paddy took the tray with the two helpings of steak and kidney pudding and floury boiled potatoes, without demur and set off, with Amy tagging at his heels. He put the food down on Gran’s kitchen table and the two old ladies settled themselves eagerly before it. Then he went to the oven, drew out the apple pie and plonked it rather crossly on the draining board. He got out three battered tin plates, while Amy poured cups of tea for the old ladies, then addressed her in a hissing whisper: ‘Well you’ve done it again, young Amy. You’ve seen me off on Uncle Bill’s first night home without anyone but me seein’ what you’re up to. But just you wait. One of these days I’ll be workin’ on the boat wi’ the other fellows, and you’ll still be selling shrimps door to door and slaving for old Ma O’Leary in St John’s fish market. And when I’ve a share in the boat . . .’

But Amy was not staying to listen. She gave him her sweetest smile, snatched up the apple pie, called her farewells over her shoulder and disappeared through the kitchen doorway.

Paddy, sitting down to his own share of the apple pie, wondered why he bothered to try to needle Amy. He always got the worst of it in the end. And what did it matter, when all was said and done? They were no longer a couple of kids, vying for Albert’s or Bill’s affection; they were young people in work with their own lives to lead. He determined, not for the first time, that he would stop irritating Amy. After all, she was Mary’s sister and Mary was an angel.

Pouring custard over his apple pie, he decided the best thing to do would be to ignore the girl completely. After all, he longed to join the crew of the fishing boat, hoping in his heart of hearts that one day he and Albert would own it between them, with a young lad as the third member of the crew. Once that happened he would have the position in life that he wanted and the hateful Amy, though ugly as a can of worms, would doubtless find some poor sucker to marry her and would go away from the little house in Seafield Grove.