The Girl From Seaforth Sands (31 page)

‘You’d wonder what?’ Ella asked after a moment when Amy said no more, but Amy only shook her head. This did not mean, however, that she had not had what amounted to a revelation. She had written to Mary and had not omitted to tell her how they had met Philip and his friend on the train and what a jolly journey they had. Was it possible that Mary’s early fancy for Philip was actually causing her to come back to Liverpool? Now that she thought about it seriously, she realised that it was highly unlikely Mary would have known that Philip no longer lived in Manchester until she had received Amy’s letter. But the more Amy thought about it, the less she believed it possible. She did not know much about Mary’s young man but surely her sister would be well aware that a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush? To come flying back to Liverpool just because Philip, whom she hardly knew, had returned to that city seemed an act of madness and Mary had always been level-headed, with an eye to the main chance.

I’m letting my imagination run away with me, Amy decided, taking the kettle off the gas ring and pouring hot water into the basin which they used for washing up. But having allowed the thought to take possession of her mind, she knew she would have to go to Seaforth that very Sunday and find out just why her sister had decided to come home.

Amy had planned to catch the early tram on Sunday, so that she might arrive in Seaforth in time to go to church with the rest of her family, but she had reckoned without the number of people who would want to travel from the city centre to Seaforth Sands on a fine Sunday in June. Three trams sailed past her, crammed to the eyebrows, with at least fifty people perilously strap-hanging, before she was able to climb aboard the fourth. So it was well past noon before she eventually got off the tram at the Rimrose Bridge.

It had been several weeks since she had last visited her family and she had not told them that she intended to do so today, so she was delighted, as she turned into Crosby Road, to find a small figure hurrying towards her along the pavement. It was Becky, pigtails flying, one ribbon already missing, but with a broad beam on her small face. ‘Amy!’ Becky squeaked, hurling herself into her older sister’s arms. ‘I come down the road ’cos our mam said our Mary were goin’ to be on the next tram and there’s you!’ She gazed anxiously up into Amy’s face. ‘
Was
Mary on your tram, our Amy? She writ to our dad sayin’ she were gettin’ a train today, ’cos her young man were takin’ her to the pictures, Sat’day, only Sunday trains ain’t good, our dad says. She weren’t on your tram, were she, Amy?’

‘No, she wasn’t. And she may not be on a tram for some time, queen, because it’s a lovely day and everyone wants to get to the seaside, so the queues for the trams are miles long – I had difficulty myself in getting aboard.’

‘What’ll I do then, our Amy?’ the small girl enquired. Amy smiled down at her sister; she was a pretty thing, with her blonde hair cut into a fringe across her forehead and the rest plaited into two fat little pigtails. She had a rosy, cherubic face and large, light-blue eyes, and Amy had to admit that Suzie dressed the child beautifully now that she had the money to do so, and always saw to it that she was spotlessly clean. Today Becky wore a blue and white gingham smock dress, covered by a frilled white pinafore with white cotton stockings and neat brown shoes. Amy remembered how she and the others, including Paddy, had always gone barefoot in the summer, and thought there were advantages in being the spoilt youngest of the family, when the older children had all grown up. But she did not grudge Becky her boots or pretty clothes and was just glad, for the child’s sake, that both Bill and Suzie clearly adored the little girl.

‘Amy!’ Becky shook the hand she was clasping impatiently. ‘Shall I wait for the next tram or can we go home? I didn’t really want to come up to meet Mary all that much ’cos I don’t know her very well, not nearly as well as I know you. Besides, she’s stayin’ for a week this time an’ I dare say you’ve only popped in to have tea with us. So shall us go home, Amy? The boys are home, of course, though Gus usually goes out of a Sunday. Oh, Amy, did you know Gus has fallen out wi’ Peggy Higgins? And they’ve been goin’ steady for three years – longer!’

‘Well I never,’ Amy said, as the two of them, hand in hand, began to walk up Crosby Road. ‘Mind you, people do fall out from time to time, you know; it’s probably what they call a lover’s tiff and in a few days they’ll be going steady again.’

‘They won’t, though,’ Becky said positively, swinging vigorously on Amy’s hand. ‘Peggy’s gorra little sister what’s only two years older than me and she says Peggy don’t care for Gus no more; she’s gorra feller who ships aboard the
Devanha
what goes regular to India and the Far East. Elly, that’s Peggy’s sister, says he brung back a china tea set for Peg wi’ little cups like eggshells, all painted wi’ pagodas and such. She says Gus never give Peggy nowt but the odd bag o’ shrimps.’

‘Well!’ Amy said, considerably shocked to hear her small sister passing on such gossip. ‘I tell you what though, queen, if all Peggy thinks about are what presents a feller can hand out, Gus is better off without her. Although it seems a shame he wasted all those years courting her.’

‘Oh, Gus don’t mind,’ Becky said cheerfully. ‘He says women just hold a feller back and he’s goin’ to take a berth aboard a trawler like our Edmund done and make his fortune that way. Then Peg will be sorry, he says.’

‘I dare say she’ll be sorry long before that,’ Amy said, as they turned into Seafield Grove. ‘You know the strike everyone’s been talking about, queen? Well, it means there’s a great many sailors hanging about the city, bored with having nothing to do. Probably Peggy’s new young man is one of them and when the strike’s over and his ship sails he won’t give Peg another thought. And serve her right,’ she ended, as the pair of them
crossed the yard and entered the Logan kitchen. She could not help reflecting, however, as she glanced round the room, that things had changed greatly in the years since she had lived at home. The kitchen had been freshly painted and the worn and shabby furniture she remembered had been replaced by a new upholstered sofa and two easy chairs. The old stoneware sink, with its slippery wooden draining boards, had gone and there was a modern sink unit where it had once stood. Instead of the rickety sideboard, which Isobel had told her had been left in the house by the previous tenants, a smart mahogany one now leaned against the wall. Also, bright damask curtains hung at the windows and, when Becky sat down, it was on a sateen-covered pouffe instead of the three-legged wooden stool which had usually accommodated the youngest Logan child.

The changes had come gradually, of course, and Amy had long realised that the ownership of the fish stall had done wonders for the family’s economy. As Bill said, they had cut out the middle man completely, selling virtually from the boat to the public so that the fish was always the freshest available and customers’ recommendations meant that there was scarcely any waste.

What was more, now that they only paid the rent on this one house, Bill had taken on an extra allotment and he, Gus and Albert – and probably Paddy, too, for all she knew – grew vegetables there, for when Suzie took her shrimps from door to door, she had begun to sell fresh vegetables, and found they were as popular as the fish and sold every bit as well.

With a little more money available, things had
become easier all round. Suzie no longer took in washing and the family ate shop-baked bread, though Suzie’s cooking had improved considerably. Gran had left an old exercise book in which she had noted down her favourite recipes and Suzie, carefully conning it, began to present her family with cakes, pies and puddings, and was delighted with their enthusiastic response.

Now Bill, who had been sitting reading an old copy of the
Echo
, puffing away at his pipe, turned at Amy’s entrance and stood up. ‘Well, blow me down!’ he exclaimed, crossing the room towards her and taking both her hands in his. ‘Here was I expectin’ one daughter and who should turn up but t’other! I’m delighted to see you, queen, but where’s you sprung from, eh? We were expectin’ Mary. She wrote and said she were comin’ home today so Suzie sent our Becky down to the tram to meet her. Though I’m powerful glad to see you, Mary or no Mary,’ he ended, giving her a kiss and a hug.

‘There’s a deal of fuss going on in the city because of this here strike,’ Amy said, carefully unpinning her hat and hanging it on the back of the kitchen door, ‘and on a fine day, everyone wants to get away from trouble and down to the beach. So the trams were chock-a-block. Still, I got here in the end. The truth is, Dad, that Mary wrote to me as well and I thought, since I was off today, I’d pop over and see her – and the rest of you, of course – so we could have a good old jangle. But it looks as though, if I want to see Mary, I’ll have to make some other arrangement.’

Bill had returned to his newspaper, but now he looked up. ‘Suzie, Gus and Albert have gone up to the allotment. They won’t be long but Suzie
fancied cookin’ a mess of peas for our supper, so they’ve gone to pick any that’s ripe. You know we sell ’em now. We do well with ’em in summer and in winter the root vegetables go down a treat, so one way and another we ain’t doin’ bad.’

‘I know and I think it’s grand,’ Amy said, taking the chair opposite her father’s. ‘The kitchen looks lovely, too, Dad. Isn’t Mary going to have a surprise when she gets here? It must be months since she was last home.’

Becky, having come in with Amy, asked brightly, ‘Can I go to the ’lotment, Dad? I can help carry the veggies home.’

‘Yes, but don’t you go eatin’ all the peas afore we’ve had a chance to shell them,’ Bill said, grinning. As the back door slammed behind Becky, he turned to his older daughter. ‘Did our Becky tell you about Gus?’

‘Yes, she couldn’t wait to tell me,’ Amy said, smiling. ‘It’s a pity, but these things do happen.’

Bill was beginning to reply when the back door opened and the rest of the family surged into the room, with Becky dancing ahead. Suzie came over and kissed her stepdaughter with a warmth that Amy appreciated, since when she had lived at home such warmth had been notable only by its absence. Albert came over and punched her in the shoulder, the way brothers do, and Gus ruffled her hair, saying jovially, ‘Where’s you sprung from, our Amy? We were expectin’ Mary, but not yourself. Have you heard about . . .’

‘If you mean that you and Peggy have split up, you can’t enter Seaforth without someone giving the news,’ Amy laughed up at her big brother. ‘I’m not going to offer you my condolences, though, because the general opinion seems to be you’re well out of it. Met anyone else yet?’

Gus snorted. ‘No, nor I don’t want to,’ he said gruffly. ‘I wasted the best years of me life on Peggy Higgins; now I’m goin’ to have me some fun before I’m too old to appreciate it. Wharr I want is a fast woman – do you know any, young Amy?’

Amy spluttered and rose to her feet to give Gus a slap, but he had carried the heavy basket of vegetables through into the scullery, so she sat down again. Albert, who held a string bag full of pea pods, came over to her, tipped a quantity into her lap and stood a heavy saucepan down by her side. ‘Shell ’em for our tea, there’s a good little sister,’ he said, going over to the door to kick off his muddy boots. Over his shoulder he went on, ‘No one said as how you were comin’ home today, Amy, you could’ve let us know. That young Durrant girl comes home most Sundays, don’t she?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Amy said, surprised, ‘just lately I’ve been doing a lot of shift work, so I haven’t had many Sundays off myself. Still, I couldn’t have told Ruthie I was coming home because I only made up my mind yesterday, when the boss said he wouldn’t be needing me in today. Hotels aren’t like shops and such, we have to have a full staff in seven days a week.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter; you’re here now,’ Albert said lazily, sitting down beside her and beginning to ping peas into the saucepan. He followed Amy’s example and dropped the empty pods in a neat pile by the fast-emptying string bag. ‘Wharrabout young Peggy Higgins, then, did Gus tell you . . .’

‘Everyone’s telled her,’ roared Gus from the scullery. ‘Honest to God, there’s no need of a town crier in Seaforth; every perishin’ person knows your business almost before you know it yourself.’

‘Well, it’s the most excitin’ thing to happen in Seaforth for half a century,’ Albert said, grinning. ‘I wonder when our Mary will arrive, though? Paddy said he were goin’ to come home via the Rimrose Bridge to see if he could meet her, so mebbe the two of them will turn up in time to eat supper, if not help prepare it.’

Amy was making a joking reply when the back door burst open and a tall, broad-shouldered young man entered the room, closely followed by a girl, dressed in the height of fashion and wearing a hat so large and flower-bedecked that it was all she could do to get it through the doorway. Amy stared hard at the young man, scarcely able to believe that this was Paddy, but when Becky jumped up from her pouffe, squeaking ‘Ooh, ooh, our Mary, ain’t you grand!’ she was almost betrayed into a gasp of astonishment.

Apart from the hat, which completely hid Mary’s abundant curls, her sister was wearing a plum-coloured silk two-piece suit, with a lace jabot at the neck and a nipped-in waist. The skirt was full and brushed the ground. It must, Amy thought, have been uncomfortable for such a hot day, but her sister did look very smart and she supposed that her appearance mattered more to Mary than her comfort.

There was a concerted shout from the assembled family and, while Paddy crossed the kitchen quietly carrying Mary’s bags, Amy managed another covert glance at him. She had not seen him for several months, since if she came on a Sunday and he was pre-warned, he always absented himself
from the house and on a weekday, of course, he was out with her brothers in the fishing boat. Now, reluctantly almost, she saw that Paddy had grown into a sturdy and self-reliant young man. He was not handsome but he had a pleasantly tanned face and his dark hair curled attractively across a broad forehead.

He saw her looking at him and shot her a quick glance, accompanied by a smile which revealed even white teeth. ‘Hello, Shrimpy,’ he said as he passed her chair, his eyes twinkling wickedly, and Amy, who had intended to be coolly friendly, found that at the mere mention of the old nickname her hackles had risen and her brows had drawn into a frown. She would have liked to ignore the remark – and Paddy – altogether, but remembering how she had promised herself not to be nasty, said coldly, ‘Hello, Paddy.’