The Girl From Seaforth Sands (45 page)

Encouraged by this, other parlour games were embarked on. They played ‘The Moon Is Round . . .’, and, ‘I Went to Market . . .’. The boys wanted to play ‘Postman’s Knock’, but at this point Suzie, Amy and Minnie disappeared into the scullery to serve the supper, which they had made earlier, so the game was abandoned whilst they ate scones and shortbread and drank tea or beer.

When supper had been cleared away Ruthie, looking at the flushed faces of her little sisters, suggested that perhaps she ought to be taking them home, but Albert said hastily that they would play a quiet game first to calm the kids down a bit. A discussion ensued, at the end of which Bill went to the kitchen dresser and, opening one of the long drawers, produced some sheets of lined paper and several stubs of pencil. He explained the game of ‘Consequences’ to the younger members of the group, handed each person present a piece of paper and a pencil, and the game began. Although this was a quiet game it produced almost as much hilarity as ‘Chinese Whispers’ had done. When the papers were collected up and first one person and then another read the results on the page he held there was a good deal of laughter.

At this point, Ruthie rose to her feet, saying firmly that no matter how they tempted her she must go home now, for by the time she had put her little sisters to bed she would be almost asleep on her feet. ‘And tomorrow I’m back in the dining rooms, probably rushed off me feet from early morning till late evening,’ she said. ‘I’m fond of me job and don’t want to lose it, so I’ve gorra be on the early tram ’cos it’s not just a couple of stops to work like it is from Huskisson Street. It’s a fair old trek from the Rimrose Bridge to the city centre.’

‘You aren’t the only one who’ll be catching that tram,’ Amy said ruefully, also getting to her feet. ‘Minnie and me will be up at the crack of dawn as well.’ She turned to Suzie. ‘But thanks for a lovely day, Suzie – two lovely days – it’s been the best Christmas I’ve had for years. You worked really hard and I’m sure we’ve all had a grand time.’

‘It’s been the best Christmas I’ve had since me mam died,’ Minnie said shyly, smiling at Suzie and Bill. ‘You’ve made me feel one of the family. I’ll never forget your kindness. When Ella and Ruthie said they were going away for Christmas me heart sank, but then Amy said I could come home with her and I’m sure the Queen of England couldn’t have had a better time.’

The party having broken up, Albert walked Ruthie and the girls home, Charlie and his Lottie went back to the Carpenters’ house, and Gus and Paddy began to bring the furniture back into the kitchen, to set out the rugs and to fetch the fuel and water for the next day, while the girls tackled the washing up and clearing away. When this was done they all trooped off upstairs to bed, for the girls were not the only ones who would have to work in the morning. The boys would take the boat out to search for what fish there was and Bill would catch a tram to St John’s Market where he would clean down the stall, buy in fresh ice and prepare to gut and clean whatever fish the boys caught.

Outside the door of the girls’ room Paddy put a restraining hand on Amy’s arm. ‘It were nice of you to thank me mam for all her hard work,’ he said quietly. ‘I know she didn’t say much, but she were really pleased. It were kind, Amy.’

‘It was no more than the truth,’ Amy said equally quietly. ‘Your mam’s been rare good to my dad and to young Becky, and now that I’m older she seems to like me a bit better too; we get on pretty well, your mam and me.’

Paddy opened his mouth to say something more, but at that moment Bill came clumping up the stairs behind them and Paddy touched Amy’s chin lightly with his forefinger, grinned and disappeared into the boys’ room, while Amy joined Minnie and Becky, and the three of them began to get ready for bed.

‘Amy, I were talkin’ to Etty today when we were skippin’ in the backyard, and
she
said she’d been talking to Annie Durrant, Ruthie’s sister, and
she
said . . .’

‘Not now, chuck,’ Amy said sleepily, burrowing her head into the softness of her pillow. ‘Me and Minnie’s got an early start tomorrow and I’m almost asleep on my feet. Tell me in the morning.’

‘You aren’t on your feet, so how can you be asleep on them?’ Becky said plaintively. ‘You’re lying flat on your back in a nice soft bed and it won’t take a minute to tell you what Etty said Annie said . . .’

A tiny curling snore issuing from her sister’s mouth, however, convinced Becky that further conversation would be a very one-sided affair. Sighing, for there are few more annoying things than being the possessor of information which one cannot pass on, Becky settled down and was soon asleep herself.

Next morning, despite the best of intentions, everyone overslept. Amy, indeed, was the first to wake and realised with dismay that the bright light of morning was showing through the curtains. She gave a yelp, shook Minnie hard and jumped out of bed tearing her nightgown over her head and
beginning to hurl her clothes on, not daring to stop for a wash in water which she knew would be ice-cold, if not actually iced. Minnie, waking, echoed Amy’s yelp and jumped out of bed too, beginning to dress with equal haste, while Becky curled protectively beneath the blankets, an arm flung up to shield her eyes from the intrusive light.

Fortunately the girls had packed their few belongings the night before, so now all they had to do was to seize their bags and rush downstairs. A glance at the kitchen clock confirmed Amy’s worst fears. They would have to run all the way to the Rimrose Bridge and even then they might not succeed in catching a tram.

‘I’ve not had to run like this since I were a kid,’ Minnie gasped, as they raced up Crosby Road. She reached into her pocket and produced a comb which she dragged through her tangled locks. ‘I feel a real scarecrow and I ’spect I look like one too. Still, I don’t suppose we will have many customers in first thing. Rich people lie in later than us on ordinary days, so at Christmas I reckon they won’t get moving until around eleven o’clock. Oh, glory be to God, the tram’s there, oh, wave Amy, shout at him to wait.’

Both girls shouted and waved and the tram, which was half empty but had begun to move, slowed and stopped, only starting up again when they were safe on board. The girls thanked the conductor breathlessly and collapsed on to one of the slatted wooden seats. ‘Phew! But at least we shan’t be late,’ Amy said, as the vehicle gathered speed. ‘Oh, my God, I meant to have another look for my necklace! I know it can’t possibly be lost but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I had it on in bed, and it came off and
got mixed up with the blankets. Damn, damn, damn! And I won’t be going home again till the New Year, because having had time off over Christmas they’re going to keep me hard at it so’s other people can have a break. Oh, look, there’s Ruthie sitting up the front. Shall we go and join her?’

Ruthie, who had turned at their approach, tutted at their dishevelled appearance and moved up to make room for them. ‘Lucky old Ella, off work for another four whole days,’ she remarked, as the tram jolted onwards. ‘She’ll have a lot to tell us when she gets back from Manchester. I bet she’s had a grand time!’

Half an hour after the girls had left, Paddy came lurching down the stairs, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around the kitchen, ran a hand through his dark curls and addressed his mother, who was desultorily pushing back chairs and tidying away the remnants of the party. She had already removed the paper chains and a good deal of tinsel and holly, and was throwing the berried branches on the fire where they crackled and spat, causing her to jerk back hastily from the sudden heat.

‘Who’d ha’ thought folk could make such a mess,’ she grumbled, as her son entered the room. ‘That there Consequences game – well, the consequence is a deal of paper and mess, if you ask me.’ She giggled at her own joke, then swept a hand along the broad mantelpiece, sending a mass of papers, apple cores, sandwich crusts and other such detritus to falling into the hearth. ‘Wharra you going to have for your breakfast, chuck? I could boil you a couple of eggs, or there’s kippers, if you can face fish,’ she added.
She turned towards Paddy as she spoke, her eyebrows rising. Paddy, taking his place at the table, said, ‘No, I’ll just have bread and jam. I ate enough yesterday to keep me goin’ for a week,’ and added, rather plaintively, ‘Where’s the girls, then? Don’t say they’re still in bed!’

Suzie, pouring tea from the big, brown pot into an enamel mug, shook her head. ‘No, it ain’t them what overslept this morning, it’s you fellers,’ she informed him, shuffling back across the room with the mug of tea in her hand. ‘Bill’s gone an’ all, though he weren’t so quick off the mark as the girls, but he reckons there won’t be many customers early today – and he’ll only have potted shrimps and salted fish and a few kippers to sell until you fellers bring your catch in.’

‘Oh. Right,’ Paddy said, scooping jam out of the jar with a knife and spreading it on his bread and marge. He thought, rather aggrievedly, that Bill might have woken them when he got up and wondered why the girls had not at least banged on the boys’ bedroom door. It would have been nice, come to that, if Amy had seen fit to shout out cheerio at the head of the stairs, but she had clearly done no such thing. His heart, which had been high and full of hope, sank a little at this thought. Amy had been so friendly yesterday, they had laughed and joked and told each other things which, he imagined, neither of them normally ever gave voice to, yet she had not seen fit to shout a goodbye before she went off to work.

Suzie, sitting down opposite him at the table, gave him a shrewd look. ‘Lost a quid and found a penny?’ she enquired amiably. ‘You look sour as a lemon. What’s up?’

‘No one called us,’ Paddy mumbled. ‘I’d ha’ thought young Amy might have given the door a knock or even called out. Why, she never even said cheerio.’

‘I doubt they had the time,’ Suzie said judicially. ‘I weren’t up meself, but I heard ’em clattering down the stairs an’ out the door, without stopping for so much as a bite of bread or a drink.’

‘Oh,’ Paddy said. ‘So that’s the way of it, was it? Well, I hope they caught their tram or all the rushing in the world wouldn’t get them to work on time. I wonder whether Amy will come back home for New Year? I dare say she will. When we deliver the fish to the market I reckon I just might pop into the Adelphi, ask her what her plans are.’

Suzie looked thoughtfully across at her son and Paddy felt the heat rush to his cheeks, and hastily crammed more bread and marge into his mouth. Suzie was smiling now, looking quizzically at him and he wondered uneasily whether he had given himself away by suggesting a visit to the Adelphi.

‘If I remember rightly, it were you who used to twit Amy over the smell of fish,’ Suzie said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know as a visit to that posh hotel in your fisherman’s gear wi’ scales all over you is likely to impress them as works there. If I were you I’d go round to Huskisson Street of an evening – you might take Gus an’ all, once you’ve changed your shirt and kecks for something more . . . more suitable.’

‘Less fishy, you mean,’ Paddy said, grinning. ‘I might take your advice an’ all, Mam, because I do recall I used to rag young Amy now and then.’

‘Well, you must do as you think fit,’ Suzie said. She got to her feet. ‘That young Becky don’t do a hand’s turn in this house if she can help it.
She’ll grow up a lazy little slut if I don’t make her mind me more. Make up the fire before you go out, Paddy, while I go up and tear the bedclothes off of Becky. Do you think I ought to give Gus and Albert a knock? Only your dad wants fresh fish before the market closes, you know.’

‘Yes, give ’em a shout,’ Paddy agreed. His mother hastened up the stairs and Paddy guessed that she would help Becky to wash and dress, and would probably not be down again for some time. Becky was spoilt, he knew that, but thought it a good thing rather than a bad. He could still remember all too clearly how hard his mam had been on Amy and how it had affected her. He was glad that Becky at any rate would not grow up with the sort of chip on her shoulder Amy had had.

Paddy finished his bread, drained his mug and got up. He went over to the fire and began to riddle the ash. The coal bucket stood in the grate and he was about to select some lumps of coal, when his eye was caught by a crumpled ball of paper, lying between the coal bucket and the grate. It looked as though someone had aimed the ball of paper at either fire or coal bucket, but had missed. Paddy bent and picked it up, and was about to toss it into the fire when he realised that the paper bore his own name. Startled, he looked more closely, remembering the game of Consequences the previous evening. He did not immediately recall whether he himself had written his name on one of the sheets, or whether it had been added as an answer to one of the questions by somebody else, but he began to unwrap the paper, smiling to himself at the thought of the previous evening’s fun.

As he unwrapped, something slithered out of the paper and fell with a tiny
plink
on to the hearth stones. He glanced down at it and for a moment could only stare; it was a delicate gold necklace, interspersed with droplets of milky green jade.

For what seemed like ages Paddy could literally not have moved a muscle. His brain felt at first cold and sluggish and then pain and rage rushed over him. He clenched his hand round the necklace and drew back his fist to hurl it into the fire. How Amy must hate him. To write his name on a bit of paper, wrap it round his gift and simply chuck it down where he might never have found it seemed somehow to be the height of cruelty. But he would not throw the necklace into the fire; he thought confusedly that it had been bought and presented with love, and did not deserve such a fate. He would keep it and one day he would give it to someone special, someone who deserved it and could appreciate its fragile beauty.

He thrust the necklace into his trouser pocket and went across the kitchen rather blindly, dragging his duffle coat and muffler off the peg on the back of the door, and shoving his feet into his seamen’s boots. He could hear Gus and Albert wrangling as they came out of their room and knew, suddenly, that he could not face them now. To his horror, as he shot out of the kitchen and into the cold of the December morning, he realised that there were tears in his eyes. Without pausing to wonder what he was about to do he turned up Crosby Road towards the tram terminus. He could not, would not, face Amy’s brothers right now.