The Liverpool Rose (10 page)

‘What have you seen?’ Tom asked breathlessly, panting along beside his friend. Sid was at least eight inches taller than he and could, he knew, see a good deal further ahead. ‘What are they doin’?’

‘They’ve been and gone and disappeared,’ Sid said. He did not sound disappointed, however, but rather pleased. ‘Now we’ve got ’em! They’ve nipped down under Houghton Bridge, so I reckon they’re headin’ for the Scaldy. Tom, can you remember if that kid . . . Geoff, isn’t it? . . . can swim?’

‘I never met a fellow yet what couldn’t,’ Tom said. He glanced up at his companion. ‘If you’re thinkin’ of chucking half bricks . . .’

Sid snorted. ‘Just you shut your gob and do as I tell you,’ he advised the younger boy. ‘I’m goin’ to show ’im it ain’t wise to cross a pal, that’s all.’

As soon as the two boys reached the bridge, they were able to confirm that the children they were following had indeed gone in for a dip. It was soon obvious, furthermore, that Sid’s guess had been right – Geoff could not swim but was being given a lesson. The two boys watched for some time as the youngsters splashed around in the water, apparently not in the least worried by the drizzling rain, but it was not until some other children had joined them, that Sid finally revealed his strategy to his companion. ‘See where them canal boats is moored up?’ he said. ‘I’m goin’ to slip in the water under cover of the boats and give that kid the duckin’ he deserves. And you’re goin’ to help me.’

Tom, used to obeying his elder, looked doubtful but obediently followed him down the bank and on to the towpath, taking off his clothes as soon as they neared the water. ‘Just remember the feller can’t swim,’ he advised, ‘and the girl’s only a kid, after all. We don’t want to end up having to rescue him from drownin’ and gettin’ into big trouble, do we?’

Sid grinned but vouchsafed no reply and presently the two of them slid into the water and began to head towards the part of the canal already occupied by half a dozen other swimmers as well as by their quarry.

Lizzie was pleased with her pupil. It had not occurred to her, until they were actually in the water, that Geoff might be afraid to take his feet off the bottom and begin to use his arms and legs to keep himself afloat, but at first this was just what happened. Geoff insisted on keeping at least one foot on terra firma although he obediently splashed with his arms. After a very short time, however, with Lizzie’s hand firmly cupping his chin, he seemed to gain confidence and
was actually frogging away quite competently in the shallower water near the bank when something very odd happened. His chin detached itself from Lizzie’s hand, he took a deep gulp of air and emitted a strangled squawk before disappearing completely.

Lizzie, laughing, waited for him to re-emerge and when he had not done so after a few seconds, plunged under water herself to see what had happened to him. Immediately, someone seized her wrists and began to tow her out into deep water. Glancing wildly around her, Lizzie saw two figures nearby, one a great deal larger than the other, both struggling desperately. At the same moment, she twisted sharply in her assailant’s grip and brought her feet up, kicking him in the chest with enough force to make him release her wrists. At once she bobbed cork-like back to the surface of the Scaldy and looked wildly around her; Geoff was still nowhere to be seen, but ten feet away she caught a glimpse of a horribly familiar face as its owner came up for air.

It was Sid.

For a moment, Lizzie could not imagine what he was doing in the water and then, as Geoff’s head appeared briefly beside him only to be viciously thrust under once more, she realised. He was trying to drown her pal – probably did not even realise her friend could not swim – and had undoubtedly told his horrible little side-kick to do the same with her. She dived across the intervening water and felt around desperately, trying to find Geoff so that she could help him to the surface once more, but then Sid turned on her, grabbing a handful of her hair and doing his best, it seemed, to scalp her while still holding the unfortunate Geoff underwater.

Lizzie squirmed in his grasp and kicked as hard as
she could against his bony legs, making him release Geoff momentarily so that she had the satisfaction of seeing her friend’s head emerge just long enough for him to take a breath before Sid pushed it under once more. Tom, meanwhile, had surfaced alongside Lizzie and was doing his best to pinion her arms to her sides while the murderous Sid tried again to reach Geoff and had indeed got him by the hair when mercifully there was an interruption. Someone gave a shout and dived into the mêlée of thrashing bodies. The unknown punched Sid squarely on the nose, freed Lizzie’s arms by the simple expedient of dragging Tom away from her by his hair, and then brought Geoff to the bank, where he laid his limp form on the towpath and began to squeeze the water out of him as one would squeeze a sponge, first turning his head sideways on the grass.

Lizzie, bruised and shaken and very worried for her pal, scrambled out of the water and stood over Geoff, shivering with cold and fright. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sid and Tom fleeing in the direction of the bridge, clearly intent upon escaping from the consequences of their actions.

Lizzie looked down at Geoff’s recumbent form. Her friend looked awful and did not appear to be breathing, but presently he gave a great gasping choke, spouted water like a whale and began breathing normally though hoarsely. The boy who had been applying artificial respiration so ruthlessly said: ‘Let him lie quiet for a moment to recover himself.’ He sat back on his heels and glanced up at Lizzie. ‘What was that all about?’ he enquired, looking back towards the water. ‘If that was a game, gal, it were a mighty dangerous one, but I guess it was no game. That feller, the tall one, meant business.
D’you know him? If so you ought to tell the coppers, ’cos he’s a madman.’

‘His name’s Sid, and he’s got it in for Geoff because they used to be pals and they aren’t any more,’ Lizzie said, rubbing her arms vigorously with her hands. ‘We saw them earlier, Sid and Tom, I mean, but we didn’t know they’d seen us else we might not have come down to the Scaldy. Not that I thought even horrible Sid would try to kill someone,’ she added reflectively. ‘I s’pose he just meant to scare us only things got out of hand.’ She glanced curiously at the stranger. ‘Where did you come from anyway? I’m terrible glad you saw us, I reckon you saved Geoff’s life, but how did you know we were in trouble?’

‘I was on that canal boat over there,
The Liverpool Rose,
’ the boy said. ‘I’d been down the Scottie to buy some sweets and I’d just climbed back aboard when I spotted the fight. If you could call it that,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘because from where I was standing, it were pretty one-sided. That feller – Sid you said? – must be my age or more, a lot older than you or your pal.’

‘I reckon he’s about sixteen,’ Lizzie was beginning when Geoff, who had been lying with his eyes closed, opened them and hitched himself up into a sitting position.

‘What’s going on?’ he enquired thickly. ‘Who was that feller who was trying to drag me under? I were nearly dead, everything had gone black, when someone heaved me up and began pummelling me.’ He gave a gigantic shiver, looking pathetically from Lizzie’s face to that of his rescuer. ‘What’s going on?’ he repeated.

The boy from the canal boat looked around him, then spoke decisively. ‘Where’s your clothes? Have
you got a towel?’ He turned directly to Lizzie. ‘You’d best fetch all your stuff so the pair of you can get dried and dressed. Then we’ll go to
The Liverpool Rose
because your pal could do with a warm up and a hot drink. He’s cold as death and suffering from shock, that’s clear, and the sooner we can get him warm and dry, the better for both of you. There’s always a fire in the galley of the old
Rose,
and Priddy won’t mind if we take advantage of it, seein’ as how your pal’s a bit under the weather, like.’

Lizzie, glad to be told what to do, headed along the bank to where they had left their food and clothing. She scooped everything up into her arms, carefully combing the ground to make sure she had left nothing behind, then turned and went over to the two boys. Once dried and dressed, if not warm, the three of them set out in the direction of Houghton Bridge so that they could gain the further bank of the canal.

Lizzie had never been near enough to the canal boats to take a really good look at them, but now she stared with all her might.
The Liverpool Rose
was brightly painted in scarlet and green with yellow trimmings and the name on her bows was picked out in gold leaf, with wreaths of stylised roses of every imaginable colour coiling about the letters. On the decking were buckets of earth in which various vegetables grew in profusion. Lizzie, always deeply interested in growing things, wondered whether she might be able to grow tomatoes and lettuces as this boat owner grew them – in buckets or flowerpots rather than in the garden, which neither the Greys nor the boat owner possessed. It had always been a sore point with her that, because the house in the Court was a back-to-back, there was not even the tiniest square of earth in which to set plants. Now she
realised a little imagination – and some buckets of soil – meant you could grow things almost anywhere.

Having taken in the look of the boat from the outside, from the plants to the clean and shining walkway, the coils of plaited rope matting which prevented it from scarring itself on the canal bank as it was brought alongside, and the crisp white cotton curtains at the small windows, Lizzie followed the boys eagerly as they went into the cabin. She looked around her curiously as she entered.

It was tiny, but so beautifully arranged that one could only admire the thought and planning which had gone into it. Every surface hid drawers or cupboards; tables folded down flat against dresser tops or settles and, looking about her, Lizzie could not see so much as an inch of space which had not been utilised. What was even more remarkable to eyes used to the drabness of her aunt’s home, with boxes pressed into use as cupboards and chairs fashioned out of any old bits of wood, everything here, even smaller objects such as buckets, plates and mugs, were all brightly painted. There was a stove, its doors now open so that warmth flooded the small space, and Geoff was in the act of being sat down on a cushioned settle as near to the fire as he could get while the owner – and the boy who acted as though he owned the boat – pulled the kettle over the flame and announced that he would make them all a hot cup of tea.

Lizzie, suddenly remembering that she and Geoff had not yet eaten their carry-out, rootled in her bag for the cheese sandwiches and plonked the greaseproof-wrapped package on to the table. ‘Here’s some grub to go wi’ the tea,’ she announced, glad to be able to make some contribution after this kindness. ‘There’s plenty for three.’

‘They look very tasty,’ their rescuer observed as Lizzie began to unwrap the sandwiches. ‘It’s always nice to have a bite of something to eat after a swim.’

‘Who did the painting?’ Lizzie asked, indicating the roses, castles and little scenes surrounding her. ‘They’re awful good, whoever did them. Don’t I wish I could paint like that!’

‘It were Priddy – she’s very artistic as well as being a sort of doctor to the people and the horses on the canal and a good few of the dogs as well. Jake – that’s her husband – told me she delivers babies and splints broken legs when there isn’t a doctor handy. She’s a grand lady is Priddy, but it’s a good thing she and Jake aren’t at home, seeing as the three of us is spreading out a bit,’ he said chattily as he got a tea caddy from the cupboard beside the stove. The boy took mugs from the hooks on the wall, arranging them on top of the folding table. ‘Priddy’s gone to see an old friend so Jake stayed wi’
The Rose
while I did my bit of shopping, then he lit out to make final arrangements for a return load from Tate’s, or at least I reckon that’s where he’s gone. They wouldn’t mind you bein’ here,’ he added hastily. ‘They’re right hospitable are Priddy and Jake, but they’re neither of ’em small and they would have made the cabin awful crowded.’

‘Is Priddy and Jake your mam and dad?’ Lizzie asked baldly. ‘And who’s you, anyway?’

The boy looked up, surprised, and grinned at her. Taking a good look at him for the first time since he had rescued them, Lizzie saw a sturdy boy of perhaps sixteen or seventeen, with dark curly hair falling over a broad forehead. His eyes were very dark as well and his mouth had a humorous tilt to it, but there was something . . . something . . . Subconsciously, Lizzie had been aware that he was not quite like the other
boys she had seen on canal barges, nor quite like the youngsters who had been swimming in the Scaldy. What was different? Gazing curiously at him, she realised that he was very much paler than the boys on the canal boats, who tended to look very brown, summer and winter, because of the outdoor life they led. This boy had a flushed, almost tender look across his cheekbones and forearms, which seemed to indicate that he had only recently begun to spend time in the sun. But the boy had looked down again and was pouring the tea as he spoke.

‘No, Priddy and Jake ain’t my ma and pa, they took me to work for ’em when their nephew decided he could make more money in one o’ the factories up north. My name’s Clem Gilligan. I work the butty boat – that’s the one we tow behind – and see to the horse, and help with loading and unloading, that sort o’ thing.’

‘I
thought
you didn’t look like the other people on the canal boats,’ Lizzie said triumphantly. ‘You aren’t all brown and leathery, like they are. It’s only gypsies and canal folk what live outside all the year round who get so tanned. You don’t have that look, not yet. What did you do before you joined
The Liverpool Rose
? And what did your mam and dad say to you going a-sailing on the canal, and by the way, where’s your horse?’

Clem bent and took a tin of condensed milk from a tiny cupboard under the settle on which Geoff sat. He began to pour a small amount into each of the mugs. ‘The horse is stabled ’cos there’s no grass around here for him to graze. His name’s Hal and he’s a grand feller, so he is.’ He turned to face Lizzie, his eyes serious. ‘My parents are both dead. After my father died, Mam and I struggled on somehow. I worked in
the pit, mostly with the ponies because you can’t hew coal until you reach your full strength. After my mam went there didn’t seem any point in staying in the village. I hated working underground and I’ve always loved the countryside, so I lit out from the village, meaning to go on the tramp while the good weather lasted. Then I reckoned I’d pick up work in one of the mills or factories round Bradford or Leeds, only I were lucky. I was sitting by the canal, eating bread and cheese, when the
The Liverpool Rose
came alongside and young Bert, the nephew, started to rant and rave that they weren’t going to keep him aboard when he could earn more in a factory . . .’