The Liverpool Rose (18 page)

The two girls got to their feet and walked down to where Jake was winding the mooring rope around the nearest bollard. Clem was unfastening Hal but turned to greet Lizzie and look enquiringly at Sally. ‘Well, if it ain’t Lizzie,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Who’s your pal?’

‘Oh! This is Sally. Sally, this is Clem what rescued Geoff from a watery grave. Sally and I work together now at the bottling plant at Cantrell’s, just a tiddy way further back from the Britannia Warehouses on Love Lane,’ Lizzie explained. ‘She lives near me, so we walk to and from work together every day, and usually bring our carry-out down here if it’s fine.’ She glanced at the enormous dog by Clem’s side and stepped back nervously, one hand flying to her throat. She had never seen such a big dog, nor one who looked more like a wolf. ‘Is – is he yours, Clem? I wouldn’t like to meet him on a dark night! Hasn’t he got a lot of teeth, though? Where did
he
come from? Is it a he?’

‘Hello, Sally,’ Clem said. ‘First things first, young Lizzie. As to how I got Brutus here – and he’s as meek as a lamb with folks he likes – it’s a long story. When do you have to be back in work?’

She gave a squeak of dismay, grabbed Sally’s arm and the two of them snatched up their belongings and prepared to leave. ‘Oh, Lord, I forgot all about the time – we’re going to be late,’ she gasped over her shoulder, as the two of them began to run. ‘Will you be here this evening, Clem? We finish work at six – we could come back.’

Over her shoulder, Lizzie was dismayed to see the dog begin to leap after her, lips curling back from his excellent white teeth. Hastily, she slowed her pace, guessing the dog was worried by her sudden flight, but Clem uttered a sharp word of command and the dog returned to his side at once.

‘We’ll be here till tomorrow, likely,’ Clem said cheerfully. ‘See you later then. I’m just going to stable Hal, then I’ll do some messages for Priddy, and after that I guess we’ll start loading. ‘Bye for now.’

His words barely reached Lizzie’s ears but she guessed their purport and shrieked that they would return soon after six, and by a dint of hard running, she and Sally got back to the factory just in time to clock on for the afternoon’s work.

She fully intended to go back and see Clem again, she just wished that he had not acquired that huge dog. Once, long ago, when she had been no more than three or so, her father had been taking her down to the sands when they had passed a pair of huge, cast-iron gates. Through them, the small Lizzie had glimpsed what, at that age, she had simply thought of as ‘a doggie’, and she had pulled away from her father to throw herself at the gates, calling out to the dog as she did so. The next moment the gates had shaken like leaves in a gale as one of the huge animals hurled itself at what then seemed a frail barrier, tongue lolling, teeth bared, as it snarled a warning right into her small, frightened face. Lizzie’s father had pulled her back in time, so that those sharp white teeth had snapped on empty air, but it had coloured Lizzie’s whole attitude towards all dogs, particularly Alsatians. And now, if she was to remain friendly with Clem, she would have to try to overcome her fear.

She did not tell Sally she was dreading another face-to-face encounter with the big dog, but in the event it was only Lizzie who returned to the canal that evening, Sally wanting to get home to help her mam with supper so that they might go along to see the film at the Burlington Cinema on Vauxhall Road. Sally’s mother had told her daughter that she would mug her to a cinema seat and then to a meal at their restaurant because they were showing Frederick Norton and Betty Blythe in
Chu-Chin-Chow. ‘
Me mam’s got a weakness for Frederick Norton,’ Sally explained. ‘And I like Betty Blythe – she’s a cracker, ain’t she? – so it should be a good evening. I’ll nip in and tell your Aunt Annie that you’re going to be late.’

Lizzie thanked her. She was quite anxious to have a word with Clem on several subjects and told herself severely that she could not even consider upsetting him by confessing her fear of the dog; he was obviously both proud and fond of the animal. She had confided in Sally about Herbie’s strange behaviour some time before and Sally had said she ought to tell Aunt Annie. ‘Fellers who start behavin’ like that go on to do other things,’ she had said darkly. ‘You don’t want no trouble from Herbie, so best tell Aunt Annie.’

But Lizzie was reluctant to worry her aunt with anything so trivial because ever since coming home from hospital Aunt Annie was not her usual cheerful self. Lizzie often came home from work to find the evening meal still not started and Aunt Annie sitting in her old basket chair, staring blankly ahead of her. A couple of times she had walked into the kitchen and found her aunt crying, which was totally unlike the cheerful, placid person she had always known her to be. She had mentioned the matter to Sally, who had merely shrugged and said that if she had given birth to
Herbie and Denis, she would probably cry a lot as well, but Lizzie thought it was more important than that.

Finally, really worried when Aunt Annie had taken herself off to bed one fine evening, leaving a blind scouse half made on the kitchen table, she had gone round to Mrs Buckingham’s house and tried to explain how worried she was. Mrs Buckingham listened to her halting explanation and then nodded wisely. ‘You’re too young to understand, and Sally’s mam hasn’t ever lost a child,’ she told Lizzie. ‘But your aunt has, chuck. Losing one can have a terrible effect on a woman, especially a woman of your aunt’s age. She must know, you see, that there won’t be no other chance. And in her heart, like, she’ll blame herself and believe it were something she done that made the baby die. Perhaps she never truly wanted the kid – one more mouth to feed – but even so, losin’ it would be a terrible blow.’

‘Then what’ll I do, Mrs Buckingham?’ Lizzie had asked, greatly disturbed to realise that her aunt was actually mourning for the little dead baby she had not even seen. ‘The hospital took the baby away so she never set eyes on it – are you sure she could miss something she never knowed?’

Mrs Buckingham’s rather small grey eyes suddenly looked larger, softer, and Lizzie realised that the older woman was restraining tears. ‘I am sure, queen,’ she had said gently. ‘I’ve lost a little ’un, and I know the – the hurt of it. But time’s a great healer, they say, and you’ve gorra be patient. Then, as time passes, the hurt grows easier to bear, easier to push to the back of your mind. Right now, it’s all your aunt can think of, but as the weeks go by you’ll find she’ll come back to you, the same Aunt Annie that you knew before . . . before her bit o’ trouble.’

‘And is there nowt I can do to help?’ Lizzie had asked, greatly distressed to think of poor Aunt Annie bearing such a burden alone. ‘If I tell her I understand how she feels, wouldn’t that help?’

‘Norrif she’s tryin’ to deny she’s sad,’ Mrs Buckingham assured her. ‘But do your best to tek her mind off of it, give her other things to think about. Not more worrits,’ she added quickly, ‘but good things . . . a day out, perhaps, or say you’ll cook a meal or two, to give her a break. And then someone’ll get took poorly and they’ll go to her for help and she’ll be right in there, graftin’ away, and you’ll see quick enough that her cure’s begun.’

So as soon as
The Liverpool Rose
had come into view, it had occurred to Lizzie that Clem had told her that Mrs Pridmore was a sort of doctor, and there might be something she could do to help bring Aunt Annie round. She realised she could not possibly involve Clem himself in her aunt’s troubles, but another woman . . . well, that would be different.

So, when she had finished work Lizzie had set off for the canal, and very soon she and Clem, with the big dog sitting beside him and looking as though butter would not melt in his mouth, were perched on a low wall and chatting comfortably, as though they had known each other well for years. Lizzie saw that Clem, who had once been as pale as she, was now as tanned as a gypsy and looked very much stronger and even taller than he had done when last they met. She also realised that he was wearing what she thought of as boatmen’s clothes: the dark blue corduroy trousers, the white, collarless shirt and a dark blue garnsey. She remarked on the garnseys and Clem told her, with evident pride, that Priddy had knitted him two such garments on the long winter
evenings when they sat below in the small cabin, yarning and playing cards by the light of the little oil lamp.

‘I’m right proud to be seen as a boatmen, too,’ he assured Lizzie. ‘Priddy and Jake have been real good to me, Lizzie, but I’m useful now they’ve taught me a thing or two. Why, I were raw as – as an onion when they first took me aboard, but I’m a good listener and a quick learner and now I guess I’m near as good as they are at working the old
Liverpool Rose
. I can tack up the horse, steer, handle the locks, crack the whip – though I’m nowhere near so good with that as Jake is – and do most other things aboard. What’s more, I love it. I wouldn’t want any other sort of life. When I think back to that bleedin’ pit, and the poor little ponies . . . well, I don’t know how I stuck it, I tell you straight.’

Lizzie looked into his peaceful dark eyes and saw that he was speaking no more than the truth and presently Clem produced a rustling paper bag and offered her a Cornish pastie. ‘Priddy makes ’em,’ he explained through a mouthful, ‘and when I told her you were coming straight from work, she said as how you were bound to be hungry and would likely welcome a mouthful. They’re mutton pasties, and Brutus here loves ’em, so if you just save him a corner with a bit of gravy still in, he’ll be your pal for life.’

‘Suppose someone doesn’t have anything to give him?’ Lizzie said, swallowing nervously. ‘He’s a huge dog, Clem – I don’t know as I’ve ever seen a bigger – so I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him. What is he, anyroad? I – I were attacked by a dog just like him once, when I were only three. It – it’s made me a bit nervous, like, of big dogs.’

‘I guess he’s a cross-bred – Alsatian crossed wi’ a
werewolf, Jake says. Now Priddy, she’s more practical, she says his mam were an elephant. As for being friendly, a boat dog what would let anyone aboard wouldn’t be no manner of use to us. He’s trained to keep people away, you see, so he has to be pretty fierce wi’ strangers. Once he knows you’re a pal, though, he’ll let you do anything with him. Soft as a kitten, aren’t you, old feller?’

Brutus, knowing himself addressed, turned to stare adoringly up into Clem’s face and when he bent towards the dog, licked him on the chin with a long, pink tongue. The affection between them was plain, Lizzie thought, but was unable to feel at ease with the great dog so close. She had always longed for a pet of some sort herself, but would never have considered Brutus as such. She thought more of kittens or small puppies, or perhaps a cage bird, but she guessed that being without close neighbours or friends of his own age must mean that Clem valued Brutus immensely. ‘Tell me how you found the – the old feller,’ she said, and then plucked up her courage and held out the last corner of her pastie, rather gingerly, towards Brutus. She hoped he would not accept her fingers as well as the titbit but he proved to be both gentle and mannerly, taking the proffered food with such careful delicacy, that he never even touched her hand. ‘I can’t imagine anyone handing over a – well, shall we say a guard-dog? – like this one without expecting something in exchange.’

Nothing loath, Clem told her the story of Brutus’s ordeal and subsequent rescue and Lizzie’s admiration for Clem grew in the telling. Clem had not said that he feared the Wigan Wolves, but it must have taken considerable courage to rescue the dog from under their noses, knowing that he would be plying back
and forth in
The Liverpool Rose
for years to come. And when she thought of him grabbing the enormous dog by the scruff her blood ran cold. He could easily have savaged Clem in his fright, she thought wonderingly, and wished with all her might that she was not so scared of dogs. But there you were, she had had a bad experience and not all the wishing in the world could change her feelings.

‘I reckon Brutus owes you his life, so no wonder he loves you,’ Lizzie observed when Clem’s tale was told. ‘Does he take a lot of feeding?’

Clem grinned, one hand ruffling the smooth hair between the dog’s enormous ears. ‘When we’re in open country, he not only fends for himself, he brings rabbits home,’ he said proudly. ‘I s’pose it’s because he spent his first eighteen months or so of life fending for himself, though how many rabbits you get up by the Wigan locks, I’m sure I couldn’t say. Priddy buys extra bread and cooks up more potatoes so’s I can mix them in with any meat he brings back, and she gives him the cod liver oil that she gives Hal – she says it keeps his coat shiny – and other boat people save him bones and such. He’s a big lad, but he earns his keep, I can promise you that.’

‘You know you said Priddy gives Brutus and Hal cod liver oil?’ Lizzie said tentatively, after a moment, seeing an opening for the question she most wanted to ask. ‘I were going to ask you if I might have a word with her. The thing is, me Aunt Annie’s been under the weather and even though she’s better now, she – she’s that depressed and miserable, she’ll make herself ill again if we’re not careful. I remember you saying once that Priddy doctored animals right well, and people too sometimes. Do you think she’d mind if I had a word?’

‘We’ll go over right now,’ Clem said with commendable promptitude. ‘You can talk to her while I get Brutus’s grub ready and make sure that Hal’s got everything he needs for a night in the stables. Last time we were here, there were black beetles in his manger, jigging about all over the hay, and the poor old feller wouldn’t touch a mouthful.’

He got up as he spoke and the two of them walked along to where
The Liverpool Rose
was moored. As they drew closer, a delicious smell came wafting up from the tiny cabin and, despite the Cornish pastie, Lizzie felt her mouth water. ‘That smells wonderful,’ she whispered under her breath. ‘Me Aunt Annie is a great cook, but your Priddy is even better ’cos she don’t have the space of a big kitchen to do her cooking in. What
is
the smell, Clem?’