The Liverpool Rose (26 page)
Geoff, getting out his books and spreading them across his rickety table, brightened. ‘I’ll come with you, get a breath of fresh air before I settle down,’ he said, and though Reggie laughed at this blatant attempt to put off the evil hour, the two of them donned mackintoshes, Reggie carrying the white
enamel jug which they had bought for just such a purpose, and set off into the downpour, heading for the nearest pub.
There was quite a crowd in the Jug and Bottle and the two elderly ladies taking orders and pulling steadily on the pump handles to fill the various receptacles offered were flushed and sweating, though still good-humoured. Idly watching the people ahead and wondering how long it would be before they reached the counter, Geoff heard someone else enter the small room behind them. ‘Cor, if I were a duck, I reckon I’d be flapping me bleedin’ wings and crowing like a cockerel,’ a voice which sounded vaguely familiar remarked, almost in Geoff’s ear. ‘I wish you’d thought to bring a brolly, young Evie. As it is, I bet you’re wet right through to your knickers, same as what I am.’
‘I am pretty wet,’ a girl’s voice replied; she sounded rather sulky. ‘And if this is your idea of a nice evening out, it isn’t mine! What’s more, for all your big talk, it’s me who’ll be in trouble if I’m not in my bed when I’m expected. You’ve simply got to get me back by the time the concert is supposed to end. Oh, sometimes I wish I’d never met up with you again, Sid.’
‘Don’t be like that, queen. I said I’d get you back home before you’re missed and so I shall. Have you ever known me break me word, eh?’
Geoff, with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of the speaker. Groaning inwardly, he turned his eyes front once more. He had been right. Standing behind him, with a flat cap cocked to one side and raindrops gleaming on his sharp and narrow face, was Sid Ryder.
The queue of people shuffled forward and Sid
continued to talk to his companion without, apparently, recognising Geoff. Very soon, a lively quarrel began to develop between Sid and the girl and, despite himself, Geoff listened with interest. It seemed as though Sid was trying to persuade her to do something which he thought was in her best interest, though she was plainly not so sure. What was more, Sid’s oft-repeated remark that she was too beautiful to hide away from the world like a bleedin’ nun seemed to infuriate her. Several times Geoff thought she would have walked out on Sid, had he not kept a firm hold of her arm.
The quarrel was at its height and Geoff was telling himself, thankfully, that Sid was far too involved with this girl Evie to notice him, when the two people at the counter turned to leave the pub and the queue shuffled forward again. This brought Geoff level with the counter, his profile now clearly in view both of Sid and his companion. He was not unduly surprised when he heard Sid mutter to the girl: ‘Let’s not quarrel, Evie. Everything I’ve done for you, I’ve done for the best. You know I wanted to introduce you to me pals, and if I’m not mistaken there’s a familiar face. Now who on earth . . .?’
Geoff heard Sid give a sharp, rather stagey exclamation. ‘Well, if it ain’t an old school mate of mine.’ A hand seized Geoff’s shoulder and swung him round.
Geoff stared hard at the other lad, remembering their last encounter, but it appeared that Sid had forgotten it, or at least intended to pretend that he had done so, for the older lad suddenly remarked to the girl, ‘It’s Geoff Gardiner what was at school with me.’ He stuck out one large hand and seized Geoff’s in a firm clasp. ‘How you doin’, old mate? I reckon you’re
workin’ by now, eh? Well, if this ain’t a turn up for the books, I don’t know what is. Fancy me meetin’ an old pal in the Jug and Bottle when all we come in for were some porter.’
In the face of such obvious and disarming friendliness it was difficult to remain cool, but Geoff did his best. ‘Hello, Sid,’ he said. ‘Who’s your friend?’
Sid ignored this remark, instead turning to Evie and telling her how he and Geoff had, as he put it, ‘frisked around the streets, gettin’ up to all sorts of mischief, the bane of all the shopkeepers along the Scottie in the old days’. Then he turned back to Geoff. ‘What are you doin’ now, young Geoff?’ His eyes flickered knowingly across the shiny waterproof, trilby and neat black lace-ups. ‘Wharris it, then? Solicitors? Insurance office? Or a bleedin’ bank clerk?’
Geoff, ruffling up indignantly, was about to tell his erstwhile enemy to mind his own bleedin’ business when Sid clapped him affectionately on the shoulder and said with a laugh, ‘Don’t mind me, old feller, I’m only kiddin’. And if I remember rightly, you’ve gorra grudge to pay off agin me for foolin’ about in the Scaldy that time and near finishin’ you off. By God, I were a mad young fool in them days, never gave a thought to the consequences of wharr I did. Well, I’m right sorry, old pal. Can we be friends again?’
In the face of this outright admission of what he had done, Geoff felt it would be downright uncivil to snub Sid, so he grinned, returned the handclasp and said: ‘I’m a bleedin’ bank clerk, actually, you cheeky dog, and me pal Reggie Phelps here is an insurance clerk so you’ve managed to insult the pair of us. What do you do? Nothing much, I daresay!’
Sid grinned good-naturedly, pushing his loud tweed cap to the back of his head as he did so. ‘I’m a
runner for Drelincourt the bookmaker at Aintree, but that’s only race days of course. They sends me all over the country and one of these days I’ll have me own nice little business and make a fortune out of . . .’ he grinned wickedly ‘. . . out of bleedin’ bank clerks and the like, what puts their gelt on a gee with a pretty name and don’t study form ’cos they don’t know how.’ He turned to Geoff’s companion, who had been staring round-eyed at the girl, Evie, and stuck out his hand. ‘How d’you do, Reggie? Nice to meet you. I’m Sid Ryder and this is me – me cousin, Evie Evans.’
‘How do you do, Mr Gardiner, Mr Phelps?,’ she murmured. ‘It’s fortunate we met you because it’s time I was making my way home and you’ll be able to keep Sid company in my place.’
‘No, no, Evie, we’ve made our arrangements and we’ll stick to ’em,’ Sid said firmly. ‘Mind you, it’s a rotten wet evening. If Geoff and his pal are agreeable, why don’t we all go back to my place? I’ve gorra flat of me own only a couple o’ streets away. What say we goes round there, the four of us, and has a chat about old times and mebbe a bite to eat? There’s a chippie just up the road – or we could get something from one of the canny houses, if you’ve no taste for fish and chips.’
Geoff looked thoughtfully at Sid, then let his eyes stray to Evie. She was, he thought, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her night-black hair was tied back from her face with a wide black satin ribbon; her eyes, dark and almond-shaped, still sparkled from the argument with Sid, and her smooth, creamy skin bore traces of an angry flush. But when she smiled, a dimple appeared beside her mouth and the small teeth the smile revealed were white and even. A fashionable hat with a tiny half veil was perched at a
dashing angle on her gleaming head. She wore a full dark raincoat with the collar turned up, showing a glimpse of scarlet silk scarf at the neck, and her feet were clad in well-polished half-boots. Realising he was staring, Geoff turned his eyes back to Sid. The older lad had not changed very much, though he was a good deal taller and broader than Geoff remembered, but he still had the cocky, self-confident air of one who goes his own way, regardless of others, which meant he was still dangerous company.
Half regretfully, Geoff began to shake his head, to explain that he and Reggie were studying for exams and must get back to the YMCA, for despite Sid’s friendliness he knew the older boy to be what Father Brannigan would call ‘bad company’, when Evie leaned forward and put a small hand on his arm. ‘Don’t say no, Mr Gardiner,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘I don’t really have to be home this early and I’m sure I don’t want to lose Sid a friend.’ Here she gave Sid a look so charged with annoyance that Geoff blinked and even the hardened Sid looked a little embarrassed. ‘He hasn’t got that many friends, I shouldn’t imagine. I’ve not visited his flat, but I’m sure he has a pack of cards and we could have a game of gin rummy or something. I don’t drink porter myself, but you fellows can have a glass or two and I’ll make myself a nice cup of tea.’ She shot another venomous glance at Sid. ‘I suppose you do possess a teapot,’ she finished coldly.
Geoff hardly knew which way to look; if Evie had spoken thus to him, he would have curled up and died, but Sid merely grinned and reached out a hand to chuck the girl under the chin. ‘Course I got a teapot,’ he said breezily. ‘No use gettin’ your rag out at me, young Evie, just because it’s a rainy night and
I didn’t fancy trudgin’ all the way to the Gaiety to see some silly romantic fillum.’ He turned back to Geoff. ‘Come on, you can study any time,’ he said, his tone half wheedling, half commanding. ‘Remember what I said? We’ll stop off at the fried fish shop on our way and buy ourselves a nice fish supper. Then we’ll have a real cosy evening, gettin’ to know one another again.’
‘Well, I don’t know . . .’ Geoff began.
‘Please,’ Evie said, her voice low and husky, and now that he looked at her again, Geoff thought that she seemed vaguely familiar, as though he had known her, too, sometime in the past. He looked hard at her, staring at the big, dark eyes, but she glanced down shyly, as though such an inspection embarrassed her and he looked away at once. She was astonishingly pretty and he realised that, despite Sid, he would like to spend more time in her company. He glanced interrogatively at Reggie, who nodded enthusiastically. It was clear that he would far rather spend an evening with Sid and Evie than back at the YMCA.
‘Well, if we come back wi’ you, Sid, then Reggie and me will buy the grub,’ Geoff said. ‘I’d planned to study this evening, but I daresay I can put it off for the sake of such an old friend.’ He had meant to sound sarcastic but Sid took the words at face value, beaming and seizing his arm. In fact, in his enthusiasm, he would have forgotten all about the porter he had come to purchase, had not Mrs Nettlebed shouted: ‘Come along, young gentlemen, hand over those perishin’ jugs. You’re holding up me commerce, and that I
don’t
allow.’
So it was with two jugs of porter and a large paper of fish and chips that the four young people presently
let themselves into Sid’s ‘little place’, which turned out to be a very cosy flat over a fishmonger’s shop in Cazneau Street. Sid relieved the men of their wet coats and hats in the tiny hallway, and took them into a large and pleasant living room where he put a match to the gas fire and bustled about, fetching plates and cutlery for the fish and chips and tall glasses for the porter while telling Evie to spread her wet coat across a chair in the kitchenette. Very soon the room began to warm up and Evie returned to the living room, clad now in a dark-collared wool jacket and matching skirt. Geoff thought she looked very nice, though rather severe, but before he could comment, they were passing round the plates of food, the salt and vinegar and porter, and beginning their meal.
Very soon the four of them were eating and drinking and talking as if they had known one another all their lives. Geoff remembered that Sid had always been good company, and tried to forget that he had also been thoroughly dishonest. He told himself, however, that most street urchins, particularly those from poor families, were scarcely able to be upright citizens – not if they wanted to eat regularly, that was. He and Reggie, with the security of the Father Brannigan Orphan Asylum behind them, had been more privileged than most. In fact, considering the circumstances, his own behaviour had been a good deal less honourable than Sid’s. Sid stole because he had no other means of making sure he ate regularly; Geoff had stolen – or if not stolen, connived at stealing – because he wanted to be like other boys, and be accepted by them.
Sid kept them amused with tales of his racecourse experiences while they ate, and interested Geoff
greatly by recounting the many wins he’d had at various racecourses throughout the country. He had been working with Drelincourt’s for two years and had got to know both jockeys and stable lads, as well as some of the trainers and almost all the bookies. He explained, disarmingly, that such people were willing to give him tips – advice as to which horse would most probably win – and whenever he felt sufficiently confident that they were right, he put as much money as he could afford, acquire or borrow upon the horse in question. In the nature of things he sometimes lost, but more often he won, and used the money either to put on the next likely nag or to add to his savings account towards the day when he should have a business of his own.
In his turn, Geoff told them stories of his life in the bank, some of which were amusing and made both Sid and his cousin laugh. Geoff liked it when Evie laughed; her mouth turned up at the corners and her small white teeth showed and her cheeks bunched her eyes into gleaming slits. The trouble was, whenever she opened her mouth to speak, Sid rarely let her get out more than half a sentence before he interrupted. It was he who told them that Evie worked in Lewis’s, showing off dresses, coats and skirts in their big restaurants, to encourage the customers to buy. ‘She’s what they call a mannequin,’ he said proudly. ‘She makes good money at it, and when she isn’t parading up and down, wrapped in furs and silks, she works in gowns. Ain’t that so, queen?’
‘Oh, Sid, I don’t . . .’ Evie began, but was once more interrupted.
‘Naturally, she’s only part-time as a mannequin because it ain’t no use paradin’ around in fancy gear when there’s nobody in to watch,’ he said. ‘But the
day will come when she’s doin’ it full-time and earnin’ enough to have a decent flat of her own, like mine,’ he finished. ‘Now wharrabout a game o’ gin rummy, fellers, seein’ as there’s four of us?’
‘I’m not playing for money because I haven’t got any,’ Evie said baldly. ‘I know you, Sid Ryder! You and your betting – you’d see us all without a coat to our backs and think yourself a really sharp operator.’
Sid pretended to be much hurt by this remark, though Geoff could tell he was secretly rather pleased and considered it a type of compliment. However, Sid denied that he would dream of betting for money in his own house and produced a large box of spent matches which he doled out to each of them before seating himself at the table and beginning to shuffle the pack with an expertise which would, under different circumstances, have made Geoff extremely nervous.