A Kiss and a Promise (15 page)

That should have been the end of it, but the day had continued on its blissful course. Miss Derbyshire had suggested that they should go into Miss Harriet Young’s dining rooms and share a pot of tea. Ginny had looked down at her dirty dress and bare feet and said, bashfully, that she did not think … but Miss Derbyshire, it seemed, was equal to anything. ‘Perhaps it might be better if we patronised one of the small neighbourhood establishments,’ she said tactfully. ‘After all, you did not know you were going to be invited out for a cup of tea and a bun when you left home this morning.’

Ginny agreed, rather doubtfully, that this was so and wondered, with a good deal of apprehension, what a ‘neighbourhood establishment’ could possibly mean. Her apprehension, however, was unfounded; she had realised it as soon as they turned into one of the large and bustling eating houses frequented by the store holders and market traders of the area. Miss Derbyshire had looked around her with a kindling eye. ‘I only found out about these places, and the ones you call canny houses, last week, from another teacher who shares my lodgings,’ she had said, confidentially. ‘They give such excellent value! So now, whenever I’m in the area I pop in and have a snack. Mrs Evans, she’s my landlady, provides breakfast and an evening meal, but nothing at midday.’

Once in the eating house, Miss Derbyshire had ordered the meal of the day for them both. It was beef stew and dumplings accompanied by a floury mound of mashed potato, with a slice of apple pie to follow and all washed down with several cups of tea from a large brown pot. Seeing that she was now mistress of l/6d, Ginny had offered to pay her share, but Miss Derbyshire would not hear of it. ‘But if you come shopping with me for my briefcase, you can buy us both a cup of tea at about four o’clock, when we shall be glad of it,’ she had said. ‘And after that, we shall have to turn our steps homeward. Mrs Evans is very particular about punctuality at mealtimes. She serves the evening meal at six, and woe betide anyone who is late!’

After their meal, they had wandered up and down the Scottie examining windows until they reached a shop which sold leather goods. Miss Derbyshire picked out two beautiful briefcases and then asked Ginny which one she preferred. Ginny, her bosom swelling with pride, said she thought the light one the prettiest, but the dark one more serviceable, and after examining both cases closely Miss Derbyshire opted for the darker one.

‘And now for that cup of tea,’ she had said gaily as they left the leather shop. ‘And then we’ll catch a tram back to Canning Street. What is going to happen to your shoes though, my dear? I’m sure you wrong your grandmother when you say she would take them from you, but if it would help, I suppose I might take charge of them for you and bring them to school each day.’

Ginny was delighted at the suggestion but realised, even if Miss Derbyshire did not, that it would not do at all. Her schoolfellows would soon begin to dub her ‘teacher’s pet’ and to say nasty things about Miss Derbyshire’s preference for redheaded nobodies who thought themselves above their company and so on. So she had thanked Miss Derbyshire earnestly, whilst assuring her that the shoes already had a good alternative home. ‘D’you know Wait’s, the grocer’s shop on the corner of Washington Street?’ she asked. ‘Well, Annie Wait’s in my class – our class, I should say. She’s me best pal and her mam’s ever so kind. They’re going to keep the shoes for me – when they ain’t on my feet, that is.’

Miss Derbyshire had agreed that this was an even better idea, and when the tram came to a halt at the junction of Great George and Upper Duke Street they climbed down and set off together towards their respective homes, parting when they reached the cathedral. Ginny would have gone further and accompanied Miss Derbyshire all the way back to her lodgings in Canning Street, but though Miss Derbyshire might be a stranger to the city of Liverpool, she still knew very well where Rathbone Street was and smilingly told Ginny to ‘Hop along home now, dear. You mustn’t be late for your tea any more than I must be late for mine.’

Ginny had realised that this was a polite dismissal; Miss Derbyshire had been very good to her, but she would not want one of her future pupils hanging around by her lodgings. So Ginny had taken her dismissal in good part and was now wandering back towards the Waits’ shop, where she meant to leave her lovely new shoes. It would be a wrench to part with them because it was another ten days before the start of term, but keeping them by her would simply result in losing them altogether, so Ginny headed for Washington Street. When she got there, she guessed at once that Mrs Wait and the children had not yet returned from New Brighton. Mr Wait was serving an enormous woman carrying a huge brown shopping basket and his assistant, skinny little Alice Fowler, was running back and forth, filling a box from a piece of paper which she held in her hand. Someone had obviously left an order and Alice was dealing with it. There were three other women waiting to be served, one of whom kept glancing impatiently at the clock above the counter.

Ginny, hovering between counter and door, was in a quandary. She did not like to interrupt Mr Wait and had no intention of letting Alice into the secret of the shoes. On the other hand, she dared not go home with her purchase, so what to do? But the problem was solved for her when Mr Wait caught her eye as the enormous woman turned away and began to surge towards the door. ‘You back already, Ginny?’ he asked jovially. ‘Got them messages me good lady asked you to fetch for her? That’s fine, just fine. Nip up to the flat would you, queen, and dump it on the sofy in the parlour. ’Twon’t take you a moment; Mrs Wait will settle up wi’ you later.’ Mr Wait turned to his next customer, an elderly man wearing a heavy overcoat, despite the warmth of the weather. ‘Yes, Mr Gibbs, and what can I do for you this fine day?’

Immensely relieved, Ginny scuttled up the stairs and dumped her beautiful new shoes on the sofa. She was about to leave the room again when the desire to see them once more made her delve inside the brown paper bag, but she only allowed herself to lift the lid of the box and glance quickly within. That wretched bulldog had made her aware, as nothing else could, of the dangers which a kid of her age could face if she did anything in the least suspicious. The Waits were good, kind people, but if something happened in the flat, if a plate was found to be broken or a teaspoon missing, it would be easy to tell themselves that young Ginny Bennett had been rather a long time upstairs, leaving her packages as Mr Wait had bidden her.

And anyway, I’ve still got l/2d to spend, Ginny reminded herself buoyantly, as she ran down the stairs. ‘Thanks, Mr Wait,’ she shouted, and emerged on to the pavement once more. I could buy no end of things, she told herself. I wouldn’t mind some new woolly stockings – they’d look prime with me shoes – but I suppose what I really ought to do with the money is make it work for me, like Danny always says. If he had a few pence over, Danny would buy something cheap and sell it a bit dearer. Sometimes he bought shrimps from the Charlotte Street Market and hawked them round the courts; once he had bought a huge jar of pickled onions – going cheap because the lid was insecure – and decanted them into four well-washed jam jars. He had made paper tops to fit over the tin lids of the jars and again had sold them to housewives in the courts, telling them – untruthfully but solemnly – that his Aunt Peggy, who lived in the country, had grown and pickled these onions herself and weren’t they cheap at the price now?

Chuckling over her pal’s inventiveness, Ginny considered what she should buy but decided, finally, that it had better be as many second-hand stockings as she could afford, from Paddy’s Market. She had seen her legs clad in the borrowed stockings that afternoon, and had realised how nice they looked. What was more, everyone knew that shoes rubbed one’s heels if you wore them barefoot, but with a nice pair of old Ma Halligan’s woollen stockings she would be as smart as, or smarter than, anyone else at the Rathbone Street School.

Granny Bennett sat in her dirty and neglected kitchen, staring morosely at her large and filthy feet. She had not let a drop of liquor pass her lips for three whole days, but the urge to cast caution to the winds and to stagger down to the Livingstone Arms and order a pint of Guinness was strong. The doctor’s advice had scared her stiff at the time and she had vowed, with tears in her eyes, to take the pledge. But that had been six weeks ago – more – and now her fear had receded when compared with her desire for liquor. She had slipped off the wagon half a dozen times in the past couple of weeks but, oddly enough, she had not been tempted to continue drinking past the first two or three glasses. She had discovered that if she took her mind off it, she could hold out against the urge to drink for some while. Better, a neighbour had made her up a quantity of lemonade – horrible stuff – but if she filled herself up with it, then one quite small glass of porter satisfied her for a while, at least.

This afternoon, however, the lemonade had all gone and Michael’s money was in her purse, still unspent. Since the boys had stopped supporting her, she had begun to rely heavily on the brown envelope which came so regularly each month, and because she no longer drank had been managing quite well on it. George, who came round about once a fortnight, usually with a home-baked pie or cake from his wife, had seen the difference in her and had congratulated her on her good sense. Even Lewis, her youngest – and favourite – son had commented on how much better she looked, when he had popped in with a big stone bottle of ginger beer – ugh – and a bag of bulls-eyes, sent by his wife Amy.

The door, opening softly, brought Granny Bennett back to the present. As though thinking of him had conjured him up, George stood in the doorway, paused there for a moment, and then entered the room. He was carrying a large fruit cake and grinned encouragingly at his mother as he put it down on the kitchen table.

‘How you doin’, Mam?’ he said cheerfully. ‘I come in quiet like, in case you was havin’ a snooze, but I see you’re awake. Mary baked you a cake – it’s still warm from the oven – so I thought we’d have a slice with a cuppa.’ He then went and pulled the kettle over the fire since his mother merely stared owlishly at him, not attempting to move. ‘’Twon’t take a minute to mash the tea, and slicin’ the cake will be even quicker.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Where’s our Ginny? Out off on the spree I s’pose wi’ her pals.’ He chuckled. ‘That young Danny, he’s a right caution, ain’t he? Always up to something … but there’s no harm in him and he takes good care o’ Ginny.’

Mrs Bennett sniffed but accepted the cup of strong tea her son handed her and began to eat the cake, hoping that by so doing she would ease the longing for liquor, which was beginning to be insupportable. ‘Ginny? I never know where the bleedin’ kid is, nor I don’t care,’ she said sourly. ‘She’s just a burden and she’s not my responsibility. What do her father do, eh? Never comes near nor by, never give me his address so I can’t get in touch … an’ you boys are no better. That snivellin’ kid eats me out o’ house an’ home – I’m sure she takes money for herself when she goes for me messages. I does me best to clothe and feed her an’ what thanks do I get for it? There’s times when I remember me darlin’ Stella and I downright hates the kid. I tell you, George, if it hadn’t been for Miss Clever Ginny, our Stella ’ud be alive today.’

‘Mam, how can you tell such lies?’ George asked, his broad and honest face reflecting his shock at his mother’s words. ‘You make it sound as though our Stella died in childbirth, which weren’t the case at all. It were the flu that killed her, not the kid, an’ you don’t want to go bearin’ a grudge for what happened ten years ago, anyway.’

‘Yes I do,’ Mrs Bennett said mutinously. ‘If Stella hadn’t dragged herself out o’ bed to feed that bawlin’ brat, she’d of had the strength to fight the flu an’ get well again. Why, she never ailed in her life! And anyway, if you’re so interested in the kid, why don’t you take her on? I’ve had enough of her. I want rid!’

George looked baffled. ‘But Mam, who’d do your messages, light your fire, put hot food on the table? I know Ginny’s only a kid, but I don’t believe you can manage without her, even so. An’ then there’s the money her pa sends. If someone else took Ginny, then they’d take the money too.’

‘They would not!’ Granny Bennett said aggressively, swelling with anger at the mere suggestion. ‘I’ve – I’ve earned that money, bringin’ the kid up for him, an’ I don’t mean anyone else to get their hands on it.’ She looked at George with sharpened attention. ‘You an’ Mary don’t do so bad; that canny house she runs is always busy, so I’ve been told, and you’ve got your regular job with the Council. Why don’t you take the kid if you’re so interested in her? You wouldn’t need the bog-trotter’s money. You an’ Mary are well-to-do.’

‘Mary an’ me’s got four kids of our own,’ George reminded his mother, ‘and little Polly needs more attention than other children.’ Polly had been born with a weak heart and a sight defect so severe that she could barely see a couple of feet in front of her.

Mrs Bennett, however, merely sniffed again. ‘One more wouldn’t make no difference; she could look after Polly for you. Still an’ all, I suppose the kid does have her uses.’ She looked piteously across at her son. ‘I dussen’t use the fry pan no more, ’cos me hands is too feeble to grasp it wi’out shakin’ an’ I don’t want boilin’ fat all down meself. I’m not too steady on me pins, either, so doin’ me own messages ain’t possible. ‘Course, I dusts round an’ so on, but I can’t cope wi’ washin’ sheets an’ such.’

‘There you are, you see? You couldn’t manage without Ginny and you’re fond of her really, underneath,’ George said triumphantly. ‘If you can just keep off the drink, and let Ginny help you, you’ll live to be a hundred yet, Mam. An’ speakin’ o’ the drink, you’ve done real well to keep off the booze for so long and I’m proud of you.’ George took another mouthful of cake and then, looking rather self-conscious, continued. ‘Mary an’ me’s been a bit worried over our Ginny, to tell you the truth, Mam. I see her in the street a week ago and I were quite shocked; the kid looked downright peaky and her dress were filthy. The truth is, Mam, she’s hasn’t been gerrin’ enough to eat, ’cos you were spendin’ the money down at the old Jug and Bottle. But now I reckon she’ll be plumpin’ up, eh?’