A Kiss and a Promise (16 page)

‘She’s always been a scrawny kid. I could stuff her to the gills wi’ good things an’ she’d still be a scrawny kid,’ Mrs Bennett said with finality. ‘As for her dress, she could wash it at night and purrit on next day, couldn’t she? But she’s too fond of playin’ out to waste time on washin’ clothes.’

George looked horrified. ‘D’you mean to say our Ginny’s only got the one dress? Oh, Mam, what would our Stella think if she knew that? What would her pa think if he knew, come to that? The money he sends is for the kid, you know, and a second-hand dress off Paddy’s Market don’t cost a fortune. Why, school starts in a week or so, an’ she can’t go to school in that rag of a dress.’

Mrs Bennett heaved herself to her feet and waddled over to the kitchen door, flinging it open. The money in the pocket of her bedraggled black skirt was beginning to burn a hole; if she did not blow some of it on a large glass of Guinness with a chaser of rum, she would most probably die on the spot. ‘George Bennett, you can gerrout of me house and the sooner the better,’ she shouted dramatically. ‘If you’ve come to criticise your old mam, who’s doin’ her best against fearful odds, then you can bloody well make yourself scarce. You’re a prig and a bully, tryin’ to make me feel guilty for what’s no fault o’ mine. I feed the kid up like a Christmas turkey an’ I give her decent clothes. An’ what does she do? She grows an’ grows, like a perishin’ weed, that’s what she does, an’ you blame me for it! Now gerrout!’

George, his mother knew, was an easy-going sort of feller, but not above shouting back if he was sufficiently provoked, so she did not wait for him to leave the house, but left it herself. She thundered across the court, her feet slapping on the dirty paving stones, and out on to Rathbone Street, turning automatically in the direction of the Livingstone Arms. Behind her, she heard George shouting angrily, but she ignored him. Silly bugger, she was his mother, dammit, not one of his bleedin’ kids. She would tell him he must learn to show respect if he ever dared to come into her house again. It would have been different, she told herself as she entered the pub, if he had still been paying her an allowance; then, he would have been justified in criticising her. It did occur to her, as she dragged her purse out of her pocket, that George’s next action might have been to reinstate the allowance since he had seen for himself that she had not been drinking. Well, if that had been his intention, she was sorry to have thwarted it, but it was his fault, after all. He had defended Ginny and criticised his mam, and so far as Mrs Bennett was concerned, that was unforgivable. Well, unforgivable unless it was also accompanied by cash.

‘Evenin’, Miz Bennett. You’re early. Quite a stranger, too, but when the dibs is down, food comes first, eh? Now what can I get you?’

The landlord was a cheery, middle-aged man, bald as a coot and with a swivelling eye which disconcerted new customers. Mrs Bennett, however, knew him well and in any event did not care if he had one eye on her and the other on the ceiling, so long as he sold her a drink.

‘A small rum and a large Guinness,’ she said briskly. She showed him the note in her hand since she thought he hesitated, adding: ‘An’ make it quick, Mr Barraclough, ’cos I’m as dry as the Sahara desert.’

The landlord complied and Mrs Bennett paid, scooped up her change and downed the rum in one large swallow. She had meant to take the Guinness over to a table and savour it slowly, but somehow it had all disappeared before she had even turned away from the bar. She stared, owlishly, at the empty glasses, then pushed them across to Mr Barraclough. ‘Same again,’ she said rather thickly. ‘Same again, landlord.’

When Mrs Bennett left the Livingstone Arms that night, she was very drunk indeed, and not one penny of Michael’s money remained in her possession. In fact, had any money remained she would not have left the pub, for in the mood of rage and defiance which had possessed her after George’s visit, she would have considered it a failing to have returned home sober. As it was, she staggered from the pub with a bottle of Guinness tucked into her skirt pocket and made her way, unsteadily, across the court. By now, she had reached the maudlin stage and was weeping sadly to herself. I’m mish-mish-mishunder-stood,’ she mumbled, hiccuping. ‘I’ve quarrelled wi’ me eldest son and it’s all the fault o’ that nasty brat. Why, oh why, couldn’t she ha’ died instead o’ me darlin’ Stella? Oh, if only Stella were alive today, she’d see her poor old mam right. She wouldn’t lerrem blame me for what ain’t my fault … she’d know why I hates that bleedin’ kid wi’out expectin’ me to lower meself by tellin’ her. Oh, Stella, Stella, why did you up and die?’

When Ginny returned to Victoria Court, the house was empty but she guessed that George had been visiting because there was three-quarters of a large fruit cake sitting in the middle of the table, though the teapot standing next to the cake had been cold, she judged, for a couple of hours at least. She also guessed, with an inward groan, where her grandmother was. For had not Ginny taken her father’s brown envelope from the postman that very morning? She had offered to do Gran’s messages before going off on her own concerns and had grudgingly been given enough money for a bag of potatoes, a couple of carrots, a turnip and a box of Oxo cubes. She had suggested that she might buy some scrag end if Gran would part with a little more money – she was sick to death of blind scouse – but Mrs Bennett, who had pocketed the envelope without blinking an eye-lash, promptly said that there were no money available for such luxuries.

Ginny had brought the groceries home, peeled and chopped the vegetables and put them in a pan, sprinkling two Oxo cubes into the water. She had not, however, put the pan over the fire, knowing her grandmother might well go off and leave it cooking until the pan was dry and the vegetables burned. Instead, she had stood it under the low stone sink and asked if there was anything else Granny Bennett wanted.

‘I want you out o’ here,’ her grandmother had growled nastily. ‘Don’t you go hangin’ around the house hopin’ to nick some o’ me money for wharrever it is you’re after, ’cos you won’t get nothin’. Clear orff, d’you hear me?’

‘Yes, I hear you,’ Ginny had said in a tired voice. She could not remember the last time Granny Bennett had even been a bit nice to her but her additional nastiness was due, Ginny realised, to the fact that she was on the wagon. Ginny, who knew very well what it was to be hungry, imagined that wanting drink so badly must be even worse. There had been times when she had cried with the hunger pains in her stomach so, presumably, drink pains must be even more horrid.

Guessing that Granny Bennett was now in the pub, however, did not make Ginny’s own lot any rosier. She knew Gran would drink herself into a good mood and would then proceed to drink yet more until she was in a bad mood. Only when all the money was gone would she come staggering home, and by then it behoved Ginny to be well out of the way, preferably tucked up in bed, for her grandmother would not essay the stairs when she had a load of Guinness aboard.

So when Ginny roused to hear her grandmother blundering about downstairs, she made no attempt to get out of bed. Granny Bennett was shouting and swearing as she lurched into the kitchen and began to bang about in the cupboards. Ginny guessed she was searching for something to eat and ignored the racket as she ignored the drunken command to ‘Come down out o’ that, gal, an’ find your gran some grub.’ Experience had taught her that drunks may think they want food but are seldom able to eat it when it arrives and she had no intention, anyway, of getting within arm’s length of Granny Bennett, who packed a wicked punch when in her cups.

Next morning, Ginny got up at her usual time and went downstairs to start the breakfast. Granny Bennett was sprawled on the filthy, faded little sofa, snoring so loudly that it was a wonder she did not wake herself up. Ginny cast her an incurious glance, then something made her look more intently. The old woman was a very odd colour indeed. Her whole face and the hands protruding from beneath her shawl were a bright, artificial-looking pink, and all of a sudden Ginny took fright. Her grandmother hated her and Ginny was not too fond of the old girl either, but she had no desire to share the house with a corpse. Whilst Granny Bennett was clearly not dead – the snores proved that – there was certainly something very wrong.

Filling the kettle and placing it upon the fire, Ginny wondered what she should do. If Miss Tillett had still been alive, she would have gone next door, but her old friend had died two years previously and the people now living there, the Borrages, were far too involved in their own affairs to be of much use.

The trouble with calling a doctor was that it would cost money and Ginny had bought her stockings and was now penniless. There were other people in the court, of course, but she hesitated to call on them, knowing how furious her grandmother would be if the neighbours gossiped to one another about her drunken state. She was still hesitating over what to do for the best when she heard the front door opening. She had sunk into a chair to think her problem over, but now she jumped to her feet. It had to be family – anyone else would have knocked – and she could only hope that it would be George. She had two uncles still living in the area, George and Lewis, and though she scarcely knew either of them well – Lewis seldom visited and George only twice a month – she felt more at ease with the older man. Uncle George was tall and dark with receding hair. He was also stout and Ginny never doubted his goodness of heart. Uncle Lewis was very different. He had wavy yellow hair of which he was inordinately proud, for Ginny had noticed that he was always flicking it off his face and smoothing it back with both hands whilst pressing the waves in with his fingers. He had very bright, blue eyes, a mouth which smiled easily and a strongly cleft chin, yet despite the fact that he was by far the handsomest of her uncles, Ginny thought him less trustable than plain and plodding Uncle George.

Now, she opened the kitchen door so abruptly that her Uncle George, for it was he, almost fell into the room. He stared at her for a moment, then spoke. ‘Is me mam all right? I were tellin’ my Mary that we’d had a row, Mam and me, and I telled her that the old gal stalked off, swearin’ an’ shoutin’, in the direction of the pub. My Mary were a nurse once, and she said it were downright dangerous for someone to cut out the booze for weeks and then go off on a bender. So I come round early, before going to work, to check out …’ At this point, the deafening snores caught his attention for the first time and he gave a relieved grin. ‘I hear she’s alive an’ in good voice! Well, mebbe she didn’t drink all her money away, so I better be off.’

He half turned as if to leave the room but Ginny grabbed his arm urgently. ‘I know she’s snorin’, but I think she’s maybe really ill,’ she said. ‘She’s ever such a funny colour, Uncle George, and she’s not woke up though I’ve been clattering around the kitchen, wondering what to do for the best for ten minutes at least. Come and tek a look at her.’

To do her Uncle George credit, Ginny thought, he took one look at his mother and produced a florin from his pocket. ‘Go and get Dr Barker; show him the money an’ say as it’s urgent,’ he said. ‘I never seen a human face that colour before so I reckon it’s a job for the doctor. Hop along, queen.’

Granny Bennett opened her eyes and gazed groggily around her. Where the devil was she? She had a vague memory of very unpleasant things happening to her, being dragged and bullied and pushed about and told she must walk. Someone had given her a great deal of horrible salty water … she had vomited, wept and wailed, hit out. But that had been a long time ago – hours, weeks? – and now she appeared to be tucked up in a bed, beneath a coverlet so white that it hurt her eyes.

‘Mam? Oh, thank God, she’s come round.’

Granny Bennett moved her head with considerable difficulty until she could see the speaker. It was her son, George, and as soon as she met his eyes he grinned, relief shining out of his face. ‘Oh, Mam, we all thought you was a goner this time. Wharrever made you go on the booze when you’ve been good for so long? Dr Barker’s warned you over and over that the drink would be the death of you an’ this time it damn nearly was. If – if you’re going to say it were because we had a row, then I’m real sorry, but tell me, what have you got against our Ginny? You made it pretty clear, yesterday, that you really hate the kid, even though she’s useful to you. Why, if it weren’t for the money her pa sends, I do believe you’d have turned her out on the street or sent her to an orphan asylum. So what is it, eh? You wouldn’t tell me yesterday, but I reckon you’re more amenable today.’

Mrs Bennett stared at him for a long moment. The trouble was, the story was quite a complicated one and she did not feel like justifying herself right now; she was too tired. On the other hand, though, if George understood the reason for her dislike of her granddaughter, then perhaps he might do something about it. Slowly, she began to speak.

‘Oh, George, it’s all such a long time ago, but it’s as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday. Have you ever heard anyone mention your Aunt Violet?’

Obviously baffled, George shook his head. ‘I didn’t know I had an Aunt Violet,’ he said. ‘Were she your sister, Mam? Come to that, I thought you were the only girl in a family of boys, so I suppose she must have been Dad’s sister.’

Mrs Bennett sighed. ‘Violet were my sister. She were two years younger than me but we were close as could be. We went everywhere together; to dances, the theatre, on day trips … everywhere. When we were old enough to go courtin’ … oh well, I suppose it’s no surprise if I tell you, we fell for the same young feller. He were called Neil McAllister and – and I thought he were the bee’s knees. He were my young man at the start but after he met Violet, he changed. Then one day, I woke up to find a note on me pillow. She and Neil had lit off, gone to America. I told everyone I didn’t give a damn, that she was welcome to him, but I vowed to forget her, cut her off completely.

‘When they were settled in like, she wrote, begging me to forgive her, sayin’ I must go to America as their guest. Oh, five or six letters she wrote, but I never replied to one of ’em. Even when I met and married your dad, I couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done. So you see, when Ginny were born … well, it were more than I could bear.’