A Kiss and a Promise (33 page)

Ivy agreed enthusiastically to watch for her cousin’s dad and Aunt Amy, who was working mornings in a large greengrocery shop on the Scotland Road, promised to do her own messages so that her niece could enjoy her rare outing.

The day dawned brilliant with sunshine and a clear blue sky, which was a bonus, since Ginny had been telling herself all week that even bad weather would not spoil her enjoyment of the treat ahead. As it happened, Miss Derbyshire whisked her round the art gallery and museum and then announced that they would go for a boat trip on the Mersey since the weather was so fine.

Trailing home that evening, Ginny thought she had never been happier. They had had a wonderful day and now could she could settle down to wait for her father with what patience she could muster.

As she turned into the jigger which led from Caradoc Road to the backs of the houses in Schubert Street, Ivy came flying to meet her. She cast herself into Ginny’s arms, saying breathlessly: ‘Did you ’ave a luverly time, queen? Ooh, we did miss you, ‘specially me, ’cos I forgot to buy a pot o’ jam yesterday, so it were just bread ’n’ marge for us an’ Ruthie howled louder’n Rufus did when I shut his tail in the door.’

‘I had a grand time, thanks, me luv,’ Ginny said contentedly, giving her little cousin a hug. ‘We had our dinners out, like Miss Derbyshire said we would, but that were ages ago and now I could eat a perishin’ horse. Has me aunt gone out yet? What’s for tea, eh?’ She did not bother to ask whether there had been any visitors; she knew very well that had her father arrived from Ireland Ivy would have blurted out the news the moment she had set eyes on Ginny – and would have held out her hand for the tuppence, no doubt.

‘It’s boiled beef an’ carrots, wi’ a big pan of spuds and a great old cabbage what Mr O’Keefe gave me mam this morning,’ Ivy disclosed. ‘Mam’s working at the Caradoc this evening so we’ll have our food as soon as me dad gets home. Oh, I forgot.’ She plunged a small and grimy hand into the pocket of her pinafore. ‘There’s a letter from your da’; d’you think it’ll say when he’s comin’ over, Ginny?’

Ginny took the crumpled letter and ripped the envelope open. She leaned against the wall which bounded their courtyard and read it eagerly, then turned to Ivy, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt. ‘He isn’t comin’ for two or three weeks, so Aunt Amy won’t have to start makin’ arrangements to see someone’s at home of an evening for a while yet,’ she said cheerfully. She so longed to see her father and her grandparents, longed to see the farm, for that matter, and now she would not be present at what her father thought was one of the busiest times of the farming year. Still, he had said he would fetch her before the corn harvest and she knew from her book reading that harvesting was one of the nicest farming events. All the farms in the district banded together so that everyone’s harvest could be gathered in whilst the weather was clement, and this meant that she would meet everyone in the area, for even the children followed the reaper and binder from field to field.

‘Oh, poor Ginny … but it’s awful nice for us,’ Ivy said, as the pair of them went through the back gate and began to cross the yard. ‘I does love the summer holidays, though, and we’ll have a good time, won’t we, Ginny? I loves to play on the beach, paddle in the sea and dig castles, and then there’s the park. Tell you what, our Ginny, Crosby’s seaside, ain’t it? I ’member that boy, Steve, sayin’ their beach were cleaner than ours, wi’ not so many people on it. We could catch the train or a bus to Crosby, couldn’t we? I did like that Steve and it ’ud be fun to have a day out and mebbe meet up wi’ Steve an’ Roly.’

Ginny grinned to herself and rumpled Ivy’s hair. ‘I dare say we might have a day out somewhere,’ she said, a trifle guardedly. She had realised that Ivy had taken a great liking to Steve but had hoped that the child would forget him if they did not meet up again. Clearly, Ivy’s liking had gone rather deeper than Ginny had thought, for it was some weeks since the two families had met up.

The two of them went into the kitchen. Uncle Lew was hanging up his cap and jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, remarking jovially that since his wife had cooked his favourite tea, he did not intend to lose a moment, and the kids must all get round the table so he could start carving the silverside. He grinned across at Ginny, removing her own jacket and hanging it on the hook behind the kitchen door, and told her to give her Aunt Franklin a shout. ‘No need to shout the girls,’ he added, ‘since they’re never backward in coming forward when there’s food on the table. Oh, that reminds me; I picked up some o’ them sherbet dabs you kids are so fond of. I’ll hand them round after the meal.’

Ruthie squealed with pleasure but Aunt Amy frowned at her husband, lifting the small child on to a chair with two cushions on the seat. ‘Now why ever did you tell ’em you’d bought sherbet before they’d ate their teas?’ she said peevishly. ‘I want to see every plate clean as a whistle or no matter what your dad says, there’ll be no sherbet dabs for anyone tonight.’

Ruthie began to whine that it was too hot and that salt beef always made her thirsty, but before Aunt Amy could do more than frown at her the Franklins erupted into the kitchen and very soon the meal was under way. Despite the warmth of the day, everyone made short work of their food, though when Aunt Amy put a boiled pudding on the table and began to cut sticky wedges for each person, there was more than one doubtful glance cast at their helping.

‘Get outside of that lot and don’t let me hear no grumbling,’ Aunt Amy said, sitting down and beginning on her own portion. ‘I’m workin’ tonight so you’ll have to get the meal washed up and cleared away wi’out me.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Don’t let the kids buzz off until you’ve made sure all the work’s done,’ she instructed.

Mrs Franklin nodded, though her daughters both said at once that they would be unable to help since they were off to the cinema as soon as the meal was finished. Aunt Amy shot a quick glance at her husband, but said nothing, and very soon Uncle Lewis got to his feet and produced a brown paper carrier bag. He began handing round the small packets of sherbet, each with a liquorice stick protruding from the top. The Franklin girls had already made themselves scarce and Aunt Amy was preparing for her evening’s work at the Caradoc, taking off her big white apron, loosening her hair and brushing it fiercely before pinning it back into its usual bun. Mrs Franklin was at the sink, piling up the dishes, when Ivy, peering into the carrier bag, announced gleefully: ‘There’s two more in there, Dad. Don’t you know you’ve only got three girls an’ our Ginny?’

Ginny, stacking plates, spoke before she thought. ‘Oh, the extra two will be for Steve and Roly, of course,’ she said blithely. ‘I expect Uncle Lew will take them at the weekend.’

There was a moment of frozen silence; Mrs Franklin swung round from the sink and stared, then shrugged and turned back again. Ivy began to say that the sherbets couldn’t possibly be for Steve and Roly because our dad didn’t know them and Ginny, desperate to cover up her awful mistake, said hastily that she must be going mad; she had meant Belle and Norma, of course.

It was unfortunate that Aunt Amy had been looking straight at Uncle Lew when Ginny had dropped her bombshell. Ginny thought that if ever a man had looked guilty, it was her uncle. He reddened to the roots of his hair but said, feebly: ‘Yes, of course, they were meant for Belle and Norma … I – I knew they was off to the flickers so I – I thought I’d buy them a little treat, like.’

Aunt Amy had been staring at Uncle Lew but now she swung round and her scorching gaze transferred itself to Ginny. ‘I think you’d best explain just what you meant, young woman,’ she said furiously. ‘I were goin’ happily off to me work wi’out a care in the world, but now I want an explanation.’

Ginny’s mind darted wildly about, seeking for a good reason for what she had said. She began to mumble that the boys were a couple of pals she and Ivy met sometimes in Bowerdale Park but Ivy, all unknowing, was having none of it.

‘They ain’t, Ginny,’ she said reproachfully. ‘They comes from Crosby, you know they does. Why, weren’t we plannin’ to meet up wi’ them one day during the holidays?’

Uncle Lew turned on his daughter. ‘Shut your mouth,’ he said roughly. ‘Your mam asked Ginny what she meant, not you.’ He turned back to Ginny. ‘And if you go tellin’ lies or makin’ trouble, I’ll beat you within an inch o’ your life. You ain’t like me own kids, what ha’ been taught never to lie or steal; you’ve had a bad upbringing and your mam were a spoiled little piece what thought the world revolved round her. Now! Let’s be having the truth.’

There was a look in his eyes which terrified Ginny. But though she was frightened she was beginning to be angry, too. What right had Uncle Lew to threaten her, call her mother names and insinuate that she was not to be trusted? After all, it was the truth he feared, and with so many eyes upon her Ginny knew she would not be able to lie convincingly. She took a deep breath. ‘Ivy’s right; them boys do live in Crosby an’ Uncle Lew … well, they’re his boys.’

She waited for an explosion of wrath from her uncle, but instead it came from Aunt Amy. Her aunt shot across the room and slapped Ginny’s face so resoundingly that she cannoned into the table, giving a cry of pain as she did so. ‘You wicked, brazen little hussy!’ Aunt Amy hissed. ‘And after we’ve been so good to you, too. Your uncle took you in and we’ve treated you like one of our own an’ now this is the way you reward us! Well, my lady, you’ve spent your last night under this roof and so I’m telling you. You can go back to your grandma, and when your Uncle George hears what you’ve been saying he’ll likely break your neck, for he’s rare fond of Lew and won’t have you spreading your lies when he’s by to prevent it.’

Ivy burst into tears and clutched at her mother’s skirt. ‘What’s the matter, our mam?’ she hiccuped between sobs. ‘Why are you so cross wi’ our Ginny? She don’t tell lies, you know she don’t. I’ve heered you tellin’ people wharra good girl she is an’ how ’liable. An’ – an’ them boys does come from Crosby, they told us so.’

‘It don’t matter where they come from,’ Aunt Amy said tightly. ‘It’s – it’s what your cousin’s sayin’ about them being your dad’s boys.’ She glared at her niece but Ginny could see there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes. ‘I ain’t goin’ to pretend your uncle’s a saint but there’s no way …’

‘Ask him where he goes weekends,’ Ginny said. Her voice was shaky but determined. ‘Ask him to show you the savings book with the money you’ve saved towards – towards …’ She remembered, belatedly, that she had promised her aunt not to reveal the secret about the Welsh farm and ended, rather disjointedly: ‘Towards what the pair o’ you have been saving up for. Please, Aunt Amy, I’m norra liar an’ I never meant to say a word …’

Aunt Amy was staring at her, not moving, but Uncle Lew came across the kitchen like a tiger. He grabbed Ginny by her shoulders and lifted her off the floor then ran across to the back door and flung her into the yard. ‘You heard what your aunt said; gerrout an’ stay out!’ he bawled. ‘Why, you trouble-making little bitch. If I’d knowed what you were plannin’ to do, I’d ha’ given you a dose o’ somethin’ a deal deadlier than sherbet.’ With that, he retreated into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, Ginny lay where she had fallen. She had cracked her head against the water butt, but then she scrambled to her feet. She turned towards the back door and actually had her hand on the latch when she heard her aunt’s voice. ‘P’raps I’d best take a glance at your savings book, Lew,’ Aunt Amy said. ‘I’m off to me work now but I’ll tek a look at it when I get home. Just to satisfy myself, like, that there’s no jiggery-pokery goin’ on; awright?’

‘Awright, queen,’ her uncle said in a subdued voice. ‘You’ll gerra pleasant surprise when you see how well we’re doing … but you’d best get off now or you’ll be late. I’ll walk down to the pub at closing time so’s we can have a talk on the way home.’

Ginny was still hovering by the door when she heard the sharp tap of her aunt’s shoes on the kitchen bricks and hastily beat a retreat. She scooted into the jigger and ran for all she was worth towards Henley Street, knowing that her aunt would head in the opposite direction. For the moment, Ginny’s main thought was to get away from Schubert Street, to lick her wounds and decide what she should do next. Her head was still singing from Aunt Amy’s slap and her ribs ached where she had cannoned into the table. She had bumped her head against the water butt and cracked her knee, which was bleeding copiously. Still sobbing beneath her breath, she headed for the grounds of Seaforth Convent, knowing that no one would think of looking for her there, not even Ivy, for she had never taken her young cousins when she climbed the high wall and trespassed into the enormous neglected grounds, for the convent had been deserted now for nearly two decades. She seldom ventured near the house itself, which she thought spooky and was probably dangerous, but she knew the outbuildings and grounds like the back of her hand and often came here, armed with a book, when she needed peace and quiet. The light was fading by the time she sought refuge in a grove of birches. Ginny sat herself down, leaned against the trunk of one of the trees, and examined her wounds. What a sight I must look, she thought, spitting on the hem of her faded blue cotton dress and trying to rub off the blood from around the wound on her knee. She put a hand up to her head to trace the outline of an enormous bump just above her eyebrow. Yes, she must indeed look absolutely dreadful, and with the thought came the realisation that she did not want
anyone
– anyone at all – to see the state she was in.

When Uncle Lew had said she must go, she had thought at once of her old home in Victoria Court and of her friends there. But now she realised that not even Danny or Annie could be expected to understand unless she told them the whole story, and to do this would be letting her aunt down and blackening her cousins too, for if she was right, and Uncle Lew was really married to Steve’s mother, then Ivy, Millie and Ruthie were love children, as she herself was. She remembered nasty remarks she had overheard about her begetting. Some children at school had called names and some parents had muttered behind their hands. She had asked Aunt Mary, when she was quite small, why a fat and blowzy neighbour with seven kids of her own and a drunken husband frequently told her children off for playing with ‘that kid what’s mam was just a cheap little tart, for all her pretty looks’. Aunt Mary had snorted disdainfully and replied that it was a case of a pot calling the kettle black, since Mrs Snelling’s eldest child had also been born out of wedlock. At the time, this had not meant much to Ginny, but now she understood and was determined that her little cousins should not be tarred with the same brush, if she could possibly help it.