A Kiss and a Promise (34 page)

Having decided that she could not return to Victoria Court, she also realised that it would not do to go round to Canning Street and beg Miss Derbyshire to help her. Nor could she go to Aunt Mary and Uncle George because, if she did so, no doubt Uncle Lew would get to hear of it and would come down on her like a ton of bricks.

Thinking it over, she had decided that Uncle Lew would simply falsify his Post Office savings book, putting off the evil hour when he would have to admit to his wife that he had very few savings. So it was no use relying on the Post Office book to prove that it was Uncle Lew who was a liar and not she.

Presently, since it was now pretty well dark, Ginny got to her feet and made her way to where a large pool, surrounded by trees, had once been a focal point for the garden, but was now overgrown with rushes and flag irises. The moon was out and she kneeled by the water and had as good a wash as was possible, flattened her untidy hair with her wet hands, and then sat down on the low wall which flanked the pool and considered what she should do next. Going back to Schubert Street was out of the question, and unless she was prepared to tell her friends what had happened, she could not expect any help from them. But when her father came, she would be safe. She could go back to Ireland with him and tell him and her Irish grandparents why Uncle Lew had thrown her out and they would understand and sympathise with her, but would be in no position to pass on the awful news to anyone in Liverpool. Ginny’s hand dug into her pocket and felt for the letter. It was all very well to think about awaiting her father’s arrival, but unless she returned to Schubert Street she was unlikely to discover that he had arrived. And then there were the two to three weeks before he came. She could not live on air and dreaded to think of the terrible fuss and the gossip which would result if she were picked up by the police and either put into an orphan asylum or handed back to the Bennetts to face her aunt and uncle’s fury.

There was a small summer house overlooking the pool, and Ginny made her way towards it. She sometimes came here to read her book, because at some stage the summer house had become a repository for the dried grass and bracken which, at first, the gardeners had cut down. The foliage was old, dry and crackly but Ginny knew, from experience, that it would make an excellent couch. She lay down on it and made herself comfortable, wondering for the first time whether her aunt and uncle had reported her as a missing person, or were scouring the streets for her. But she no longer cared, for weariness assailed her. She would let tomorrow take care of itself, but right now she simply had to sleep.

She was on the very edge of dreaming when a thought occurred to her which had her snapping upright, eyes wide open. Of course! If her father was not coming to England for two to three weeks, then she had best go to him. She had his address and imagined, since he lived by the sea and had often written of it, that all she would have to do to find him would be to catch the Irish ferry and travel a few miles to Headland Farm. Once there, she could explain everything and she was sure that her father would sort things out.

Satisfied, she lay down again and was soon asleep.

They searched for her, of course they did. Uncle Lew swore he hadn’t expected her to take him seriously, but Amy thought he had known very well what he was doing. He had wanted the kid so cowed that she would take back the words she had uttered and leave the whole matter alone, but Amy considered that he had gone too far.

She had gone off to work, too upset by what had happened to worry much about her niece. She had told herself that Ginny would return by bedtime, that she had nowhere to go except, possibly, to Mary and George. But that would mean sharing a house with Gran, and explanations … Amy’s blood ran cold at the thought.

When the pub closed and Lew stepped out of the shadows and tucked her hand into his arm, she asked him at once whether Ginny was home yet, never even thinking about the Post Office book which had seemed so important earlier on.

‘No, she ain’t come back yet, but don’t worry, queen, she’ll turn up in time for breakfast,’ he said. ‘I walked along to the canny house and had a word with Mary, but they’d seen neither hide nor hair of the kid.’

‘Well, thank God for that,’ Amy said fervently. Almost without realising it, she had begun to believe that there was some truth, at least, in Ginny’s accusation. ‘I wouldn’t want no gossip – norrif we can avoid it, that is. Now where’s this Post Office book, eh?’

Lew muttered something beneath his breath. She heard the words ‘always been considered trustable’ and ‘a man of me word, don’t see why you have to doubt me’, but he did not sound as if he believed what he was saying and, after a perceptible pause, dug into his jacket pocket and produced a small and shabby Post Office savings book.

Amy took it and stopped under a street lamp, examining the pages. It seemed as though, in the early days, money had certainly gone in each week, but since most of it was drawn out the following week the actual sum still in the savings account was likely to be small. And so it proved; when she reached the last page, the balance showing was £8 7s 9d, not exactly the sort of money one could use to purchase a farm.

Amy sighed deeply and handed him back the book. He took it without a word and rammed it back into his jacket pocket. Then she said gently: ‘Ginny weren’t lying, were she, Lew? You’re havin’ a bit o’ fun on the side, ain’t you, an’ me an’ my kids have been payin’ for it. I’ve done me best to be a good wife to you, I’ve worked me fingers to the bone to keep a decent table and to bring up your kids right and this is the thanks I get for it. The – the boys Ginny mentioned ain’t your get though, are they? They’ll be the woman’s kids; the woman Ginny must have seen you with?’

Lew began to agree, to say that he had quite enough children already, and then he seemed to crumple. By now, they were crossing the yard and heading for the back door, and as they entered the kitchen he said miserably: ‘It’s no use, Amy love, I’d ha’ done anything to keep it from you, but the truth is I – I gorra girl into trouble years back, before ever I met you. She had a boy – he’s the Steve Ginny and Ivy talked about – and – and we – we rented a little house in Crosby, so’s she could be comfortable like. Then – then I met you and – and I knew you were the gal for me. Y’see, Dolly’s a sweet woman, in her way, but – but I were only a lad so I kept on supporting her, but I married you and … well, we’ve been happy, haven’t we? I’ve done me best as well, you know, because I couldn’t just abandon Dolly to starve. She works, o’ course, but Steve’s a big feller now – eats her out of house and home – and the rent’s not cheap, and …’

Amy slumped into a chair. She realised that if she did not press the point now, she would never learn the truth. But she was so tired! She was also, if she was honest, not at all eager to learn the truth, but it was no good burying one’s head in the sand. She would have to face up to whatever Lew had done right away, before he could start inventing half-truths which might be difficult to disprove.

‘Sit down, Lew,’ she said, trying to keep her tone calm, though her heart was racing in her breast. ‘Now that we know where we stand, I want the whole story. Ginny or Ivy, I can’t remember which, said there were two boys. Are – are they both yours? And how old are they?’ Lew leaned forward and tried to take her hand but Amy shook her head at him and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Come along, Lew; at least you know I’m not going to turn
you
out of the house, even if you have deserved it.’

Lew gulped and Amy saw that there were tears in his bright blue eyes. ‘Steve’s twelve and Roly’s five,’ he said humbly. ‘And – and Roly
is
my son – I didn’t mean – it were only the once – oh, Amy, I’m that sorry.’

‘So am I,’ Amy said numbly, with her world collapsing around her ears. I’ll never be able to trust him again, she told herself, but I can’t imagine life without Lew, so I suppose I’ll have to forgive him. Only – only he’ll have to promise to give her up, never to go near Crosby again. And how can I possibly make sure he sticks to it? I can’t spend the rest of me life spyin’ on him.

Lew had been gazing at her appealingly, but now he said uneasily: ‘If I promise to stay away from Dolly and the boys, d’you think it would be possible for us to go on as before? I mean, it would break me mam’s heart if she knew I’d got – I’d got two families, like, an’ there’s George an’ Mary; they’re real strait-laced and wouldn’t approve at all. When we were both in the Navy, I – I had a girl or two in different ports – you know how it is – but George just weren’t like that. From the moment he first set eyes on Mary it were her or no one … and I were the same wi’ you,’ he added hastily. ‘Only – well, I met Dolly first, that were the trouble.’

‘The trouble were, you wanted to have your cake and eat it, Lew Bennett,’ Amy said severely. ‘And it’s got to stop. D’you understand? You’ll have to tell this Dolly you’re a respectable married man and can’t carry on the way you’ve been doing. I agree you can’t let your boys go hungry, but in another couple o’ years the elder one will be workin’ an’ if you ask me she’ll just have to learn to manage; you can send her money by post, like Ginny’s dad does. Now I’ll just pop upstairs and make sure she’s come home.’

Amy hurried up the stairs, truly expecting to find Ginny in her bed, and was honestly dismayed to find she was not. Making her way slowly downstairs once more, she recollected that it had been she, in the first flush of incredulous rage, who had told Ginny to get out. However, she knew how eagerly Ginny was awaiting her father’s visit and was certain that, even if the child had sought the hospitality of a friend for this one night, she would return in the morning.

Now that things were becoming clearer to her, all the affection that she had felt for her niece reasserted itself. She felt ashamed for the way she had spoken to Ginny and meant to apologise handsomely next morning, for on thinking it over she was pretty sure that the child would not have told anyone else what she had discovered. After all, she had hugged the secret to her own breast for many weeks, judging by what she and Ivy had said.

Returning to the kitchen, she sat down at the big, scrubbed wooden table and eyed Lew steadily across it. ‘She ain’t in bed, so she’s not come home,’ she said abruptly. ‘She’ll mebbe have gone to that schoolteacher pal of hers, or one of her friends in Victoria Court. But I tell you what, Lew, she
is
a good kid, you know. I’m pretty sure she won’t split on you, for all you behaved like a brute and a bully to her.’

Lew hung his head. ‘I’ll tell her I’m real sorry when she comes back, Amy,’ he said humbly. ‘And I’ll keep me promises, I’ll swear it on the Bible if you like, not to go near nor by Dolly and the kids.’

Amy nodded grimly, then gave vent to a little human curiosity. ‘Does – does this Dolly woman know about me?’ she enquired. ‘Is she – what does she look like?’

‘No, of course she don’t know about you,’ Lew said, sounding shocked. ‘She’s blonde, plump, easy-going, norra bit like me lively, lovely wife!’

Amy gave a disbelieving snort at this but she was secretly rather pleased. After all, he had married her and merely had a child – two children – by the other woman. So presently, when the two of them headed for the stairs, she told herself that they did have a future together, might even own that farm one of these days. But when Lew tried to follow her up the stairs, she shook her head reprovingly. ‘You’re sleepin’ on the sofa tonight,’ she told him. ‘I’ll need a lot more than empty promises before I take you back into my bed.’

Ginny woke when a ray of early sunshine crept through the window of the little summer house and fell across her face. For a moment, she could not think where she was or what had happened, but then she remembered. Leisurely, she got up and made for the high wall; no point in getting into more trouble by being seen and recognised as a trespasser as she dropped on to the paving stones. If she was to abide by the decision she had made last night, however, and make her way to Ireland, then she could no longer try to hide away from everyone she knew. She was aware that, in books, children stowed away on ships, but she was perfectly certain that if she tried it, she would be discovered and would get into all sorts of trouble. Therefore, it behoved her to decide which of her friends was the most trustworthy and appeal to them for help.

Making her way along Crosby Road South, she thought wistfully of the house in Schubert Street. She could tell by the position of the sun that it was still very early, guessed that no one would be about yet, particularly after the sort of night they had probably had, but she knew that if she tried the back door, Rufus would immediately start to bark. Besides, though the money in the tobacco tin was her own, she would still feel like a thief if she took it from her aunt and uncle’s house. Instead, she decided she would make her way back to Victoria Court and consult Danny. He had always been generous and she thought he would quite probably lend her his savings, secure in the knowledge that she would certainly pay him back.

And so it proved. It took Ginny a fair while to walk to Victoria Court whilst around her the city woke up. She found Danny kicking a ball about with one of his younger brothers, but as soon as she had explained her predicament he went indoors and produced a quantity of money. ‘Is it just money for the ferry you’re wantin’?’ he asked, counting a princely sum into a scrap of faded linen and handing it to her. ‘You’ll have to eat, queen, and it may take you a day or two to reach that farm you’ve talked about. What’ll I say if your aunt and uncle come round enquirin’ about you? Before all this blew up, you were real happy in Seaforth; Annie an’ me both thought so. Why, when your aunt and uncle gerrover bein’ furious with you, they’ll likely start to worry. They’ll have the police out, an’ if you ask me they’ll go first to your Aunt Mary and Uncle George and then they’ll come here. I won’t let you down, queen, but I doesn’t fancy pretendin’ I know nothing if they’re real concerned you’ve drownded yourself in the Mersey or got yourself took off to South America to be a white slave.’