Christmas Wishes (18 page)

Alex cleared his throat. ‘I’d ask you to sit down …’ he began, and was forestalled.

‘Thank you,’ Irene said politely, and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, twisting it to face him. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but someone said …’

She hesitated, and Alex jumped in at once. ‘Just what did someone say?’ he asked baldly. ‘I’m sure no one said I encouraged young ladies to visit me after ten o’clock in the evening! So why are you here?’

Irene’s face grew even pinker and Alex thought for a moment that there was a sly look in her big, pale blue eyes, but then it vanished and she was just a very young girl feeling the most awful fool, and he was not helping a bit. Dared not help, in point of fact. He liked all the Finnigan family and had no wish to alienate even this particular sprig by telling her bluntly to go home. ‘Why are you here?’ he repeated, and then, aware of the brusqueness of the remark, softened his tone. ‘I’m sorry, Irene, but I’m puzzled …’

‘Why, I’m applyin’ for the job. Surely you realised?’ Irene said quickly. ‘They said you wanted folk to come when the ki— the children, I mean, were in bed, so I come round after ten, like you said.’

‘Like I said?’ echoed Alex blankly. ‘But I didn’t … I haven’t … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Irene sighed, but the betraying flush in her cheeks deepened. ‘Some of the women were chatterin’. They said as how you wanted a – a companion, a friend like, to be wi’ young Joy from around four until t’other one, or yourself of course, come home. They said that now, while the evenings is light until quite late and the weather’s clement, your Gillian will be attendin’ after-school classes … I think that’s what they said. And they said as how you wanted someone to keep Joy company whenever you or Gillian ain’t here.’ She peered at him anxiously. ‘Ain’t that right? Have I gorrit wrong? Only that
was
what they were sayin’, the women in Platt’s grocery t’other evenin’. And I’m real fond o’ young Joy. I’d be happy to come in when needed and wouldn’t ask no payment, honest to God, Mr Lawrence, sir.’

Alex took a deep breath; this was not going to be easy! ‘I’m afraid you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick,’ he said politely. ‘I couldn’t possibly ask you – or anyone else – to give up their free time without paying them. And of course during the school holidays we won’t need any help at all. It’s true that Gillian is coming home a good deal later than Joy, but …’

Another knock sounded on the back door and Alex’s heart descended to his boots. Now things might be awkward indeed, if this was the person he was expecting. But he smiled at Irene and said in a low voice: ‘Off with you, young lady. The visitor I was waiting for has just arrived.’

As Irene got reluctantly to her feet he went across and opened the kitchen door, gesturing for Mrs Clarke to enter. He smiled at her, then turned to Irene. ‘Goodnight, Irene. Thank you for your offer of help, but …’

He opened the door wider and Irene slipped out, keeping her eyes down and her head averted as she and Mrs Clarke passed one another. Alex was about to close the back door, saying pleasantly: ‘I’m sorry about the muddle …’ when Irene suddenly turned back.

‘What say we share the job – me and Mrs Clarke?’ she said eagerly. ‘I remember old Mrs Platt saying that there were some trouble over cookin’ … if you was wantin’ help in that quarter …?’

Alex was starting to feel that he shared Gillian’s opinion of this young visitor; the girl was downright pushy. After all, she was an uninvited guest, whereas he had asked Mrs Clarke to pop round. He was beginning to bid Irene a rather cool goodnight when Mrs Clarke interrupted. ‘If this young lady is one of Joy’s friends, then maybe the child might prefer her company to that of a woman old enough to be’ – she smiled a trifle ruefully – ‘her mother … though not her grandmother,’ she finished rather roguishly. ‘What do you think, Mr Lawrence? I’m very fond of your daughters and will enjoy giving them cookery lessons, but of course we must not forget that Joy will always need help, so the girls must learn to cook as a team. I take it that that was why you asked me to come round this evening?’

Poor Alex stood by the open back door, not liking to shut it in Irene’s face, yet none too keen to have her listen to his discussion with Mrs Clarke, for he had every intention of offering that lady a small hourly sum for time spent in his home.

Irene took matters into her own hands by coming back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her and addressing the older woman. ‘I’m no hand at cooking and me mam’s no great shakes, so I’d be glad of a lesson or two meself,’ she said eagerly. ‘And as I were tellin’ Mr Lawrence here, me and Joy’s good pals so I wouldn’t expect no rumer … rumer … no money for keepin’ the kid company when there’s no one else around.’ She turned her head and looked pleadingly at Alex. ‘Honest to God, Mr Lawrence, I reckon it’s the ideal solution.’

Alex decided it was time he took control of the situation. He went over and opened the back door again, but this time kept a firm hold on the handle. ‘I know you mean well, Irene, but Mrs Clarke and myself have to talk,’ he said, ushering his unwanted guest firmly out into the back yard.

Irene was still looking over her shoulder and talking of her willingness to come in whenever she was needed when she gave a shriek and cried that there was something in the yard; it had just bumped against her legs …

Alex began to say irritably that it must be a neighbour’s cat, but Mrs Clarke pushed past him, bent down and seized something, then straightened, revealing that one hand was hooked into the collar of her pug. ‘I’m that sorry, Mr Lawrence,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I brought Dilly out for an airing but of course I wouldn’t bring her into your kitchen … if I’d known you had a visitor, I’d never have let her loose in your yard.’ She turned anxiously to Irene. ‘Did she bite you, love? I expect you startled her, walkin’ out all of a sudden the way you did.’

‘I don’t know; my leg hurts! If that little bleeder has laddered my nylons …’ Irene began in anything but a forgiving voice. ‘I’d best go back in the kitchen, check what the little beast’s done.’

But Alex had had enough. ‘No you don’t, young lady,’ he said grimly, barring the way. ‘You said something had bumped into you, which might mean a ladder in your nylons, but scarcely a rent in your person.’ Suddenly, the humour of the situation struck him and he had hard work not to start laughing. He controlled his mirth, however, and turned to Mrs Clarke. ‘Take Dilly into the kitchen, Mrs C. She can have one of the biscuits you baked last week; there are a few left in the biscuit barrel.’ He turned back to the younger woman, who was bale-fully examining her nylon-clad legs in the light from the kitchen door. ‘Off with you, Irene. Thanks for the offer; if at any time I decide to take you up on it, I’ll let you know.’

Back in the kitchen, he and Mrs Clarke exchanged rueful grins whilst Dilly slobbered over a ginger biscuit, lying in front of the fire as though she owned the whole house. ‘I’m awful sorry,’ Mrs Clarke said apologetically. ‘I’ll leave Dilly at home another time; you won’t want her messing up your nice clean kitchen. But I always give her a walk last thing and I’ve been too busy all day to give her much attention, so I thought I’d trot her round here, leave her in the yard whilst you and I had our little chat, and then walk her up as far as the bomb site. I usually let her off the lead there so she can have a good sniff around.’

Alex grinned. ‘And bite the bums of any lovers unwise enough to pursue their frolics in what they assume to be a secluded spot,’ he observed. ‘I hope I needn’t tell you, Mrs Clarke, that young Irene was an uninvited guest? Apparently she’d been in Platt’s the other day when some of the customers were discussing our problems and decided to take a hand … well, there was no harm done, as it happens. Actually, I asked you to pop in so I could see if you’d consider a sort of part-time job. At present Gillian comes home from school about half an hour after Joy, but she would like to stay on for various after-school clubs, which would mean she wouldn’t get home until seven or eight at night, sometimes later. St Hilda’s girls can use the tennis courts, the cricket nets and the sports field until nine o’clock at night, but Gillian has been unable to take part in any of those extras because she’s had to get home to be with Joy. Oh, not always, but as you know, I don’t have regular hours.’

‘Yes, I understand, and if Joy would agree we could work out a timetable which would suit us both,’ Mrs Clarke said, nodding. ‘I could bring my knitting round, or do some cooking for you, or Joy and I could go out together, perhaps to the park, or just for a stroll.’

‘That would be wonderful, and of course I’d pay you an hourly rate …’ Alex began, only to be peremptorily hushed.

‘No, no; why should you pay me when I’d be using your gas cooker? To say nothing of ingredients, because I’d be bound to borrow a little salt or the odd spoonful of jam from time to time. I’ll charge you for any ingredients I buy, as I always have, but not for my time!’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Why should I expect payment for enjoying myself?’

On this point, however, Alex was determined to be firm, and in the end they agreed on a small sum to be paid weekly. They also agreed, to Alex’s secret surprise, that Mrs Clarke would ask Irene Finnigan to take her place when either she herself was busy, or Joy wished to attend some event which Mrs Clarke knew the girl would enjoy more in the company of someone her own age.

Alex had demurred at this, not wanting Irene to get her foot in the door for fear she would take advantage in some way. He said as much to Mrs Clarke, who shook a reproving finger. ‘She means well, and she’ll be able to do a number of things which are beyond me,’ she said frankly. ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Lawrence, I know what you’re thinking, but be sure I’ll keep her in check. She’s not a bad girl, but she’s at an awkward age, neither one thing nor t’other.’ She smiled understandingly at her companion. ‘You’ll find out all about the difficulties of rearing young girls in a couple of years when Joy and Gillian become … what is it the Americans call them? I know, bobby-soxers.’ She chuckled, and got to her feet. ‘Break it to Joy before she goes off to school tomorrow, and let me know if she approves. Goodnight, Mr Lawrence. Dilly? Come along, old lady, stir your stumps.’

Alex hurried to open the back door, thanked his visitor sincerely and watched as Mrs Clarke and the fat little dog crossed the yard, went through the gate and turned right along the jigger. Only when they were out of sight did he close and lock the kitchen door and with a deep sigh, for it was well past eleven o’clock, begin to lay the table for breakfast before making his weary way up the stairs to bed.

Irene had gone home thoroughly disgruntled with her evening, but the next day Mrs Clarke called round at the Finnigans’ and asked for a word with her, then explained how things stood and said that if Irene were agreeable they would share the task of being with Joy when she needed them.

Irene had been thinking gloomily that she might as well forget her cunning plan to infiltrate the Lawrence household, but now it seemed as though fate, far from being set against her, was actually on her side. Of course it was a pity that for the most part her entering No. 77 would be the signal for Alex to leave it, but that was a problem which could be overcome once her foot was in the door. And me knees are under the table, she thought.

Oh, how I love Alex Lawrence, she told herself gleefully, and how exciting was a secret love for an older man, which she must keep locked within her own breast. For Irene was quite bright enough to realise that if Alex or his daughters guessed what her true feelings were she would be immediately dismissed – oh, not for the real reason, of course, but for any trumpery excuse they could dream up. Gillian, she already knew, did not like her much and would not hesitate to see her off with a flea in her ear if she made an obvious play for Alex. But softly, softly, catchee monkee, she told herself. Once they’re used to me, I’ll work something out, make an excuse to stay for an extra five minutes when he comes in from work, meet him in the street and say I want to chat about Joy … oh yes, I can be a match for young Gillian if I put my mind to it.

Chapter Seven

It was late June and Gillian, who was good at all sports but excelled at tennis, ran across the court and whacked the ball as hard as she could into the tramlines on her opponents’ side of the net. ‘Game, set and match,’ Gillian’s partner announced happily. She mopped her brow. ‘Well done, Gillian. Phew, isn’t it hot? I could do with a drink.’

The two approached the net to shake hands with their opponents and Gillian glanced sideways at the green-painted bench which stood alongside the grass court. As she expected, it was still occupied. David Rogers, Keith Bain and Paul Everett were applauding languidly whilst little Twiggy Woods was hastily closing his book and shoving it into his satchel so that he, too, could applaud.

‘Well done, you two,’ the large, heavily built girl on the other side of the net said, seizing Gillian’s hand and pumping it energetically up and down. ‘You’re really good, easily first team material.’ She grinned across at Gillian’s partner. ‘You aren’t bad either; if your backhand wasn’t so weak …’

‘It’s all right, Eleanor, I know Gillian carries me,’ Shirley Smithson said regretfully. ‘I really like tennis but I’m not nearly good enough to play for my year, let alone the school. But as Miss Rutledge says, it isn’t winning that counts …’ she grinned as the other girls chorused: ‘but how you play the game.’

The girls turned away from the net, Eleanor’s partner going across to lower it whilst Eleanor herself looped it off the grass, for they knew they were the last people to use the courts that evening. Then they walked over to the boys, who immediately stood up. ‘Well done, all of you,’ Keith said. He picked up Gillian’s sports bag from where it lay against the legs of the bench and slung it over his shoulder, the action making it clear, without words, whom he meant to accompany back to the school building.

The other young people dropped behind and Keith looked Gillian up and down. She was in tennis whites because the girls were not allowed on the courts in school uniform, but they had to change back into it before they left the grounds. Gillian was conscious that her whites were a pretty poor affair when compared with those of the other three girls, but though at first this had embarrassed her, it no longer did so. With a good deal of help from Mrs Clarke, she had made herself a short pleated skirt and had bought from Paddy’s market a white Aertex shirt and a pair of white ankle socks. Plimsolls had been difficult since the ones on sale in the market were mostly black, but Irene, who had accompanied Gillian and Joy on the shopping expedition to buy her sportswear, had pounced on a pair of sand-coloured pumps. ‘These are your size,’ she had said triumphantly. ‘Me mam always says you can get anything in Paddy’s market, and ain’t she just right?’