Darkest Before Dawn (9 page)

He was considering what he should do when somebody banged on the front door. Reg let himself out of the kitchen and went down the short hallway, wondering uneasily who would be calling on him and hoping it was not a scuffer. He opened the door cautiously and was much relieved to see Mickey Platt standing on the doorstep.

‘Eh up, Reg,' Mickey said cheerfully. ‘Me old woman said you wanted to see me.'

‘That's right; so I do. Come in, old feller,' Reg said, holding the door wide. He was about to shut it behind his friend when his son Percy came across the court, hesitated, and then somewhat warily climbed the steps and slid past his father, making for the kitchen.

Reg followed his friend and his son into the cheerless room, then ordered Percy brusquely to fetch water and get the fire lit. Percy looked at him resentfully, and for the second time Reg noticed that his son was sporting a black eye. For Mickey's benefit, he asked, ‘Where'd you get that shiner?' and then, before the boy could answer: ‘And where's your mam and the rest of the family? Gone off on the spree, I dare say?'

His son glanced across at him again and Reg saw both fear and burgeoning bitterness in the lad's eyes – or eye rather, since the blackened one was closed – but said nothing whilst he waited for a reply.

Finally, Percy spoke. ‘Mam's taken us round to Auntie Nell's because her house is so near the Stanley hospital,' he mumbled. ‘She telled me to come round to pick up some clothes for Ron because they're keepin' him in hospital another night and the nurse said they'd only let him out tomorrer if he had some clean clobber.'

Reg glanced uneasily across at Mickey, who was following the conversation with blatant curiosity. It had taken Reg only a moment to grasp what must have happened the previous night, but Mickey was a young man who had not been married long and probably did not understand how irritating kids could be. Reg turned his shoulder on his friend and fixed his son with a threatening eye. ‘Oh ah, I remember your mam sayin' as Ron had tripped an' fallen down the stairs and give himself a nasty crack on the head,' he remarked. ‘You kids is all the same, always in trouble. What ward's he in? I'll go round when I've had a bite to eat an' check up on 'im. Your mam might ha' left me a note, though. I wouldn't have minded going round to Nell's place myself an' all. I dare say she'd ha' made me somethin' hot to eat.'

Percy muttered something beneath his breath and continued to busy himself with newspaper and kindling, so Reg turned back to his friend. ‘Look, Mick, we've gorra do something about old Toddy. I've gorra plan, only it takes two . . .'

Percy scrumpled up the newspapers and made a wigwam of the kindling, then reached for the matches. As soon as the wood had caught and was burning steadily, he would add tiny pieces of coal until the whole thing was ablaze. Then he would perch the kettle above the flame and nip upstairs for a clean shirt and kecks for Ron, always supposing that he could find some.

The coal caught. Percy had been listening, idly, to his father's conversation, and suddenly it occurred to him that the men were talking about Mr Todd, the feller in charge of the warehouse . . . Evie's dad. They had talked about him before, but . . . oh, differently. This time his father's low-voiced comments sounded much more purposeful and this made Percy prick up his ears; it sounded as though Reg Baldwin really meant business and that could be bad news, both for Mr Todd and for his daughter.

The coals began to blaze and Percy went and filled the kettle from the bucket beneath the sink, then heaved it across to the fire. He missed some of the conversation but was back in time to hear Mick demurring. It seemed he did not wish to participate in the plan, saying it was the sort of trick which might easily backfire, and could even lead to the wrong man's becoming the victim.

At this point, Percy decided to go upstairs and find the clean clothing he wanted. He did not know exactly what sort of trick his father was planning to play upon Mr Todd, but Mickey Platt didn't seem keen and Reg had said the trick needed two, so perhaps nothing would come of it. He found the clothes without too much trouble and came downstairs very quietly indeed. He had no wish to be collared by his father and dragged back into the kitchen to make the men a cup of tea, yet he was still curious about the plan his father had spoken of. He had not shut the kitchen door properly when he left the room and now paused by the door, listening intently.

‘. . . I'm the one who'll do all the donkey work,' his father was saying persuasively. ‘All I want you to do, old feller, is to call Todd across when I gives you the signal. Don't forget, all I mean to do is give him one helluva scare and mebbe a bruise or two. But it mustn't look deliberate; it's gorra be somethin' real accidental. The way I see it, one fright ain't likely to send him scuttling back to the canal, but two or three . . .'

‘Reg, me ol' pal, it just won't work,' Mickey was saying. ‘Barge masters don't scare easy, and if it were to go wrong . . .'

‘It
can't
go wrong,' the other man said. His voice was beginning to rise. ‘Norrif we both work it out together. But if I'm left to manage alone . . . then, I admit, it could go wrong. An' whose fault would that be?'

‘Yours,' the other man said promptly. He sounded truculent now and Percy heard the creaking of the big old basket chair and knew that his father's pal was getting to his feet. ‘You say it's nobbut a prank, Reg, but to my mind it's a bloody dangerous one. Just forget it, d'you hear me? Forget it.'

The sound of footsteps came towards the door and Percy, clutching his burden, shot up the corridor and out into the court, to make his way to his Auntie Nell's house on Orwell Road. He knew the family would not stay there long, only while Ron was in hospital probably, for the house was crowded enough with Auntie Nell's four boys and three girls. However, it was a respite from his father's uncertain temper, so despite the fact that it more than doubled his walk to school, Percy was quite pleased with the way things had turned out.

He reached the house and entered the warm kitchen thankfully, for the evenings were growing cool. His aunt had saved him a bowl of stew and two or three large potatoes, and Percy thanked her and tried to eat the food slowly. After he had eaten, he was given blankets and told to join his cousins in the boys' room, so he trooped up the stairs and squeezed, with much giggling, into the enormous bed which took up most of the floor space. As he snuggled down, Percy told himself that he would have to be off real early in the morning if he wanted to meet up with his pal Gareth on their usual corner. He hoped the girl, Evie, would be there as well. He thought he would tell her that his father had planned to play a trick on her father, but it had all come to nothing because one of the other men wouldn't agree to take part.

As he drifted off to sleep, Percy remembered that Mickey had said the trick was dangerous and wondered, vaguely, what his father had planned. But it had been a long and exhausting day and, very soon, he fell asleep.

Evie bolted her porridge as soon as her mother put the plate down in front of her. Then she offered to make her own carry-out, which made her mother laugh. ‘Oh yes, and I can just imagine what a mangled wreck my nice new loaf would be if I let you get your hands on it,' Martha said. ‘And not a smidgeon of butter or a scraping of jam left for anyone else, I dare say. No, love, I'll do your carry-out. Are you still wanting an extra butty and another piece of cake? Who are you feeding this time? And what do you want in your butties, come to that? There's sardine and tomato paste, mixed fruit jam, or I can spare some corned beef if I cut it thin.'

‘Ooh, corned beef! Can I have some brown sauce on it?' Evie said eagerly. ‘If I can have two corned beef sandwiches and one sardine and tomato paste, that'll be lovely. And two pieces of cake, Ma, if you don't mind. I've got this new pal; he's older'n me but he don't seem to bring any carry-out to school, so I reckon he'll be glad of a bite.'

Martha reached for the loaf and began cutting it into exactly even slices, so rapidly that Evie thought she worked like some sort of machine. ‘And what's the name of this unfortunate being?' she enquired presently, beginning to spread margarine on each slice as swiftly and efficiently as she had cut the loaf. ‘How did you get to know him, anyway? I understood that boys and girls don't mix in city schools.'

‘It's Percy Baldwin; I told you about him. I think his dad's the one Pa said makes trouble at Payton and Bister.'

‘Oh,' Martha said, rather doubtfully, a slight frown creasing her brow. Then the frown disappeared. ‘Well, it's not the boy's fault that he's got an unpleasant father, so you can take an extra apple as well. They're only the little red ones which you can buy six for a penny, but they help to fill a gap.'

So when Evie set off for school presently, she was fairly laden with food and looking forward to handing a good share of it to her new friend, but when she reached the corner where they usually met, a disappointment awaited her. Gareth, Annie and Ruthie, and Ruthie's brother, Si were waiting, but there was no sign of Percy.

‘I dunno where the family's gone; none o' the kids nor their mam were home last night, but Mr Baldwin were there okay and I dare say the kids'll come to school as usual from wherever they spent the night,' Gareth said, when Evie asked after his pals. ‘Ah, speak of the devil . . .' for at this moment Percy panted up, skidding to a halt beside them.

‘Sorry I'm late, fellers,' he said breathlessly. ‘Me brother Ron's in the Stanley so our mam had us all stay with Auntie Nell last night, 'cos she lives nearby. But I think Ron's coming out today, so I s'pose we'll be back in the court by teatime.' He sounded regretful but Gareth and Annie both smiled, and Gareth gave him a playful punch on the shoulder.

‘That's good news; our side missed the best footballer in the team yesterday,' Gareth said. ‘I dunno how come you're such a grand footballer, old feller, because you ain't even got a decent pair of plimsolls, lerralone boots. I reckon it's just natural genius.'

Evie saw that he was only half joking and that Percy was really pleased and presently, when conversation became general once more, her new friend dropped back to walk beside her. ‘I heard me dad talkin' to one of the other fellers from the warehouse last night,' he remarked, almost casually. ‘They were going to play some daft sort of prank on your dad, but they decided agin it. The other feller said it was too dangerous.'

‘Dangerous?' Evie said, her eyes widening. ‘Why would they want to do something dangerous to my dad? He's a good man is my dad. He's never harmed a soul in his whole life.'

‘That's why; I reckon he's too honest,' Percy said wisely. ‘They want to drive him back to the canal . . . or that's what they said, anyway.'

Evie's eyes brightened. Though she never said so, she missed the canal horribly and thought she would do almost anything to return to the
Mary Jane
and the old, free, wandering life. In her heart, however, she knew that it had been hard on both her parents, who had worked day and night for very little reward. Besides, when enough money had been saved, she knew her pa meant to buy a cottage in Burscough, and living there they would have the best of both worlds. So she said: ‘They'll never do that – drive him back to the canal, I mean. Why, our Seraphina is in teacher training college and Angie's enjoying her job at Bunney's. Still, if they've decided not to do it, whatever it was . . .' She fished around in her canvas satchel and produced two sandwiches. ‘Here, have a butty. And there's some little red apples . . .'

‘Thanks,' Percy said gratefully, taking the sandwich. ‘Me Auntie Nell's ever so generous. She give us each a big plate o' porridge, but somehow I allus seem to be hungry.' He looked at her anxiously. ‘I reckon you get a good breakfast . . .' He waved the sandwich at her. ‘This ain't your brekker, is it?'

‘No fear; I have a plate of porridge and then as much toast and jam as I can eat, and weekends we has bacon butties an' quite often a boiled egg,' Evie said truthfully. Her parents had always insisted that everyone had a good breakfast aboard the
Mary Jane
because of the hard physical work which was necessary to get their cargoes to their destinations. The habit had lingered even now they were living ashore and Evie, looking at Percy's skinny frame, realised anew how lucky she was.

‘That's all right then,' Percy said, gobbling the sandwich as though he had never so much as smelt porridge, let alone eaten a large plateful that morning. ‘You going to wait for me after school? Only I reckon I'll go home to the court – the Cavvy, us kids call it – and check to see if Mam and the others are back. The nurse said Ron could come home today if he had some clean kecks an' that, so I went home last night an' picked 'em up. That was how I come to hear me dad an' his pal talkin'.'

Evie hesitated; she did not want to hurt Percy's feelings, but if he was to be her pal there were things she had to know. ‘Does your dad often lose his temper, Perce? I know you said he were drunk, but he wouldn't have been drunk again last night and yet your mam kept you out of his way, didn't she? Oh, by the way, my mam asked me to ask you if you'd like to come back to the flat after school an' have your tea wi' us. But if you've got to go back to your own place . . .'

Percy's eyes had brightened at the invitation and now he spoke up quickly. ‘That's real kind of your mam. It 'ud be great to go back to your place. Only the thing is, I've gorra tell me mam – if she's back in the Cavvy by then, I mean. Tell you what, you come back to the Cavvy wi' me so's I can tell me mam where I's goin' an' then we can carry on to your place. As for me dad, he – he's often bad tempered, only never in front of people what ain't family. He won't be home till seven or so – like your dad, I dare say – but if he were to come in an' find you there, even if he'd just stubbed his toe on the doorstep he'd stop cussin' an' be nice as pie. So will you come? After all, if you an' me are goin' to be pals, it's easier if we know where the other one lives.'