Down Daisy Street (6 page)
‘I’m sure you will, Mam,’ Kathy had said warmly. ‘I’m real proud of you and I think you look lovely in the uniform, honest to God I do.’
Mrs Kelling had laughed again. ‘I feel rare foolish in it,’ she owned. ‘A black wool dress and a frilly white pinny makes me think of the maids in one of them French farces, but I’m glad you like it, queen. And now I’d best be off or I won’t have a uniform or a job either!’
The conversation had eased Kathy’s worry about her mother’s condition, particularly when Jane had pointed out that she, Kathy, was also a good deal paler and thinner than she had been before her father’s death. ‘You’ve had your whole life turned upside down and you’ve had Billy’s illness to cope with,’ she reminded her friend. ‘It ’ud be a bleedin’ miracle if you weren’t paler and thinner. But you’ll find your feet, you and your mam, because you’re fighters, the pair of you. My mam says so and she should know.’
By now, they had reached the market and were threading their way through the crowds, heading for Mr Raison’s stall. Kathy was glad it was Jane pushing the pram because, had it been she, they would have been constantly held up. Jane, however, simply barged her way through, seemingly indifferent to the toes she crushed and the behinds she bumped, though when the owners turned and swore at her she always apologised very prettily. And of course, Kathy reflected, everyone was in a really good mood. Both customers and stallholders were beaming and the air was full of good smells. Bunches of holly, ivy and mistletoe clustered thickly around every stall; the flower sellers were making up wreaths, brilliant with chrysanthemums and Christmas roses, and Kathy decided to buy a bunch of chrysanthemums to put on her father’s grave, when they visited it after church next day.
Thinking of her father brought the familiar onrush of sadness, but the feeling was speedily dissipated by the spirit of Christmas which was almost tangible amongst the stallholders and their customers.
Reaching Mr Raison’s stall, they joined the scrimmage around it, quickly getting to the front as Jane continued to wield the pram like a weapon. Mr Raison beamed at them, for both girls were regulars, buying what meat they could afford from him whenever they were sent on messages to the market. ‘Whazzit to be today, young ladies?’ he said jovially. ‘I’ve gorra goose for you, Janey, ’cos your dad ordered it earlier, an’ a fine big feller it is. It ain’t dressed nor plucked because that costs extry, but your da’ said as how you and your mam would take care of that.’
The goose was indeed a fine one and when Mr Raison leaned over and dumped it into the pram the children shouted with glee, believing at first that it was still alive and could be petted and cuddled. Even when they found it unresponsive to their caresses, they continued to cuddle it, stroking its smooth head and admiring its orange beak. Kathy, who knew a little bit about geese, reflected that they would not have been so sanguine had the creature really been alive, for she had frequently met flocks of geese being driven into the city for the Christmas market and knew how aggressive the birds could be.
Jane’s purchases finished, Mr Raison turned to Kathy. His little brown eyes were kind and she guessed he must know how her circumstances had changed since the previous year, when she had come in on Christmas Eve for the turkey which her mam had ordered. ‘And now it’s your turn, Kathy,’ he said. ‘I’ve a smaller bird, a nice, fat chicken, already dressed for table. There’s enough on it for three an’ you know I’ll make you a good price.’
Kathy’s mouth watered but she said firmly: ‘Not this year, Mr Raison. This year me mam wants a joint of pork – not too big – some bones for stock and a smallish bacon joint.’
‘Right you are, queen,’ Mr Raison said jovially. He turned to the joints laid out on the back shelf, picked one out, weighed it, announced the price and was wrapping it all in one swift movement. Next he chose a bacon joint and did the same with that and then he produced two large marrow bones, wrapped a sheet of the
Echo
round them and handed the whole lot over, saying: ‘Since you’ve bought two joints, you can have the marrow bones for stock. Still gorra lot of messages, have you?’
Echo
round them and handed the whole lot over, saying: ‘Since you’ve bought two joints, you can have the marrow bones for stock. Still gorra lot of messages, have you?’
‘Yes, we’ve got all the fruit and veggies, and thanks very much for the bones,’ Kathy said gratefully, handing over the money. ‘I hope you have a grand Christmas, Mr Raison, and please give your wife my good wishes.’
As they turned away from the stall, Jane giggled and nudged her friend. ‘Ain’t you polite, though? It’s manners like them makes me mam say I oughter follow your example. I reckon as Mr Raison sold you that pork cheaper because you’re always so polite.’
‘He sold it to me cheap because he’s nice, and because he’s sorry about me dad,’ Kathy said at once. ‘Besides, we’ve been good customers in the past an’ I reckon we will be again, once we’ve settled to – to a different way of life. I don’t think I’ve told you but Mam’s thinking about taking a lodger. We’ve got three bedrooms, same as you, and we really only need two of them. Because of Mam’s job, she might not be able to provide an evening meal, but she thought if she got a lady lodger then she could cook for herself, evenings. The trouble is, most of the folk wanting lodgings is fellers and Mam wouldn’t want a feller let loose in her kitchen.
‘A lodger!’ Jane said, stopping the pram so abruptly that several people cannoned into them. ‘I dunno as I’d like a stranger livin’ in
my
house. How do you feel, Kathy?’
my
house. How do you feel, Kathy?’
‘Well, I’d rather not, if the truth be known,’ Kathy admitted. ‘Especially as Mam’s warned me that I’ll be up and down the stairs carting hot water and that first thing in the morning, and I’ll have to make a proper breakfast for the woman – if we get a woman, that is. Still, I suppose it’s needs must, and anyway, it may never happen. Mam’s new job pays better than we’d thought because of tips, you know, and so a lodger would be a last resort. Mam says we’ll see how we go for a year and then make a decision. Oh, look, that stallholder’s marking down her veggies; shall we go over, see if there’s anything we want?’
It took the girls the best part of an hour to get all their messages but by the time they wheeled the pram triumphantly out on to Elliot Street, it was heavily laden to the extent that the three children had had to draw up their legs in order to make room. Kathy and Jane were now sharing the task of pushing the pram and this caused much hilarity when they reached Lime Street since one would push forward, looking to the right and the other, looking to the left, would pull back.
‘We’ll have to get our act together,’ Jane panted, quite weak from giggling. ‘When it’s clear your way, you shout OK, and when it’s clear mine, I’ll do the same. That way, we may actually get to cross the road without tipping the pram over or wrenching our arms out of their sockets.’
Kathy would have complied, but at that moment a large policeman saw their dilemma. He stepped into the road and with an imperative gesture held up the traffic in both directions. As they passed him he said cheerily: ‘That’s a lorra messages you’ve got there, kids. I can see you’re going to have a rare grand Christmas.’ When they reached the further pavement he strolled along beside them, then touched his helmet, bade them the compliments of the season and went on his way.
‘Fancy a scuffer holding up the traffic for us,’ Jane marvelled. ‘It were nice of him, though, and saved us a deal of worrying. I dare say we’d ha’ been another ten minutes crossin’ the road if he hadn’t done that.’
‘It’s this here Christmas spirit everyone’s so full of,’ Kathy said wisely. ‘Why can’t people be like it always, Jane? Even horrible Marcia said she hoped we’d have a nice Christmas, and she wouldn’t give me nothin’, norreven a cold in me ’ead.’
‘She must be a really nasty girl,’ Jane observed, not for the first time. ‘If I ever meet her, I’ll give her a piece of me mind. Still an’ all, I don’t suppose—’
She was interrupted. A hand descended on the pram, heaving it to a halt, and a familiar voice said: ‘Wharrever are you two doin’ out so late? Ain’t it time these littl’uns were tucked up in their beds?’ It was Jimmy McCabe, flushed in the face and carrying a huge canvas bag so full of food that it was in danger of splitting in two. ‘Tell you what, if I pushes the pram, can I stick me bag on it? It ain’t that it’s heavy – well, it is, but I don’t care for that – I’m afraid it’s goin’ to split with the weight and send me messages topplin’ into the road.’
Kathy would have unhesitatingly refused but Jane said at once that it would be fine. ‘Kathy and me’s managed so far, but it’s awkward crossin’ the road when there’s two of you pushin’ the pram and it’s already awfully heavy,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you can manage it though, Jimmy? It’s goin’ up an’ down kerbs and crossin’ the tramlines which is so difficult. Tell you what, why don’t you push for a bit and then Kathy an’ me’ll take over?’
Jimmy said that that would not be necessary and pushed in grim silence for all of five minutes. Kathy was thinking, with some satisfaction, that the pram with its many burdens was obviously a good deal heavier than Jimmy had suspected and that he had no breath to spare for idle chat, when he slowed the steady pace he had been keeping up and turned towards her. ‘I were real sorry to hear about young Billy’s accident and your dad’s death,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ve not seen you since, except in the distance, like, so I’ve not had a chance to – to tell you how I felt. Your dad were real kind to me. When my dad got an allotment, none of us McCabes knew how to set about growin’ stuff but your dad took me to one side an’ gave me a heap o’ help and advice. I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to grow things like he could, but I’m goin’ to have a bleedin’ good try.’
Kathy muttered that it was good of him to say so and felt the tears rush to her eyes. In all the unhappiness of the past few months she had completely forgotten her father’s allotment. Now she was wondering whether it was still theirs, whether she and her mother ought to catch the tram and go there. When she was small, she had visited the place almost weekly, digging her own little plot and planting radishes, Mrs Sinkins pinks and even a tomato plant, which she had watched over anxiously for many weeks, enjoying the resultant fruits far more than usual because they came from her very own plant. She remembered Dad had got raspberry canes, two gooseberry bushes and a fine blackcurrant, and realised that she and her mother had never given a thought to that neat square of garden out in Seaforth, which her father had tended so assiduously. There would be things that needed doing, even though it was winter. She imagined that the winter cabbage and sprouts which her father had planted would have been harvested by someone else; she could not imagine anyone stealing the prickly gooseberry bushes and she knew the raspberry canes would have died down long since, but the blackcurrant must be a temptation for it was well established and, in the summer, provided an enormous quantity of fruit. Without pausing to consider how it would sound, she turned to Jimmy. ‘I expect all the cabbages and sprouts have gone because we’d forgotten all about the place, but are the fruit bushes still there? And how about me dad’s little shed where he kept his tools? There were a padlock on the door but I dare say that’s been forced and all his lovely tools carried off by someone who fancied them.’
She was watching Jimmy’s face as she spoke and saw his lips tighten and his eyes flash. ‘They’re a decent set of fellows up at the allotments,’ he said. ‘None of ’em would touch so much as a sprout what didn’t belong to ’em, an’ there’s others, beside meself, what have cause to be grateful to your dad. I think you’ll find the place just as he left it, ’cept I’ve turned the earth over for him because I know – he told me – that that’s the right thing to do once the main crop of veggies are all dug up. But though I’ve been workin’ his allotment, I dunnit with me own tools and I didn’t take nothin’.’
Kathy, feeling thoroughly ashamed of herself and blushing hotly, mumbled that she was sure she hadn’t meant to cause offence. Then, growing angry, because she knew she was in the wrong, she added that she’d not meant to accuse any of the allotment owners, since she knew they were all honest men. ‘But there’s soldiers from the barracks come over the fence sometimes, and kids from the back streets, too,’ she said haughtily. ‘
That
’s who I meant.’
That
’s who I meant.’
‘Oh, sure you did,’ Jimmy McCabe sneered. ‘It’s likely one o’ them would break into the shed to steal garden tools when none of ’em have so much as an inch of garden of their own. An’ the only person likely to steal your bleedin’ blackcurrant bush is another gardener, as well you know.’
Everyone hates being put thoroughly at fault and Kathy’s first thought was to lash out at Jimmy and somehow get her own back. ‘You can sell garden tools in Paddy’s market, and probably you could sell a fine blackcurrant bush an’ all,’ she said wildly. ‘But there were no need to jump down my throat, Jimmy McCabe, because I didn’t mean—’
Jimmy McCabe pulled the pram to a halt and turned; furiously, on Kathy. ‘I told you your dad had been good to me; I’d no more break into his shed and steal his tools to sell in Paddy’s market than I’d steal from me own mam. How dare you say such things, you spiteful little bitch.’
At this point, Jane decided to pour oil on troubled waters. ‘Shurrup, the pair of you,’ she shouted. ‘Kathy didn’t mean
you
when she said you can sell garden tools in Paddy’s market, she meant
someone
could. ‘Well, if you two ain’t fire an’ water – you just won’t mix. Jimmy, shut your gob and don’t open it again till I say.’ She swung round on her friend. ‘Kathy, just you tell Jimmy you’re sorry you didn’t make it clearer that you knew he weren’t a thief. Come on, own up. You made a mistake and you’re sorry for it.’
you
when she said you can sell garden tools in Paddy’s market, she meant
someone
could. ‘Well, if you two ain’t fire an’ water – you just won’t mix. Jimmy, shut your gob and don’t open it again till I say.’ She swung round on her friend. ‘Kathy, just you tell Jimmy you’re sorry you didn’t make it clearer that you knew he weren’t a thief. Come on, own up. You made a mistake and you’re sorry for it.’
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