Liverpool Taffy (44 page)

Echoes of Ellen, Biddy thought as the words left her mouth, but she knew they were true. Kenny had made her feel trapped, as though she had no right to spurn his advances whilst living under his mother’s roof. But Kenny was nodding understandingly.

‘Aye, I know what you mean. And I know because I did ’ave the feeling meself that you’d no right to refuse me. Awful young beggar, weren’t I? But I know a bit better now, Bid. You won’t catch me carryin’ on like that again, I promise.’

‘Then you will come back? You’ll live with your Mam again? I think you should, Kenny, because I shan’t be here for always and she does get so lonely. The young girl who does the housework whilst your Mam runs the shop is a nice little thing, but she lives out and she’s a bit in awe of Mrs Kettle. It doesn’t make chatting or having a laugh any too easy – well, it was the same for me last time I worked for your Mam.’

‘My Mam’s all right if you know how to handle her,’ Kenny said knowingly. ‘Yes, I’m movin’ back, for the time bein’, anyroad. There’s nowhere like your own place an’ all I’ve had since I left has been a room in someone else’s house.’

‘But it’s done you good, Kenny,’ Biddy said thoughtfully. ‘You were a boy before, but now you’re a man. And that doesn’t happen when you’re dependent on your Mam for everything you know, it happens when you take on responsibility for yourself.’

‘Aye, I reckon you’re right,’ Kenny said. ‘When you left here, Bid, you was a frightened little thing, you scarce said boo to a goose. But now you’re a young woman with a mind of your own – I guess my Mam realised it, or she’d never have offered you a decent wage. It ain’t that she doesn’t want you real bad,’ he added hastily, ‘it’s just her business sense. It steps in whenever she’d rather give a bit, act generous, and stops her smartish. Awful to be like that. Folk say she’s mean, you know.’

‘Well, she is a bit tight with her cash,’ Biddy said mildly. ‘Not to her boys, but to everyone else. She gives her little errand girl sixpence a week and the kid walks or runs miles to get the ingredients your Mam needs, to say nothing of shopping around Great Homer when she ought to be in bed.’

‘That’s business to Mam,’ Kenny said a little too complacently, Biddy thought. ‘But you’ll keep her on the straight and narrer, see she treats folk fair, won’t you, Bid? She means well, but …’

‘I will whilst I’m here. But when I leave you’ll have to do it yourself, Kenny,’ Biddy told him. ‘One day she’ll not be able to manage the shop alone, either. Why don’t you marry some nice young girl who would gladly help out for a decent wage? Then you could concentrate on moving up at work, knowing your Mam was well looked after.’

‘When I marry it won’t be to gerra minder for me Mam,’ Kenny said a trifle reproachfully. ‘Talkin’ of marriage, Bid …’

‘Yes, I am talking of it, with my young man,’ Biddy said quickly. She simply could not allow Kenny to say something he would later regret, even if it did hurt a little right now. ‘We’re planning an Easter wedding.’

He nodded gloomily, looking down at his feet. ‘Aye. I always knew it ’ud happen once you got clear of us. You’re far too pretty, chuck, to be hangin’ around waitin’ for a feller like me. So; do I know the bloke?’

‘I don’t think so, in fact I’m sure you don’t know him, because he isn’t from Liverpool at all, he’s from the Isle of Anglesey. He’s a seaman, he was on a coaster but he’s distant-water trawling right now.’

‘Oh ah? Good money in it, is there?’

‘Enough,’ Biddy said briefly. ‘Ah, here comes the tea-trolley, I can hear it crashing along the hallway. Have you told your Mam yet that you’ll be moving back in?’

Kenny grinned. He looked really nice when he grinned, Biddy thought. ‘No, not yet. I’ll surprise her when she comes in wi’ the tea. And … thanks Biddy.’

‘Thanks? What for?’

‘For comin’ back after all the pain we must ha’ caused you. And for bein’ so nice to me Mam. I’m fond of the old girl, in spite of everything.’

‘Oddly enough, so am I,’ Biddy said as the living-room door shuddered under the impact of a carelessly pushed trolley. ‘Yes, against all the odds, I rather like your Mam!’

It had been a beast of a voyage, they were all agreed on that. But somehow, with the ship’s bows turned for home and their fish pounds groaning under the weight of fish, with everyone aboard secretly counting up the bonus he would have earned, and with just enough coal to get them right back into the mouth of the Humber, no one was inclined to quibble about the Skipper who had taken them into uncharted waters, rammed an iceberg – and got them out alive.

Dai worked like a Trojan because he felt that, by doing so, he was personally helping to get the ship back to Grimsby and that meant nearer to Biddy. The trip had taken much longer than usual, the Mate reckoned it would be seven full weeks before they docked, and he knew there would be worried faces at home whenever the ship’s name was mentioned. But the
Bess
, which had borne up wonderfully under everything which had happened to her, was creaking home, unable to increase speed, eking out her coal, the donkey engine working day and night just to stop the forward hold from flooding, the radio useless, crushed into fragments by that collision with the ’berg.

The men, who had strained every nerve and sinew as the ship had made her way uncertainly through the dark, uncharted waters at the top of the world, could not rest even now. There was always work to be done. Ice had to be cleared every day, the gear kept oiled and in readiness, the leaks checked and plugged. Meals were a worry but the men thanked their stars for Bandy, who would somehow stretch the four weeks’ rations to seven so that they didn’t starve.

‘Fish for breakfast, fish for dinner, fish for tea,’ someone grumbled, but they all understood that it was sheer necessity which sent Bandy down to the fish pounds for provisions. The flour and margarine were holding out, he reported, but they had eaten the last of the fresh vegetables a week ago and nearly all the tins were gone.

‘Thank your lucky stars it ain’t raw fish,’ Greasy said quite sharply. ‘Bandy’s burnin’ old socks in the galley to save coal for the engine room.’

Harry laughed. ‘So long as they ain’t my old socks.… Reckon I’ll lose a toe this time, half my left foot’s gone black. Did you see that gannet?’

They had all seen it, frozen to the rail, dead as a dodo before anyone realised that the black frost was rising again.

‘Unlucky, that,’ Mal grumbled. ‘Someone should’ve noticed; as bad as having an albatross dead is a gannet.’

‘It’s only bad luck if you kill it, not if it dies,’ the Mate said patiently. ‘All birds have to die in the fullness of time.’

‘Not on the rail, fruzz to it, its wings half out,’ another man said. ‘Still, I reckon that’s not goin’ to bring bad luck.’

‘Except to the gannet,’ Dai put in, and got a reluctant laugh.

‘That’s it, Taff, you cut us down to size – what’s a Welshman think is unlucky, then?’

‘A woman aboard? A seal swimmin’ alongside? I dunno that I believe in that sort o’ bad luck, do you, Grease? Mebbe we’re more practical on the West side o’ the country than you Easteners.’

Greasy shook his head. ‘Nah, I don’t believe in that sort o’ bad luck. You makes your own, I reckon. Bad management, bad decisions, but I’ve norra lorra faith in a bird makin’ the difference between good an’ bad, life an’ death.’

They were still arguing good-naturedly about the differences between luck, chance, and human failure, when the Bosun’s head appeared round the mess-deck door. ‘Ice-breakers wanted; this lot’s comin’ below for a fag an’ a cuppa. Come on fellers, let’s be havin’ you!’

‘A quarter of bull’s-eyes? Certainly, madam. In two separate bags? Of course. And two ounces of peppermint fondant? Here we are, then.’

Biddy was working in the shop, enjoying the chance to meet customers and mingle with people instead of always slogging away by herself in the boiling kitchen. She had been allowed to take over in the shop for two reasons. One was that Ma wanted to do some Christmas shopping and the other was that Ma thought it would do Biddy good.

‘You’re lookin’ that long-faced an’ mis’rable, it’s time you ‘ad a change,’ she had declared earlier in the day. ‘Makin’ yourself ill over some worthless young feller what don’t know you’re born … jest acos he’s not writ for weeks … fellers are all the same, no doubt ’e’s wettin’ ’is whistle in some waterfront pub an’ never givin little Biddy O’Shaughnessy a thought.’

‘I rang the port authorities,’ Biddy said, white-faced. ‘They said the
Greenland Bess
was more than two weeks overdue. There’s been no word from her for weeks, not even a radio message to another trawler. They can talk amongst themselves at sea the trawlers can, but they’ve not heard a word from her since she reached the fishing grounds three weeks or so back.’

‘Likely the Lord’ll look out for ’em,’ Ma Kettle said with all the comfortable blandness of one not personally concerned. ‘Now gerrin there, queen, an’ don’t forget – no weighin’ your thumbs!’

She gave Biddy a roguish wink, slung an extra shawl around the multitude of garments already disposed about her person, and rolled out of the doorway and into the busy street.

The customer, satisfied, left the shop and Biddy’s mind turned in on itself once again. There was nothing she could do, that was the trouble. She made time during each day to ring for news of the
Bess
and always the voice answered, with compassion, that she was overdue by so many days and that there had been no word of her.

If we were married then at least I’d be able to go and watch for him; if we were married I could talk to other wives and girlfriends, Biddy thought, automatically turning to clean down a shelf and give the big glass bottles a rub whilst there was no one but herself in the shop. Oh if only Mrs Gallagher and Elizabeth were still in Liverpool, they would understand how desperately, horribly worried I am.

She could ring them! The thought, which crossed her mind just as a small, fat woman walked in with three even smaller and fatter children in tow, brought the first natural smile to Biddy’s face for days. Mr Gallagher was in newspapers, he had to be on the telephone at home, she had the number in her room upstairs … she would ring as soon as Penny had a moment and could take over in here!

‘Good morning, madam! Can I help you?’

The little, round woman looked gratified. She was a regular customer, more used to Ma Kettle’s approach, which was to lean over the counter and clack the head of any child attempting to molest the trays of farthing dips.

‘Mornin’, chuck. Them’s me grandchilder, they’d like a penn’orth o’ Kettle toffee an’ I’ll ’ave an ounce o’ peppermints.’

‘A penn’orth
each
,’ the smallest child squeaked, hanging onto her grandmother’s coat. ‘Can I ’ave a sherbet dip?’

‘If you’re good for your Nan till your Mam comes ’ome,’ the doting grandparent replied, smiling fondly down at the three children. She turned to Biddy. ‘Gorrany kids, Missus? Eh, I wou’n’t be wi’out ’em!’

Nellie was wending her way down Princes Street, trying to buy Christmas presents, but despite the enticing displays in the shops, she had not enjoyed the orgy of buying which she had indulged in over the last few days.

The truth was that Nellie was still, after more than two months, terribly homesick. She could not forget that the move to Edinburgh was all her doing, and she would have begged Stuart to let them go home had her conscience allowed her to do so. But she had leapt to conclusions about Lizzie and Dai, acted fast to prevent what she was sure would have been a catastrophe, and now she was stuck with the consequences.

So her Christmas presents this year would reflect the state of her conscience rather than her love, she thought, because she would buy Lizzie a wriggling, squiggling puppy from the pet shop, since it was her fault that her child was unhappy, and she would send Dai an expensive fisherman’s guernsey she had seen for sale in a side-street, made of the thick, oily, island wool which would keep him warm as toast under his foul-weather smock. He was unhappy too, that stood to reason, but first love would pass, given time, and one day he would thank her for preventing him from declaring himself to the uncaring Lizzie.

Nellie had always fought against having a dog, feeling that one should spend any spare money on one’s fellow human beings and not indulge an animal, but that was before she had lived in a cold, rambling Scottish country house and got to know the previous owner’s dogs – Mattie, Angus, Willy and Bosh.

The dogs were looked after, fed, exercised and generally seen to by the gardener, old Jamie, but they soon realised that they had found a soft touch in the Gallaghers and insinuated themselves into the kitchen on every possible occasion.

‘They’re cold, they need to dry out and get comfy,’ Elizabeth would plead, letting the four very large and shaggy retrievers into the kitchen, where they took up far more than their fair share of the hearth. ‘Oh, they’re the only things I’ll miss about this place when we go home!’

Well, with a puppy of her own, at least she would not be able to reproach Nellie over having introduced her to the joys of dog-owning and then taking her away from dogs when Stuart’s job came to an end … and it couldn’t end soon enough for Nellie. As soon as she was certain Elizabeth did not share Dai’s feelings she allowed her homesickness full rein and simply concentrated on longing for home. It was all very well to tell herself that Dai would thank her one day, but first, she knew, he would suffer dreadfully when he discovered that Lizzie really did not love him. His pain would hurt Nellie, but she could do nothing about it because discover he would; Elizabeth, sensible girl that she was, would never pretend an affection she did not feel.

And she had let Biddy down too, practically thrown her into the arms of that terrible old lecher, because she hadn’t thought of a complication like that when she’d rushed into moving to Scotland the way she had. So to salve Nellie’s conscience anew, Biddy would have one of those wonderful pleated skirts in the Black Watch tartan, and one of the very fine dark green wool jumpers to go with it. Unless I buy her a honey-coloured jumper, with a chocolate-coloured skirt, and forget the tartan, Nellie thought now, gazing into another window. Or there’s always blue …