Polly's Angel (11 page)

‘Oh, sorry, I'm Deirdre O'Brady,' Deirdre said, feeling her colour rising once more. ‘Thanks very much, Mrs Bechstein; I hope I give satisfaction.'

‘If you don't, I give the sack,' Mrs Bechstein said, but Deirdre could see she was laughing. ‘Shall we say a week's trial on both sides, O'Brady? If we don't get along I'll pay you off at the end of the week and no hard feelings. How about that, eh?'

‘That's fine,' Deirdre said. She turned back towards the door of the shop. ‘See you on Monday morning, on the dot of eight, Mrs Bechstein!'

The children were cautiously pleased about the job, though Polly, who had once been left in charge in Dublin whilst her mother was away, said mutinously that she did not intend to do all the work in Mammy's absence.

‘Ivan's seven, he can flamin' well help,' she said, wagging an admonitory finger at her small brother. ‘And Bevin, too. I don't mind puttin' the tea on, if you tell me what to cook, Mammy, but they can wash up an' clear away. I know they's boys an' I'm a girl, but fair's fair. Daddy wouldn't let them bully me.'

‘Nor shall I, sweetheart,' Deirdre said stoutly. She did not add that she could never forget the state of affairs she had found when she had returned after her enforced absence. It had not, after all, been Polly's fault; a ten-year-old was not a woman grown and Polly, she acknowledged guiltily, had always been rather spoilt. ‘I'll leave you a nice list written out of anything I want done. Will that help?'

‘If you put what I'm to do and what Ivan an' Bev's to do as well,' Polly said cautiously. ‘Why do you want to go to work, Mammy? Why can't you stay here, wit' Delly an' us?'

‘Because though the boys are very good and send home every penny they can spare, and though Daddy's got a little pension, money is goin' to be tight until Daddy's better and can earn a proper wage again,' Deirdre said carefully. She did not want to frighten the kids into believing them to be paupers, but she wanted them to realise that things might be difficult for a while. ‘This job is only over Christmas and up until the end of the January sales, so by the time Daddy comes out of hospital for good I'll be out of work again.'

‘Oh, well, all right,' Polly said, leaning forward to take a piece of raw potato and beginning to crunch it up. Deirdre, who was scrubbing the potatoes and cutting up a large winter cabbage, swallowed. The things the young ate! ‘I'm glad you isn't workin' for always though, Mammy. I like to have you home even when I'm not here meself.'

‘I'm sure that's very nice of you,' Deirdre said. She finished the vegetables, tipped the potatoes into a pan and began to push the sliced cabbage into the steamer which she would balance on top of the potato saucepan as soon as the water boiled. ‘Now then, I'm goin' to the hospital as soon as we've ate our tea so d'you want to come wit' me, for the walk, like, or do you want to take Delly for an airin' right now?'

‘Both,' Polly said promptly. She missed the long country walks which had been a part of her life at the crossing cottage, Deirdre knew. ‘And you've not asked me how I got on at school today,' she added accusingly.

‘How did you get on?' Deirdre asked obediently, as Polly fastened her length of rope to Delilah's collar. Normally, none of them would have dreamed of putting the dog on a lead but Polly was mortally afraid that if not attached to her person Delly might leap on a tram bound for Lime Street, then get off it and leap on a train, and reunite himself with the crossing cottage.

‘Oh, I got on fine,' Polly said airily. ‘Me teacher's a great love, so she is, and she says I'm ahead of the whole class – the whole
class
, Mammy – in arithmetic an' history. She pinned me essay on “Nature's Ways” – I did from jelly in a ditch to frog – up on the board and she said that Maisie Lightfoot – she's got the longest hair, she can sit on it! – ought to try to copy my writin', because I'm so neat. And after dinner Father Ignatius came round to talk to us, and I asked him about his choir, and I'm goin' to do a – a audy-something-or-other on Sunday, after Sunday school.'

‘Audition?' Deirdre suggested. ‘What about Ivan?'

‘Him too,' Polly admitted. ‘I telled the father about him bein' new too, an' he's goin' to audy-what's-it as well. And Ivan can sing in tune, Mammy, everyone can. He just doesn't because he's a bad boy, so he is.'

‘He's tone deaf, alanna,' Deirdre said reproachfully. ‘No one can help being tone deaf. But mebbe the priest wants a growler wit' the face of an angel in his choir, you never know.'

‘Oh, that reminds me! Mammy, you know I said I'd not seen me angel all the time we were in Martin's house? Well, she were in me room last night, just before I went to sleep. Smilin' at me, she was . . . She looked so beautiful!'

‘Good,' Deirdre said. She never asked questions about Polly's angel because the child clearly believed she saw the holy creature and who was she, Deirdre O'Brady, to doubt her little girl, who had never, to Deirdre's knowledge, told a deliberate lie in her life? ‘Off you go, then, alanna, or it'll be time for tea. And if you see Ivan outside, tell him tea in twenty minutes, would you?'

‘Right, Mammy,' Polly said cheerfully. She let herself out of the kitchen door and banged it shut behind her. Smiling to herself, Deirdre finished off the potatoes, put them on the fire, and began to lay the table. What a lot I'll have to tell Peader when I reach the hospital tonight, she told herself as she worked. I'll say one thing for having kids; there's never a dull moment!

Sunday saw Polly and Ivan, neatly clad in clean clothes and hand in hand, making their way up to St Sylvester's church, where they would first attend Sunday school and then audition for Father Ignatius's choir. Polly, with her curls brushed till they shone and a red ribbon nestling amongst them, was looking forward to everything, but Ivan was frankly rebellious.

‘You never should ha' mentioned me to the father, you bad gorl, you,' he grumbled, as they neared the huge bulk of the red-brick church and headed for the steps which led to the side door. ‘I doesn't
want
to be in the choir; I'll only get shouted at 'cos me voice won't get up off the floor the way yours does.'

‘Well, if you sing like you always does you won't get into the choir,' Polly said with all her usual frankness. ‘So why grumble at me, Ive? Anyway, you'll like Sunday school.'

‘I shall not,' Ivan said mutinously. ‘The fellers in my class don't go to Sunday school, they say it's for girls and cissies, and I ain't either. When's we to play, anyway, if we go to the hospital to see our daddy after this lot's over?'

‘After that,' Polly said, undisturbed. ‘Sunday school's two to three, visitin' at the hospital's three to four, and we can play out four to six. Then it's tea. And after that I'm goin' to meet Alice Eccles and she's goin' to show me how to play a new skippin' game, and then we'll see if there's a game of Tag or Relievio goin' on that we could join.'

‘Alice Eccles? Is her brother called Teddy? Teddy Eccles is in my class at school.'

‘I expect so, and he'll be at Sunday school as well, I daresay. If you like, we could all play together when we come back from the hospital,' Polly said craftily, and was rewarded by a beam from her small brother.

‘Could we? That 'ud be grand, so it would.' Ivan's footsteps, which had been lagging, quickened up. ‘Come
on,
Poll, or we'll be late!'

Polly had always enjoyed Sunday school, but something happened to her just as she and Ivan were about to enter the building which, she later decided, had probably changed her entire life. A group of big boys was standing about on the corner of Rayner Street which led, Polly knew, between Silvester and Ashfield Streets. They did not look like good boys, she decided, after a long stare. For a start, they were all grouped round something on the ground, and when she looked more closely, she could see that they were playing cards . . . and that there were ha'pennies and farthings in little piles on the paving stones.

Gambling! Gambling, Polly knew, was bad, but gambling on a Sunday, right outside a church! That was so bad that the little soft hairs on her neck stood upright with outrage. Those boys would go to hell, so they would, and it would serve them right! But then one of the boys turned round and caught her eye and when he did he grinned, and Polly's heart did a most peculiar double somersault.

‘Hello, blondie,' the boy said. Which was pretty good coming from him, Polly thought, since his own straight, shining hair was as yellow as – as a primrose petal. He looked her up and down, then turned back to his companions, and Polly, dragging Ivan by one hand, began to ascend the steps at the side of the church which led into the Sunday school.

‘Who was that, Poll?' Ivan asked as soon as they were inside the church. ‘He were playin' cards . . . and smokin' a cigarette. Mammy would say he wasn't a nice sort o' feller, wouldn't she?'

‘I dunno who he was, but you're right, he's probably not a nice feller,' Polly said automatically. She spied Alice in the crowd of children already gathered, and went over to her. Alice, like Polly, had a number of brothers, one of whom, Teddy, was with her now. Teddy and Ivan immediately gravitated to one another and Alice and Polly sat on one of the long wooden benches and talked about school . . . and Polly thought about the boy with the yellow hair. He had the sort of face that is so guileless and innocent that you just know he's a real devil, and the sort of smile, unfortunately, which makes it a matter of indifference to most girls whether he's a devil or not. He was also tall, and though his clothes were ragged and his runners had holes in the toes he still had an air of being
right,
as though because he was wearing such things they were automatically fashionable.

‘So I told Sister that I'd done me best, only we're a big fambly, chuck, an' it ain't easy to get peace an' quiet when you've got bleedin' brothers banging about—'

‘Alice,' Polly interrupted. ‘There's a feller outside shouted out to me . . . He's got yellow hair. D'you know who he is?'

‘Yaller hair? Oh aye, that'll be Sunny Andersen. His dad's Swedish or summat.' Alice touched her hair, pushing back one richly dark, heavy lock, then glanced towards the church door as though she thought that Sunny Andersen might come through it at any moment. ‘Ain't he just the best-lookin' feller you ever saw? Everyone's crazy for Sunny.'

‘Well, I'm not,' Polly said stoutly. ‘He gambles, and he was smokin' too. My mammy says I shouldn't talk to fellers what gamble or smoke.'

Alice laughed. ‘If you don't talk to fellers what gamble or smoke you won't be doin' much talkin' round here,' she said. ‘Pitch an' toss is a fav'rite game, an' most of the fellers smoke when they gets work. Still, Sunny wouldn't tek no notice of
you
; you're too young by half.'

‘Well, good,' Polly was beginning, when the teacher came in. She was young and pretty, and when she took off her long, fur-trimmed coat Polly saw she was wearing a fashionable dress with a fringed hem and a scalloped neckline. Around her slender white throat hung a necklace of gold beads, interspersed with tiny pearls. Polly decided that she was not only pretty, she looked nice, and her smile, as she turned to her class, was both open and friendly.

‘That's Miss Rawlins,' Alice hissed. ‘She's me fav'rite teacher – I'm goin' to be just like her when I grow up.'

‘She looks lovely,' Polly said fervently. She decided to think about Miss Rawlins and her beautiful clothes and just hope that dreadful, gambling Sunny Andersen would get out of her head and stay out.

‘Good afternoon, children,' Miss Rawlins said, having hung her coat and hat on the hook provided. She came and stood before the class, smiling at them all. ‘Now I'm going to read you a story . . .'

Polly enjoyed the Sunday school class and came out with a coloured picture of Saint Elizabeth with her basket full of roses, given by the teacher to all who could correctly answer questions when her story had been read. The priest had come and given them a short audition and Polly was now a member of his choir, which would cut down her free time on a Sunday to almost nothing, as Ivan insisted on explaining to her. But Polly, who loved singing, said that it was worth it, and emerged from the church with a light heart. She had been immensely gratified to receive the Holy picture and had assured Miss Rawlins that she would take great care of it and would try very hard to win another, and as she and Ivan walked down the steps she told herself that she had forgotten all about the boy Sunny, but nevertheless when she glanced round and saw that the card school had scattered she felt a little pang of disappointment. However, she reminded Alice that she, Polly, would call at the Eccles' place when she was back from the hospital, waved a cheery goodbye to the children she had met that afternoon and set off in the direction of home, for Mammy and Bevin would be walking towards them, since they all liked to go to the hospital together.

Presently, they met Mammy and Bevin and the picture was shown and Miss Rawlins's charm and person described in minute detail whilst Ivan, looking bored, kicked a stone along ahead of them and occasionally broke into a gruff one-note song which only an experienced parent could have recognised as ‘Pack up your Troubles'.

‘So you got into the choir, alanna, but Ivan didn't?' Deirdre asked as they hurried along the pavement. ‘I can't t'ink even the most desperate priest would put up wit' Ivan's flat notes.'

‘I'm in,' Polly admitted. And chattered on, retelling Miss Rawlins's story and flourishing the Holy picture which she had won for her good answers. But presently, as they continued to walk towards the hospital, she began to feel she was being watched – perhaps followed. Out of the corner of her eye she seemed to see someone lurking, though the street was by no means empty and they were meeting other people, now, also heading for the hospital. So presently, she stopped to tie her shoelace, and glanced back and upside down though she was, she saw a boy with an unforgettably yellow head dodging into a shop doorway behind them.