The Girl From Seaforth Sands (44 page)

It was Albert, grinning all over his face and beginning to push his way past Paddy. Not knowing whether to be glad or sorry Amy, with her heavy burden, hurried up the stairs and joined Minnie in their room.
Had
Paddy been going to kiss her? It was probably as well that Albert had come upon them before she had been forced to snub Paddy yet again. Whether or not she would actually have done so she did not honestly know, but was glad – or told herself she was glad – not to have been put to the test.

She began to get Becky ready for bed as Minnie said, sighing blissfully, ‘It’s been a grand day. I do like your brother Gus, Amy, he were ever so kind to me, got me supper, danced wi’ me . . . he even
suggested we might take a walk in the moonlight on the beach aways, only when I peeked out through the door it were rainin’. Still, there’s always tomorrow.’

Amy was pleased, she told herself, that Minnie was so taken up with Gus she did not so much as mention Paddy, nor the fact that he and Amy had danced together. Yet a part of her very much wanted to discuss what had happened that evening so that she could convince herself that the strong physical attraction she had felt for Paddy while they danced was a feeling she would have felt for any man in similar circumstances. The scene at the bottom of the stairs, she told herself, was probably not romantic at all; Paddy had merely offered to carry the child, after all, and whether he had meant to kiss her or not was something she would never know.

Since there was no apparent interest in her problem from Minnie, however, she had to content herself with thinking it over in her own mind and, since she was worn out, such thoughts speedily gave way to dreams.

Boxing Day dawned bright but cold, though few in the Logan household saw the dawn; they had played, sung and danced into the early hours and consequently slept late. Becky, Minnie and Amy did not so much as stir until they were awoken by Bill banging on their bedroom door. ‘Gerrup you lazy lot,’ he shouted cheerfully. ‘I’ve been down and pulled the kettle over the flame and your mam’s makin’ porridge for everyone, so you’d best gerra move on.’

Amy groaned and sat up, stretched and yawned, then glanced towards the window. The curtains were thin cotton and had not been properly pulled across the night before, and through the gap she could see frost flowers obscuring the bottom half of the window, though the sun had melted the top half, showing the frosted rooftops of the houses opposite. A seagull perched on the roof must have seen the movement, for it cocked its head and looked hopefully across as though it expected the window to open and a shower of bread to come forth. Beside Amy, Becky gave a mutter of protest and tried to cuddle further down under the covers, but Amy, now properly awake, would have none of it. ‘Wake up, our kid,’ she said in a tone of resolute cheerfulness. ‘Christmas Day is over, but we’re on holiday still and it’s a lovely day; the sun’s shining fit to
crack the paving stones, so what say we go for an early swim?’

Becky, still burrowing back into bed, gave a stifled giggle but Minnie, who had appeared to be sound asleep, groaned loudly. ‘Even the thought of getting out of this warm bed makes me shudder,’ she said plaintively. ‘As for goin’ outside . . . Oh, I suppose you’re right an’ we’d best gerrup before the perishin’ boys eat all your mam’s porridge.’

‘What about that swim, then?’ Amy said mischievously, throwing back the cover. ‘Some folk do swim at Christmas, I read about it in the newspaper once. Only I reckon it were down south somewhere, where they’re all mad anyroad.’

She jumped out of bed as she spoke and began to pour water into the round tin bowl on the washstand – or rather she would have poured it had the water in the ewer not been ice for the top half-inch. Seizing her hairbrush, she bashed at the ice, then took pity on the shivering mortals in the bed behind her. Becky, whimpering a protest, had just begun to remark that she would not wash at all in water so cold when Amy remembered that Bill had said he had pulled the kettle over the flame. ‘All right, all right, you delicate creatures,’ she said, throwing her old shawl round her shoulders and going out on to the upper landing. ‘I’ll fetch up a jug of hot water from Dad’s tea kettle and then we can wash in comfort, providing you’re quick, of course, and get washing before it freezes up again.’

When she returned to the bedroom Minnie and Becky leapt, shivering, from their warm nest and a good deal of horseplay ensued as all three of them tried to wash simultaneously before the water grew cold. Amy dressed as rapidly as she could, then
turned to help Becky, who was tugging on a disreputable jersey with unseemly haste; clearly Becky had had a ‘cat’s lick and a promise’ instead of a proper wash. Minnie, meanwhile, was selecting a clean blue blouse to wear with her navy-blue serge skirt. The matching jacket was not new but she had trimmed the neck and sleeves with some fur remnants which she had got cheap in the pre-Christmas sale and Amy thought that, with her dark hair tied up with a length of blue ribbon and her cheeks flushed from the chill, Minnie looked really pretty. Checking her own reflection critically in the mirror on the washstand, Amy felt that she, too, looked presentable enough in a cinnamon-brown dress with chocolate-coloured trimmings and Becky, even in her play clothes, always looked sweet. Amy, brushing out the child’s hair which had been confined in half a dozen small pigtails in the night, told her little sister that her hair rippled like corn in the sun and Becky, smiling self-consciously, danced ahead of the older girls down the stairs, calling out to her mother that they were on their way and were desperate anxious for porridge.

Despite Bill’s waking shouts, the girls had finished their breakfast and were discussing what they should do for the rest of the morning before Gus put in an appearance. He plonked himself down at the table, yawning hugely and, accepting a large bowl of porridge and a mug of tea, told the world at large that Albert and Paddy would be down presently. ‘Albert’s goin’ to Ruthie’s for his dinner,’ he told them rather thickly, spooning porridge into his mouth. ‘But Charlie and Lottie will be here soon.’

Charlie and Lottie were staying with the Carpenters who, having no children of their
own at home, had willingly agreed to put the young people up for a couple of nights.

‘Let’s go round to the Durrants’ and see what they had for Christmas,’ Becky said eagerly, bouncing up and down on her chair. ‘Etty’s me best pal and she were hopin’ for a proper skippin’ rope, the sort with red wooden handles.’ She glanced across at her mother, cleaning vegetables over the sink. ‘I wish
I
had a skipping rope with red wooden handles,’ she ended wistfully.

‘You’ve got most things, you spoilt little madam,’ Amy remarked, just as Paddy and Albert came clattering down the stairs. Albert’s hair stuck up like a hedgehog’s, but he was wearing a clean white shirt and a blue tie – courting clothes, Amy thought, with an inward grin. It still seemed odd to her that her brother should be taking an interest in girls at last, particularly Ruthie, whom he had known all his life. Paddy, blessed with a mop of curls, had clearly managed to find time to drag a brush through them, though he was wearing a grey working shirt and navy trousers.
Not
courting clothes, Amy thought rather ruefully, and scolded herself for the thought. Since Paddy wasn’t courting anyone, why on earth should he wear his best?

In the end, by mutual consent, the young people helped Suzie in the house all the morning. Dinner was cold goose, mashed potatoes and swede from Bill’s allotment, followed by mince pies and custard. Albert, of course, did not share in this feast, since he had gone round to the Durrants’ house, but the rest of them were all hungry, despite the excesses of Christmas Day, and the meal disappeared in record time. Amy, seated opposite Paddy, caught him taking covert glances at her several times and
realised rather guiltily that she was not wearing his necklace. She had dressed in such a hurry that she had not thought to put it on, but determined to do so as soon as she could. It would seem ungracious not to wear it, although the cinnamon dress had a high, round neck and it wouldn’t have been visible anyway.

When the meal was over and the washing-up and clearing away done Gus suggested, with a sideways glance at Minnie, that a walk along the shore would help to settle their dinners. ‘It’ll make room for our teas, what’s more,’ he said. ‘Suzie’s making pancake batter and if there’s one thing I love it’s pancakes.’

Although Bill and Suzie elected to stay by the fire and to prepare the tea for the rest of the family, everyone else decided a walk would be a good idea. Amy and Minnie ran upstairs to fetch coats and stout shoes, and Amy glanced quickly around her, looking for the necklace. She knew very well that she had left it on the washstand the previous night, but now there was no sign of it. Oh, well, it’ll turn up, she told herself, putting on her thick coat and tying a scarf round her head. No one with a grain of sense would wear a hat on Seaforth Sands – unless they wanted to see it flying off to New Brighton of its own accord, that was, and presently she and Minnie went downstairs and joined the others.

Despite the cold and the strong wind, it was pleasant enough on the beach, although it very soon became apparent that poor Becky was not enjoying herself in the least. Among the dunes they were partially sheltered, but as soon as they came out upon the open shore the wind whipped loose sand at their legs with devastating force. The older ones, in long skirts or trousers, were able to bear
this with equanimity but Becky, whose thin stockings were little protection and whose skirt was too short to offer any help at all, begged to be allowed to return home. ‘I could go round to Etty’s,’ she shrieked against the wind, clutching Amy’s hand and pressing close to her sister. ‘Etty’s mam is always glad to see me and we could have a go with her skipping rope in the backyard. Maybe they’ll ask me to tea – they often do.’

‘All right, darling, you’ll probably be a deal better off with Etty than having your legs sandpapered by this perishin’ wind,’ Amy said cheerfully. ‘I’ll walk you round there, just make sure that everyone’s in and they’ve not got a family party going.’ She shrieked an explanation to the rest of the party, then turned back towards the town, Becky clinging grimly to her hand. They had only gone a few yards, however, before a figure, coat collar turned up and trousers tucked into boots, joined them, taking hold of Becky’s other hand. It was Paddy.

‘Oh, Paddy, there’s no need for you to lose your walk,’ Amy said as they gained the shelter of the dunes. ‘I can take care of Becky; if there’s no one at Etty’s house we’ll go on to the Durrants’ and if there’s no one there either we’ll go back to Seafield Grove. By then the others will have turned back so all I’ll have to do is walk to meet them.’

‘Good try,’ Paddy said, grinning. ‘I suppose it doesn’t occur to you that I don’t fancy playin’ gooseberry? Anyway, once we’ve dropped Becky off we can both catch up with the others if we’ve a mind.’

By the time they returned to Seafield Grove it was growing dusk and Amy, to her own secret astonishment, had allowed Paddy to put his arm round her as they walked back along the shore. For the first time in her whole life, she realised, she and Paddy had talked seriously about their lives without either one sniping at the other. She had learned that Paddy’s ambition extended beyond the fishing boat, that he was tempted to try his luck aboard a trawler or even to start out as a seaman on one of the transatlantic lines, which plied almost daily from the Liverpool docks.

‘I’ve never told anyone this before, but I guess I ought to see the world before I settle down, get married and that,’ he had told her. ‘Liverpool’s a grand city, so it is, but do you realise, Amy, I’m Irish yet I’ve never seen Dublin, let alone the rest of the country. As for the truly foreign parts, what chance has a chap of seeing the world from a shrimping boat? Oh aye, it’d be grand to see a bit of life before I settle down. I don’t know about girls, but most fellers feel like I do.’ He turned Amy so that he could look into her face. ‘How about you, queen? Don’t tell me you want to share a room with your pals and work in a hotel for the rest of your life?’

‘I mean to marry one day and settle down and have kids, I suppose,’ Amy said, having given the matter some thought. ‘But I love my job and sharing is great fun – when you do it with good friends, that is. As for seeing the world, I doubt I’ll ever do that – I’d like to see a bit more of England, though. And Wales, come to think of it. Oh, and I’d like to go to Ireland one of these days. You can catch a ferry from the Landing Stage.’

‘What do you say to us going together?’ Paddy suggested. ‘It’d be much more fun wi’ the two of us.
There’s all sorts in Dublin, shops, museums and a huge park. We could go in the summer if you’d like it.’

Amy felt that this was going too far and too fast, and made some non-committal reply, and presently Paddy changed the subject, telling her that catches aboard the shrimping boat had been pretty good, considering the time of year. He was saving up, since as a single man he had few responsibilities and could afford to put money away each week. ‘I wouldn’t leave your brothers and your dad in the lurch,’ he assured her. ‘But quite honestly, queen, provided they could get themselves a lad, Gus and Albert could manage the boat and the nets easy. So one of these days . . .’

He had not finished the sentence but it did not need a mind reader, Amy thought, to realise that despite what she had believed, Paddy was as ambitious as she, perhaps more so. And as they made their way to Seafield Grove through the deepening dusk, she realised with a little pang that if he did go she would miss him.

The last evening of the holiday was spent by the entire family, with the addition of Ruthie Durrant and two of her small sisters – and Minnie of course – in playing quiet games around the fire. The children had played Musical Chairs, with Paddy on the mouth organ, but this, being far from a quiet game, was soon rejected in favour of ‘Chinese Whispers’, which caused great hilarity, especially among the younger members of the party whose interpretation of the ordinary whispered sentences had everyone in stitches.