Two Penn'orth of Sky (21 page)

‘I am naturally distressed to see that Mrs Telford and Wendy have not yet come to school to explain Wendy’s absence,’ he added. ‘It’s possible that they may come along later, though I very much doubt it. I have contacted Mrs Telford before over the matter of her children’s rarely attending school, and she has never accepted my invitations to visit me. So I must insist, Diana, that all contact with Wendy ceases from this moment on. After all, she’s four years older than you, so you can scarcely call it an equal friendship.’ He turned to Emmy. ‘I think you should make it clear to Mrs Telford that Wendy is a bad influence on Diana and will no longer be welcome in your house.’

Emmy agreed meekly that she would see to it and Mr Ellis smiled at Diana for the first time. ‘Now, Diana, I shall take you along to Miss Williams’s class and you will take your place as though nothing has
happened. I dare say you will have some explaining to do to your classmates but since this is the last day of term, and you’ve got the whole of the Christmas holidays before you, you will probably be luckier than you deserve. When school starts again in January, everyone will have forgotten your long absence.’

‘Will – will Miss Williams be very c-cross?’ Diana asked, her voice shaking. ‘Oh, I wish I hadn’t done it!’

Over her daughter’s head, Emmy’s eyes met Mr Ellis’s and she saw that the headmaster was once more suppressing a smile. ‘Naturally, Miss Williams will be very upset, but glad that you have come to your senses and returned to your class,’ he said and Emmy smiled gratefully at him. He was not the ogre she had feared he would be, but a grey-haired, middle-aged man, in a well-worn flannel suit, who had not attempted to make Emmy herself feel guilty and had smoothed Diana’s path back into education. A less sympathetic man might have terrified Diana into hating and fearing school, and Emmy was grateful to him for his forbearance.

She said as much when they had left Diana in her classroom and were retracing their steps along the echoing corridor. Mr Ellis ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up comically, then smoothed it down with both palms. ‘When you think she’s only six and managed to fool the lot of us, even you,’ he said, ‘I have to admit a sneaking admiration. Your daughter is worth cultivating, Mrs Wesley. I think we shall all be very proud of her one day.’

Emmy, flushed with gratification, made her way home to the court, thinking that things could have been a lot worse. Then she remembered the interview
with Mrs Telford and Wendy which lay ahead of her and felt her mouth go dry with apprehension. She had always avoided any sort of contact with the Telfords, but this time a confrontation would have to be faced. She had heard Mrs Telford blinding and swearing at her children and guessed that she would be verbally abused the moment she opened her mouth.

There was no help for it, however. Not only had she promised Mr Ellis that she would speak to the woman, she had realised that she would simply have to do so, and since there’s no time like the present Emmy squared her shoulders, crossed the court, and banged the knocker on the Telfords’ door. She knew the colour was draining from her face, could feel her knees beginning to wobble, but she gritted her teeth and lifted her chin as the door was abruptly opened to reveal Mrs Telford’s squat, untidy figure.

She eyed Emmy suspiciously. ‘Yes? Whaddayer want?’

‘Good morning, Mrs Telford,’ Emmy said evenly, with a bumping heart. ‘I’d like a word. May I come in?’

She half hoped that Mrs Telford would refuse to let her enter the house but, after a moment’s hesitation, the older woman grudgingly opened the door a little wider and ushered Emmy inside. ‘I s’pose there’s trouble,’ she muttered, as the two women entered the dirtiest kitchen Emmy had ever seen. ‘You wouldn’t come round here if there weren’t trouble – you’ve never so much as given me the time of day afore.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid it is trouble,’ Emmy said bravely. ‘I imagine you had a similar letter from the headmaster of the school to the one I received. In fact,
I’ve just returned from an interview with him . . .’

Mrs Telford muttered something; Emmy thought it sounded something like
stupid old fart
, but since she was not sure whether Mrs Telford was referring to Emmy herself or to Mr Ellis, she decided to ignore it and ploughed gamely on.

‘It seems that Wendy and Diana have not been in school for several weeks . . .’

When she returned from work that evening, Emmy told herself that she had recovered from her meeting with Mrs Telford. It had been every bit as bad as she had feared. Mrs Telford had screamed at her and called her names. She had said it had been Diana who had led Wendy into evil ways, then that the two girls were as bad as one another, then that she would beat Wendy to a pulp when she caught her.

‘An’ you can keep that prissy little brat o’ yours away from my girl,’ she had shrieked belligerently, as Emmy began to cross the court, heading for her own door. ‘An’ don’t you come here threatenin’ me, ’cos our Wendy won’t want to play wi’ a kid half her age. You better not come near me again wi’ your fancy ways, you stuck-up bitch, or you’ll get a crack on the jaw what you won’t forget in a hurry.’

So now Emmy advanced across the cobbles with some caution. Telling herself that Mrs Telford seldom emerged from her own house was all very well, but it was nine at night, and when Mrs Telford was in the money she visited the Jug and Bottle on the corner at about this time, and could be seen hurrying there and coming very slowly back with a tin jug of ale clasped to her breast, as one would usually carry a beloved child. Emmy told herself that Mrs Telford’s drink-sodden brain would have forgotten
the encounter an hour or so after it had happened, but she was still glad to enter her own kitchen without having seen so much as a glimpse of Wendy’s mam.

Diana was sitting at the kitchen table, working her way through several sheets of sums and handwriting exercises which Emmy had left for her, but she looked up and smiled cheerfully at her mother. ‘Aunty Beryl brung me home ten minutes ago, but said she wouldn’t stay since she’s not got the littl’uns to bed yet,’ she said. ‘Did you see Wendy’s mam this morning? What did she say?’

‘She said a great many rude things,’ Emmy said repressively. ‘And now the subject is closed, Diana. You’ve agreed not to see Wendy again and Mrs Telford agreed – more or less – that Wendy would not see you again, either. The pair of you are going to have to make friends of your own age; the sort of girls that I’ll be happy to have visit us here. Now, off to bed with you, or you’ll be fit for nothing in the morning.’

‘Oh, Mam, don’t say that perishin’ Diana has got to come with us. Can’t you tell her she has to play with Becky, or one of the other girls? Ever since the big row last Christmas, she’s dogged me perishin’ footsteps. I don’t see no harm in young Wendy meself, so why does Aunt Emmy have to cut up rough and say the kids can’t play together? It ain’t as if Di has missed so much as a day of school since Christmas, an’ now it’s the summer holidays. Can’t you put in a word, persuade Aunt Emmy that there ain’t no real harm in Wendy? It wouldn’t be so bad, but Diana hangs round wi’ me and the fellers, pretendin’ to keep up, even when we know she’s wore out.’

Beryl Fisher sighed. She understood Charlie’s feelings but she knew it was useless to suggest to Emmy that Diana might be allowed to play with Wendy, now that the long summer holiday was upon them. The trouble was that Wendy had reverted to her old ways as soon as the split between the two families had come. She stole, she lied, she called names and, of course, she never attended school. She stopped taking care of herself and once again wore her filthy rags, seldom bothering to wash and going barefoot even in the coldest, wettest weather. Beryl did not blame Emmy for wanting the two girls to be kept apart, but she did sympathise with Charlie. It was usually the older girls in a family who got landed with the younger ones, but of course her eldest girl
was Becky, and even at six she was not able to look after Bobby and the baby, Jimmy, when Beryl wanted a bit of peace. So naturally, when Charlie went off to get the messages, he took the younger children in the pram, piling bags of flour and sacks of spuds around their feet. At first, he had not minded Diana’s accompanying him on such shopping trips, but when, as now, he, Lenny and their friends Phil and Steve were going fishing in the canal, then a neatly dressed little girl with white socks and brown sandals on her feet was nothing but an embarrassment.

Beryl tried to marshal her thoughts. It was useless to tell Charlie that Wendy was no fit companion for the daintily dressed Diana, because he would promptly reply that he was no fit companion for her either. Beryl had tried telling Emmy that dressing Diana up like a little princess was no way to go on, especially when school was out and everyone else wore their oldest things, but Emmy had said firmly that keeping up appearances was important. ‘It stops Diana indulging in dangerous or messy games,’ she had said severely, ‘and it stops her seeking out the – the lower elements in the courts for playfellows.’

‘I take it by lower elements you mean Wendy . . . but you might bear in mind, Em, that my kids play in the oldest clothes I can find them,’ Beryl had told her friend. ‘I remember a time when you realised yourself that life would be easier for Diana if she behaved like everyone else and didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. You seem to have forgotten that lately.’

Emmy had blushed, but remained firm. ‘I’m sorry, Beryl. I didn’t mean to be rude or upset you,’ she had said humbly. ‘But the truth is, I’m desperate to keep her away from that Wendy and one way to do it is to keep her looking smart all the time. Wendy
won’t want to play with her if she’s always clean and neat, I’m sure.’

Thinking it over now, Beryl was not at all certain that her friend was right. Wendy would not care how Diana looked; it was her friendship that the older girl missed. Beryl had noticed her hanging wistfully around any group of children which contained Diana, but the younger girl would only give her a quick, diffident glance and a shy smile. Her mother’s prohibition was not to be easily forgotten.

However, Diana was now refusing to play with Becky and her pals, saying that they were babies and played baby games, and adding that she preferred to be with Charlie. Once or twice, Beryl had decided to help Charlie out and had said, bluntly, that the boys did not want her. This had caused Diana to blush to the roots of her hair, and had given Charlie a day or two of freedom from his small admirer. But Diana had soon reverted to her favourite pastime, which seemed to be tagging along behind Charlie and his pals.

‘Well, Mam? Please will you have a go at Diana today? Think, if she ends up in the canal, drowned dead, everyone’ll say it’s my fault. I’m tellin’ you, I can’t fish with the lads and watch out for a kid what’s got no more sense than to wear decent clothing in the holidays.’

Beryl sighed again. Her mam, Granny Pritchard, had died four months previously. In a way, this should have made life easier for Beryl, since it was one less person to look out for, one less mouth to feed. Yet even though she had been bed-bound and no longer able to help with the children, Beryl missed her sorely. Her tiny pension had been a help, but what Beryl missed most was sharing her problems
and worries with another woman whose experience and wisdom had always been on hand. Her mam would have told her how to break it gently, both to Diana and to Emmy, that a boy of Charlie’s age needed a bit of time to himself . . . a bit of space, like.

Since Emmy paid her a small weekly sum to keep an eye on Diana, however, Beryl knew she would be quite within her rights to tell the child that she needed her in the house to give a hand with young Bobby and to keep an eye on the baby. The trouble was, as she herself was not working during the day – unless you counted laundering tablecloths, napkins, pinafores and overalls for half the cafés and canny houses in the district – she would be hard put to it to find Diana anything to do. Bobby liked to play out in the court with other children his age if it was fine, in which case there were always older children, including Becky, who would dash in to inform a parent of any disaster which might have befallen their child. If it was wet, he and a couple of pals would be quite content to play on the kitchen floor, preferably under the big, square kitchen table, where Beryl herself could keep an eye on them. But the problem would have to be faced. Charlie was quite right: Emmy did not like it when Diana returned home with dirty socks and stains down her dress. It was time she tackled the younger woman again, explained that she was creating real difficulties for Charlie and Lenny.

‘Mam?’ Charlie’s tone was impatient, yet hopeful. ‘Couldn’t you dash over now and have a word wi’ Aunt Emmy? We’ve been off school for two weeks an’ I’ve not had a moment’s peace in all that time.’

Beryl couldn’t help laughing; she had heard those
very words on the lips of a number of people, but they had all been women with large families, not young boys. ‘Well, I don’t know about dashing,’ she said. ‘But if you’ll give an eye to the porridge, I’ll have a word with Emmy before she goes off to work.’

‘Thanks, Mam,’ Charlie said fervently. ‘It ain’t that I don’t like Di; she’s norra bad kid, but no one wants a girl taggin’ them all day – no feller does, I mean.’

Becky was still upstairs, helping Bobby to dress, and Lenny had disappeared some time earlier, taking bread and jam and saying he didn’t want breakfast since it was his turn to dig for bait. Beryl knew that the boys collected worms from parks and gardens in the area, knew also that they had to be out early to avoid the park keepers, so had let Lenny go without comment. Now, she scooped Jimmy up from where he squatted on the hearthrug, nuzzling his neck as he squawked a protest and telling him that he was a grand boy and that Aunt Emmy would very likely give him a bicky if he was good.

Jimmy cooed agreeably and Beryl headed next door, with the comfortable weight of him in her arms and his rather sticky cheek pressed to hers. She did not bother to knock, but opened the door and let herself into the kitchen with the air of one sure of a welcome, which she certainly was.