Two Penn'orth of Sky (28 page)

‘But will your mam take any notice?’ Diana asked fearfully, remembering what Beryl had said. ‘You’ve been ev—evicted before, haven’t you? Won’t she just bide her time and then do it all over again?’

She was looking up into Wendy’s face as she spoke and saw a broad grin spread over her friend’s dirty, tear-stained countenance. ‘No, that she won’t,’ Wendy said cheerfully. ‘Me Aunt Naomi is a woman of her word and me mam knows it. Mam’s terrified of the workhouse because there’s no drink allowed in there – no fags, neither – and they make the women work, a thing me mam hates, especially as they don’t pay you. No, Mam won’t risk going agin me aunt.’

‘I’m glad,’ Diana said thankfully. ‘I don’t feel nearly so bad knowing you’ve got somewhere to go. But do you
like
your aunt, Wendy? Do you get along with her?’

Wendy heaved a sigh. ‘I just keeps me head low an’ does as she says,’ she admitted resignedly. ‘She makes us go to chapel three times on a Sunday, but she cooks us a grand dinner, meat as well as spuds and veggies. Oh, she ain’t bad, really, provided you do as she tells you.’

Diana was about to say that this rule applied to
most adults, but at that point Mrs Telford stopped trying to force her way back into the house past the bailiffs, and turned to yell at her daughter. ‘Wendy! Get yourself round to Jimmy Satterthwaite an’ tell ’im we wants a lend of ’is ’andcart. I ain’t seein’ all me decent furniture an’ effects carried off by these thievin’ bloody magpies. It’s bad enough to be turned out o’ me house just for the want of a week or two’s rent, but I won’t ’ave me good furniture stole.’

The bailiffs seemed to consider this a good joke. ‘You’re welcome to that pile o’ rubbish, missus,’ the largest of them said scornfully. ‘We’re entitled to take furniture an’ goods to the value o’ the money owed. But you ain’t gorra stick we’d touch wi’ a barge pole. I doubt it’s even worth the hire of a handcart, but you’d best move it out o’ the court, even if you only go an’ tip it into the river.’

Mrs Telford gave a shriek of rage at this frank assessment of her worldly possessions but Wendy gave Diana one last hug and then set off across the court towards the archway. ‘I’m goin’, Mam; shan’t be two ticks,’ she shouted. Then, turning to Diana, she added in a whisper: ‘Goodbye, Di. We’ll meet up again when we’ve growed.’

Diana watched her friend until she was out of sight, then allowed herself to be steered towards No. 4; she found she did not wish to linger now that Wendy had gone.

Beryl told Charlie to take Becky, Bobby and the baby straight home, and told Lenny to fetch his dad from Aunty Ellen’s. ‘Tell him we had to leave New Brighton early and I’d be obliged if he’d come home now. I’ll take Diana to No. 2. I shan’t be gone long. But you might put the kettle on so’s we can all have
a cup of tea when I get back.’ She was a little surprised that Emmy hadn’t spotted them and come running out of the house to either upbraid her daughter or shed tears of relief but, in the event, it was soon clear that Emmy was not at home. ‘I expect she’s gone rushin’ up to the police station,’ Beryl said resignedly, as she and Diana turned away. ‘Well, we’d best follow suit else there’ll be trouble.’

They went to the police station where a fat and sweating desk sergeant obligingly consulted a large book, though since he had been on duty from nine that morning he was able to tell Beryl that he knew for a fact no one had lost a child that day. ‘You know what these mams are; if she’s got seven or eight kids, she won’t miss one until it don’t turn up for its supper,’ he said, smiling across at Diana. ‘Just you slip back into your house before teatime and she won’t never know you’ve gone missing.’

Outside on the pavement once more, Beryl looked rather helplessly down at her small companion. Diana looked back, a little smile on her lips. ‘I did tell you she’d guess I were with you, Aunty Bee, so she wouldn’t worry,’ she said, a trifle reproachfully. ‘Besides, she’s with that Mr Johansson, so they could have gone anywhere. He’s like my daddy, he earns lots of money.’

Beryl sighed. ‘What am I going to do with you? You’re too knowing by half, that’s your trouble. But if your mammy guessed you were with me, why didn’t she come to New Brighton? If I were in the same situation—’

Diana must have heard the critical note in her voice for she interrupted at once. ‘But Aunty Bee, it’s quite, quite different! My mammy knows you’re the most trustable person in the world and understands all
about kids. If your Charlie ran off to be with my mam, then he’d be telling her how to go on, not the other way round.’

This frank acceptance of Emmy’s shortcomings tickled Beryl’s sense of humour and she laughed out loud, then gave Diana’s hand a reassuring squeeze as they set off for Nightingale Court once more. ‘You’d best have your tea with us; then you can play with Becky until your mam gets back,’ she said resignedly. ‘Though considering the way she’s behaved towards me just lately . . .’

‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Diana said anxiously, peering up into Beryl’s face. ‘I – I don’t think she’s very well, honest to God I don’t. She came back from Mac’s one night, after a late shift, and fell asleep in the chair. It was a Saturday; I thought I’d give her a surprise and take her a cup of tea in bed, but when I got downstairs, there she was, in all her clothes, even her coat, though she’d kicked off her shoes and chucked her hat on the floor. She were fast asleep and she looked awful. Her face was really white and there were purple shadows under her eyes, and when she breathed in, she purred, like a cat.’

This information worried Beryl, though she did not mean to let it show. She knew Diana to be a truthful child in general, but she had told an alarming number of whoppers that day; perhaps this was just another such. It was easy to see that the child was desperate for her mother and Beryl to get back on friendly terms. Perhaps she thought that pretending Emmy was ill would soften Beryl’s attitude. Yet the story of Emmy’s falling asleep in the chair was not the sort of thing a child of seven could dream up, Beryl thought, and decided that she would have a word with Emmy later, preferably when Diana was
in bed and Mr Johansson had returned to his ship. Beryl had been fond of Mrs Dickens, and knew that the old lady had trusted her to cushion her daughter against the harsh realities of life. Yes, she would definitely speak to Emmy this very day.

‘I thought you said you were going to play with our Becky. Well, why don’t you go ahead and do it? Or if you can’t do that, then you could make Bobby some bread and milk; you know how to do
that
, don’t you?’

Aunty Beryl had brought Diana back to the Fisher house and had then taken baby Jimmy and gone off to try to find someone who could tell her where Emmy had gone. She had said she would not be long but Diana, rejoicing in the fact that Charlie had spoken to her for the first time since they had reached the court, did not mind her absence in the least and answered almost humbly: ‘Yes, Charlie, I’ll make Bobby some bread and milk. I would play with Becky if you wanted me to, but I think she’d rather be left alone.’

Becky was sitting on the hearthrug with a homemade rag doll in her arms. She was crooning tunelessly to it whilst rocking herself back and forth, and when Diana had spoken to her five minutes before she had seemed oblivious, and had continued to croon and sway without giving Diana so much as a glance.

Charlie snorted and looked towards his sister, then nodded grudgingly. ‘You’re right there. She’ll rock herself to sleep and fall over in a minute,’ he admitted. ‘That’s why Mam puts cushions each side of her.’ He walked across to the bread crock and got out the heel of a loaf, which he dumped down on the table beside an open tin of condensed milk. ‘There
you are. When you’ve made it, you’d best feed him an’ all. Then we can get the little perisher to bed before Mam gets back.’

‘Yes, Charlie,’ Diana said meekly. She was still shaken by the encounter with Wendy. Whatever would she and her mother have done if something similar had happened to them? But it was no use worrying so. She began to crumble the bread into Bobby’s plate, then poured some milk on to it. Just then Charlie turned away from the sink, where he was industriously scrubbing potatoes, and saw what she was doing. He clapped a wet hand to his head, giving a theatrical groan as he did so.

‘Oh, Gawd, you’ve not got the sense you was born with! You’ve gorra half ’n’ half the conny-onny wi’ water afore you put it on the bread, else he’ll be as sick as a dog.’

Diana knew that her own mother was sometimes forced to use conny-onny, when she ran out of fresh milk, and remembered that Emmy always diluted it with water. Cursing herself for her forgetfulness, she went and dipped some water out of the bucket, poured a small amount over the bread and conny-onny, then stirred vigorously. ‘Is that better, Charlie?’ she asked timidly. ‘I know I put the water on last, but I don’t think it’ll matter, do you?’

Charlie did not deign to reply but jerked a grimy thumb to where Bobby sat amongst a pile of homemade wooden bricks. Diana went and knelt in front of the little boy, the bowl of bread and milk in one hand, a spoon in the other. She thought Bobby was eyeing the mixture without much enthusiasm, but pushed a spoonful into his mouth anyway, saying cheerfully as she did so: ‘There you are, Bobby, lovely bread and milk! Eat it all up and your mammy—’
She stopped. Bobby had made a horrible gurgling noise before spitting the whole lot back at her. Instinctively, Diana gave the child a little push. ‘You’re a bad, naughty boy,’ she said reproachfully, trying to wipe blobs of soggy bread and milk from her face and neck. ‘If your mammy was here . . .’ She filled the spoon again and was about to ram it into Bobby’s now open and howling mouth when she was seized from behind. Charlie jerked her roughly to her feet and then gave her a shove which sent her staggering against the table.

‘You’re a wicked little bitch, Diana Wesley,’ he said furiously. He grabbed at her and shook her hard. ‘You’ve done something wrong with that bread and milk, you stupid girl, else our Bobby would have swallowed the first mouthful because he loves the horrible stuff. And as for shovin’ more food in when the kid’s screamin’ his head off . . . well, you must be mad! And you pushed him, just for spittin’ out a bit of food, so what’ll you do if he sicks up all over you, eh? Chop his bleedin’ little ’ead off?’

Diana was almost in tears. She would have liked to smack Bobby for getting her into Charlie’s bad books again, but she knew this would be most unwise. Besides, she was really fond of the little boy and had missed him over the past weeks and months. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ she mumbled. ‘I really like Bobby and it was only a little push. But bread ’n’ milk’s easy. I couldn’t have made it wrong.’

However, Charlie was examining the dish closely and now he gave a triumphant crow. ‘Couldn’t you? Oh, but you’re wrong, Miss High and Mighty,’ he jeered. ‘You think you know every bloody thing, doncher? Well, you’re wrong. You used far too much water – the stuff’s swimmin’ in it.’

‘I’m sorry. But he shouldn’t have spat it in my face like that, that was naughty,’ Diana pointed out, trying to keep her temper.

Charlie did not reply. He took another slice of bread, crumbled it into the mixture and added some more conny-onny. Then he sat down on the nearest chair, pulled Bobby on to his lap, and presented the child with a spoonful of bread and milk.

Bobby ate it, and Charlie jerked a thumb at the sink. ‘You’d best finish the spuds,’ he said gruffly. ‘An’ I just hope that good-time gal you call your mam don’t choose to stay out half the night and land us wi’ you, ’cos I tell you to your head, we doesn’t want you. Why don’t you an’ your mam go to the workhouse with that no-good Wendy Telford, which was such a
pal
of yours.’

Diana’s heart swelled with indignation at these cruel and unfair words. ‘How dare you say horrible things about my mother! And don’t you jeer about Wendy, either, ’cos she’s still my pal,’ she said furiously. Without thinking twice, she grabbed a spud out of the sink and hurled it at Charlie with all her force. It hit him squarely on the head, making him drop the dish of bread and milk and causing him to give a bellow of pain. He set Bobby down on the hearthrug and jumped to his feet and in two seconds a royal battle was in progress, with everyone shouting and Diana using feet, fists and fingernails to do Charlie as much damage as she could.

They did not even hear the kitchen door opening, but Wally’s bellow was so loud that it stopped them both in their tracks. Charlie’s father stood framed in the doorway, round eyes expressing astonishment, mouth uttering condemnation of their behaviour. ‘How dare you fight like a couple of bleedin’ alley
cats, with poor little Becky asleep on the floor and Bobby cryin’ his heart out?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Charlie, you’re the older, so you just explain and then you can go straight to bed – no supper for you.’ Wally peered closely at Bobby. ‘Why, he’s covered in somethin’ . . . what the devil’s been goin’ on, eh?’

Charlie began a muttered explanation, but Diana cut in. ‘It was my fault, Mr Fisher,’ she said humbly. ‘I threw a potato at Charlie’s head, really hard, and he dropped the bread and milk what he was feeding to Bobby.’

Charlie cleared his throat, then said gruffly: ‘It weren’t just that, Dad, it were my fault as well. I – I called names.’ He walked over to Bobby and began to pick up the shards of broken china. ‘I’ll clear up the mess an’ get the spuds on to boil, ’cos Mam asked me to do that. Then I’ll go to bed if you want . . . or I could stay and put the fish in the fry pan when the spuds is cooked, and then go to bed.’

Diana saw Wally’s mouth twitch, but he spoke gravely enough. ‘Well, since it seems there was faults on both sides, we’ll say no more,’ he said. ‘The pair of you, and Lenny, can gerron wi’ cookin’ a meal and laying the table, while I get Bobby an’ Becky to bed. I see your mam is out and I suppose she’s taken Jimmy with her, so the rest of us must bustle around and get this place cleaned up afore she gets back.’ He plucked the sleeping Becky from amongst her cushions. ‘Why did you come home so early, anyhow?’

‘Little Miss – I mean Diana, here, followed us to New Brighton but she didn’t tell her mam, so we had to come home,’ Charlie said, a trifle bitterly.