The Girl From Penny Lane (17 page)

‘Young’s it is! I were pullin’ your leg over the canny house, our Lilac, I wouldn’t take you somewhere low. I reckon that with Nellie gone you’re longing for decent, home-cooked grub, aren’t you? But Tippy an’ me works wonders when we get goin’ of an evenin’, wi’ a frying pan and a couple of eggs, a few rashers, some cold spuds . . . oh aye, we eat better’n we ever did at home.’

Lilac bit back the words, ‘Of course you do,’ remembering that Art had never grumbled over his mother’s total lack of domestic ability. She glanced up at him though and saw that he was grinning down at her.

‘Go on, flower, say it! Me mam’s no cook . . . still an’ all, we survived, the six of us, so now we’ve gorra learn to feed ourselves. Here we are!’

He ushered her into the dining room and they chose a quiet table against the wall. Art, with an air of authority, ordered clear soup, chops and steamed pudding for two, then sat back and regarded her with deep pleasure.

‘You look a treat, Lilac,’ he said after a moment. ‘Makin’ bags an’ sacks suits you.’

‘It doesn’t,’ Lilac said, ‘but it’s a job. Like the bank is, I suppose.’

Art chuckled.

‘It can’t be as dull as the bank, queen,’ he objected. ‘Eh, but there’s times . . . still, no point grumblin’. It’s the means to an end. Ah, here comes our food.’

The meal was simple but well-cooked and satisfying, and rather to her own surprise, Lilac found Art amusing and even exciting company. He really was handsome, when he smiled you saw his nice white teeth and he smiled often. Lilac became aware that several girls of about her own age kept glancing enviously across at their table and the waitress was putty in his hands, bringing them a cupful of pieces of ice when Art told her the water was warm, coming over a couple of times to make sure everything was all right . . . Lilac knew the signs, it was clear that women liked her companion. And he talked naturally, easily, telling her all the latest gossip in the Court – who was going steady with whom, who had jobs, who was wearing charity clogs – and all the gossip in the bank, too. Lilac made him laugh with her factory experiences and all was going swimmingly when Art took her completely by surprise.

‘Don’t know if Nellie mentioned it, queen, but I’ve been offered the chance of a job with Deacon’s, over the water in Birkenhead.’

‘Birkenhead? That one-eyed town?’ Lilac said rudely. ‘No point in vegetating there, Art, when you could be here, where the action is!’

‘Birkenhead’s a big town and it’s quite an important job,’ Art said equably. ‘It ’ud mean a rise in pay and they’ve agreed to a living-out allowance. I could afford a house of me own – a small one.’

‘Really? But you could go across every day, on the ferry. Lots of men do, if they work in the shipyards.’

‘True. But since I’ve moved out of the Corry anyway, I might as well go the whole hog and cross the water.’

‘I suppose you could, though I don’t see the point,’ Lilac said doubtfully. Why was it that she couldn’t feel entirely comfortable about Art moving away from Liverpool, even though it was only to Birkenhead which you could see, just about, from Bridgewater Street? ‘I suppose Birkenhead may be all right, in its way. Only you’d miss the cinemas and theatres and things, wouldn’t you? And the shops and the concerts.’

‘No, because if I wanted a night out which Birkenhead couldn’t provide, I’d come over on the ferry,’ Art said logically. ‘It’s not a one-way thing, the ferry, queen. Besides, it’s like Stu was saying, you’ve got to look to the future. A feller’s career
is
his future – and his wife’s, for that matter.’

‘Oh, you talked it over with Stu, did you? But he’s wed, with a kid on the way, if you were married it would be different, I could understand you wanting to go.’ Lilac waited whilst the waitress cleared their plates and put the desserts in front of them, then dug her spoon into the plump and creamy steamed pudding. ‘Ooh, I do love a duff, and this one’s prime! But since you aren’t married, I don’t see why you can’t stay here.’

‘No-oo, I’m not married yet, I grant you, but I’ll be married one day, and I’ve gorra look to that day, or me wife won’t get the best of everything, and that’s what I want for her.’ Art put his own pudding spoon down and leaned across the table. He took hold of Lilac’s chin in a firm but gentle hand, tilting it so that she had to look up at him. His face was ardent, his eyes glowed with an expression which Lilac recognised, with some embarrassment, as strong and emotional affection. ‘Lilac, as soon as I’m settled in the job, I’m goin’ to ask you to move over to Birkenhead and take a chance on me.’

Lilac’s mouth was full of steamed pudding and she was jolly sure she had custard round her mouth. What was more, Art’s proposal – if you could call it that – had come out at full blast just when one of those silences which fall on an assembled company had occurred. All round her, Lilac saw heads turn, attention fix on her face.

And she had a mouthful of pudding and custard round her mouth. She knew she was scarlet with embarrassment, looking a fool, feeling a worse one. She sat back, pulling away from Art’s imprisoning hand, swallowed her mouthful and then, defiantly, spooned more pudding into her mouth and swallowed that, too, before she spoke.

‘I’m not moving anywhere,’ she said crossly. ‘Not with you, Art O’Brien. Haven’t I said it enough times?’

‘I’ve not asked you yet, Lilac,’ Art said quietly. Lilac, sneaking a look at him, saw that he was red as a turkey-cock, with sweat beading his brow. ‘So I’d best not bother, eh? Is that what you mean?’

Lilac stared down at her plate. He was being perfectly horrible today, he had quite spoiled the nicest meal she’d had all week, he’d embarrassed her in front of a great many people and now all she wanted to do was get away from him and have a good cry somewhere quiet, because her lovely day had turned sour on her. Suddenly, she was not at all sure that she wanted to see Art go right away from her, never come calling, never jump aboard an Oceanic when she was already sitting on the slatted wooden seat. Hadn’t the sight of him warmed her heart, lightened the darkest day for her? But why did he have to rush everything? Why couldn’t he accept that she wasn’t ready for marrying or committing, that all she wanted for a year or two was to have some fun before she settled down?

‘Well, queen? If you don’t want to take a chance on me, then I might as well be off – to Birkenhead or wherever. But if you’ve still got an open mind, mebbe we could gerron a bus and go to New Brighton, play the pinball machines, paddle in the sea, act like a coupla pals for a bit.’

Lilac looked at him, seeing him waveringly through the hot tears which filled her eyes. Why oh why did she have to answer him now? Why couldn’t she just say New Brighton sounded fun and hadn’t they better pay the bill and get aboard a bus? But, still convinced that everyone in the dining room was waiting for her reply, she spoke stiffly, as to a stranger.

‘Me mind’s made up, so no point in pretendin’. You’d best go to Birkenhead and forget me.’

He went white. She had never seen Art’s face, or anyone else’s for that matter, drain of colour so completely.

‘Me, forget you? Queen, I’ll never do that. But don’t worry, I shan’t stay ’ere an’ pester you. I’ll go.’

He shot back his chair. He’d taken his jacket off whilst they ate, now he put it on again, wildly, with half the collar tucked in and his tie awry. He jerked some money out of his pocket and threw it down on the table. It was quite a lot of money and some of it missed and fell on the floor, rolled and tinkled and fell.

There would still have been time. She could have got to her feet, said she was sorry, caught hold of him . . . but she did none of those things. Scarlet-faced, longing to crawl away somewhere and hide, with the waitress coming across the room looking concerned and all the other customers staring at them, Lilac got down on her knees and began to try to pick up the money.

‘Oh Art, honest to God, what a way to behave! Give us a hand, can’t you? Don’t just stand there!’

Even then all might have been well. If only Art had helped her, or made some joking remark! But instead his words were bitter, a reproach flung at her head with intent to wound.

‘Oh, so I’m good enough to grovel on the floor and give you an ’and, but not good enough to marry! That’s right, our Lilac, first things first, you get the money – that’s what counts, isn’t it? That’s what you’re after, at the end o’ the day . . . a feller wi’ cash an’ a posh accent, who can buy the sorta clothes you want to show off in! I ’ope you find ’im, queen, because I’m not just goin’ to Birken’ead, I’m goin’ a lot furder dan dat!’

She had not heard his speech turn so broad since they were kids together, and perhaps his words stung all the more for being spoken in the white-hot heat of anger.

Lilac sobbed once, then shouted, ‘Go, then! For God’s sake go and be done with it!’ and saw, through her tears, Art’s figure actually heading at a run towards the door.

She sat back on her heels, then stood up, slowly, the money in her hot hand. She crashed it down on to the white tablecloth and picked up her gloves, then headed for the door. The waitress called after her that the bill hadn’t come to as much as the gentleman had left, but Lilac ignored her. She was quite literally shaking, partly with temper, for Art had made her look a prize fool, and partly with distress, for she knew she had behaved very badly and had hurt not only herself, but Art as well.

The door was still swinging from Art’s violent exit, so she slid through the doorway and into the sunny street. She looked to the right, then to the left. A good number of people thronged the pavement, men, women, children, but of Art there was no sign.

Lilac hesitated. Should she go to the Corry? To Ullet Road? Where would he go, where would he run? Because he would be feeling really bad, as bad as Lilac felt, and she realised that she felt absolutely horrible, as though . . . oh as though she had lost something very precious, something she really valued, and she shouldn’t feel like that, not over Art, because he was simply a friend from her past who had proved that he wanted to be more than a friend. And she wasn’t ready for that yet – would never be ready so far as Art was concerned. Would she?

Lilac shook herself and set off along the pavement. Perhaps he had gone to the Corry – should she go along and take a look? But she would never have the courage to go up to Art’s old home, not with her eyes all red and her nose the same, very likely. Art’s mum was a proper horror, she’d be real pleased to see Lilac, whom she despised and disliked, so down.

But Art was miserable, and so was she; she really ought to try to make amends. She wanted to meet him somewhere quiet and private, where she could apologise nicely without half the world staring, and explain to Art . . . explain that if only he’d spoken quieter, or when her mouth wasn’t full of pudding . . . not that her answer would have been different . . .

Oh Gawd, it was no use. They’d meet up in a few days . . . she’d go to his bank on Exchange Flags and ask for him, she’d hang around outside until he came out . . . how could she have behaved so badly to one of her oldest friends? Even if she didn’t want to marry him – well not yet, anyway, not right here and now!

Lilac was walking without either knowing or caring where she was going, but the autumn sunshine warmed her and presently she began to feel a little better. They had both been fools, both been unkind. Art should apologise too, there were faults on both sides. And he hadn’t taken into account that she had just started a strange job, was living in strange lodgings, that her little family, Nellie, Stuart and the as-yet unborn baby, had moved down south, leaving her to her own devices.

If only . . . if only she hadn’t been
quite
so hasty! If only she’d been a little more polite – if it had been anyone but Art she would have thought about his feelings, done her best to let him down gently. Why oh why had she been so thoughtless?

She stumbled along the pavement, indifferent for once to the shops, the passing crowds. It was Sunday, so there wasn’t much traffic; she crossed over a couple of side roads, then the main road, then simply walked, whilst inside her mind raged round and round the problem. By the time she came to herself, however, and found she had reached the pierhead, her anger was directed less at herself and more at Art.

She had planned a lovely day and Art had ruined it. She’d not asked him to propose marriage in front of a roomful of people, and she’d every right to say no, anyway. Why should she marry anyone, she wouldn’t be nineteen for another eight weeks . . . Art was selfish and pushy and he’d made her look a fool, it was that she couldn’t forgive. But when a voice hailed her, when a hand caught hers, she knew a moment of total delight, of relief so great that her knees went weak. He had found her – they would be friends again, the sunshine had meaning, the blue sky smiled on her!

‘Well, if it isn’t Miss Lilac! Where have you been? I’ve searched for you; I wrote but you never answered.’

It was Alan Blake, looking incredibly handsome, incredibly debonair, with his naval cap tilted over one eye and his eyes sparkling with admiration for Lilac in her prettiest summer dress with the little blue hat pinned on to her piled-up, red-gold hair!

Just for a moment Lilac’s unreliable heart sank like a stone, then it rallied a little. Here was someone who would appreciate her, someone who would understand!

‘Well, Mr Blake! I thought you’d forgotten all about me!’

‘You’re unforgettable, Lilac. You were unforgettable in a black dress with a little white cap and apron, but in blue you’re a vision the heavenly hosts couldn’t forget! Where are you bound? For the ferry? How about giving me your arm whilst we talk, then we can stroll down to the dock, see what’s going on . . . have you eaten?’

‘Yes . . . but it was ages ago,’ Lilac said quickly. Unhappiness had given her an enormous appetite, she now realised. She could have sat down to clear soup, mutton chops and steamed pudding again and eaten the whole lot with relish. ‘Where were
you
going, Mr Blake?’