The Girl From Penny Lane (37 page)

‘What’s your name, love?’

‘Kitty Drinkwater.’

‘Where d’you come from? We know about the farm, chuck, but not the exact address.’

Kitty felt a spasm of fear; she should not say, she might get Johnny into trouble if folk thought she was laying some sort of claim on the place. She frowned; her head still ached horribly and the skin had peeled off her forehead and cheeks, leaving them sore and dry-feeling.

‘I . . . don’t live there any more.’

‘Where d’you live, then?’

‘Off the Burley; number 8 Paradise Court.’

‘Do you mean off Burlington Street?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Kitty said, already slipping back into the feverish world of sleep she had so briefly emerged from. ‘Wi’ me sister Bet.’

‘Right,’ the ward sister said. ‘I’ll get a health visitor round there later in the day. We’ll soon get it sorted out.’

‘Well, you’re gettin’ better,’ someone said the next day. It was one of the nurses, sounding cheerful but a bit surprised, as well. ‘Be on your feet in a week or two. Then you’ll be allowed to see your friend.’

‘Friend?’

‘Aye. The pretty one what comes and sits behind the glass; don’t say you’ve not noticed ’er!’

So the face was not a dream, then. Someone was there, someone pretty. Could it be Marigold? Or Betty? But deep inside herself she didn’t believe it was either of them. It was – it had to be – the girl from Penny Lane.

Nellie had heard, by letter, all about the little girl with scarlet fever and it had worried her deeply. It was all very well for Lilac to say she thought she remembered the child, that Kitty was so alone, that she was only allowed to sit behind a sheet of glass until the danger of infection had passed, it sounded reasonable enough put like that. But Nellie was afraid that Lilac had simply lost her will to live and was looking for a way out. Lilac had never had scarlet fever as a child so she could easily contract it now, and despite the marvels of modern medicine scarlet fever often proved fatal, particularly if the sufferer caught the disease when already at a low ebb both physically and mentally.

So now she sat in her kitchen watching the bread prove and keeping an eye on the clock whilst the oven reached heat and wondering what Stuart would have to tell her when he got home. For Stuart had applied for a job in Liverpool at last and it was a job after his own heart, furthermore. Deputy editor of a reputable evening paper, with the sort of responsibilities which he had been used to taking on in London. So today he had caught the milk train from Euston and would be in Lime Street – Nellie felt a great surge of envy – in good time for the interview.

Prejudiced though I am, Nellie thought now, getting up and putting the loaf tins on her kitchen table whilst she swung open the oven door a short way and prepared to face the blast of heat, I think my dear Stu stands a good chance. He’s covered most of the work, he’s a scouser born and bred and understands other scousers in a way an outsider would find impossible, and he’s so bright and sensible . . . oh surely he’ll get the job? Then we can go home at last!

He had said he might ring if he had time, but otherwise he would just jump on a train, and since she’d not heard it was either that they were going to inform the applicants by post or, worst and most unbearable of all, that he hadn’t got it and would have to keep looking. Nellie sighed and slid the bread into the oven, closing the door with her usual excessive caution, though she had never flattened a loaf yet. She’d decided not to pester God with any more prayers or promises – she had popped into church every time she passed ever since Stuart heard he’d got an interview, for a few words with the Almighty – but she couldn’t help herself having a little extra dig now.

If he gets it, God, he’ll be givin’ pleasure to so many people, she remarked in an offhand way, more as a chatty aside than a prayer as such. All them folk on the newspaper, my Stuart knows ’em all, he understands ’em . . . if you’ve got any influence at all . . .

She stopped short, horrified at herself. Either pray or don’t, Nellie Gallagher, she told herself. Just don’t hint He couldn’t if He would! And then, since the loaves were safe in and Elizabeth would be at her nursery school for another couple of hours, she slid to her knees and said a few words of apology for her doubts, a few words of thanks for Elizabeth and Stuart, a reminder that Lilac was a good little soul and needed her family round her at this sad time . . . and then she signed off, got to her feet and went to fetch the beeswax to polish the dining table and chairs.

Waxing away, her face pink with effort, Nellie began to go over in her head all the good reasons for returning to Liverpool, not just her own good reasons but Lilac’s, too.

Lilac could see more of little Elizabeth, Nellie thought now, staring unseeingly at the table, gleaming like a dark lake beneath her ministrations. Nellie was still sufficiently besotted with her only child to believe that the mere sight of little Elizabeth would improve anyone’s outlook on life. Why, the child adores her Auntie Lilac, having such affection must make a difference – and I could start to introduce her to young men . . .

Nellie had spent two weeks in Liverpool trying to help Lilac to pull herself round after the tragedy – though Lilac had been wonderful, full of courage and good sense – and had seen the Academy of Modern Dance in full swing. Had Lilac wanted to meet a nice young man, the dancing school offered unrivalled opportunities, but though unfailingly polite and as cheerful as was possible in the circumstances, no one could have failed to notice Lilac’s total disinterest in the opposite sex. Clearly, finding Lilac another young man was going to be a formidable task and one which might never succeed. But reviving Lilac’s interest in life – Nellie smiled at the mere thought of Elizabeth’s smooth hair and wide, enquiring eyes – might just be possible when her little niece was present.

Having polished the dining table until she could see her face reflected in it, right down to a tiny spot on her nose, Nellie put away her duster and the beeswax and decided to treat herself to a little outing. She would fetch Elizabeth from nursery school and take a nice walk to Tooting Bec Common, where they would watch little boys sailing boats on the pond or large girls, in school uniform, walking across the grass, shouting, teasing.

I’ll pack some sandwiches, Nellie thought, bustling through to the kitchen to check her bread, and a bottle of home-made lemonade, and we’ll have a little picnic, Elizabeth loves a picnic. And just for a bit I won’t think about the job, or worry about Lilac’s state of mind, or fret about my baby being brought up away from home. And whilst I do our carry-out I can plan what to make Stuart for his tea, because he’ll need feeding up, poor love, after the sort of day he’s probably had!

In the morning the weather had been rainy, uncertain – typical April weather in fact. By the time Nellie set out though, the sun had decided to break through and the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze.

Elizabeth was, of course, last out of the gate. Nellie had often pondered on why it was that when she met Lilac out of school in the old days, Lilac had always trailed far behind the other kids; now here was her little Elizabeth doing just the same. But her daughter was with two or three others, all chattering and cheerful, surrounding the teacher who was young and pretty, clearly loving her job and her company, too.

Nellie saw Elizabeth scanning the waiting parents and nannies – for it was quite an expensive nursery school – without anxiety, though with some interest. Sometimes Nellie called for her daughter, sometimes another mother picked Elizabeth up when she called for her son, Simon. But today Simon had long gone so Elizabeth would realise that she was to be Mummy’s sole companion this afternoon.

‘I like that best,’ Elizabeth had assured her solemnly on an earlier occasion, when Nellie had asked if she missed Simon. ‘I have other children in school all day, I like it to be just you an’ me.’

Nellie had been enormously pleased; now she waved as Elizabeth broke away from her teacher and came gambolling across the playground towards her.

‘Mummy, mummy . . . oh Mam, is that a picnic?’ she squeaked, apparently guessing that a covered basket with a bottle sticking out of it indicated treat time. ‘Oh, can we go to the common?’

‘Would you like to?’

Nellie caught the enchanting child up in a tight embrace from which Elizabeth was slow to struggle free; she loved cuddling, could never get enough of it.

‘Oh, yes, please! One day, when I’m bigger, I’ll have a boat to sail on the pond, won’t I? One day I’ll be tall enough to swing on the swings without you to push, one day . . .’

‘One day you’ll be pushing me on the swings,’ Nellie said, setting Elizabeth carefully down on the pavement and straightening her short camelhair jacket and the grey skirt which she wore beneath it. It was a short skirt, but not so short as some of the mothers; my legs are too thin to show off me knees, Nellie protested when Stuart suggested she should try the really daring skirts. But it wasn’t the main reason: short skirts were for girls, and Nellie was very conscious of herself as a woman.

‘Did you bring me scooter?’ Elizabeth said anxiously. ‘Oh, I could scoot to the common in a minute . . . in a second, very likely!’

‘No, I didn’t bring it, because you can’t scoot on grass,’ Nellie said. ‘Besides, you don’t want to be watching your scooter all the time we’re eating our tea, do you?’

The handsome red scooter had pride of place in Elizabeth’s affections right now, though she was passionately keen to own a tricycle. Simon had a tricycle and it meant that when his mummy took them to the park Simon was usually miles ahead of them. Nellie, noting this fact with some concern, for even in a quiet place like Balham the traffic worried her, had privately decided that a tricycle would have to wait until Elizabeth was at least six.

‘No-oo,’ Elizabeth admitted. ‘Sides, when I’m scootin’ we can’t talk much and I can’t hold your hand.’

‘True,’ Nellie said, squeezing the small and probably grimy fingers securely clasped in her own. ‘So let’s step out; what shall we do first? The boating pond or the swings or our picnic?’

‘Pond,’ Elizabeth said decidedly. ‘Then sarnies, then swings.’

Nellie wondered whether to correct the slang, then decided to leave it. Elizabeth isn’t a little southerner, she’s a little northerner, and if she sounds it so much the better, she thought defiantly. She and Stuart did their best to speak standard English, but in the comfort of their own home and each other’s company they frequently lapsed a little.

It wasn’t far from the nursery to the start of the common. They crossed the High Street, went under the railway bridge and there they were, though they still had quite a walk across the green grass before they reached the more interesting bits.

‘Shall I tell you what we did in school today?’ Elizabeth said presently, as they walked. ‘We made sandpies in the sand-table first. Simon made a little sand-cake with the red mould and then he tried to eat it and Miss Millicent said it was dirty and Red-face said dogs widdled in sand and Miss Millicent said . . .’

‘Darling, who’s Red-face?’ Nellie said patiently. She was endeavouring to stop her daughter from nicknaming, with very little success so far.

‘Sara Boyle. She gets angry so quick, Mam, and her face is often red. She hits the little ones and . . .’

‘Yes, all right, only you should call her Sara, darling, because that’s the name her mummy gave her. I hope you don’t eat sand?’

‘Only sometimes,’ Elizabeth said sunnily. ‘Not every day.’

Nellie tried to turn a snort of amusement into a cough. She blew her nose ostentatiously whilst Elizabeth continued to dance along beside her.

‘Where was I, Mam, before you interrupted? Oh yeah, you said to call Sara Sara, only there’s two Saras you know, Red-face and Sara, so I . . . poor Mummy, that’s a really nasty cough!’

Nellie squeezed her daughter’s small paw again.

‘I love you, queen,’ she said. ‘Hey-up, here’s the boating pond . . . and the old feller wi’ the beard’s sailing away already!’

The two of them leaned on the round concrete rim of the boating pond, watching the yachts – tall, elegant ones with painted hulls or gleaming woodwork, small, busy ones floating along, seizing as much of the fitful breeze as they could – and of course the owners, mainly small boys except for the elderly man with the nautical cap, the blazer and the white beard.

‘I call him Cap’n,’ Elizabeth whispered. ‘Cap’n Whitebeard.’

Nellie turned away to hide another of her reprehensible giggles and got the feeling that she had just interrupted someone staring at her. It was an odd feeling, but unmistakable. Of the small group of people clustered around the pond on her right, one had been fixing her with a gaze . . . she glanced across, then away. A man, probably about her own age, had appeared to turn his eyes hastily back to the water, to where a small yacht was turning clumsily as its tatty sail suddenly picked up the wind and filled to a bulging cheek of plenty. He had a small, none-too-clean boy with him and he bent down and directed the child’s gaze towards the small yacht.

‘See ’er take the wind, Tommy? She’s on’y small but she’s cheeky . . . see the way she snatched the wind off of that big, white yacht?’

Tommy leaned over the parapet and beat the water with one hand. The small yacht, heading for him, hesitated as though in doubt over the advisability of its actions, then sailed stoically on. It came to harbour in the man’s capable hands, then was taken out, dripping, and seized by the child.

‘Awright, Uncle Joey,’ the boy shouted shrilly. ‘You stay ’ere, I’ll go rahnd the uvver side, send ’er over to you!’

‘Will do, me ole mate,’ the man said. ‘Orf you goes!’

As soon as the child had left him he turned to look at Nellie once more, and found her eyes already fixed on his. He coloured, then dropped his gaze to the water, then seemed to change his mind and looked straight across at her, grinning. He half-raised a hand in a salute, then began to stroll the short distance between them.