The Girl From Penny Lane (44 page)

‘They ’ad a copy of the will all along! If only we’d gone to ’em, Kitty, ’stead o’ wastin’ our time searchin’ for that Jones boy! Still, it come out all right in the end.’

‘You mean the Ap Thomases jest moved out?’ Kitty said. ‘Without a fight, even?’

‘Well, it warn’t quite so simple as that! But they was tryin’ to sell it, see, so our solicitor – Mr Huw Hughes, Mr Hywel’s son – said we’d ’ave ’em for fraudulently disposin’ of . . . I can’t ’member the right words, but you know the kind ’o thing. They might not ha’ budged for that, e’en so, but then the neighbours came.’

‘The neighbours? Mr Dewi and Mrs Bron, you mean?’

‘Aye, but not only them, Kit! The people you met in the market, the Morrises, the Evanses, the Llewellyns . . . people what was kind to us, but I didn’t think would ever
do
anything. They come up the road in a big crowd, wi’ me in the middle, an’ we walked right into the farmyard an’ Mr Huw flung the back door open wide so’ they ’ad to listen. An’ the minister . . . ’e fair thundered at ole Ap Thomas . . . they all came. Kind o’ shamed the Thomases into goin’ . . . Elwyn’s missus wailed an’ wept like a founting, said she’d ’ad no part in it, but it din’t matter, they went. An’ everyone ’elped me to move back in.’

‘And you got the stock back?’

‘Oh aye, Mr Huw made ole Elwyn cough up for the beasts. Bought stock at the Christmas market in Corwen . . . you’ll be pleased wi’ them, our Kitty, they’re prime! An’ ever since, I been workin’ as ’ard as I could, and a-prayin’ you’d come back. Mrs Bronwen kep’ sayin’ you’d come, but it were a long time . . . ’ere, ’ave some more bacon!’

‘When you came to Liverpool, what did you do?’ Kitty asked, accepting half-a-dozen rashers of crispy bacon. ‘Where did you look?’

‘I looked everywhere, then I put advertisements in the papers, wi’ a box number, only there waren’t no replies. I don’t suppose you read the papers much, eh?’

‘Not much,’ Kitty said, remembering those hungry, desperate days. ‘No money to spare, see.’

‘Aye, that’s true. I stayed three days, then I ’ad to come back or we wouldn’t ’ave ’ad a farm, but I were near out of me mind wi’ worry. Only I ’ad a feelin’ you’d not let me down. And ’ere you are, large as life an’ twice as ’andsome!’

‘Yes, ’ere I am,’ Kitty agreed. ‘I were lost without you, Johnny, an’ that’s the truth. If it ’adn’t been for Patch I dunno what I’d ha’ done.’

‘Like me, you’d ha’ soldiered on. Oh Kitty, love, it’s blamed good to set eyes on your funny little face!’ He leaned across the table, his eyes slowly travelling across her face. ‘Ain’t you growed pretty!’ he said suddenly. ‘And ain’t you growed tall an’ all, come to that! You’re a big girl, our Kit.’

‘You’re a big feller yourself,’ Kitty said contentedly. ‘Not bad lookin’, either.’

He grinned bashfully, then leaned back again and shovelled bacon into his mouth. ‘When we split up we was a pair o’ kids, but now . . . I reckon we oughter make this partnership official, don’t you?’

‘Dunno what you mean,’ Kitty said suspiciously. ‘Don’t you trust me, Johnny Moneymor?’

‘Course I do, but . . . aw hell, our Kit, you’re not a kid and neither am I! If we stay ’ere, together, there’ll be talk . . . don’t you see what I’m gettin’ at?’

‘No,’ Kitty said bluntly. ‘Tell me.’

‘We ain’t brother an’ sister; right?’

‘Right. But no one round ’ere thinks we are, does they? We come clean wi’ Mal ages ago.’

‘That’s right. So why don’t we mek it official?’

‘What the ’ell d’you mean?’ Kitty said in an exasperated tone. She could feel her cheeks beginning to grow warm. ‘Don’t talk in riddles, Johnny.’

‘Well, what I means is . . . no, that ain’t quite . . . we oughter tie the knot, put our ’eads in the noose . . . dammit, our Kitty, we oughter git married!’

Kitty stared at him across the table. He was so tanned and fit, his hair sun-gilded, his eyes bright and clear – he could not possibly want to marry her, of course, he just wanted to set people straight.

‘Git married?’ she said faintly. ‘You don’t want to do that!’

Johnny got up from the table, crashing his chair onto the floor behind him. He came round and lifted her out of her own chair, so roughly that he knocked her knee on the table-edge, causing her to give a squeak of pain. Holding her tightly against his chest he spoke into her hair.

‘Kitty, you don’t know ’ow bloody mis’ruble I been, nor ’ow worried, nor ’ow pointless it all seemed without you! There weren’t no fun in it, not jest for me . . . for two pins I’d ha’ chucked it all up and teken to the road again! And I aren’t agoin’ to work ’ere an’ see you go off an’ marry some yokel like Eifion, just acos ’e’s got more courage than what I ’ave. I – I
needs
you, queen, an’ I ’opes you needs me.’

‘Well, I does need you,’ Kitty said. ‘But we ain’t in love, are we, Johnny?’

‘Dunno. I jest likes you best of anyone.’

‘Oh Johnny, that’s just ’ow I feels,’ Kitty said blissfully. ‘I’d love to marry you, if you really want to marry me.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ Johnny said. ‘We’ll get the Reverend to read the banns an’ that. Mrs Bronwen will be pleased; she says we’s made for each other.’ He stepped back a little from her and when she looked up at him he smiled, the old, dancing, mischievous smile that she loved so well and had missed so much. ‘Close your eyes, Kit.’

Obediently, and wondering what was about to happen, Kitty closed her eyes. For a moment nothing whatsoever happened, and then she felt Johnny’s lips gently fasten onto hers and they were kissing, and Kitty, who had never kissed anyone, found that she really liked it and could do it just right, or she supposed she must be doing it right since Johnny made a contented little mumble against her mouth and tightened his arms round her, squeezing her so hard that she felt she really ought to protest.

Only somehow, she was too busy – and happy – for a protest to make much sense.

Lilac was eating her breakfast, sitting in the spring sunshine with a cup of coffee and some toast and marmalade, when she heard the post plop through the letterbox.

She wasn’t waiting for a letter, particularly, but curiosity drove her up from the table and into the hall. There were three letters, two personal ones, both handwritten, and an official one – a gas bill, she could tell. She returned to her meal, scanning the envelopes. One from Polly – that was nice – and the other was from Kitty. Kitty had written a couple of times in the months since she left, but the letters had been guarded, almost deliberately careful, as though she was keeping something from Lilac. Perhaps now she’s going to tell me what it is, Lilac thought hopefully, slitting the envelope open with a buttery knife. She’s such a dear little soul, I do want her to be happy, but I can’t force her confidence if she’s keeping something secret. I ought to go and visit her, her thoughts continued, but somehow I’m always so busy . . . and I don’t know that Johnny Moneymor she’s in partnership with . . .

She unfolded the letter. It was longer than usual, she saw with approval, and started off in a sprightly fashion.

Lilac read the letter through once, then again. She chuckled several times, and then, to her horror, found she was crying. She mopped furiously at her eyes and chided herself; she wasn’t losing Kitty, Kitty had never been hers to lose, the girl was clearly deeply in love with this Johnny Moneymor and though she was very young it was better, as the reverend said, to marry than to burn. And besides, working together on the farm as they did, anything other than marriage would be unnatural since they liked one another so well.

I’m twenty-three years old and I’m not getting married, Lilac found herself thinking as she put away her breakfast things and got ready to go round to Nellie’s to show her the letter and pass on the wedding invitation. I was in love once, of course, deeply in love, but after I lost Art I simply stopped thinking about marriage.

Joey Prescott’s intelligent, reliable face flickered into her mind. Joey wanted to marry again, she knew it, though he didn’t talk about it much. They were good friends, she enjoyed his company, looked forward to his visits to the Pool but she never considered him a . . . a suitor. Kitty had only met him that one week, of course, and she’d liked him well enough to ask him to her wedding. But then she clearly thought that Joey meant more to her, Lilac, than he did. He was just a friend, just someone she could talk to, just a feller who came around every couple of months to take her out, have a laugh, talk over old times.

Lilac glanced out of the window, then chose her scarlet coat with the matching tam-o’-shanter. It was chilly, the March wind was whipping at the bare branches of the trees, so she might as well wrap up warm. She was off today since it was a Saturday – Mrs Brierson usually tried to see that Lilac’s weekends were free – so she could catch a tram up to Nellie’s place and they could talk over the wedding there, with a whole day in front of them.

Lilac stuffed the letter into her pocket and picked up her scarlet wool bag, slinging it over one shoulder. A wedding! She hadn’t been to many but the ones she had attended had always been fun. She would enjoy meeting Johnny and seeing dear little Kitty settling down happily . . . a honeymoon in Llandudno, that sounded nice, she must remember to ask Kitty when she replied to her letter whether she was having bridesmaids and if she would like Elizabeth to hand her a lucky horseshoe: the child had been disappointed once . . .

All the way to Nellie’s house in Halkyn Avenue Lilac kept finding her annoying eyes filling up. It was the wind, she decided, only on the tram she could scarcely blame the wind. She remembered Joey’s last visit, when he had invited her down to London, saying they’d make a weekend of it; how she had repulsed him, telling him that whilst she enjoyed his company she didn’t intend to give people cause to gossip. He had been hurt, he had gone very quiet . . . but Joey was so good-natured, he’d been his usual happy self next day.

That had been five weeks ago though; he’d not been up to the Pool since. He’ll come, he’s probably waiting for better weather, Lilac told herself. After all, his ship’s bound to come into the docks sooner or later, and then he’ll come hammering on my door, with his big white grin and his steady gaze and his warm, safe hands.

He usually came once a month, regular as clockwork. She would just mention it to Nellie, see what her sister thought. As for asking him to Kitty’s wedding, though, she couldn’t possibly do that – that really would give him ideas!

When she reached the house Nellie was spring-cleaning. She had her hair swathed in a blue and white striped duster and a large paintbrush in one hand. She was, she explained, whiting the kitchen ceiling.

‘Where’s Stu?’ Lilac asked suspiciously. ‘And Elizabeth?’

‘They’ve gone to Elizabeth’s dance-class,’ Nellie said serenely, climbing back on her stepladder. ‘Put the kettle on, love, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea when I’ve finished here.’

‘How long will you be?’ Lilac asked. She never did her own decorating, she used the man who kept the hotel in trim, but now, watching Nellie wielding the big, floppy brush on the ceiling, she itched to have a go. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’