The Girl From Seaforth Sands (36 page)

Bill shrugged. ‘Who knows? I reckon the pubs closed at the height of the trouble but they may well be open again by now. Publicans have got a living to make, same as the rest of us. No harm in going along there to check, anyroad.’

So presently, having arranged with Kenny to push the handcart home in exchange for a threepenny joe, the boys split up. Gus made determinedly, for the Crown; Albert went off towards Lime Street Station and Paddy headed for his old workplace.

Paddy walked into the dairy and grinned across the counter at Tommy who was serving a customer with milk, dipping a ladle into a tall churn and filling the woman’s enamel jug. He greeted his friend cheerfully, but continued to serve the small queue of waiting women until the last one had paid for her order and left. Only then did he turn to Paddy. ‘Hello, stranger,’ he said affably. ‘On the run from the scuffers, are you? Or haven’t you heard about the riots yet?’

‘On the run from the scuffers yourself,’ Paddy said indignantly. ‘We were a mile off shore draggin’ for shrimps when the trouble broke out. We had a jolly good haul, too, which is why we’ve come into the city early, so’s Uncle Bill could start sellin’ before all the housewives go home. Where were you, anyroad? In here, I s’pose, like a good little lad, sellin’ jugs of milk and pats of butter to nice old women who wouldn’t know a riot from a . . . a . . . prayer meeting.’

‘Yes, you’re right as it happens, ’ Tommy admitted. He sighed regretfully. ‘I missed all the fun and games by a whisker, though. Joe Courts broke his arm last winter and from time to time he has a check-up at the infirmary. He was supposed to go today and I were goin’ to do his round, but he went to his doctor at the surgery last night and the old feller signed him off, so he come in as usual this morning and did his own round.’ He grinned at Paddy. ‘Never mind, eh. Better luck next time. Why’ve you come a visitin’, anyroad?’

Paddy explained his errand and Tommy agreed it would be just grand to have an evening out together. He was beginning to expand on this theme when a group of housewives entered the shop. Tommy promptly waved Paddy away, saying in a hissing whisper, ‘See you outside the Palais de Luxe at six,’ before turning to his customers with a courteous enquiry as to their wants.

Having made his arrangements with Tommy, Paddy decided to go to the shippon and stables, and see who was working there. The shippon was empty but he found Joe Coutts in the stable, whistling tunelessly between his teeth as he cleaned down his horse, a large chestnut gelding called Conker. He grinned at Paddy. ‘Well, so you’ve come a visitin’, young Paddy. I tek it you wasn’t a part of that there riot this mornin’? I did wonder, seeing as how you’re a fisherman now and fishermen is seamen?’

‘Oh, no, they ain’t,’ Paddy retorted, ‘and besides, it isn’t the seamen strikin’ now, you oaf, it’s railway workers. What about you, Joe?’

‘Oh, I were in the thick of it, I were. I were knocked off me milk cart and bowled head over heels into the gutter right outside Lime Street Station. The station were barricaded and folk were screaming and shoutin’ . . . oh aye, it were a nasty moment. I could see clear across to St George’s Hall – that’s how I come to see everything. I seed the troops, watched ’em fire over the ’eads of the crowds . . . I even see the girl go down.’

‘What girl?’ Paddy asked lazily. He knew Joe was simple, but he also knew the man was honest. ‘Was a girl knocked over, then?’

‘Aye, she were shot an’ what’s more, I knew ’er,’ Joe said triumphantly. ‘Come to think of it, you’ll know her an’ all, Paddy. It were young Amy Logan, what used to work in the fish market. I allus buy my fish there on a Friday to take home to the wife, though it’s young Amy’s dad what runs the stall now. Oh aye, it were young Amy all right – I see the troops fire and she went down like a ton o’ bricks, an’ were took up for dead.’

Paddy stared. For one awful moment he actually thought he might faint, as a terrible coldness swept over his entire body in spite of the heat of the afternoon. Then anger stiffened his spine and he felt a wave of scarlet heat invade his face. He grabbed Joe by both shoulders and shook him vigorously. ‘What the devil do you mean, you silly old fool,’ he shouted right into the man’s startled face. ‘Are you tryin’ to say me stepsister’s dead? I don’t believe it. I were in the fish market no more than an hour ago and Uncle Bill said nothin’ about it.’

Joe tugged himself free from Paddy’s vicious grip and flapped a hand in the younger man’s face. ‘Don’t gerrin such a takin’, la’,’ he said soothingly. ‘I
said took up for dead, which is what folk were sayin’, but later I heard she’d been took to the Infirmary, so maybe she’s just badly injured. There was a deal of blood,’ he went on ghoulishly. ‘When the crowd had cleared, me an’ old Conker ’ere went over to take a look and the paving stones were scarlet where she’d lain.’

But he was talking to empty air. Paddy had whipped round and rushed out of the yard with one thought only uppermost in his mind. Amy was injured and from what Joe had said she might be at death’s door. She had snubbed him and cold-shouldered him, and tried to make trouble for him, but he realised now that he regarded her as a part of the family. He had known on that day when both sisters had returned to Seaforth that he no longer idolised Mary. The older girl had become hard-faced and selfish, with little resemblance to the sweet, mild-mannered young woman he had believed himself to love. Amy, with her sharp tongue and sharper wit, was far more his sort of girl – and now she was sick unto death and he might never get the chance to tell her how sorry he was for the way he had treated her in the past.

It was a long way from Dryden Street to the Infirmary. Reaching Scotland Road, he was about to continue running along the pavement when it occurred, to him that he might catch a number 3 tram, which would drop him on London Road, well over half his way to his destination. However, he had no idea when the next tram would come along. In his urge to hurry he cursed the strike, which had made life in the city centre so difficult.

By the time he reached the Infirmary he was so out of breath that he realised he would be unable to
ask sensible questions regarding Amy’s whereabouts, and stopped for a moment to lean against a pillar and get his breath back. After a few moments he walked towards the glass doors which lead into the hospital foyer and saw, reflected therein, a wild figure. His hair, which had been neatly slicked back, was standing up like a gorse bush with the wind of his going and his sweat-streaked face bore the marks of many smuts. His tie was askew and his unbuttoned jacket rucked up on one side. Hastily he flattened his hair with both hands, tugged his tie straight, buttoned his jacket and rubbed his face as clean as he could get it on his pocket handkerchief. Only then did he go into the hospital foyer and move towards the clerk behind the reception desk.

He was about to ask in which ward Amy lay when two things occurred to him. The first was that it had been his duty to go immediately to Bill and tell him what Joe had said. The second that he might be denied admittance here, simply because he was not a relative in the strictest sense of the word, but that last, he decided, could soon be remedied. He would announce himself as her brother and, even if she were conscious, he doubted she would be well enough to refute the claim.

The foyer was crowded and for a moment Paddy hesitated, unsure of which way to go; then, amid the bustling throng he spotted a porter in uniform and made a beeline for him, hailing him as soon as he reached him. ‘Excuse me, mate, I’m lookin’ for me sister. A pal telled me she’d got herself mixed up wi’ some riot or other and been shot. Can you tell me . . .?’

The porter swung round and pointed towards one of the long corridors leading off the foyer. ‘She’s
just been taken to Nightingale Ward,’ he said in a strong Irish brogue. ‘Sure an’ isn’t it a terrible thing, a pretty young critter like that. Third bed from the end, you’ll find her.’

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Paddy was running across the foyer, muttering beneath his breath, ‘Nightingale Ward, Nightingale Ward, third bed along.’ He found that his knees were actually shaking and deemed it sensible to stop for a moment outside Nightingale Ward to get his breath and collect his wits. It was probably as well that he did so, since a middle-aged nurse in a stiffly starched uniform swept out of Nightingale Ward, giving him a suspicious glance as she passed him. Hastily Paddy composed himself and walked past the ward doors with the air of one who knows exactly where he is going and is in no hurry to get there. As soon as the nurse disappeared, however, he turned back and entered the ward, his eyes going straight to the third bed from the end.

A figure lay in the high white bed, bandaged and still – so still that for a moment his heart missed a beat – but almost as he began to approach the bed the figure turned her head slightly on the pillow, to smile up at someone standing beside her and he realised that this was not Amy. For a moment he stopped, frozen in his tracks, staring unbelievingly at the two figures beside the bed. The girl who was holding the patient’s hand and smiling down at her was Amy, looking neither injured nor unhappy. In fact, in her green cotton dress and straw hat, with her abundant hair curling around her face, she looked as composed and at ease as though nothing unusual had happened. And beside her, in a grey flannel suit with a straw boater in one hand
and the other resting lightly on her shoulder, was Philip Grimshaw – it was unmistakably he, though Paddy had not set eyes on him for years.

Bewilderment kept Paddy rooted to the spot for several seconds – several seconds too long – before he began instinctively to turn away. In that moment Philip recognised him. He turned Amy so that she, too, was looking down the ward, and came towards Paddy, a pleasant smile on his handsome face. ‘Paddy!’ he exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Of all the odd coincidences . . . or are you visiting Miss Morton too? I didn’t imagine you knew her, but being part of the family now . . . I suppose . . .’

Feeling trapped, Paddy searched his mind desperately for a good reason to be standing on the ward and came up with the truth, though as soon as the words were out he cursed himself for having said them. ‘I were told it were Amy,’ he blurted out. ‘A feller I used to know when I worked in Dryden Street telled me he saw Bill’s girl shot by the troops on St George’s Plain. I . . . I thought I’d better make sure it were true before fetching Bill over.’

He could not resist a quick glance at Amy’s face and saw the big, green-grey eyes widen for a second before she said thoughtfully, ‘Yes, I can understand how such a mistake could come about. When Ella fell – Miss Morton that is – I dropped to my knees to try to help her. Well, there was so much blood . . . for an awful moment I thought – I thought . . .’

Philip put his arm around Amy’s slender shoulders and gave her a little shake. ‘Stop it now,’ he said warningly. ‘Miss Morton is going to be just fine. I know she’s got a head wound, a good deal of bruising and a suspected fractured rib, but the nurses say she’ll be out by the end of the week, all being well.’

‘Philip and I brought her in here this morning and we’ve just taken in an overnight bag for her,’ Amy explained. ‘But I can’t help wondering whether I did the right thing . . .’

‘The doctor said you acted with good sense and promptitude,’ Philip interrupted. ‘And since we don’t want you going into a decline, stop wondering what else you could have done and start thinking about what you’re going to eat when we nip over to Lyons Corner House for a sustaining meal.’ He and Amy turned back towards Ella, clearly intent on bidding farewell to their friend, but the girl in the bed was sound asleep. ‘Best not to wake her,’ he whispered, ‘we’ll be in again later, anyway.’ He turned to Paddy, the familiar quirky grin lighting up his face. ‘Paddy, old pal, would you like to join us? Amy’s had nothing to eat since breakfast – nor have I for that matter and there’s no point in either of us starving ourselves.’

Paddy found himself staring at the arm which still circled Amy’s shoulders. His sudden realisation that Amy meant something to him, despite their history of childhood squabbles, made him resent Philip’s familiarity. For two pins, he told himself savagely, he would have asked Philip to stop mauling the girl, yet for all he knew, Philip might be Amy’s latest beau – probably was, since she had clearly called on him in her hour of need. Not that she would have called on me, he reflected bitterly, not if I’d been the last feller on earth. Why, I might as well face it, no matter how I feel about her – and that’s something I haven’t really worked out yet – she hates my perishin’ guts.

‘Well, Paddy Keagan, are you coming with us or not, because we haven’t got all day and I’m starving hungry.’ It was Amy, her tone tart as ever.

Paddy pulled himself together with an effort. ‘No, thanks,’ he muttered. ‘Two’s company, they say, and three’s a crowd. Besides, me mam wouldn’t want me to spoil my appetite for supper.’

‘Oh, come on, Paddy,’ Philip said, his tone almost wheedling. ‘It’s been years since we met; I want to hear all the local gossip. Why, I’ve no idea what you’re doing now – nor where you’re living – and we were good pals once, when we were kids.’

‘Oh, let him go, if that’s what he wants,’ Amy said, slipping her hand into the crook of Philip’s elbow. ‘Any gossip you want, I can tell you . . .’ The two of them moved down the ward towards the swing doors at the end and Paddy followed, deliberately hanging back so that the others might get well ahead. Bloody Amy, he thought furiously, she had a real knack of ruining everything. Well, if Philip wanted a girl with a tongue like an adder then he was welcome to her. And with that thought Paddy slipped out of a side entrance, hoping, but not expecting, that the other two would feel concerned and come back into the hospital, only to find him disappeared.

That evening, after she and Philip had revisited the hospital and seen Ella sitting up in bed and chattering, quite like her usual self, Amy returned to Huskisson Street in a very much happier frame of mind. She explained what had happened to the other girls, trying to play down the drama so that they were not too worried, and managed to convince them that though Ella had had a horrible experience,
the medical staff were sure she would recover completely, given time. After this, totally exhausted by the day’s events, she took herself off to bed.