A Kiss and a Promise (23 page)

The girls had agreed that Ginny should arrive early at the Waits’ flat so that she might change into her beautiful new shoes and might also have her thickly curling bush of bright hair confined in some way. She felt very envious of Annie who had recently had her thick, dark blonde hair cut in a fashionable bob, but realised that her own mop of curls was simply not suitable for such a style. Besides, the hairdresser had impressed upon Annie that, if she was to continue fashionably neat, she must return to his premises once a month for a trim, which would cost at least a shilling. Shillings were a lot easier to come by for Annie than for herself, so bobbing was out of the question, Ginny thought ruefully. Still, long hair could be neat, if not fashionable, and she had managed to acquire a piece of navy blue ribbon with which she could tie back her locks.

She reached the Waits’ side door and banged on it, and presently heard the sound of rapidly descending footsteps. There was a pause during which bolts were rattled back and a key was turned and then Nell, the sister closest to Annie in age, heaved the door open. She was panting but ushered Ginny inside and told her to run up the stairs to Annie’s room whilst she relocked the door. ‘We can’t leave it unlocked because kids get in and misbehave on the stairs,’ she informed Ginny. ‘During the day, of course, folk come in and out through the shop; it’s only when it’s closed that we use the side door.’

Ginny was met at the top of the stairs by Annie, who dragged her into the bedroom and produced her shoes from her own wardrobe. Ginny kicked off the plimsolls and put on the shoes, then sat down on Annie’s bed. ‘What’ll we do wi’ me hair?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Me shoes is grand and Danny’s mam made a real good job of me skirt, but me hair’s a mess, as usual.’

‘You’re mad; I’d give me eye teeth for curls,’ Annie told her. ‘But if you want it to look really tidy, I’ll plait it. It’ll make a lovely thick plait, like a rope. I’m surprised you’ve not thought of it yourself.’

‘I have thought of it, but I can’t make it stay,’ Ginny explained. ‘I bet you can’t get it into a plait anyhow. But I suppose you could tie it back in a tail. The trouble with curls is, they’ve got a mind of their own.’

Annie laughed but wet a hairbrush in the water on the washstand, plied it vigorously on her friend’s head and then produced a great rope of a plait, tied it off with the piece of navy ribbon and urged Ginny over to the long mirror on the wardrobe. ‘Tek a look at yourself,’ she advised her friend. She giggled. ‘You look like one of them Angela Brazil books.’

Ginny stared into the mirror then smiled a slow, satisfied smile. The hairstyle suited her! Her face was framed with tiny, wispy curls, and somehow having her hair pulled back from her face made her greeny-hazel eyes look even larger. The freckles, which she so despised, were much in evidence but she found she rather liked them in conjunction with the thick, bright plait. She was thinner and taller than most girls of her age, but the blouse and skirt, both a little too large, made her seem more in proportion somehow, and when she looked down and saw the stockings and the wonderful new shoes, she felt a warm glow of satisfaction. She would look almost as nice as Annie, who had had new clothes for the start of the term. She turned to her friend. ‘Thanks, Annie,’ she said humbly. ‘I never thought you could do it, but you’ve made a real good job of me hair. Why, I wouldn’t change places with anyone; I’ve never looked so nice in me whole life!’

Annie looked at her critically, her eyes travelling over Ginny from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, then she nodded. ‘I never see’d you look better,’ she admitted. ‘But we’ve no time to stand chatterin’ here. Let’s be goin’ so’s we can find our new classroom and bag the best desks.’

‘Hey! Hey, Annie, wait for me.’

Ginny came flying out of the school gates, her cheeks glowing. She and Annie always walked home together in order that she might change her shoes for her ragged plimsolls, but today Miss Derbyshire had kept her after the others had left, and Ginny was longing to tell Annie what had happened. It was October now and though Ginny had done her best to catch up with the rest of her class, she had missed so much time in previous years that she was beginning to wonder whether she would ever manage it. Joined-up writing, for instance, was still a mystery to her for it had been taught in the course of a year during which she had scarcely been in school at all. And though she could manage addition, subtraction and some multiplication, division was another closed book.

‘No need to shout, I wouldn’t go home wi’out you,’ Annie said reproachfully. ‘I’ve been killing time, playing hopscotch with a bit o’ slate, until you come along. What did she want, then?’

‘You can’t play hopscotch till you’ve marked out the squares,’ Ginny objected. ‘And Miss Derbyshire wanted to ask if I’d be willing to stay late a couple of nights a week. ‘Oh, Annie, ain’t she the nicest teacher you ever met, though? I’ve haven’t said much about things being difficult at home, but she’s noticed. And you know the day I were late because Gran pawned me skirt so she could buy porter and hid the pawn ticket? Well, she said she guessed it was something of the sort, knew I wouldn’t be late wi’out a good reason because – because you and me, we’re her best pupils! She said that, honest to God she did!’

‘That were nice of her,’ Annie said temperately. Ginny knew that her friend did not have her own driving ambition to better herself. Annie was not even particularly interested in her schoolwork but she was quite competitive and did not mean to let her best friend soar to the top of the class whilst she herself remained at the bottom. What was more, Annie’s admiration for Miss Derbyshire was very real, and after a mere six weeks of the term had passed the two girls were vying for the teacher’s attention and taking it in turns to be monitors, since the other pupils in their class seemed to think it an imposition, rather than a reward for good work.

‘What did you say?’ Annie enquired, though Ginny thought she must have guessed. ‘Your gran won’t like it if you don’t turn up in time to do her messages an’ cook her a meal.’

Ginny slipped her arm through her friend’s and gave it an admonitory shake. ‘Of
course
I said I’d stay late – how could I refuse when she were being so kind? Her time is a lot more valuable than mine, you bet. As for Gran, we’ll just have to come to some arrangement.’

Ginny felt a surge of despair as she said the words. Gran’s behaviour made life so complicated! For instance, the pawning of the skirt, and its subsequent reclaiming by Ginny, were not events which could be repeated every week, particularly now that Ginny was in school and only able to earn money at weekends. She and Danny still went to the skip whenever they could do so, and split the money evenly between the two of them, and Ginny still stored away her share behind the brick, but since Gran was drinking again – though not, so far, as heavily as she had been – Ginny often needed her rag money in order to buy food.

After the business of the skirt pawning, Ginny made up her mind that she would have to have a talk with her grandmother and, unfortunately, this had speedily degenerated into a row. The row had ended with Ginny telling Granny Bennett, bluntly, that if her gran ever laid a finger on any of Ginny’s clothing again, Ginny would not only tell George why she had taken it, but would never cook another meal in Victoria Court.

Her grandmother had hissed like a snake which has been trodden on and had tried to retaliate by swearing that she would turn Ginny out on to the street, but her granddaughter had laughed at this threat. ‘If you did such a thing, I’d go straight to George and he’d see to it that me dad’s money went to him instead of you,’ she said frankly. ‘I’m warning you, Gran, I won’t stand for it. I like me school and I’m doin’ well, but they won’t let me attend classes unless I’m decently dressed. Folk who do well in school earn more money when they leave than those who do badly and you want me to earn a decent wage, don’t you? So let’s have a bargain, just between us two. You’ll leave me decent clothes alone and I’ll go on cooking your meals and doing your messages, how’s that?’

The fact that Granny had agreed was undoubtedly due to her being sober at the time; when she was drunk, she would simply have screamed and shouted and refused to listen. And now, Ginny thought sadly, I’ll have to begin all over again, because the old woman would undoubtedly notice if Ginny returned late to the court. Ginny knew that Granny Bennett could not be bothered to make herself a meal at midday but relied on Ginny’s having food on the table no later than five o’clock; she would not take kindly to having to wait for her meal. And Ginny was running out of threats – and bribes, for that matter. The threat was telling George, the bribe was doing all the housework, including the cooking, and she had already used both. She could, of course, get up earlier still and prepare the evening meal – blind scouse or some other sort of stew – but that would mean leaving Granny to keep the fire going and to cook the food and Ginny knew, from past, bitter experience, that she would do no such thing. Oh, she might pull the pan over the fire, but then she would wander off and forget it, possibly setting fire to the house in the process. She seemed to have no instinct of self-preservation – Ginny thought privately that the drink was beginning to soften her grandmother’s brain – so she could not be relied upon to perform even the simplest task.

‘Come to some arrangement with Granny Bennett? I can’t see that comin’ off! I know she likes a drink, but she’s rare fond of her food, ain’t she, so she won’t be too pleased at having to wait longer than usual. My mam was sayin’, only the other day, that most fellers – and women, o’course – who drink too much stop eating after a bit and it’s the drink alone what kills them. She says it’s only you what keeps the old gal alive, seein’ she eats at least twice a day. She should be grateful, but I know she ain’t.’

‘Uncle George helps as well,’ Ginny pointed out. ‘He comes round reg’lar as clockwork now, bringin’ food, but he charges Gran for it. He makes her hand over money ’cos he says that way she can’t spend it on porter. And then he gives me some o’ the money for messages. Between us, we ain’t managing too bad.’

‘I see that,’ Annie said, but she sounded doubtful. ‘The thing is, queen, it’s your money really. Your dad sends it so you can have decent clothes an’ food, he don’t send it so that your Uncle George can support his old mam, free of charge, so to speak. Why, I bet you still don’t know how much money your dad sends, do you?’

‘Well, no,’ Ginny admitted. ‘I could ask Uncle George, I suppose, but it would seem … oh, sort of cheeky. It’s not as if the envelopes were ever addressed to me, ’cos they ain’t. I’ll tell you something odd though, queen. I’d made a big dinner the other day because Uncle George gave me a piece of pork to cook. I roasted it in the oven up at Sample’s and boiled a lot of veggies; it were a grand meal, honest it was. Gran was stuffing the grub down her neck and chumbling away to herself – she weren’t drunk – and suddenly she said to me: “I’d ha’ give it to you if I hadn’t been half seas over. I knowed I should ha’ done but when I’s gorra tankful, things look different somehow.” So o’ course I waited a bit, then put a few more spuds on her plate and asked her what was it she should have given me. She looked up at me, and you could see the wheels turnin’, but she just said, vaguely: “Given you? Oh, I dunno,” and started shovelling food into her mouth again. I couldn’t get any sense out of her after that, but I couldn’t help wonderin’. What if me dad had put a bit extra into the envelope, tellin’ her to give it to me for me birthday, or some such thing? The old girl hates me most of the time, but sometimes she seems to soften a bit. I have asked her since whether me dad had sent me something, but she just got furious and shouted, so I’ve not said any more.’

‘Wharrabout your Uncle George?’ Annie said. ‘Surely he’d know if there were extra money in the envelope?’

Ginny gave a derisive snort. ‘Granny may be a nasty old drunkard who don’t know which way up she is half the time, but she’s got quite enough sense to grab any extra money an’ take it out of the envelope before Uncle George can get his hands on it,’ she assured her friend. ‘He don’t come round till he finishes work, remember, so Gran’s always opened the envelope by then. She hands it to him all right, but any extra money would have got salted away the moment the postman left.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘An’ now I’ve got to think of some way of gettin’ Gran to agree to me stayin’ late at school, two or three days a week, an’ that ain’t goin’ to be easy.’

Mabel Derbyshire finished off the work she was preparing and opened the lid of the teacher’s big desk. She slid in the books and papers which had been spread out before her, and then stood up, stretched and sighed.

It lacked only five days to Christmas, and she was tired, looking forward to three weeks away from Rathbone Street and her pupils, fond though she was, by now, of both. The school was a good school, the children in her class fairly good pupils, though without doubt Ginny Bennett was the brightest of them. Mabel, tidying her room, wondered what the girl would do with her three weeks of freedom; probably spend them with that horrible old grandmother of hers, trying to prevent her from getting dead drunk.

However, teachers are not supposed to have favourites, and Mabel was already doing as much for Ginny as she possibly could without her head teacher showing her disapproval. She had given the child extra tuition after school two or three days a week and, in so doing, had learned a great deal about her. She knew that Ginny lived with her grandmother; she knew the old lady drank and was both abusive and violent when in her cups. She had been told of Uncle George and his wife Mary, of the canny house and the well-loved and nicely brought up younger cousins, including poor little Polly, who would never be quite like other children, and about how Ginny and Uncle George conspired to keep Granny Bennett from drinking herself to death. She’d also heard about Uncle Lewis and his wife Amy, though Ginny had only mentioned them – and their three children – in passing, one day. All this had been passed on to Mabel in the most artless fashion; probably Ginny did not even realise how much she had told her teacher, but it had coloured Mabel’s attitude to the girl.