A Kiss and a Promise (25 page)

‘Who’s this then?’ Aunt Amy asked her niece, indicating Danny. Her voice was as sharp as a razor and as cold. ‘Ain’t there enough kids in this bloody house wi’out you bringin’ in another? Tell ’im to scarper, and fast.’

‘But – but Aunt Amy, he’s me best pal,’ Ginny objected, feeling her face flame. How could her aunt be so rude, and quite without provocation, for Danny had neither said nor done anything amiss. ‘He’s carried me luggage all the way from Victoria Court and it’s terrible heavy. Is – is it all right if I pour him a cup o’ tea before he goes home?’ She was ashamed of the humble note in her voice and realised, belatedly, that she was afraid of her aunt’s vicious tongue. But this was her home now and she told herself she had every right to offer her pal a drink; Uncle Lewis would be having her dad’s money in future, and that would pay for a lot more than a miserable cup of tea.

Aunt Amy got to her feet and crossed over to the table. She picked up the teapot, lifted the lid and peered inside. ‘There’s nowt in here save dregs, but if you’re set on it, I dare say there’s a cup or two o’ water left in the kettle,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But I’m warnin’ you, Ginny, it’ll be the first and last time I feeds one o’ your mates. Me and me sister have all we can do to feed our own. D’you understand?’

Ginny knew that now was the moment to stand up for herself, to remind her aunt that Michael Gallagher was paying for her keep, but she hesitated, not wanting to start trouble the moment she walked into the house. In that moment, Danny, who had been transferring the contents of Mrs Wait’s marketing bag back into the cardboard box, spoke. ‘It’s all right, missus,’ he said, his voice even colder than her aunt’s had been. ‘If you’re that hard up, I wouldn’t dream o’ tekkin’ your tea. You’d best save it for Ginny here, ’cos I reckon she’s parched an’ all.’ Hefting the empty bag, he turned towards the kitchen door, saying over his shoulder: ‘See you around, Ginny.’

‘Wait for me, Danny,’ Ginny said desperately. ‘I’m sure me aunt didn’t mean … I’ll make fresh tea …’

‘That you will not, my fine lady,’ her aunt said. She raised her voice so that Danny, in the act of closing the kitchen door, could not have failed to hear. ‘Lerrim go; we don’t want the likes of him here, the cheeky young bugger.’

Ginny would have run after her friend, apologised for her aunt’s rudeness – and meanness – but when she tried to do so, Aunt Amy caught her by the shoulder and held her in a grip of steel. ‘No you don’t, my gal,’ she said grimly. ‘Just you take them boxes up to your room and stow ’em away somewhere. While you’re gone, I’ll make a fresh pot o’ tea an’ cut some bread ’n’ marge for us dinners, but in future that’ll be your job.’ She turned to her sister’s daughters. ‘Norma, Belle! You’d best tek her upstairs, show her where she’s to lie and then bring her down again. I won’t have me word flouted and I say she’s to stay in the house until we’ve got things settled.’

The two girls advanced purposefully. Belle, who had been slouched in a chair with a newspaper spread out before her, was a plump, slow-moving girl. She and her sister both had light hair and spotty complexions, but Ginny thought Norma’s expression sharp and spiteful, very like her Aunt Amy’s, and resolved to steer clear of the older girl, if she could. Her Uncle Lewis had spoken, wistfully, of finding the Franklins a home of their own and she could only second this wish.

Norma gave a malicious grin as she and her sister accompanied Ginny out of the room and up the stairs. Belle had, good-naturedly, picked up the larger of the cardboard boxes, leaving Ginny to cope with the smaller one.

‘It don’t do to cross me Aunt Amy,’ Norma said as they entered the bedroom. ‘Of course, we’re all right, me an’ Belle, ’cos our mam won’t see us pushed about, but it’s different for you, Ginger. You ain’t nothin’ to any of us, ’cos you’re Uncle Lewis’s niece, no kin to us Franklins, nor to Aunt Amy.’

‘My name’s Ginny,’ Ginny said coldly. It would have been nice to say she thought herself lucky not to be related to Aunt Amy or her sister, but she knew it would not be politic to do so. Both Norma and Belle were tall, strong-looking girls and Ginny had no wish to start off this new life of hers on the wrong footing, so she meekly dumped her belongings in the only corner of the room not occupied by beds and boxes.

The three girls went downstairs again and back into the kitchen, where Aunt Amy was handing cups of tea and rounds of bread and marge to the assorted persons in the room. Ruthie, who was four, had a mug of what looked like milk and water and was having some difficulty with her bread and marge. Ginny, who liked small children, kneeled down and began to help the child with her portion, which seemed to please Aunt Amy.

‘So you like kids, does you?’ she said. ‘Well, it’s a good job you does, because you’ll be givin’ an eye to the kids now you’re livin’ wi’ us. Ivy an’ Millie are in school, an’ Ruthie starts next term, so they won’t be much bother to you. Ain’t you lucky they’re all girls? Boys’ll sag off whenever they get the chance – you know what boys are. But the gals is all right.’

‘But – but I don’t see how I can, Aunt Amy – take the kids to school, I mean – ’cos I’ve gorra get across the city to Rathbone Street each morning, once term starts,’ Ginny said wildly. ‘An’ I goes to me friend Annie’s …’

She stopped short. Her aunt was staring at her. ‘You’ll be at school in Gray Street,’ she said baldly, ‘wi’ your cousins. We don’t have no spare money for trams in this family and Gray Street’s a good school. Besides, your Uncle Lewis has writ to Rathbone Street, tellin’ ’em you’ve moved, so they won’t be expectin’ you.’

Ginny felt as if a great black pit had opened up in front of her. Not only was she having to live with these horrible people, she was not going to be allowed to return to her beloved school. One look at Aunt Amy’s tight mouth, however, convinced her that argument would be useless, possibly even dangerous. She thought about begging Uncle George to take her in, explaining that she had had no idea of her Aunt Amy’s plans when she had agreed to go and live there. She could already see that none of this would be easy, but she could not simply let her aunt and uncle ruin her life without at least making a push to help herself.

‘Here’s your tea, chuck.’ Belle pushed a mug of strong, dark tea into her hand. She had rather small, mud-coloured eyes but her smile was sympathetic. ‘It’s ’orrible goin’ to a new school so I know how you feel. But Aunt’s right, it’s a decent place, the Gray Street school, an’ you’ll soon settle down there. Uncle Lewis telled us you were bright, which is always a help, ’cos the bright ones don’t get caned near as often as the dim ones. Want some bread ’n’ marge? We have our hot meal at night and Aunt Amy’s a prime cook.’

Ginny would have liked to refuse the bread and margarine but she did not want to hurt Belle’s feelings. This was the first friendly overture that had occurred since she had entered the house. So she accepted the food and was glad she had done so as soon as she began to eat. Supper last night had been a rushed, makeshift meal and there had been nothing for breakfast since all the food and cooking utensils had been cleared away the day before.

Squatting on the hearthrug, sipping the strong tea and eating the bread and marge, she resolved to go back to Rathbone Street just as soon as she possibly could. She would tell Annie what had happened – and tell Danny as well – and then they would have to put their heads together to find a solution to the problem of her schooling. I will
not
go to another school. I’m happy in Rathbone Street and there’s no other teacher who would help me like Miss Derbyshire does, she told herself fiercely. School doesn’t start for another week, so there’s plenty of time. Why, I know where Miss Derbyshire lives on Canning Street so I can go there and ask her to put in a good word for me.

Ruthie had finished her bread and marge and was drinking the last of her milk. Ginny looked round the room; at the other children squabbling over a box of coloured pencils, at the Franklin sisters, eating bread and marge as though they were half starved, which they certainly were not, and at Aunt Amy and Mrs Franklin, with their heads together, hissing and whispering like two old witches over a cauldron. I’ll go back to Rathbone Street tomorrow – I’ll tell Aunt Amy I’ve left something there and need to get it back, she told herself. I won’t, I
won’t
just let Aunt Amy push me around!

A week later found Ginny miserably trailing to Gray Street School, accompanied by her three young cousins. She had done her best to get back to Rathbone Street but her aunt always found some pressing reason why she could not go.

So now, Ginny shepherded her small cousins into the playground, making sure that they lined up and actually entered the school building before making her way to her own class. Her teacher proved to be stern, elderly and unbending. He taught the children by rote, making them learn the rules of mathematics, grammar and so on by heart. He made no attempt to interest his charges and did not seem to realise that Ginny was new to the school. Furthermore, Miss Derbyshire’s class of ten- and eleven-year-olds was far more advanced than Mr Reid’s so that by the end of the first day Ginny realised, with dismay, that she was wasting her time. Boredom would be her lot whilst under his eagle eye.

That evening, after school, she tackled Uncle Lewis, explaining that the teacher was old and as bored by the lessons as Ginny herself had been. Uncle Lewis looked up from his paper and smiled at her. ‘What makes you think you’re any different from a hundred others?’ he said. ‘I were always bored at school, ’cept when I were bein’ beaten, and so were all of us lads; ask your Uncle George if you don’t believe me. It were only your mam and Lizzie who seemed to gerron well at school. The thing is, queen, that our Amy really needs you and trusts you to take care o’ the kids when she ain’t able to do so herself. If you went back to the Rathbone Street school, you’d be no manner o’ use to us. It’s the same at weekends; as you know, I work away at weekends to earn extra money so you’re needed to help your aunt and give an eye to the younger ones.’ He reached across the table to chuck her under the chin, smiling at her with a good deal of understanding. ‘I’m sorry, queen, ’cos it’s hard on you, I reckon, but everyone in Schubert Street has to put their backs to the wheel. In a couple o’ years, Ivy will be ten, same as you are now, and then I dare say you’ll have a bit more freedom. Until then, though, I’m afraid you’ll have to stick to the Gray Street school.’ And with that he dived behind his newspaper again.

Ginny sighed but realised that it was fair enough. Whatever her aunt and uncle’s faults might have been, they fed her well, clothed her adequately, and saw that she had a proper share in any treats that were going. When she ran messages – and she ran a good many – she was always rewarded with a ha’penny or so and already her aunt’s attitude towards her had softened a good deal. Aunt Amy still ordered her about and kept her hard at it in the house but she did so in a pleasanter way, seeming to realise that Ginny was doing her best.

‘Fetch the kids in for their tea, queen,’ she shouted now, bringing Ginny back to the present. ‘Tell ’em it’s boiled mutton an’ dumplings wi’ stewed apple an’ conny-onny to follow; that’ll fetch ’em!’

Ginny, who had been doing her homework, sighed and got up. She was already learning that instant obedience was best, otherwise it was a clack round the head and no supper, and Aunt Amy was an extremely good cook. Ginny had not realised this at first, because of the bread and marge lunch, but soon began to enjoy better food than she had ever had before, except in the homes of her friends. She no longer wondered why Uncle Lewis had married a plain woman ten years his senior, for though the house was often untidy the food was worthy of Aunt Mary, who was known as a brilliant cook by all her customers at the canny house. Anyone would have been glad to marry such a cook and besides, there was talk of the Franklins moving out. If this happened, Ginny was sure that housework would be a good deal less onerous and the place very much tidier, for very soon after arriving in Schubert Street she had realised that it was the Franklins who made most of the mess. They tramped dirt into the house but never swept a floor. They cast dirty clothing into any old corner but never thought to launder it, and though they enjoyed Aunt Amy’s cooking, they would leave half-eaten bits of food where they’d put them down and then grumble that the place was full of mice, if not rats.

After a fortnight in the house, Ginny began to realise that she could have been worse off. To be sure, her aunt worked her extremely hard, but at least she was growing fond of her small cousins and always came home to a good cooked meal and a warm house. She still missed her friends and her school dreadfully, but knew there was little she could do about it. A child is always at the mercy of the adults in its life, Ginny still had a certain amount of freedom. Armed with a large marketing bag, she did the messages most days, and when her aunt wanted the children out from under her feet, Ginny took them into the jigger at the back of the house where they could play such games as hopscotch, skipping or even tag without fear of passing traffic. Life could have been worse, Ginny concluded, but she was still determined to return to her old haunts as soon as she could.

It was March before Ginny discovered why her Aunt Amy did not make Belle and Norma clean up after themselves, nor why Mrs Franklin never raised a finger to help. All three were working, of course, but the money they handed to Aunt Amy was surely not enough to make up for their behaviour. She might never have found out why the Franklin family seemed to contribute so little had it not been for lazy, good-natured Belle. One sunny Sunday, Belle offered to take the children up to Bowerdale Park provided that Ginny accompanied her, which the younger girl was happy to do since it was such a pleasant day. If she stayed at home, she would end up doing the housework, for her aunt always cleaned the place from top to bottom on the Lord’s Day, as she called it. Accordingly, she and Belle soon found themselves sitting on a bench in the park, watching the younger ones whooping and laughing on the swings and roundabouts. A man with an ice cream cart cycled slowly past and Belle hailed him.