A Liverpool Lass (27 page)

‘My turn,’ Art said presently, when Lilac had scratched up a large white stone, a bit of cork and a lovely length of rope. ‘I got a seashell here once, a real good ’un.’

He took the rake and Lilac jammed her bully-beef tin into the mud, piled the odds and ends beside it – they were already sinking, but who cared on such an afternoon? – and began to dig with her toes, moving further away from the shore as she did so. It crossed
her mind after a few minutes that the mud was deeper here, that it was over her knees, that the bottom felt gritty and sharp, but then she felt something interesting and stood on one leg, trying to bring the object up with her other foot by curling her toes around it.

Behind her, Art shouted something. He sounded cross, perhaps even alarmed. Lilac, still standing, storklike, on one foot, tried to turn round, lost her balance and fell forward. She saw the smooth blackness of the mud grow rapidly nearer, with its dimpled, blancmange-like surface, and then she was in it, her hands flailing, she was sinking, tipping sideways ...

‘Help! Art, I’m going down!’ she shrieked, and began to struggle and fight. She splashed mud into her face, opened her mouth to shriek again, and found it invaded by the slippery, foul-smelling stuff. Her eyes were blurred with it, her limbs slowed, her breath could not come, would not come! She sobbed, tried to struggle, held her breath until all she could see was red and black. Then it was too much effort even to move, the mud was too thick, too stifling, stinking ...

Someone was pulling at her, tugging her free from the mud’s insidious grip. From somewhere far off she could hear what sounded like a cracked sobbing, a voice im- ploring her not to sink any furder, for God’s sake. And then she heard Art swearing like a stream of dirty water, interspersing each foul word with breathless, cracked pleas for God to ‘give us an’ and, then, or she’ll be a goner, an’ I just couldn’t bear that!’

She heard his voice break, the gasps of effort, and then the mud released her with the most horrible squelching sound. One of her arms, the one Art had been tugging, felt as though it had been worked loose
from its socket and her chest ached as though every rib was broken but she could breathe at last, she opened her mouth and felt air rush into her squeezed and painful lungs. She gasped and spat feebly, then began to sob. Oh, she ached all over, and she had nearly been drowned. She could have died, easy!

‘Honest to God, our Lilac, I thought you was a goner! Jeez, our Li, I was so skeered ... You okay now? ’unky dory? Lean on me, gairl, get your breath, then we’ll get outer here.’

‘Oh, Art,’ Lilac said as soon as she could speak. ‘I nearly died ... where’s my crabs?’

Art tutted; he sounded just like Nellie, loving but disapproving, Lilac thought feebly but with deep content.

‘I kicked the can over, but the crabs is fine,’ he said briefly. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the pier’ ead. Tell you what, it’s a bar of chocolate for two soon’s we’re on firm ground again. Cor, I thought I’d never git you out – we’ll celebrate.’

Somehow, with Art almost carrying Lilac, they reached the chains under the floating bridge. Art pushed and shoved Lilac aboard, then swarmed up himself. Fortunately, perhaps, it was early evening and the wooden platform was deserted. Everyone must be having their tea, Lilac thought rather enviously. As soon as they reached firm ground however, they both collapsed on the wooden staging, but after a moment Lilac struggled up on one elbow and stared across at her companion.

‘Art! Cor, you’re
filthy!
I ain’t never seen anyone so filthy before.’

Art sat up too.

‘You wanter see yourself,’ he observed. ‘You little nigger minstrel!’

Lilac looked down. She was completely, totally, black. She put a tentative hand up to her head to find her hair was caked with mud. She put her hands to her face ... more mud, slithering on her cheeks where her tears must have cleared some slight passage but thick elsewhere, already trying to dry out in the warmth from the sinking sun.

‘Oh, Art! Auntie’ll kill me ... I’ll die if anyone sees me!’

‘They wouldn’t know you from any other nigger minstrel,’ Art said, grinning. ‘Oh, hey-up, don’t you start a-cryin’ agin, we’ll clean you up in a moment, soon’s I’ve had a bit of a rest, like. I had to pull like merry ’ell to get you clear of that mud, you know. Nearly cracked me back.’

‘You saved my life,’ Lilac said in a small voice. ‘I wouldn’t be alive now if you hadn’t cracked your back. Thanks ever so, Art.’

Art’s filthy, mud-speckled countenance flushed a little. He lowered his head and stared down at his muddy bare feet.

‘Oh well, you’d ha’ done the same for me,’ he said gruffly. ‘Come on, let’s find a street tap.’

They found a tap by one of the docks and cleaned themselves down as best they could. Then they washed each other’s hair and stuffed their chilly feet into their boots, the only garments not saturated in the sticky, rich estuary mud.

‘Do I look better?’ Lilac asked doubtfully as they walked, dripping, along the Scotland Road. ‘There’s a funny smell, ain’t there?’

‘It’s you,’ Art said with cruel frankness. ‘You went deeper than me, our Lilac, down to where it really pongs! Good thing it’s Sunday, there’s not many people about.’

‘It’s an ’orrible smell,’ Lilac moaned. ‘Auntie won’t
have me in the house, you know, not smellin’ like this. Oh, and my back hurts and hurts, as though someone was tryin’ to break me in two.’

Indeed, it was not only her back that ached; she had vicious, stabbing pains in her stomach. Cramps, she supposed vaguely. And by the time they reached the court, the backache had settled into a real pain that throbbed through her, making her want to simply lie down on the paving stones and try to ease it.

‘Tell you what, Lilac, when you was sinkin’ in that mud ... when I thought I wasn’t a-goin’ to git you out ... know what I thought?’

‘No? What?’

‘I thought as life wouldn’t be no fun if you died on me,’ Art said, sounding shamefaced. ‘You’re only a kid, and a gel at that, but ... I likes you more’n I thought I did.’

Lilac took hold of his hand and pulled him to a halt. She stared straight into his eyes. Despite the pain, despite the aches, despite even the rich and foul smell, she suddenly felt a most wonderful feeling spreading like a warm glow throughout her body. She looked at Art, starry-eyed. How ... how very
nice
he was; she would like to spend the rest of her life being pulled out of the mud by Art! But what about the way he had behaved towards her until today?

‘But what about the gang? You said ... you said ...’

‘Them? They ain’t nothing at all, they don’t matter a toss to me,’ Art said. ‘Lilac, I reckon I love you, that’s why I’ve bin a bit sharp-like with you lately.’

It sounded reasonable to Lilac. In fact it sounded as though Art felt just as she did. With the glow doing strange things to her, spreading and spreading, invading even the tiniest nooks and crannies of her small person, she took Art’s hand in hers, then held it to her cheek.

‘You saved my life,’ she whispered. ‘I reckon I love you as well, Art.’

And she meant it. She had thought she loved Matt, once, but never had she felt this extraordinary feeling before, a sort of melting, darting warmth which made her conscious of her whole body – and made Art’s muddy figure shine like a knight in armour.

‘Right. We’ll get married one day, then, shall us? You’re only a kid now, but you’ll grow bigger. An ... and you’re ever so pretty, Lilac, easily the prettiest gal in the Corry.’

‘There’s only a few of us in the Corry,’ Lilac said, fishing hopefully. Surely she had read somewhere that when a boy loved a girl, he paid her compliments? ‘Would you say I was prettiest in my class?’

‘Prettiest gal in Scotland Road,’ Art said, giving the full title. ‘If I’m sharp with you agin, our Lilac, just you remind me of this afternoon ... your ‘air’s got a lovely colour when it’s noo-washed.’

‘Better’n mud,’ Lilac observed. ‘You’re all right too, Art. Reckon you’ll be handsome when you’re a man.’

This rather tepid praise seemed to please Art, who gave a blissful grin, even as Lilac was wishing she’d phrased it differently.

‘Oh, Lilac ... oh, I wish we were somewhere different, somewhere quieter. Guess I’d give you a kiss.’

Lilac, taken aback, stared. Then she put her hands on Art’s shoulders, stood on tiptoe, for he was taller than she, and kissed him, quickly and inexpertly, on the chin.

‘There,’ she said triumphantly. ‘Thanks, Art. I’ll never forget today.’

‘Nor me neither,’ Art said huskily. ‘Come on, let’s ’urry; me mam’ll have the tea out – you might as well
come in for it. It’s funny, I feel as if I want to be with you all the time, see you’re all right.’

‘That’s nice, but I’ll see to Aunt Ada first,’ Lilac said. ‘It won’t tek me long, though. You go home, I’ll be round in a cat’s wink.’

They reached Coronation Court and Art disappeared into his own house, no doubt to prepare his mother for a guest, whilst Lilac, with her clothes drying uncomfortably on her small person and her long hair dripping all down her back, entered her own front door.

Now that Art had gone she was once more aware of the sharp pain in her middle, but as she crossed the threshhold she stopped short, a hand flying to her mouth.

The room was small and darkish, but even through the gloom she could see a man standing by Aunt Ada’s sofa, a man she had never seen in her life before. And her aunt lay back, her skin a curious bluish grey colour, strange sounds emanating from between her loosely opened lips.

‘Oh my Gawd ... what’ve you done to Aunt Ada?’ Lilac said shrilly. ‘If you’ve hurt ’er ...’

The man turned. He was dressed in a long khaki coat and brown, shiny boots and he looked as anxious as Lilac felt. All at once her fears that he might have hurt Aunt Ada melted away. He had a good, strong sort of face – this man, she felt sure, meant no one any harm.

‘I’ve done nothing, Lilac, I found her like this,’ the man said. ‘You are Lilac, I take it? Nellie asked me to look in but no one answered the door so I put my head round it and saw ... this.’ He gestured to the room and to Aunt Ada, flat out on the horsehair sofa. ‘I’ve only been here a couple of minutes but it’s clear to me she’s very ill. Can you fetch help?’

‘I think she’s sozzled, probably,’ Lilac said cautiously. She did not want to get involved with doctors or their bills unless it was absolutely necessary. ‘She boozes sometimes because she’s lonely, I think. How d’you know our Nellie?’

‘We met in France; in fact I went and saw her again only two weeks ago. I’m Stuart Gallagher,’ the man said. He smiled and a long dimple appeared in one thin, brown cheek. Lilac discovered that he had very dark eyes and black hair which curled across his forehead. He reminded her a bit of Davy, and she had liked Davy! ‘Look, luv, it’s not the booze, she’s really ill. Can you get a blanket from somewhere, she’s shivering, and fetch a doctor or a neighbour who knows a bit about sickness. I think it may be a dose of the ‘flu that’s sweeping the country.’

‘I’ll fetch Mrs O’Brien, she’s Art’s Mam,’ Lilac gabbled, scared by even the mention of ’flu. A kid in school had caught it and died! ‘Shall I make some tea? I’ll pull the kettle over the fire, it’ll be boiling in a brace of shakes!’

‘Right, but get the blanket before you go. I’ll watch the kettle.’

Lilac bounded up the creaking stairs like a young tornado, grabbed a thin blanket off the bed and tore down again.

‘Here y’are, Stuart,’ she gasped. ‘Now can I go an’ fetch Art and his mam?’

Without waiting for a reply she went to the door and simply shrieked; Art came running, his face enquiring.

‘What’s up, chuck? Is Ada angry about you gettin’ muddied?’

‘She’s ever so ill,’ Lilac gabbled. ‘Can you help, Art? There’s a feller, a pal of our Nellie’s, telling me what to do and lending an ‘and.’

‘I’ll fetch me mam,’ Art said stoutly. ‘You stay out ’ere Lilac, I’ll fetch me mam in a flea’s blink.’

But Lilac had fled back indoors, arriving just in time to help Stuart to raise Auntie’s head so that they might try to trickle some tea between her lips.

But she would not drink, or rather could not, for once Lilac saw her lips move and her tongue slide forward, as though the liquid was welcome, but then it ran out of her mouth again and soaked into the blanket that Stuart had wrapped round her.

‘Is she ... very ill?’ Lilac said presently, ‘She don’t seem to know we’re here, and she can’t drink, though it seemed for a minute as though she might.’

The young man shot a quick glance at her.

‘Yes, I’m afraid she’s very ill. I think someone ought to get either a doctor or an ambulance. I believe it is the ’flu and that means the best place for her is hospital.’

Whilst they talked, Stuart had been moving around the room, damping a cloth in the water bucket, taking it over to the sofa and wiping Aunt Ada’s gaunt, yellowish face. Then he propped her head up on his arm again and told Lilac to try the teacup once more and this time a little – a very little – tea actually seemed to dribble into the sick woman’s mouth, and a convulsive swallow and a murmuring cry seemed to indicate that it had gone down.

‘That’s better,’ Stuart said. ‘Ah, I think I hear someone coming. Mrs O’Brien, did you say?’

But it was not Mrs O’Brien who panted into the room but Art.

‘Mam says I’m to fetch the doctor, she’s got the littl’ uns ’alf-way undressed for bed,’ he said. ‘Got some chink?’

Stuart blinked and began to put Ada’s head back on the hard sofa arm.

‘Chink?’

‘You’ll have to give Art some money,’ Lilac explained. ‘He’ll go at once and be ever so quick, but you won’t get a doctor to come to the Corry without you pay ’im first.’

The young man laughed, then dug his hand in his pocket. He drew out a sovereign and put it into Art’s grubby fist.

‘Sorry, Art, I should have realised ... and you really had better hurry, or there won’t be much point in your going at all.’ He waited until Art had hurried out of the room and then turned once more to Lilac. ‘Your Aunt’s shivering, yet she’s awfully hot, so I think we ought to try to get her temperature down; I’ll take the blanket off and undo her blouse and then we’ll bathe her forehead and neck with cold water until the doctor gets here.’