Down Daisy Street (15 page)
Kathy drew in her breath for a desperate scream and the man heard her quick inhalation and his other hand covered her mouth. ‘I said don’t move, an’ that means don’t scream! All I want, I swear it, is just to talk to you! I tell you you’re safe as houses. It’s just . . . it’s just . . .’
Kathy gave a desperate wriggle and the man laughed breathlessly. ‘I’m a deal stronger than you, you pretty thing,’ he said. ‘I just want a kiss and mebbe a bit of a cuddle . . . it’s Christmas, after all! Come on, give us a kiss!’
It occurred to Kathy at this point that the man must definitely be drunk. If he had seen her with Jane, and still thought her pretty, he must be clear out of his mind, but if he had drunk too deeply . . . She stopped wriggling and stood quite still for a moment, and as the hand across her mouth relaxed she spoke quickly, before he could gag her again. ‘You scared me – it’s awful dark – but if a kiss is all you want . . .’
‘Oh, it is, I swear it! If you’ll only put your arms up round me neck, so I can cuddle you properly . . .’
Kathy pretended to relax, actually leaned towards the dark figure . . . and then she ducked quickly and began to run. In the distance she could see a street lamp gleaming; once she reached the main road she was sure he would not pursue her.
As luck would have it, however, she did not even need to gain the main road for even as she set out in that direction she heard the sound of several voices drawing nearer and saw the outline of heads bobbing against the lamplight. There was a good deal of laughter, and then the clearer sound of voices, voices which presently began to sing ‘God rest ye merry, gentlemen’ in a very jolly, if inebriated way. Behind her, there came the sound of someone abruptly skidding to a halt, and then a voice said: ‘I didn’t mean no harm; don’t set the scuffers on me, missy,’ and then – oh joy – the sound of her attacker’s footsteps fading as he ran off in the opposite direction.
Kathy straightened her coat and looked around her for her hat, then decided that it would have to remain where it was until the following day; she did not intend to stay in this narrow, dark lane searching for it! Instead, she set out towards the men, saying as she did so: ‘Excuse me, but would you mind walking back to the main road with me? Only some feller . . . I dare say he’s harmless, but he gave me ever such a fright . . .’
The men paused, staring into the darkness, then one of them exclaimed sharply, and came over to her. Kathy realised she must have been all but invisible in the dark and moved into the circle of light from the torches they carried. ‘He’s probably harmless . . .’ she began again, and was suddenly aware of how very shaken she was and how very frightened she had been. She gave a gulp and her words trailed off into silence as the men gathered about her. Reaction was setting in and she began to tremble, though she told herself pretty sharply to pull herself together and simply be glad that the group of men had come along just at the right time.
‘What feller?’ one of the men said quickly. ‘Did he try it on, queen? Which way did he go? Did you gerra look at his phiz? By God, wharra way to carry on, and it’s Christmas, an’ all. Here, fellers, this gal’s been attacked! Which way did he go did you say, queen?’
‘He ran off towards Rumney Road,’ she said. ‘He – he kept sayin’ all he wanted was a kiss, but he grabbed hold of me . . . I was scared . . . Oh dear, I think . . . I think . . .’
Her stomach gave a convulsive lurch and poor Kathy was sick at the feet of her rescuers.
The men had all been drinking but their kindness and concern could not have been doubted. They sympathised with Kathy over her fright, and four or five of them set out to look for her attacker. They had no luck, but they brought back her pretty little hat. Then they took her all the way home, though two of their number peeled off, announcing firmly that they were going straight to the police station and would bring the scuffers round to Daisy Street so that her attacker could be traced. This was the last thing Kathy wanted, but when she explained what had happened to Mrs Kelling and the lodgers, they agreed that this was the proper course. When the scuffers arrived, they asked for a description of her attacker but Kathy was able to tell them very little, save that the man was taller than she, had been dressed all in black, or some other dark colour, and had had some sort of covering – a balaclava perhaps – which completely hid his face and neck.
‘Well, missy, we’ll do our best to catch the feller but I dare say he’s miles away by now,’ the large police sergeant told Kathy. ‘I don’t want to worry you, queen, but you did a foolish thing, going out alone in the dark down the North Dingle. The lighting’s awful poor and it’s just the sort o’ place a feller would lurk if he were up to no good. Didn’t you have no pal who could have walked home with you?’
‘Someone did offer,’ Kathy admitted grudgingly. ‘He’s me best friend’s feller, though, and he doesn’t like me very much. If I’d have said yes and let him come with me, he’d have spent the whole walk being rude about me.’
‘Well, I should have thought a bit of teasing might have been preferable to strangulation,’ the policeman said bluntly. ‘Oh, I know you said all he wanted was a kiss and a cuddle, but that’s what they all say; you’ve had a narrer escape, young lady. There’s been a feller what’s attacked a couple o’ girls in the past month. He’s not killed anyone yet, but he’s not had many of the kisses he’s asked for, either, an’ fellers like that can easily get desperate an’ end up hurtin’ someone real bad. So in future, queen, you make certain sure you go walkin’ at night with someone you know and trust, right?’
Kathy agreed, with a shudder, that she would be more careful in future, but despite the fright the man had given her she was determined to forget the incident as soon as she possibly could. She had been incredibly foolish to enter that dark lane alone but it had taught her a lesson. In future, I will think before I act, she told herself firmly, but I won’t let it spoil my holiday for me and I won’t be too proud to accept someone’s company another time, either.
Chapter SixSummer 1937
It was a hot and sunny day and Kathy had done well in the end of term examinations. She had been looking forward to the holiday which stretched ahead, thinking that she would be able to find a job and actually earn some money, but, yesterday, her mother had returned to Dorothy’s Tearooms to work over the summer holidays, moving from one restaurant to another to cover for people away on their annual breaks.
Mrs Kelling had been delighted at the offer of work – and well paid work, too – for eight weeks over the summer, but though she had promised to give Kathy money for clothes her daughter was still extremely disappointed. Because Jane was in work full time now, Kathy had grown closer to Ruby, and the two girls had meant to go job hunting together. There were always a few summer jobs going at the big stores in the city centre, or even at somewhere like New Brighton. The journey to and from the seaside resort would involve a bus ride and then the ferry crossing. It would have been exciting, an adventure! Looking after Billy from dawn till dusk was neither, though it could be a worrying experience, for Billy was still subject to fits, so to Kathy’s disappointment over the loss of a possible job was added the task of being a permanent child minder when she had hoped for some independence.
What was more, Kathy’s school uniform had reached the stage when not even the most careful darning and patching could disguise the fact that it was in danger of falling apart. It was also very much too small for her, the dark green tunic – paled by many washes – so short as to be almost indecent and the once cream blouse, greying round collars and cuffs, strained at its buttons to such an extent that Kathy had sewn little loops on the edge of the material to prolong its life as much as possible. Her green school cardigan would never again be done up and the sleeves had grown matted the way wool does after repeated tubbing, so that she usually pushed her sleeves up to hide the fact that they were both felted and far too short. One of the teachers constantly ordered her to pull her sleeves down unless she was training as a washerwoman, and although the others were, in the main, a little kinder, Kathy knew that her fellow pupils – and not only Marcia and Cynthia – were beginning to make remarks behind her back. Someone had asked her why she could not let down her hem because when she bent over her bloomers showed, and though the remark had not been meant spitefully but more as a joke it had unfortunate consequences. Later that same day, Isobella, the other scholarship girl, who was a good deal taller than Kathy, had offered to pass on her own last year’s tunic since her mother had recently bought a new one. Kathy knew she should have accepted gratefully but, unfortunately, her pride had spoken first. ‘Thank you, Isobella, but I’m not yet in need of charity,’ she had said coolly. ‘I’ll get a new one in the autumn term because we’ll be in summer dresses quite soon now.’
Isobella had turned away, flushing hotly, and since then relations between the two girls had been very strained, though Kathy had done her best to make amends by being particularly friendly whenever their paths crossed.
Jane, of course, sympathised deeply with Kathy’s plight but could offer no easy solution. All through the year, Kathy and her mother had to survive on the money from the lodgers; the salary which Sarah would be bringing in from Dorothy’s Tearooms would see them clothed and fed, but would not run to the sorts of prices paid in a shop such as Browns on Clayton Square.
‘Why don’t you go for something from the market? It might not be exactly the same as the things they made you buy when you started school, but surely folk wouldn’t notice?’ Jane had suggested. ‘I dunno as I’ve ever seen a tunic in that particular shade of green, but what about dyeing one? You see grey ones all the time in Paddy’s market. An’ them little badges what’s sewn on the right breast and on the pocket of the blazer . . . well, couldn’t you cut them off your old ones?
Kathy looked doubtful. ‘I’m willing to try anything, but first of all I’ve got to earn some money. I’ve got by without wearing my blazer all through the summer and we don’t wear them in the winter, so that’s something I don’t have to face till next May.’ So, naturally, she had been positively longing to earn some money.
‘I doesn’t need a coat, Kathy; it’s a hot day, you know it is. I won’t wear a coat nor that ’orrible ’at either.’ Kathy was in the kitchen getting ready to go shopping and Billy’s voice was perilously close to a whine. Kathy saw, with some dismay, that his cheeks were reddening and his lower lip was sticking out, a sure sign of troubled waters ahead. She sighed but continued to push his arms into the light cotton jacket. Billy was beginning to rebel against being ‘bossed about’, as he put it, by his elder sister and had decided, a couple of days previously, that his mam was the only one whom he would obey without question. This meant an argument every time Kathy told him to do something and she was already heartily sick of it. She knew that if Billy had been an O’Brien, he would have received a slap across the legs, but their mother did not approve of smacking and Kathy had to go along with her. Apart from anything else, she dreaded starting one of Billy’s fits and knew she would never forgive herself if she made her little brother ill. So instead of telling him sharply to do as he was told, she began to reason with him, firmly inserting him into the jacket as she did so.
‘Now come along, Billy, don’t act daft, you’re a big boy now. You know Mam would be upset if I took you to the shops without your jacket and cap. I know it’s hot, but there’s a nice breeze, and if you’re a good boy I’ll buy you some sweeties from Ma Kettle’s.’
Billy muttered something beneath his breath and permitted his sister to button his jacket and put on his cap at a rakish angle, but when she lugged the pushchair out from its home beneath the stairs he uttered a wail of protest, seizing the handle and pushing it roughly back into its previous position, announcing roundly that he would not ride in the pushchair like a bleedin’ baby but would walk along with her like the big boy she kept telling him he was.
Kathy thought about arguing, then changed her mind. She knew that in ordinary circumstances she would have taken it for granted that Billy would walk with her, for he was a sturdy lad and quite capable of doing so. Because of the possibility that he might have a fit, however, she preferred to take the pushchair, knowing that if he should collapse she could pop him into the chair and run to get help. For a moment, she considered going round to the O’Briens’ and suggesting that they did their messages together. Mrs O’Brien had had another baby the previous March, so their old pram was still used regularly, but she decided that this was not such a good idea after all. She might be unable to persuade Billy to sit in the big pram, and when he got with the O’Brien children he speedily became over-excited and noisy, which was not, she thought, good for him. No, better to stick to her original plan and do half of her messages, then meet Ruby as arranged, so that they could do the other half together.
‘All right, Billy, we won’t take the pushchair, but if you get tired I’m not carrying you because you’re far too heavy for me,’ she warned him. ‘And you’ll have to do your share of carrying the messages because Mam wants a heap o’ stuff and I don’t want to have to go out twice in one day.’
‘Why don’t we go with the O’Briens?’ Billy whined as Kathy handed him a large canvas bag and picked up another for herself. ‘Then we could put the shopping in the pram with that ’orrible new baby of theirs.’
‘It’s horrible, not ’orrible . . . and anyway, it’s a lovely little baby,’ Kathy said hastily, all too aware that Billy frequently repeated her remarks out of context and at the worst possible moment. ‘Besides, I’m meeting Ruby outside Beasler’s at half past ten, and I don’t mean to be late.’
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