Down Daisy Street (7 page)
It was easy for Jimmy, Kathy thought resentfully as she stammered out a grudging apology. All he had to do was button his lip, whereas she had had to eat humble pie. Then she remembered how garrulous Jimmy was and smiled to herself. Maybe keeping quiet was as hard for him as saying she was sorry had been for her. Smiling a little, she turned to him and repeated her apology in a much pleasanter tone. After all, he was pushing her baby brother and all her messages in the big pram and they still had a good walk ahead of them. No point in stomping along in gloomy and resentful silence; it had all been very unfortunate and they should do their best to forget it and act as though nothing had happened.
Jimmy looked slightly surprised at this second apology but took it in the spirit in which it was meant. ‘’Sorlright, queen,’ he said gruffly. ‘Me mam always says I only have to open me mouth to put me foot in it, and I dare say she’s right. Let’s talk about something different, eh? Shall I ask you about school, or shall I tell you what it’s like working in the brewery?’
Both girls laughed but little Teresa leaned forward, saying earnestly: ‘Please, Jimmy, will you show us how you put your foot in your mouth? I seen babies do it all the time, but I never seen a grown-up. Does you do it wi’ your boots on? If so, you’ll have to be rare careful where you tread.’
This innocent question caused a great deal of hilarity and considerably eased the rather tense atmosphere. Jimmy hopped along the pavement on one foot, trying to get his boot somewhere in the region of his mouth, whilst the three children squealed with amusement and Jane and Kathy took over the pram once more. Jimmy only let them push it for a short way, however, before taking it again, and conversation became general, Kathy describing the carol concert at which her friend Ruby had sung ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ as a solo and she herself had read one of the lessons. Not to be outdone, Jane described the lovely end of term party and entertainment which had been given for the parents at Daisy Street School and Jimmy told them about the office party at the brewery which seemed to consist of downing a good deal of Guinness and kissing any girl the men were able to grab. Kathy thought it all sounded pretty horrid but was prevented from saying so when Jimmy, who had gone on to tell them how he meant to go to the pantomime after Christmas, suddenly pulled the pram to a halt as they drew level with Daisy Street and plunged a hand into his pocket. He began to fumble something out, saying as he did so: ‘You know me, always puttin’ me foot in it, talking big, making a fool o’ meself . . . but I thought you might not think too badly of me . . . seein’ as it’s Christmas . . . I had a few pence over so I got you something pretty . . . it ain’t much . . . I never bought anything for a girl before . . .’ He glanced shyly across at Kathy as he spoke and unwrapped the newspaper from around a tiny object, then held it up so that both girls could see. It was a necklace made up of thin little letters in gilt, which read:
Will you be my sweetheart?
Will you be my sweetheart?
It was all very well apologising, Kathy thought crossly, feeling a blush steal up her cheeks, but she had no intention of getting involved with Jimmy McCabe. She was beginning to say so, to explain that she did not accept presents from anyone when she was unable to return them, when Jimmy gave her such a look of incredulity that she stopped short. ‘It ain’t for you, puddin’ head, it’s for Jane,’ he said baldly. ‘Wharrever made you think I’d spend me money on you, Lickle Miss White Socks?’
Kathy opened her mouth to say the last thing on earth she wanted was a present from him, that she had only thought it was for her because he had looked at her when he unwrapped it, then shut her mouth with a snap. Jane, dear, kind, tactful Jane, had leaped into the breach once more. Taking the necklace from Jimmy’s hand, she professed delight and actually leaned across and kissed his cheek, and though he pretended to scrub it off, telling her she was a soppy girl, Kathy could see that he was really pleased.
‘I’ve gorra present for you as well, Jimmy, but I’ll have to bring it round tomorrow morning,’ Jane said. ‘I didn’t know we were goin’ to meet you, otherwise I’d have brung it with me. It ain’t nearly as nice as me necklace,’ she added, looking at the nasty little gilt thing as though it were purest gold, Kathy thought resentfully, ‘but then I ain’t workin’ yet.’
Jimmy mumbled that it was all right, he hadn’t expected . . . but the children in the pram, attracted by the brightness of the thin little chain, were begging to hold it for a moment and by the time this had been sorted out the girls had steered the pram into Daisy Street and Jimmy, with a wave of the hand, had taken his bag and left them.
‘Do you
really
have a present for Jimmy?’ Kathy asked. ‘Mam can’t give me pocket money but I’ve managed to earn bits and bobs here and there, so I’ve got her a present and something for Billy, of course. I’ve even got something for you, Janey, though it’s awful small, but a feller . . . well, that’s different.’
really
have a present for Jimmy?’ Kathy asked. ‘Mam can’t give me pocket money but I’ve managed to earn bits and bobs here and there, so I’ve got her a present and something for Billy, of course. I’ve even got something for you, Janey, though it’s awful small, but a feller . . . well, that’s different.’
Kathy saw a pink flush creep into Jane’s cheeks. ‘I’ll find something,’ she said airily. ‘I might get me mam to let me make some fudge; Jimmy’s mortal fond of fudge. I don’t think he smokes yet, otherwise it would be Woodbines, but don’t you worry, I’ll think of something.’ As Kathy went to lift Billy out of the pram, her friend shook her head. ‘No you don’t, queen. We’ll unload Teresa and Tommy and our messages and then I’ll come wi’ you, so you don’t have to lug everything.’
The two girls pushed the pram into the kitchen and unloaded, then made for Kathy’s house. As they walked, Kathy said curiously: ‘I always suspected Jimmy was sweet on you, but I didn’t realise it had reached Christmas present stage. Do you really like him, Jane? I can’t say I do – he’s always made a point of being rude and nasty to me. Until today, that is.’
‘Jimmy’s OK,’ Jane said defensively. ‘I dunno how it is, queen, but you’ve always managed to rub him up the wrong way. He’s a nice feller, honest to God he is.’
‘I dare say he’s nice enough but I think that necklace is a bit cheeky,’ Kathy said thoughtfully. ‘If you wear it, you’re as good as saying you
will
be his sweetheart and you’re only my age – isn’t that a bit young to be anyone’s sweetheart?’
will
be his sweetheart and you’re only my age – isn’t that a bit young to be anyone’s sweetheart?’
They reached her house at this point and began to unload the messages on to the Kellings’ kitchen table. Jane looked defiantly at her friend. ‘I
shall
wear it,’ she said. ‘And it won’t mean anything because I shan’t stamp “yes” on me forehead. Now give over, do, Kathy. You’ve gorra real gold necklace and two silver ones, which your mam and dad bought you.’ She fingered the gilt chain. ‘This ’un is me one and only. Now let’s forget it and empty the pram or we’ll still be in a muddle when your mam gets home.’
Chapter Threeshall
wear it,’ she said. ‘And it won’t mean anything because I shan’t stamp “yes” on me forehead. Now give over, do, Kathy. You’ve gorra real gold necklace and two silver ones, which your mam and dad bought you.’ She fingered the gilt chain. ‘This ’un is me one and only. Now let’s forget it and empty the pram or we’ll still be in a muddle when your mam gets home.’
Norfolk, February 1936
Alec Hewitt was crossing the Five Acre when he saw a tiny movement in the verge ahead of him. It was a miracle he saw anything since the rain was driving into his face, lashed by a cold east wind which, he thought resentfully, must be coming straight from Siberia. In fact, had the creature remained still, it was unlikely that he would have seen it; it was the movement that gave it away. Stooping over it, Alec’s first thought was that it was a young fox. Probably on its first hunting exploration, it had somehow slid into the ditch and all but drowned, but as soon as he hauled the small animal out of the water and began to pump air into its lungs he realised his mistake. It was a pup no more than eight or ten weeks old, with the long floppy ears and distinctive colouring of a red setter. Alec tucked the pup, now struggling feebly, inside his jacket and turned towards home once more.
The pup settled down immediately and Alec grinned to himself. His pa would think he was mad but his mother would greet the pup with all the enthusiasm of a warm and generous nature. She loved all animals, and at present their house was inhabited not only by the three Hewitts themselves, but also by a collie, a black Labrador and a barn owl with an injured wing.
Alec felt the puppy wriggling beneath his jacket as life returned to its limbs and remembered that Mr Drayton’s red setter bitch had had a litter several weeks ago. Mr Drayton had been disgruntled since the bitch had proved to be gun shy, so he had been getting rid of the puppies as pets; this one must have escaped from the Draytons’ yard before getting thoroughly lost. So, if Ma will let me keep it, I’m sure Mr Drayton isn’t going to object, Alec thought.
He unlatched the gate between the Five Acre and the next field and began to push his way through the crop. It was sprout plants which grew as high as his waist and shed icy water on him as he passed along the rows. But, though Alec personally hated sprouts and particularly loathed picking them, they had been a lifesaver over the past couple of months. Times were harder in farming than the Hewitts had ever known them. Prices were ridiculously low and the sudden influx of cheap food from abroad had caused a great many farmers to leave the land. Some had even killed themselves, seeing the acres that had given a living to their family for generations suddenly worthless, the crops standing unharvested and the beasts scarcely fetching more than a few pounds when taken to market.
Sprouts, however, seemed to be not too highly regarded by farmers in other countries, and because the farm was not a large one the Hewitts were still managing to keep their heads above water, albeit with difficulty. Bob Hewitt was an old hand at making ends meet and had decided some time back, when prices had begun to drop, that their best course was to grow crops which could, if necessary, be sold locally. Barley and wheat might not sell on the general market, but they could feed his stock as well as contributing to the Hewitts’ own food requirements, and so far he had been proved right. It was a long way to travel to Norwich market but prices in the city were a little higher than those in Stalham or Great Yarmouth, so Mr Hewitt thought the journey worth making.
Inside his jacket, the puppy whined, sounding more like a cat than a dog. It was almost certainly freezing cold and hungry, though the warmth from Alec’s body would dry it out, probably by the time he reached the farmhouse. Alec glanced automatically up at the sky to check on the time since he and his father liked to get their cows milked before dusk began to fall. The sky, however, grey and lowering, gave him no indication of the time of day, so he continued on his way, putting on a slight spurt as the farmhouse, in its bower of leafless trees, came into view.
As Alec swung open the mossy gate which led into the yard he could smell cooking and he headed for the kitchen, pushing the back door open with a suddenly impatient hand, eager to be out of the cold. His mother was baking. A rabbit, already skinned and jointed and surrounded by onions and potatoes, was arranged in the big black roasting tin and Mrs Hewitt was rolling out pastry. She looked up as her son came in. ‘I’ll lay you’re soaked to the skin, Alec; best get out of that jacket and hang it over the clothes horse,’ she said, and then, as her son obeyed, added sharply: ‘What have you got there then?’
Since Cherry, the Labrador, had waddled across the kitchen as soon as Alec entered and was now on his hind legs, energetically snuffling at the front of Alec’s pullover, this was an obvious question and Alec answered it readily. That’s a red setter pup, Ma. I found it in a ditch, drowned I reckon, but that were alive so I’ve brung it back, hopin’ as you’d let me keep it. I reckon that’s one of old Drayton’s. His bitch had a litter a couple of months back, but he’d found out she was gun shy so he can’t sell her pups as gun dogs.’
His mother laid down her rolling pin and came across to peer at the puppy. She was a tall, sparely made woman, with the dark red hair Alec had inherited, and pale skin which freckled and burned under the rays of the summer sun. She had large hazel eyes fringed with reddish-brown lashes and the only lines on her face were those made by laughter, for she was as merry as her husband was serious. Alec adored her and thought her beautiful, and now he was waiting for her verdict upon the fate of the puppy without, it must be confessed, worrying unduly. He had never known his ma to turn away from an animal in distress and could not imagine her doing so today.
‘Let’s have a look at you, little feller,’ Mrs Hewitt murmured, taking the animal. It reached up and licked her chin with a long, pink tongue. ‘I’m in the middle of baking, Alec, and if your dad’s goin’ to get his tea on time I’d best get on wi’ it, but you can sit down by the fire and feed this scrap some warm bread and milk. Thass a bitch, by the way. What do you want to call her?’
‘Oh, a bitch, is it? No wonder Cherry and Patch seemed so interested,’ Alec said, chuckling.
Alec stood up and transferred the pup to the back of the shabby old chair in which he had been sitting. Then he turned to the two dogs standing watchfully by and said: ‘Thass just a baby, you two, so you int to go worritin’ it; understand? Leave, Cherry! Leave, Patch!’ Alec knew that now they would respect the pup and would not steal its food when it was older and able to take care of itself. ‘I want you to name her, Ma,’ he said.
Betty Hewitt’s hands stopped fashioning the pastry around the rabbit pie dish and she stared thoughtfully at the gamely legged pup with its long drooping ears and soulful eyes. ‘I disremember ever knowing a red setter with an ounce of sense and I reckon this one won’t be no different,’ she said musingly. ‘So I reckon we’ll call her Loopy. I suppose thass too much to expect you ha’ picked the sprouts your dad wants for market tomorrow?’ she added, with more than a trace of sarcasm. ‘An’ I take it you’ve brought Bessie and Buttercup and the rest in for milking?’
Alec grinned guiltily and set down the dish of bread and milk in front of the new pup, who began to attack it at once. He had gone down to Horsey Gap, meaning to see if there was anywhere from which he might fish, but the strong east wind had made it impossible. Instead, he had walked along the shore, battling against the elements, enjoying the wildness of the wind until the rain had started. Then he had simply turned for home, meaning to pick a sackful of sprouts before fetching the cows in from the Five Acre. And what had he done? He had swathed his head and shoulders in the empty sprout sack and had been crossing the Five Acre when he spotted the puppy. From that moment on he had simply forgotten his responsibilities and had made his way home. Sighing deeply, he reached for his still wet jacket and the soaking sack. ‘Sorry, Ma,’ he said humbly. ‘I went to the shore to see if I could chuck out a line, get a fish or two, but there were no chance. I thought I’d pick the sprouts first, then bring the cows in, only . . . only.’
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