Polly's Pride (45 page)

‘Hang on, hang on!’ he kept shouting, whenever he feared she was about to go under. His own lungs were bursting, and he felt sure he’d soon sink beneath the brown slimy water any minute from pure exhaustion. His eyes were stinging so much he could barely see. Then, inch by inch, he persuaded and cajoled, pushed and shoved, till he edged Betty round to the stone jetty. And wasn’t he glad to hear the sound of clog irons ringing on the steps above as people came running to help!
 

By the time they were safely on the jetty quite a crowd had gathered, including Liam, Don and Joe, watching the scene in utter amazement. His picture would be in the paper, they told him, since a man with a camera had just taken a snap of him. Benny was a hero.

Betty had proved not to be so daft after all, since she’d done exactly as he’d told her to and not panicked at all, paddling her feet as instructed and keeping her chin up. She’d trusted in Benny completely, even though she couldn’t swim a stroke on her own. She even kissed him when they were both safely on dry land, and the man with the camera snapped that too. Benny only grinned, not minding a bit. He was thrilled that all the swimming he’d done in the canal over the years, quite against Polly’s orders, had finally paid off.

Despite the fact that he was soaked to the skin and shivering with cold, he had the immense satisfaction of seeing that Georgie Eastwood and his mates were looking even sicker than himself. Benny might have been the first one to act, but he wasn’t by any means the only one to have spotted the perpetrators of the crime. Georgie was in for a severe wigging from the constable, who was even now striding purposefully towards them.

When statements had been taken and Betty led off home by two kindly ladies, Benny found himself suddenly clasped to Grandma Flo’s well-upholstered bosom. Alerted by a neighbour she’d hastened to the scene to revel in her grandson’s glory. When finally Benny managed to extricate himself from this embarrassing; display of emotion, he reluctantly agreed to be marched off to her kitchen to be dried, ‘before he caught his death’.

Wearily he knew this would mean more Fenning’s Fever Cure, and yet another plastering of goose grease and brown paper. Georgie Eastwood and his cronies, however, were being marched off in quite a different direction.

As Benny set out for home with his grandmother, Liam stepped quickly forward. ‘See you tomorrer then?

Benny looked at these one-time friends of his, who’d never quite been there when he’d needed them. ‘Happen,’ he said. ‘Then again, happen not. I’ve better things to do than play daft kids’ games. And linking his arm in Big Flo’s, he strode away, head held high, enjoying every clap upon his back, every cheer and every- ‘well done lad’ as he went on his way. No one could ever call him a coward again.

Polly felt as if a great black cloud had lifted from her. Her life at last seemed to be on an even keel. She felt so happy and carefree she kept bursting into song for no apparent reason. But then, she told herself, perhaps she did have every reason.

A successful trip to the auction in Liverpool had resulted in their buying up all the ship’s carpets at an unbelievably low knockdown price. These were to be delivered, via the Ship Canal, the very next week and Polly was anxious to get to the warehouse and make provision for the new stock. Once she had seen her lovely family again, of course.

In addition to this success, she and Charlie had snatched the opportunity to enjoy a precious few days together, giving them time to relax and talk, to browse among the shops in Liverpool as well as down by the docks. It had proved to be a time for them simply to be a couple. He bought her a lovely ring that might or might not be a genuine sapphire. Polly really didn’t care. To her it was the most beautiful piece of jewellery she’d ever owned. Being so far from home, they’d risked offending convention and signed into a small hotel as Mr and Mrs Stockton. If this made her a wicked woman in Big Flo’s eyes, so be it. Though Polly would make certain that the old woman never got wind of this particular show of rebellion.

For Polly and Charlie it had been a dream come true, like a honeymoon, albeit before the wedding, which made it all the more deliciously enjoyable. He’d held her in his arms all through the softness of a mellow autumn night, stroking the silky smoothness of her skin, the glossy satin of her dark hair, and loving her as she had so longed to be loved.
 

After they had slept, limbs entwined, fingers still linked in sleep, they’d woken at dawn to a sky that seemed bluer, a sun more bright and golden, and even the hoot of ships in the pool sounding almost musical to their ears. To find themselves in bed together, and at such a time, meant they must once more demonstrate their love, each drawing the other ever closer in an unbreakable bond that would last a lifetime.

Now, Polly too was eager for an early wedding. What was there to wait for? Everything was going well for her at last. She had the privacy of a home she could call her own, where her children were free to grow unshackled by prejudice or Joshua’s bigotry. Even her own father had been taken in hand by Big Flo. Deep down, Polly felt glad that Murdoch had come back into her life, despite her reservations when he’d first arrived. Perhaps it was time for old hurts to be forgotten, with her father and with her brother-in-law too. Joshua certainly seemed to be keeping out of her hair at last.

They found the house locked and empty on their return, with not a sign of either Benny or Lucy. Leaving their bags to be unpacked later, they hurried round to number twenty-three, assuming they might find them there. Instead they found a pile of wet clothing lying on the flagged floor. A pan of hot water had clearly been bubbling on the hob, and a wad of Big Flo’s pink lint stood handily by, as if she’d been about to use it on someone.

Benny?’ Polly half whispered the words. ‘What has the boy been up to now? Oh, Charlie, that lad’ll be the death of me.’

‘Don’t panic. We’ve no proof anything is wrong yet,’ he cautioned, but a thorough search brought no answers so they set off up Dove Street, seeking news from anyone who could tell them. As luck would have it, Vera Murray was polishing the windows of her toffee shop. She spied Polly at once and came trotting over in her busybody way.

‘Now don’t get yourself in a lather, you. Nobody’s hurt.’

‘What do you mean, nobody’s hurt? What’s happened?’

‘That lad o’ yours has only turned out to be a right little hero, hasn’t he? You should be right proud of him.’

‘Benny?’ Polly was gaping, and could hear Charlie start to chuckle. ‘
Benny
a hero?’

‘Saved Daft Betty from almost certain drowning he did.’
 

The chuckle swelled to a great guffaw of laughter and Polly was slapping him, telling Charlie to hush, didn’t she want to hear the whole story?
 

Vera turned back to her window cleaning, and then as if the thought had only just struck her, stopped and gave her duster a little shake. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about your Lucy either,’ she said. ‘I’m sure they’ll find her. Turn up like a bad penny no doubt, as they allus do, eh?’

Before Polly had time to time in the full import of this devastating piece of information, Nellie Sidebottom came huffing and puffing down the street towards her. She was a large woman, not built for running, and with a face as red as a turkey cock’s she was clearly in some distress. Without even pausing to comment on the dramatic events involving her sister Betty and Polly’s son, she barked loudly while still some twenty yards distant: ‘Get to the warehouse, Poll. At once. Lucy’s in trouble!’

The great double doors of the warehouse were locked. Standing outside in the dusk of a warm September day was an anxious-looking Benny, with an equally distressed Big Flo and Murdoch. Just looking at the expressions on all their faces filled Polly with fear.

‘What is it? Where is she? Is she inside?’

Big Flo grabbed both Polly’s arms in a grip that wrung the blood from her fingers, though she barely noticed. ‘He’s gone off his head! He’s gone barmy, Polly. I don’t know what the heck to do with him.’ Such despair from Florence Pride was unheard of. Polly found herself in the unlikely position of calming the old woman and offering the sort of platitudes that were usually her province. ‘Tell me slowly and calmly what’s going on.’

‘Joshua’s in there with the child. And t’door’s locked. Run mad he has.’

Today Big Flo hadn’t even the strength to call upon her Good Friend for help. She stood wringing her hands, the lines on her worn face scored deeper than usual.

Charlie stepped forward. ‘Let me tackle him. I’ll wring his bleedin’ neck!’ He was all for fetching a battering ram and breaking the door down, but Polly wouldn’t let him. It took some precious moments to calm him too, but finally she persuaded them all to leave the matter to her.

‘We don’t want any fisticuffs, or any more danger to Lucy. It’s my daughter he’s got in there, but it’s me he’s got the quarrel with. So it’s time Joshua and I had a little heart to heart as it were, and settled this matter between us once and for all.’ Then she kissed Charlie and pressed a finger to his lips. After a long moment looking into her eyes, he let her go.

If only she felt as confident as she sounded, Polly thought. She could hear her own heart pounding as she rapped on the door, rattled the handle and finally shouted through the letterbox. ‘Joshua! If you can hear me in there, let me in.’

After what seemed an eternity, she heard the turning of a key in the rusty old lock and the door swung open a few inches. She had time to cast back one lingering glance, seeing Charlie’s anguished face, Murdoch giving her a huge wink and Big Flo holding her grandson close and Benny for once not protesting. Then the door had clanged shut behind her, the key turned and she was locked inside the warehouse with Joshua.

Through the thick rough panels of the door she heard Charlie’s furious shout. ‘Lay one finger on her and I’ll personally take you apart, inch by bloody inch!’

Joshua only smiled and jerked his head, indicating she should precede him up the stairs. Polly didn’t hesitate. She was anxious to find her daughter.

When she did, she jerked to a halt in shocked silence, struggling to make sense of the picture before her eyes.

Lucy was not in the part of the warehouse they used for cutting the carpets. Nor was she in the office. She was in the tiny cupboard-like kitchen. A pan of water was boiling furiously over the single gas jet.
 

Lucy was sitting cross-legged on top of the deal table and Polly’s eyes went straight to her daughter’s face, to find there the brightest red lipstick she’d ever seen, which seemed to extend far beyond her small pretty mouth. A mouth that was, in fact, trembling while the blue eyes glistened with tears.
 

Polly glanced again at the stove. ‘What’s the pan of water.’

‘Your daughter needs a good scrub, a thorough cleansing, more spiritually and physically.’

It was then that Polly noticed what Lucy was wearing. She was dressed only in a sack, her legs and feet were bare and upon her beautiful hair lay a scattering of grey dust.

‘She is learning the true meaning of repentance,’ Joshua’s explained. ‘By wearing sackcloth and ashes.’

‘
Sackcloth and ashes
?’ Polly turned to stare at him, feeling her mouth fall open in a foolish gape.

‘She spent much of yesterday cavorting in an immoral way with a young man in the park, and the evening in a theatre - surely a palace of sin if ever there was one.

Polly heard a muffled protest from Lucy, quickly stifled, as if she’d learned during the time she had spent sitting on that hideous table that no matter what defence she offered, Joshua would not heed it. Frowning, Polly took a step towards her, only to have her way blocked, as it had been once before when she’d tried to protect her son.

Joshua held up his hands, like a barrier before her. ‘No, do not interrupt. I brought her here last night while the sin was ripe upon her. The girl needs discipline. She is also learning the valuable lesson that we, as mere mortals, cannot improve on nature. Had the good Lord wanted young women to have scarlet mouths, I’m sure he would have made the necessary provision.’

Polly
longed to smack his hands away but had learned from bitter experience that Joshua did not react well to a display of temper. ‘She’s but a growing girl, Joshua, finding out about herself and what life has to offer. If she makes any silly mistakes with clothes or lipstick, sure won’t she learn sense as she gets older? As for her friendship with young Tom Shackleton, I know all about that and see no harm in it.’

‘Because you have no judgement yourself.’

Polly told herself to stay calm and not rise to his bait. He was deliberately provoking her, so she merely smiled while edging a step closer to the table and a now openly weeping Lucy. ‘It’s because he’s a fine young man. But this isn’t about Lucy, is it? I thought we had this matter all sorted between us, Joshua? We do appreciate the care you took of us in the months following Matt’s death, but that’s past now, and time for you to stop. The responsibility for my children’s behaviour, including any punishment they might require, is mine, not yours. Wouldn’t you say that was fair?’

There was a long telling silence and then, to her great alarm, Joshua began to laugh. The sound, coming from his thin lips sounded so unreal that it sent a chill running the length of Polly’s spine.

‘Joshua,’ she coaxed, ‘let her come to me. I’ll give her a good talking to, about the lipstick and all.’ Then the laughter stopped as quickly as it had begun and the silence following it was even more deadly.