Rose of Tralee (50 page)

But for some reason she still did not want her aunt or Mrs Kibble to know that she was chasing after Tommy, so she made the tea, got out the tin of jam tarts, made some toast and buttered it, and sat and shared it with the two older women, not even allowing herself to think about the paper in her pocket until the tea was drunk and the food eaten. ‘Well, I’m off again now,’ she said then, getting to her feet. ‘It’s such a lovely day, I’d rather be outdoors than in. I might go out to Seaforth, or over to Woodside on the ferry.’

‘That’s right, love, you enjoy yourself,’ her aunt said placidly. ‘Will you be in for your supper, later?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Mona said. ‘I might go to the cinema, or on to a dance. Anyway, I’ve got me key, so don’t worry about me.’

She got up and left the kitchen, walking briskly down the jigger and out into the road. She did not intend to walk to Victoria Street but would take another tram; you never knew, the conductor of the next one might know even more about Tommy. So it was with a bright face and burgeoning hope that Mona set out on the next stage of her search.

‘She’s hoping to find Tommy, of course, that’s why she wanted the newspaper, to see if there was any clue in it,’ Agueda said placidly as soon as the door
had closed behind Mona. ‘What a shame that two lovely girls should have been treated so badly by two nice young men.’

‘We-ell, I don’t think Colm treated our Rosie badly, I think the boot was on the other foot,’ Lily said fairmindedly. ‘And I don’t think Tommy was a nice young man, though I grant you he was handsome and charming. Still, I get your meaning, Agueda. I don’t think Tommy wants to be found, do you?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Agueda said, chuckling. ‘But Mona’s a determined young woman. You never know, she may catch up with him yet.’

‘If so, I hope she gets me rent money back,’ Lily said rather gloomily. ‘I’m beginnin’ to suspect, Agueda, that the bits and pieces of money we lost might have gone out walkin’ in that young man’s pocket. But perhaps I’m wrongin’ him. Maybe he’ll send the rent money on when he’s in work again. If he really has left the tram company, that is.’

There was no difficulty in acquiring the correct back copy of the
Liverpool Echo
and it was the work of a moment for Mona to spread her partial page over the whole one, thus enabling her to see the pieces of paper which Tommy had cut out – and taken with him, naturally. The first one read:
Thirty Foot Day Boat for sale. Diesel engine recently overhauled. Licensed for twenty passengers. Lying Fleetwood Harbour. Can be seen by prior appointment. Apply Box No. 2102
.

Mona frowned over this for a moment, then turned to the second advertisement which, to her relief, was self-explanatory.
Blackpool. Pleasant rooms in Lansdown Street area available for twelve-month let
, it said.
Suit single gentleman or young couple. Terms reasonable. Apply Box No. 2326
.

That’s odd, Mona said to herself. Why is he interested in a boat for sale in Fleetwood and rooms in Blackpool? And whilst she was puzzling over it, the truth suddenly dawned on her. Her knowledge of geography was poor indeed, but she did remember from her one and only trip to Blackpool that Fleetwood had not been very much further on. She also remembered Tommy coming back from a weekend trip to Blackpool with several other tram workers, full of enthusiasm for the town.

‘There’s fellers there takes you for sea trips,’ he had enthused to Mona on his return. ‘Why, one will take you over to the Lake District – that’s a good way, Mo. Tell you what, I reckon that’s a good life. Takin’ trippers all through the summer an’ settlin’ down to summat like waitin’ on in a cafe – why, if you made the sort o’ money I guess they do make, you could
own
the cafe! More fun than a lorry, because you’d meet people, probably they’d tip you the odd copper if you mugged up the chat a bit – the feller I went out with were glum – but I’d enjoy that. I’d tell ’em stories about the sea, about the town ... oh aye, I’d do well at that.’

But being Tommy of course, within a week or so he was back on the importance of saving up for a lorry so he could start his own transport business, and his temporary interest in Blackpool and boats had gone right out of Mona’s head. It occurred to her now, though, that despite his seeming openness, Tommy was a secretive fellow at heart. He’d muck around and tell you things, but the things that mattered would be kept close. He had trusted her to an extent, but clearly not enough to tell her he was flying the coop, nor to hint at his revived interest in boats and boating.

Having written down both advertisements on the margin of her cut-about sheet of newsprint, Mona returned the file copy of the
Echo
to the young lady behind the reception desk and left the office in a very thoughtful mood. He had not left the newspaper behind, she was now sure, with any intention of misleading anyone. It had never occurred to Tommy that anyone would be sufficiently interested in an old copy of the
Echo
to leaf through it, far less to notice that bits were missing and set out to discover what he had thought worth cutting out. Therefore, it stood to reason that he had taken the two advertisements with him because he intended answering them. What other reason would he have for cutting them out so neatly and carrying them away with him?

Mona walked along Victoria Street, thinking deeply. She scarcely noticed the shops and offices she passed, but came to herself at North John Street and began to think really hard. Just what had he done, the cunning devil? She must put herself in his shoes if she were to work out the puzzle. She could imagine him going in to work, pleased with himself because he was about to get right away from all this, and deliberately marking the old copy of the newspaper in his locker to make his colleagues believe he had returned to London. But it would never occur to him in a million years that someone might go to the trouble of tracing the advertisements he had cut out from the
Echo
. And of course, as he had never mentioned the boat idea to anyone but her, even if they traced the advertisements they would not make sense.

Satisfied on that score, she began to walk casually along the road, paying very little heed either to the huge office blocks towering above her or the shops,
where her attention would normally have been riveted. She knew where he was! She would get a train to Blackpool and make him see that running away would do him no good – or not if he ran without her, at any rate. She was tempted to head straight for Lime Street station, but reminded herself sharply that she must not do – or appear to do – what Tommy had done before her. She would, instead, return to the Vale, pack a bag, tell her aunt she would be away for a day or two ... Yes, that would be sensible.

Having made up her mind, she hurried. The day was still young, but she had no time to waste, Tommy had been in Blackpool – and, presumably, in Fleetwood – for two whole days. She needed to catch up with him quickly.

It was a good journey by rail up to Blackpool and Mona arrived there before it was dark. She headed straight for the nearest newsagent’s shop, where she bought a daily paper and asked the elderly man behind the counter if he could direct her to Lansdown Street.

He did better, he sold her a small street map and armed with this Mona set off. It was late afternoon and she was beginning to feel a great sense of urgency. Rose had given her the money to go and see Mrs Hancock, so if necessary she could book herself into a guest house for the night, but she wanted to find Tommy as soon as possible. As she walked, she planned her campaign as carefully as though it were a military exercise. She could not afford to muff this one chance, it had to go as she wished.

The woman who came to the door was fat, neatly dressed, hard-faced. Her greying hair was tugged
back into a small bun on the nape of her neck and she eyed Mona warily before she spoke. ‘Yes?’

It was not encouraging, but Mona bestowed upon the other her most charming and ingratiating smile. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Robbyns, but I believe you have a Mr Thomas Frost staying here?’

‘That’s right,’ the woman said, and Mona’s heart gave a great leap. She had tried several other houses already and had been directed to this one because, the lady said, ‘Her up the road – Mrs Robbyns – had an advert in the papers after her son John left ‘ome.’

‘Ah, I thought I had the right house,’ Mona said cheerfully, employing the genteel accent which she used at work. ‘May I speak to him, please?’

‘We-ell, I dunno as ...’

‘We’re hoping to be married when we can afford it,’ Mona said gently. ‘We had intended to leave Liverpool together, but I had to work out my notice, so thought I’d not be able to come up north. However, my employer has managed to replace me, so I collected the wages owing to me and here I am.’

‘Mr Frost’s took me last room,’ the woman said quickly. Mona did not believe a word of it. ‘We don’t allow no funny business, not in a nice area like this. And any road, Mr Frost’s out.’

‘Up in Fleetwood?’ Mona asked. ‘With the boat?’

‘Oh, he telled you he’d bought it, did he?’ the woman said, her face relaxing a little. ‘No, he’s not up in Fleetwood, he’s at work.’

‘Oh, I see. When will he be home? Can I wait for him in his room?’

The landlady looked shocked. ‘Why, he may not be home for hours, Miss ... er ... and I don’t allow ladies in me gentlemen’s rooms. He’s workin’ at Macauley’s
garage on Dixon Road, though, if you’d like to go along there.’

‘Oh, Macauley’s,’ Mona said airily, glad once more that she possessed the street plan of the town. ‘I’ll go along there, then. But I’ll leave me bag with you, if you don’t mind. It’s a lot to lug.’

‘Well, I don’t know...’ the woman said doubtfully, but Mona stepped forward saying ’thank you so much’ in a bright voice and dumping her bag at the foot of the flight of linoleumed stairs leading to an upper floor.

‘Thanks, Mrs Robbyns,’ Mona said, rubbing her aching arm. ‘I shan’t be long, I don’t suppose. I’ll just go along and have a word with my fiancé.’

‘He never said nothin’ about no fiancée . . .’ Mrs Robbyns began, but Mona pretended not to hear. She hurried along the road until a bend hid the older woman from view and stopped to consult her street map. Having discovered that she was going in the right direction she speeded up a little and presently found herself standing in front of a sizeable building before which were two petrol pumps and a large concrete apron. Walking across this, she came to the entrance of what must be the Macauley garage, since the name was written in large red letters across the façade. Before her was a pit, above which a car stood, and in the pit was a man who seemed to be screwing some object into the mysterious region of the car which she believed was called the exhaust.

There was very little of the man actually showing; she could see dark hair, a checked shirt and a brawny, black-smudged arm, but it was enough. Whoever he might be, he wasn’t Tommy.

Accordingly, Mona walked around the pit, treading cautiously, and came upon another car, from
beneath which protruded a pair of feet clad in shabby black plimsolls and legs in positively filthy blue denim overalls. She leaned forward and peered. ‘Hello you down there,’ she said affably. ‘Can you come out for a minute?’

The legs jerked convulsively and there was a nasty thud. Head incautiously raised meeting bottom of car, Mona judged.

‘Oozat?’ a muffled voice asked. ‘I’m tryin’ to get this bugger fitted up before the owner comes back, an’ I think I’ve cracked me skull.’

‘Never mind, Tommy. I’ll wait,’ Mona said equably. ‘How long do you think you’ll be?’

There was a silence whilst, Mona imagined, Tommy tried to get a look at her without actually emerging from beneath the vehicle. Then he said rather sullenly: ‘I dunno. Half an hour; mebbe twenty minutes. I’d near cracked it when you spoke.’

‘Oh dear, and then you cracked your skull instead,’ Mona said brightly, in her most ‘society’ voice. ‘Look, there’s a tea-rooms opposite. I’ll go an’ have a cuppa while I wait. In fact, why don’t you join me there?’

‘Too much black bloody oil all over me, that’s why not,’ Tommy said grumpily. ‘I allus clean up afore I gets me tea.’

‘All right then. I’ll watch, and when you’re ready, we can walk back to Lansdown Street together.’

‘Oh,’ the voice under the car said uncertainly. ‘And just ‘oo d’you think I am?’

‘Don’t be silly, Tommy,’ Mona said severely. ‘I don’t usually invite total strangers to join me in a cup of tea.’

There was a brief but violent struggle beneath the car and the legs disappeared, crabbing slowly out of sight. In their place a familiar face, crowned with
extremely dirty fair curls, looked up at her. ‘Mona! How the devil . . . What the ‘ell are you doin’ in Blackpool?’

‘Looking up an old friend. Or rather, looking down on one,’ Mona said, chuckling. ‘Gerra move on Tommy, it’s gettin’ dark already, you know. Mrs Robbyns will wonder if we’re late back.’

Mona did not ask herself what would have happened had she taken her eyes off the garage frontage for one moment, because she was very much afraid she knew. He would have scarpered, oily features an’ all. But he wouldn’t have got far, not with her knowing his digs and so on. And anyway, she didn’t take her eyes off the garage, and presently, when she had drunk two cups of tea and devoured – she had had no lunch – two toasted teacakes and a slice of Victoria sponge, he came across the road and made an impatient sort of sign to her through the window.

Mona paid her bill and left, smiling affectionately at Tommy as she joined him. ‘What did you think I’d do, when I found you’d gone missin’?’ she enquired, as they strolled along the prom. ‘I set meself to findin’ out where you’d gone. I used me head and thought back, because I know you pretty well, Tommy. I remember how you’d talked about Blackpool, an’ havin’ a pleasure boat, an’ of course I knew you’ve always been crazy about cars. You had to have a job for the winter, so I set meself to find your lodgings first, then where you’d be workin’.’

‘I can’t believe it,’ Tommy said, staring at her. ‘I were dead careful – there were others would want to know where I’d gone after all – an’ covered me tracks. How in God’s name did you catch up wi’ me?’