Strawberry Fields (40 page)
The shadows turned; Tad could see them even through the dusk, and the dogs turned too, ears pricked, muzzles scenting the air.
‘What was dat?’
Desperately, Tad put his hand over Polly’s mouth. She groaned again, a sort of bubbling moan and then said loudly, through his desperate fingers, ‘What did you do that for, you spalpeen? Me head’s split in two so it is!’
It sounded awful, even Tad realised that; hollow, spooky. And the men clutched each other and then set off at a gallop up the lane, knocking into each other and cursing volubly until they were out of sight.
Tad sat up and then scrambled to his feet. He reached for Polly and dragged her, like a rag doll, to her feet, too. ‘What the hell were you doin’, shoutin’ out like that?’ he demanded wrathfully, giving her a good shake, but the minute he let go of her shoulders she fell straight down again, frightening him considerably. He knelt beside her.
‘Polly? We’ve got to get out of dis, girl, or we’re dead men!’
Polly did not move. She muttered something, but she did not move at all. In the dusk he could just make out the pale oval of her face; her eyes were closed and her mouth drooped pathetically. Oh, dear God, I’ve kilt her stone dead, Tad thought frantically. What the devil do I do now?
When the duff was made and simmering on the fire, Deirdre took Ivan some bread and margarine with good strawberry jam on it, a big mug of milk and a few broken biscuits. He was mollified to be given a meal in his bed and graciously ate everything that was offered, including the broken biscuits which were a big treat. He counted the pieces, then tried to fit them together, then ate them anyway, crowing with delight when he found one of his pieces was the sort with hard pink icing on it . . . everyone wanted those particular biscuits, he assured his mammy, because they were lucky, so they were. And he hadn’t even picked the pink ’un out himself which must make it luckier than ever. And then, to his mother’s astonishment, he never even suggested getting up and having dinner when the rest of the family got home, he just snuggled down and was asleep within minutes.
Poor wee feller, he was cold after runnin’ through the wet streets after his sister, Deirdre thought remorsefully. All my fault . . . but now he’s settled early, so I might as well make the best of it. I’ll get the spuds on to boil, then the meal will be ready when Polly and the boys arrive. I’ll ask Tad in for a bite, since he’s been runnin’ my messages today.
Deirdre pulled the pan of spuds over the fire, then got out her mending. She lit the lamp and, presently, Martin came in, kicked off his lace-up shoes, undid his tie and his stiff shirt, and threw himself down in an easy chair.
‘Mammy, I’m wore out,’ he said. ‘Am I first in, tonight?’
‘Not for long by the sound of it,’ Deirdre said as footsteps hurried up the stairs. ‘This’ll be Polly and Tad, I daresay.’
But when the door burst open it was Donal and Bevin, talking nineteen to the dozen. Both boys did jobs after school, Donal sold turf from door to door and Bevin delivered newspapers. He didn’t sell them, as Tad and Polly did, he just delivered them, but he earned enough for picture-money, with some left over for extras. He was saving up for a bicycle, not a new one, a secondhand model, and thought he would have sufficient money by Christmas. Both boys greeted their mother with absent-minded affection.
Mammy, that’s a good smell so it is and we’re starvin’, amn’t we? Is it nearly ready?’
‘It is ready. We’re just waitin’ on Polly and Tad.’
‘I’ll wash first,’ Bevin said. He grabbed the kettle off the fire, spilled some water on the hearth and got shouted at for his pains.
‘Cold water if you please, Bev! Don’t play around, the pair of ye! Come and set the table as soon as you’re clean, Donal.’
‘That’s Polly’s job,’ Donal grumbled, but it was automatic rather than meant. The boys knew Polly always pulled her weight and so they didn’t mind doing the odd feminine task if she was late, or busy.
When the boys had washed and the table was laid, Deirdre began to get really worried. ‘I sent them on a message . . . little devils, they must have gone straight out to play when they’d done it,’ she said, trying to peer down into the street. ‘Martin, go to the corner and see if you can see them. Tell them dinner’s on the table.’
Martin went down the stairs and across the courtyard, then Deirdre lost sight of him. He was gone ten minutes, during which time she dished up, then Martin came clumping up the stairs once more.
‘They aren’t in the alley, or not that I could see,’ he said positively. ‘I yelled blue murder, Mammy, but there wasn’t a sign of ’em. Can I have me dinner now?’
By eight o’clock Deirdre was frantic.
‘Go to the police, Martin, and tell ’em we’ve two kids, one of them a young girl, missin’ from home,’ she said. ‘The rest of you, search the streets. Bevin, you go round to Gardiners Lane an’ see if the Donoghues know anything. I’ll have to stay here with Ivan . . . hurry, boys!’
Tad got Polly, still semi-conscious, across his shoulders, staggered perhaps a hundred yards along the verge to where some thick bushes grew against the wall, and let her down with a bump. ‘Now will you wake up?’ he said crossly, sitting down beside her. ‘Sure an’ aren’t girls a terrible trouble to a feller?’ He bent over Polly and stared hard at her small, pale face. ‘Are you sleepin’, Poll?’ he asked, his voice suddenly laden with uncertainty. She looked so very small and remote, lying there. ‘Oh, say you aren’t dead!’
Polly opened her eyes. Large and dark and bewildered, they gazed around her, then lighted on Tad’s face. A small smile tilted her mouth.
‘Tad! Where am I?’
‘Lyin’ on your bloody back in the grass whiles I almost die of fright; we were near trod on by two fellers, near kilt and ate by their two dogs, near took up by the polis,’ Tad said wildly, in a hissing whisper. ‘So keep your voice down an’ lets get out of here!’
‘Where’s here?’
‘We were boxing the fox, and you got hit on the head by an apple . . .’ Tad began and was interrupted.
‘Did it fall off the tree?’
It was tempting to say it had, but Tad did not trust Polly’s innocent, almost dreamy tone.
‘No, it didn’t. But it knocked you out cold. Now can you get to your feet, girl?’
‘I’ll try,’ Polly said feebly. ‘Where’s the men, Tad? An’ the polis?’
‘Gone,’ Tad said tersely. ‘Upsadaisy!’
‘It must be midnight . . . it must be later,’ Polly said in an aggrieved tone as they rounded the corner into Swift’s Alley at last. ‘What’s all the people doin’ up at this hour?’
‘It isn’t that late,’ Tad said reassuringly. ‘Probably no more’n ten o’clock. Anyhow, we’ll be home in two ticks.’ They reached Polly’s block and Tad peered into the dark interior, then turned away. ‘See you in the mornin’, Poll.’
‘Oh no you don’t, you aren’t runnin’ out on me,’ Polly hissed, grabbing his arm. ‘I’ll be kilt, so I will, but you’re goin’ to be kilt as well.’
‘Oh, but not twice! Me own mam an’ dad . . .’
‘They won’t touch a hair of your head for bein’ late,’ Polly said scornfully, with unconscious cruelty. ‘They prob’ly won’t even notice. It’s me that’ll get the legs slapped off me. Only if you tell ’em how I were hit on the head and made unconscious . . .’
‘If I tell ’em that it’s me that’ll get kilt, good an’ proper,’ Tad said, horrified at the mere suggestion. ‘The bloody apple done it, but who’ll get the blame? Who always gets the blame when you’re in trouble, St Polly!’
‘I gets into trouble on me own account so I do,’ Polly said stoutly. ‘Aw, c’mon, Tad, else I’m goin’ to sleep on the stairs. I dussen’t go up alone.’
‘Oh, all right then,’ Tad growled. ‘It’s dark an’ all . . . give me your hand.’
Clutching each other, the two of them climbed the stairs. Slow and soft, because neither wanted a scene in the open. They fumbled noiselessly across the landing and opened the door into the living room. Tad would have done it cautiously, to hear what the first words were to be in order to have a head start if tempers were roused, but Polly simply opened it and marched into the room.
Her mammy had been sitting by the window, staring out into the dark. She turned as the door opened . . . and flew across the linoleum, arms held out.
Tad would have dodged and probably ducked as well, then run for it. Polly ran, too, he had to give her that. But towards, not away. And was folded in a warm embrace whilst Mrs O’Brady, with tears pouring down her cheeks, hugged and hugged and said: ‘Oh, me darlin’, we’ve been desp’rit worried, we’ve been round to the polis, we’ve had the whole family out huntin’ . . . indeed, they’re all out there still, combin’ the streets.’
‘Shall I go an’ tell ’em she’s all right?’ Tad said faintly. He could imagine what Martin would do to him if he did not spread the good news, and Martin and Donal always stuck together so he’d get whipped by the pair of ’em, not just by one. ‘I’ll not explain, I’ll just say she’s home an’ safe.’
Tad had always liked Mrs O’Brady. Now he liked her more than ever, for she gave Polly one last hug, then came over – he tried not to wince away – and hugged him, too.
‘You’re a terrible pair but I knew you’d stick by me daughter, Tad,’ Mrs O’Brady said, letting go of him and tousling his already tousled head. ‘It halves the worry when I know you’re together. Now, Tad, come back as soon as you’ve found the boys; I’ve got a hot meal waiting.’
‘Sure, Mrs O’Brady,’ Tad said. She was a lovely woman so she was! ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
And he most certainly was, since he met the boys as soon as he emerged into the alley. Martin looked a little anxious but Donal and Bev were taking it pretty well, considering. Bev was eating a toffee apple on a stick and Donal was kicking a smooth, round pebble in front of him, giving it most of his attention. But they all three grinned at him as he began to speak.
‘She’s awright, fellers. I’m awfu’ sorry, your mammy said you were worried, but we got back as soon as we could . . .’
He was poised for flight despite what Mrs O’Brady had said but it seemed he was not to be thumped, on this occasion at least.
‘We knew you’d be all right. Picking blackers, were you? Polly said you might. Only we knew if Mammy thought her ewe lamb was roamin’ country roads in the dark she’d do worse than just worry.’
That was Martin, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets and heading for home at a good pace.
‘What about the polis?’ Tad said nervously. The very mention of the name made his stomach turn over. The police only had to set an eye on a chiseller to read his mind, Tad knew, and his mind didn’t always want a readin’ by the law. ‘Your mammy said she’d told the polis.’
‘Never a word did we breathe to ’em,’ Donal said. ‘Sure an’ we
knew
you’d be safe as houses, but no use tellin’ Mammy. ‘Search, tell the polis, get the neighbours out,’ she shouted, so we made ourselves scarce.’
knew
you’d be safe as houses, but no use tellin’ Mammy. ‘Search, tell the polis, get the neighbours out,’ she shouted, so we made ourselves scarce.’
‘I’m glad,’ Tad said in heartfelt tones. ‘But s’pose we had been in trouble, Don? S’pose Polly had needed help?’
‘Sure and hasn’t our Poll got her own guardian angel?’ Bev piped up. ‘She’s always tellin’ us about the young girl in the ragged shawl who looks after her. Who are we to stop a guardian angel doin’ her work?’
‘True,’ Martin said. ‘I don’t want no guardian angel comin’ at me for tryin’ to take over the job! ‘Sides, Tad, you’re by way of bein’ a bit of a guardian angel yourself. If she were in trouble, I guess you’d get her out, eh?’
‘If I could,’ Tad admitted, remembering the weight of Polly across his shoulders as he’d carried her inanimate form to deeper cover. ‘Oh, fellers, your mammy asked me back for a meal . . . is it all right if I come?’
‘Sure that’s fine,’ Martin said, speaking for them all. ‘I wouldn’t mind somethin’ meself. What
were
the pair of yous up to, Tad?’
were
the pair of yous up to, Tad?’
‘We was boxin’ the fox,’ Tad admitted, getting poised to run all over again. But the boys just nodded; they’d all done it in their time. ‘Then some men came along with those thin, long-nosed dogs . . . can’t think o’ the name . . . and we had to hide till they’d gone past.’ He heaved a sigh. Truth would always out. ‘Polly were at the foot o’ the wall and I were on top, throwin’ the apples down. Only she heard the fellers and turned her head away just as I chucked an apple, and it got her right on the noddle.’
It was a relief to hear them laugh loud enough to drown the sound of their footsteps. Bev folded up, holding his stomach.
‘You hit Polly on the head wit’ an apple, and you’re still standin’?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I wonder she didn’t marmelise you!’
‘She – she couldn’t. She dropped like a stone, I’m tellin’ ye,’ Tad admitted. ‘Down she went,
bam
, and down she stayed whiles the fellers went past.’
bam
, and down she stayed whiles the fellers went past.’
The three boys laughed again; if anything, louder.
‘Sure an’ we love our little sister,’ Martin said at length, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes. ‘But Mammy spoils her rotten; ’twon’t do her any harm to be took down a peg . . . she’s all right now, I guess?’ he added without much anxiety.
‘Right as a trivet,’ Tad assured him. “Cept for a bump on her forehead.’
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