The Bad Penny (26 page)

Patty laughed. ‘Oh, it’s almost impossible to get rid of fleas, especially when the weather’s so warm,’ she said. ‘But until the baby came Mrs Allen scrubbed and scoured the whole house three or four times a week. I wouldn’t hesitate to accept a cup of tea and a biscuit from her. Mrs O’Connor isn’t like that, though! I doubt if she’s ever had a bath in her life; her hands are always grimy and her nails are black. It doesn’t do to say so, of course, but all the children have nits and the youngest two simply squat on the floor when they want to go to the lavatory; you have to watch where you step!’ Patty laughed again at Ellen’s stricken face. ‘So if Mrs O’Connor offers you a cup of tea, say you’ve only just had one. It doesn’t do to hurt folks’ feelings, and sometimes, when a patient is very pressing, you have to accept a mug of tea and either drink it or pour it away when she isn’t looking. These people are desperately poor but they have their pride – it’s about all some of them do have – and we’re always careful not to injure that pride.’

‘I won’t forget,’ Ellen said fervently. ‘How old is Mrs O’Connor’s baby? Will we visit her often?’

‘Little Tommy was born eight days ago. I did all the revisits whilst you were doing other things, because I didn’t want to put you off,’ Patty said frankly. ‘But now you can ride the bike we’ll be working much more closely, and I’m afraid I shan’t be able to spare you the less pleasant visits.’ She turned her bicycle into a noisome side street and then into a jigger which led off it. ‘These houses are back to backs, so there’s only one door. It leads straight into the kitchen from a tiny yard so get ready to tread carefully, ignore bugs and fleas and refuse all offers of refreshment!’

*

Patty and Ellen had a long and tiring day but, Patty thought, a satisfying one. They went in and out of their patients’ homes, doing the jobs which needed doing, offering sympathy and advice and solving small problems. They also delivered a baby which was not due for another week. The mother was a skinny, frightened girl of fifteen or sixteen – no one mentioned the father – and Patty allowed Ellen to bath the tiny scrap in a biscuit tin and then sent her out to a neighbour’s house to beg or borrow some pieces of blanket in which to wrap the child and some rags to act as nappies. The girl was still living at home, surrounded by younger brothers and sisters, with a hatchet-faced mother who kept grumbling that she had enough to do with her own brood and clearly resented the added burden of an unwanted grandchild.

‘I mentioned adoption the first time I visited but the old woman nearly blew my head off, though you wouldn’t think it to hear her today,’ Patty said as they cycled off to their next visit. ‘The girl’s a poor little creature with no mind of her own. If you ask me, that baby doesn’t stand much chance. Still, there isn’t much we can do about it. Women like that girl’s mother resent anything they see as interference, even if it’s for their own good. But maybe it’ll all work out. If the old woman is still resentful and unhelpful tomorrow, I’ll suggest adoption again.’

‘You’ve got to be really brave on the district,’ Ellen observed as they pedalled along. ‘In hospital, it’s the doctor or the matron – or even Sister – who suggests that a child might be offered for adoption. And in hospital the patients are – are sort of cowed. I s’pose all the clean sheets and rustling uniforms and bossy women terrify them. It makes them a lot easier to deal with, though.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Patty agreed. ‘Take the next turning on the left, Ellen. You’ve been here before – it’s Mrs Merrick. Do you remember her? She’ll make us a nice cup of tea, and I must say I’m gasping for a cup.’

‘That last woman offered us a cup of tea,’ Ellen reminded her. ‘What excuse did you make? You couldn’t very well say we’d just had one because we were in her house almost four hours!’

‘I said it was very kind of her to offer but we dared not stop or we’d be late for our next four or five visits,’ Patty said demurely. ‘Actually, Hatchet Face is probably a good deal cleaner than some, but I still couldn’t fancy anything she made. She probably spits in the tea of anyone who doesn’t take her fancy and I expect she still remembers I suggested adoption, so I’m probably in line for some mark of disfavour.’

By the time all their visits had been completed, it was nearly six o’clock and the rush hour was well under way. Patty wondered whether to tell Ellen to push the bicycle but the thought of delaying still further their return home to the meal which awaited them was not welcome. Instead, she simply advised Ellen to take great care. ‘Buses and trams come awful near and other cyclists whiz past and cars cover you in dust,’ she said. ‘You’re still a beginner on the bike, so just go slow, follow me and don’t let the traffic fluster you, then you’ll be all right.’

Ellen agreed to do as she was bidden and the two of them set off into the increasingly heavy going-home traffic.

‘Darky! Darky Knight! Where do you think you’re off to in such a hurry?’

Darky, pushing his way off the ferry, turned to see who was addressing him, then groaned inwardly. It was one of the girls from Levers, a machine operator in the flakes department. She was a bold, brassy piece who made no secret of the fact that she wanted to get to know him better. Darky disliked her, and was frequently embarrassed by the bawdy remarks which were always made in a voice just loud enough to be heard, but could be denied if she were challenged. In Levers, of course, he was ‘Mr Knight’ to all the staff. Even brassy Bet would not have dared to address him as Darky during working hours, but obviously she considered that once free of the factory environment she could call him anything she liked. Darky’s feet met terra firma and he considered pretending that he had not heard, but even as he did so he remembered that he had turned back, that their eyes had met. Sighing, he slowed his pace, and presently Bet caught him up and grabbed his sleeve.

‘Phew! I thought you were never goin’ to hear me shout,’ she said, pulling him to a stop and standing far too close for comfort, so far as Darky was concerned. ‘I wanted to tell you there’s a gang of us hirin’ a charabanc for a trip down Rhyl while the hot weather lasts. It’ll cost four bob a head and that includes us dinners. Want to come along?’

‘No thanks. I’m busy at weekends,’ Darky said promptly. He had no wish to get involved with factory outings planned and masterminded by brassy Bet, though it would never do to say so. Bet was a forceful character, and though the other girls did not like her they respected her ability to tackle the bosses and to make life unpleasant for anyone who stood up to her.

‘Who said owt about weekends?’ Bet said immediately. Darky noticed, with satisfaction, that she was having to trot to keep pace with his longer strides. ‘You never even asked me what day it were planned for.’

‘Well, surprise me,’ Darky said cordially. ‘Tell me you’ve arranged a trip for mid-week, you being so clever an’ all.’

Bet sniffed. ‘It’s next Sat’day,’ she said sulkily. ‘We’re startin’ out at six in the morning – there’ll be five pick-up points, two of them in the ’Pool – and we reckon we’ll be home by midnight.’ She pulled him to a halt once again, then stepped in front of him so that he had to look at her as she spoke. ‘Be a sport, Darky. It ’ud make my day if you said you’d come along – and I’d see you enjoyed yourself. I’d make sure, personally, that you had a damn good time.’

As she spoke, she ducked her head and looked up at him through her lashes. It was a frankly inviting look and one which caused Darky’s spine to tingle in a most unpleasant fashion. Had the look been cast at him by someone he found attractive, it might have been a different story, but Bet repelled him. She was a tall, green-eyed bottle blonde and she was known to be easy, despite the fact that she had married a sailor a couple of years ago. Her husband was on the transatlantic liners and consequently away for fairly long stretches of time, and it was known to most of the workers that Bet liked company during her periods of enforced grass widowhood. But the girl was looking up at him, her lips parting, her mouth beginning to curve into a smile. She must have thought that his silence meant he was seriously considering her offer, Darky thought crossly. Best put an end to it now.

‘Sorry, I’ve plans for this Saturday,’ he said briefly. ‘But there’ll be plenty of other takers, no doubt. Good day to you.’

Bet, however, was not to be put off so easily. ‘Whadda you mean?’ she asked indignantly. ‘I don’t give up so easy, chuck. I live only a couple o’ streets away from you, so we’ll bleedin’ well walk home together and you can bleedin’ well listen while I bleedin’ well try to change your mind.’

Despite himself, Darky felt a grin spread across his face. You had to admit it, Bet was a trier. She was unsnubbable too; most girls would have flounced off after his first refusal, but Bet was plainly made of sterner stuff. In fact, he thought as she fell into step beside him, you would be forgiven for thinking she had read encouragement in his firm refusal, for she actually had the nerve to tuck a hand into his arm, saying as she did so: ‘Off we go then! Now, about this trip to Rhyl…’

Darky considered being really unpleasant, so that she was left in no doubt of his feelings, but then he remembered that he would have to face her in the factory next day. She was quite capable of lying in her teeth and pretending that he had “tried it on” when she had approached him about the trip to Rhyl. Or she might say he was so stuck up that he would not go on a factory outing with other workers. She could tell any lies she liked, and though she would probably not be believed, it would do little to improve the atmosphere at Levers. Darky’s boss was always emphasising that the staff should be friends and not just colleagues. If word got back to him that Darky had been churlish and arrogant, then it would not improve his chances of promotion. Sighing, Darky continued to walk at a pace which suited Bet and to invent in his head a cast-iron reason for remaining in Liverpool next Saturday.

*

Patty and Ellen managed quite well despite the heavy traffic, until they reached Vauxhall Road. It was so crowded with vehicles and people, to say nothing of trams, that Patty turned her head to advise Ellen to dismount, but her friend was twenty yards behind her and concentrating grimly, Patty thought, on simply staying on the bicycle. She had no attention to spare for anything else so Patty, who had dismounted, set off once more, threading her way through pedestrians and stationary vehicles along the busy street. She slowed her pace, however, and when Ellen was a mere five yards behind turned to remind her friend that they would presently take a right turn into Silvester Street. ‘You’d best dismount, Ellen,’ she bawled as loudly as she could. ‘It’s safer to push the bikes across when there’s so much traffic about.’

She saw her friend nod and pull out to pass a stationary cart. But she did not slow down as she came up to Patty, instead continuing to cycle straight on, with a desperate look on her face. Initially baffled, Patty suddenly realised, with horror, what had happened. Ellen’s wheels were stuck in the tramline and Ellen did not realise it. Patty saw her wrench wildly at the handlebars, heard her despairing wail of ‘Patteeeeee’ as she sailed past. Then a tram came charging along and Patty’s horror turned to sick disbelief. If the driver did not realise … if he hit Ellen …

Patty cast her own bicycle down into the gutter and sprang forward and, as she did so, saw a tall young man with a brassy blonde hanging on his arm stop for one moment and then leap into the road.

It was Darky Knight!

Bet was still hanging on to Darky’s arm in the most infuriating way when they stopped on the edge of the kerb in Vauxhall Road, meaning to cross and go down Silvester Street. Their ways would part here, Darky hoped, but he was not too sure that Bet really was heading home. He knew, of course, that she did not live in Ashfield Place, for everyone knew everyone else in the landing houses, but he supposed, despairingly, that she might live in one of the courts off Latimer Street or even on Westmoreland Place or Bendledi Street. If so, then she really was heading home and not simply accompanying him in order to find out where he lived. He decided that whichever proved to be the case, he would have to summon all his courage and tell Bet – only he would call her Miss Grainger – that he did not believe in fraternising with fellow workers outside the factory. Then he would walk away smartly, and surely even brassy Bet would not choose to follow him in such circumstances.

They were waiting on the edge of the kerb when he saw Patty and the new girl who had taken up residence next door cycling towards him. Patty drew her machine to a halt and looked over her shoulder at her companion, but to Patty’s obvious surprise the other girl cycled straight past. Darky was wondering why she had done such a thing, for the way home led down Silvester Street, when realisation came to him. He had seen Ellen learning to ride the bicycle so knew her to be a beginner and guessed at once that her wheels were stuck in the tramline. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the tram thundering down on them and saw Ellen wobble dreadfully as she tried to glance behind her.

He pushed Bet away from him and leaped forward, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Patty had thrown her bicycle down and was running towards her friend. Darky got there first. In a couple of strides, he grabbed Ellen round the waist and heaved her off the bicycle. Then, with the warning jangle of the tram’s bell sounding in his ears, he dragged the bicycle out of the tramline and got all safely to the pavement, just as the tram thundered past.

‘Who do you think you’re pushing, you ignorant…’ Bet was beginning, but then she must have realised what had happened and, by a miracle, fell silent. People were pressing around them, congratulating Darky on his quickness, telling Ellen what a lucky escape she had had, offering gratuitous advice on keeping out of the way of tramlines in the future.