The Bad Penny (28 page)

‘Thanks, queen,’ Mrs Knight said. She turned to Ellen. ‘I dunno how I’d manage wi’out young Maggie here to do me messages. You off dancin’ tonight?’

‘Not tonight, but Patty and me might go to the flicks,’ Ellen said. ‘
Dinner at Eight
is showing at the Burlington Cinema in Vauxhall Road. It’s got John Barrymore and Jean Harlow and Patty wants to see it as badly as I do.’

‘That sounds lovely,’ Mrs Knight said, with a trace of wistfulness. ‘If you decide to go, come and tell me and I’ll give an eye to the girls. Did you say John or Lionel Barrymore?’

‘I said John, but Lionel’s in it too, and I know you’ve got a weakness for him,’ Ellen said, twinkling at the older woman. ‘Why don’t you go tomorrow night, Mrs K.? Mrs Rogers on the second landing goes to the flicks most weeks. She’s a great fan of Jean Harlow.’

Later that evening, when she and Patty were returning from the cinema, Ellen suggested the trip to Seaforth Sands and was pleased when Patty agreed to go. ‘So long as the weather’s fine, that is,’ Patty added, as the two of them prepared for bed. ‘I wouldn’t want to traipse all that way and not be able to go on the beach. They’re good kids but even a good kid whines and gets difficult when a seaside trip is rained off.’

As soon as they awoke on Sunday, however, it was clear that they were in luck. The sun shone and the air was warm and pleasant, and as the children ate their breakfast Patty and Ellen bustled about preparing sandwiches and bottles of cold tea and getting all the equipment they would need packed into their shopping bags.

‘It’s a pity we can’t take the pram, but it’s too big to lug aboard a tram and after cycling about a thousand miles this week I’m not in the mood for a long walk,’ Patty said, shoving a wool cardigan each into her bag. ‘I’ve already packed a couple of towels so the kids can paddle but I’m adding the cardies in case we get chilly.’

‘We’re going to be laden like a couple of camels,’ Ellen said apprehensively, eyeing the bulging bags. ‘Still, an awful lot of it’s food and we shan’t be bringing that back.’

They reached the beach in good time to secure an area for themselves. Because of the sunshine, the sands were soon crowded. At first the two girls introduced Merrell to the sea, letting her paddle in and out of the chilly waves and showing her how to dig up the sand and fill the old enamel mug, then turn it out to make a sand pie. Maggie joined in and they had a thoroughly exhausting, happy morning. By noon, they were all extremely hungry and the large carryout which Patty had prepared disappeared in no time. When a ‘Stop me and Buy One’ appeared, Maggie offered to fetch ices for everyone, but when this treat was over Patty suggested that they might make a little nest for Merrell out of the towels and woolly cardigans. ‘She’s had a tiring morning so I think she should have a nap,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t mind one meself, come to that. What do you want to do now, Maggie?’

Maggie beamed at them. ‘We-ell, I spotted one of me pals from school further up the beach,’ she said. ‘Mind if I goes up and has a word, Patty? Only if you’ll give an eye to Merrell while she’s asleep, then me and Maureen could have a bit of a chat like.’

Rather to Ellen’s surprise, Merrell did not object at all when cuddled down on the sands and was soon fast asleep. The two girls exchanged smiles, and with one accord leaned back themselves. ‘I wouldn’t dream of sleeping because there’s no saying when Merrell will wake,’ Patty said. ‘But a nice rest will be very welcome, don’t you agree?’

‘I do,’ Ellen said. ‘That were a good film the other night, weren’t it? That John Barrymore, he’s every girl’s dream.’

Patty chuckled. ‘Not if you’re me,’ she remarked. ‘I dream of bricks and mortar – nice little home of me own, in the country …’

‘… with a dog for company and a nice patch to grow vegetables and a few hens,’ Ellen finished for her, laughing. ‘But wouldn’t it be an even nicer dream, Patty, if there were a feller to collect the eggs for you, and share the omelette across your kitchen table? Why, if he were earning good money, you might even have a little car! There’s things that are possible on two salaries which you’ll never manage on one!’

She had meant to sound comical, but somehow the words came out seriously. Patty heaved a sigh. ‘Sometimes I think I must be different from any other girl who ever lived,’ she said pensively. ‘Ever since I were a kid, I’ve wanted a home of me own, but I can’t ever remember wanting a man of me own. Is that so unusual, Ellen?’

‘It certainly isn’t unusual when you’re a kid,’ Ellen acknowledged. ‘But I reckon most girls of fifteen or sixteen are beginning to think about love and marriage. Some just want the white dress and the attention, I suppose, but the more practical ones want the companionship and support of a husband.’

‘What about you, Ellen?’ Patty questioned drowsily. ‘What were you like when you were fifteen or sixteen?’

‘Oh, I fell in love with everyone who looked at me twice, including spotty youths who delivered bread and some of the older boys in our street,’ Ellen admitted airily. ‘As for film stars, I loved ’em all. I suppose I always took it for granted I’d get married one day, but once you start nursing …’ She left the sentence unfinished.

‘Once you’re in nursing, your opportunities to meet men aren’t so good,’ Patty agreed. ‘Well, you can meet ’em, but getting to know a feller properly is a different matter. Still, you’re getting on pretty well with Darky Knight, I’d say.’

‘Yes, I do like him,’ Ellen said. ‘I know you don’t agree but he seems a pretty decent sort of feller. However, it was you we were discussin’. Is there a reason why you never think about marryin’, queen? I’ve often wondered, but I haven’t liked to ask.’

Patty sat up and stared at her friend with mock amazement. ‘You haven’t liked to ask?’ she said incredulously. ‘I can’t imagine why, Ellen Purbright, because you’re as curious as any cat!’

Ellen laughed. ‘If you want to know, I haven’t asked because of Merrell,’ she explained. ‘If I’m going to be frank, you must’ve liked a man well enough a few of years ago to – to go with him, otherwise Merrell wouldn’t be here today!’ She was watching Patty as she spoke, expecting to see a blush of mortification on her cheeks or a flash of anger in her blue eyes, but to her astonishment the only look which crossed Patty’s face was one of intense amusement. Ellen waited for the outburst, but it did not come. Instead, Patty smiled lazily and put a caressing hand on the baby’s fair curls.

‘Merrell’s father isn’t a bad sort of feller,’ she said, almost idly. ‘But there was never any question of liking or not liking from either of us. He was – he was a widower, lonely without his wife but not looking to replace her.’

Ellen’s eyes rounded; so she was getting the truth at last! ‘Does – does he know you’ve got Merrell?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Didn’t he offer to marry you when you told him you were pregnant?’

‘I didn’t tell him,’ Patty said truthfully. ‘Why should I? As I’ve said, marriage had never interested me and Merrell’s father wasn’t even my type – if I’ve got a type, that is. It was just – just that I felt sorry for him, I suppose. He had a great many other kids, you see, and soon took on another woman who could help him to bring them up. He knows nothing about Merrell and I mean to keep it that way. The last thing I want is interference; she’s my little girl and I know I can give her a much better life than he could. Any more questions?’

‘No. And now I understand why you don’t like men much. Although you say it isn’t so, I think you were taken advantage of and that isn’t very nice,’ Ellen said triumphantly. ‘Only just because Merrell’s father was a wrong ’un, that don’t mean to say all men are rats.’

Patty smiled affectionately across at her friend. ‘Since Merrell’s father doesn’t know about her, you can scarcely blame him for not asking me to marry him,’ she pointed out. ‘There was another thing …’ and then she began to tell Ellen what had happened to Selina. ‘Though it was a long time ago, it does tend to colour my feelings, I think,’ she finished.

‘Yes; that was terrible. But there are good, honest men who deal fairly by the women in their lives, truly there are, Patty,’ Ellen said, ‘and one day you’ll meet the man for you, just see if you don’t.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Patty conceded. ‘There was a feller I liked once …’ and she told Ellen about her friendship with Toby Rudd and their plan to meet five years later, when they grew up.

Patty woke early on the morning of 15 November. Five years ago, on this very day, she had said goodbye to Toby Rudd and they had sworn to meet, if it was humanly possible, in five years’ time.

On every 15 November since, Patty had always taken a few moments of quiet in which she had thought hard and earnestly of her old friend. They had not known each other for very long, but in the short time that they had been together Patty had learned both to like and to trust him. When they had parted, as the fireworks soared into the dark night sky, Toby had been about to set off for France and Patty supposed that, even then, she had known that his life was not like hers. He was a born traveller, and because he was with the fair he would go where they went and not where he wished. He had said he would come to the rendezvous if he could, and she had known that this was no more than the truth. Toby might be waking up to the warmth of an African sun or to the freezing cold of the Antarctic, for all she knew. He was older than she, so she supposed he might even be married with responsibilities of which she knew nothing, though she did think that at nineteen this was unlikely. Patty sat up on one elbow and glanced towards the window.

She was staying at the YWCA hostel on Hope Street. She had left Durrant House some time previously and was working as a cleaner and general dogsbody at the Royal Infirmary. They would not accept her as a probationer until her seventeenth birthday, but until then she was learning hospital ways, hospital rules and a great deal more beside. The work was hard and the pay poor, but Patty enjoyed it. The patients were wonderful, grateful for every tiny attention, and the junior nurses were nice, too, always appreciative of any help which the domestic staff offered.

The room contained six beds and the other girls still slept soundly. Patty knew that today was special only for her. Laura, had she been at the hostel, would have shared Patty’s feelings to some extent, but Laura had returned to her mother’s home in the court on her fourteenth birthday. ‘As soon as they’re useful, able to bring up younger kids, or earn a wage,’ Patty had heard a member of staff saying bitterly, as Laura left. ‘That Laura’s a good little girl, bright enough at her lessons and quick to appreciate anything you do for her. She wanted to be a nurse and she’d have made a good one, but some chance of that now! That mother of hers will have her scrubbing lavvy floors in Waterloo station and she’ll take her wages each week. Laura will be lucky to see a penny once her mam gets her greedy claws on it.’

Patty knew that this was true, but there was a still a part of her which envied Laura. Mrs Reilly was slapdash, selfish and unimaginative. She could not understand why her daughter would wish to be a nurse, nor why the authorities at Durrant House had suggested that she should continue her education. Yes, she wanted Laura’s wages, yet Patty knew the older woman regarded her daughter with a good deal of affection and would have defended her against any criticism from outsiders. Whenever Patty was free to do so, she went round to the crowded, smelly little house in the court off the Scottie Road. She usually took a bag of buns or a few sweets, but she knew in her heart that the Reillys would have welcomed her had she come empty-handed. They were like that.

But right now, the day for which she had waited so long had arrived and she must make her plans. She had already arranged to take the whole day off, and without telling any of her roommates what she was about to do had borrowed the nicest clothes she could from each of them, so that Toby would not be ashamed to meet her under the clock. The hour of their meeting had been arranged for twelve noon so she had no need to hurry, but having woken, Patty knew she could not remain in bed.

Quickly, but quietly, so as not to disturb her companions, she washed and dressed, then stole down the stairs into the hostel kitchen. Breakfast was never an elaborate meal, just porridge, bread and margarine and a cup of weak tea. And since the porridge was cooked and the kitchen staff already at table, no one objected when Patty helped herself to a bowl of it and sat down.

‘You in a hurry, queen?’ Mrs Cooper, the cook, raised grey eyebrows. ‘You gals work hard enough wi’out startin’ an hour early.’

Patty shovelled the last spoonful of porridge into her mouth, then reached for a slice of bread and margarine whilst Cook poured her a cup of tea. ‘It’s my day off,’ she said. ‘I’m going round to see me pal, Laura, first, then I’ve got an appointment I must keep. After that, I might go to the cinema.
The Ten Commandments
is showing at the Gaiety; they say it’s the biggest thing ever to hit the screen, with masses of Hollywood stars in it.’

Cook nodded. ‘Aye, you’re right there. But surely a pretty young gal like you can find some feller willing – nay eager – to buy you a cinema ticket and hold your hand in the frightening bits? When I were your age, I never paid for anything; me young men wouldn’t let me.’

Patty laughed, feeling warmth creep into her cheeks. ‘Plenty of time for that,’ she said airily. ‘I’m only sixteen after all.’ She finished her food, drained the tea in her mug and stood up. ‘I’m off now, Mrs Cooper,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I might be in for supper or I might not.’

Once out of the kitchen, she made her way to the downstairs cloakroom to fetch her outdoor things. It was a cold morning, though the sun was shining palely from a sky now blue, now cloudy. Patty hurried along the familiar streets, excitement beginning to mount once more. She had told Mrs Cooper she meant to see Laura but she knew there would be little point in such a visit. Her friend was working in a grocery shop on the Scotland Road, though she still intended to become a nurse one day. Later on, I’ll go into her shop and buy some broken biscuits; then, if Toby doesn’t turn up, I can take them round to Mrs Reilly. No doubt she’ll ask me in for a cuppa, then when Laura comes home we can go to the flicks together, Patty planned, threading her way through the streets which were just beginning to get crowded with Thursday morning shoppers. Friday was usually payday so on a Thursday folk were hunting for bargains.

Patty spent a pleasant morning despite the fact that as noon approached she grew more nervous. Suppose he didn’t come? Suppose he did and she did not recognise him? Suppose he did not recognise her and simply walked straight past her and out of the station, ignoring her cries of ‘Toby, it’s me!’ These were all scenarios which Patty had already experienced in dreams. At the time, she had acknowledged that they were dreams, anxiety dreams in fact, but now, it seemed to her, there was a distinct possibility that they might come true. Even worse, suppose he found he did not like the grownup Patty, nor she him? She knew he must have had an exciting time in the five years since they had last met, knew her own life to be dull by comparison. But, she told herself, this was not a bad thing. No doubt he could tell fascinating stories of his life on the … the … gaff, did he call it? And she knew that once she got over her initial shyness, she could tell some amusing stories about life in hospital. Of course it wouldn’t compare with the experience of a traveller, who probably knew Britain and the Continent as well as she knew Liverpool, but to Toby it would be something different, something novel. Besides, she remembered him as a kind boy and was sure he would not let her see he found her boring, even if he did.

By half past eleven, Patty was sitting on a bench on one side of Lime Street station, watching the clock like a hawk. It was tempting to remain there, not committing herself, not obviously waiting for anyone, but Patty knew that when the clock struck noon she would be standing beneath it. It would be tragic if he, too, hovered well back, watched the clock, saw no one waiting, and left. Shyness was all very well but it would be downright silly to risk losing her one chance of meeting up with Toby.

Accordingly, at five minutes to twelve, she took up her station beneath the clock, trying to banish ridiculous fears such as the one that he might turn up with a wife and six kids in tow. Suppose he did? They had never been more than friends, never even exchanged letters which would, she supposed, have been possible had he wanted to stay in touch with her. True, he had had no permanent address to which she might write but he could have sent a note to Durrant House. He had not done so, but then she had not tried to contact him either, difficult though it might have been.

She was beginning to wonder why she had not when the clock over her head began to strike twelve and Patty’s heart skipped several beats. She glanced around the crowded concourse but could see no one who resembled the young Toby. Despite the five-year gap, she remembered every detail: the soft toffee-coloured hair, the bright eyes and quirky smile. Even at fourteen, he had been a good six inches taller than herself.

But I’ve grown, Patty reminded herself. Not six inches though … and he will have grown as well. Fellers don’t just stand still between fourteen and nineteen; their shoulders get broader and they lose that gangly look. We
did
say twelve noon, didn’t we? But I mustn’t start to worry because I know with all my heart that we agreed on twelve noon. The clock stood at ten minutes past twelve but if Toby were depending on public transport to get here, he might well be a good deal later than ten minutes. Sighing, Patty settled down to wait.

She waited the whole afternoon. People pushed past her; other people came and joined her beneath the clock for longer or shorter periods; young men rushed up to young women, talked animatedly for a few moments and then left, arms entwined. Young women approached young men, apologised for being late, complained about the train services or the buses and trams, linked arms and disappeared. After a couple of hours, Patty told herself she was being an idiot and went and sat on a bench, though her eyes were still fixed on the patch of paving beneath the clock. Every now and again, a tall young man would saunter across the concourse, making Patty’s heart beat even faster. But it was always a false alarm; the young man would be greeting a friend or going across to buy a newspaper to read on his journey home, or simply waiting for someone; someone who was not Patty. She told herself fifty times that he must still be in France, that it was impossible for him to reach her, that he would never deliberately let her down.

At half past five, she went to the refreshment room and bought a ham sandwich and a cup of tea, telling herself that her vigil was ended. She would go back to Laura’s house and see whether her friend would like to go to the cinema.

Laura was full of sympathy when Patty told her what had happened but bade her friend cheer up and enjoy the film. ‘As you say, he’s probably in France or somewhere else abroad and couldn’t get back,’ she said tactfully. ‘Didn’t you make no other arrangement, queen? You should have said that if 1923 didn’t come off you’d be under the clock a year later, and a year after that if you felt so inclined. That way you could still meet up again eventually.’

‘Well, we did,’ Patty admitted. ‘You see, his life is so uncertain, being with the fair and that. So I said I’d come to Lime Street station around noon every fifteenth of November – and I shall,’ she added, with a touch of defiance. ‘He means a lot to me, does Toby.’

‘Oh well, if you’ve agreed to try again each year, then it’s not too bad,’ Laura said cheerfully. ‘Tell you what, Patty, real friends always do meet up again because they like the same sort of things. Mind, there’s plenty more fish in the sea, so you don’t want to be puttin’ all your eggs in one basket,’ she ended, rather obscurely. ‘We’re old enough to go to dances and try to get a feller each. What say we do that on your next evening off?’

Patty laughed but shook her head. ‘The trouble is, I’m only comfortable with fellers I know well, like Toby,’ she confided. ‘When I’m with strangers I can’t help thinking of Selina.’

‘You’ve got to forget Selina if you’re ever going to have a normal life,’ Laura said bluntly. ‘Selina were a grand girl but she never meant to put you off fellers – decent fellers – for ever. Why, if she knew that what she said to you was turning you into a – a recluse, then it would just about break her heart. You come dancing with me on Saturday night, queen. Promise?’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Patty said guardedly. ‘Now let’s go along to the Gaiety and see this perishin’ film everyone’s talking about.’

‘Toby! Are you comin’ in for your breakfast or are you goin’ to spend all day under that bleedin’ traction engine?’

Trixie Flanagan’s voice was shrill but the words were by no means unwelcome to Toby, lying beneath the main shaft of the Little Giant, his oil can at the ready. Today was moving day and it was one of his many jobs to make sure that the traction engines which pulled the fairground equipment were in first rate order. However, he had been working on this one since day dawned and thought that it was now roadworthy, so he wriggled out on to the cold wet grass and grinned cheerfully at Trixie. She was a good-natured, blowzy girl who ran the shooting gallery and was the Riding Master’s second wife. Following the death of his first wife shortly after Toby had joined the fair, Mr Flanagan had lived with his surviving son, Ted, in the big, comfortable travelling wagon and had been glad enough to let Toby occupy one of the spare bunks. The men had got on pretty well, taking it in turns to cook and clean, but when Mr Flanagan had begun to court Trixie, daughter of Fred Ellington, who owned the shooting gallery, their lives had changed dramatically. Even before they married, Trixie had taken over the catering and fed both families, but once they wed and Trixie moved into the Flanagan van, Ted and Toby had to move out. It had been summer and Mr Flanagan had bought the boys a small tent, which was quite satisfactory while the weather remained clement. The previous winter, however, had not been easy. Both young men had taken to shooting into the Flanagan caravan as soon as they awoke, in order to dress in comparative warmth, and though Mr Flanagan had tolerated this Trixie had made it plain that she considered it an imposition. ‘Here’s me, tryin’ to dress decent and prepare breakfast while there’s two fellers in all their dirt sittin’ an’ starin’ at me,’ she had exclaimed aggrievedly. ‘They ain’t a couple o’ kids, Mr Flanagan, an’ they shouldn’t be treated as such. When we’re in winter quarters, they should go into lodgings, like the Chaps do.’