The Bad Penny (29 page)

Toby knew that the manual labourers who were so essential to the fair, both for the running of it and for the taking down and putting up of the larger rides, were known as ‘the Chaps’. He thought himself a cut above the Chaps, but saw Trixie Flanagan’s point and agreed to go into lodgings when winter quarters were reached.

Now, however, he strolled over to the living wagon, put his oil can down on the step and rinsed his hands and face in the bucket of water which Trixie always put out for that purpose. Toby knew it had been hot water earlier, but now it was cold and scummy and did very little to get rid of the grease on his hands and face. Most of the dirt, he saw ruefully, had come off on the torn piece of towelling with which he rubbed himself dry, but it could not be helped.

‘How many eggs can you eat, Toby?’ Trixie asked, breaking some into the big black frying pan balanced precariously on her tiny cooking stove. For most of the year, she cooked outside and the men squatted round the fire, planning the day ahead over breakfast, or discussing how it went at supper time. Today, however, because of the rain which had fallen constantly since dawn, the meal was being prepared in the van, though only family – Toby counted as family – actually ate indoors. Those Chaps who stayed with the fair and were regularly fed by Trixie came to the door and were given bacon and egg sandwiched between great uneven chunks of bread, and a tin mug of steaming hot tea. They would take their food to the nearest shelter – probably the galloper since it had still not been taken apart – and would return the tin mugs later, when they recommenced work.

Toby and Ted finished their meal simultaneously, thanked Trixie, and made for the outdoors once more. The rain still fell steadily from a grey and lowering sky and the pair exchanged rueful looks as they made for the galloper, which the Chaps were already dismantling with all their usual and casual efficiency.

‘Goin’ to be a bugger of a day to move,’ Ted commented as the two of them reached the galloper and began to help the Chaps to heave the segments of the ride on to the huge trailer awaiting them. ‘I’d rather pull down in almost any weather other than continual rain – the gaff’s like a marsh already.’

‘Snow’s worse,’ Toby pointed out, taking the tail end of one of the dappled, scarlet-caparisoned wooden horses as Ted lifted the head. ‘I’m driving the engine pulling this load, aren’t I? I want to get a move on because it isn’t safe driving after dark in weather like this and we’ll be a bit later starting than your dad had planned.’

‘Yes, you’re drivin’ this one,’ Ted confirmed. ‘I’m takin’ the swing boats. We’ve a good deal of ground to cover, though, if we’re to be in by nightfall.’ He took his cap off to shake the rain from the brim, then replaced it firmly on his oiled black hair. ‘But at least, since we’re goin’ into winter quarters, we won’t have to put up as well as pull down. That’s one comfort.’

Toby agreed and the two young men began to work even faster, though both were careful to make sure that neither the horses nor the rounding boards, with the brilliant paintwork which had taken Mr Flanagan weeks to perfect, got chipped or scratched as they loaded. It was noon before Toby was able to climb into the cab of the Little Giant, which he did with some trepidation since, by now, the churned-up ground could have bogged down both the traction engine and its heavy trailer. The Chaps, however, were used to this and were already laying a corduroy road, with planks kept for the purpose. Toby lined up his engine, the Chaps got behind the entire contraption and after a good deal of swearing, pushing and hoarsely yelled advice the Little Giant and its unwieldy trailer lurched across the planks and on to the tarmacked road.

It was a long and exhausting journey and well after dark by the time Toby wearily turned the Little Giant into their winter quarters – a large area outside King’s Lynn which had once been meadow, but Mr Flanagan had tarmacked so that the fair might safely overwinter there without fear of becoming bogged down and unable to ‘up sticks’ when spring arrived. Originally, he had bought the land from a poor farmer, and had tarmacked it bit by bit until now a good half of the meadow was hard standing. Since their own fair did not need so much space, Mr Flanagan rented out to others, and there was always a good mix of people overwintering there. It made life more interesting for all of them, and on dry winter evenings Mr Flanagan would organise the lighting of a really big fire and stand sacks of potatoes and strings of sausages close by, so that everyone prepared to pay a few pence could bake a potato in the embers and impale sausages on a stick and thrust them as near to the flames as they dared. Then the talk would begin, with old and young gradually beginning to tell the tales of past seasons. Men would hand beer bottles around, women would brew tea and the youngsters would drink anything they were given. Very soon, a grand atmosphere of camaraderie would come into being so that, for the entire winter season, each man, woman and child living in this strange, closed-down tober would think of himself as part of an enormous family and act accordingly.

On this first night, however, traction engines, horses and even some motor vehicles were still streaming on to the site, and everyone was soaked to the skin and far too tired to think of anything but a hasty meal and then bed. Toby and Ted ate fish and chips, downed pints of hot, sweet tea and filled up remaining corners with rounds of bread and jam. Then Mr Flanagan handed Toby a dirty piece of paper with an address written on it and told them that their landlady was a Mrs Griffin and that he had paid a month’s rent in advance. ‘She’ll give you breakfast but you’ll come back here for your dinner an’ supper,’ he told them. ‘I’ve paid for a cooked breakfast, so mind you’re up in time for it; she says between seven an’ eight. You’ll mebbe want to sleep in tomorrer so I telled her that if she were gone out she were to leave you the makin’s in her kitchen and you’d do for yourselves, but other days you’ll have to be up betimes.’

‘Did you say Roundhey Road?’ Ted asked presently, as the two boys made their way through the dark, wet town. ‘If so, we go down here; what number was it?’

Toby told him and presently they turned into the tiny front yard of a grey stone terraced house where a light burned behind red curtains. Mrs Griffin answered their knock and ushered them inside, talking amiably as she did so about the terrible weather and the fact that she had not got her washing dried outside for the past week. ‘Your dad told me you’d be fed at Spalding’s Meadow,’ she said cheerfully, ‘but I thought a mug of cocoa and a big slice of my rich fruit cake wouldn’t come amiss. If you wouldn’t mind signing the register while you eat, then I can show you to your room. It’s a quiet neighbourhood so you should get a good night’s sleep.’

Both Ted and Toby were worn out but the thought of hot cocoa and cake was a welcome one, so they followed their landlady into the kitchen and sat down to eat and drink. Toby said cheerfully that he would sign them both in and flashed a quick grin at Ted. Not that it would have mattered, he saw, when he opened the page, since the two lodgers who had already signed in that day had both made their mark – a wobbly cross – beside their roughly printed names.

He began to fill in the spaces on the page, then turned to Mrs Griffin. ‘What’s the date, missus?’ he enquired.

‘It don’t matter about the date,’ Mrs Griffin said eagerly, pointing to a couple of lines above that upon which Toby was writing. ‘It’s there already, see? The fifteenth of November. So all you need is your names and the name of the fair.’

Toby thanked her and began to eat his cake but though he chatted easily enough, he kept getting a nasty sort of feeling that he had done something wrong, or perhaps not done something right would have been a better way of expressing it. As he and Ted made their way up to bed and examined their room – small, but neat and fiercely clean – he was wondering why he should feel that 15 November ought to have some significance for him. His mam’s birthday? His dad’s? He was pretty sure it wasn’t Mr Flanagan’s, because Trixie would have commented, and he knew full well it wasn’t Ted’s or his own.

‘I reckon we’ve fallen on our feet, old feller,’ Ted said, as he climbed into the narrow bed, closest to the window. ‘I heered some of the chaps talkin’ an’ they say landladies start as they mean to go on. If they’re stingy old bitches what grudges you every mouthful you eat and turn off the lamp before you’re halfway up the stairs, to save fuel, and keep a fire no bigger’n a cricket ball burning in the grate, then they’ll start by chargin’ you extra for a cup of cocoa and hidin’ away the coal so you can’t make up the fire. But Mrs Griffin didn’t need to give us that bit of cake, nor that cocoa, so I reckon me dad’s done us proud.’

‘Looks like it,’ Toby agreed drowsily. ‘Ted, is there anything special about today? The fifteenth of November, I mean.’

‘Well, it were Victory Day after the war, but I don’t see why that should mean anything special five years later,’ Ted said, after some moments. ‘Night, Toby.’

‘G’night, Ted,’ Toby said dismally. So that was it! He had promised the little blonde from Durrant House that he would meet her on 15 November 1923, at noon. Now that Ted had reminded him, the whole thing had come back to him. The fireworks, the excitement and Patty’s pale little face as they parted … yes, Patty, that was her name.

He told himself that he had intended to go, had not meant to let her down, but in his heart he knew that life was so full, so interesting, that he had simply never given the date another thought and had almost forgotten Patty’s very existence.

Settling down, he wondered how long she had waited, wondered whether there was any way of getting in touch with her. Over the next few months he would have a certain amount of spare time. Today had been moving day anyway, he told himself; it would have been quite impossible for him to have kept the rendezvous, even had he remembered. Mr Flanagan relied on him both to service the machines and to drive the Little Giant and Toby did not mean to let him down. The secret conviction that, had he explained, Mr Flanagan would have found someone else to drive the traction engine would not be entirely denied, but Toby did his best. Next year, he told himself, I really will go to Liverpool and stand under that clock at Lime Street, just like we planned. She’ll probably turn up and then I can explain why I couldn’t make it today.

Presently he fell asleep, still trying to justify himself. But though he might satisfy his conscious mind, his sub-conscious was far harder to convince. In his dreams, a small girl with two flaxen plaits and a lost expression on her face waited under the clock and wept for his absence. And in his dreams, Toby wept too.

‘Mammy! Merry don’t want porridge, Merry want milk.’

Patty stared down at the small, defiant figure sitting up to the table with the untouched bowl of porridge in front of her. Maggie, so much wiser than she, had warned her that this would happen so she should have been prepared, Patty told herself. Merry’s two and a half now and Maggie said she was beginning to feel her feet and exert her will, only she’s not tried it on me before. It’s good that she wants to drink milk but I’m sure I shouldn’t simply give way. Oh, goodness, I wish Maggie were here!

It was a Sunday morning and Maggie had seized the opportunity of Patty’s being at home to take her father’s money round to Stanton’s Court. She meant to spend the day with the Mullins, giving Fanny a hand and playing with the younger children – for Laurie and Gus had been retrieved from the Father Berry Home, and with them had come their older sister, happy to be back with her siblings once more. ‘They’re me flesh an’ blood, an’ I love ’em all, even me dad, ‘cept when he’s drunk,’ Maggie had explained, rather bashfully. ‘I don’t ever want to live there again and I don’t suppose I ever shall, but I don’t want to lose touch either.’

Maggie made a point of spending time with her family at least once a month, but she never took Merry on such expeditions and usually Patty very much enjoyed being with the little girl, but today was clearly going to be different. Merrell was watching her, the look in her young eyes almost calculating, her soft brows drawn into a frown. Seeing Patty hesitate, she seized her porridge bowl in both hands and pushed it away from her. ‘No porridge,’ she said decisively. ‘Merry want bre’m butty an’ milk.’

Patty sighed and sat down opposite the child. It was another beautifully hot, sunny day and perhaps porridge had not been such a good idea, she reasoned. And Merrell was now suggesting bread and butter, which would be just as good for her as the porridge if she had a mug of milk with it. She would, however, doubtless see the bread and butter and milk as a victory and Maggie had impressed upon Patty that it was not a good idea to let a wilful toddler feel she had your measure, so Patty whisked the porridge bowl away and took it over to the sink, saying over her shoulder as she did so: ‘Perhaps it is rather a hot day for porridge; you shall have cornflakes instead.’ She glanced back. Merrell’s mouth was forming into what looked like a large, square hole, her hands were balled into fists and she was screwing up her angelic blue eyes and taking a deep breath. Presently, Patty guessed, her baby’s face would begin to go scarlet … oh, God, suppose she has a fit out of sheer fury, Patty thought wildly. It isn’t unreasonable to ask for bread and butter, after all. Only she usually loves cornflakes … why oh why do children have to start to try to prove themselves when they’re little more than babies?

Behind her, she was conscious of the small dictator’s eyes fixed on her as she went to the cupboard, removed the box of cornflakes and poured some of them into a bowl. She added milk and carried it across to the table and, when Merrell made a spirited attempt to knock it out of her hands, actually gave her small daughter a reproving tap. ‘Less of that, young lady, unless you want a spanking,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘I agree that today the weather is too hot for porridge, but cornflakes should be just right. Now eat up your nice breakfast and then you and I will call for Mrs Clarke and Christopher and go to the park.’

‘Shan’t,’ Merrell said, though without much conviction. She picked up her spoon and began very, very slowly to scoop up some milk and a couple of cornflakes. ‘Don’t wanna go to the park, want to play in the road.’

Patty laughed. Playing in the road was a forbidden pastime and well Merrell knew it. Clearly, she had decided this morning that she would be as awkward as she knew how but Patty, having won the first battle, thought she could probably cope with the rest. Accordingly, she picked up her own plate of bread and jam and her cup of tea and sat down at the table, beginning to eat her breakfast as she planned the day ahead.

Ellen had already left the house. She had not said so to Patty, but Patty imagined that her friend was probably having a day out with Darky Knight. At any rate, she had said she would not be back until late and that they were not to wait the evening meal for her. Finishing her breakfast and seeing, with considerable satisfaction, that Merrell was ploughing happily through the cornflakes, Patty reflected, a trifle wistfully, that it would have been lovely to go off for the day. In fact, there was nothing to stop her. She and Merrell could take themselves off to New Brighton and have a day by the sea. It wouldn’t cost much and they could have their dinner out, even if it was only a cup of tea and a bag of chips.

She prepared a bag of necessities for a day on the beach and got Merrell into her outdoor things.

‘Where’s we goin’, Mammy?’

Patty smiled and hoisted the child on to her hip, then picked up her canvas bag and slung it over one shoulder. ‘We’re going to New Brighton, which is by the sea, queen,’ she informed her small companion. ‘We can’t take the pram but you’re a big girl now. If you walk for a bit, and then I carry you for a bit, we should get along just fine.’

‘But you said the park. I wanna go to the park,’ Merrell pointed out. ‘Mammy, you said the park, you did, you did!’

‘I know, but I thought you’d rather go to the seaside. Do you remember what fun you had on the beach, making sand pies and digging big holes which filled up with water?’ Patty asked. ‘New Brighton’s the seaside, queen, and we’ll have our dinners out.’

‘Seaside! Seaside!’ Merrell squeaked, reaching up and hooking an arm around Patty’s neck. ‘Merry loves the seaside – Merry loves
you
, Mammy!’

They reached New Brighton and found, to their joy, that the tide was out, leaving great stretches of golden sand baking beneath the June sun on which a child could play for hours. They settled themselves at the top of the beach and Patty produced the old mug and the tablespoon and watched with dreamy pleasure as Merrell fell upon these objects and began to make sand pies, crowing with delight as their number grew. At lunchtime, Patty made her way to a fish and chip shop and bought chips for herself and Merrell and a bottle of fizzy drink, so virulently red that she hesitated at first to let Merrell drink it. However, it tasted all right so she and Merrell shared it, sitting on the sand and revelling in the hot sunshine. Having finished their meal, they were about to begin making more sand pies when Merrell spotted the ice cream van. Patty was reclining on the sand, full of chips and fizzy cherryade, and was not, at first, much inclined to move. But Merrell’s ecstatic squeaks made her sit up and take notice and presently she fished some coppers out of the bottom of her bag and invited Merrell to accompany her back to the prom. ‘Ess, ess,’ Merrell agreed at once, jumping to her feet. ‘I see Knighty!’

‘That’s an odd thing to call ice cream,’ Patty said, amused, as the two of them made their way across the sand. When they reached the van, however, she realised her mistake. Just ahead of them in the short queue was Darky Knight!

Patty would have ignored him, would have pretended she had not even seen him, would, in fact, have walked away and gone without her ice cream. But Merrell was not of the same mind. She wrenched her hand out of Patty’s and rushed over to Darky, jerking at his jacket and addressing him in a stream of what sounded like complete nonsense, though he clearly understood. ‘Well, fancy seeing you, young lady,’ he said, his voice friendlier than Patty had ever heard it. ‘Just where did you spring from, Merry? I saw Maggie go off early this morning, but you weren’t with her, so …’ He turned and saw Patty and immediately the gentle look left his face, to be replaced by a much more guarded expression. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Nurse Peel, I didn’t see you there. Having a day out, are you?’

‘That’s right,’ Patty said, aware that her own voice had echoed the formality of his. ‘Maggie goes back to her own family on a Sunday, if I’m around to look after Merry. Is – is Ellen around somewhere?’

Darky looked genuinely astonished. ‘How should I know?’ he said. ‘Did she mean to join you here, then?’

Patty felt extremely embarrassed. Clearly, she had misread Ellen’s intention of having a day out. Wherever her friend had gone, it had not been with Darky Knight. Patty supposed that she had simply assumed the two were still going out together, but now it appeared that, on this occasion at any rate, they had gone their separate ways. Hastily, she racked her brains for a reply which would not give too much away. ‘She said she might,’ she said cautiously. ‘That is, if she got back in time. She’s gone to visit friends,’ she finished, crossing her fingers behind her back.

The queue was shuffling forward and Darky raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll buy your ices,’ he said gruffly. ‘No need for all of us to queue.’

Patty would have liked to say, frostily, that she would buy her own ices, thank you, but Darky had already turned away and she heard him asking the young man in the van for two large cones and one small one. Besides, she reminded herself, Merrell was clearly fond of Mr Knight and she did not want to offend him. His mother was more than a good friend; she was an essential part of life at No. 24. Patty did not think that Mrs Knight would cease to befriend them even if the situation between Patty and Darky worsened, but she could not afford to take chances. So, when Darky handed her an ice and bent down to give Merrell hers, she accepted as graciously as she could, though she produced her money at once and tried to repay him.

‘It’s all right,’ Darky said shortly. ‘I think I can afford to buy a couple of ices now and then.’

Patty began to bristle, then relaxed and gave him a grin. ‘Thank you very much, Mr Knight, but why did you only buy three ices? Isn’t your mother with you? If she is, you must let me buy a teapot.’

‘A teapot?’ Darky said, looking confused. ‘Why on earth would me mam want a teapot?’

Patty laughed. ‘It’s clear you don’t come to New Brighton often,’ she said gaily. ‘There’s an old woman on the prom who hires you a teapot, full of tea and hot water of course, which you can take down to the sands to make yourself a cuppa. You have to bring your own mugs, but I’ve got a couple stowed away in my canvas bag which we could have used. Still, if your mother
isn’t
with you …’

Darky took a deep breath, then turned back to the prom. ‘I’m by meself now, though I were with a party of fellers from Levers earlier,’ he said. ‘But we went to a pub and one or two of ’em had a drop too much. They got quarrelsome and above themselves, so I left. And now you mention it, I wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea.’

Patty was astonished, but did her best not to show it, reflecting that perhaps Darky realised the advantages of being friendly, as she did herself. ‘Well, we’d best eat our ices first,’ she said, trying to talk naturally and easily. ‘Let’s go and sit by the Perch Rock while we eat them, then Merrell can paddle in the pool.’

Darky agreed, and very soon all three of them were enjoying their ices. When these were finished they got down and Darky rolled up his trouser legs, removed his boots and socks, and proceeded to act, Patty saw with surprise, just like a young boy out on a day trip. He splashed into the water with Merrell, fished out shells which he put into her sand pie mug, dug channels between the pools in order to drain one and fill up the other, borrowed the tablespoon to show Merrell how one could tunnel under a sand castle, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Patty held aloof for a little but Merrell’s pleasure was so infectious that very soon she found herself joining in. There was a moment when all Merrell’s newfound independence came flooding back and she began to be difficult. It was over the wearing or not wearing of a pink and white frilly sun bonnet, which Patty thought essential in the afternoon glare and Merrell thought a wretched nuisance, but Patty prevailed when Darky joined in the argument, telling Merrell that nothing was more painful than sunburn. Merrell, who had burnt herself only the day before by seizing the toasting fork as it lay on the hearth, grew thoughtful and actually came to Patty to have the sun bonnet tied on more securely when it started to slip.

Patty thought that Darky had forgotten all about the teapot but presently he got to his feet and began to dust the sand off the knees of his trousers. ‘I’m parched,’ he said, speaking to no one in particular. ‘Wharrabout that teapot, then? If you tell me where to go, I’ll fetch it while you keep an eye on young Merry here.’

‘No, it’s all right, I’ll fetch it,’ Patty said quickly. ‘I’m not nearly as wet and sandy as you two.’ She hesitated, then added: ‘I’ll get a bag of buns at the same time, shall I? It seems a long time since Merry and I had our chips and cherryade.’

Darky’s eyebrows rose. ‘Didn’t you have your dinners out, in a café or a tearoom?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Me and the fellers went to Reece’s and had a grand meal, only they aren’t licensed and the fellers wanted a pint, so we went along to the pub on the pier, which is where the trouble started and I lit out.’ For the first time he looked straight at Patty; she could read mockery in his expression but there was something more, something to which she could not put a name. She was still puzzling over it when he said, in a rallying tone: ‘Very well, Nurse, you get the teapot and the buns, but later on I’m takin’ all of us back to Reece’s for a slap-up supper. I don’t mean poor Merrell to go home hungry after her day out.’

Patty could only stare at him speechlessly. Darky’s companions, it now appeared, were not the only ones to have had a skinful. To be sure, Darky had behaved as though stone cold sober whilst he played with Merrell, splashing in and out of the water and making sand castles, but now it was clear he must have been inebriated. Why else should he suggest ‘a slap-up supper’ which would mean he would be spending time in Patty’s company when he could easily have excused himself and gone off to find his friends?