The Girl From Seaforth Sands (20 page)

‘Still, he’ll tell Mr Logan you’re goin’ to be late,’ Ruth observed when Amy told her who had been pulling faces at them from the tram. ‘So you needn’t be afraid they’ll worry or owt like that.’

The roadway being temporarily clear, the two girls hurried across straight into Skelhorne Street. It was wide and well lit, but when she glanced to her right, for the bulk of Lime Street Station lay to the left, Amy saw that the streets leading off were very much narrower and far darker. ‘Let me see, Mr Roper said the court was off Hilbre Street. He said number 8 Kingfisher. Can you see it, Ruthie?’

‘Dunno, but this here’s Hilbre Street,’ Ruth said, turning briskly to her right. ‘Better try the first entry we come to.’

The courts off Hilbre Street proved to be as dark and confusing as Amy had imagined. At first the two girls wandered up and down the central pavement between the tiny terraced houses, hoping to meet someone who could tell them where Mrs Beckham lived. Because of the inclement weather, however, doors were firmly closed and finally they were forced to begin to leave the courts and search for a friendly shopkeeper who might have the information they required.

The first small general store they readied was run by a weary, grey-haired old woman in a
draggly purple skirt, with a grey shawl closely wrapped round her meagre frame. She did not know Mrs Beckham but suggested they try the fried fish shop a short distance away. ‘They know everyone, the Dempseys, and if they don’t the customers will,’ she assured them, going to the doorway to point them in the right direction. ‘Folk in the courts all know one another, even if they’d slit each other’s throats for a farden,’ she added with a toothless grin.

This was not encouraging but the two girls took her advice. ‘We’re only
looking
, ’ Amy pointed out as they made their way through the fast-falling flakes. ‘We can say we’ve got to talk it over with our folks and if we don’t like it, we just won’t go back ever again.’

Ruth agreed that this seemed sensible and when they reached the fried fish shop the atmosphere was so friendly – and the smell of frying fish and potatoes so tempting – that it was easy to forget the old woman’s embittered words. What was more, at the mere mention of the name Beckham the man behind the counter paused in his task of heaping a generous scoop of golden chipped potatoes into a square of newspaper to say cheerfully, ‘Oh, yes. I know her well, queen. She lives at number 8 Kingfisher Court, though I dare say you won’t be able to see the street names at this time o’ night. It’s the second entry along.’ He finished serving the customer before them and raised grizzled eyebrows. ‘Want two penn’orth o’ chips to keep out the cold, girls? I dare say you can share a paper between you.’

Feeling that the information was worth at least tuppence, Amy and Ruth handed over a penny each and leant on the end of the counter, eating their chips and watching Mr Dempsey’s deft movements, enjoying their impromptu meals. Then they set off once more, tracking down their destination without more ado.

‘Though this place hasn’t seen a kingfisher for a hundred years, if then,’ Amy grumbled, as the two girls followed Mr Dempsey’s instructions. ‘Blackbird would be a deal more appropriate, wouldn’t you say?’

‘You may be right, but kingfisher is more cheerful,’ Ruth said, as they turned into the dark and grimy court, lit by one flickering gaslight. ‘Lordie, ain’t it dark, though? I can’t see a number on a single bleedin’ door.’

Once they had established that this was where Mrs Beckham lived by the simple expedient of knocking loudly on the nearest door until their knock was answered, it was the work of a moment to walk another four doors along and knock there.

Mrs Beckham, though she had not expected visitors in such appalling weather, asked them inside and, clucking over their wet coats and shoes, sat them down in her kitchen before a cheerful fire. ‘I’ve just put the kettle on for a nice cup o’ tea and I was going to toast meself a couple o’ rounds o’ bread, ’cos it’s no weather to be chasing down to the Dempseys for fried fish,’ she observed, settling herself in a creaking basketwork chair. ‘I dare say someone telled you I have a room to rent?’

Amy explained about Mr Roper. She had already decided that she liked the older woman – who, despite being in her late sixties, seemed both lively and humorous – and thought that she and Ruth could be happy in this cheerful little house.

Mrs Beckham immediately got to her feet and gestured to them to follow her. ‘I’m not sayin’ as
it’s a palace,’ she said over her shoulder, as the three of them mounted the narrow stairway. ‘But it’s newly decorated every spring and nicely furnished, though I do say it as shouldn’t’. She flung open one of the brown-painted doors on the small upper landing and stood back, so that the two girls could look into the room by the light of the lamp she held.

It was not a large room, and the beds were narrow and pushed back against the wall to give more space, but the walls were freshly whitewashed, the linoleum shone with polishing and the curtains, already drawn to shut out the night, were brightly patterned and cheerful. Amy saw two comfortable fireside chairs, a primus stove and a washstand with an enamelled jug and basin upon it. Both beds had matching pink and white counterpanes and the small fireplace had a narrow mantelpiece above it, on which were a couple of china figures, one a flower seller with a basket of blossoms at her feet, the other a shepherd boy with two lambs.

‘I asks ten shillin’ a week and you’ve use of me kitchen, since there ain’t much you can cook on a primus and the fireplace is turrble small,’ Mrs Beckham said. Amy was grateful that the information was unsolicited, since she would have felt shy about asking the rent of the room. She nodded and smiled, and Mrs Beckham added that she provided neither towels nor bed linen, but was happy to allow the girls to wash such items either in her kitchen or the communal wash-house in the court. ‘I’ve gorra line what stretches from my place to Mrs Haddock’s,’ she explained. ‘These houses is back to back, you see, so there’s no jigger nor no yard, worse luck. But there’s two taps at the far end of the court and two lavvies, o’ course.’ She turned to leave the room,
ushering the girls before her and closing the door. Then she went ahead of them down the stairs, lighting the way with the lamp.

In the kitchen once more, she removed their steaming coats from the wooden kitchen chair on which she had placed them and handed them to her guests. ‘You’ll want to talk this over between yourselves,’ she said briskly, ushering them through the doorway by which they had entered. ‘But I’d be obliged if you’d give me an answer in a couple o’ days. Me rooms is popular; I’ve got two nurses sharin’ the attic room already, but I don’t deny I could do with a couple more lodgers. We’re conveniently situated here,’ she went on, ‘only a step away from St John’s Market, so food’s cheap and it’s not far to go for your grub. Dearie me, I never asked your names, but plenty of time for that if you decide to take me room.’ She flung open the front door, gave them a bright smile and exclaimed that it was a devilish cold night, so she’d not linger in the doorway. Almost before the words were out of her mouth, the door slammed briskly shut, leaving Amy and Ruth with only the slight illumination of the solitary gas lamp to guide their footsteps back to the road.

‘Wasn’t it a dear little room, though?’ Amy said wistfully, as they trudged across the snow-covered paving. ‘But five bob a week each – we wouldn’t have enough money to buy food with, let alone clothes and that.’

‘I might,’ Ruth said thoughtfully. ‘I get tips when I’m waitin’ on the customers and the other girls say they mount up. But of course, the job ain’t permanent, I might be out of work in a couple o’ weeks. You . . . you really don’t
think we could afford it if we got ourselves a second job, like? I’d be willin’ to try . . . and we’d save our tram fares.’

But delightful though the thought of being independent was, both girls knew that taking the room as things stood was impossible, so it was rather sadly that they turned their steps towards the main road.

‘Tell you what, though, I’m ever so glad we saw the room,’ Ruth said, as they paused in the court entrance. ‘I never knew what I wanted before. Now I do. I want to live in a little house like that, with a dear little room two pals can share.’

Amy, agreeing, felt exactly the same. At least it was a goal, something to aim for. Escape from Suzie’s despotic rule would have been good, but to share a room like that with her best friend would have been even better. So it was in reasonably high spirits, despite their disappointment over the rent, that the two set off on their journey back to Seaforth.

The girls had gone on their court hunt for Mrs Beckham at seven o’clock, but it was past nine before they had finally left Mrs Beckham’s little house and as soon as they re-entered the roadway Amy realised that, far from easing, the storm raged harder than ever. She stopped short as they left the comparative shelter of the narrow little road and gazed at Ruth in blank dismay. ‘We’ll never get a tram in this,’ she said, pulling down her muffling scarf so that Ruth could hear her words. ‘Shall we make our way to the Pier Head and catch the overhead railway? ’Cos I don’t fancy trying to walk in this weather.’

‘Ye-es, only I ain’t too sure which way we should be headin’,’ Ruth said, glancing at the confusion of whirling flakes which had already effectively hidden such aids as street names. ‘Is it far, Amy?’

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Amy answered cheerfully. She did not intend to admit that, what with the confusion of searching the courts and the way the snow changed the aspect of the little streets, she had no more idea than Ruth in which direction the Pier Head lay. But surely when they reached the more frequented streets there would be somebody from whom they could get directions? So she pulled her scarf over her mouth once more, linked arms with her friend and set off in what she devoutly hoped was the right direction. She told herself that, no matter how ferocious the weather, the docker’s umbrella would continue to function, but a nagging doubt reminded her that she did not know the time of the last train, so they had better not linger. But of course Ruthie, who had been away from Liverpool for so long and had never worked here before, would not think of such a thing. Therefore it’s up to me, Amy told herself stoutly, head bent against the gale, to think for both of us. So it was with the resolution to keep Ruthie cheerful and unworried that she set off into the storm.

Bill grew anxious as the evening progressed, and Amy did not put in an appearance, and suggested to his wife that it might be as well if he walked up to the terminus to see whether the trains were still running. ‘Amy’s terrible late,’ he said bluntly. ‘It ain’t like her, Suzie. I can’t see Mrs O’Leary keepin’ her till after dark on a night like this, but I suppose somethin’ must have come up to detain her. If she catches the tram it’s a fair walk against the wind, she’ll do better with my arm to hang on to.’

‘You spoil that kid, Bill,’ Suzie grumbled. She was sitting in front of the fire, roasting chestnuts and whenever a nut blackened she would hook it out with the end of the toasting fork, shed the husk and, as soon as it was cool enough, would crunch the delicacy down. ‘What’s a bit of a walk through the snow when you’re her age? It’s a lark, that’s wharrit is, but you’ll go off and leave me alone wi’ young Becky, just so’s your precious Amy gets give an arm.’

Bill, halfway across the kitchen to fetch his coat, stopped and glanced uneasily across at his wife. He did not understand her attitude. She often accused him of favouring Amy, yet the girl worked hard, both in her job for Mrs O’Leary and at home. On the other hand, Suzie was very good with the baby. As he sighed and scratched his head over the problem of his daughter’s lateness, he wondered, not for the first time, why on earth would his wife resent the kid? Making up his mind, he went over to the door and took his coat off the hook. No matter what Suzie thought, or why, he knew his duty and that meant a walk in the snow on such a night. ‘There’s a worse storm ragin’ out there than there’s been for many a year,’ he said, slipping into the coat. ‘She’s mebbe young and healthy, as you say, but Amy’s a skinny little thing; this wind could blow her down like a ninepin if she weren’t careful, so I’ll just walk up the road and . . .’

He was reaching for his cap and scarf when the back door opened abruptly, cutting him off in mid-sentence. Paddy entered the kitchen, looking like a snowman, with a package in his hands which he slammed down on to the table, before beginning to divest himself of his snow-laden garments. ‘It’s
bleedin’ terrible out there,’ he said breathlessly, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands to try to get the feeling back into them. ‘Where’s you goin’, Uncle Bill? I wouldn’t send a dog out on a night like this, honest to God I wouldn’t.’

‘Amy’s not in,’ Bill told him briefly, reaching for his muffler. ‘Did you catch the last tram, Paddy, or are they still runnin’ like normal?’

‘I’ve been back in Seaforth an hour or more.’ Paddy pointed to the package on the table. ‘Them’s chipped potatoes. I come home wi’ Donny Fisher and we had to queue at the fried fish shop. I dunno about the trams, but I saw Amy crossin’ Lime Street.’ His tone grew sharp with malice. ‘She were clutchin’ some fella’s arm – I reckon it were Tommy Chee – and makin’ for the backstreets, so no wonder she’s late.’

Bill stopped in the act of pulling on his thick wool gloves and stared unbelievingly at Paddy. ‘You saw her with Tommy Chee?’ he asked incredulously. ‘That can’t be right. I telled her months back that she weren’t to see no more of that young feller. She wouldn’t go agin me.’

‘I’m only tellin’ you what I saw,’ Paddy said rather belligerently. ‘Theys was all muffled up but she don’t know any fellas ’cept for my pal Tommy, what she’s been and gone and stole off of me. Still, I suppose if you want to walk up to the terminus, there’s no harm in it.’

‘Yes, there is,’ Suzie said aggressively, rising to her feet. ‘I’m tellin’ you, Bill Logan, if you go out after that spoilt brat and mek yourself ill, I shan’t be nursin’ you, ’cos you’ll have asked for it, that’s what you’ll have done. Look at Paddy there, more like a pillar of ice than a human bein’ and he’s not half
your age. Just you tek them things off and give over bein’ so foolish and I’ll mek you a nice hot cuppa. By the time you’ve got it down you, likely the gal will be back – and the young feller with her if he’s got any sense.’