The Liverpool Rose (30 page)

‘I dunno,’ Lizzie said doubtfully. She picked up her plait and began to nibble thoughtfully at the ends of her hair. ‘Didn’t she give you any sort of sign that Sid was lying, Geoff? Didn’t she look uncomfortable when he said she was a mannequin and worked in Lewis’s? Surely, if she’s an honest girl, which you seem to think, she wouldn’t have wanted to go along with his lies. I know I wouldn’t, in her shoes.’

‘The thing is, Lizzie, there was no point in Sid lying, so far as I can see,’ Geoff said, after a moment’s
thought. ‘If he and the girl were living tally, where’s the shame in that?’ He caught Lizzie’s scandalised glance and grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, it isn’t what you and I consider respectable but I’m sure Sid would think it perfectly all right, so why the lies?’

‘Why are you so interested?’ Lizzie countered. ‘You said she was very pretty, but that doesn’t mean she’s a respectable person, our Geoff. For all you know, she might walk Lime Street every Saturday night or go down to the docks and pick up foreign seamen. She could be a real bad character, just like Sid.’

She half expected Geoff to rip up at her, tell her she had a nasty suspicious mind, but instead he just grinned ruefully and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted. ‘She is pretty – beautiful, in fact – but I had the feeling she was a decent girl, a girl just like you, Liz, and what’s more, when we first met I thought I recognised her. When Sid said she worked in Lewis’s, I thought perhaps I’d seen her when I’d been into the store, but now I don’t think it was that. Oh, I dunno, I s’pose I’m making a fuss about nothing really. Only it’s a mystery, Lizzie, and I do hate unsolved mysteries.’

‘I know what you mean,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t see how I can help you. I can ask around, of course, but not knowing what the girl even looks like, I could walk past her in the street and never know it, whereas you at least have the advantage of having seen her. What do you want me to do?’

‘Asking around’s a good idea,’ he said, ‘but I dunno as I had anything definite in mind, I just wanted to see what you thought. Reggie’s fair sick of the subject, though he was keen enough at first. There aren’t many girls who look like Evie Evans, I can tell you.’

‘Describe her,’ Lizzie said, but though Geoff did his best, she still had to shake her head. The girl certainly sounded stunning but there was nothing in Geoff’s description, not even the almond-shaped eyes, which was sufficiently unusual to jog her memory. ‘No scars or tattoos, not even a third eye in the middle of her forehead,’ she said regretfully, when Geoff had finished. ‘Never mind I’ll put the word around amongst me mates and let you know if I get a nibble. Want another cup of tea?’

Geoff promptly accepted her offer and ordered two more cakes, then asked Lizzie to tell her own story. Lowering her voice, she did as he asked. When she’d finished, Geoff gave a low whistle. ‘That’s a facer and no mistake! What’ll you do, Lizzie? No point in telling him you know. From what you’ve said he isn’t the sort of feller to be shamed into good behaviour. Any hope of the woman being more – well, more easily threatened?’

Lizzie regarded her old friend with admiration. ‘Fancy you thinking of that first go off, our Geoff! But yes, that’s what Sally and I decided it would be best to do. The snag is that I’m in work daytimes. Saturdays I’m free so twice I went up Heyworth Street and into Sharpe’s Ironmongery, hoping to be able to get a word alone with her. Only she and Mr Sharpe both work in the shop and he’s pretty quick to come forward . . . anyway, both times I tried to get served by her and ended up being served by him!’

‘Hmm. The answer is to find out where she goes socially . . . oh, I suppose when she does go out it’s with your uncle, and you don’t want him to know you’ve been interfering, that’s for sure. An ugly customer, your uncle.’

‘You’re right, but that’s the beauty of tackling her
rather than him,’ Lizzie said eagerly. ‘She’s never seen me, won’t know me from Adam, so she won’t go telling Uncle Perce that his niece has been trying to warn her off.’

Geoff stared at her. ‘My dear girl, she’s only gorra set eyes on that yellow plait of yours . . . you’re not exactly a mousy little nobody, you know!’

Lizzie stared at him; she could feel a rich tide of heat rising up her face, and it was dismay as much as anything else which caused it. Why had she and Sally never thought of that? The minute Flossie told Uncle Perce that they would have to stop meeting because a girl had threatened to tell Mr Sharpe what was going on he would surely ask for a description, and there were not many girls of her age with fair, waist-length hair. Even if she did it in a bun, or coiled it up under a hat . . .

‘Tell you what, why don’t I tackle Flossie for you?’ Geoff asked. ‘And then if I do get a lead on young Evie, perhaps you could tackle her for me? Well, not tackle precisely, but just have a word wi’ her, find out what’s up. Only if I do it meself it’ll get back to Sid . . . and he’s a bad enemy, I’d say. How about doing a swap, like?’

Lizzie was so relieved she jumped up from her seat and gave him a hug. ‘You’re a real pal, so you are,’ she said breathlessly. ‘And now let’s go down to the Pier Head and catch a ferry to Woodside and walk there while we discuss how you’re going to get to talk to Flossie without her husband hearing, and how I’m to get friendly with this Evie Evans of yours.’

Oddly enough, within three days of talking the matter over with Lizzie and agreeing that she should try to find Evie while he concentrated on Flossie, Geoff
walked slap-bang into Sid Ryder. Geoff was just coming out of Lime Street Station, where he had gone to buy a newspaper, when someone cannoned into him. Geoff started to apologise at the same time as the other fellow did and was astonished to find himself addressing Sid – and a very smart Sid, too, wearing a short, dark brown Burberry, with a trilby instead of a flat cap slanted over one eye, expensive-looking tweedy trousers and brown brogues on his feet. Furthermore, he was carrying a hide suitcase in one hand and a Gladstone bag in the other.

‘Sid! Where are you off to?’ Geoff said, very startled. ‘That’s a big suitcase to be taking to the races! Come to that, you don’t want Lime Street Station for Aintree!’

‘I’m not going to Aintree,’ Sid replied after only the slightest hesitation. ‘I’m headin’ for pastures new, feller! London first, and if that pays off the way I think it will, then it’s the United States of America for this Scouser! There’s no future for fellers like me in this country – I’m headin’ west, as they say in the movies.’

‘That wasn’t what you said a few weeks back when Reg and I came round to your place,’ Geoff said mildly, but his mind was racing. ‘Are you going alone, Sid? Not taking that pretty little gal . . . what was her name? . . . Eva, was it? Something like that, anyroad.’

‘Her? Aw, she’s past history,’ Sid had said airily, but his eyes suddenly stopped meeting Geoff’s and began darting about in a very uncomfortable manner. ‘Well, I can’t stand here chattin’ to you, I’ve gorra train to catch.’

‘Hang on a minute . . . if you aren’t interested in that girl, I am,’ Geoff said, suddenly desperate to get any information he could before Sid was swallowed
up by first London and then America. ‘Where does she live? Where does she work, for that matter? She seemed like a nice kid . . . looked sort of familiar, too, I wondered . . .’

But Sid had pushed past him and was heading for the platforms so Geoff turned round and followed him doggedly, determined not to miss this opportunity. Sid pushed through the crowd and to Geoff’s annoyance actually showed his ticket at the barrier then headed for the train which was getting up steam, though there were still people hurrying aboard. ‘Look, Sid, if you aren’t interested . . .’ he began again, but the porter on the barrier put out a stout arm to detain him. Geoff slid him half-a-crown, begged him to buy a platform ticket and then hurried after Sid while the porter stood staring, as if mesmerised, at the money in his grubby palm. Geoff saw Sid get into a carriage and slam the door shut but arrived in time to wrench it open again just as Sid was taking a corner seat, having clearly assumed that his ‘old friend’ would not be able to get past the porter. The other occupants of the carriage, three businessmen and a portly matron in a navy suit, nursing a large handbag and using the seat beside her for the rest of her luggage, looked curiously at the two young men, clearly wondering why, if they were friends, Sid had closed the door almost in Geoff’s face.

Grimly, he climbed into the carriage and sat down opposite Sid. ‘If you want company all the way to London and a fair old fuss when the ticket collector comes along and discovers I’ve not even got a platform ticket, then you just keep your gob shut and I’ll stay right here until you open it,’ he said, ignoring the dangerous look in Sid’s eye. After all, what could Sid do to him with so many onlookers? ‘Now what’s up
wi’ you and young whatsername? And how can I gerrin touch wi’ her?’

He spoke as Sid did, in the same accent, and was pleased to see that it had had its effect. Sid looked thoughtful, almost wary, but no longer dangerous. Geoff also noticed that his former friend had the fading marks of a black eye and a half-healed split lip and guessed it probably had something to do with a racecourse fracas. He would have liked to question Sid, but the other was already speaking. ‘Well, if you really want . . . and you didn’t reckernise her? Why, you must ha’ knowed her once, same as I did.’

‘I thought she looked familiar,’ Geoff said. ‘But I couldn’t remember how or why.’

‘No? Do you ’member that little kid who used to foller us around when we was youngsters? Filthy, she were, and always dressed in rags. Lived wi’ some old woman in the same court as wharr I did – Cumberland Court. The other kids called her Chinky because her mam was a prossy and her da were a Chinese coolie, worked in an engine room on one of the Transatlantic liners they say. Only her mam abandoned her when she were no more’n a year or so old. And a real little trollop she’s turned into, just like her mam. I wouldn’t have anything to do wi’ her if I were you. Anyroad, I dunno where she lives nor where she works . . .’

‘You said she was a mannequin in some shop,’ Geoff said. He could have strangled Sid with his bare hands, but still retained enough commonsense to know that if he tried to do so he might be the one spending the night explaining to the scuffers that he had gone temporarily off his head. Also Sid probably carried a knife, would certainly fight dirty, and Geoff was out of practice after several years working in the
bank. ‘I remember you tellin’ Reggie and me that she had a real good job . . .’

‘Oh, aye, in Blackler’s, that’s right. Only she quit,’ Sid said airily. ‘I’m tellin’ you, Geoff, for your own good more’n anything else, that the gal’s gone missin’, I don’t know or care where, and if you’ve gorra grain o’ sense you’ll leave well alone. Now you’d better be gerrin’ off or you really will come to London wi’ me! Hear that whistle?’

The whistle had been genuine and a porter was coming along the platform, slamming doors, and the train was actually rocking a little . . .

Geoff cursed beneath his breath and left his seat in a hurry, jumping down on to the platform and standing back as the train began to move off. No use trying to force Sid’s hand, he would give nothing away now. Indeed, he had the cheek to come to the carriage window and wave to Geoff through it as though they were indeed old pals, before pulling the leather strap to bring the window closed and taking his seat once more. His smile was mocking; was he hiding Evie away somewhere or had they really quarrelled? As he walked back along the platform, Geoff decided that for once Sid had probably tried to persuade Evie to do something which was anathema to her and the girl had got away from him and would not renew their acquaintanceship. Glumly, he retraced his steps, the paper still tucked under his arm. When he reached the barrier the porter had disappeared, which meant that the half-crown had disappeared too. Not that it would have mattered had Geoff been lucky enough to get a lead on Evie from the slimy and disgusting Sid.

Still, he had known, really, that Sid was not likely to put him in touch with the girl. It was now clear that
he had lied to Geoff when he had told him Evie worked in Lewis’s. Geoff doubted that she worked in Blackler’s either, but he would take a look in there in his lunch-hour and keep an eye out for a while.

And I’ve got Lizzie on my side, helping me, he reminded himself. He mulled over what Sid had told him; that Evie had once been known as Chinky, but he could not remember . . . and then, as he settled back into his desk at the bank and reached for his big black accounts book, it all came back to him. A chilly winter day, fading towards dusk, he, Sid and Tom wandering back through the streets, Sid with a pocketful of cash for they had acquired a pretty gold chain from a jeweller’s shop and had sold it, probably for a tiny portion of its real worth, to a fence he knew. A little girl had approached them, one hand cupped hopefully, and Sid had tipped a few small coins into it, had grinned at her breathless thanks and strolled on as she disappeared, barefoot but at great speed, towards the shops. She had been a tiny, skinny, filthy creature who could have been almost any age, dressed in rags with thin, dust-laden black hair and long, almond-shaped black eyes. He had seen her before, usually watching them hopefully, her hunger plain and worse than most in a city where hungry children were no rarity. Her skin, he recalled now, had seemed yellowish beneath the dirt, but it was difficult to tell . . . Chinky! But surely that little scrap could not have turned, as if by a miracle, into the doe-eyed beauty Sid had introduced as his cousin?

Yet why should Sid lie? And now that Geoff had remembered the child, he could see some resemblance, if only in the long, almond-shaped eyes and a certain look in them when they had rested on him. Not amusement exactly . . . yet definitely recognition.
Well, perhaps it would help that he now knew not only her real name but the nickname which had been common currency when they had all been kids. Satisfied, he pulled the ledger towards him, dipped his pen into the ink and began to write. The more he knew about the girl, the greater the chance he had of tracing her. Determining to tell Lizzie all about his encounter with Sid as soon as possible, he continued with his work.