The Runaway (4 page)

‘But would he do it?’ Dana asked doubtfully. She did not think Mr Mortimer would dance to any tune but his own, but Caitlin disagreed.

‘He’s what they call a property developer,’ she explained. ‘He’s come to Liverpool because he says the Depression is bound to end soon. Right now, he’s searching for cheap, run-down properties which he’ll make good and sell when the Depression’s over. Then he’ll be able to charge two or three times what he paid … he’s very shrewd, Dana. So you see he knows a great deal about small businesses, flats and cheap housing, and if I ask him I’m sure he’ll see Mr Thwaite for us.’

‘Well, there’s no harm in asking,’ Dana said, still doubtfully, but she was beginning to believe that her friend was right; if this strange, dark-avised man wanted to smooth their path she was sure he could do so. But she thought he would have to be watched. His expression gave nothing away, and though his eyes showed admiration when they rested on Caitlin, she felt he would be a bad person to cross. Already she could see that her friend would be putty in his hands.

When the dance ended Caitlin explained what they needed from him, and he agreed to help at once.

‘I’ll make an appointment to see the landlord in the course of the next few days,’ he said. ‘As soon as I’ve got the information you want I’ll be in touch.’

The girls thanked him, Caitlin more effusively than Dana, and they parted. As they undressed for bed, Caitlin leaned across and nudged her friend. ‘Our days at the YW are numbered,’ she whispered jubilantly. ‘Oh, I’m sure we’re going to be renting that flat in no time!’

Polly had formed the habit of trying to leave the Willows at the same time as Dana and Caitlin, for the two girls fascinated her. She loved their voices, which had only the slightest trace of an Irish accent, she thought Caitlin the most beautiful girl she had ever seen and Dana was undoubtedly both clever and kind. When they were working near each other Dana always included her in any conversation, and if the boys were rude Dana could twist their remarks so that it was they who seemed foolish. It never occurred to Polly, when she did her best to stand or sit near the two Irish girls, that she was eavesdropping; indeed, she did not know the meaning
of the word. If people wanted to exchange secrets they would whisper them, she thought, but Caitlin in particular had a very clear and carrying voice, which was how Polly had come to learn that the girls were off to the Grafton that evening. Intrigued, she gathered that they had found themselves a feller, one with enough money and influence to interfere on their behalf over that dirty little butcher’s shop in which they seemed so strangely interested, and they were going to talk to him about it that very night. Unable to resist the chance to find out more, she hung around outside the Grafton for a good fifteen minutes during the first interval, trying to distinguish the two girls in the crowd and taking a good deal of cheek from nasty girls who suggested ‘she were tryin’ to pick up a feller’ and from rude boys saying the same thing, though less politely. Disheartened, she was just beginning to walk towards the nearest tram stop when she saw them coming towards her. Caitlin was hanging on the arm of a short, curly-headed man whilst Dana, looking embarrassed, brought up the rear.

Polly had a good long look at the fellow. He was dark-haired and dark-skinned, with what she thought of as a foreign look about him; a dangerous look. I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him, Polly thought. He’s a real smoothie – just the sort of fellow mams tell their daughters to avoid. And he’s old enough to be Caitlin’s father. Wharrever are they thinking of?

Polly sighed as the tram she wanted drew up beside her. It was none of her business, of course, she thought as she jumped aboard, and she doubted very much if either girl would listen to advice from someone so much younger than they. But I’ve had more experience of bad
‘uns than they have, she thought ruefully, handing the conductor her fare, and it will certainly make life more interesting watching how they deal with him. Settling back in her seat, however, she could not help musing that she might even be able to help them one of these fine days. Satisfied, she began to wonder what she should have for her supper.

‘Psst!’ Dana, once more up to her elbows in water and potatoes, turned her head sharply as someone entered the scullery behind her. It was Ernie, looking portentous. ‘I gorra message for you from your pal,’ he said in thrilling tones. ‘She says her feller has been an’ gone an’ done whatever it were you wanted ’im to …’ He gave a snigger, then straightened up hastily as Dana’s cupped hand withdrew from the water in a threatening manner. ‘Awright, awright, keep your hair on! Caitlin says this feller will meet the pair of you out of work when the Willows closes, so’s you can talk business. She would ha’ telled you herself, but —’

‘Ernie Frost! Wharrever d’you think you’re doin’? If you’re thinkin’ to help young Ginger wi’ them spuds, you can think again. Unless you want to miss your dinner, of course.’ Dana knew Mrs Haggerty’s voice so well that she had not turned away from the sink, but now she heard herself addressed. ‘Done them spuds yet, Ginger? If so, fill a pan and bring it through, and you can be on first dinner. I might even let you sit next to that other bogtrotter, since I’ll grant you that you’ve worked well today.’

Dana, splashing peeled potatoes into a big pan of water, turned an astonished face towards the head cook,
wondering what was up now. Mrs Haggerty never praised anyone, and saved her nastiest comments for anyone with the misfortune to be Irish. This was odd, because Mrs Haggerty had to be Irish herself with a name like that. Everyone in the kitchen knew that ‘Mrs’ was a courtesy title; Clara Haggerty she had been at her birth, and Clara Haggerty she had remained ever since.

So now Dana, clutching her pan of potatoes, approached the big woman almost blocking the narrow doorway rather warily. Past experience told her that the cook was quite capable of jabbing her in the ribs or squashing her against the doorpost if she was in one of her more spiteful moods. Accordingly, she slowed as she reached the doorway, but the cook stood aside, leaving Dana a clear passageway past her, and as the two women’s eyes met she spoke again, her tone pleasanter than Dana had ever known it. ‘Mrs Lionel has been doin’ sums. She says we’re sellin’ twice as many Specials as t’other meals on the menu. Specials is cheaper, see, and folk are watchin’ the pennies. So she wants to lose two kitchen workers.’ She paused, as though waiting for Dana’s reaction, but Dana merely folded her lips and kept her face as expressionless as possible. If she were for the high jump … the elbow … the little brown envelope … then she would not give Mrs Haggerty the satisfaction of showing how horrified she felt.

‘Well? Ain’t you a-goin’ to ax me who’s gettin’ their cards at the end o’ the week? Ain’t you interested?’

The pan of potatoes seemed to be growing heavier by the minute. Dana stood the pan down on the nearest surface, but continued to say nothing; what was the point? She did not think Mr Lionel would agree to
Caitlin’s being sacked because she was popular with customers when waiting on, but she herself …

Mrs Haggerty sighed; she was clearly getting tired of her little game. ‘I told ’im I needed every one of you, and if he tried to reduce me staff he’d find even the sale of his Specials would shrink,’ she said. ‘An’ I’ll give you this, Ginger, you’re a bleedin’ hard worker. You never complain and you’ve not lost a day through sickness, not even when you had that shockin’ cold last February. And now put them spuds on the stove and get yourself sat down for first dinners.’

Dana was so relieved that she actually beamed at the cook. ‘Thanks, Mrs Haggerty,’ she said, sliding into the chair next to Caitlin’s. The meal in front of her – scrag end stew and dumplings – both looked and smelt pretty good, but before she had taken a mouthful she dug Caitlin in the ribs. ‘What’s up?’ she hissed. ‘Ernie said your feller – I take it he means Mr Mortimer – is going to meet us out of work. Does that mean he’s managed to persuade old Thwaite to let us rent the flat? If so, I take back all the rude things I’ve been thinking about the sort of man who takes up with a girl half his age.’

‘Oh, you’re just jealous,’ Caitlin said, helping herself to another dumpling from the tureen in the middle of the table, ‘and James isn’t old, he’s just mature. I expect you’re right though and he’s got round old Thwaite somehow; he’s a businessman and knows what’s what. Oh, I don’t know how I shall get through this afternoon!’

Mr Mortimer picked the girls up from work in a taxi and took them straight to the butcher’s shop in Heyworth
Street. The last time Dana had seen the shop it had been through a haze of bluebottles and dirt-smeared glass and the faint stench of bad meat had seemed to hang in the air, so now, as Mr Mortimer selected a large key and thrust it into the lock, she drew back a little, but though a number of bluebottles charged gleefully past them into the open air someone – Mr Thwaite presumably – had done some clearing up. The filthy sawdust had been removed from the stained floorboards and the disgusting offal had disappeared. Even the butchery counter had been cleaned and Dana breathed in the smell of carbolic soap and bleach with relief. Anything, she told herself, was better than the stench of rotten meat.

‘In you go, young ladies,’ Mr Mortimer said.

He followed them into the shop and looked from one face to the other but Dana held her peace, leaving it to Caitlin to exclaim: ‘Well, you must have impressed Mr Thwaite, James, because it’s nowhere near as bad as it was five or six weeks ago.’ She giggled. ‘Dana and I offered to clean the shop for him if he would let us rent the flat, but since he doesn’t know it’s us I suppose he got someone else to do it.’

‘I paid a couple of lads to get rid of the worst of the filth,’ Mr Mortimer said briefly. ‘After I’d spoken to Thwaite, of course. I couldn’t ask two young ladies to face what I faced on my first visit.’

‘That was kind,’ Caitlin said appreciatively. ‘But can we go up to the flat now, please? We aren’t at all interested in the shop, you know.’

Mr Mortimer gave Caitlin an indulgent glance but did not move, merely closing and locking the shop door, remarking as he did so that they did not want to find
themselves entertaining half the neighbourhood. Then he turned to Dana. ‘Well, Miss McBride? Can you see any reason why Thwaite would not even consider renting the flat without the shop? I guess this is your first visit, but I should’ve thought …’

‘I’m beginning to realise,’ Dana said in a hollow voice. ‘Oh, Caitlin, what fools we’ve been! I hadn’t thought, because we could see so little through that dreadful, disgusting window …’

‘Whatever are you talking about?’ Caitlin said, frowning at her friend. ‘I can’t see why we shouldn’t rent the flat – if it’s fairly cheap, of course. If you’re so clever, Dana McBride, just tell me what’s wrong with that?’

‘Oh, Caitlin, use your loaf,’ Dana said impatiently. ‘How are you going to get to the flat? Can you fly?’

‘No, of course I can’t,’ Caitlin said, frowning more than ever. ‘There’re stairs in the storeroom which must lead up to the flat, I suppose.’ She turned to Mr Mortimer. ‘Why should we need to fly when there are stairs? What’s wrong with them, pray?’

Dana interrupted before the man could reply. ‘Don’t you see, dearest Caitlin? The only way to reach the flat is through the storeroom. No trader worth his salt would let a couple of girls – or a couple of men for that matter – traipse through his premises whilst he was trying to conduct his business. And then, when the shop was closed, we would have to have access! If we weren’t honest, it would be an open invitation to a thief.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Oh, dammit, why ever didn’t we
think
? I’m sorry, Mr Mortimer, to have wasted your time; I can only plead that I was carried away by the prospect of moving out of the YWCA.’

As she spoke, she turned her apologetic gaze upon Mr Mortimer and saw once again why Caitlin seemed so fond of him, though she herself was still wary, still suspicious that beneath the frank manner was a deviousness he had not yet revealed. But now he was smiling at her friend, and when he noticed she was looking at him he straightened his face. ‘It’s all right, Miss McBride, you’ve not wasted my time,’ he said soothingly. ‘Thwaite and myself had a long discussion, after which I had a chat with my – my man of business, and I think we’ve arrived at a solution. But we’d best take a look at the flat before I put my suggestion to you.’

He headed for the storeroom door and stood to one side, gesturing to the girls to precede him, and it was as he said ‘Youth before beauty’ that once again Dana recognised the twang in his voice as the buried remnants of a cockney accent. So you may have made your pile, you may even be a property developer like you say, but to my way of thinking you’re just a cockney barrer boy what’s made good, she thought rather nastily, following Caitlin up the stairs. I just hope you didn’t get out of London one jump ahead of the coppers!

She was still wondering about Mr James Mortimer when she reached the head of the stairs and stood in the tiny hallway, looking around her. Two doors, both closed … but Caitlin was pushing open the nearest and the girls and their companion stepped into a tiny living room with a sizeable window through which they could see out into Heyworth Street. Dana swept the room with a practised eye. No furniture, no carpets or linoleum, but the floorboards were only dusty, not filthy, and there was room for a table, a sofa, and a couple of easy chairs. Yes,
it would suit them, if they could find a way of reaching the upper floor without trespassing upon the property of whoever took the shop.

‘Awright?’

Once more, Mr Mortimer’s accent grated, but Dana merely nodded her head. ‘Small, but possible,’ she said. She pointed to another door. ‘What’s through there?’

‘Kitchen,’ Mr Mortimer said. He crossed the room and held open the door. ‘Small, too … take a look.’

This time there was linoleum on the floor, a sink with wooden draining boards and some shelving. The window overlooked the back yard, and Dana could see a shed, which she took to be the privy, below. She said as much and Mr Mortimer nodded, his dark eyes narrowing. ‘Oh aye, but you’d not expect indoor plumbing in a flat this size.’ He laughed. ‘You can’t afford to be picky.’ He crossed the kitchen and the living room, then flung open the other door in the small hallway. ‘Bedroom; only one, I’m afraid, but you’re used to sharin’, since you’re at the YW.’