Two Penn'orth of Sky (26 page)

Arriving back at the court, she stared long and hard at her own house before deciding that the coast was probably clear. There was no sign of her mother at the kitchen window, nor the parlour one, and the door was firmly closed.

Diana trotted across the flagstones to the Fisher door, and tried the handle. She was truly dismayed to find it locked. So they had left already! For a moment she was totally daunted. She had no money, so no means of getting to New Brighton. Skipping a lecky was a popular sport amongst the boys in the court, but though she might reach the quayside by this method she had never heard of anyone skipping a ferry, and was afraid it could not be done. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of borrowing her fare from a neighbour, then dismissed it. There was no way anyone would lend her money without asking a number of extremely awkward questions. Diana had no particular objection to telling a lie but knew how one thing led to another. No, it would be safer to simply forgo the trip to New Brighton, amuse herself somehow for the rest of the day and return home when it grew dark. By then, her mother should be thoroughly worried and would, naturally, have repented of her unkindness to her little daughter.

Because it was holiday time, there were several children playing about in the court but Diana knew better than to join them. Her mother would be bound to spot her and haul her off to teach her a lesson. No, she had best keep well out of the way until daylight faded.

She set off across the court towards the archway and was just ducking under it when something made her glance back. Her door was opening! Quick as a flash, she shot into Raymond Street and down the nearest jigger. There were several dustbins clustered in the entrance, waiting to be emptied next day, and Diana crouched behind them, staring intently at the archway to the court. Mam will be looking for me, she thought gleefully, but she isn’t going to find me.
She’s been horrid to me and to Aunty Beryl. I know it was her who started the quarrel, whatever she may say. She’s been cross as a cat for ages, always finding fault with me and moaning about how hard her work is, so if she worries that I’m lost, it’s her own perishin’ fault.

But to her astonishment, it was not just her mother who emerged from the court, but also the young officer, Mr Johansson, who had been Daddy’s best friend on SS
Queen of the South
. For a moment, Diana was so furious that she quite literally saw red. How dared Mr Johansson visit her mother when she, Diana, was not around to queer his pitch? She was tempted to come out of hiding, picturing how the happy expression would fade from Mr Johansson’s handsome – but horrible – face at the sight of her, then thought better of it. After all, they would not have much fun searching the whole of Liverpool for one small girl. They would not be able to visit theatres or cinemas or go to posh restaurants, and anyway it was Sunday, so most places would be closed. No, she would stay hidden until they had gone.

Accordingly, she crouched back behind the dustbins. They would already have tried the Fishers and found them gone, so next they would try the Symonses. Diana hugged herself. After that, they would get really worried; they would go to the park, the big one. They would walk along the canal bank, half expecting to see her body floating in the water. They might even have the canal dragged; she had seen it done once, though she had not been lucky enough to see the body when it had been brought to the surface. Charlie had, and had told her all about it. At the time, she had blamed her mother bitterly, because it wasn’t every day a kid got to see a dead
person, but that, of course, had been before the big quarrel.

Diana sat back on her haunches and wondered how long she should stay here. The bins were very smelly and she did not much care for the large bluebottles which buzzed around them. She remained where she was, however, until a couple of wasps decided to join the throng. When one of them threatened to alight on her face, she decided that enough was enough, and emerged from her hiding place.

She was wondering what to do next when an absolutely brilliant thought occurred to her. Her mam had gone off with the horrible Mr Johansson so the house would be empty. The key would be on its string, as usual, and the teapot with the cracked lid and the pattern of pink roses would be on the mantel. She darted across the road and under the arch. Two minutes later, she was in the kitchen of No. 2, reaching up for the teapot and emptying the contents on to the kitchen table. She was not surprised to find that there was a good deal of money in it, both notes and coins. Mr Mac paid his staff on Saturdays, after their shifts were finished, and Mammy put away the rent money in the little chest which she kept in her bedroom. Anything other than that went into the teapot and was used to buy food, candles and so on. Diana knew her mother had a Post Office savings book and usually paid the pension, and her tip money, into the Post Office on her way home from work. So she reasoned that she might take money from the teapot without feeling guilty.

She sorted out ten shillings from the loose coins and slid it into the pocket of her dress, then hesitated. It was awfully heavy, but if she took a note her mother would be bound to notice. She had no
idea how much money she would need, but reasoned that if a tram cost twopence, the ferry would probably cost no more. And she knew the price of fish and chips, ice creams and so on. Half reluctantly, she returned most of the money to the teapot, holding on to only three shillings in assorted coppers. Then, feeling very grown-up, she lugged a loaf out of the bread crock and some cheese from the lower shelf of the meat safe. She hacked rather than cut the loaf into four slices and made herself a great untidy cheese sandwich and another of jam – she didn’t bother with margarine – which she wrapped together in greaseproof paper and tied with string. She meant to buy herself fish and chips and the biggest ice cream she could lay her hands on when she got to New Brighton, but if her journey cost her more than she anticipated, at least she would not starve. There was a cracked and stained American cloth bag in which she sometimes put the messages she had been sent to fetch. She shoved the untidy parcel of food into it, added a small bottle of water, a mug and a tin of conny-onny. She thought about adding cake or apples but decided against them on the grounds that they would make the bag far too heavy. In fact, she abandoned the water, remembering that there was a drinking fountain somewhere on the front. Outside, the court was in shadow, as always, but she knew it was a sunny day and decided it was too warm for a coat. Mam would say only ragamuffins went far from home without a coat, but Diana thought this was daft; who needed a coat when it was hot and sunny? Boys never wore coats and few of the girls she knew bothered with even a jacket when the weather was fine.

Presently, with the money knocking comfortably
against her knee as she walked and the bag slung over one shoulder, Diana set off, passing a group of girls playing rope. One of them looked up and grinned at her; it was Wendy. ‘Where’s you goin’, young Di?’ Wendy asked chattily. ‘’S orl right, your mam has gone off with her boyfriend so you can answer wi’out bein’ telled off.’

Normally, Diana would have given a regretful smile and moved on without a word, but then, normally, Wendy would not have spoken to her. And anyway, Diana’s mood was still defiant, so she slowed her pace for a moment, to say: ‘He’s not her boyfriend, he’s off me daddy’s old ship, and I’m going to New Brighton, on me own.’

Wendy’s eyes rounded, then narrowed in disbelief. ‘You ain’t,’ she said scornfully. ‘You ain’t got the nerve! Why, if your mam were here, you wouldn’t dare speak to me in case you gorra belt round the ear.’ She snorted inelegantly. ‘My mam says your mam’s a bleedin’ snob an’ I’m not sure she ain’t right.’

Diana considered this. Though furiously angry with her mam, she did not like hearing Wendy saying such things, so she replied, rather haughtily: ‘You mind your own business and shut your gob. Everyone knows that both you and your mam are a couple of perishin’ liars.’

‘A fight, a fight!’ a girl called Anita shouted.

But Wendy did not seem to take offence. In fact she grinned, saying encouragingly, ‘That’s right, young ‘un, you stand up for yourself now you’ve come out from under your old woman’s wing. I likes a kid wi’ spirit, so I does . . . but your mam
is
a snob, you know.’

‘Well, I know; but your mam
is
a liar,’ Diana said, having given the matter some thought. ‘But you ain’t,
Wendy, and I still like you, no matter what me mam says,’ she added honestly.

Wendy’s grin widened and she opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted. ‘It’s your turn to jump in, Wendy,’ shrieked one of the girls steadily turning the rope. ‘Stop gabbin’ or you’ll ruin the game.’

Diana had been about to invite Wendy to accompany her, for she had suddenly realised that making her way to New Brighton alone might be rather scary. Tram conductors wouldn’t query a child with a shopping bag, but the people selling tickets for the ferry might easily do so. However, Wendy was absorbed in the game and so Diana continued on her way, telling herself that once she reached the seaside resort she would join up with the Fishers and everything would be fine.

Despite her fears, Diana’s journey was uneventful. She bought her ferry ticket for a mere twopence and went straight up to the bows where, in common with a dozen other children, she leaned over to watch the water creaming past and then rushed along the deck to the stern, imagining the curly heads of mermaids in every tumble of water. When the boat docked, she was one of the last off, having stayed to watch every movement of the sailors as they threw ropes to one another, lowered the gangway and began to shepherd the passengers ashore. Once on dry land again, she suffered a moment’s panic, being unable to remember how one reached the promenade from here, but before she could grow too alarmed common sense reasserted itself. Everyone who came to New Brighton on the ferry was heading for the seaside; all she had to do was follow the crowd. Accordingly, she soon found herself on the familiar promenade, but was a little dismayed by the sheer number of
people on the beach. You could scarcely see the sand for the people, deckchairs and piles of equipment such as buckets and spades and shrimping nets. Adults lay in the striped chairs or sprawled on the sand in bathing suits, their arms and legs turning pink beneath the hot rays of the sun. Diana’s heart sank; how could she possibly hope to find the Fisher family in such a huge crowd? Why, she did not know what Aunty Beryl had been wearing that morning; she might even have acquired a bathing suit and be totally unrecognisable, though Diana was sure she would know her darling Charlie, no matter how cunningly he was disguised.

For a while, she just strolled along the prom, eyeing the beach keenly, but presently the hot sunshine made her thirsty and she decided to find the drinking fountain, have a long, cool drink, and then take off her shoes and socks and go for a paddle. She had heard the kids in the court refer to ‘goin’ in me bur webs’ and knew that this extraordinary expression meant going barefoot, and now she decided it would be a good deal more comfortable, both on the beach and on the prom, if she, too, had ‘bur webs’. Sitting down on the paving, she removed her shoes and socks and shoved them into her bag, then set off in the direction of the drinking fountain.

When she reached it there was a queue, mostly of small and ragged children, many of whom were carrying bottles. This was a nuisance, since it meant that they would fill the bottles at the tap under the fountain as well as having a drink from the fountain itself, so she might well be waiting for ages. She was considering making her way to the head of the line and explaining that she had no bottle and only wanted a drink, when she remembered that she had
money. She could go to the nearest café and buy a bottle of lemonade, or she could make straight for an ice cream salesman. There was an Italian vendor whose ice cream she particularly loved. It was yellow as custard, sweet as honey, and smelt deliciously of vanilla.

She was still hesitating when a small girl who had been filling a bottle extremely slowly, and spilling great quantities of water over her own ‘bur webs’ in the process, turned away from the queue and Diana realised, with a thrill of real joy, that she had found the Fishers at last. It was Becky!

After that, of course, there was no question of waiting for a drink at the fountain. Becky was not hurrying because the water bottle was evidently heavy. She strolled along, gazing from side to side as though she had not a care in the world, and still spilling a good deal of water as she walked. Diana caught up with her without difficulty and bent to take the water bottle, saying as she did so: ‘Eh up there, Becks, let me carry the bottle for you. You’re slopping no end over your feet, you know.’

Becky turned defensively towards her, trying to retain her hold on the bottle. She began to say, in a trembling voice, that she was ‘awright, fanks – lemme alone or I’ll call me big bruvver . . .’ when she recognised Diana and immediately relinquished her hold. ‘Thanks, Di,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I din’t know it were you.’ An uncertain look crossed her small, rosy face. ‘Didjer come wiv’ us? I don’t ’member you on the big ship.’

Diana forbore to scoff at this ingenuous remark as she would once have done. Poor Becky was still in the infants’ class at school, and for the first time Diana realised that the younger girl was tiny compared with
herself. Once, they had been roughly the same height, but now Diana must be ten or eleven inches the taller. ‘No, I wasn’t with you on the ferry, Becky,’ she said gently. ‘I came over by myself. Where’s your mammy sitting? Shall I come and play with you? We could build a huge sandcastle – if you’ve got a spade, that is. I – I forgot to bring mine.’

Becky came to a halt opposite the man selling Diana’s favourite ice cream. ‘I dunno where they is,’ she said in her flat little voice. ‘But Charlie brung me this far and went to buy Mammy a teapot. He said to stop here by the ice cream man, when I’d fetched water, and he’d take me back to Mammy.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Diana said slowly. Before the great row had wrenched the two families apart, Aunty Beryl and Uncle Wally had decided to take a hand in Becky’s education. She was getting very little learning at school but someone had told Aunty Beryl – Diana thought it must be a doctor at the Stanley Hospital – that home influence was more help than anything for a backward child. Maybe she would never learn to read and write, and maybe she would never have as many words at her disposal as other children her age, but if they worked hard with her, she could learn the practicalities of everyday life. She could fill a water bottle and make her way back to an arranged spot, for instance, and now that she thought about it, Diana realised that she had seen Becky returning proudly from the shops with a small bag, containing a few messages. Usually, Aunty Beryl only asked her to fetch one object at a time – if she needed more, she would write a list for the shopkeeper – and the little girl was obviously learning, though Diana knew for a fact that Becky had no idea of the value of money, could only recognise a penny
when she saw one. The previous week, she had met Becky in Miss Morris’s shop on the corner of Tatlock and Evans Street, trustfully offering a handful of loose change. Diana had watched the old lady carefully taking the money from Becky’s little paw and placing it, coin by coin, upon the wooden counter, until she had the correct amount. Then she had turned to the shelf behind her, carefully chosen a bright red sweetie from one of the big jars and handed it to Becky, reminding her to put away the rest of her money so none of it got dropped by mistake.