Two Penn'orth of Sky (27 page)

Diana’s thoughts were interrupted by Charlie’s coming up beside them, the teapot in his hand. He completely ignored Diana but spoke, bracingly, to his small sister. ‘Well, ain’t you a good girl, then? I see you’ve fetched water, like Mammy telled you, and I’ve got the lemonade and the teapot, so soon we’ll all be able to have a nice drink.’

Diana had stood the water down whilst she and Becky waited, but now she bent and picked it up. ‘I’ll carry it for Becky, Charlie,’ she said, giving him her very sweetest smile. ‘It’s too heavy for her; she was spillin’ no end until I come along and gave her a hand.’

Charlie’s eyes skimmed quickly over her, their glance cold. He said, not addressing her, but apparently speaking into thin air: ‘We can manage. You’d best go back to your mammy; she wouldn’t want you mixing with the likes of us.’

Diana felt a hot flush of colour invade her face. Why was Charlie acting so strangely? After all, it was not as though they were in the court with folk watching. They were at the seaside; surely everyone was equal at the seaside?

But before she could voice her feelings, Becky spoke up. ‘She ain’t wiv’ her mammy, Charlie. She come by herself; she telled me so.’

By now, the three of them were on the sand, weaving their way amongst the crowds, but at his sister’s words Charlie stopped short, turning and staring incredulously at Diana. ‘What the devil . . . ?’ he said slowly. ‘Your mammy never said you could come wi’ us, surely? Why, she’s been treatin’ my mam and dad like dirt ever since she took you away and put you with that Lucas woman. What’s more, she never said nothing to our mam this morning, I’m bleedin’ sure of that.’

His stare was so belligerent, so unfriendly, that Diana did not dare pretend that Aunty Beryl knew all about it, but she simply must convince Charlie that she had permission to follow them to the beach. She took a deep breath and assumed her most innocent, yet earnest, expression. ‘No, we were too late, you see. I heard you telling someone that you were off to New Brighton for the day, so I asked Mam if we could go as well. Mam said she’d see what Aunty Beryl thought of the idea but just as we were about to set out for your house, Mr Johansson arrived. You know, he were Daddy’s best friend and . . .’

‘I know, Second Officer aboard the old
Queen of the South
,’ Charlie said loftily. ‘So where are they, then? Him and your mam?’

‘Oh, he were all togged up in his best uniform and he didn’t have a swim suit, nor even a handkerchief to tie over his head,’ Diana said glibly. ‘So Mam gave me some money and told me to run to the ferry and catch you up. She and Mr Johansson went off to – to see a man about a dog.’

Charlie sighed deeply. ‘An’ if I’ll believe that, I’ll
believe anything,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Still an’ all, we’ll see what me mam says. What’s in the bag?’

‘Me carry-out,’ Diana said triumphantly. ‘Mam made me a carry-out in case I got hungry before I got to the seaside. She wanted me to bring apples and a bottle of lemonade, but it were too heavy, so she give me money instead.’

This must have satisfied Charlie for he merely grunted and continued to lead the two girls along the beach. Presently Diana saw Aunty Beryl comfortably settled in a deckchair, with her skirt folded back above her knees, and the wind teasing strands of her curly brown hair free from its bun. She half raised her hand as if to wave to them, then let it drop back into her lap. She got clumsily to her feet, staring so hard at Diana that the child hesitated, suddenly unsure of her welcome. But as she drew closer, Aunty Beryl’s smile broke out. Diana ran towards her and felt her hands enfolded in Beryl’s warm grasp.

‘What’s all this, then?’ she enquired. ‘Where’s your mam, chuck? I didn’t know she was going to bring you to New Brighton today!’

Diana seized Aunty Beryl’s hand and cuddled it against her cheek. To lie or not to lie? If she told Aunty Beryl that she was here under false pretences, she might be sent back to the court and, what was worse, Charlie would know she had lied to him and Charlie was still very much her hero. Since her mother and Aunty Beryl were still not talking, however, she realised that a good lie might well remain undetected for days or weeks – perhaps, for ever. So she repeated the story she had told Charlie, adding mendaciously that her mammy had something important to say to Aunty Beryl and had been disappointed to find she had missed them. She was watching Aunty Beryl’s
face as she spoke and saw the expression of pure delight which crossed it before Aunty Beryl gave her a big hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to her own children, advising them that food and drinks would be ready in five minutes, so not to stray too far away.

Diana felt so happy that she began to believe her own story. Of
course
her mammy still loved Aunty Beryl and would make up the foolish quarrel at the first opportunity. Why, Mammy would be so grateful to Aunty Beryl for taking care of her little girl that she would be willing to do anything. Filled with the milk of human kindness, Diana removed her ill-wrapped sandwiches from the bag and laid them, reverentially, upon the cloth which Aunty Beryl had caused to be spread on the sand. ‘Them’s my dinner, what Mammy made me,’ she said, both untruthfully and ungrammatically. She turned to Charlie. ‘When we’ve finished our sandwiches, I’ll buy us all ice creams. Mammy gave me the money; she said I were to mug you.’

Charlie’s stare, to Diana’s puzzlement, was growing belligerent once more. He looked from the great, lumpy, uneven chunks of bread to Diana’s face, to his mother’s, then back again to Diana’s. ‘Your mam never made them abnabs, nor she never said to mug anyone in her life,’ he said scornfully. ‘And I don’t believe she knows you’re in New Brighton, lerralone with us Fishers. I believe you cut ’n’ run ’cos you’re jealous as a cat of that young officer. Why, right now, the scuffers is probably combin’ the back streets, searchin’ for you.’

Aunty Beryl had been staring at the sandwiches, then at Diana, then at Charlie. She had not said a word, but now she knelt down on the sand beside
Diana. ‘Eat up this here food,’ she said, setting out the sandwiches she had brought on their neat squares of greaseproof paper. ‘Charlie, pour the lemonade into the cups. I’ll cope with the tea.’ She looked sadly at Diana. ‘As soon as we’ve eaten, we’ll have to go home. Charlie’s quite right, Diana, your mam would never cut bread like that in a million years. You’ve run off, haven’t you? Charlie was right about that, too. Oh, my God. If Emmy has reported you as missing to the police, we’re all going to have to do a lot of explaining.’

Diana, deeply ashamed, had been staring fixedly down at her sandwiches, whilst large tears rolled down her cheeks. Now Aunty Beryl caught hold of her chin and raised it so that their eyes met. ‘And no more lies, young Diana, or you’ll get yourself – and us – into really serious trouble with the scuffers – the police, that is. Understand me?’

Diana threw herself into Aunty Beryl’s arms. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she wailed. ‘But I’ve been
so
unhappy, Aunty Bee! Old Mrs Symons is ever so kind, but – but she’s
old
! I – I help her in her little garden and do her messages and play whist, and pelmanism, and draughts . . . things like that, but there’s never no children there, ’cos she’s
old
and – and I did
so
want to come to the seaside and play
real
games with Charlie and Becky and Lenny. Oh, Aunty Bee,
must
we go home? I’m sure Mammy won’t be worrying about me. She’ll guess I’m with you and – and Becky and me were going to make the biggest sandcastle in the whole world, weren’t we, Becks?’

But Becky, stuffing a sandwich into her mouth, was clearly not listening and Charlie, who was, said scornfully: ‘You weren’t so keen to play with our Becky before, Miss High and Mighty! You said she were babyish and stupid.’

Poor Diana coloured hotly and felt Aunty Beryl’s instinctive withdrawal with very real dismay. It was tempting to lie again, to say that Charlie was mistaken, she had never thought Becky either childish or stupid. Then perhaps Aunty Bee’s arms would go soft and warm and comfortable again and she, Diana, would know herself accepted once more.

But it was not to be. Aunty Bee set her gently aside and said, in a voice which brooked no argument: ‘There’s no question of staying on the beach, no matter what. We’ve got to get back to Nightingale Court before your mother starts the sort of fuss which not even the truth will calm down. For if there’s one thing I do know about Emmy, it’s her ability to turn a molehill into a mountain.’

Charlie sniggered but Diana had no idea what Aunty Beryl meant and continued to weep whilst cramming her sandwiches into her mouth and swallowing the great lumps of bread with considerable difficulty. Aunty Beryl had told them all to eat up and this was one order she could and would obey.

As soon as the food was finished and the drink consumed, Beryl shepherded her small flock back on to the ferry. The boys were hot, cross and furious with Diana, though Becky was her usual sweet and placid self. Sometimes, Beryl wondered what time meant to her small daughter. Charlie and Lenny were grumbling loudly about their ruined day. They would not speak to Diana, nor look at her if they could help it, but Becky held the older girl’s hand and chirruped about the sea and the sandcastle as though nothing had happened to spoil her outing.

Diana, Beryl noticed, grew less and less rosycheeked as they neared the court. When they had
first boarded the ferry she had tried to chat to Charlie, but in the end his complete lack of response had forced her to try her wiles on Lenny. Lenny, following his older brother’s lead, had ignored her, and even little Bobby, seeing her now as a stranger after her long absence from their midst, had refused to allow himself to be cuddled or played with.

It was an unhappy little party which entered Nightingale Court in mid-afternoon. Diana was feeling tired and wondering, apprehensively, how her mother would greet her. She would be cross, naturally, but if she was still with Mr Johansson, she might feel it politic not to show too much anger. After all, she would have enjoyed a pleasant outing with her admirer, which Diana’s presence might well have spoiled.

Lost in thought, Diana entered the court looking towards her own house and walked slap-bang into Charlie, who had stopped short in front of her. ‘Well, I’m damned. Wharra carry-on,’ he said softly, and Diana’s heart lifted. He was actually speaking to her. He must have forgotten the grudge which had kept him silent ever since they left New Brighton.

Diana opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She had followed Charlie’s gaze and realised that he had not been addressing her, but had merely voiced the emotions which the scene before them had provoked. For now that she looked across the gloom of the court, she saw a very unusual sight. A great deal of shabby, broken-down furniture was heaped up on the flagstones and three large men were carting more stuff out of the door of the Telfords’ house. Mrs Telford, screaming and shouting, kept trying to barge her way back into the house, but the
men prevented her with ease, laughing at her futile efforts and ignoring the threats and imprecations which she was hurling at their heads. The Telford children were clustered around their dilapidated possessions. The smaller ones were crying and clutching at the legs of the older ones, but Diana saw at once that Wendy seemed more resigned than angry or tearful. She looked, Diana thought sadly, like someone taking part in a scene which had been enacted many times before.

‘Oh my Gawd,’ Beryl said softly.

‘What’s happening, Aunty Beryl?’ Diana asked wildly, clutching the older woman’s arm. ‘And who are those men? I don’t understand; it’s Mrs Telford’s house, isn’t it?’

‘They’re the bailiffs, queen, and I guess the Telfords are being evicted for non-payment of rent,’ Beryl said grimly. ‘Well, it were bound to happen; Annie Telford’s too fond of a drop of the hard stuff to put the rent money aside, the way the rest of us do. Them poor kids, though. It happens over and over; she takes the cheapest accommodation she can find and then the landlord has to haunt the place for weeks, tryin’ to get his money, whilst she crouches behind the door, pretendin’ she’s out. Then she’ll pay for a bit and the landlord thinks he’s found the answer. Only he hasn’t, of course, and in the end there’ll be norra landlord in the city what’ll let her into their property.’

‘Then what will they do?’ Diana asked. She was trembling and felt sick. Wendy had been her friend – was her friend – yet they were both children and powerless to stop what was happening to the Telford family. ‘Where will they go, Aunty Beryl? Oh, poor Wendy!’

‘Don’t worry, chuck. Mrs Telford’s got a sister living over in Birkenhead, who’s took them in in the past when this has happened. She’s a good deal older than Annie – Mrs Telford, I mean – and the absolute opposite. She’s a great chapelgoer and her house is like a new pin, I’m told. Whilst they stay there, there’ll be no drinking, and whatever money comes in will be spent on food and perhaps even on some clothes for the kids. I’m not saying Mrs Telford will like it, but at least the kids will be fed for a while.’ She looked down at Diana, then gave the child an encouraging smile. ‘Look, why don’t you nip over and tell Wendy how sorry you are? Your mam isn’t here to worry that you’ll take up with the Telfords again and I won’t say a word. Only the fact is, queen, that if the Telfords do come back to Liverpool, it most certainly won’t be to anywhere near here. The two of you were good friends once, so it ’ud be a kindness to tell Wendy you’re sorry for her misfortune and to say goodbye, and good luck.’

Diana did not hesitate. She ran across the court and hugged Wendy convulsively, saying as she did so: ‘I’m so, so sorry, Wendy! I wish there was something I could do to help, but Aunty Beryl says you’ll go to your aunt in Birkenhead. I really have missed you and I wish you weren’t going, but one day, when we’re both grown up, we’ll be proper friends again, I’m sure of it.’

She half expected a rebuff, feeling she deserved it, but Wendy returned her hug with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve missed you, too, Di, ever so much,’ she muttered. ‘But there’s no way your mam would ever have let us play together again, and anyway, we won’t come back to Liverpool, not this time. Me Aunt Naomi said, last time we landed on her doorstep, that Mam
and the rest of us would be best under her eye, over in Birkenhead. She said if it happened again, then Mam must get a job on the other side of the water and stay under her roof until she was fit to care for herself. We knew this were goin’ to happen so Lily and meself went to Aunt Naomi a week ago and telled her how things stood. She said as she’d take her sister in one more time, to save us all from the workhouse, but our mam must toe the line an’ do as she was told or she’d find herself chucked out of me aunt’s house as well.’