Two Penn'orth of Sky (6 page)

Beryl realised that she’d been feeling thirsty for some time and sat up straighter. ‘That’s a bleedin’ good idea, Em,’ she said, beginning to struggle out of her deckchair. ‘I’ll tell Charlie not to let the others mess around while you an’ me have a cuppa. Not that much harm can come to ’em now, not with the tide out.’

The two women gathered their belongings into a neat pile and pulled the deckchairs close, then went and spoke to the children. The younger ones scarcely looked up, but Charlie said at once that the construction of the castle would keep them occupied whilst his mam and Aunt Emmy were gone. ‘An’ we won’t start a-fillin’ of the moat until you’re back, ’specially as there’s only me can carry a full bucket – an’ there’s only one bucket – so it’ll be a long job,’ he said cheerfully. ‘When we’ve ate our carry-out and drunk the lemonade, we can use the bottles to fetch water as well as the bucket, but until then I’ll keep ’em out o’ the sea, don’t you worrit yourselves.’

Emmy and Beryl smiled at one another as they
made their way across the golden sand towards the prom. ‘He’s a good lad, our Charlie,’ Beryl said contentedly, as they took their places at a rickety table outside the small café. ‘He’ll keep them out of mischief until we’re back.’

By mid-afternoon, the tide had come in and the wonderful castle, which had taken them all morning to complete, was disappearing fast beneath the little, white-topped waves. Diana watched it go gleefully. It had been an enormous task just to finish it in time; they had watched the moat fill and had danced a war dance round it, though by then little Bobby had gone to sleep in his mother’s arms, so it had been herself, Charlie, Lenny and Becky who had watched the moat fill, had known that all their efforts had been worthwhile. Becky was a year younger than Diana, and this was fortunate because Diana’s clothes, when outgrown, fitted Becky nicely. At this moment, she was clad in a blue cotton dress patterned with white daisies, and Diana had to keep reminding herself not to say, wistfully, that it had been her very favourite dress, because Mammy said it was rude to remind someone that their dress was second-hand.

Diana did not see the sense of this and was sure that Becky wouldn’t mind at all if the dress was as old as the hills or just purchased from Lewis’s, so long as it was pretty and comfortable. But Mammy was strict about such things so Diana never said a word about the blue dress, though she had not been able to resist spreading out her pink gingham skirt and remarking that she would probably have outgrown it by the following summer. Her mammy had given her a very sharp glance indeed, but Aunty Beryl had merely remarked, placidly, that she wished Becky would take more care of her clothes, as Diana did, and the talk had changed to other things.

‘Well, that’s the last of our castle.’ It was Charlie’s voice, near Diana’s ear, and she turned to grin at him, then tucked her pink skirt inside her white knickers and waded into the water, kicking at the remains of the castle until there was nothing left for the little waves to gobble up.

‘Yes, it’s all gone now,’ she admitted. ‘What’ll we do next, Charlie?’

Charlie considered this, his head tilted a little. Secretly, Diana rather admired him. He had a straight brown fringe of hair which fell almost to his eyes and a cheeky grin, and his body was compact and strong. He could do lots of things that she could not, but then he was three years older than her, almost a grown-up, so she waited for his decision. He might suggest they should build another castle further up the beach, or they could draw out a hopscotch game on the wet sand. Or they could skim stones – except Charlie was very good at it and she was not – or simply paddle, only that would mean she ought to put on her bathing costume again because if one ran into the sea and kicked up spray, which was the best way of paddling, one’s knickers and dress would be bound to get drenched and she had no desire to have her lovely day spoiled by a telling-off, or even a slap.

So Diana turned to Charlie, waiting for his next bright idea, and was disappointed.

‘You and Becky can play round the deckchairs; I’m going to climb out to Perch Castle,’ he said loftily. ‘It ain’t no place for kids. It’s real dangerous, ’specially when the tide’s in, ’cos there’s deep pools and slippery seaweed and all sorts. I can do it, ’cos I’m older
and ’cos boys is stronger an’ better’n girls any day o’ the week. Just amuse yourselves for half an hour. I’ve got work to attend to.’

Diana’s mouth opened in an O of horror. No one was allowed to climb up Perch Rock to reach the castle at high tide. Everyone knew it was dangerous. She did hope Charlie wouldn’t really ruin the day by getting himself drowned. She started to say as much, threatening to tell Aunty Beryl, but the only result was to make Charlie laugh scornfully and give her a push towards the small group on and around the deckchairs. ‘Go on, baby tale-clat,’ he said nastily. ‘By the time you reach ’em, I’ll be on Perch Rock. See ya later, kid.’

He set off, whistling jauntily, slowing down when he reached the first ridge of rock. Diana thought, vengefully, that he was pretending to plot his climb, and looking past him she thought that, in fact, it would not be so difficult. Why, I believe I could do it, she thought, surprised. It’s a bit of a scramble but I bet I could reach the Rock, if I really wanted to. I’ll go a little way, just to show him.

Cautiously, she glanced towards the grown-ups. They were not even looking in her direction; their attention was fixed on something happening on the prom. She remembered, with a little stab of excitement, that Mammy had said they might all have one go on the funfair before catching the ferry home, and hesitated; would it be wiser not to clamber on the rocks? It had been such a lovely day . . . but she would not go far. It would not take her more than a few seconds to reach the first big outcrop.

She turned back towards the sea and saw that Charlie was already more than halfway to the castle. Hastily, she hurried after him.

She was only a few yards from him when the disaster occurred. Hurrying, not taking proper care, she did exactly what Charlie had foretold. Her foot met a patch of slippery weed and she slid sideways, grabbed at the empty air, and plunged, head first, into a deep pool.

For a moment, there was nothing but confusion and gradually dawning fear. Salt water invaded her mouth, her eyes were full of it, her flailing hands hit sharp rock; she tried to cling to the rock, to pull herself out, but the swirling water loosened her grip and seemed to be deliberately dragging her down. She opened her mouth to scream and swallowed more water, saw bubbles racing up past her, making their way to the surface she could not even see. She wanted to scream for her mammy, to say she was sorry, that it was her own naughtiness in following Charlie which had got her in such a pickle. Pictures swept through her mind, pictures of Mammy crying, of Daddy wanting his little girl, of the garden at home, the apple tree, the happy family party somewhere above her on the golden sands. But the pictures were darkening, her strength was ebbing, as the darkness gathered. She could no longer breathe, there was a tight band of steel round her chest, her head was bursting . . .

And then there was a hand gripping the nape of her neck and she was being hauled upward. Her head broke the surface and she took a desperate gasp and felt air, blessed air, invade her burning lungs. Charlie’s voice above her said furiously: ‘You stupid . . . why’d yer foller me? You could of . . . well, you was nearly drownded, d’yer know that?’ He heaved her up in his arms and carried her off the rocks and on to dry sand, then dumped her, unceremoniously.
Diana tried to take a breath to thank him, to say she was sorry, and instead found herself vomiting – mostly sea water – on to the sand, whilst tears ran down her cheeks.

There was a thud as someone sat on the sand beside her and a hard young arm went reassuringly round her shoulders. ‘’S awright, Di. You’re gonna be awright,’ Charlie said comfortingly. He must have glanced up the beach for he added: ‘We won’t tell your mammy what happened. We’ll say you slipped when you was paddling, else they won’t let us go on the funfair. Are you game to say nothin’? Only it’s been a grand day and we don’t want to spoil it, does we?’

Diana was still at the wheezing, gasping stage. Her lungs felt as if someone had lit a fire in them; her throat ached and her eyes burned. She had not the slightest desire to go on the funfair, but longed, urgently, for a cup of hot, sweet tea and a cuddle from her mammy. However, there was no doubt in her mind that Charlie had saved her life and the only way she could truly thank him was to take his advice and pretend nothing untoward had happened. Aunty Beryl and Mammy were waking the baby and spreading out the picnic cloth. She might not get the hot tea for which she craved – children were thought to prefer lemonade – but at least Mammy would give her a cuddle when she saw the pitiful state her daughter was in. And . . . and Charlie had been wonderful.

Diana braced herself; she would
not
let him down! She fished a tiny, soaking hanky out of her knicker leg, wiped it briskly round her face and then blew her nose on it. A great deal of sea water had managed to secrete itself up her nostrils, and now that it was
out she felt a good deal better. She pushed her dripping hair off her forehead, anchored some loose strands behind her ears, and scrambled to her feet. ‘Right you are, Charlie,’ she said huskily, in a voice which scarcely resembled her own. ‘They haven’t seen a thing. They’re wakin’ Bobby and gettin’ our tea out of the basket. C’mon!’

Keeping the incident quiet proved impossible, since the moment Emmy looked round and saw her daughter, soaked to the skin and liberally bespattered with sand, she knew that something dreadful had happened. She jumped to her feet, wrapped Diana in the striped towel, and began to rub energetically at her daughter’s hair. She did not ask Diana what had happened, for the child’s teeth were chattering so hard that she doubted if she would get a coherent reply, but she cast an enquiring look at Charlie. ‘She fell in,’ Charlie said briefly. ‘I hooked her out just as soon as I could, Aunty Em, but she’d swallowed sea water by then. She’s awright though, honest to God she is.’ He glanced from Emmy’s face to the towel-wrapped and shivering child. ‘Well, mebbe she’s still a bit shook up, but she’ll be fine, won’t you, Di?’

‘Y-y-y-yes,’ Diana said shakily. She turned to her mother. ‘I – I – I’ll be awright, only . . . oh, Mammy, can I have tea instead of lemonade?’

Emmy laughed and hugged her little daughter closer, then set her down on the deckchair she herself had just vacated. ‘All right. I suppose a ducking isn’t going to kill you,’ she observed. She fished in the pocket of her jacket and handed Charlie some loose change. ‘Run up to the café, there’s a good lad, and get a teapot big enough for four. When you come
back, the young lady diver here and the rest of us can have a cuppa, and then we’ll eat our carry-out.’ For the first time, she noticed that Charlie was almost as wet as Diana, and his knuckles and one knee were bruised and bleeding. Guiltily, she realised she had not spared a thought for the boy who had very likely rescued her daughter from a watery grave, though he was now making light of it. ‘Oh, Charlie, you’re hurt! Look, you stay here and let your mam clean up your cuts and bruises. Diana will be fine just while I fetch the teapot.’

Beryl, who had been seeing to the younger children, turned to examine her son. She grinned at Charlie, then turned to grin at Emmy, too. ‘If you think them scratches will worry our lad, you’ve gorra nother think coming,’ she said roundly. ‘Go on, Charlie, an’ gerra move on; me tongue’s hangin’ out like a Jacob’s carpet an’ me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut.’ She turned her shrewd eyes on Diana. The child was beginning to rub her own hair with the towel and was looking a good deal perkier. ‘You awright, queen? I can see you’re feelin’ better. Fancy a corned beef and pickle sandwich?’

Diana scrambled off her chair and Emmy realised, not for the first time, that Beryl’s matter-of-fact attitude did Diana more good than all the fussing in the world. As for Charlie, he had already almost reached the prom and now Beryl was pouring lemonade into Bakelite mugs and handing round sandwiches to the rest of her family, and Diana had sat herself down beside Becky, and the two small girls were discussing the ability of a piece of seaweed hung outside one’s bedroom window to forecast next day’s weather. ‘If it’s goin’ to rain next day, the seaweed feels wet, but if it’s goin’ to be sunny, it’s nice and dry,’ Diana told
the younger girl. ‘My daddy told me that an’ my daddy knows
everything
.’

Lenny sniffed. ‘If the seaweed’s wet, I reckon it’s ’cos it’s already rainin’,’ he said gruffly, helping himself to a sandwich. ‘That’s what
my
dad says.’

Emmy turned away to hide a smile. The Fishers might be perennially hard up and the kids might go to a poorly provided and overcrowded school, but they were sharp as needles. Emmy found herself thinking, not for the first time, that it was a pity Peter was so set against his family’s visiting Nightingale Court. It would do Diana nothing but good to mix with children like Beryl Fisher’s brood.

‘Here’s the tea, Aunty Em.’ Charlie, bearing a large enamel teapot, placed it in front of Emmy with a triumphant flourish. ‘Will you pour out?’

It was dark by the time the two families climbed wearily off the ferry and went their separate ways. Beryl gave Emmy a hug before they parted, thanking her for a wonderful day out, a real treat.

‘I don’t see why you’re thanking me,’ Emmy said, flushed and excited herself, for the two young women had forgotten the weight of their years and had gone on all the funfair rides they could afford, had eaten popcorn and candyfloss, and had behaved like two girls again. ‘Spending time with you is always fun, Beryl. You never let anything get you down.’

Beryl smiled a trifle grimly. ‘I wish that were true, queen, but I’m only human. There’s days when I snap at the kids and shout at poor Wally, and think that if I have another bleedin’ sheet or tablecloth to launder, I’ll go mad. But I get through somehow, and it’s a help to have kids what’s good-hearted and a feller who can turn his hand to anything.’