by Rosie Harris
Perhaps he could ask this Sandy to keep an eye on Winnie. He might even be able to persuade him to wheel her to and from school each day, since he was pretty sure Grace would never bother to do so.
Trevor was at the school early that afternoon, intent on talking to Sandy. He was in time to spot a redheaded boy pushing Winnie’s chair out of the school towards the niche by the gate. Trevor’s heart lifted when he saw the ease with which the boy manipulated her chair across the playground.
‘Sandy?’
The boy looked startled when he heard his name called. As Trevor got closer to him and they stood side by side, Trevor noticed that Sandy was only an inch or so shorter than he was, and his shoulders were as broad as Trevor’s own.
‘You’re early, Mr Malloy!’
‘Yes. I wanted a word with you.’
Sandy looked uneasy; his green eyes became cautious. ‘Why’s that? What ‘ave I done wrong?’
‘Nothing at all, as far as I know,’ Trevor said mildly. ‘I wanted to thank you for looking after my Winnie and wheeling her around like you do.’
Sandy smiled broadly. ‘It’s no trouble, she’s a nice kid, aren’t you, Winnie!’
‘Oh, I know that,’ Trevor agreed. ‘I wondered, though, if you’d do something else to help her.’
Sandy immediately looked cautious. ‘Like what, mister?’
‘I’ve been called up. I go into the army tomorrow and I have to make some arrangements for Winnie to get to school each day and then back home again at night.’
‘Can’t her mam push her?’
Trevor shook his head. ‘She isn’t all that well and she finds that pushing Winnie in her chair makes her back ache.’
Sandy nodded in silence.
‘I was wondering if you could collect Winnie each morning and take her home again after school?’
‘Where d’you live?’
‘Elias Street. At the top end of Scotland Road.’
‘I know where it is, mister. I don’t live far from there.’
‘So will you do it? I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll explain things to my wife tonight and tell her …’
‘Hold it, mister. I don’t need money.’
Trevor felt deflated. ‘It would set my mind at rest,’ he mumbled. ‘Winnie loves school and she’s doing so well that I don’t want her to miss out.’
‘I’ll do what you ask,’ Sandy told him, ‘but you don’t have to pay me. Winnie’s my friend.’
Trevor was silent for a moment, completely taken aback by the boy’s kindness. Then he held out his hand to Sandy. ‘Thanks, kiddo, I’ll remember this.’
‘Better start pushing, hadn’t we,’ Sandy muttered to hide his embarrassment. ‘If I walk home with you now then I’ll know where to collect her from in the morning.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Trevor agreed. ‘You can meet Winnie’s mam so that she knows who you are when you turn up. Don’t want her to think you’re kidnapping our little girl, now, do we.’
Grace curled her lower lip when she met Sandy and heard about the arrangement.
‘What’s your game then?’ she snarled. ‘Think you’re going to make some money out of it?’
‘No, missus! Like I told her dad, I don’t want paying. I like Winnie. She’s a good kid.’
The moment Sandy had gone, Grace turned on Trevor in a fury.
‘What the bloody hell are you playing at? Don’t you trust me to take the kid to school, is that it?’
Trevor chewed the inside of his cheek as he faced his irate wife. She looked old and raddled, with her hair still in metal curlers even though it was the afternoon. Her dress was stained and she was grubby and unkempt. He wanted to remind her that she never got up early enough in the mornings to get Winnie to school on time, but he held back. He could see she was all keyed up for a fight and he didn’t want to be on bad terms with Grace in case she took her temper out on Winnie after he’d gone.
As it was, he wondered if she was even going to manage to get Winnie dressed and ready for when Sandy called for her each day. He suspected that half the time it would mean Winnie would have to sleep in her clothes. As for the packed lunch that Winnie took to school with her each day, he could only hope that Grace would make that up for her the night before.
‘I know you find the carriage difficult to push, that’s all. I was only trying to make life a bit easier for you,’ he said cautiously.
Grace grunted disbelievingly.
‘Is there anything else that I can do before I leave? There’s not much time left.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘What can you do? You’re buggering off and I’m stuck here with a crippled kid to look after.’ She fished a crumpled packet of Woodbines out of the pocket of her apron, shook out a cigarette and stuck it in the corner of her mouth as she spoke.
‘I know, Grace, but I haven’t any option, have I?’ he retorted wearily.
Grace’s lip curled. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that they’d want a weed like you,’ she said, looking him up and down disparagingly. ‘What sodding good are you going to be to them?’
‘I’m sure they’ve got something in mind!’
‘Yeah? Bloody cannon fodder, that’s about all you’re good for,’ she muttered contemptuously.
Trevor ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. ‘Yes, perhaps you’re right, but there’s nothing I can do about it, is there?’
‘If you’d got off your arse when the war started and taken a job in a munitions factory, like my two boys Mick and Paddy did, then you’d have been exempt, wouldn’t you! Instead, because you had such a cushy number down on the docks, you didn’t bother.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that. There’s always a chance they’ll still get called up, you know. They’re young, they’re fit …’ He left the sentence unfinished. He didn’t want to add to Grace’s worries. His main concern at this moment was Winnie.
‘You will do all you can to help Winnie while I’m away, won’t you?’ he pleaded.
Grace blew out a fug of smoke. ‘Are you suggesting I don’t help her?’
‘No, of course I’m not.’ He looked round the shabby room with its dirty dishes piled at one end of the table, the grate choked by ashes, the floor littered with old magazines and newspapers, and sighed. ‘It’s just that I worry about having to leave her …’
‘You mean here, in this pigsty, and having to rely on me to stick a nappy on her backside every day in case she’s taken short, and to make her some grub, and to wait on her hand and foot,’ Grace ended bitterly.
Trevor didn’t answer. What was the good of denying it? By now, Grace must know what he felt about her slovenly behaviour and the way they lived. She must also be aware that he resented the fact that she did as little as she possibly could to help Winnie.
He knew she claimed that her age had a lot to do with it. She told him so often enough! He accepted what she said, but deep down he thought that she should make more effort where Winnie was concerned. The child deserved much better care than she was getting.
He tried not to dwell on it, but he couldn’t put it out of his mind that perhaps Grace having a baby so late in life had something to do with Winnie being crippled. The doctors all said that her condition was due to having infantile paralysis, but Trevor wasn’t sure, even though she’d been as right as rain before she’d been rushed into hospital. One minute she’d been a lively little four-year-old, running, skipping and full of life. The next her little legs were all twisted and useless.
He’d never forget the first time he’d seen her like that in the hospital. Even her black ringlets had been shorn. The only things that hadn’t changed completely were her brilliant turquoise-blue eyes. The laughter had gone from them, though, and had been replaced by a look of bewilderment.
How could a child of four understand why she had been afflicted so cruelly? She had never hurt anyone, yet she was being punished more severely than if she’d committed some terrible crime. What was more, there
was no remission for good behaviour. The doctors had given her a lifetime sentence when they’d said she would never walk again.
Sometimes, Trevor thought, it seemed that what had happened to Winnie had changed her life so much, it was as if she was living through one of the awful nightmares she had from time to time.
Grace ground out her cigarette on the edge of the table. ‘What’re you doing about an allowance?’
Trevor frowned and dragged his thoughts back to the present. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I bloody mean is what are you doing about seeing I get some money each week? We got to eat, you know. Me and your precious kid! You’ll be getting four square meals a day, but I’ll be stuck here without a sodding penny-piece once you clear off and your wages aren’t coming in each week. I won’t have time to work if I have to be the one doing everything for young Winnie.’
‘You’ll have no worries about money, Grace. As my wife you’re my official dependant so I’ll be signing all the necessary papers to make sure you get a regular allowance. There will be enough to pay the rent, and for housekeeping and all your other needs, and for everything Winnie may want.’
‘“And for anything Winnie may want!”’ she repeated mockingly. ‘You don’t forget about that little bitch for one single moment, do you!’
‘No!’ Trevor admitted sadly. ‘Never for one single moment. How can you expect me to ever do so?’ He looked at her contemplatively, thinking how different things could have been if Grace had been a better wife and mother, or if he had married someone else.
Grace didn’t answer. She looked straight through him, as though he’d already left the house and her life.
Trevor spent his last night in Elias Street sitting by Winnie’s bed, holding her hand as she slept. In his mind he mulled over all that had happened in the eight years since she’d been born and tried not to think about her future.
When the cold light of dawn told him it was time for him to leave for his new life, he tenderly stroked her black curls back from her forehead and kissed her sleep-flushed little face.
‘Goodbye, God bless,’ he whispered brokenly. Then, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he stumbled down the stairs. He took a last look round the squalid living room, then picked up the canvas bag containing his few personal belongings that he’d packed the night before, and headed off to catch an early morning tram.
Chapter Five
WINNIE MISSED HER dad. She had never felt so lonely or so desolate in all her life. For the first time she realised that she couldn’t cope on her own and it made her feel scared.
She’d known it all along, of course, but because her dad did so much for her, and never commented or drew her attention to the fact, she had tended to overlook how much he helped her.
The first morning after he had gone into the army she tried to get herself ready for school. Dragging herself to the kitchen sink she wiped over her face with a piece of flannel that hung over the tap. It hadn’t been rinsed out when it had been used the night before and it smelled horrible, like milk gone sour. Getting dressed without having him there to help her was frustrating and painful, but she managed it.
She picked up her lunch tin. It seemed lighter than usual so she looked inside and was shocked to find that it was empty. That had been another one of her dad’s jobs. He always made up sandwiches for her and for himself before he went to bed at night so that they were ready and waiting for them both to pick up as they were about to leave the house.
She stuck the empty tin back on the draining board. Not much point in carrying it to school if it was empty, she thought dejectedly.
So what would she have to eat? she wondered. She struggled to the earthenware crock where the bread was kept, but that was empty. Her dad always bought a loaf on his way home from work. Obviously her mam was so used to him doing so that she hadn’t thought to get any.
Before she could resolve the problem, Sandy Coulson was at the door. She didn’t know whether to drag herself down the hall to answer it or struggle into her carriage that was parked at the bottom of the stairs. Before she could make her mind up the door opened a fraction and his carrotred head appeared round it.
‘Are you ready, Winnie?’
‘Almost!’
He seemed to take in the situation with one sweeping glance of his bright green eyes, and to understand her predicament. Swiftly, he came into the hall, swept her up in his arms and settled her in the invalid carriage.
‘There you are! Got everything you need?’
When she didn’t answer he propped open the front door as wide as it would go, seized the handle of the carriage and bumped her unceremoniously out onto the pavement.
He moved so fast, almost running, that she felt breathless by the time they reached school. He propelled her into the centre of the playground.
‘Too early to go in yet,’ he said, and sauntered away to where his friends were gathered in a group.
When the bell sounded he came back and wheeled her into the classroom to her designated place near the stove. ‘See you at dinner break,’ he said nonchalantly, and walked away.
He was there as he’d promised, but once he’d wheeled her out into the playground he didn’t hang around but went off to join his own friends.
Winnie looked for her lunch tin, then remembered she hadn’t brought it because there was nothing to put in it. My belly’s going to think my throat’s been cut by the time I get home, she thought miserably. She wondered what there would be to eat then. Scouse, if she was lucky, otherwise a dip-butty made from dripping or bacon fat.
When school ended that afternoon, Sandy wheeled her home, opened the front door, bounced her into the hallway and turned and left.
She would have liked him to stay and talk. It wasn’t easy having a conversation with him when he was wheeling her along the road because he was holding on to the handle which was behind her head.
On the Friday night, when she tried to ask him about whether he minded having to bring her home, he looked embarrassed.
‘I’m going that way every day so it makes no difference to me that I push you there and back,’ he muttered.
‘Don’t you ever hang out with some of the other boys after school?’ she asked curiously.
‘Nah! Well, not often. If I want to see any of them I can always nip back after I’ve wheeled you home.’
Her mother watched her being brought home each evening without comment, almost without interest. She never asked how she managed, was never up in the morning to help her get ready for school or to give her a hand into the carriage.
That first week seemed to set the pattern for the future. When Winnie told her mother that she’d had nothing to eat at midday all week, Grace looked at her blankly.
‘If you’re too bleeding idle to stick some grub in your tin and take it with you then that’s your lookout!’
‘I’d do that if there was anything here to take,’ Winnie pointed out. ‘There’s been no bread in the crock all week.’
‘That’s because I’ve been buying sliced bread and leaving it in the paper it comes in,’ her mother told her. ‘If you’d used your eyes and looked in the cupboard you’d have found it. Want waiting on hand and foot, don’t yer! Well, I’m not your dad so you won’t get any pandering from me, so don’t expect it!’
It was the start of real enmity between them. It was almost as if Grace blamed Winnie for the fact that Trevor had been called up. She did less and less around the house. The place became dirtier and messier than ever. Sometimes the smell was so bad that Winnie wished she could be outside in the fresh air. She tried once or twice to get as far as the front door so that she could sit on the doorstep. The effort left her breathless and was so painful that she was afraid that if she did sit on the doorstep she’d never be able to stand up or move back indoors again.
Getting upstairs was one of her greatest problems. In the past, her dad had simply picked her up and carried her, but Grace made it quite plain from the very
first night that she had no intention of doing that.
‘Why should I break my bloody back carrying a lump like you up all those stairs,’ she told Winnie. ‘About time you learned to do things for yourself. It’s not as though you’re ever going to get any better, and you can’t go through life expecting people to wait on you and help you all the time.’
Winnie didn’t expect people to put themselves out for her, but even a helping hand or an encouraging word would have been something, she thought resentfully.
In the end, she mastered it in her own way. Coming down the stairs was easy. Her arms were strong through constantly lifting herself from one position to another so she simply grabbed the handrails that Trevor had fitted on both sides and swung her legs out into the air and then let them land on the stair below. Going upstairs was the problem. Finally, she mastered that by going up backwards, using the strength in her arms to lift herself from one step to the next and dragging her legs after her.
Other people, Winnie found, were kinder than her mother. Several of the neighbours offered to push her out in her invalid carriage at the weekend. Mary Murphy from two doors down wheeled her to Mass on Sundays, and Sally Green once took her all the way to St John’s Market.
That had been a wonderful day. She’d been there once or twice with her dad and she loved the colourful sight of all the fruit and vegetables. The crowds of people milling about and the hustle and bustle and the raucous shouts of all the traders brought memories of those previous visits rushing back.
She’d been full of excitement about it when she’d got home that night, and to her surprise her mam had listened, a crafty look on her lined face.
The next weekend there was an even greater surprise. Grace told Winnie she was going to push her to St John’s Market herself.
‘Do you know what you’re saying, Mam?’ she probed. She knew her mam had been drinking down at the Eagle the night before and she wondered if she was still so tanked up that she didn’t know what she was doing.
