by Maureen Lee
When the Flowers arrived home, Max was in the garden with Spencer curled up on his knee, studying a history book. His father gave him a curt nod and Rose wanted to know if he’d had anything to eat.
‘Not a bite,’ Max said with an injured air. Rose went indoors to make him a sandwich, and Gerald ran to the pond to see if his frog spawn had developed.
When only he and his sister were left, Max grinned and showed her a science fiction novel hidden inside the text book.
‘You haven’t been studying at all!’ she cried.
‘I haven’t been reading long, either. I’ve been to the fête, though I stayed well out the way.’ He smacked his lips. ‘I went to the Oak Tree and drank a whole pint of scrumpy. The landlord was too busy to notice who he was serving. I feel a bit drunk.’
‘I hope no one saw you. If Dad finds out, he’ll have a fit.’
‘I don’t care if he has ten fits,’ Max said belligerently. ‘Did you notice the way he walked round the field with Colonel Max, one step respectfully behind? I bet he never disagrees or says a word out of place, yet at home he’s nothing but a bully. I’d tell him what I thought of him, ’cept it would only upset Mum.’
‘Oh, Max, don’t . . .’ Jeannie paused.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Spoil things. Everything’s so nice . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
‘It’s only nice because we all kowtow to Dad, let him boss us around. Even Mum does as she’s told. I didn’t notice when I was young, but now I’m older, it really pisses me off,’ Max said with all the wisdom of a fourteen-year-old.
Jeannie sighed. ‘It’s only because he loves us.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s because he’s a bully and he has to have his own way all the time.’ Max thankfully changed the subject. ‘Did you have a nice time?’
‘Sort of.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Mam deserted us and I was stuck with Rita McDowd all afternoon.’
‘You should have told her to sod off.’
‘I couldn’t, Max. The poor girl thinks she’s my friend. I’d feel awful if I hurt her. The thing is, she smells and she’s got no conversation. She’s got a lovely voice, though. I hadn’t realised. She sang ‘Greensleeves’ with the accordion band. She didn’t know I was listening.’
‘You’re too nice, sis. Still, you’ll get your reward in heaven.’
It was funny, but Mam seemed more pleased with the pearls than the more important ciggies. Perhaps it was because, as she said, she couldn’t remember when she was last bought a present.
‘They’re not real,’ Rita warned.
‘Ah, but don’t they look real?’ Sadie cried. ‘Fancy you thinking about me! And our Sean too. He’ll love that scarf when he gets in. You’re a good girl, Rita.’ She bestowed an unaccustomed kiss on her daughter’s cheek, and became quite animated, demanding more details of the afternoon that had turned out so fortunately.
Rita described how pleased she’d been when the guides, not the scouts, were first to boil a kettle, and what a wonderful surprise it had been when she’d stucka flag in the ground with her name on and it had turned out to be the very spot where the treasure was buried.
‘D’you like me bag, Mam?’ she enquired. ‘There’s a purse to match inside. It’s where I put the money that’s over. You can buy hundreds of ciggies on Monday.’
‘Did you not just say the Flowers are spending tomorrow in New Brighton?’ her mother asked thoughtfully.
‘Yes, it’s Gerald’s birthday.’
‘Well, us McDowds aren’t due a birthday, but I’d like to spend the money on a day out too. What about Southport? It’s a far grander place than New Brighton and easier to get to. What do you say, girl?’
‘Yes, Mam,’ Rita breathed.
‘In that case, let’s start getting ready now. Take your frock off and I’ll give it a rub through. It’ll be dry in no time in this weather. Then we’ll wash our hair, but first of all I’ll get rid of these dirty dishes.’ Sadie jumped to her feet with a rare show of energy. ‘I’ll wear me pearls and Sean his scarf, and you can take your new bag. We’ll have a fine day out in Southport, so we will.’
Sean McDowd was tall for thirteen, as thin as a lath, with hair as black as soot, and smouldering good looks – the spitting image of his father, according to Sadie. Unlike his sister, he had many friends, mainly boys older than himself over whom Sean was able to exert an extraordinary amount of influence. There was something magnetic about his dark blue eyes, his scowling face, that made his friends want to please him, change the scowl into one of his rare, heart-stopping smiles.
Small gangs of lads, led by Sean, were the scourge of local farmers. At dead of night, they raided their hen coops, stealing not just eggs, but the occasional chicken.
Rows of strawberry plants were stripped of fruit, trees denuded of their apples, potatoes and other vegetables dug up from the corners of fields, and sold for coppers to Frank Beggerow’s brother who ran a fruit and veg stall in Ormskirk market.
The victims of these atrocities didn’t bother with the law; they applied their own. If caught, the culprits were given a good hiding and warned never to do it again, though they usually did, egged on by Sean McDowd, who was rarely caught, and had the makings of a master criminal, the way he could warp minds and bend people to his will.
Nobody realised that Sean made not a penny from his life of crime. He did it for fun, to bring excitement into his deadly dull life and the lives of a few other lads in Ailsham, where no one cared that there was nothing for young people to do and nowhere for them to go. Sean only attended school, the Philip Wallace Secondary Modern in Maghull, in order to pass the time. If something more appealing came up, he didn’t go. It was no use the authorities complaining to his mother. Sadie had lost control over her son. He went his own way and there was nothing she could do about it.
On the day of the fête, Sean and his mates were sprawled on the green at the furthest edge of the festivities. They wouldn’t be seen dead on the stalls, throwing coconuts and shoving ha’pennies. Besides which, everyone was broke apart from Jimmy Lowe who’d started work at Easter and bought them a pint of scrumpy each.
Max Flowers was sitting not far away also drinking a pint of the brutally alcoholic Oak Tree cider. Sean nudged one of his mates. ‘See over there, the scholarship boy. Letting the side down a bit, eh?’ Max had been in the class above him at the village school, an ultrarespectable teacher’s pet, perfectly dressed, never in trouble. It came as no surprise when he’d gone to grammar school. Max turned and caught his eye; Sean gave him a look of utter contempt.
Later, he saw the tiny, hunched figure of his sister rush across the green towards the shops. She ran unevenly, like a wounded sparrow, and Sean’s hard heart contracted. He loved his family, yet at the same time regarded them with deep resentment. He didn’t want to care, but couldn’t help it. His mother, with her melancholy ways and endless cigarettes, got on his nerves, and Rita was pathetic. As the man of the house, Sean felt there was something he should do to put things right, but had no idea what. He found it best to stay away from Disraeli Terrace as much as possible, not think about it.
They watched the activities on the green from afar, laughing like drains at the frantic attempts of the scouts and guides to light fires, hooting and whistling at the accordion band, trying to decide which of the girls in their brief yellow frocks had the best legs.
The fête ended, the visitors departed, but still they lingered, the scrumpy long gone, wondering how they were supposed to occupy themselves on a Saturday night without a penny between them. They idly watched the stalls being dismantled, boxes packed, tables folded.
Sean suddenly sat bolt upright when he spied his sister again. She was helping pack up a stall – with Jeannie Flowers! His hot, sullen eyes narrowed. He normally had no time for girls, although at school they threw themselves at him all the time. Girls were trouble; clinging, demanding, difficult to get rid of when you’d had enough. Jeannie Flowers, though, was dif
ferent and often featured in his dreams. She was gentle, ladylike, always polite when they met. Yet Sean always had the feeling she considered him way beneath her, that he meant no more to her than one of the slugs in her father’s show-piece garden. The feeling made him burn with rage, until he would remember that Jeannie was still a child with a woman’s beauty.
But one day, she would no longer be a child and Sean was determined that when that day came, he would make her his. He desired Jeannie Flowers more than anything else on earth.
It was nine o’clock when Sean arrived home, driven there by hunger, though he doubted if there’d be anything much to eat – he could have murdered a plate of egg and chips. To his surprise, he found his mother in an unusually happy mood and his sister quite excited. The sun was still warm and they were sitting on the rough grass at the back of the house, running their fingers through their damp hair, tossing their heads this way and that to dry it. Washing hung on the line.
‘Sean!’ Rita jumped to her feet. ‘See what I’ve got for you.’ She ran into the house and returned with a long white scarf that she threw around his neck, then stood back to admire the effect. ‘It makes you look desperately elegant.’
‘Where’d it come from?’
‘The white elephant stall. Jeannie said it once belonged to Colonel Corbett. It’s an evening scarf, but you can wear it in the daytime.’
Sean’s first thought was that he didn’t want the colonel’s cast-offs, thanks all the same, but it seemed cruel when Rita had bought it especially for him. ‘It’s nice,’ he said grudgingly. He examined his reflection in the kitchen window and it did look smart; elegant, like Rita said.
‘And guess what! Tomorrow, we’re going to Southport for the day. You’ll come, won’t you?’ she added anxiously. ‘I won the treasure hunt, so we’ve got the money.’
‘I suppose so.’ He might as well. Tomorrow was Sunday and there’d be even less to do in Ailsham than usual.
Even Sean had to agree the day in Southport went exceptionally well. The small town was crowded with holidaymakers and the sun shone as gloriously as it had done the day before.
Their first port of call was the fairground. Sean scorned the likes of the waltzer and the merry-go-round, and made for the rifle range. He discovered he was a fine shot and, after winning a giant multi-coloured ball straight off, then a jazzy vase with his second go, the irate stallholder gave him his money back and refused to let him have another turn.
An hour later, when Rita judged they’d spent enough money, they wandered along the flat, glistening sand to where the Irish Sea rippled gently in the distance. Rita and Sean kicked the ball to each other; Sadie examined the vase and wished there were flowers in her garden to put in it when she got home.
They strolled along the promenade and admired the pretty, neat gardens, then sat on a bench for a while so Sadie could have a Woodbine. Sean was dispatched to buy candy floss.
Rita was in her element. She’d only been to Southport once before, on a day trip with the school. The girls had been told to walk in pairs, but she’d been the odd one out, without a partner, trailing behind all day, feeling sad and alone.
Today was different. It was the best day of her life, and she doubted if the Flowers were having a better time in New Brighton. Mam was in a great mood and even Sean, usually so sour, had joined in the fun. Later, they were going to Lord Street for a sit down meal. Mam said a fish and chip restaurant would be cheapest.
To think that so much happiness was the result of stealing a pound! It made Rita aware of the power of money. She felt quite awed by it. If she could steal a pound every day, their entire lives would change for ever. She knew it was a mad idea. She would never steal again, but she prayed that one day Mam would wear real pearls around her neck and Sean would have an evening suit to go with the evening scarf.
Max’s presence was sorely missed in New Brighton. It didn’t feel the same with only four of them when there should have been five. Gerald complained his birthday treat had been spoilt and Rose remarked more than once how concerned she was, leaving Max on his own for a whole day. Jeannie longed to have a go on the dodgems, but only with Max, who drove with fiendish abandon, bumping into every car in sight, making her scream with a mixture of delight and fear. She felt the same about the big wheel and the ghost train, but went on both for Gerald’s sake, not wanting to spoil his birthday even more.
Her father had been grumpy all day. Perhaps he was also missing Max’s company, or it could be he was still cross with Mum. Last night, he had expressed his annoyance with the fact the colonel had been sold his own smoking jacket.
‘But it was me that sold it,’ Jeannie pointed out.
‘Yes, but it was your mother’s idea he buy something.’
‘I don’t see anything wrong with that, Tom,’ Rose said mildly. ‘It was just his way of giving to charity.’
‘Maybe so, but next year I’d be obliged if you’d leave him to make up his own mind how he gives to charity.’
‘I’m sorry, Tom.’
Tom made a harrumphing noise and had seemed satisfied with the apology. Jeannie was glad Max had gone to bed early and avoided the incident. He was bound to have said something to inflame things.
She climbed down the steps of the ghost train, which hadn’t seemed nearly so frightening without a terrifying commentary from Max.
‘Is it time for dinner yet?’ she asked her mother.
‘I want to stay longer in the fairground,’ Gerald whined, though he was normally an exceptionally serene little boy.
‘Maybe Jeannie and I could have a cup of tea and you stay with your dad, love,’ Rose suggested.
Gerald burst into tears. ‘I don’t want to stay with Dad. He won’t go on things with me.’
Tom’s face, which had been tight all day, grew tighter. ‘You’ll do what your mother says, lad.’
‘It’s all right, Tom. We’ll have a cup of tea later.’
‘No,’ Tom said authoritatively. ‘You’ll have one now. I’ll see you back here in half an hour.’
‘Ten minutes will be long enough.’ Rose threw a worried glance at her tearful son.
‘Ten minutes will be fine,’ Jeannie concurred.
‘I said half an hour.’ Her father turned away dismissively.
What was happening to them? Jeannie wondered over the tea that she didn’t enjoy a bit. Her mother looked upset and hardly spoke during the half hour that seemed to take for ever. Perhaps she was also at a loss to understand why the day they’d been so much looking forward to had turned out so horribly.
Tom Flowers was a confused man. He stalked around the fairground, pointing out the various attractions to Gerald. ‘Do you want a ride on this?’ he barked when they reached the caterpillar.
Gerald had refused to hold his hand. He lagged behind, sullen-faced, still tearful. ‘Not on my own,’ he sniffed. He wanted to ride with Jeannie or Max, but Jeannie wouldn’t be back for ages and Max wasn’t even there.
Max! What was a father supposed to do with a son who treated him with a complete lack of respect? Tom’s own father had ruled his family with a rod of iron. Tom had never once disputed a word he’d said. He hadn’t particularly wanted to follow the tradition of the eldest son becoming the Corbetts’ gardener, but it was what his father had expected and Tom wouldn’t have dreamt of disappointing him.
Yet Tom’s own son disappointed him all the time. It bothered him that the rest of his family didn’t approve of the punishment he’d meted out to Max. Instead of understanding, even his dear Rose appeared sorry Max had been left behind.
But a man wasn’t a man if he didn’t play first fiddle in his own home. In future, Tom vowed he’d come down even harder on his rebellious son. It was time he made a stand – and he’d start now. He turned angrily on his other son. The caterpillar had stopped and he picked up Gerald and put him none too gently in the coach.
‘You wanted to come to New Brighton, so stop whingeing and enjoy yourself,’ he commande
d.
They returned to Ailsham two hours earlier than planned. No one felt like going to the shore to built sandcastles or paddle. The swimming gear was unused, the sandwiches uneaten.
Rose loyally linked her husband’s arm on the long walk from the station. Jeannie and Gerald ran ahead, anxious to see their brother, but Max wasn’t there. He hadn’t been expecting them so early. He’d spent the day with a friend, he explained when he eventally turned up. There was another row that night. He didn’t give a damn about going to New Brighton, Max declared frostily, but his father had no right to confine him to the house.
Tom, driven to distraction by such flagrant insubordination, slapped his son’s face hard. It was the first time he’d ever laid a hand on one of his children. Jeannie realised sadly that their perfect life had come to an end.
Dusk was falling when the McDowds got off the train, sunburnt and content. They’d had a wonderful time in Southport and Sadie couldn’t remember them having felt so close as a family before. It was as if they’d turned a corner. She resolved never to let the feeling go.
Chapter 3
In August, a letter arrived to say that Jeannie had passed the eleven-plus. She had been accepted at Orrell Park Grammar School for Girls, only a stone’s throw from the boys’ school that Max attended. A coach passed through the village each morning to take pupils to Philip Wallace in Maghull, dropping off others at the station to make their way by train to their various schools. Two boys from her class had also passed, but Jeannie was the only girl. It didn’t bother her. She was confident she would quickly get to know the other girls.
Colonel Corbett sent ten pounds and his congratulations, not that Jeannie saw the money. It went towards her uniform and other necessary items such as a hockey stick and a tennis racket. Three years ago, a similar sum had been sent to Max who, now that he was reminded of it, launched an indignant tirade against his father.
‘He didn’t even discuss it with us, did he, sis? It was our money, but he just kept it. I bet the colonel meant for us to buy ourselves presents; a bike, for instance. We had to have uniforms, so you and me got nothing out of it. Instead, Dad saved himself ten pounds – two lots of ten pounds.’
