by June Francis
‘None of your business if you don’t want to love me.’
She thought of Ma and of the Arcadia and of the future there for which she still longed. ‘What are you doing talking about love?’ she managed to say in a light voice. ‘We hardly know each other. And besides, we’re too young to get serious.’
He released her abruptly so that she fell on to the stairs and his expression was suddenly sombre. ‘I’ll wait down here while you get your coat. Don’t be all night.’
‘What did you do that for? It hurt!’
‘Sorry! But I’m not a saint, kid. Go and get your coat if we’re going out.’
She went, feeling awful for rejecting him when all the time she needed him and didn’t want to lose his friendship. Her fingers shook as she applied fresh lipstick.
‘Hurry up!’ he yelled.
‘Coming!’ She felt relieved he had not left while she was upstairs. She glanced at herself in the mirror one last time, thinking she looked pretty good, then dashed downstairs.
Patrick already had the door open. ‘Got your key?’
She nodded and fell into step beside him. She would have liked to have slipped her hand into the crook of his arm but thought he might misconstrue her action. He looked distant and she waited for him to crack a joke or speak but he did not and the longer the silence lasted, the more difficult it became for her to say anything. This is stupid! she thought but still they walked on in a silence that was starting to feel as heavy and thick as fog.
Eventually, after she felt they had walked a couple of miles and the pubs had let out, she managed to say, ‘We thought this was going to be fun. You’ve brought your camera because you said you hoped we’d see something worth taking that you could sell to the newspapers. But it’s not fun when we’re not speaking to each other and you haven’t even taken one shot.’
‘It’s not fun because we’re at that point where I can’t pretend this is a passing romance,’ said Patrick in a tight voice. ‘Walking in the wind and the rain’s fun for lovers! But we’re not lovers, are we, Katie? So rain’s just rain and we get miserably wet.’
‘I’m not miserable,’ she said with a sinking heart. ‘And besides, it’s not raining.’
‘It feels like it’s raining to me,’ he murmured. ‘And I am miserable. Bloody, bloody miserable!’
‘Oh, Patrick! Don’t swear and sound like that!’ He was wringing her heart and she wanted to hug and comfort him, but she didn’t because she knew there would be no going back then, and besides she didn’t know if it was real love she felt for him. ‘I’m very fond of you.’ He made no answer, only stared at her. She felt her cheeks burning and her heart began to thud.
‘So you’ve said,’ he murmured. ‘I think I’ll go home.’
‘Home!’ She couldn’t believe it. ‘Home!’ she repeated, losing her temper. ‘You can’t go home! You were first footing for us! You’ve got the coal, salt, everything! And you’re a man and I’m a woman and it has to be a man if we’re to have a healthy, happy New Year! So don’t be blinking selfish!’
‘OK, OK! Keep your hair on!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘If we go past Barker’s and along Belmont Road we should time it just right to arrive at the pet shop for midnight. I’ll let the New Year in and then I’ll go home.’
‘Fine!’ she said brightly. ‘We’ll do just that.’ They walked on, not speaking.
There were people milling around at the junction between Oakfield Road and Belmont Road. The two of them attempted to skirt round the crowd but instead became caught up in it. Someone came between them and linked arms and others joined the chain. People began to sing and dance the ‘Hokey Cokey’ and ‘Knees Up, Mother Brown’. Bells rang and ships’ horns began to blow. A roar went up and people cheered and began to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Then on every side people were kissing complete strangers and wishing them a Happy New Year. A dark man with a moustache kissed Katherine and so did a woman and then someone else. She wiped away their kisses and looked for Patrick but there was no sign of him and suddenly she felt bereft. Then another person was shaking hands and greeting her. It seemed to go on forever as she forced her way through the crowd, trying to find Patrick. Several men made a grab for her, seizing her by her coat or a sleeve. Somehow she managed to tug herself free and find her way on to the pavement.
She stood outside Reuben Berg’s china shop, looking back at the crowd, and noticed a fight had broken out. She was reluctant to leave, wondering where Patrick was. Could he have gone home as he had said? Where was he? she wondered fretfully. She wanted him to first foot. If he didn’t they wouldn’t have a happy, healthy and prosperous New Year. A man came up to her and suddenly she recognised him as the one from the pub whom she had thrown beer over.
‘Look who we have here,’ he sneered, touching her hair and breathing alcoholic fumes over her face.
‘Go away,’ she said, avoiding looking directly at him and staring over his shoulder in an attempt to spot Patrick.
‘Nah! You owe me! How’s about a nice sloppy kiss?’
‘No, thanks.’ She moved aside but he grabbed hold of her and forced her against him. She struggled but he was too strong for her and the next moment his mouth was all wet and slack over hers. Wrenching her face away, she let out a scream but the noise was such that nobody took any notice. Then he was feeling her over in a way that hurt and angered her, sucking her neck as if he was a vampire. She tried to break free, managed to yell, ‘Patrick, Patrick, help!’
And the next moment, miraculously, he was there, dragging the man off her. She leant back against the shop window, her breath coming fast, watching them grapple with each other. Then there was the flash of steel. She gasped and moved forward but before she reached them the man was lurching away and Patrick was on the ground, clutching his arm.
Katherine went down on her knees and stared in horror at the blood welling up between his fingers. ‘I – I’ll dial 999,’ she babbled.
‘Not on your nelly!’ he panted. ‘You’ll give me mam a heart attack if the police go knocking on her front door. Help me up.’
‘You should see a doctor!’ She was near to tears but managed to get her shoulder beneath him and hoist him to his feet.
‘Get me to the shop. We’ll talk about it there,’ he gasped.
‘I don’t know,’ she gulped. ‘The things you’ll do to get me alone upstairs.’
‘Very funny!’ He leant on her heavily.
Her arm went round him and slowly they drew away from the crowd which was beginning to disperse.
The coal fire still glowed in the living room because Katherine had banked it up with slack before Patrick had arrived earlier that evening. She was glad of that as she led him to the sofa in front of it. They were both shivering and she stuck a poker into the slumbering fire and moved it around until the coal burst into flames.
She glanced down at Patrick and saw that his eyes were shut and his face white but it seemed to her the blood was not flowing so quickly now. She took off her coat and covered him with it and went and put the kettle on before taking a bottle of Christmas sherry out of the sideboard cupboard. She filled two glasses and drained one before kneeling in front of him and placing a cold hand against his cheek.
His eyelashes fluttered open and he stared at her. ‘Drink this,’ she ordered. ‘Then we’re going to have to get your jacket off.’
He drained the glass and forced himself upright. With difficulty they removed not only his jacket but sweater and shirt as well; his shirt sleeve had stuck a little and he gritted his teeth as she eased it off. Then he flopped back on the sofa and closed his eyes again.
Katherine felt full of pity for him and a little scared but she had noticed the wound was only bleeding sluggishly now, although it looked ugly. ‘It’s only a flesh wound.’ Relief caused her voice to crack.
‘It hurts like hell!’
‘I’m going to have to clean it.’ She bit her lip. ‘I think we’d both better have another sherry.’
&
nbsp; They had emptied the bottle by the time she had mopped the wound clean and painted it with iodine and bandaged it up. She was feeling woozy by then so sank down beside him. She had covered him with a blanket because he was still minus his shirt and sweater. His eyes did not open but his head lifted and shifted on to her shoulder. She took hold of his hand beneath the blanket and squeezed it before closing her eyes. What a start to the New Year, she thought, and the next moment was asleep.
It was Celia who woke her, looming over her in her sparkly frock. ‘What’s going on here?’
Katherine yawned but did not move. Patrick was still flat out but the blanket had slipped, revealing one bare shoulder. ‘What time is it?’ she asked.
Celia glanced at the clock. ‘Gone two. He should have left by now. I hope you two haven’t been up to anything?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Katherine yawned again and blinked. ‘Anyway, what time is this for you to be coming in?’
‘I ask the questions,’ said Celia, looking worried as she picked up the empty sherry bottle. ‘I hope he didn’t get you drunk and …’
‘Have his wicked way?’ Katherine laughed shortly. ‘No chance, Mama! He came to my rescue when I was attacked, and got stabbed for his pains.’
‘Stabbed!’ Celia looked shocked. ‘Why isn’t he in hospital?’
‘He didn’t want it. Anyway, I’ve bound up his wounds and he’s exhausted. Now you’re not going to send him out into the cold, are you?’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I mean, he’s not doing any harm sleeping on the sofa.’
‘Me heart’s not that hard! But you can get to bed and leave him here.’
‘I’ll disturb him if I move,’ she murmured, watching Celia from beneath drooping eyelids. ‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Lovely!’ Her face lit up. ‘I really enjoyed it. But you’re still leaving him here and going to bed. I’ll fetch another blanket for him and maybe he should see a doctor in the morning.’
Katherine agreed to that and slowly got up so as not to disturb Patrick. She gazed down at him and her heart melted. Any visit to the Arcadia was definitely out of the question now.
Chapter Fourteen
The wind had whistled all night and was still howling as Rita came downstairs. She saw her landlady bend to pick up the mail from the coconut mat and flick through the letters. ‘Any for me?’ she called, hoping there might be a late Christmas card from Celia.
‘As it happens, yes!’ said the other woman. ‘It’s got an Australian stamp on. Who do you know in Australia?’
‘Nobody!’ Rita stretched out a hand to take the letter and suddenly remembered there was somebody. But surely … Her thoughts went no further. She tore the envelope open and took out an extremely official-looking letter. She read it swiftly and then more slowly.
‘What is it? Who’s it from?’ said her landlady.
Rita lifted her head and there was a dazed expression in her grey eyes. ‘My father’s dead!’
‘I thought he was long gone?’
‘No.’ Rita moistened her lips. ‘It – it’s just that I haven’t seen him since I was a child. He went to Australia and we never heard any more. I presumed –’
‘Well, I am sorry, love.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, placing the letter in her handbag before leaving the house. It was New Year’s Day and despite the weather she was thinking that maybe it might be going to be a good year after all. The letter was from her father’s Australian solicitor and the fact that he had hired one to see to his affairs seemed incredible to Rita. He’d had nothing when he left Liverpool! The letter requested that she contact the Liverpool firm of Mason, Carshaw and Mason in Castle Street. There must be money involved! As soon as she arrived at work she would telephone and make an appointment.
Rita hummed the lyrics of ‘A Certain Smile’ as she totted up figures.
‘Someone sounds happy,’ said Andy Pritchard as he stopped in front of the reception desk. He was a tall man with a soldierly bearing, a reddish face and gingery moustache. His pale blue eyes were slightly protuberant but he wore his fifty years well.
‘It’s Johnny Mathis. Did you enjoy yourself last night?’
‘Wonderful!’ He clapped his large hands together and flashed a toothy smile. ‘Met a lady who used to stay here. Name of Mcdonald. Perhaps you remember her? Blonde and small and with private means.’
‘Can’t say I do,’ said Rita. ‘Does she have a first name?’
‘Celia.’ The name rolled off his tongue. ‘Rather a nice name, don’t you think? Makes me think of nymphs and things.’
Rita stiffened. ‘Celia Mcdonald!’
‘That’s right. You remember her?’
Rita hesitated. ‘I’m not sure I do. We have so many people staying throughout the year and not all are regulars like yourself.’
‘Or so hard to forget,’ he said roguishly, patting her hand. ‘I’m off! There’s a matinée dance with Rex Hilton and his band this afternoon at the Floral Hall where I’m meeting Miss Mcdonald. Then my sister wants me to take her to the pantomime this evening. Don’t know what she sees in them but I suppose she’s never quite grown up. We’ll be leaving in the morning so if you could have the bill ready?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ She watched him ascend the stairs, a frown furrowing her brow. It was her day for surprises, it seemed. Could the Celia Mcdonald he had met be their Celia? She felt certain if another woman of that name had stayed at the Seaview she would have remembered it. But Celia a blonde and with private means … That was incredible!
She nibbled on a fingernail. Was this the breakthrough Mick Ryan had hoped for? What should she do? Let him know about it or ignore it? She’d had difficulty getting him out of her mind since November and realised how much she wanted to know how he was getting on. There and then she decided she would visit the Arcadia whilst keeping that appointment with the solicitor.
The next day the wind was still howling but Rita dressed in her Sunday best, putting on a coat in russet brown and fastening a gold-coloured scarf about her neck with a marcasite brooch in the shape of a leaf. Then she donned a neat little mustard-coloured hat with a feather in it, pinning the hat on firmly with a couple of hat pins. She glanced in the mirror, was pleased with what she saw then made her way downstairs.
Rita had to hang on to her hat as she toiled up Mount Pleasant. There were several smashed slates on the pavement and she kept glancing up at buildings, thinking it would be awful if now she had come into money, she was knocked stone dead by a falling chimney pot or slate. She felt as if she was living in a dream. It seemed her father and Uncle Bert (they had gone off together) had bought some land dirt cheap to grow market garden produce. Then Uncle Bert had died and the Australian Post Office Company had wanted to buy the land. So her father had sold it and put the proceeds of the sale into the bank and lived frugally for the rest of his life. He had actually left the money to her mother and his two children but as Rita was his only living relative she came in for the lot. She felt now she could go some way to forgiving her father because he had not completely forgotten her.
Rita stopped in front of the Arcadia and stared up at it. For a moment she hesitated, thinking of Mick, and then of his mother and him saying she was thinking of selling up. She remembered how Kitty had spoken so fondly of the girl she had called her daughter and felt sorry for her. She climbed the steps and tried the door. It was locked so she rang the bell.
Kitty had stayed in the whole of New Year’s Day, expecting Katherine to come. She had read and re-read the words on her Christmas card and planned exactly what they would have for dinner but Katherine had not come and Kitty’s imagination had run riot, picturing her run over by a bus or killed by a falling tree on her way. Commonsense told her it was more likely that Celia had somehow prevented her from coming but that made her just as unhappy. Mick and John had ordered her to stop fretting, suggesting Katherine might turn up another day. So Kitty was clinging to that hope as she got on with pre
paring for the next influx of guests, due to arrive on Saturday.
It had been a quiet Christmas. Sarah and Ben had gone to Ireland to talk over the final arrangements for their wedding which was to take place in Ireland on St Valentine’s Day. There had been no word from Jack so the hotel had felt very empty with only Mick and themselves and the puppy they had bought him for Christmas. At least Nelson had provided them with some entertainment but soon he and his master would leave to go and live in Waterloo.
When the doorbell rang Kitty thought it was Sarah and Ben back home despite there having been gale warnings for shipping in the Irish Sea, so it came as something of a surprise when she saw a lone woman standing on the doorstep hanging on to her hat.
‘I don’t know if you remember me,’ gasped Rita, ‘but I helped you that time when your cousin’s girl was having a fit?’
Kitty’s face broke into a smile. ‘You’re Miss Turner. How nice to see you. Come in. What a terrible day!’
‘Yes. I always feel sorry for sailors in this weather.’
‘It said on the radio there’s been earthquakes in the Channel Isles,’ said Kitty, shaking her head in bewilderment. ‘Here, let me take your coat and hat. You’ll have a cup of tea?’
‘Love one,’ said Rita, peeling off her coat and handing it to her. ‘How are you, Mrs Mcleod?’ She was thinking that Kitty looked older than she remembered. ‘How’s Eileen?’
Kitty led the way into the kitchen. ‘She had to go. Her mother came for her just before Christmas but she refused to go home and has found work in another hotel.’ She smiled at Rita. ‘I must thank you for doing your best to help the boys find Celia and Katie.’
‘They’re the reason I’m here.’
‘You’ve heard something?’ Kitty sat down abruptly and there was a hopeful expression on her face. ‘You know where they are?’
‘Not exactly. It’s only a small lead I’ve got, I’m afraid.’
