by June Francis
Kitty tried to hide her disappointment. ‘Tell me it all the same.’
Rita told her and Kitty’s brows puckered as she listened. ‘I know it’s not much,’ said Rita.
‘Oh, but it is! It’s something and that’s better than nothing. Katie sent me a Christmas card but there was no address on it, which means in my book that she doesn’t want us visiting her. She could be having it real tough. She said she would come on New Year’s Day but never arrived. I’m worried, of course.’
‘Of course. But how disappointing for you – and Mr Ryan.’
‘Mick was annoyed. For my sake more than his own. I brought her up, you see.’
The doorbell rang and Kitty said, ‘That could be Mick now. With the way the weather is, there won’t be many ships docking. You know he’s with the Customs? Or maybe it’s John and he’s forgotten his key.’ She hurried out, leaving Rita feeling slightly in a twitter at the thought of seeing Mick.
Kitty hurried to open the door, thinking it wasn’t a day to keep anyone waiting, and this time received a real shock. On the step stood a tall, dark, rain-drenched, bearded figure.
‘Hello, Ma! Happy Hogmanay!’ it said.
‘Jack!’ she gasped.
‘Sorry I didn’t make it for the day but better late than never, hey, Ma?’ He flashed her a rather tight smile.
She pulled him inside. ‘You’re all wet! You’ll catch your death out there!’
‘It is a bit chilly.’ He rubbed his hands together and gazed about him as if in a daze. ‘Nothing’s changed but it looks strange somehow.’
‘You haven’t seen it for a while, that’s why. Where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick!’
‘You shouldn’t have worried.’
‘Why not?’ she snapped. ‘You are our son, whatever you think, and that matters to us. We – we love you.’
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. For a brief moment their eyes met and she motioned with her head in the direction of the kitchen.
He followed her in but paused when he saw Rita. ‘This is Miss Turner, Jack. My son, Miss Turner,’ said Kitty. ‘He’s … been away.’
‘Listen, if you want me to go, I can. I’ve done what I came here for,’ said Rita.
‘No!’ said Kitty, glancing at her son as he went over to the fireplace. ‘You’re not going out in that weather without something hot inside you after coming all this way. Please, sit down.’
Rita sat, wondering what was wrong between this rough-looking young man and his mother. She could not remember Ben or Mick mentioning a Jack at all.
‘You’ll be hungry?’ said Kitty, looking in his direction.
‘I didn’t come for food,’ he muttered, pulling off sodden woollen gloves.
‘You’ll have some soup, though?’ She switched on the gas beneath a large pan before going to the refrigerator.
Rita was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable but was sure if she made a move towards the door Mrs Mcleod would be there before her, insisting she stay.
‘Where’s my father?’ said Jack abruptly.
‘He’s taken Mick’s puppy for a walk. Should be back soon,’ said Kitty.
‘You’ve allowed our Mick to have a dog? You never allowed me one!’ There was a tremor in his voice.
‘He’s taking it with him. He’s bought a house and’ll be moving out soon.’
‘Katie turned up then?’
‘No. But she sent us a Christmas card, which is more than we got from you.’
‘But I’m here and she isn’t!’ He shot the words back at her.
There was silence. The pan began to steam and Kitty poured soup into three bowls and called her son over to the table. She placed one of the bowls in front of Rita, who did not like to refuse. She picked up a spoon and dipped it into the soup and it was then that they heard voices in the lobby. She half rose but Kitty waved her down. ‘It’s only Mick and John. Eat your soup.’
‘But surely you’ll want to be on your own?’ said Rita.
‘Later. Mick’ll want to talk to you.’
Of course, thought Rita. Finding Celia and his daughter is the most important thing to all of them here.
The two men entered with Mick carrying a King Charles spaniel which was licking his face. Both stopped abruptly. Mick’s eyes went to Rita whilst John stared at his son who had got to his feet.
‘Miss Turner’s brought us some news,’ said Kitty hastily, gazing at her husband as if to say: ‘Don’t lose your rag!’
‘Celia’s got in touch?’ said Mick, going over to Rita.
John had not moved, neither had Jack, and there was a strained atmosphere in the room.
‘Let’s go into the lounge,’ murmured Mick, taking Rita’s arm.
Without a word she rose and followed him out.
‘Want a drink?’ he said, placing the puppy on the floor and going behind the bar.
‘You don’t have to,’ she said, as the dog sniffed her shoes. She bent and stroked him.
‘Don’t have to what? I’m afraid it’s a bit cold in here. I should have taken you downstairs where there’s a fire.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t stay long. I told Mrs Henshall I’d be in later this afternoon.’
‘So what’s the news?’ he said, eyes on her face as he poured sherry into a glass and handed it to her.
‘Thanks. It isn’t much.’ She told him what she knew as he poured himself a double whisky.
‘You’ll have this man’s address?’ said Mick.
‘I brought it with me.’ She opened her handbag and took out a slip of paper and handed it to him.
‘Thanks.’ He placed it in his pocket before sitting back on the dark green leatherette couch which stretched along one wall. ‘And how are you? Still walking down dark lonely roads on your own?’
‘Not for much longer,’ she murmured, lowering her gaze and wishing he would look anywhere other than directly at her.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She drained her glass and stood up. ‘I have to go.’
‘Can’t you stay longer? Let’s talk and get to know each other better.’
Rita said quietly, ‘What would be the point? There’s Celia.’
‘So?’
‘So!’ She was flabbergasted. ‘If you can’t see it makes a difference, then you’re stupid.’
‘I’m not married to Celia!’
‘Not yet, but you might –’ She walked over to the door.
He rose and followed her. ‘You’re jumping the gun. Celia mightn’t want to marry me. If she did, she wouldn’t have gone missing.’ He paused but Rita was silent. ‘Anyway, why won’t you be walking down dark lonely roads on your own? Have you met someone? Are you getting married?’
Rita smiled unexpectedly. ‘No. But I’ve come into money. So I’m packing the job in and going on a cruise.’
Mick’s face lit up. ‘Congratulations! It’s nice to hear of someone having some luck.’
‘Thanks.’
They both looked at each other and he said softly, ‘You must keep in touch. You’ll want to know if I find Celia, surely?’
She hesitated before nodding. ‘Yes, I think I’d like to know.’
‘Don’t leave it too long. In fact …’ Mick unclipped a fountain pen from his breast pocket and, picking up a beer mat, scribbled on it before handing it to her. ‘That’s my new address. Come and see the view over the river from the house sometime.’
‘I might just do that,’ she murmured.
He followed her out, helping her on with her coat.
The last she saw he was standing at the bottom of the steps, nursing the puppy. He raised a hand and impulsively she blew him a kiss before hurrying on down the Mount.
Slowly Mick went back indoors and found the others still in the kitchen. They were all drinking soup. ‘So what have you been doing with yourself?’ he asked Jack as he took down a tin of dog food from a shelf.
‘Wandering around. Working,’ said his brother, s
hooting him an uncertain glance.
‘Doing what?’
‘This and that.’
‘Digging potatoes,’ rumbled John.
‘You did it yourself once,’ said Jack defensively, staring at his father. ‘At least I earned an honest crust and that’s what matters … and I told you, it wasn’t the only thing I did!’
‘OK! Calm down, both of you,’ said Kitty, getting up and ladling out soup to put in front of Mick.
‘So why did you come home?’ he said, picking up a spoon and sitting down.
Jack gave a hollow laugh. ‘It ain’t no fun living the wandering life in this weather. I came home because I couldn’t stay away any longer.’
‘How did you get about?’
‘Walked, hitched, caught the odd bus when I was in funds.’
‘Did it teach you to appreciate your home and parents?’ drawled Mick.
‘Sure. But it also showed me I didn’t like being out in all weathers so I’m not going to be a farmer.’
‘Then you’re going back to finish your training?’
‘No, but –’ Jack put his tongue in his cheek. ‘I might be a musician.’
‘Yer what, laddie?’ said John, half rising from his chair. ‘You didn’t say that before.’
Kitty placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed him down. ‘He’s joking.’
‘Am I?’ challenged Jack, hazel eyes glinting. ‘I’m still thinking about medicine but I need more time. I want to stay at home for a while. I don’t expect you to keep me so I’ll find some way of earning money. A bloke I met when I was playing piano in a pub told me the music scene is going somewhere in Liverpool.’
‘Jazz. Rock’n’roll,’ groaned John.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ said Kitty hastily. ‘You could work here.’
‘You can do a job for me right now,’ said Mick, taking a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘This is the address of a man Rita thinks Celia’s been seeing. You can go and keep a watch on his place and him. You’re looking to his meeting a forty-year-old blonde, I’ll pay you.’
Jack hesitated.
‘Don’t want to take my money?’ said Mick impatiently. ‘Don’t be so darned proud!’ He took his brother’s hand and slapped the paper into it. ‘You’ll be doing me a favour if you find her. I’ve got to sort this whole Celia and Katie thing out before I get too old.’
Jack flushed a dull red. ‘OK, I’ll do it! But you don’t expect me to be there every hour of the day, do you?’
‘No. I should think weekends and evenings would be OK.’
Jack glanced at his mother. ‘I could do a few hours here, work for my keep?’
‘Fine,’ she said, eyes softening as they rested on him. ‘It’ll be nice having you home for a change.’
So it was settled.
Jack decided to start his detective work the next afternoon, reckoning it was worth having a look at the place in daylight. He had shaved off his beard, considering it best if he was going to be hanging around, and now cleanshaven and wearing one of Ben’s caps, stood across the road from Pritchard’s Toy Emporium in Old Swan.
The shop was on a corner and took up twice the space of the sweet shop next door which had Dolly’s Sweet Mixtures painted in large letters above. Suddenly he realised he would not recognise Mr Pritchard unless he went inside the shop or peered through the window because customers would be coming and going and some of them were bound to be men.
He crossed the road and gazed in at the window. Instantly his interest was kindled as he realised this was not your ordinary kind of toy shop but was filled with a mixture of old and new. The large dappled rocking horse which had pride of place must have come from the nursery of a large house, he decided, and was surely only there for show. No family in the streets round about was likely to be able to afford the space or the money to house such a beauty. He spotted a kaleidoscope which had been one of his favourite toys and had always fascinated Katherine. Despite the ravages Christmas must have made on the stock there were dolls with rosebud mouths and eyes that opened and closed. He remembered pulling the limbs off one of Katherine’s dolls and suddenly felt uncomfortable. His gaze shifted to teddy bears and Bendy toys, wooden jigsaws and a host of other playthings.
He tried the door but it did not open. Then he noticed a small card with ‘Be Back Soon’ printed on it in coloured pencil. He walked slowly past the window display until he came to the sweet shop and stopped. This shop window was worth looking at, too. There were small round jars and tall ones with glass stoppers, filled with sweets in more colours than the rainbow; cherry lips and pontefract cakes, jelly beans and chocolate drops, sherbet lemons and banana-flavoured toffees, bonbons and dolly mixtures. There were open boxes displaying artificial chocolates and paper doily-covered glass cake stands on which stood pyramids of cubed Turkish Delight and rounded heaps of sugared almonds and chocolate dragees.
Just as he was beginning to think of giving in to temptation, the door opened and out came a tall middle-aged man with a moustache, followed by a young woman. They hurried past him and went into the toy shop next door. He waited a few moments before sauntering back along the front of the emporium and looking in through the open doorway. The man was using a telephone on the wall behind the counter, speaking rapidly into the mouthpiece in agitated tones. There was no sign of the young woman. Jack went back outside and along to the sweet shop and waited.
Ten minutes later came the noise of an ambulance bell and within seconds the vehicle had drawn up outside the toy shop. Several passers-by paused to watch and the man whom Jack took to be Mr Pritchard came outside and spoke to the ambulance men before leading them indoors.
There was a buzz of conversation and a crowd quickly gathered. The ambulance men reappeared carrying a stretcher with a blanket-covered figure on it. Mr Pritchard locked the shop door and after exchanging a few words with the young woman from the sweet shop, climbed into the ambulance. It drove off and she came towards Jack. Their eyes met only briefly but it was as if he had received an electric shock. He waited until she had vanished inside the sweet shop before opening the door.
A bell tinkled as he entered the small interior, its dimness relieved only by a shaft of sunlight coming through a fanlight above the door. There was no one there but a voice called, ‘Won’t be a minute!’
Jack waited, tapping his fingers on the counter as he breathed in the sweet smell of so many different flavours and was transported back ten years to an outing by charabanc to Blackpool, which had been arranged by his Great-aunt Jane and her neighbours. He and Katherine had been invited. Sweets had been on ration but there was still Blackpool rock and candyfloss to be had. They had been irresistible and he remembered Katherine’s hand being all sticky when she had slipped it into his as a group of them went on the ghost train. Not that he had let it stay there!
A beaded curtain parted and a little woman appeared. She had iron grey hair cut as short as a man’s and a small pointed face. She smiled at him with eyes as shinily brown as Uncle Joe’s mint balls. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, young man. What can I do for you?’
‘A quarter of pontefract cakes, please.’
He watched her weigh the sweets in a brass pan and wondered where the girl had gone. She must be related to Dolly surely? He waited, eyes on the measuring needle as it reached the right weight. She dropped on an extra pontefract cake and he liked her for that.
‘Anything else? Some chocolates for your girl or mother, perhaps?’
Jack did not hesitate, despite his pockets being somewhat for let. ‘My ma. A quarter of dragees, please.’ He bit into a pontefract cake as he waited and looked around. ‘Nice little shop you have here.’
‘It’s been in my family for years. I was born upstairs in the days when we used to make our own sweets.’ She gave him a bright-eyed look.
‘What about next door? I noticed an ambulance outside.’
‘Ethel Pritchard! Now she was here before I was born and has been getting frailer and
frailer by the minute. Had a break in Southport but it doesn’t appear to have done her any good. Heart, my daughter reckons, but she’s got a strong will. Still, none of us can live forever.’
‘Your daughter was the girl who went next door?’
‘That’s right. My Vicky!’ Her face shone. ‘She’s a good girl, passed all her exams and works at the Royal. She’s on nights so she’s gone back to bed for a bit more shuteye. It was she who told Andy to dial 999.’
So she was a nurse! Jack rested his arms on the counter. ‘Is he Ethel’s husband?’
‘Goodness me, no! They’re brother and sister. She’s a good ten years older than him and I’d say has more business sense. He made a career of the army and when he came back wanted to take over the running of everything, but her mother had left the lease to Ethel with her being an old maid. She knew she’d need to provide for herself, having no man to do it.’
‘What about him? Has he ever been married?’
Dolly pursed her lips. ‘No. And I can’t see it happening now. He’s over fifty is Andy, and set in his ways. Although there are women who’d find his kind of looks attractive, I suppose.’
‘What about means? Has he any that would be attractive to a nice little widow, perhaps?’
Dolly gave him a severe look and placed the paper bag of dragees on the counter. ‘You’re asking a lot of questions, young man?’
‘I’m just interested in people, that’s all, Dolly.’ He pocketed the dragees and paid for them.
‘And what do you do?’
He hesitated before saying, ‘I’m a medical student.’
She looked at him approvingly. ‘Now there’s a coincidence. Are you doing your training at the Royal?’
‘No. Edinburgh. My father’s half-Scots.’
‘You should have done your learning here,’ she said, leaning towards him across the counter. ‘They’ve got a nice new building attached to the university, opened by the Queen Mum.’
‘I’ve only got my year’s hospital training left.’
‘The Royal then! That’s where you should go, young man.’
‘Thanks for the advice!’ He smiled and left, thinking he knew where he would find Mr Pritchard that evening, as well as Nurse Vicky, and it was almost on his own doorstep.
