by June Francis
Kathleen fell silent and Patsy enjoyed gazing out of the window for the rest of the journey undisturbed. It did not take long, due to the train not stopping at every station as it would weekdays, when men were going to their workplaces along the dock road. Eventually the train swung slowly round a curve, the line passing over a main road, where woodyards and the unfinished Gladstone Dock Complex gave way to a view of sands stretching northwards. It noisily passed over points and several intricate rail tracks before drawing up at Seaforth Sands station.
Patsy took several deep breaths of the sea air before leading the way to the exit. After having their return tickets clipped, the girls descended the steep stairway to the street where, adjacent to the station, there was a tram terminal. Patsy stood on the pavement, perusing the piece of paper on which she had written Mrs Tanner’s mother’s address and tried to remember the instructions he had given her.
‘So which way do we go?’ asked Kathleen, tapping her foot impatiently. ‘Are we getting a tram?’
‘No. We walk,’ said Patsy firmly, pocketing the piece of paper. ‘Come on! Let’s get across the road.’
It proved to be a bit of a walk to Beaconsfield Road and Kathleen was complaining that her feet were hurting after all the walking she had done yesterday. Patsy expressed sympathy but most of her attention was taken up looking at numbers of houses. There were plenty of children playing in the street and so she asked one of them where Mrs Smith lived and the girl pointed the house out to her.
A young man wearing leather trousers and a leather jerkin was tinkering with a motorcycle on the pavement. He did not appear to notice Patsy as she walked up the short path to the front door until she lifted the knocker and banged it.
‘Hoy! Don’t do that!’ he called. ‘Can I help you?’
Patsy turned. ‘I’m looking for Mrs Smith.’
‘She’s gone out with the children. Can I help?’ He wiped his hands on a greasy rag and walked towards her.
Patsy stared at the wiry, dark-haired figure and noticed that he had a smear of oil on his cheek. ‘You wouldn’t be Greg, would you? Mr Tanner has sent me with a message.’
‘David sent you?’ He screwed up his face. ‘What’s so important on an Easter Sunday that he should send a messenger? It isn’t about Rodney, is it?’
‘No!’
‘Then, why are you here? Who are you?’
‘I’m Patsy Doyle and this is my sister, Kathleen. I work for Mr Tanner. He asked me to let you and Mrs Smith know that his wife was involved in a motor accident and is in hospital in Blackpool.’
Sooty eyebrows hooded blue eyes. ‘Is Rosie seriously hurt?’
‘She’s in a critical condition.’
‘But not on an urgent note?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘He would have said if she were,’ he muttered, looking thoughtful. ‘Is he staying in Blackpool?’
‘Yes.’
‘What is it he wants me to do?’
‘He didn’t say. I was just to let you know.’
Absent-mindedly, Greg wiped his cheek with the rag and left another smear of oil on his face. ‘Were they there for the weekend? Was she run over?’
‘No. She was in a motor car. I was told that it skidded and hit a lamp post.’
‘Nasty! Surely David wasn’t driving? He hates anything with an engine that runs on wheels these days. Completely disapproves of my having a motorbike,’ he added with a wry smile.
That smile caused Patsy a fluttering in the region of her heart. ‘No. He wasn’t,’ she replied.
‘I thought not. What happened to the driver?’
‘He was killed.’
‘He? Was she in a taxi?’
Patsy hesitated. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
Greg frowned. ‘You don’t have to answer. I know Rosie of old. Awkward for David. If he telephones you again tell him I’ll try and get up to Blackpool but I can’t guarantee it, not with the way things are. Do you have the address of the hospital?’ She gave it to him and he thanked her.
‘It was no trouble. Goodbye.’ Patsy thought he seemed to know what was what with the Tanners. She seized her sister’s arm and walked away.
‘Is that it?’ asked Kathleen. ‘We’re not even getting invited into the house and offered a cup of tea?’
‘You heard him say that Mrs Smith is out.’
‘Yes, but…’ Kathleen scrutinised Patsy’s flushed face. ‘You’ve taken a shine to him.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’ve only just met him, and besides, I’ve no room in my life for fellas even if he wasn’t out of my class.’
‘He didn’t look out of your reach. Not tinkering with that motorbike and wearing leathers and what with oil on his face. Doing a labouring job,’ said Kathleen.
‘The fact that he can afford a motorbike says that he’s no simple labourer,’ said Patsy.
‘Perhaps not. How old, d’you reckon?’
Patsy shrugged. ‘Nineteen, twenty maybe. Now, let’s forget about him.’
‘If you say so,’ said Kathleen, smiling. ‘But we’re just as good as anyone else.’
‘So you might think but you’ll still find plenty of snobbery around,’ warned Patsy. ‘Now, let’s go and have our picnic.’
‘OK! Now, which way do we go?’
Patsy sniffed the salty breeze and began to walk towards the Mersey. She told herself that just because she had felt a bit peculiar when Greg had smiled at her it didn’t mean anything. She was not about to fall in love with anyone. It was more sensible to forget about him and think of the wedding tomorrow. It dawned on her that Joy Kirk was going up in the world by marrying her employer. Perhaps there was nothing stopping Patsy from winning herself a husband with a bit of money. Hadn’t Rose Tanner said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach? Patsy had plenty of time to reach Joy’s high standards, so it could really pay off if she were to improve her cooking skills. In the meantime she had plenty of other things to think about.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Where’s my tie?’
‘It’s here, Robbie,’ said Freddie Kirk, handing it to him. ‘Where’s your best man? He should be doing this.’ Freddie was a handsome, dark-haired man in his mid twenties.
‘Grant will be here shortly, I’m sure of it,’ said Robbie, fastening his tie with trembling fingers. ‘He’s doing a bit of investigating for me in connection with a long-time friend of mine who was killed the other day.’
‘The Irish-American?’ said Freddie.
Robbie’s hands stilled. ‘Joy told you about him?’
‘Yes. She said you were upset. Understandable if you’d known him since you were young.’
‘Aye. But it’s a bit more than that. I haven’t mentioned this to Joy and I want you to keep mum about it because I don’t want her worrying. She doesn’t understand investment and the risk involved to accumulate money.’
Freddie stilled. ‘This friend of yours wasn’t in the motor business, was he?’
‘No, mining.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said Freddie, who worked for the family motoring business. ‘We don’t need any more competition over here.’
There was a knock at the bedroom door. ‘Grant’s here, Uncle Robbie,’ called Wendy.
‘You can go now, lad,’ said Robbie. ‘Thanks for the calming influence. This will definitely be the last time I tie the knot. I intend making your sister happy and I want to make certain she wants for nothing.’
Freddie made no comment but left the room. As he went downstairs, he passed Grant on the way. They nodded at each other and then Freddie continued leisurely to the kitchen. There he found his wife, Clara, with Wendy and Minnie. They were already dressed in their wedding finery but were also wearing pinnies while they made sandwiches for the buffet. ‘How are things going?’ he asked.
‘Nearly finished,’ said Clara, smiling at him. ‘We’ve managed without the older women. They’re all upstairs fussing over Joy and talking about
their own weddings. If you want to know where the men are, they’re in the garden keeping the kids out of mischief and talking about the transport strike and the miners. The older kids are in the music room which has been cleared for dancing.’
‘So there’s nothing for me to do, except wait for the blushing bride to appear,’ said Freddie, relaxing. At that moment the door bell jangled and the three women looked at him. ‘OK! I’ll go.’
He hurried to open the front door. On the step stood two girls. ‘You are…?’ he asked.
‘Don’t you remember us, Mr Kirk?’ asked Patsy, smiling. ‘We’re the Doyle girls and we have been invited.’
Freddie grinned. ‘Of course, I remember. Come on in.’
Patsy was aware that her sister was staring at Mr Kirk as if she had never seen anyone quite like him. He led them to the music room and flung open the door. ‘The Doyle girls,’ he announced. ‘Be nice to them.’
Several pairs of eyes turned in Patsy and Kathleen’s direction.
‘Do come in,’ said a red-headed girl, who was the spitting image of her mother, Alice. ‘I’m Flora and this is my brother, James.’
‘Nice to meet you all again,’ said Patsy, determined not to be self-effacing. After all, it wasn’t her fault that she was a poor orphan. ‘Perhaps I’d better reintroduce us. I’m Patsy.’ The boys got up and shook hands. ‘And this is my sister, Kathleen.’
Kathleen flashed a smile around the circle and suddenly noticed a tall, flaxen-haired, strong-looking youth sitting on a piano stool, facing away from the piano. ‘I’ve not seen you before,’ she said boldly. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Daffyd Christopher Davies but most people call me Chris because my dah is a Daffyd, too,’ he replied, glancing across at her.
Kathleen’s smile deepened. ‘You’ve Welsh blood.’
‘Aye. And Irish.’
‘I’ve Irish blood, too. We’re both Celts.’
‘That’s right. I gather from your accent that you were born here,’ he said.
‘Yes. But you know what they say. Liverpool is not only the real capital of Ireland because there’s so many Irish here but also Wales because the Welsh have built so many houses in the city,’ said Kathleen.
He smiled faintly. ‘I haven’t heard that.’
‘Well, now you have.’
Flora glanced at Chris and then at Kathleen before going over to him. She perched herself on the edge of the piano stool. ‘Chris’s uncle would have married Aunt Joy if he hadn’t been killed in the war,’ she said. ‘His mother is a friend of the family.’
‘Is your mother here, too, Chris?’ asked Kathleen.
‘Yes, and my dah. Ma understands that Miss Kirk can’t mourn for ever.’
Flora gave him a nudge. ‘Never mind all that, Chris. Why don’t we play a duet?’
‘I’d rather not.’
Flora slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Why not?’
Chris removed Flora’s hand from his arm. ‘If you want to play you can give us a demonstration of your skills on your own.’
Kathleen said hastily, ‘I wish I could play but I don’t have the talent. I’ve never had lessons. Perhaps if my dad hadn’t been lost at sea, then I might have learnt the piano.’
‘That’s tough,’ said Chris.
Kathleen sighed. ‘Yes, but I scarcely knew him because he was away most of the time and then Mam was murdered.’
‘Kathy,’ whispered Patsy. ‘Not the time or the place.’
‘Are you telling tales?’ asked Chris, gazing down at Kathleen.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die if I dare to tell a lie!’ She sketched an invisible cross on her bosom with a finger.
‘How?’
Kathleen moistened her lips. ‘Smothered.’
‘Was her killer brought to justice?’
‘Oh, yes, he’s dead.’
‘So who looked after you? Did you have a gran?’
Kathleen sighed. ‘I wish! No, we had no grannies or aunts. There were seven of us and we were put in an orphanage.’
‘Dear God! I think I’ve heard something of this story,’ said Chris.
Before Kathleen could ask who had told him about them, the door opened and a woman, who was a stranger to Kathleen, poked her head round the jamb. ‘Just to let you know that it’ll be time to get moving in a few minutes. We’ll be walking to the church.’
There was a groan from Flora. The woman smiled. ‘No need to look put out, me girl. You’re young with lovely strong legs, not like us older ones. You’ll be there in no time.’ She withdrew her head and closed the door.
‘Who was that?’ asked Kathleen.
‘My mam,’ said Chris, looking relieved. ‘I was worried she might get upset but she looks happy enough.’
‘Come on, Chris,’ said Flora. ‘It’s time we were going.’
He said to Kathleen, ‘You coming, too?’
She nodded but before she could make a move to accompany him, Patsy took hold of her arm. ‘Come on, Kath, you stick with me.’ Before Kathleen could protest, Patsy dragged her away.
‘What did you do that for?’ asked Kathleen. ‘He was interested in me.’
‘Forget him. He lives on the other side so it’s a waste of time your flirting with him,’ said Patsy. ‘Flora obviously has her eye on him so leave well alone. Now, let’s get to the church before the bride arrives there.’
* * *
Joy was alone in the house with Freddie and taking a final look at her reflection in the hall mirror. It was as if she was staring at a stranger. ‘I don’t look like myself,’ she said.
‘Of course you do,’ responded her brother, hovering in the doorway. ‘It’s just that you’ve never had much opportunity to dress up and go out on the town. You’ve spent too much time wearing a pinny and looking after other people.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to change much once I’m married.’ Her voice was strained.
He scrutinised her face. ‘You’re not having second thoughts?’
‘No. Once I made up my mind I knew I had to go through with it,’ she murmured, ‘but seeing young Chris here with his mother brought back so many memories of his uncle. You remember him. He was so bold and had such a twinkle. Within days of our meeting he had swept me off my feet.’ Tears filled her eyes.
Freddie hastened to remove a handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped away Joy’s tears. ‘He’d have approved of what you’re doing. Chris had no illusions about life and would want you to have a kind husband and a decent roof over your head, so no more regrets.’
She nodded, picked up her bouquet of spring flowers and forced a smile. Freddie laughed. ‘Now you look like a gargoyle. Be natural.’
‘I find that difficult.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Freddie softly, ‘but you’re not going to the scaffold, big sister.
That made her smile. ‘You!’ She punched him lightly on the arm.
‘Now, that’s more like it. You do look lovely.’ He kissed her rosy cheek. ‘That pink colour suits you.’
‘Thanks.’
He pocketed his handkerchief. ‘Ready?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
Joy thought she might not be a fairy princess but she looked a bit of all right for her age. No more thinking of Chris if she was to get through the service without breaking down. She must not think of her father either but count her blessings. As she left the house, she thought she heard a whispering voice and what it said caused her steps to falter.
‘Have you forgotten something?’ asked Freddie.
‘No. I just imagined I heard a voice.’
‘Eudora’s?’
Joy stared at him. ‘Are you psychic?’
Freddie grinned. ‘This was her house and she was a medium and you’re marrying her husband. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had a thing or two to tell you about him.’ He closed the door behind them and ushered her to the waiting car.
The church was fragrant with the smell of
incense and the perfume of white lilies and narcissi. As Joy walked down the aisle on Freddie’s arm, she kept telling herself she had imagined that voice. Eudora was dead and foretelling the future was a gift she had never used.
* * *
Afterwards, when they were all gathered back at the house Joy came face-to-face with Robbie’s sister. Rita’s expression was as sour as if she had been sucking lemons. ‘So you got him as you planned from the moment Eudora died,’ she said.
‘You’re wrong,’ said Joy, determined not to allow Rita to rile her into losing her temper. ‘I’d have been content to carry on as we were if it had not been for my mother’s death. Why can’t you be happy that your brother has me to continue to look after him? He isn’t in the best of health and at least I’ve had experience of nursing the sick and elderly.’
Rita gasped. ‘You’re really upfront, aren’t you? You’re saying that you don’t expect my brother to live for much longer. That’s why you’ve married him, so that you’ll have this house and his money.’
‘I’m not saying anything that Robbie hasn’t said himself,’ said Joy, flicking back her hair. ‘And you do know that Wendy will be staying here to look after the house and our puppy while we’re away?’
‘Yes! She told me.’ Rita’s mouth thinned. ‘I think you asked for that dog deliberately, so I wouldn’t stay here.’
Joy stared at her incredulously. ‘Believe what you like. It’s not true. It was a gift from the Doyles.’
‘Those common Doyle girls. You’ll rue the day you kept in touch with them, mark my words.’ Rita turned on her heel and walked away.
‘Oh dear, Mam still in a mood?’ said Wendy, coming up behind Joy.
‘You could say that. She’s just told me I’ll rue the day I kept in touch with the Doyles.’
‘Take no notice of her. She’s probably wishing that she was going to London with Uncle Robbie instead of you.’
Joy was surprised. ‘I’ve never heard her express a wish to go to London.’
‘I’m a bit envious meself, actually. I’d love to have fun in London, shopping and going to the theatre,’ said Wendy, her expression instantly dreamy.
