Sunshine and Showers

by June Francis

  ‘She said that she had whacked you.’

  ‘That was when I was a kid!’

  ‘But she’s living in the past. I cannot put up with violence,’ said Patsy firmly. ‘My uncle was a violent man.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect it of you,’ said Greg, looking worried. ‘I swear, Miss Doyle, that if she were to hurt you or the children, then I’d have to speak to David about having her put away. It’s not what I want to do despite all her faults. As an apprentice ship’s fitter, I appreciate my home. Besides, I couldn’t leave the children.’

  ‘Of course, I understand that,’ said Patsy, feeling reassured by his words.

  ‘Do say you’ll stay, Miss Doyle.’ he pleaded.

  ‘She threatened to put Nelson in some hole.’

  ‘That’s all she can do now – threaten. Honestly, she’s not strong enough to back up her words with action. Once she was but she’s only a shadow of her old self now.’

  ‘OK! I’ll take your word for it.’

  Greg smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  His smile caused her heart to flutter. ‘For a trial period,’ she said sensibly.

  He looked disappointed. ‘Thanks. I appreciate you doing so.’ He paused. ‘Is there anything else bothering you? Being the family solicitor David will sort out your wages and I’ll make sure you have money for anything you need to buy that isn’t delivered. It’s a waste of time giving money to the old woman. You’re really needed here, Miss Doyle.’

  Patsy liked being needed especially when it was Greg speaking those words to her. The chores would be no trouble but handling the old lady and the children would be far from easy. The upside of the job would be that she would see more of this man. There was something else that made the job appealing and that was living close to the sea. She quite fancied daily walks on the sands to blow the cobwebs away.

  ‘When do you want me to start?’ she asked.

  ‘Immediately, of course.’

  ‘You mean right now?’

  ‘Yes.’ His smile faded. ‘Do you have trouble with that?’

  ‘No, but you’ll have to square it with Mr Tanner. There’s also the question of my belongings,’ said Patsy.

  ‘You write a note for David and I’ll deliver it this evening and collect your stuff. Follow me and I’ll show you where there’s pen and paper.’

  He led the way into a room where there was a three-piece suite and shelves full of books and a writing bureau. No sooner had she finished writing her letter and had handed it to Greg than she heard Helen’s high-pitched voice.

  ‘Expect me to be late for supper,’ he said, pocketing the note.

  ‘Where will I sleep?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘The only vacant bedroom is Rodney’s. The kids will show you where it is.’

  ‘But what if he were to show up?’ asked Patsy.

  Greg grinned. ‘Doubtful, whatever the kids and the old woman might believe.’ He breezed out of the room which felt suddenly very empty to Patsy.

  She took a deep breath and told herself that she needed to check on the old woman. She discovered Mrs Smith had fallen asleep and, leaving her snoring gently, she followed the chatter of voices and found the children in the morning room. There was no sign of Greg so she presumed that he’d returned to work already.

  ‘So what would you like to do for the rest of the afternoon?’ asked Patsy. ‘Tomorrow you’ll go to school.’

  She thought they looked relieved. ‘You’re staying, then, and looking after us and Grandma?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘Unless something happens to make me change my mind,’ replied Patsy. ‘Perhaps your grandmother would like to go for a walk with us.’

  ‘Maybe she will and maybe she won’t,’ said Helen cautiously. ‘Depends on her mood and the weather.’

  The three of them gazed out of the window but the slight shower had fizzled out. ‘We can wrap up warm. The fresh air will do us all good.’ Patsy thought that if she took the children to the beach and ran the legs off them it would tire them out and she would have less trouble getting them to bed.

  ‘Have you got a mummy?’ asked Helen out of the blue.

  Patsy shook her head. ‘I’m an orphan.’

  ‘So are we,’ sighed the girl. ‘I was very sad when my mummy died. She coughed up blood and went to join Daddy in Heaven.’

  Her brother shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘She doesn’t really remember it happening,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘It’s very sad but you have to put it behind you,’ said Patsy, remembering those words being said to her on several occasions about her own parents’ deaths. She knew it was easier said than done.

  ‘I was angry,’ said Nelson, his face darkening. ‘I smashed a cup and a plate and Grandma was very cross. She hit me with her slipper. Did you want to smash things when your mother died?’

  ‘Yes. But I think we’ve had enough of such talk. We all need cheering up, not being made miserable. Go and put on your outdoor things.’

  Helen opened her mouth as if to protest but a look from her brother silenced her. Patsy washed the few dishes while the children were getting ready.

  Helen entered the kitchen, tying the bobbles on her hat beneath her chin. ‘I’ve just remembered that Grandma doesn’t like us playing on the beach.’

  Patsy ignored the remark. ‘Have you a ball?’

  ‘No. The last one broke a window and Grandma said that we could not have another one,’ said Nelson.

  ‘And what did your Uncle Greg say?’

  Nelson grinned. ‘He keeps one hidden for when he and I go out together on our own and have a kick around on the beach.’

  ‘I’d like two balls,’ said Helen forlornly.

  Patsy said no more but was determined to rectify the situation. There was an expanse of garden wall that was perfect for playing two balls and she reckoned that would keep Helen happily occupied for ages when out of school.

  She went to check up on Mrs Smith and found her sitting with her eyes open, gazing out on the street. ‘Mrs Smith, I’m just going to take the children for a walk, would you like to come?’

  The old woman’s head slowly turned and she stared at Patsy. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Patsy Doyle. We met earlier. I’ve come to live here and help you out.’

  ‘I don’t remember anyone of that name. Let me have a closer look at you.’

  Patsy knelt in front of her and the old woman peered into her face. ‘You’re my cousin, Joan. I remember you now. I’m glad you’ve come. As long as you’re a real help and don’t flirt with the boys.’

  Patsy rolled her eyes and decided to let this case of mistaken identity pass. ‘I’m glad you’re glad. So what do you want to do?’

  ‘I’ll just sit here and look through the window. Will you bring me some sweets?’

  ‘Any particular kind of sweets?’ asked Patsy, thinking she had a couple of pennies in her pocket and certain the children would be happy to guide her to the nearest sweet shop.

  ‘Toffees,’ replied Mrs Smith.

  ‘Okey dokey!’

  Patsy felt much more cheerful as she ushered the children out of the house. They had brightened up when she had mentioned toffees.

  The tide was out and the sands seemed to stretch for miles. As Patsy gazed across the sea she could scarcely discern the hills of Wales through the mist that was coming down over the water. But if she turned her head she could still make out the Wirral coastline. She took a deep breath of fresh air. Sand, sea and sky. There was so much space here. Her spirits rose and she had an urge to run and run. She expected the children to want to do the same and gave them the go ahead.

  Nelson took off across the sands. Helen dragged her hand free and went after him. A relieved Patsy followed them, thinking how different this position was going to be from her last two. It was for certain that she was going to miss Mr Tanner but having Greg around would make up for his absence.

  Patsy was not to see Greg again for hours. She had to cope with explaining to Mrs Sm
ith who she was all over again and being told that she was her cousin Joan. She was also asked why didn’t she call her Violet.

  After supper Patsy supervised the children in washing their faces and hands and made a jug of cocoa. She had Helen point out to her the bedrooms and discovered that Rodney’s room was between those of the two children. Violet’s was at the front of the house and Greg’s was at the rear. She had a quick peek inside the room allotted to her and thought it appeared slightly overcrowded but she decided to have a proper look later.

  It was a while since Patsy had needed to comb the hair of a girl of Helen’s age. For a moment she was reminded of the twins and how different their lives were to that of her new charge. Helen was a bit of a wriggler and Patsy had to grip her head firmly and tell her to keep still.

  ‘I can’t help but wriggle. You’re hurting me,’ complained the girl.

  ‘That’s because you keep pulling away,’ said Patsy, reaching for a comb to use instead of the hairbrush. ‘You’ve knots. What you need is a good bob. Then you wouldn’t have half the trouble looking after your hair.’

  ‘I told you earlier that Grandma won’t let me have it cut. Can you put rags in?’ asked Helen, twisting beneath Patsy’s hand.

  ‘Of course I can.’

  ‘Good. I’d like you to do them tonight and for Sunday School.’

  ‘OK!’ Patsy combed her fingers through Helen’s waist-length hair. ‘Where are your rags?’

  The girl got up and hurried over to a chest of drawers and removed two handfuls of different coloured strips of cloth and skipped back with them. Patsy proceeded to twist the strips through hanks of hair and tie them off. When she had finished, she lifted Helen in front of the mirror so she could gaze at her reflection. ‘How do you fancy going out like that?’ she said.

  The girl turned her head with its stiff clumps of bound hair. ‘I look daft and I bet I could knock my brother out if I swing my head in his face.’

  ‘You might poke his eye out, so don’t you do anything of the sort,’ warned Patsy. ‘I remember my sister, Kathleen, hitting our brother, Micky, in the face. All hell broke loose and it ended up with Mam knocking their heads together.’

  ‘Do you miss your mother? What’s it like having a sister? Is it better than having a big brother?’ asked Helen, gazing at her from big blue eyes.

  ‘I’ve never had a big brother, so I wouldn’t know,’ said Patsy. ‘Now, you hop into bed while I go and see what Nelson is up to.’ She waited until the girl was settled before leaving the room.

  Patsy frowned as she stood outside the door. She noticed there was a skylight on the landing but at this time of year it was not much help in brightening up the dimly lit space. The single gaslight sent shadows flittering around the walls and ceiling. No wonder the old woman had mentioned ghosts. Patsy thought about Rose and how she had once lived here. When she heard footsteps, she jumped. Then she saw Nelson coming up the stairs.

  ‘You can help me with something… have I got the right bedroom here?’ She opened the central door. ‘It’s full of stuff.’

  His eyes gleamed in the gaslight. ‘Grandma doesn’t allow us in there but we sneak in occasionally. She said that there were too many valuable relics that we might damage and if we touched anything we would be cursed.’

  Patsy stared at him in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding me.’

  ‘The cat got in and took a bite out of one of the masks. It was dead the next day.’

  Patsy felt a tingling at the back of her neck. ‘Coincidence,’ she said.

  ‘Haven’t you ever heard of the mummy’s curse? Read in the newspapers about Tutankhamun’s tomb being discovered and the deaths that followed? The curse was quoted in the newspaper – They who enter this sacred tomb shall swift be visited by wings of death,’ he recited in a hollow voice. Then he added thoughtfully, ‘Doom would have been a better word than death because it rhymes with tomb.’

  ‘Go to bed,’ she said, shooing him into his bedroom, and she opened the door of the one next to it. From a pocket she took a box of matches and lit the gas lamp above the bed and turned the flame as high as it would go. She scrambled off the bed, guessing the mattress was a feather one and the sumptuous bedcover was possibly silk. It was extremely vibrant, being red, purple and orange. There was a washstand made of bamboo and the bowl and jug were of pottery and decorated with exotic-looking birds. She caught her reflection in a mirror, along with that of masks and pottery figures.

  She moved some sheets and blankets onto a chair and whipped off the bedcover. She unfolded a sheet and began to make up the bed. Afterwards she checked on Violet. She found her in the kitchen washing the dishes all over again. Patsy resisted saying that she had already done that. Instead she asked, ‘Would you like a cup of cocoa?’

  The old woman peered at her. ‘Is that you, Joan?’

  Patsy did not bother trying to explain. ‘Yes. Cocoa?’

  ‘That would be nice. Have you asked the others?’

  ‘They’ve had theirs.’ Patsy put the kettle on and wondered when Greg would be back. She hoped he hadn’t had an accident on that motorbike of his as there were often reports of such things happening.

  She had just poured out the cocoa when she heard the sound of an engine and then someone whistling ‘Pack up Your Troubles’. It had to be him. Her spirits lifted and she was aware that Mrs Smith had cocked her head to one side as if she was also listening to the tune.

  The door opened and Greg appeared, carrying a Gladstone bag. ‘Hello, Miss Doyle. Is that cocoa I can smell?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and your supper is in the oven. Are those my things you have there?’

  ‘Yes. Clothes, a pair of boots and slippers, some books and a writing pad and a pen, as well as a carving of a dolphin.’

  Patsy almost hugged him for remembering her precious dolphin. ‘Thanks! You gave Mr Tanner my note?’

  ‘Of course. He said to tell you that he’d had a visit from Mrs Bennett and he also gave me this.’ He delved into the pocket of his trousers and took out an envelope. ‘He said it’s a bonus for all your good work.’

  Patsy opened the envelope and removed three pound notes. ‘How kind of him,’ she gasped. ‘He really is a lovely man. He mustn’t have minded my staying here and not working out my notice.’

  ‘He’s relieved. David’s been really concerned about us all.’

  ‘I had that impression when he suggested I come here,’ said Patsy, pocketing the money. ‘I must write and thank him. Did he say why Mrs Bennett was there? Was it to see me?’

  ‘Yes, but it seems she had a good talk to Mr Tanner about something that was bothering her and he’s going to try and sort it out for her. He’s going to America,’ said Greg, pouring cocoa into a mug for himself. He glanced at the old woman. ‘You all right?’

  Mrs Smith nodded her head several times. ‘I wondered where you’d been. Have you seen Rodney?’

  ‘Not today. He’s gone away on one of his trips, remember,’ said Greg smoothly. He picked up a tea towel and went over to the oven and took out his supper.

  ‘You’re not going away, though, are you?’

  ‘No, but Mr Tanner is and he says you’re not to worry.’ She nodded but her expression was vague. ‘I think I’ll go to bed now you’re in.’

  ‘You do that. Do you need any help?’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right. Up the stairs and I turn that way,’ she said, indicating with her left hand and then shuffling out of the kitchen.

  Patsy looked at Greg. ‘You said Mr Tanner was going to America. What about his planned visit to the war graves?’

  ‘He’s still going there but he has a client in America who wants to discuss a few things with him.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’ Patsy picked up her Gladstone bag. ‘I’ll go up to my room, although I must admit it gives me the willies. I suppose I’ll get used to it. Nelson told me there’s a curse on one of the masks.’

  Greg grinned. ‘He’s having you on but if you’re worrie
d about it we could exchange bedrooms.’

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble but I’ll tell you now that mine is smaller than Rodney’s but less crowded.’

  ‘That sounds OK.’ She smiled. ‘I like cosy. If you tell me where the bedding is, I’ll change the sheets. I’ve put clean ones on Rodney’s already.’

  Greg said, ‘If you wait until I’ve finished supper I’ll take your bag up to my room.’

  ‘Thanks, I do appreciate you doing this. I hope you don’t think I’m daft but those masks and figures are a bit scary.’

  ‘Rosie was always scathing about them. She couldn’t understand Rodney’s fascination for what she called the ugly and pagan. She was made up when his letters stopped coming.’

  ‘Do you think he could be dead?’ asked Patsy.

  ‘I think it’s likely. He was what you’d call a rover. He lived to travel. When you’ve lived in this house as long as I have you get sick of hearing his name.’

  Patsy sympathised with him. Already she’d had enough of Rodney.

  Soon after they went upstairs. Patsy stood hesitantly in the doorway of Greg’s bedroom and watched him begin to strip off his bed. Fresh bedding was piled on top of a chest of drawers.

  ‘I didn’t intend to put you to all this trouble,’ she said. ‘I could have done that but let me make up the bed.’

  He glanced her way. ‘OK. But I am used to looking after myself. I’ll get these out of your way and then empty the drawers and wardrobe. If you don’t mind I’ll leave my books and everything else until tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course. I don’t want to inconvenience you,’ said Patsy hastily, glancing at the bookshelf. ‘You’ve lots of books.’

  He smiled. ‘Most are second-hand bought from shop libraries getting rid of them at the end of winter. I can’t afford new very often but having said that I do like holding a brand-new book. Pick one out if you need help getting to sleep.’

  Perhaps she would scan the titles of his books once he had gone. They were bound to tell her something more about him and she would read one of them if she had time. She offered to help him carry stuff to the other bedroom but he told her that he could manage.