A Daughter's Choice (21 page)

She took him inside feeling somehow more cheerful and he chattered to her and told her all about his granddad's accident.

Celia and Mrs Evans rolled home in a taxi with several bags and parcels. Katherine had made a steak and kidney pie but they said they weren't ready for it yet. ‘Did you have a good time?' she asked.

‘I'm knackered,' said the old woman, shifting in her chair as if every bone in her body ached. ‘It was worth it, though. I got some good warm fleecy knickers from TJ's.'

‘Cool,' said Katherine, taking a lipstick and compact from her handbag. She glanced at Celia. ‘What about you? You're looking a bit like you've lost a shilling and found tuppence. You didn't see anything that took your fancy?'

‘I'm tired,' she said crossly. ‘Everything been OK here?'

‘Some bloke thinks I can foretell whether a puppy is a dog or a bitch before it's born.'

Mrs Evans's face broke into a smile. ‘You do get them. Now hadn't you better be off, girl? You're going to be late for work.'

‘I'm going!' She kissed their cheeks and left and was just wondering whether Celia had lost money on the gee-gees as she walked along the pavement when her arm was seized and she was spun round to face the young man in the black leather jacket.

‘So you're my mystery girlfriend,' he said, a smile lurking in the green eyes which gazed straight into hers. ‘You look different.'

She blushed. ‘The girlfriend was Donny's idea. I just sent him to find out if it was you. I could scarcely believe it was possible, seeing you again just out of the blue like that!'

‘Why not?' His smile deepened. ‘God works in mysterious ways. Where are you going? Back to the hotel where the fire-breathing dragon lives who doesn't approve of me?'

‘No.' Katherine glanced into a shop window so he could not see her expression and said brightly, ‘I've left there. Things changed. I'm going to work now just up the road.'

He looked puzzled. ‘But I thought you worked in the pet shop?'

‘I do some of the time but I have another job. How about you? Are you really a photographer?' She noticed the hand on her arm was stained with what looked like ink or dye.

‘Part of the time. I use Mr Angler's dark room. I'm a trainee photographer looking for that picture that'll get me into the big time.'

‘There's money in it then? I always thought taking pictures was more of a hobby than a job.'

‘Unfortunately that's how lots of people look at it, including my mam and dad. They run a chip shop and I help out there. Where is it you work when not at the pet shop?'

‘In a pub.'

His expression changed. ‘Is that why you're all made up? You'll ruin your skin.'

It was what Celia said and it annoyed her. ‘So what?' she said chirpily. ‘It's my skin and really none of your business.'

‘Sorry!' His eyes twinkled down into hers. ‘It's just that it'd be a pity to ruin such beautiful skin.'

‘Flatterer.' She blushed again.

‘It's true,' he protested. ‘And you've got lovely hair but having it up like that makes you look older.'

‘That's the general idea!' She tilted her chin.

He looked mournfully at her. ‘Don't get on your high horse. I've never forgotten you, you know. Your smile, your eyes …' He looked her up and down. ‘Your legs. A pub's not a nice place for a young girl like you.'

She drew herself up to her full height which was above average. ‘You don't know how old I am. I could be older than you.'

‘I'm eighteen going on nineteen.'

‘Then you should be in the Army or the Air Force or even the Navy, doing your National Service!'

‘I had polio as a child and it's left me with a weakness in the muscle of one leg.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry! But I'd never have known it from the way you danced that time.'

‘That's the way I want it but I often pay for it afterwards, and I couldn't march or stand for hours on end in the forces. How d'you feel about going dancing?'

‘With you?'

He glanced around. ‘There's no one else here doing the asking, luv?'

She smiled. ‘OK, Smarty Pants, that was a daft question. I'd love to go dancing. The only trouble is getting a night off. I work evenings.'

‘Lie to them,' he said. ‘Say your granny's ill in hospital and you have to go and see her.'

They had reached Sturla's departmental store and she paused to look in the shop window, avoiding his eyes. ‘I don't lie,' she said gruffly. ‘Truth's important to me.'

‘My mistake!' He pulled a face and gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘Don't you even tell little white ones? I don't believe in telling whoppers, but the odd little one not to hurt people's feelings?'

Katherine hesitated. ‘I might have in the past but I try not to now.' She walked on.

‘Right! We'll always be honest with each other,' he said seriously.

‘You're a fast worker, aren't you?' She tried to hide a smile.

Two tiny dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. ‘It was you that made the first move, Chicken Licken. Think about when we can go out. I'll be seeing you.' He raised a hand and left her at a trot to catch the bus that had drawn up on the other side of the road.

Chicken Licken! The cheek of him calling her that but she supposed he hadn't meant any harm by it. There was a grin on her face as she pushed open the door of the saloon bar and went inside.

Four hours later Katherine clattered wearily up the stairs to the flat and let herself in. Celia was sitting near the window sewing. ‘You smell of beer and smoke,' she said, lifting her head and staring as if accusing her of some great sin.

‘Mrs Evans in bed?' said Katherine, ignoring the criticism as she went and put the kettle on.

‘Well, I haven't murdered her yet,' said Celia, putting down her sewing and gazing at her daughter as she sat in the other comfy chair and eased off her shoes to rub her aching arches. ‘I don't like you having that job,' she said. ‘Perhaps you should work more in the shop and I'll look for another job? You get on with the old lady better than I do and I really hate you smelling of pubs. I don't mean to be rude, luv, but you're young and pretty and that smell isn't the best of perfumes.'

Katherine shrugged. What she smelt of was the least of her worries. She'd had her bottom pinched and a lewd suggestion made to her tonight and had not handled it very well. The head barmaid had come to her rescue but had told her she had to develop a far tougher skin and learn to laugh such things off. Katherine had felt far from laughing and had longed for Ben and Ma to be there to take her side. As it was she had forced a smile and said she'd do her best. She really missed Ben and their little chats.

She glanced at Celia surreptitiously, thinking they seldom joked or discussed the big questions in life. Neither was her mother forthcoming with information about the man who had been Katherine's father. She kept herself pretty much to herself, seemingly content for them to live together but for their lives to run along parallel lines. It was not the way Katherine had imagined things when she had left the Arcadia.

For a moment she wondered what kind of reception she would receive if she went back to the family right now. She allowed herself a luxurious moment imagining them welcoming her with open arms but it did not last. Why should they want her back? She wasn't one of them. Besides, she had thrown all they had done for her in their faces by leaving. She felt desolate for a moment and glanced at her mother, wondering if she would end up like her, prepared to settle for anything and scared of life?

Celia caught that glance and smiled unexpectedly. ‘Do you think you could give my hair one of those colour rinses?'

‘What?' She was really startled. ‘You mean, you want a rinse?'

Her mother's cheeks pinkened. ‘I never realised my hair looked so drab until I saw it alongside yours. Rich … that's what your colour is. Rich. And I'd like mine like that!'

Katherine's mood changed and she laughed. ‘You know what'll happen if you do have a rinse? You'll want a whole new look and then you'll be rushing off to the shops to buy some glamorous clothes instead of sensible ones.'

‘You think that'd be wrong? That I'd be like mutton dressed as lamb?' said Celia, looking dismayed.

‘No! I think it's great, you wanting to change your appearance.'

‘So you'll do it?'

‘I'll do my best. You go to the chemist and pick your colour.'

Celia smiled. ‘Thanks. Maybe you can even do a home perm for me?'

Katherine was not so sure about that. ‘Why don't you go to the hairdresser's? There's a couple up the road. I mean, I could make a mess of the colour – turn your hair green and fuzzy. Unless you don't have enough money?'

‘Oh, I'm OK for money.' Celia shook out the folds of the dress she had been hemming and held it against her. ‘What do you think of the length?'

‘About right, I'd say.'

‘Rita gave it to me. Did you meet her? She buys several new outfits a year because she says a girl has to look smart, being an assistant manageress. Not that she's rich but I do see what she means.'

‘Ma always said a woman had to look smart in business.'

Celia pursed her lips and said in a tight voice, ‘You still can't get out of the habit, can you?'

‘It just slips out,' said Katherine, immediately on the defensive. ‘I don't do it on purpose.'

‘No, I don't suppose you do,' murmured Celia. ‘Sorry. I'm going to bed. It's been a long day.'

A very long day with so many different things in it, thought Katherine, remembering Patrick and what her mother had said about giving up the pub job and working longer hours in the shop. She would prefer that but until Celia found another job, things would have to stay as they were.

‘Can I have a kitten?'

Katherine looked up from reading
Reveille
and met Patrick's smiling eyes. Her mother was having her hair done and Mrs Evans was sitting on a chair in a patch of mid-September sunlight near the shop entrance. ‘Why do you want a kitten?'

‘Why shouldn't I want a kitten?' He propped his arms on the counter so they rested against hers. ‘It'll have a good home.'

‘Did I say it wouldn't?'

‘No, but you looked like a surprised pussycat yourself, as if you couldn't believe that was my real reason for coming in here.'

‘Is it?' she chuckled. ‘Children and unmarried ladies are kitten people. They think they're so cute and sweet.'

He looked injured. ‘Are you saying I don't think they're cute and sweet – that I can't be moved by that pleading look in those kittens' eyes, which says: “
Buy me and you'll never regret it. I'll be faithful for life!
”'

She smiled. ‘Which one do you want?'

‘The all black with the white nose. He looks a man's kitten. I'm thinking of putting him in a Father Christmas hat with some tinsel and taking his photo. Real chocolate box, don't you think?'

‘You mean it?' she said with a quiver in her voice as she went over to the window. ‘He's my favourite, you know. I don't really want to part with him.'

‘You could always come and visit. Make sure I'm not beating him up or feeding him to the dog.'

She picked up the kitten and stroked its head. ‘He's not much more than a baby.'

‘Don't be turning soft on me,' he groaned, leaning against the counter. ‘How old was he when he left his mother?'

‘Six weeks.'

‘Hand him over! It's time he went on his travels like Dick Whittington's cat.' She passed him the struggling kitten and his fingers brushed hers. His skin was cool and slightly rough and she noticed the staining on his fingers was still there.

‘It's developing fluid,' he said apologetically. ‘It sometimes ruins my shoes as well but it's part of the job. I have a mate who's a printer. He can never get the ink off his fingers altogether. It's not so bad with me.'

‘Celia says I smell of beer and cigarette smoke when I come in. You'd best have a box.'

‘Thanks. You want to smell my family! It's a meal in itself. D'you live over the shop?'

‘That's right.' She hoped he wasn't going to start asking questions. ‘D'you want a tin of cat food? Would you like a basket for him?' She was aware that Mrs Evans was probably listening and wanted to appear efficient.

‘The box'll do. And I'll take one tin. I'm not made of money so this kitten'll have to work for his living.'

‘What are you going to call him?'

‘Rover.'

She bit back a laugh. ‘It sounds a suitable name for a Dick Whittington cat,' she said gravely.

‘That's what I thought.' Patrick dug in a pocket and brought out a handful of change. ‘I want to know if you suit your name. Which is it? Katherine or Katie? My sister read all the
Katy
books but she never would tell me
What Katy Did
! Have you thought any more about going dancing, or maybe we could do something during the day? You could be my assistant and carry my bag. I don't just take pictures of happy couples, squawking babies and sweet kittens. Have camera, will travel! You never know when a calamity might happen. Fire! Flood! Gas explosion! Housing getting pulled down …'

‘Maybe.' She was interested. ‘Tell me more.'

‘A picture has to say a thousand words! It doesn't always have to be dramatic. It could be the first colours of autumn in Sefton Park or mist across the Mersey on a November morning with a ship looming through the fog.'

‘You sound like a poet. Let me know when you're going. And look after that kitten.' She smiled at him and patted the box. Scrabbling noises and a smell came from inside.