A Mistletoe Kiss (4 page)

Aunt Phoebe heaved a sigh. ‘It were a long time ago,' she said vaguely. ‘Your dad stopped wanting to
be a seaman when he married your mam and started on the canal himself, working for the Company. We didn't see much of either of them after that, because they weren't on the Leeds and Liverpool, but on the Grand Union, plying between Birmingham and London. I remember they came back to Liverpool when you were a couple of months old, just so we could all see you. But after that, except at Christmas when we all met up somewhere, we'd begun to live our own lives, if you understand me.' She smiled at her niece, shaking her head sadly. ‘No, of course you won't understand because you're too young, and nothing like it has happened to you yet. But give it a few more years, queen, and Bill and Tom will have left home and may be miles away, livin' with their wives and kids. If you were to pass'em in the street, you'd scarce reckernise them.'

Hetty opened her mouth to say what a pleasant prospect this was, and closed it quickly. Bill and Tom weren't so bad. When they weren't tripping her up or scoffing at her urge for books they weren't any worse than other lads; in fact the three of them got on pretty well.

She was about to say so to her aunt when the older woman reached out a hand and took the form Hetty had been holding. She scanned it for a moment, then clicked her tongue and pointed to the sideboard. ‘Fetch me spectacles, there's a good girl,' she said. ‘I can't read the small print without some help.'

Hardly able to believe her luck, Hetty fetched the spectacles and watched hopefully as her aunt perched
them on her nose and began to read. She realised that just the mention of her mother had softened her aunt's attitude to reading; perhaps she really would sign the form so that she, Hetty, might bring books home to study at her leisure.

However, her aunt sighed and handed the form back to her niece. ‘I wish I could sign it, but I dare not,' she said rather plaintively. ‘I spend me life makin' sixpence do the work of a shillin', and books … well, they're a luxury, especially if you go losin' one or puttin' finger marks on'em. No, you'll have to get someone else to sign this, someone wi' a bit more cash to spare. I'm sorry, queen, because I know you love to read, but your uncle would be that mad if we had to pay for a book you'd lost …'

‘It's all right, Auntie,' Hetty said ruefully; it was only what she had expected, after all. She tucked the form into her pocket, and her aunt heaved herself to her feet and went across to the pantry, beginning to take potatoes from the sack so that when she spoke again her voice was rather muffled. ‘I'll start on the perishin' spuds while you're taking the laundry round. There's a bill for each of the four cafés I've done today, so mind you makes'em pay up.' She looked rather doubtfully round at her niece. ‘By rights, one of your cousins should go with you, seein' as how you're handlin' cash, but they're off somewhere, goodness knows where.' She glanced out at the bright sunshine and smiled. ‘Not that anyone's likely to try to take my laundry money, but stick to the main roads, chuck; don't go takin' no short cuts.
Only remember your supper'll be on the table at six, an' seein' as how it's Saturday it's egg and chips followed by stewed apple an' conny-onny, and you don't want to miss that.'

Miss Preece came out of the library, locked the double doors and took a deep breath of the warm, early evening air. She loved her job and thought her work-place delightful, but she had been on her feet almost without a break since eight thirty that morning and she moved away from the library with a distinct feeling of relief. She was free now until Monday morning, and though she meant to attend morning service the next day she would be able to lie in a little longer than usual, which would be nice. Always assuming that her mother would allow it, of course. Old Mrs Preece was a tartar, as her daughter knew well.

Now, Miss Preece slung her bag across her shoulder as though it were a school satchel and picked up her stick, then joined the people hurrying along the pavement. She did not mean to catch a tram despite her tiredness, for at this time of the day the trams would be crowded, and though someone would see her stick and offer her a seat she decided that on such a lovely evening she would far rather walk.

As she limped along St Domingo Road she thought back over her day. It had been different from most of her days in the library because of that odd little girl, who had refused to be turned out of the library,
had answered back, had dared to argue. Of course children did come into the library from time to time, but mostly they belonged to better-off parents, people who borrowed books as a matter of course so that their offspring respected the volumes they borrowed. Some of her readers in the children's section were neat, uniformed little girls from the private schools which abounded in the area. Others were older, needing information which Miss Preece was sometimes able to supply. But this child … well, she wore ancient plimsolls with holes in the toes and a faded and none-too-clean gingham dress. She had explained that she needed books for her holiday task and had quoted Miss Marks, a teacher at her school, who had told her that she had every right to enter the library to borrow books. I was cross at first, of course I was, Miss Preece reminded herself, trudging along. I had to let her come in and look at the books, but I doubt very much if she'll ever get anyone to sign that form, so she won't be taking them out. The thought should have cheered her, but, strangely, it did not. She realised she was sorry for the child, and told herself that this was because she would have to keep coming into the library to consult books on the spot, but knew she was fooling herself if she believed that. She had actually
invited
the child to return to the library after school on Monday, so that she might use the books in the children's section to write up her holiday task. Turning into Priory Mount, Miss Preece wondered what people would think if she had to admit she had actually encouraged the girl. Why
did I do it, she wondered. I could easily have told her she might only return when she had found someone to sign the form. If I'd done that, I don't suppose she would have come back. It was what I meant to say … only there was something about her … she made me remember being young and poor and wanting books desperately …

Someone barged into her, knocking the stick out of her hand. It was a youth, red-haired, snub-nosed, with a great many freckles and a rueful grin. ‘Sorry, missus,' he said, bending to pick up her stick and handing it back to her. ‘But it were you bumped into me, you know. You did oughter be more careful; look where youse goin' and stop dreamin'.'

The words were accompanied by a disarming twinkle, and despite herself Miss Preece could not prevent an answering smile from touching her lips. She knew he was right, that she had not been watching where she was going, so she took the stick with a word of thanks and told herself to concentrate because her leg was aching dreadfully and it would never do to bump into someone else – or into a lamp post for that matter – and do herself an injury.

She turned left into St George's Hill, and as she did so happened to glance down a small alleyway. She stopped short. A young girl carrying a large canvas bag, which looked heavy, was trying to push past a group of youths in the mouth of the alley, and Miss Preece realised with considerable surprise that it was her would-be borrower of earlier in the day. And it looked as though the girl was in some sort of trouble,
for the youths were crowding close and she was clutching her bag and expostulating, though the librarian could not hear what was being said. She took a couple of undecided steps away from the alley, then turned back. Even as she did so, one of the three youths swung his fist and struck the girl on the side of the head, causing her to momentarily lose her hold on the canvas bag, and as it slipped from her grasp another of the youths grabbed it and made for the alley entrance, by which Miss Preece stood.

Before she had thought twice Miss Preece had wielded her stick, not high, to hurt, but low, to trip. The end went straight between the boy's feet, causing him to crash spectacularly to the ground. The girl did not wait for the other two to attack her but leapt on the canvas bag, picked it up and grabbed Miss Preece by the arm. ‘Thanks, Miss,' she said. ‘You'd best come along o' me, though; the feller on the ground ain't none too pleased wi' what you just done.'

Miss Preece smiled grimly and swung her stick in a half-circle, which whistled dangerously close to the youths' noses and caused them to cringe hastily back. ‘It's all right. When I was your age some people thought I was an easy target too, so I had to learn to defend myself,' she said rather breathlessly.

She poked the recumbent youth hard in the chest with her stick; he had been trying to get to his feet, but now he slumped back on the cobbles, grumbling that it weren't fair. ‘I were just goin' to help the gal wi' that big canvas bag …'

Even his mates sniggered at this blatant lie, but no smile crossed the librarian's face. ‘Oh really?' she said, and there was a world of sarcasm in her tone. ‘Well, my young friend doesn't need any help so just you clear off and take your pals with you, or I'll give a yell which will fetch every scuffer for miles around.'

Hetty gazed at the older woman with awe; for a moment she had sounded really fierce, and the youths were obviously cowed by her tone, for they made off, muttering, and did not attempt to justify themselves further.

‘Thanks ever so much,' Hetty said awkwardly as she fell into step with her rescuer. ‘In a way it were my own fault, though. I've been delivering Aunt Phoebe's laundry work and collecting the stuff to be washed so of course the lads guessed I'd have money on me. As a rule, when I'm collecting and delivering, I stick to the main roads but' – she jerked her head at the alley she had recently quitted – ‘this is a short cut, and since it's getting near supper time I thought I'd take a chance for once.'

‘Well, don't do so again; I might not be around another time,' the librarian said lightly. ‘Don't you have a brother, or a friend, who could go with you?'

‘I've got cousins who would have helped, only they were off somewhere,' Hetty admitted. ‘So it were a lucky thing for me that you were passing.' She looked up at her companion and gave her a rueful grin. ‘If we were in a book, it would be me who rescued you from losing your money and getting a beating, not the
other way round. Then you'd be so grateful that you'd adopt me as your own child, or turn out to be rich as … as whatsisname … Midas, wasn't it? And set my family up in business … or you might empty your purse into my hands with a warning not to spend it all at once. But I'm afraid all you'll get from me is thanks.'

Miss Preece smiled, though a trifle warily. ‘I imagine you mean Croesus; he was reputed to be rich beyond the dreams of man. As for thanking me, you've done that already. How far do you have to walk to get back to your aunt's house? Can I take it that you'll stick to main streets?'

Hetty's reply was cut short as a red-headed boy whom Miss Preece recognised as the lad who had spoken to her earlier came up to them, grinning cheerfully at Hetty. ‘Awright, Het?' he said breezily. ‘Your aunt were gettin' in a fair old state,'cos it ain't like you to be late for your grub. I said I'd tek a look round on me way to the flicks and if I saw you I'd send you off home wi' a flea in your ear.'

Hetty grinned back at the boy and turned to the librarian. ‘This is my next-door neighbour, Gareth Evans; he don't like me much, except to tease me, but he'll see me safe home … not that I mean to go down any more jiggers today, not even if it'ud save me half a mile o' walking.'

‘Good evening, young man,' the librarian said, smiling slightly. She addressed Hetty. ‘Then if you're quite happy, I'll leave you.' She spoke primly, relieved that she would not have to warn the girl that their
recent encounter did not mean she would accept Hetty as a member of the library. Yet despite this resolve, as she turned away to continue her walk home, she added: ‘And I'll see you on Monday, after school. Unless you have other plans.' Behind her she heard the girl promising to be at the library as soon as she could after school finished, but Miss Preece neither replied nor looked back. What was happening to her? She did not
like
children, did not want them coming in and out, untidying her nice tidy library. But to be fair the girl had made it pretty plain that she was not going to presume on their acquaintance. Perhaps it would be all right; perhaps the girl would grow tired of the library before her presence became irritating. She knew that many senior librarians felt as she did about children in the beautiful building which was Everton library.

Miss Preece limped on; a little more slowly perhaps, but with just as determined a gait. Soon she reached Everton Terrace and went up the short path leading to her front door, which she unlocked to let herself into the dark little hall. Immediately, she heard her mother's voice. ‘Is that you, Agatha? Agatha, is that you?'

‘Yes, Mother, it's me,' Agatha Preece called, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the hallstand. Trying to hide the annoyance she always felt, for her mother asked the same question each evening, she added with an attempt at humour: ‘Who else has a key to the front door? Even Mrs Simpson has to come round the back.'

She entered the kitchen as she spoke. Her mother, a small woman with beautiful white hair and a determined expression, was sitting at the table and cast her a malevolent glance. ‘You're late,' she said accusingly. ‘Here am I, trying to do my best to give you a bit of a helping hand' – she gestured towards a bowl of peeled potatoes – ‘even though I know I shan't get a word of thanks. And in you come, a good hour or two after your usual time …'