Little Girl Lost (32 page)

‘I do, Mammy, but you need never fear I’d get between a man and his wife,’ Brendan assured her. ‘Remember, I’ve only seen Sylvie once in the past four years and I’m certain she thinks of me as a friend and nothing more. But you’ll not mind if I go at once? She – she says she’s desperate and she’s never appealed to me for help before. I can’t let her down – and it would be letting Len down as well, wouldn’t it?’

His mother nodded and rumpled his hair. ‘You’ll do the right t’ing, whatever that may be,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ll catch the train from Clifden first thing tomorrow, but at least you’ll see your daddy and Declan this evening and explain how it is.’

Kitty awoke and, for a moment, could not imagine where she was. The bed seemed unusually hard and uncomfortable, the covers were scratchy, and the delicious warmth which was engendered by Maeve’s body was missing, though there was something nice and warm pressing against the back of her knees.

Cautiously, Kitty opened her eyes and stared around her. Of course; she was in the little cave which Nick had made in the ruins of the tenement building, and she was lying on newspapers and covered in sacks, and not in her own beautiful comfortable bed at all. For a moment, tears of self-pity filled her eyes, but then she sat up on one elbow, her body creaking with stiffness for she had been so tired she had scarcely stirred all night, and looked around her. She supposed that it was quite a good little place to sleep if the alternative was some draughty landing where you might be disturbed in the early hours by a tenant stumbling home after spending the night in a shebeen, one of the unlicensed drinking dens that abounded in the Liberties, or by a policeman with a grudge against kids who slept rough on their patch. Last night it had been too dark to see anything much, but now she glanced about her thinking that Nick had done pretty well. The ground was covered in newspapers, a thick wad of them, and the tumble of brick walls had been roughly insulated by pushing crumpled up sheets of newspapers into the cracks. Nick, lying not a foot away from her, was rolled up in a quantity of sacks, some of which had contained potatoes, and she herself was covered in similar sacks. She put out a hand to pull the sacks over her shoulders once more for she guessed that it must be very early since the light filtering through the entrance hole was grey, and as she did so she realised she was very dirty indeed. But I’ll have a good wash later, she told herself, then thought that a nice wash with soap, hot water and a towel was a luxury that she would have to learn to do without. She tried to lie down again and the warmth behind her knees shifted. Kitty half turned, her heart jumping into her mouth. Rats! She had heard of children who slept rough finding themselves cheek by jowl with rats who had sought to share their warmth during the coldest part of the night and the thought filled her with such horror that she tried to jump to her feet, cracking her head painfully against the ceiling of old boards and lurching forward to collide heavily with Nick. Behind her she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a grey shape, and clutched desperately at her companion. ‘Rats!’ she shrieked. ‘Oh, Nick, there’s rats, a huge rat; it was lying . . . lying . . .’

It was Tommy. He was standing up, arching his back, yawning with a great curling and uncurling of his pink tongue. Then his great golden eyes swung round to meet hers and he began to reverberate with his astonishingly loud purr.

Nick sat up. ‘Whazzat? Whazzermarrer? Oozat?’

Kitty giggled and picked Tommy up, cradling him against the ragged jersey which, she now remembered, Nick had made her swap for her nice white blouse and clean grey cardigan. But Tommy did not seem to mind her change of attire and reached up to rub his broad head beneath her chin, then gave her neck a little lick with his rough tongue, as though to reassure her that he was still her friend, even when she chose to sleep in horrid places instead of their cosy bed at home. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I thought it were a rat cuddling up against me, but it were only my dear old Tommy. Oh, I’m so glad he’s come to join us after all. I say, Nick, it isn’t even properly light yet, but I’m awful hungry. Think we might find something to eat somewhere?’

Nick glanced towards the doorway. ‘That’s dawn light, that is,’ he said knowledgeably. ‘Tell you what, we’s quite near Ringsend Bridge. D’you know it?’ Kitty shook her head doubtfully; the name was familiar but she could not imagine that they might find a free breakfast sitting out on a bridge. She said as much, making Nick give a snort of laughter. ‘You’re daft, you are, girl! It’s where they keep the coal what fuels the engines, great glistening heaps of it. It’s no use during the day, of course, but I reckon if we set off at once we can prig some before anyone’s about.’ He rose to his feet as he spoke and began looking at their bedding, critically surveying each sack, until a particular one seemed to take his fancy, for he folded it and shoved it down the back of his trousers. ‘C’mon, we want to get to work before anyone’s about,’ he urged, pushing her ahead of him into the tenement yard.

He began to make his way across the cobbles but Kitty jerked at his sleeve. ‘What d’you mean, heaps of coal?’ she asked plaintively. ‘I said I were hungry, and I can’t eat coal. Not even Tommy can eat coal,’ she added, for the cat had followed them and was close at her heels.

Nick looked affectionately down at her. ‘You’re so green I can’t hardly believe it,’ he said. ‘We’re goin’ to rob the coal so’s we can sell it for someone to burn on their fire; or we can swap it for a nice big plate of porridge, or half a loaf of bread an’ a chunk of cheese. Now d’you understand?’

‘Ye-e-es,’ Kitty said slowly. ‘But suppose we’s seen, Nick, suppose someone recognises us?’

Nick shook his head grimly. ‘Sure and do you think I was born yesterday?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I don’t mean to sell coal round the Liberties, ’cos most folks there is like us Mooneys and doesn’t have two pennies to rub together. Nor we won’t go to the really posh houses ’cos they’ll guess the coal is stole – ha, ha, I just made a poem – and might tell on us to the polis. No, we’ll go to the little houses . . . but what am I doin’ tellin’ you? You’ll see for yourself presently.’

Kitty had never stolen anything in her life, though she had often enough been in Nick’s company when he had walked close to a fruit stall, purloining a couple of apples, an orange, or even a few potatoes as he went past, but this time, it seemed, she must be directly involved, for now she too was a street child living on her wits and must steal what she could no longer pay for.

By the time they reached the coal yard, the light was definitely strengthening, but when they sneaked under the bridge there was no one about. Nick climbed the wall and dropped lightly down on to a mound of coal, telling Kitty tersely that she must keep nix for him. ‘If you see anyone, anyone at all, just give a little low whistle,’ he instructed her. ‘I’m an old hand at this, and believe me I’ll be out of that coal yard an’ runnin’ like a rabbit before you can blink your eye.’

In the event and much to Kitty’s relief, there was no need for anyone to run anywhere, for not a soul appeared and Nick climbed back over the wall and dropped down beside her with enough coal in his sack to make him lean heavily to port as they walked along. Kitty continued to feel nervous until they were well clear of the area, but just as she had begun to relax Nick headed for a respectable-looking house and once more poor Kitty’s heart jumped into her mouth. Suppose the householder was someone she knew? Not that this seemed likely . . . and then Kitty glanced down at herself and was comforted, for a dirtier, more ragged urchin she had never seen. And when their knock on the door was answered by a thin, anxious-looking woman with a child clinging to her skirt, she was even more reassured.

‘Yes, little fellers?’ the woman said. ‘Ah, I see you’re sellin’ coal. How about half that sackful for a bright sixpence and a morsel o’ bread an’ cheese?’

Little fellers! The woman had taken a good look at them and then unhesitatingly accepted Kitty as a boy! What was more, the promised cap was still just a promise, so the woman had seen Kitty’s hacked-about hair yet had not given her a second glance. This gave Kitty more confidence than anything else could have done and she shot a triumphant look at Nick, but he was too busy bargaining to so much as glance at his smaller companion.

‘How about a great deal of bread an’ cheese, a big bowl o’ porridge each, an’ a nice cup o’ tea?’ Nick said promptly, giving the woman what he no doubt considered a beguiling smile, though Kitty thought it was more like a leer. ‘That and a quarter of me coal is fair dealin’, I’m after thinking.’

Not unnaturally, the woman disagreed, but in so half-hearted a fashion that Kitty was not surprised when Nick continued to haggle and finally settled to hand over a quarter – so far as he could judge – of the coal in his sack in return for a sixpence, half a loaf and a good chunk of cheese. She wished he had insisted on the tea, and the porridge too, for despite walking briskly she was feeling very cold indeed, and the warmth wafting out of the doorway was tempting, but Nick tipped a pile of coal out on the doorstep, the woman handed over the money and the bread and cheese, and the two children left, one at least well satisfied, for Nick turned to her, beaming.

‘Ain’t that just grand?’ he said contentedly. ‘Where d’you want to eat your breakfast, eh? There’s a back alley back the way we come . . .’

‘Why didn’t you let her have half the perishin’ coal so’s we could have tea and porridge?’ Kitty said ungratefully. ‘Poor Tommy’s nigh on starvin’, but he don’t like bread and cheese.’

‘Because I didn’t want her sittin’ us down in her kitchen an’ plyin’ us wit’ questions and mebbe takin’ a good look at us,’ Nick said promptly. ‘You don’t use that head of yours, ’cept in school, seemingly. Why, it were you who kept on about bein’ recognised . . .’

Kitty had to acknowledge the truth of this, and apologised unreservedly, particularly when they found themselves a ramshackle wall in a narrow little alley and, perching upon it, settled down to eat. She offered Tommy a small piece of cheese which he ate, though Nick called him a greedy pig since, he said, the cat had no doubt had his fill of the mice and other vermin which dwelt in ruined buildings. ‘And if we see a milk cart we’ll find a bit of broken delft what some kid’s left out after playin’ shop, and swap a couple of bits of coal for a drain of milk. Then Tommy will be set up for the rest o’ the day,’ he said as they humped the sack of coal along the road, for Kitty had offered assistance and had been gratified when her help had been accepted. ‘Now look, Kit – I’m a-goin’ to call you Kit in future, ’cos that’s a boy’s name and Kitty ain’t – we can’t go off into the country wit’out a penny to our names, and since neither of us have got anything to sell we’re going to have to earn some money somehow. That means hangin’ around the markets and shops, which you don’t want to do and I can’t say I blame you, for that Maeve of yourn will be settin’ the polis on us today and combin’ the Liberties for a sight of you. Are you certain sure you don’t want to go back home?’

‘Certain sure,’ Kitty said stoutly, though her heart quailed a little at the thought of poor Maeve’s distress. But it was for the best, after all, she told herself, and hugged Tommy so tightly that his great golden eyes bulged and he squawked to be put down, which she was happy enough to do since he was heavy and so was the sack of coal. ‘But how can we earn money, Nick? I’s nearly eight, but not really strong, like you.’

Nick looked gratified. ‘Well, that’s what I were goin’ on to say,’ he admitted. ‘We can’t earn money, or not enough to be useful to us on the road, at any rate. But we can rob . . . apples off stalls, a few spuds here an’ there, stuff off a washin’ line when darkness falls. If you’re game, then I reckon we can set out for the country in a week, mebbe less.’

‘I don’t see why you should think I’d hold back from pinching a few apples considering we just robbed this great sack of coal,’ Kitty pointed out. ‘I’m game for anything, so long as we don’t get caught.’

Nick laughed and gave her an affectionate punch on the shoulder which made her suck in her breath sharply, and this made Nick laugh again. ‘It’s no good you lookin’ at me all reproachful like, ’cos I’m goin’ to have to treat you just like I’d treat another feller,’ he told her. ‘Of course, you’re a fair bit younger’n me so I reckon we’ll tell anyone what asks that you’re me little brother. We’ll tell ’em you’re Christopher Mooney an’ I’ll call you Kit. But what we’re goin’ to do about that blamed Tommy of yourn I can’t imagine. Does he always follow you?’

‘Not always; not when I’m headin’ for school, anyway,’ Kitty said after some thought. ‘I dare say he’ll go back to Handkerchief Alley as we move out towards the country, but he may not. Cats aren’t like dogs – they make up their own minds and do what they want, not what anyone tells them. If Tommy were a dog I could probably get him to go home, but a cat . . . well, they’re just different. But why is he a problem, Nick? We shan’t have to feed him, you know, not while there’s mice and rats about, though he does like a sup of milk from time to time.’

‘He’s a problem because it ain’t usual to see a couple o’ kids wit’ such a huge cat marchin’ along o’ them,’ Nick said frankly. ‘We can’t disguise him, either . . .’

Kitty gave a shout of laughter. ‘Oh, Nick, did you ever read Puss in Boots? When you said that about disguising Tommy, I got a picture of ’im in me head with a pair of wellingtons on his back paws and a red spotted handkerchief tied to a little stick across his shoulder. But I dare say he’ll go home if we don’t pay him much attention.’

‘I don’t know nothin’ about a puss in boots, but I do know a nuisance when I see one,’ Nick grumbled. ‘Still an’ all, there’s nothin’ we can do about it, and if you do decide to change your mind . . .’

‘I shan’t!’ Kitty shouted, thoroughly annoyed that Nick had not accepted her determination to leave Dublin. ‘After all, Nick, this were my plan not yours. For all I know, you might turn round after a week or two ’cos you’s missing your mammy and daddy, so if I believe you, why can’t you believe me?’