Liverpool Taffy (24 page)

When she reached Ranelagh Street she turned into it and got off the machine. She began to push it along the pavement, without any clear objective in view, trying to wipe her nose on her sleeve as she did so, for the night was perishingly cold and she thought she was catching a chill. When she reached Millicent’s Modes she turned into the doorway, and was pleasantly surprised at how warm it felt after the draughts on Lime Street Station and the cold of the streets.

This was not so bad after all! She glanced cautiously around but the road appeared to be empty, so she propped her bicycle across the entrance so that she was shut in by it, and with numb fingers chained the rear wheel and fastened the padlock. Then she undid her bedroll and hung one thin blanket over the bicycle. This was marvellous, her own little room! With even that slight shelter, things improved considerably, so she wrapped the remaining blanket round her shoulders, put her pillow in the corner where the shop window and the door met, and lay down.

Three nights earlier she would have found it impossible to sleep, on a frosty night, in a shop doorway wrapped only in a blanket, but after the worry and sleeplessness which had already been her lot, she could scarcely keep her eyes open. She felt safe here, far safer than on the station, and it was wonderfully private and, after the open streets, wonderfully warm. Biddy lay awake for about two minutes reminding herself that she must not be found here in the morning and then she simply fell asleep and knew no more.

She awoke, once again, to find someone shaking her and a voice complaining bitterly about something.

‘You wicked, ungrateful … what do you mean by it, sleeping in the doorway of the very shop which employs you! Get up at once and be off and don’t bother to come back! Yes, I’m giving you the sack, my lady, and richly you deserve it, too! Bridget O’Shaughnessy, will you wake up!’

Biddy opened dazed, sleep-filled eyes. Immediately she realised that her worst nightmares had come true. Miss Whitney and Miss Harborough stood over her, identical expressions of amazement on their well-bred faces, whilst she struggled to her feet, almost overcome with fear and humiliation.

‘I’m – I’m truly sorry,’ Biddy stammered, trying to roll up her bedding with fingers that were all thumbs. ‘I c-couldn’t find l-lodgings, everyone wanted a w-week’s rent in advance … I did explain …’

There was quite an audience now; staff from other shops stared, their expressions amazed, as Miss Whitney and Miss Harborough heaped scorn on Biddy’s head and explained to anyone – and everyone listening – that they had no idea the girl was sleeping rough, they paid her a good wage, she was frequently tipped … ah, the young these days, no sense of responsibility, no pride in themselves …

Biddy finished off her bedroll and took the padlock off the rear wheel of the bicycle. Miss Whitney could not mean to dismiss her just because she had had her money stolen, lost her possessions, was in dire straits! But it soon became apparent that Miss Whitney meant to do exactly that.

‘Take yourself off, Bridget, and be thankful that I did not send for a policeman and give you over to him for trespass,’ she said coldly, once the crowd had dispersed and the three of them and the bicycle had gone down the entry and in at the back entrance of the shop. ‘I’m not saying you’ve not done a good job of the delivering, but we really cannot put up with this. The shame of it!’

‘Where did you think I was sleeping, Miss Whitney?’ Biddy asked tearfully, standing beside the bicycle and patting its saddle as though it were in truth her trusty steed. ‘I told you a girl at my lodgings had stolen my savings and I’d been forced to leave, I told you I hadn’t managed to find anywhere else … I even asked you for advice, asked if you could help! I had no choice but to sleep somewhere!’

‘There are cheap places for young people to stay in the city, I know there are,’ Miss Whitney said forbiddingly. ‘But you did not intend to search in your own time, oh no! You preferred to trespass on both our good nature and our premises … it won’t do, Bridget. You may leave at once … and do stop patting the bicycle in that absurd way!’

Biddy took her hand off the bicycle as if she had been stung. She stared at Miss Whitney for a long moment, then swung round to stare at Miss Harborough. That lady had the grace to look very embarrassed and uncomfortable.

‘Miss Whitney … I understand how you feel, with Christmas coming up and everything, but although we rarely see Captain or Mrs Goring they do own Millicent’s Modes and they might be highly displeased to find you had dismissed Miss O’Shaughnessy … deep though her fault has been there are mitigating circumstances…’

‘Nonsense, Miss Harborough,’ Miss Whitney said coldly. ‘Take your things, Bridget, and please don’t return here.’

‘But Miss Whitney, who’ll do the deliveries for you? And … and you owe me four days’ wages,’ Biddy said wildly. ‘I am in desperate circumstances, you know that. If you really mean to turn me out, then I must have my wages for the past four days.’

For one truly dreadful moment she thought that Miss Whitney was just going to refuse to hand over a penny of the money owing, but the older woman hesitated, then shrugged sharply and moved out into the shop itself.

‘Very well,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’ll pay you the money owing, though in view of your behaviour I feel I should be justified …’

‘It’s her nephew,’ Miss Harborough suddenly hissed. She was pink-faced and plainly agitated. ‘Her nephew’s been sacked from Lewises for prigging two pair o’ gloves an’ a silver gauze purse. He wants a job in time for Christmas. Oh Biddy, I do feel bad, she’s been hoping to get rid of you for days, but she’s no right … oh, my dear child …’

‘Here you are,’ Miss Whitney said. She gave Biddy a handful of small silver and copper. ‘I think you’ll find that’s right. Goodbye, Bridget, and I hope that when you get employment again you give more …’

But Biddy, with her carpet bag weighing her down on the left side, the can of paraffin on her right and her bedroll under her arm, was trudging wearily across to the shop door, her head down and despair in her heart. What on earth was she to do? She could scarcely go to Mrs Bradley’s place now, with no job to bring a little money in and no savings. If she went to the police station and explained her plight she would be kindly but firmly put in the workhouse … what on earth was she to do?

‘Well I never did! Not a word of gratitude for my giving her money when I could just as well have said she was being sacked without a character and had no right to a penny-piece!’

That was Miss Whitney, her annoyance at Biddy walking away whilst she was in mid-telling-off clear. Biddy heard Miss Harborough murmur what might have been an expostulation, but she took no notice and did not so much as turn her head.

Things are bad, they could scarcely be worse, Biddy told herself as the cold air outside the shop made her nose start to run again and brought tears to her eyes. But at least, now she’s sacked me, I don’t have to listen to that sanctimonious old bitch going on and on. At least I can just walk away from her!

The
Greenland Bess
docked in Number One fish dock at noon. The previous night everyone aboard slept the sleep of the just, whilst bunks scarcely moved, beer bottles stayed where you stood them down and dreams were of shore-going, not of the monstrous dangers of the deep.

‘We’re ahead of the others,’ the Mate said as they chugged gently up the Humber towards the dock. ‘We’ll get a good price.’

Seagulls had screamed out to welcome her in as she came up past Flamborough Head and Spurn Point. Now they held their positions on rail and mast and superstructure, swaying as the small ship swayed, heads turning, bright eyes questing for the fish that they could smell but could not, as yet, see.

Men looked different in their shore-going clothes; smaller, less aggressive and sure of themselves. Bright ties, suits with over-bold stripes, shoes with lift heels. The clothes themselves seemed ill-at-ease on the tanned toughness of the distant-water trawlermen. But Dai and Greasy joined the others to queue at the office to be paid off, with their bonuses all worked out plus their wages for the month’s voyage.

‘Signing on in a fortnight?’ The clerk asked each man. ‘All being well she’ll sail then; she’ll be in dry-dock ten, maybe twelve days.’

‘Yeah, might as well,’ Greasy replied. ‘If we’re back in time, of course. We’re goin’ ’ome to Liverpool for Christmas.’

It was only then that Dai realised their fortnight would include the holiday and felt a sharp stab of homesickness. Oh to be going back to Moelfre and to his home in the street which would up from the harbour to the top of the cliff! To see Bethan’s loving smile, to boast of his adventures, to tell tall stories …

Still. Not much joy to be got out of home right now, not with Davy set against him and Sîan married and gone. Make the best of it, mun, he urged himself, signing the book. And see this Gallagher woman while you’re about it. No harm. And it was Mam’s last wish, after all.

They wasted no time but went straight to the railway station, which was close to the docks so that the fish spent as little time as possible in transit.

‘We can’t warn ’em we’re comin’, but that won’t marrer,’ Greasy said confidently as he and Dai boarded the train and dived into an empty carriage. ‘Me Mam’ll ’ang the flags out whatever.’

‘What about an uninvited guest, though?’ Dai said rather uneasily. It seemed hard on Mrs O’Reilly to be descended upon by not one, but two. ‘You’re always saying the house is crammed with O’Reillys, how’ll she cope with an Evans, and all?’

‘We’ll stop off at Great Homer Street an’ buy some grub an’ some bottled beer, mebbe some sweets for the littl’uns; nothin’ fancy, mind. An’ you’ve got your bedroll so she won’t need more blankets,’ Greasy pointed out blithely. ‘She won’t worry none; me Mam’s norra worrier.’

‘Right. And of course I’ll go round to Mrs Gallagher’s as soon as I can, and then I’ll probably be staying there,’ Dai agreed.

He did not, in fact, anticipate that an old friend of his mother’s would ask him to sleep over, but he did not intend to embarrass the O’Reillys by his presence over Christmas. I’ll get a bed in one of the Seamen’s Missions, he told himself. Or even in a boarding house, heaven knows I could afford it. But I’ll not spend more than two nights with Greasy’s folk, it wouldn’t be fair, no matter what Greasy may say.

It made him feel better to have made a decision and for the rest of the journey he slept. One thing about distant-water trawling, he told himself drowsily, waking once when the train clattered into a tiny station and heaved itself to a stop. One thing about it is that it stretches you fully, mind and body, so that you’re grateful, at the end of a voyage, just for time to yourself to sleep and relax.

Cross-country travel is never easy, but they managed somehow to complete their journey only an hour or so
after darkness had fallen. Dai tumbled out of the train, rubbing his eyes and coughing as the freezing, coal-scented air clutched at lungs which had been breathing the stuffy, smelly air of the overcrowded train for most of the day. But a trawler is all warmth and tobacco fumes below and the iced wine of an Arctic winter on deck, so he speedily recovered himself and stood, with his bedroll under one arm and his bag at his feet, staring about him.

Because he was so tired and had slept so deeply it felt like the middle of the night to Dai, but glancing above his head, he saw from the face of the clock which hung above the concourse that it still lacked five minutes to seven o’clock. Good, they would be able to get to those shops Greasy had talked about, do their buying and still be back at Horatio Street before the O’Reillys settled down for the night. He turned to Greasy, who was standing there with a silly smirk on his face, just looking around him.

‘Well, then? Do we walk, get a bus, or what?’

‘Hey, less o’ that, you iggerant bloody Taff,’ Greasy said with great good humour. ‘Ain’t you never ’eard of Green Goddesses? Them’s trams,’ he added. ‘Leckies. We’ll get one ’ere what’ll tek us straight where we wants to go. Eh, I can’t wait to see me Mam again,’ he added, then shot a conscience-stricken glance at his friend. ‘Sorry, Taff, I forgot.’

‘It’s all right, it doesn’t worry me,’ Dai said gently. ‘You’ve no cause to fret on my account.’ He squared his shoulders and hefted his bedroll. ‘Now where do we go to catch this “leckie” of yours?’

The two young men caught a tram which would take them to Great Homer Street where they would do their shopping. As the tram buzzed along through the gas-lit streets, Greasy entertained Dai with stories of Paddy’s Market, where you could buy anything in the world you wanted, probably for less than a bob. He also pointed out local landmarks, including St George’s Hall, which was almost opposite Lime Street station, and the Free Library and Museum, which looked like a palace to Dai. In fact by the time the tram deposited them on Great Homer Street, Dai was really looking forward to exploring the city.

‘It’s a far cry from Holyhead,’ he said ruefully, looking out at the streets, still bustling with shoppers at eight o’clock at night. ‘I bet even London’s no bigger or busier than this.’

‘I bet you’re right, wack,’ Greasy said contentedly, steering his friend round a group of revellers outside a pub and then accompanying him into a large provisions shop, where it seemed to Dai’s dazzled eyes that every possible eatable was on sale. ‘Now ’ave a look around, then we’ll decide what to buy.’

They were well-laden by the time they left the shop. They had decided on a bag of oranges and another of nuts, a slab of sultana cake and another of marble cake, a big square of margarine and a slightly smaller one of butter, a very large and smelly cartwheel of cheese and a bag of mixed sweets, including the famous Everton mints.

‘This’ll keep ’em quiet for a week,’ Greasy remarked, one cheek bulging with an Everton mint. ‘It’s ’ard for me Mam to manage, even wi’ our Pete an’ me both givin’ her the allotment from our wages – no marrer ’ow she tries, the money don’t stretch to feedin’ eight kids, norrin winter, anyroad.’

‘We didn’t buy meat,’ Dai said suddenly. ‘Where’s a butcher? I’ll get a joint of some description, or a bird. Would they like a bird?’