Poor Little Rich Girl (38 page)

Mabel Bailey had been sobbing into Dick’s jacket, but now she pushed herself erect, wiped her eyes on an already sodden handkerchief and sat down heavily on the couch beside the two children. ‘Sister said it were a grand way to go – he went in his sleep, like – so he didn’t have no pain. She said as he’d been getting weaker, but he was so quiet and good, none of ’em realised the end was near. They – they wouldn’t let us see him, but we’s to go back after dinner. We can all see him then, even the kids,
though Sister Hart said she weren’t no believer in taking kids to see someone they loved, once his spirit had fled.’ She held out a trembling hand and gripped Dick’s fingers convulsively. ‘I don’t know how I shall go on wi’out my Bob,’ she said in a low, trembling voice. ‘I’ve fallen into a kind o’ routine these past weeks, wi’ the bright part of every day me visits to the sannytorium. I know I’ve got you kids – and you’re all grand, so you are – but Bob and I have been sweethearts since we were in school. I don’t know how I’ll go on wi’out him.’

‘I think the only way to tackle it is to live each day as it comes, Mam,’ Dick said gently. ‘Later on, you and I will go up to the sanatorium because there’ll be a great deal to arrange, you know, but right now I’ll help you to get the dinner.’

‘I shan’t be able to eat a thing,’ his mother said feebly, but Dick told her that she must keep her strength up and when the meal was on the table, she managed to eat her share.

As soon as dinner was over, Dick took Ben and Phyllis down the lane to the Hughes’ cottage. He explained briefly what had happened and Mrs Hughes agreed at once to keep Ben and Phyllis with her until Dick called for them later in the day. ‘I won’t go into work tomorrow because Mam needs all the support she can get at present,’ Dick told Mrs Hughes. ‘I’ll telephone the offices tomorrow morning and I’m sure they’ll give me compassionate leave – until after the funeral, at any rate.’

Mrs Hughes assured him that she would do everything she could to help, including looking after the children when necessary, and Dick trudged the long mile back to their cottage, feeling that his mam had a good friend in the other woman. He and his mother
made up the fire and tidied round the place before setting off for the sanatorium.

They had reached the long ward where Dick’s father had been a patient before Mabel Bailey began to clutch Dick’s arm. ‘I don’t think I can go through with it, chuck,’ she said tremulously. ‘Isn’t it better to remember Bob as he was, rather than as he is now?’

As she spoke, Sister Hart emerged from the ward and smiled at them. ‘We’ve moved Bob down to the Chapel of Rest,’ she said gently. ‘He looks very peaceful and not at all frightening, but if you would prefer not to see him, we’ll quite understand.’

The three of them walked slowly down the long corridor and Sister Hart drew them to a halt outside the Chapel of Rest. Mabel Bailey gave Dick an appealing glance. ‘You’d best tek a look, our Dick,’ she said tremulously. ‘I’d sooner remember him as he was, always so cheery and bright.’ Dick patted her arm and sat her down on one of the upholstered chairs which stood in the corridor. He and Sister Hart went into the Chapel, emerging again after a very short space of time. Dick was glad that his mother had chosen to remain outside, for at the sight of his father’s waxen face and closed eyes he had known positively that this was just a shell and that the grim expression on his father’s down-turned mouth meant nothing.

His mother looked up anxiously as Dick and the nurse emerged. ‘Is it all right? Can we go now?’ she asked. ‘Dick says there’ll be a great deal to do, though I’m sure I don’t know what, but can we get on with it as soon as possible? You see, I want to go home.’

Sister Hart, misunderstanding, said soothingly that
of course Mrs Bailey could go home just as soon as they had filled in some forms and signed some papers, but Dick knew at once what his mother meant. ‘Mam means she wants to go home to Liverpool,’ he told the nurse. ‘The family have been living in a rented cottage up on the fringe of the Llandegla moors, but there’s no need for us to stay there any longer. We’ve kept our own place in Elmore Street on; a neighbour’s daughter had it until ten days ago, but it’s empty now, since she’s took a place of her own, so we can move back there just as soon as we can arrange for a van to take our furniture home.’

Beside him, his mother tugged timidly at his arm. ‘Not just us; I want Bob to come back with us as well,’ she said urgently. ‘I want him buried in Anfield Cemetery, where I can visit him every week. Then there’s the funeral; this is a tedious long way for folk to come, but if we have the funeral in Liverpool, then all his pals can say goodbye – an’ all his relatives, too.’ She turned from Dick to the nurse. ‘Will it be all right for me to take my Bob home?’

Sister Hart assured Dick and his mother that it would be quite in order for them to arrange to transport the body back to Liverpool and presently, when all the forms were filled in and the papers signed, mother and son set off once more on the long walk back to their rented cottage.

‘We’ll go just as soon as maybe, won’t we, Dick?’ his mother said as they walked along. The sun still shone from a clear blue sky and the breeze was gentle on Dick’s cheek. He glanced around him as he walked, remembering how his father had loved this countryside and glad that the day had been fine. Once the pain of loss had eased, he hoped his mother would remember Bwlchgwyn and its surroundings
with something very like affection, for it had given his father many weeks of peaceful contentment, even of happiness. He thought now that his father had known that his stay in the sanatorium would not be a long one – had known in fact that he would never leave it alive – but that knowledge had not stolen any of the enjoyment he had felt over being so close to nature for the first time in his life.

‘Will you be able to manage if I go back to the city on the last bus tonight?’ Dick asked presently. ‘You see, Millie doesn’t know yet, nor Ted, and I know they’ll want to be with you at such a sad time. What’s more, Mam, we ought to put a notice in the
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giving the time and date of the funeral, so’s friends and family can come. I’m awful sorry, Mam, but someone’s got to see Father O’Donnell, and I think it had better be me.’

‘Very well, son,’ Mabel Bailey said, as they turned into the cottage garden. ‘If there’s one thing your father’s illness has taught me, it’s how to cope on me own. Ben and Phyllis is good kids, they’ll do whatever they can to help me, and I know you’ll come back just as soon as you can, to see to things this end.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Dick said heartily, as they entered the kitchen. ‘Put the kettle on, Mam, and we’ll have a cup of tea and a sandwich, because I doubt I’ll have time for a meal at Mrs Beasdale’s this evening.’

Mrs Bailey’s eyes flashed and she hurried across to the food cupboard. ‘You will not make do wi’ tea and a sandwich, you’ll have a good hot meal,’ she said roundly. ‘I’ve a pastie here and it don’t take two minutes to boil up a few veg, so sit yourself down and we’ll talk while I work. Come to think of it, when you arrived this afternoon you were full of
something, some news, only you never got a chance to tell me what it was.’

‘I’d forgotten all about it,’ Dick admitted, sitting down by the table. ‘The fact is, Mam, I’ve found Lonnie! She doesn’t know where Hester is but she’s a bright kid and between us I’m sure we’ll track Hester down.’

He told his mother all about his chance meeting and by the time the narrative was finished the meal was ready and the two of them sat down on opposite sides of the table and even managed to enjoy the food, despite the sad events of the day.

When the meal was finished, Dick went down to the Hughes’ cottage and fetched his young brother and sister back in the gathering twilight. He talked seriously to them on the way, explaining why he himself could not remain at the cottage and impressing upon them – particularly Ben – that they must be very brave and do everything they could to help their mother.

‘I’ll come back as soon as I can,’ he promised them. ‘And I’m sure Ted and Millie will come over on the first bus they can catch tomorrow. But I don’t think any of us will be here for very long because Mam wants our dad back home in Liverpool, where she can visit the grave whenever she feels the need. I don’t think you’ll be going back to the village school, but you must pop in before you go home to Liverpool and thank your teachers and your pals and say your goodbyes.’ He squeezed Phyllis’s small hand and gave Ben’s shoulders a brief, hard hug. ‘I know I’m leaving our mam in good hands,’ he said. ‘No one ever had a nicer brother and sister. Just remember to keep cheerful and we’ll all get through it somehow.’

*

All through the winter Hester had been glad enough to eat her carry-out in the chilly little room behind the shop, but with the advent of fine weather she and Betsy ventured farther afield, though they were rarely able to eat their sandwiches together. Miss Deakin was neither an easy nor a pleasant person to work for, but both girls understood that it was necessary for them to leave the shop separately so that customers did not have to wait too long for attention.

Since Eileen worked in a different shop, however, she and Hester often took their lunch down to the Leeds and Liverpool canal, where they sat on the bank and watched the passing traffic, chatting as they did so. Eileen’s employer was a pleasant, easy-going man, and she usually got off a few minutes early and walked up to meet her friend. Then the two of them dived down Hornby Street, crossed Lime Kiln Lane and Vauxhall Road and emerged opposite the factories and warehouses which lined the canal. The walk, generally taken at a smart run, took no more than ten minutes, thus leaving them time to get their breath back and eat their carry-out before they had to return to work.

Today the weather was splendid, following two days of rain, and when Eileen’s cheerful face appeared round the door of Paris Modes Hester was already struggling into her light jacket. She greeted her friend cheerily and the two of them set off, arriving by the canal and beginning to eat their sandwiches immediately. Other people had had the same idea, including a group of young men working at the nearby railway station. They were armed with bottles of beer and packets of sandwiches and as soon as they had settled themselves a dozen feet further along the
bank began nudging each other and calling across to Hester and Eileen. ‘If they knew I were in the family way, they’d think twice before tryin’ to date me,’ Eileen said gloomily. ‘It just shows though, folks still can’t tell, can they, Hester?’

‘No, not yet,’ Hester agreed. ‘Are you sure Mr Williams – or more likely Mrs Williams – has noticed nothing?’

‘No one’s said a word,’ Eileen said placidly, between mouthfuls of Marmite sandwich. ‘The fact is, I’ve always been kind o’ bulgy, so I suppose folk will just think I’ve got … kind of bulgier,’ she ended triumphantly.

Hester giggled. It seemed to her that once Eileen had confided her secret, it had completely ceased to bother her. She no longer worried about discovery, what she should do with the baby when it came, or how bad giving birth might prove to be. She simply sailed through each day with her customary good humour and trusted to Providence to see her right.

‘Want to swap a Marmite sandwich for a honey one?’ Eileen said presently. ‘If them fellers don’t stop callin’ across to us, I’ll give ’em a mouthful – and I don’t mean a mouthful of sandwich,’ she added darkly. The group of young railway workers had moved along the bank and were now only a few feet away. One of the lads, round-faced and cheerful, was making a real play for Eileen, calling out to her that he’d always fancied a gal wi’ fly-away hair and pink cheeks and why didn’t she offer him a sandwich while she was about it?

Eileen gave him an indignant glare and turned her back on him, but she grinned at Hester. ‘Are my cheeks very red?’ she said anxiously. ‘I know
I blush something awful and somehow the wind always seems to unravel my hair, though yours stays smooth enough. Why is mine so slippery and soft?’ she added plaintively. ‘I couldn’t look elegant wi’ this hair, could I, Hes?’

There was a chuckle from behind them. The boy with the round face had come even nearer and had obviously heard the last remark. ‘I’d rather have a gel what’s cuddly and pink in the cheeks than one of them there fashion plates, all cold and neat,’ he said boldly. He held out his bottle of beer. ‘Would you care for a pull, miss?’

It was said with so much good humour that both Hester and Eileen smiled, though Eileen, with as much gravity as she could muster, said that they neither of them drank beer and were, in any case, about to return to work.

‘Where do you work?’ the lad said eagerly. Hester, deciding that he was serious, turned and took a good look at him. He had a pleasant, freckled face, curly reddish hair and the hazel-green eyes which go with such colouring. He was sturdily built and was clearly a porter at nearby Waterloo Station, since he held a peaked cap in one hand with the letters L.M.S.R. emblazoned upon it.

‘We work on the Scotland Road,’ Hester said. She smiled at him. ‘It’s no secret where you work,’ she added, jerking her head towards his cap.

The boy grinned. ‘Aye, that’s right, queen,’ he said, ‘we all work at Waterloo. Porterin’ ain’t the height of me ambitions, but it’ll do for now, I reckon. The pay ain’t bad and there’s all sorts of perks.’ He stood his beer bottle on the ground and delved in his jacket pocket, producing a creased but clean copy of the previous day’s
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. ‘Free newspapers, for instance,’
he added. ‘And sometimes real good magazines and books. Folk in the first-class compartments leave ’em in their seats when they gerroff the train; sometimes they ain’t even opened.’ He held out the newspaper enticingly. ‘Want this one? You’re welcome, ladies.’