Saturday's Child (27 page)

Magsy stood with Paul, her arms folded against the chill. They should have brought the pup. She could imagine Beth running wild here, her dog chasing the scent of rabbit and hare, silly ears
flapping as he bounded across moorland. ‘She likes it,’ Magsy whispered.

‘Anybody would,’ he replied.

‘I do,’ she admitted, ‘though I’d like to know what Miss Moore is up to. The other day, she told me to come back in an hour, so I did, but she was just in a bad mood
because she couldn’t get through to somebody on the phone.’

He nodded. ‘They get selfish.’

‘Who do?’

‘People who are stuck in the house. My mother is as selfish as they come.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a mess, Magsy. Half of me tells me I can’t leave, then the other
three-quarters tells me to go.’

She giggled. ‘That doesn’t add up.’

‘I know.’ He clapped together hands covered in William’s driving gloves. ‘It’s a bugger and it has never added up, not since my father died.’

Magsy sensed his pain, decided to change the subject. ‘We’d better get madam fed, because she’s lost enough weight.’

Paul touched her arm. ‘Leave her a minute – she’ll never starve, Magsy. Your Beth knows what she wants, when she wants it, and she’s not afraid to ask for it.’

Magsy laughed. ‘You noticed.’

‘I did. She is definitely her mother’s daughter.’

If Magsy had one qualm about leaving Prudence Street, it was attached to this man. He was solid, kind and . . . and just there. He made no demands, never took liberties, was interested in Beth,
he worried about the child, played with her, talked sensibly to her. Was Magsy falling in love? Was she finally abandoning William?

As if reading her mind, he said, ‘Do what’s right for you and her, Magsy. Don’t worry about anybody else. I will come and visit you both, so you’ll still be in touch with
the old place. And there’s Rachel, Frank and Dot just over the road.’

‘Let’s visit them,’ she suggested. ‘We’ve still got well over half an hour before we are expected at Miss Moore’s house. Yes, we can call in at the shop, see
how they’re getting on. We can buy stuff to eat while we’re there.’

Of course, they were not allowed to buy. As soon as everyone had finished exclaiming over Beth and how well she looked, the adult guests were ushered through to the kitchen where Rachel set to
with bread board and knife to make sandwiches for everyone.

Beth stayed in the shop with Dot and Frank, leaving Magsy and Paul to chat with Rachel.

Rachel had a gleam in her eye. Magsy caught sight of it, but kept quiet. Was this young woman pregnant?

No, it was something else altogether. Dot had an admirer and Rachel was full of it, glee almost spilling from her eyes as she spoke in a near-whisper. ‘He’s going to show her his
worts.’

‘His what?’

‘That’s what I said at the time,’ giggled Rachel. ‘I think they’re wild flowers or weeds or summat. The pair of them’s going to frolic hand in hand through
Bluebell Woods – when there’s some bluebells, like – and he’s all for introducing her to his fox.’

‘Sounds serious,’ said Paul, his tone matching the words.

Rachel fell across her cutting board, while Magsy, almost in pain, held a scarf over her face. ‘Stop it,’ she pleaded.

‘He’s nice,’ Rachel managed, ‘at least five foot four and with a bowler hat. He lives in an old propped-up gypsy caravan on some land belonging to another girlfriend
– Miss Morgan.’

‘Lovely,’ said Paul.

Magsy hit him. ‘Behave,’ she chided.

‘I am behaving,’ he said mournfully. ‘I am taking this seriously. Young love, old love – it’s always wonderful.’

Rachel righted herself and waved a carving knife at Paul. ‘Where did you find him?’ she asked Magsy.

‘Near the bins,’ came the stern reply. ‘The corporation refused to shift him.’

The door opened and Dot’s face insinuated itself into the resulting gap. ‘You all right?’ she asked, bemused when this question attracted gales of laughter.

‘I believe you know a man who knows a fox, Dot,’ said Paul.

Dot blinked. ‘Oh, don’t be listening to Rachel. She’s got me courting.’ When this statement brought forth even more silly laughter, Dot gathered her shattered dignity and
left the arena.

Rachel regaled them with the tale of the educated tramp, colouring in grey areas with shades collected from her own imagination. ‘If he was a bit taller, he’d be OK, only he looks
like a tall dwarf, if you know what I mean. But he’s very polite, knows what knives and forks are for, never drops his aitches. Frank’s mam’s certainly going up in the
world.’

Paul shook his head thoughtfully. ‘No, if he is so short, she has to be going down, surely?’ He rubbed his bruised arm after taking a second blow from Magsy.

Rachel became sober. ‘Sorry to hear about Sam Hardcastle,’ she said, ‘and those poor sick boys. Lily must be out of her mind.’

‘I’ve put her with Nellie,’ explained Magsy. ‘And Nellie’s got her tatting. It’s funny, but they’re right together, like a pair of sisters. They go
shopping, share the cooking – Lily only goes home to sleep. Mind, she spends a fair time at the hospital, so that breaks her day up. My rosary’s worn out with praying.’ She smiled
at Paul. ‘Yes, the one you bought me.’

Rachel placed sandwiches on the table. Oh, these two were right together. They each knew what the other was thinking, and they acted daft. Daft mattered; daft was what kept a marriage going.
Still, she had better stop with all this matchmaking. ‘So, you’re going to see Katherine?’

Magsy nodded, her face suddenly grim. Not often afraid, she had to admit to a degree of trepidation in the area of Miss Katherine Moore. ‘She is up to something. I know I have met her just
once, but she’s a planner. I wonder what it is?’

Rachel, who knew what it was, kept Katherine’s secret, just as she had promised. ‘Don’t worry about her, Magsy. Once you get to know her, she’s all right.’

‘I hope so.’

Rachel fetched Beth from the shop and they ate a hurried lunch of cheese sandwiches followed by some of Dot’s Victoria sponge. Then Beth was forced by her mother to wash hands and face,
then to comb her hair. ‘Why?’ moaned the child. ‘I’m not even dirty.’

But Magsy, who suspected that Miss Moore might spot a minute speck of dirt from a distance of a hundred yards, insisted on this cleansing.

Paul decided to stay where he was – there was no point in lingering in the lorry’s cab while he was able to sit in a warm kitchen. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he told
Magsy before she led her daughter across the road.

Then he kissed Magsy very lightly on the cheek. ‘Go get ’em, tiger,’ he whispered.

Blushing, Magsy O’Gara left the scene, a giggling Beth in tow. That had been a nice kiss. And she was smiling.

Lily Hardcastle began to appreciate Nellie’s persistence with the lacework. It was hard and frustrating, especially when Lily had to start on the smaller stuff, but it
kept her focused. More than once, she had thrown the lace-pillow across the room, but Nellie, that ever-patient saint, had simply laughed, strange, high-pitched sounds emerging from an uncontrolled
larynx. Nellie was the best thing that had happened to Lily in many a month.

They walked together into Wilkinson’s funeral parlour, Nellie’s breathing loud in the hushed atmosphere of this quiet place. It was Nellie who led the way, following the black-suited
undertaker into the back room where Sam lay in his demob suit, hair combed, face shaved, a tiny smile on his lips.

Lily grabbed Nellie and clung on to her. Would Roy want to live without his beloved dad? Would Roy get the choice? And why had she made so much fuss about a bit of nose-picking? Oh, God, it
wasn’t fair. Sam had done his best; even with his drinking, he had never got abusive. She should have appreciated him when he was alive, should have loved him enough to put up with that one
small habit.

‘All right,’ mouthed Nellie. She tapped her ample breast. ‘Me here. I look after you.’

For Nellie, that had been a long speech, one she would normally have delivered via pencil and paper. Lily dredged up some courage and kissed her husband goodbye, just a small peck on a cheek as
cold as any headstone. And it was done. This was more important than the funeral, because this was a personal farewell.

They left the building, Lily drawing breath for what seemed the first time in minutes as they stepped out onto Derby Street. They turned left for town, not bothering to wait for transport. Just
lately, they had taken to walking, usually with two dogs in tow, Skinny the mother and Spot the son.

They passed the market place and walked down the slope to the hospital grounds. Aaron and Danny had both been declared out of danger, so it was Roy’s ward that they visited first. Nellie
wrinkled her nose against the smell of disinfectant; Lily, much of whose life had been spent here in recent weeks, scarcely noticed the scents – they were part and parcel of her daily
routine, as familiar as the smells from home.

He lay on his pillows, face bleached white, hands loose on a yellow cover, hair as bright as ever. Yes, that red thatch looked far too cheerful when compared to the rest of him. Lily sat and
stared at him, just as she always did.

Nellie moved to the other side of the bed. She picked up one of his hands and began to stroke it, gentle movements from wrist to fingertips, the exercise repeated many times. From her lips, a
small hissing sound emerged, a noise of which she could not possibly have been aware.

Lily found her own eyelids becoming heavy. It was that special Nellie-magic again, the gift this woman had been awarded in place of her hearing. She was such a tranquil soul, was able to lull
her daft puppy to sleep in moments, even when the young dog was in one of his tearaway moods.

Lily leaned forward, placing her head on the pillow next to her son’s unnaturally still face. No matter how hard she tried, her eyes would not remain open.

She was woken by a completely different sound, one she would not have recognized in a month of Sundays. ‘Mam? Mam?’ Whose was that quiet little voice? She sat up.

‘Mam?’

‘Oh, my God,’ she moaned, looking across at Nellie. She would never be sure, yet Lily felt in her bones that a miracle had happened during those moments of sleep, because Nellie
Hulme’s face was different, as if someone had turned on a light behind the eyes.

‘Mam?’

‘Yes, love?’ Lily’s voice cracked.

‘Where’s me dog?’

Lily’s tears flowed, Nellie joined in the weeping, a nurse arrived, declared her intention to fetch a doctor. ‘Your dog’s fine, love. She’s had her operation and
she’s all right.’

‘Skinny,’ he said.

There was nothing wrong with his brain, then. He looked half-dead, his lips cracked and dry, eyes still sunken, wrists thin, skin transparent, but every little chicken pox scar had disappeared,
as if God had taken an iron, had smoothed him out. ‘Oh, Roy,’ wept his mother. No matter what, Lily would hope for nothing from this day onward. A widow, she would accept her lot with
equanimity, would strive to make life as easy as possible for Sam’s boys.

‘Me dad?’ he asked.

Nellie placed a hand on the boy’s head. Again, that small noise came from her mouth, a sound that reminded Lily of steam escaping from a simmering kettle. Roy slept. Lily did not know
whether to laugh or cry. He was alive. Her youngest baby was going to be all right.

The doctor arrived. ‘He woke?’

Lily nodded. She nursed a truth that would never be accepted by medics, a fact of which Nellie herself was probably unaware. Nellie Hulme was a healer. No matter what any doctor said or did from
now on, Lily Hardcastle would always be certain that Miss Nellie Hulme of Prudence Street, Bolton, Lancashire, had saved the life of Roy Hardcastle.

They went then to visit the other two boys. It was time to tell them that Roy was improving, that their father would be buried tomorrow. Yes, it was time to move on.

Rachel led Magsy and Beth into the bedroom.

Miss Katherine Moore looked considerably better than last time, eyes a little brighter, a glimpse of mischief in those rheumy orbs. ‘Well,’ she declared, ‘so this is the famous
genius daughter. Are you a genius?’ she asked Beth.

‘I am very clever,’ the child replied directly, ‘always top of the class. But I don’t know whether I am a genius, because I don’t know what a genius is. Except for
Albert Einstein. He’s a real genius.’

‘Ah. So you are modest, then.’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Beth. ‘If I think something, I usually say it. What’s the matter with you? Why are you lying down? Are you ill?’

‘Arthritis. But your neighbour sent me some medicine and it has made me rather better.’

‘Good,’ said Beth before wandering off to the window. ‘You can see the shop from here,’ she remarked. ‘We had sandwiches there.’

Rachel made a quiet goodbye before returning to her job. She would have liked to stay, but this was an interview, so it was private.

Magsy sat opposite Miss Moore. She folded her hands in her lap and watched while Katherine fell in love with Beth. She wasn’t surprised, because Beth was loved universally.

‘Do you like school?’ asked the old lady.

‘It’s all right, but I learn more at home.’ She swung round. ‘I was going to be a doctor, but I might be a scientist now.’

‘I see.’

‘Albert Einstein did sciences. He could have done anything, but he chose science. He’s old now, still clever, though. They asked him to be a president in Israel, but he said no. The
only thing he did wrong was helping with atom bombs, but we all do something wrong. It’s just that his wrong thing was bigger than other people’s wrong things because he’s more
important than most of us.’

Magsy squashed a grin. If Katherine Moore wanted a lecture, she had sent for the right child. It occurred to Magsy then that she had never said the words uttered so often by other parents
– ‘She didn’t half show me up’ – because Beth fitted anywhere and everywhere. Wherever Elizabeth O’Gara landed, she would do herself and her family proud.

‘Would you like to go to a different school, Beth?’ Katherine asked.