The Liverpool Rose (4 page)

For a moment she thought he was not going to answer her but he drew a long breath and said, ticking the answers off on his fingers as he gave them: ‘Me name’s Geoff Gardiner. I live in Shaw Street and me and the lads were – were just sort of seeing what we could pick up. As for what we’ll do next, that’s up to you.’

‘Shaw Street! That’s a real posh street. I went to a Bring and Buy Sale at St Augustine’s church a year or so back, with me Aunt Annie, and we walked along and looked at the houses – they’re grand. Which one is yours, then?’

Geoff gave her a look in which contempt and amusement were nicely blended. ‘What does it matter?’ he said baldly. ‘I could say I lived at number nine or number ninety-three and you wouldn’t be no wiser. What say we go along to the Scottie, see if we
can skip a leckie going out to the sands? Why, it’s that warm I reckon we could bathe. And we gorra picnic – we should have asked your aunt for a bottle of water, I daresay she’d not have grudged it.’

‘There’s a drinking fountain in Princes Park,’ Lizzie said dreamily as they walked along. ‘There’s probably another in Seaforth, somewhere.’ She turned to him suddenly, her eyes bright. ‘Tell you what, Geoff, we might go along to the market and see if anyone wants messages running or an odd job doing. If we earn some pennies we could buy a couple of bottles of ginger beer.’

Geoff vetoed this suggestion, however, on the grounds that it would waste a good chunk of the sunny afternoon, so the two of them strolled down to the Pier Head and sat on the edge of the Landing Stage, with their legs hanging over the water, talking idly and hoping that the tide, which lapped only feet beneath them, would presently begin to ebb so that they might drop down on to the mud and begin searching for treasures.

After a while, however, Geoff remarked that the tide, far from obliging them, seemed to have come a little higher up the wall since their arrival and suggested that they might stroll along by the water until they reached Princes Dock, where they could take a look at the shipping.

But this sounded pretty dull work to Lizzie and the name ‘Princes Dock’ made her think of the park and the delights to be found there by someone like herself who was interested in growing things. It was the wrong time of year for nicking seed heads, of course, but very much the right time of year for looking at the flowers and trees and deciding which seed pods to nick when autumn came. What was more, the June
evenings were long and the pair of them could walk to Princes Park, even if they couldn’t skip a leckie. Accordingly, she told Geoff, in no uncertain terms, that staring at shipping when you could be floating paper boats on the lake up at the park, or even having a crafty swim if the park attendant was looking the other way, seemed a good deal more fun.

‘Ye–es,’ he said doubtfully. ‘But – but me time’s not me own . . . that’s to say, I’ve gorra be in for me tea come five o’clock. If we go to the dock to look at shipping, we can cut back to Burlington Street for you to get home for your aunt’s scouse and then I’ll go on to Shaw Street for me own tea.’

‘But we’ve got jam butties!’ Lizzie exclaimed, dismayed by this faint-hearted attitude. ‘Besides, me aunt will save me a bowl of scouse – bound to, since it were me what got the bacon bits. Won’t your mam save your tea, seeing as how it’s a lovely day and she’d probably sooner you were out in the sunshine than cooped up indoors?’

There was a short silence, during which Geoff studied his boots with what appeared to be rapt attention. They were strolling along beside the river, in the direction of the docks, but now he pulled her to a stop and swung her round to face him. ‘Lizzie, do you want to be me pal?’ he asked earnestly. ‘Because if so, there’s a thing or two you ought to know. It wasn’t no lie that I live on Shaw Street, because I’ve lived there as long as I can remember, but – but I live in Father Brannigan’s Orphan Asylum.’

Lizzie stared at him. Then, very carefully, she looked at him properly for the first time, from the top of his head to his shining boots. His thick, dark hair was cut cruelly short and his face, now that she came to look at it with more attention, was far too pale –
and clean – to be the face of a normal Liverpool lad who, at this time of year, would have been roaming the streets from dawn to dusk, except for the hours which he spent in school. She also noticed for the first time that his clothing was more like a uniform than the odds and ends and ragged garments worn by ordinary kids. Despite the warmth of the day, he was wearing a grey flannel shirt and trousers and his boots had plainly been bought to fit him and not passed on by an elder brother or sister. Besides, Lizzie thought, looking down at her own bare feet, most kids chose not to wear boots in the summer.

‘Know me again?’ Geoff said sarcastically, though he gave her a grin as he spoke. ‘Orphans don’t have two heads, you know – nor do foundlings, which is what I am. The only difference between me and you, chuck, is that no one’ll save me tea for me, nor yet me supper neither, because that isn’t how institutions work. We’re just bleedin’ numbers to the staff.’

‘What’s a foundling?’ Lizzie asked, hastily turning her eyes from Geoff’s sturdy figure and looking out across the River Mersey. ‘I know what an orphan is, ’cos I’m one meself, but I haven’t even heard of a foundling.’

‘It’s just what it sounds like – I were found, not handed over by me parents,’ Geoff said briefly. ‘Me mam dumped me at Waterloo Station and a scuffer found me and took me round to the Branny – that’s what we call the Home – and Father Brannigan took me in.’

‘Oh,’ Lizzie said, inadequately. She thanked her lucky stars that she had been seven when her parents had died; how awful not to know who you were or where you’d come from, even. Then it occurred to her that Geoff Gardiner wasn’t just any old name, and her
new friend must have come by it somehow or other. Having given the matter a moment’s thought, she worded her next question carefully. ‘If you are a foundling, then how do you know your name? Were you a little baby when the scuffer took you to the Home?’ She bethought herself of one of her favourite romantic tales which involved a baby left on a doorstep with a note pinned to its shawl. ‘Was your name written on a bit of paper and pinned to your clothes, then?’

Geoff rolled his eyes at yet another list of questions, but answered them patiently. ‘Yes, I were two or three days old when I were found, so far as anyone could guess. As for me name, the scuffer was called PC Gardiner and Father Brannigan chose “Geoffrey” because there wasn’t anyone else called that in the Home. Now are you satisfied?’

‘Not really,’ Lizzie said frankly. ‘Only I can’t think of any more questions now – oh, yes I can. Those other boys, Sid and Tom, are they orphans an’ all?’

‘What, those scruffy buggers? No, they’re a couple of lads from school what I palled up with, so when I can get away, the three of us go about in a sort of gang, seeing what we . . .’ He paused and shot an odd look at Lizzie.

‘The three of you was out on a nickin’ spree, I reckon,’ she said wisely. ‘I
thought
it were too good to be true when the tall lad was so nice to me. Most fellers would have just laughed and done nothing to help, but he didn’t want to draw attention, did he? Where were you bound, then? Paddy’s Market? Or the fruit and veg market? Or were you going to kick that ball into a shop window, grab what you could, and run for it?’

‘You aren’t far out, queen,’ Geoff said, grinning
sheepishly at her. ‘They’re always on the nick – Tom and Sid, I mean – but usually I’m just the look-out or I case the joint for them because I don’t look like a street urchin.’ He plunged a hand into his pocket and brought out a dark blue neck-tie, decorated with thin, silver stripes. ‘When I’ve got me tie on, I look real respectable; I could be a young gent from one of the posh schools, for all they know.’

‘Well, now you’ve got me for a pal, you’d better stop that lark or you won’t see me for dust,’ Lizzie said belligerently. ‘It’s easy enough to get into trouble round here without stealing, because that’s what it is – stealing. Everyone nicks a few fades from the market or the odd gob-stopper from old Ma Kettle down the Scottie, but thievin’ will get you into
really
hot water.’

‘I know it,’ Geoff assured her, neatly re-rolling his tie and replacing it in his pocket. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a bit scared of Sid. He’s a wild ’un, he’s not afraid of anyone and he’ll do anything – I’ve seen him snatch a bracelet off a jewellery stand, right in front of the assistant’s eyes, with a shop full of people all grabbing for him, and him in and out before you could say knife, slippery as any eel.’ There was enough admiration in his voice to worry Lizzie and this time it was she who caught hold of his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

‘There’s nothing clever in stealing, chuck,’ she said fiercely. ‘Besides, if that Sid is slippery as an eel, you can be sure it’ll be you what ends up in trouble and not him. Fellers like him don’t have a conscience, ’cos they don’t know right from wrong. If he were caught, he’d slap the blame on someone else, quick as a wink. But he’s no end older ‘an you, so you can’t be in the same class; where’d you meet him?’

‘Oh, Sid left school more’n a year back, but he still hangs around the place ’cos he’s not gorra job yet,’ Geoff explained. ‘But don’t worry, Lizzie, I won’t be seeing him again because I’d rather hang around with someone like yourself. Not that I get away all that often, what with the senior boys watching us like hawks and the staff always on the look-out for any feller trying to slip past them,’ he concluded bitterly.

Lizzie, nodding her head grimly, decided to say no more, and presently the two of them dodged in through the dock gates when no one was looking in their direction and began to stroll past the ships moored to the quayside, bobbing placidly on the water like a line of ducks on a pond. The two children found a couple of iron stanchions, sat themselves down, and shared out the jam butties. They ate contentedly, watching the hustle and bustle on the quayside as some ships were unloaded while others prepared to depart. Presently Geoff glanced up at the clock tower and remarked that it was time he wasn’t here. ‘Brother Mark is on dining-room duty today and he just about hates the sight of me so it wouldn’t do to be late.’

‘I’ll walk you home, if you’ve got to go now,’ Lizzie offered. She had enjoyed examining the big houses on Shaw Street and imagining what went on behind their impressive front doors. It would be interesting, furthermore, to see for herself the Father Brannigan Orphan Asylum for Boys since she did not recall seeing it the last time she had visited the area. ‘But if you can’t get out official-like, Geoff, how are you and I going to meet up again? Any chance of getting away on a Sunday, or do they watch you closer than ever at weekends?’

‘I’m a chorister,’ he told her, ‘so I’m kept pretty
busy on a Sunday. Until after Sunday dinner, that is. There’s generally a couple of hours in the afternoon when I can slip away if I can get someone else to cover for me. If you were to come up Shaw Street and just keep walking up and down outside the Home, I could probably get away for a bit.’

This waste of a Sunday afternoon, however, did not appeal to Lizzie at all and she said vaguely that she herself might be busy then. ‘We has our dinner midday on a Sunday, ’cos Uncle Perce and the boys is home,’ she explained. ‘Tell you what, Geoff, if you
can
get away, come round to the Court. There’s always something going on round there.’

‘Right,’ he said, though he looked a little disconsolate. ‘And if I can’t get away, we’ll manage something one evening next week. This here’s the Home, the big house with the iron railings and the brass door knocker. You’d best make yourself scarce now or I’ll be in trouble.’ He grinned impishly down at her. ‘Father Brannigan don’t approve of fellers meeting girls.’

Geoff headed for the back door of the Home, slipping his tie round his neck and knotting it with quick, experienced hands as he went. Haircuts had been handed out the previous Saturday, but he spat on his hands and slicked down what was left of his with both palms. Once inside the house, he slid unobtrusively into the mass of boys already queuing to go into the dining room. In their uniform, with their hair cut short, it was easy to remain anonymous in such a crowd and presently Roy, who sat next to Geoff in class, turned round and spotted him in the throng. ‘Where have you been?’ he enquired, though without much interest. ‘There were a game of footy in the
backyard and I made sure you’d be out there, but you weren’t ’cos I checked.’ He lowered his voice. ‘You weren’t with that Sid, were you?’

‘’Course not,’ Geoff said righteously. ‘It’s against the rules, isn’t it?’ He winked at Roy, who laughed. ‘Actually, I’ve gorra new pal. The family live in Cranberry Court, off the Burly, so we went down to the dock to take a look at the shipping – took a picnic with us.’

‘Cor!’ Roy said reverently, gazing at him round-eyed. ‘You have all the luck! Still an’ all, I’ve got a heap of cousins living in the Courts who like me to visit a couple of times a month. You’ve got no one.’

Geoff flushed angrily. He knew that Roy did not mean to make him feel bad about his lonely and somewhat friendless state, but that was what such remarks did. Sometimes it seemed to Geoff that everyone in the Branny had dozens of relatives willing to take them out for an hour or even the odd week end, except himself. However, he did not intend to let Roy – or anyone else for that matter – guess at his sensitivity over such things. Instead, struck by a bright idea, he turned impulsively to his friend. ‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘But these people are really friendly. They asked me into their house – no one’s ever done that before. It’s only a little house, but it was kind of nice. I helped Mrs Grey to chop vegetables and carried in buckets of water . . . it’s all very well for the rest of you fellers, but unless I seize an opportunity like this, I’ll never get to see how ordinary folk live.’

‘That’s true,’ Roy said, looking puzzled. Clearly he did not see where this conversation was leading. ‘Are you going back again, then? I know you slip out from time to time after school. There’s often an hour or two
free when we’re playing footy or doing homework or just waiting for our teas, but . . .’