Two Penn'orth of Sky (24 page)

‘And I do a great deal of work in our little back yard,’ Mrs Symons had told Emmy and the child, when they had first met. ‘Come and see how I employ my spare time.’

To Emmy’s astonishment, the tiny back yard was crammed with half beer barrels filled with earth, in which flourished a great many flowers and vegetables. Emmy saw peas, runner beans, lettuces and even tomatoes, carefully staked and already reddening. Round the outside, the barrels held masses of nasturtiums, yellow daisies and other flowers which she was unable to name. She stared admiringly at old Mrs Symons and saw that Diana was doing the same.

‘It’s incredible,’ she had said slowly. ‘Why, you’ve brought a country garden into the middle of the city! And how you’ve managed to do it, all by yourself, is astonishing – or do you have some help?’

‘Once the barrels were filled with earth, I’ve not needed help,’ the old lady had said proudly. ‘I save my own seed from year to year, so that costs me nothing. But I do pay the young boys a few pennies when they bring me . . . well, fertiliser.’

‘What’s fertiliser?’ Diana had asked curiously. ‘Oh, I know. It’s something that makes flowers grow, isn’t that right?’

‘It’s horse droppings,’ the old lady had said frankly, with a twinkle. ‘When I was younger, I would nip out whenever a horse and cart passed by, with my bucket and spade at the ready, but now I have to pay the lads to fetch it for me.’

‘I could do it,’ Diana had said eagerly. ‘I’d like to do it.’

But though Mrs Symons had laughed, she had also shaken her head. ‘No, no, my dear, you mustn’t do the boys out of their pocket money. I shall find you plenty to do, don’t you worry about that.’

Emmy had been astonished at how free from worry she felt when Diana was with Mrs Symons. Of course, she had had complete confidence in Beryl, but she had also known that her old friend had five children of her own to keep her eye on, as well as several jobs. She had been happy enough to trust Diana to Charlie, but realised that the boy would not always be present. Poor little Becky was slow and Diana, though she was quite fond of the younger girl, was the one who had to take responsibility when they played together. No, Emmy had no doubt now that the quarrel with Beryl had not been without its benefits. Diana was safe with Mrs Symons and Emmy never had to wonder where her daughter was or what she was doing; Mrs Symons saw to all that. It meant that Emmy was able to take on much longer shifts than those she had worked whilst Diana was with the Fishers.

Against this was the fact that Emmy was often very, very tired and sometimes lonely. At work, one’s chances of idle chat were few, and anyway most of the staff at Mac’s had known one another for years; Emmy was the newcomer, the one who was a bit different, and though the others were always friendly enough in the restaurant, they did not invite her to join them outside it.

Before, Emmy had not minded because she had had Beryl in whom to confide. When she was worried or depressed, or simply worn out from a long day’s
work, she had gone next door, knowing that Beryl would both understand and sympathise – give advice, too, if she asked for it. Now she had to rely upon her own company, for Diana was happy to stay in Raymond Street, sharing the Symonses’ evening meal, until her mother arrived on the doorstep to take her back to Nightingale Court.

Subconsciously almost, Emmy had begun to look forward to the ending of the summer holidays and the beginning of the autumn term. Then, she had imagined, she would have her daughter back again and would have to finish her last shift at around four o’clock. Of course, she would miss the money, which had been a great blessing, but, as Mrs Ridley had once said, Mr Mac cared about his staff and tried to do his best to see that they were all happy in their work. He knew Emmy was desperately short of money and had arranged extra shifts for her accordingly.

However, the previous day, Diana had produced her bombshell. ‘When I start school again, Mrs Symons says I can go straight round to Raymond Street and we’ll have our tea and then I’ll stay with her, doing bits and bobs about the house, until Miss Symons gets home round nine or ten. Miss Symons will bring me home so you needn’t worry, and Mrs Symons is going to
pay
me! Yes, truly, she’s going to pay me half a crown a week out of her envelope money, and you’ll be able to work the evening shift, which will be grand, won’t it, Mam, because I remember you saying you get more money and better tips then than at other times.’

Emmy had been dismayed, but had felt unable to protest. Of course the lunchtime shift in the restaurant was busy, but at least it was preceded and
followed by periods of relative calm. In the evening, when the staff had finished serving teas, they began on main meals straight away and the restaurant filled first with workers having their dinner before returning home, then with young folk off to the cinema or the theatre, and afterwards with cinema- and theatregoers who had not had a chance to eat before the performance. This meant that the waitresses on the last shift were constantly on the go from five o’clock until ten or eleven at night. Thanks to Mr Mac’s thoughtfulness, Emmy’s evening shift ended at nine rather than ten or eleven, and she was truly grateful for the respite, though she was still so tired when she did arrive home that she frequently could not sleep but lay wide-eyed, staring into the dark, whilst every muscle twitched and ached and her poor feet curled into spasms of cramp, which forced her to jump out of bed and pace the floor until the pain eased.

Emmy, however, told herself that she must be prepared to put up with the weariness because the extra money she was earning was such a help. Mr Mac had told her that despite her initial lack of experience she was one of his most efficient workers and had given her a rise in pay, as well as making sure that she got a generous share of any leftovers and never quibbling when she asked for a Saturday off to take Diana somewhere, though it was the restaurant’s busiest day. His mother, old Mrs Mac, often worked on the cash desk in the evenings, and she, too, seemed well disposed towards Emmy. Despite having lived in the city for many years, she still had a strong Greek accent, and when there was a lull, or when they were clearing up after the customers had left, she would talk wistfully to Emmy of the little
Greek island where she had lived until her marriage. She was a shrewd old lady, too, and had told Emmy several times that she was working too hard and should try to put her feet up as soon as she reached home. ‘My son takes good care of his employees. He knows you badly need extra money so he gives you extra work. Because he is a man he does not realise that work does not stop for you when you reach home. You must rest more,’ the old lady had said.

But now Diana’s plans – and those of Mrs Symons – made it difficult, if not impossible, for her to get out of doing the evening shift. Of course, she could explain to Mr Mac that she needed time in her own home, but suppose he then decided to cut the daytime hours he gave her? He had proved to be a real friend, a grand person to work for, understanding and generous, but she knew he valued his experienced waitresses and wanted all of them to do at least three late shifts a week. He had been delighted when his scheme of helping both herself and Miss Symons had worked out so well. She could not find it in her heart to tell him that the work was too hard, and she wanted to go back to day work only.

The kitchen door’s bursting open broke into her thoughts. It was Sunday morning and she looked up, unable to suppress the hope that it was Beryl, come to make up, but it was only Diana, one cheek bulging and a very large apple in her hand. ‘Mammy, I know you don’t want me going round to Aunty Beryl’s and I know you don’t like me playin’ wi’ the Fisher kids any more, but they’re off to New Brighton for the day! Uncle Wally’s gone to visit his sister Ellen, and Charlie says his mam and his aunt don’t get on, so Aunty’s taking the kids to the seaside. Oh, Mam, couldn’t we go as well? Not with them, not if you
don’t want to, but just at the same time? Then – then I could play with Charlie, if he’d let me.’

Emmy had been making a pan of scouse, chopping scrag end of mutton into small squares, rolling them in flour and browning them before tipping them into her large stew pan. Now she stopped and stared across at her daughter. ‘Did Charlie tell you he was going?’ she said incredulously. ‘I thought you said he never talked to you now.’

‘He don’t,’ Diana said, ungrammatically but truthfully. ‘I heard him shouting the youngsters in, and telling Beck she’d best find herself a clean dress, ’cos his mam wouldn’t take her anywhere in the old rags she’s wearing. But oh, Mam, it would be so nice, so comfortable, if you and Aunty Beryl were friends again.’

Emmy knew that this was true but, unfortunately, only a week before she had made things worse. She and Beryl had found themselves on the same tram and, having climbed down at the same stop, began to walk towards the court together. Emmy had said nothing, but presently Beryl had turned to her. ‘I hear you’ve managed to get a childminder for Diana,’ she had said, rather stiffly. ‘I dare say it costs you a few bob, but so long as the woman’s reliable . . .’

‘Oh, it doesn’t cost me a penny,’ Emmy had said at once. ‘She’s – she’s an old friend and enjoys Diana’s company. She and her daughter give Diana her meals and she does little jobs for them – runs messages and so on – as well as reading to the old lady from her favourite books and magazines. Her sight isn’t too good, you see, so Diana is really useful.’

Beryl had nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s good,’ she said, and then, as if impelled: ‘You’ve always fallen on your feet, haven’t you, Em? You’ve always been
dead lucky . . . first you got me for a measly half a crown, and now you’ve got a poor old woman for nothing!’

Emmy had felt herself bristling with rage and disappointment. She had hoped that Beryl was about to offer some conciliatory remark which would make it possible for them to become friends once more, but instead she had twitted Emmy about the half a crown. As soon as she had visited Mrs Lucas, Emmy had felt ashamed that she had only paid her friend such a small sum, but she did not intend to let Beryl know this. She stuck her nose in the air and said haughtily: ‘It’s been arranged to suit both parties, not just me; and as for being dead lucky, I think you might remember that there’s nothing lucky about being a widow. If Wally turned up his toes tomorrow, you’d be glad enough to find someone willing to take on your kids whilst you did a full-time job. Not that anyone would take on your kids,’ she had added, before she could stop herself, ‘not with Becky as backward as she is.’

Emmy thought she would never forget the look which Beryl turned on her before she whipped round abruptly, without so much as a word, and disappeared into the nearest shop. Continuing on her way alone, Emmy had told herself that Beryl had started the unpleasantness, but she still felt a niggle of guilt. If it hadn’t been true that Becky was slow, it would not have mattered so much, but the older Becky grew, the more obvious it became that there was something very wrong. Emmy knew that Becky had had a very severe attack of measles when she was two. Before then, she had been as bright and lively as any other Fisher child, but afterwards her speech had become slow and her understanding poor.

I shouldn’t have said what I did, Emmy had told herself, making her way back to the court. I should stop and apologise, tell Beryl it was a nasty remark made in the heat of the moment and that I didn’t mean a word of it. However, she had continued on her way, and realised, now that Diana had mentioned it, that she herself had made the situation impossible. Beryl might forgive many things, but not a spiteful dig at her poor little daughter.

‘Mam? Can we go? Oh please, please, please! I hardly ever see Charlie these days and I do love him so much! If we were all on the beach, I’m sure we could make up easier than here in the court. I’d even play with stupid Becky if it would please Aunty Beryl.’

‘Becky isn’t stupid, she’s just very unfortunate,’ Emmy said sharply. ‘And no, we can
not
go to the seaside. I work all the hours God sends so I can make ends meet and give you a decent life, and as far as I’m concerned Sunday’s the only day I get for housework, cooking and that. If you’re at a loose end, you can fetch me down the dress and cardigan you wear for school. I reckon they’ll fit you for a few weeks, but you’re growing all the time, so it’ll be new ones by half term, I dare say.’

‘Oh, but Mam, I don’t ever get to play out now I’m in Raymond Street most of the time,’ Diana said, in a voice periously close to a whine. ‘And you’re always either working or too tired to do anything nice. Why, the last time Mr Johansson was in port, he only took us out once and then you fell asleep halfway through the big picture.’

‘Well, don’t pretend you weren’t pleased, because I know very well you don’t like Mr Johansson,’ Emmy snapped. ‘And it’s not my fault that you spend all
your time in Raymond Street. Now do as you’re told, please, or I shall get really angry.’

‘But Mam, in three days’ time I’ll be back in schooool,’ wailed Diana. This time she was definitely whining, Emmy thought crossly. ‘It’s the last chance we’ll have for an outing because you’ll be working Monday and Tuesday, I know you will, and I’ll be at Raymond Street. It’s – it’s not natural for a child of seven to spend all her time cooped up with old folk. I heard Aunty Beryl telling Mrs Davies so the other day. Oh please, Mam!’

For a moment, Emmy was so furious that her hand itched to slap Diana’s defiant face, but she had never struck the child in her life and knew she must not do so in the midst of a quarrel. ‘Get up to your room and stay there, Diana,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘How dare you defy me? You’re not to come down until I call that the meal is on the table.’

Diana gave her one blazing glance and then turned and shot out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. Emmy expected to hear footsteps thundering up the stairs, but instead Diana’s feet pattered briskly along the hall, the front door opened and slammed shut, and Emmy caught a glimpse of the top of her daughter’s head through the window as the child fairly hurtled across the court. Emmy dumped her kitchen knife on the table and hurried in her daughter’s wake. But when she emerged from the front door there was no sign of Diana. Children, small and large, played and argued on the dirty flagstones. A group of girls skipped rope, chanting ‘Salt, mustard, vinegar, pepper’ as they did so, and another group – of boys this time – were playing a game of what must be cricket, with a small plank of orange-box wood and a bundle of rags, but of Diana there was no sign.