A Wanton Tale (8 page)

Lottie broke down. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’ She sobbed.

T
he summer rays streamed through the opacity of the lead light front door of the Victorian villa. Sophie Shore gazed into the hall looking glass, flecks of light were dancing on her heart shaped face from the sunlight refracting from the bevelled glass of the art deco mirror. Her bright green eyes were fixed on her fresh freckly complexion, for a moment she thought she could see diamond earrings, sparkling from her earlobes. She was lost in a world of her own.

Her concentration was soon broken by the sound of her mother's voice. ‘You've been standing in that mirror long enough Sophie, call Bertie down and take him over to the fair for an hour.' Said her mother impatiently. ‘I'll give you two shillings, buy him something to eat.'

With an exasperated sigh, Sophie vigorously brushed her hair forward, then tossed back her head with a flourish.

Still admiring herself she called up the stairs to her brother, ‘Bertie, bring yourself down here now, we are going to the fair.'

‘Bring yourself down here? What on earth does that mean?' She heard her father ask her mother. ‘Where does she learn these things?'

At one time her father, Arthur, had been a Major in The 1
st
Battalion The Cheshire Regiment. Although now an insurance broker in the City of Liverpool, in his mind, he still lived in military times and was very set in his ways. Her mother, May, was a thoroughly modern mother who had entered the workforce. She worked in the local school as a secretary and had embraced the practical styles of the 1920's. Arthur wasn't keen on the idea of his wife working, but she clearly enjoyed the work and, after all, his earnings were relatively modest in these precarious times.

‘Arthur, it's 1928, the world has taken a few turns and the war is long over.' May scrutinised her husband's handle-bar moustache, wishing he would shave it off. ‘The children are growing up in a different world. Both you and I have to move with the times. She will pick up modern language, no matter how much you may dislike it.'

‘Hate ten year old boys.' Thought Sophie. She was fourteen, going on thirty. In her mind she was grown up and going out with her younger brother was not something she enjoyed. ‘Wish I had a sister instead.'

She stood at the foot of the oak staircase, holding onto the carved newel post. She shouted again for her brother. She heard him grunt a reply and slam his book shut. Soon the podgy young boy came lumbering downstairs.

Sophie adjusted her straw hat in the mirror, turning, she slapped Bertie's cap on his head as he passed her. Taking the money from her mother, they both kissed her and waved a cheery ‘Bye.' Sophie practically dragged her young sibling out of the front door.

She took a deep breath of salty air. Although the warm summer breeze gave her hair a life of its own, she felt content. In reality, Sophie could hardly contain her excitement at going to the fair. She loved living in New Brighton and felt privileged that her home was on Oakland Vale. She loved to look across Magazines Promenade and watch the ships on the River Mersey. The view ‘over the water' to Liverpool was breathtaking. She felt even more lucky to have the fun fair at Tower Grounds on her doorstep.

Their mother stood in the turret window of the drawing room with her arms folded as she watched her children scuttle down the steep steps. Her gaze followed them until they went through the wrought iron gate and soon disappeared from view.

She tapped the pearls on her long stringed necklace with the tips of her brightly painted nails. She turned to face her husband with a big sigh.

‘It's your own fault.' Said Arthur, as he drew gently on his pipe, puffing sweet scented tobacco which permeated the room.

‘What is? What is all my fault?' Asked May.

‘Well something is bothering you and normally that means it's Sophie.' Answered her husband. ‘You made too much of her when she was young, telling her she had ‘titian' coloured hair, telling her how lovely it was, as far as I'm concerned it's red, it's wiry and out of control.'

‘What are you talking about? It's not that. It's far more serious.' Said May. ‘Children and even the teachers ridicule her, calling her names.'

‘But the girl's fourteen, she should be used to that by now.' Answered Arthur dismissively, now bored with discussing his daughter.

‘For heaven's sake Arthur.' Said May exasperated. ‘Listen to me!'

‘Well, if it's women's problems or the other, you'll have to sort it out.' Snorted Arthur burying himself in his paper. ‘Anyway, she seems to like her hair now.'

May had to think before realising that ‘the other' meant sex. ‘No, this is worrying. She says she can see things that no one else can see. She claims to be able to see the future. She's always making things up. The headmistress says that it is not right that she is such a story-teller at her age. The teachers even suggest that she might have a mental problem. Sophie gets so upset when she is not believed, she says that she can see things that others cannot.'

‘I see.' Arthur's dark blue eyes squinted in the clouds of sweet tobacco smoke. ‘Well she's either having hallucinations or she's quite simply an attention seeker.'

‘I'm worried about her. She's good at art but in this day and age it's not good enough.' May was unable to contain the anxiety in her voice. ‘Some of the things she says are disturbing. She frightened poor Millie Bradshaw to death with her playground comments last week. The girl was in floods of tears.'

‘What did she say to her for goodness sake?' Arthur was now having difficulty in concentrating on the subject which he regarded as frivolous.

‘She said that she could see a purple glowing light around her head and that she had a premonition that she would be hurt in a terrible accident. She warned her to stay away from motor cars!' May looked down, holding the back of her hand to her mouth in exasperation. ‘There are other similar tales from her. I've got to work at that school, the Millie affair was highly embarrassing. I was called into the Head's office and sat there humiliated while she received a dressing down. I had to go and see Mrs. Bradshaw to apologise and I'm tired of making excuses for her.'

‘Well, I agree our daughter is good at art. Perhaps she's a highly strung, creative, type, a bit sensitive, I'm sure she didn't mean any harm.' Said Arthur a little impatiently.

May was going to tell her husband some more of Sophie's fantastical tales but thought better of it. She knew this was not a teenage phase. Her daughter had told stories since she was old enough to string a sentence together. But a look from Arthur, as he drew deeply from his pipe, was enough. May decided to keep quiet, it was a waste of time discussing it further.

She nestled down on the sofa and snatched the Daily Mail from the coffee table, deliberately creating an annoying rustle. She guarded her face with the paper to break eye contact with her husband. Despite everything, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she imagined her po-faced husband's reaction to the children's talk she had heard most days in the playground about ‘the other.'

May tried to clear her mind of worry about her daughter and began to absorb herself in the news. ‘Economic output continues to fall affecting coalmining, shipbuilding and steel, I expect we will soon have a Labour government.' She mused. As he struck a Swan Vesta match to relight his pipe, Arthur pondered how the slump would affect his livelihood. Husband and wife spent the rest of the morning barely exchanging a word.

To placate Bertie, Sophie had taken a detour through Vale Park on their way to the fair. He was particularly drawn to the unusual flowers. However, Sophie was looking for excitement. ‘Come on slow coach, maybe we will go on the caterpillar today! Now hurry!'

‘I want to go on a donkey ride instead.' Said Bertie as he pointed to a group of children on the beach. He stood watching them being helped onto the backs of the willing animals.

‘You're not going on those stinking things.' Petulant and determined, she was heading for the novelty rides but Sophie had to drag him along.

An attraction in itself, the welcoming sound of the fairground pipe organ was beckoning. As they came closer to the fair Sophie began to catch sight of the ornate facade, floridly decorated. The unique sound, blaring out popular tunes, could be heard above the noise of the bustling crowds and the fairground machinery.

Sophie imagined the music reaching the day trippers leaving the ferry. Hoards of children were running excitedly down the gangway ahead of their parents whilst trying to hold on to their straw hats, lifting in the breeze. They had travelled across the water from Liverpool and were looking forward to a great day out. Their eager faces were a picture of innocence as they clutched their buckets and spades. The fair was only part of the panorama of seaside attractions on offer in New Brighton. Children could make sandcastles whilst watching beach entertainers and Punch and Judy shows.

Bertie started to warm to the idea of the fair. He was pointing to one of his favourite games, he was convinced he would win every time. ‘Let's play ‘Roll a Penny' first.'

‘Not with my pennies, you're not, lose your own, it's either rigged or impossible to win, dopey.' Said Sophie wrinkling up her nose.

‘It's not your money, Ma gave it to you to keep safe for both of us and I want to play. Just once. Please.' He wheedled.

Reluctantly, Sophie handed over a penny. He carefully rolled it down the fluted slope towards a grid of small squares. Each square had a number painted onto it, the sum that could be won if the penny landed in it. His eyes were fixed on the rolling penny, inevitably it didn't land fully inside the square. Sophie's eyes rolled to the heavens when she saw the crestfallen look on her brother's face.

To pacify Bertie who now looked rather sullen, she assured him that he would soon be fed, so he bucked up immediately.

‘You lost, now watch me on this one.' Bertie followed his sister through the bustling crowds towards another stall. There was an array of prizes displayed at the rear including teddy bears and china ornaments. Sophie had her eye on a china black cat. It cost tuppence to play the game that was called ‘Bunty Pulls The String.' The stallholder smiled as she presented her with a multitude of strings suspended from the stall roof. Some, but not all of the strings, were attached to a prize by means of a small overhead pulley wheel.

Sophie grasped the strings confidently and gave Bertie a smug look. Unperturbed by a crowd of watching fairgoers, she fell deep in concentration. She shut out all the noise and distraction as she studied the strings. Her sharp green eyes focussed on the prize of her choice, her steady hand sought one string only. She remained unusually calm as she lifted the prize she had chosen. There were cheers of delight from the bystanders. His sister's success even animated Bertie.

‘Well done love and good luck to you, black cats are lucky!' Called the chubby stallholder in a booming voice, making sure passers-by and beyond could hear her. The delighted show lady knew that a prize winner would attract more custom and she liked to make a big noise about it. Sophie beamed with pride as she took her little cat and placed it in the pocket of her dress. She couldn't wait to show her mother, she planned to put it in pride of place on her dressing table.

‘We'll go on a few rides Bertie, then we'll go for some fish and chips.' Sophie was buoyant after her win. It was nearly one o'clock and the little boy with the big appetite was starting to feel hungry. In truth, Bertie wasn't too keen on any of the rides, he was more at home reading books, but it was worth it for a reward of fish and chips. The reluctant young fairgoer licked his lips in anticipation.

Bertie turned to watch a well dressed courting couple eating cockles and whelks from a paper bag. The manner in which they were eating was in defiance of his father's conventional table manners but judging by their expressions, it was clearly making the food more enjoyable!

Bertie couldn't wait to eat, despite his rumbling tummy he went on to follow his sister towards more rides. The pungent smells of the oil used in the generators, the sweet smell of candy floss and the organ's music that his sister found so alluring, made Bertie feel rather woozy. He struggled to keep pace with her stride.

‘We will go on this one first.' Sophie indicated the caterpillar. ‘Afterwards we'll try the new electric bumper cars, they came all the way from America.' Said Sophie with authority. She didn't care whether her brother was interested or not. The smell of the whelks being eaten by passers by and three girls licking ice cream kept his own hunger firmly in his mind.

‘Are you listening?' Sophie shook his arm and pointed to the Noah's Ark. ‘See that platform ride with the animal mounts, we'll try that last, then we can go to the fish and chip shop.'

She had mentioned it to Bertie earlier, although it wasn't one of the more adventurous amusements, Sophie found herself strangely drawn to the caterpillar. As they approached, the ride was in motion. At the head of the little carriages that made the train was a novelty green caterpillar's head, at the end was a tail. It went round and round, rising and falling with a gentle undulation. During the day, it was a ride for younger children, at night it went faster to excite adults. Nevertheless, Sophie felt drawn to it that day. She stood with her arms folded, marvelling at the artwork on the balustrades and around the top of the ride. The letters of the word caterpillar were proud and bold and fitted with electric bulbs, as was the name of the owner, Robert Collins.

Sophie tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the caterpillar to stop. Bertie didn't mind this particular ride, it was neither fast nor scary. He hated the ‘chair o' planes' favoured by his sister, he was scared of speed and being high off the ground.