Christmas Wishes (21 page)

‘That’s right,’ the hoarse-voiced one said gloatingly. ‘You won’t have that pretty face when we let you go, that’s for sure. And don’t try to yell out because no one will hear you and we’ll make you suffer worse. That’s a promise.’

One of her attackers dealt Joy a sharp slap across the face and she was just trying to tell them they had the wrong pig by the ear when, faintly, she heard footsteps and someone whistling a catchy tune. Her tormentors were too busy threatening and hitting her to notice, so Joy bit the hand gagging her with all her might and, as the owner of the hand snatched it away with a very unladylike curse, took a deep breath and put all her strength into a mighty shriek. Shriller than any train whistle, it split the air, and before her attackers could muffle her again she yelled: ‘Help, help, HELP! Thieves, robbers, murderers!’

Abruptly, the weight was lifted from her chest as the footsteps grew closer and a voice called out: ‘Where are you? Hello?’

Shakily, Joy sat up, hearing her attackers begin to panic. One of them started to say it had just been a bit of fun, but the other told her to shut up and run and to Joy’s immense relief she heard their footsteps recede, even as other, firmer footsteps approached.

‘Hello?’ The man’s voice was nearer. ‘Hello? Who’s yelling murder? Where are you?’

‘I think I’m in the shrubbery at the back of the tech,’ Joy called back.

The man turned into it; she could hear him pushing his way between the low-growing bushes, his footsteps urgent, until they stopped in front of her.

‘Did you see two girls?’ she said. ‘They attacked me.’

She felt strong hands take her own and pull her gently to her feet. ‘Which girls? You poor kid; are you much hurt?’ the man asked. ‘They certainly have roughed you up.’

‘Oh, I ache in every limb and I’m bruised all over, but it could have been a lot worse,’ Joy said. She shuddered at the recollection. ‘If you hadn’t come along … well, anything might have happened. You didn’t see them, I take it?’

‘No, I was trying to reach you and didn’t so much as glance around me, though I did get the impression of someone running away from the path I took to reach you,’ her rescuer said. His voice changed. ‘You must have known them, otherwise why would they attack you? You’ve got to go to the police. An attack with that ferocity could have had tragic, if not fatal, consequences.’

‘I didn’t know them; they mistook me for someone else.’

‘Ah, I see,’ the man said. He released her for a second, during which time he must have picked up her glasses, for he pressed them into her hand. ‘I take it these are your specs? I’m afraid they’ll never be any use to you again and I guess you’re blind as a bat without them.’

‘Very true,’ Joy said, rubbing her head vigorously and feeling, with distaste, the dirt and little stones in her hair. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d be grateful if you’d take me back to the college foyer. My sister and her friend will be wondering what on earth has become of me.’

‘Of course I will; and whilst we walk, you can tell me exactly what happened,’ the man said. His voice changed. ‘But why are you smiling? You said yourself that your attackers bruised you all over.’

‘Was I smiling?’ Joy said, surprised. She knew the reason all right but had no intention of admitting it to her new friend. She was smiling because with the realisation that she had been mistaken for her twin had come the certainty that she must still be pretty; even without her spectacles she must be unscarred. Others had assured her of this many times but she had thought they lied – oh, out of kindness, but mainly to comfort her. Her attackers, however, had no reason to lie. They had accepted without question that she was Gillian – pretty, clever Gillian whom all the boys admired – so her fears that she was ugly must be groundless. But her rescuer was repeating his question so Joy answered hastily, if not truthfully.

‘Well, I suppose it’s because you’ve rescued me and I feel safe now. My sister and I came to the technical college to have our hair cut and styled …’

Joy chatted brightly until he drew her to a halt outside the big glass doors and pushed them open, ushering her inside. ‘Can you see the reception desk? It’s straight across from here,’ he said. He had been holding her arm, guiding her carefully, but now he released it, giving her a gentle push towards the reception desk as he did so. ‘You must get someone to take you along to the First Aid room. You can get cleaned up there and have your hurts seen to. I expect you’re well aware that you’ve grazed the palms of your hands and your knees, and there’s a big black bruise on your forehead … but you said your sister would be worried, so no doubt she’ll take over. I’m sorry, I can’t hang around. It was just luck that I heard your screams because I was simply killing time before making my way to the station …’

Joy scarcely heeded his words as she heard Gillian gasp out her name and then two sets of running footsteps as her twin and Irene rushed across the foyer, both asking questions at the tops of their voices, though her sister’s tones prevailed. ‘Joy, my darling, whatever has happened to you? And where have you been? You’re filthy dirty and there’s blood running down your legs – oh, you’re getting a black eye – did you fall? We’ve been so worried, Irene and me …’

‘I’ve been in trouble, but I was rescued by this gentleman,’ Joy said, gesturing to her left where her new friend had stood. ‘I know you’ll want to thank him …’

Joy stopped speaking. There was no one by her side; her rescuer had gone.

Chapter Eight

When the girls came into the kitchen after the attack, Joy with her knees bandaged, sticking plaster on the palms of her hands and an enormous bruise on her forehead, Alex and Mrs Clarke exclaimed with horror, even though it soon became obvious not only from Joy’s wide smile but from her whole demeanour that she was not seriously hurt. She explained quickly what had happened and also aired her theory that she had been mistaken for Gillian, and Mrs Clarke, clucking like a hen with one chick and pouring cups of tea for everyone, said that in her opinion mistaken identity was no excuse.

Alex, who had listened with some alarm to Joy’s story, thought ruefully that though he would say nothing right now he believed he understood why the attack had come about. His darling Gillian was pretty, lively and very intelligent, but she had a sharp tongue and did not hesitate to use it. He guessed that she made enemies without even realising it, and besides, flirting with another girl’s boyfriend was always a dangerous thing to do. Knowing Gillian as he did, he guessed that she had been guilty of that if nothing else and that this had rebounded, not on Gillian, but her twin.

However, Mrs Clarke, getting scones out of the pantry and handing them round, was still fuming. ‘I don’t care who they thought they were beating up,’ she said roundly. ‘They ought to be flogged!’

Alex, once he had realised with great relief that Joy’s wounds were largely surface ones, grinned at his daughters and asked what was wrong with boiling oil. Everyone laughed, easing the tension, but Gillian said rather stiffly that she was the one who should have been flogged or boiled in oil. ‘I left Joy in the foyer whilst I had my hair done,’ she began, very pink about the gills, and by the time Mrs Clarke was offering a second cup of tea they all knew how it had come about that the bullies had been able to pick on Joy.

Alex saw that both his elder daughter and Irene were truly distressed, for as soon as Gillian stopped speaking Irene broke in. ‘If anyone’s to blame – apart from them horrible girls, that is – then it’s me,’ she said sadly. ‘I’m the oldest by two years; I should never have agreed to leave Joy waiting in the foyer by herself. And oh, Mr Lawrence, my hair were finished ten minutes after Joy’s was.’ Alex saw with some dismay that tears had formed in Irene’s big blue eyes. ‘I were real pleased with it and wanted to book another appointment, so I weren’t thinking about Joy …’

‘Oh, shut up, the pair of you,’ Joy said crossly, but Alex saw that her smile still lingered. ‘If anyone’s truly to blame, it’s me. If I’d explained to the old lady that I was blind, I’m sure she’d have fetched help of some sort. But I suppose I was too – too proud, and I reckon I owe those girls a debt in a way.’ Her hearers looked astonished, as well they might, Alex thought, and listened closely as his daughter continued. ‘They mistook me for Gillian! Don’t you realise what that means? It means I’m not hideously scarred, or totally changed, the way I thought I was. It means Gillian and myself are still identical twins.’ She turned towards where she knew her sister was sitting. ‘So yah boo sucks to you,’ she said gaily. ‘I’m afraid you’re landed with me, Gillian Lawrence.’

‘But we
told
you …’ Alex began, then stopped short as Mrs Clarke shook a reproving finger at him.

‘Of course we told her; all her friends and relations, all of Blue Watch, probably half the school as well told her,’ she said. ‘And silly Joy just thought that because we loved her, we were being kind. Those evil girls didn’t love her and there was no reason for them to pretend. They must know Gillian pretty well and yet they didn’t hesitate to grab Joy when they saw her alone. Clearly, it never crossed their minds that she wasn’t Gillian.’

‘Gosh!’ Gillian said, her voice awed. ‘Well, I’m going to have to be careful because I’m nowhere near as brave as Joy and I don’t fancy having my face smashed in, which is the only way, it seems, that we can stop being identical twins. Oh, Joy love, I’m so very sorry.’

After Mrs Clarke had left and before he went off to the fire station, Alex decided that a word or two of reproof and advice might not come amiss. Irene was putting on her coat whilst the twins were washing up the tea things, so he cleared his throat and caught Irene’s arm. ‘Wait a minute, queen. There’s something I have to say and I think you should hear it,’ he said seriously. ‘What happened this evening must be a lesson to all of us. The mistakes that were made might easily have ended in tragedy. I saw the three of you go off and reminded Joy to take her white stick, but she said that when you’re all together she never takes it because she hangs on to an arm of each of you and it would only get in the way. That was mistake number one; I should have insisted that where Joy went, the stick should go also. Mistake number two happened when the three of you reached the tech and you all went your separate ways, forgetting how vulnerable a blind person can be in a seeing world.’ He turned to the older twin, giving her a rueful grin. ‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mrs Clarke, Gillian dear, but mistake number three is that flirting is a game you enjoy playing, but others – the girls with whose boyfriends you flirt – clearly don’t find amusing. In fact, in this case at least, I believe it bred hatred and a desire for revenge.’

‘Oh, Daddy …’ Gillian began, her hands flying to her hot cheeks, but before she could even begin to defend herself her sister interrupted.

‘Does she flirt?’ Joy asked with genuine interest. ‘I thought she did, you know, but it’s one of the many things which are difficult to judge when you can’t see. Irene?’

‘Yes, I’m still here, standing by the back door waiting to go home,’ Irene said rather resentfully. ‘Your pa grabbed me before I could escape and of course he’s right, because I’m sure all of us will be a lot more careful in future. But I don’t flirt, not really, despite being older than both of you.’

Joy giggled. ‘Of course you’re older than both of us, because we’re twins,’ she reminded her friend. ‘But I don’t understand … what has flirting to do with age? I’m the same age as Gillian and I’m sure I wouldn’t even want to flirt, even if I knew how to do it!’

‘Irene Finnigan, what a liar you are!’ Gillian said in a shocked tone. ‘You
do
flirt! You flirt with Daddy and Chalky White, and the fellow in the greengrocer’s shop; why do you think he gave us an orange last week? It was because you made sheep’s eyes at him and when he asked you to go to the flicks next time there was a Laurel and Hardy on you said you might go along if you had nothing better to do.’

Alex broke in hurriedly, horribly aware of the hot colour flooding Irene’s cheeks and knowing that Ronnie White, also known as Chalky, a member of Blue Watch, rather liked Fred Finnigan’s lass. ‘That isn’t flirting, that’s just being friendly,’ he said. ‘And now I think we’ve had enough discussion for one night. Remember, though; sometimes an innocent act like walking home with someone else’s boyfriend can lead to real trouble.’ He let go of Irene’s arm and patted her hot cheek. ‘Off with you, young Irene, and don’t you worry about what our Gillian says. She doesn’t always think before she speaks, and that can be hurtful, but don’t take any notice. You’re a really good, helpful girl and I think of you as my third daughter. Daughters don’t flirt with their fathers, so Gillian was clearly barking up the wrong tree. Goodnight, queen.’

Irene slipped out of the back door, closing it carefully behind her, crossed the yard and headed for her own home, glad of the cool night breeze on her hot cheeks. She was a prey to conflicting emotions; it was nice that Alex admitted she was both good and helpful and had more or less accused Gillian of fibbing when she had called Irene a flirt. On the other hand, though, she had no desire for Alex to think of her as a daughter, for she had loved him – yes, it was real love, not infatuation, as folk would say – for absolutely ages, years probably.

She turned into the main road, still bustling and busy despite the lateness of the hour, and lingered for a moment, wishing that Alex had suggested accompanying her as far as the Gadwall fire station, as he sometimes did. But she supposed that had he done so, Gillian would have jeered, and that would have been very hard to take.

Irene sauntered along the pavement, gazing into shop windows. She was paid weekly by the grocer and spasmodically by Mrs Clarke, and usually had a small fund put aside for such things as dancing shoes or a seat at the theatre. She was saving up for a black taffeta skirt, these garments being all the rage amongst those who frequented the Grafton ballroom, and stopped before a window display which included a number of pretty blouses in pink, blue and primrose yellow. She sighed. Blue suited her and would go well with a black taffeta skirt, but fashion decreed that the blouse must be white. She moved on, and suddenly remembered that since Alex was working the night shift, her father would be doing the same. She glanced at her wristwatch and realised that by the time she reached home the younger members of her family would be in bed, leaving her sister Daphne and her mother to gossip over a hot drink in the Finnigan kitchen, and she, Irene, had news to impart, as well as a wonderful new hairstyle to display.