Christmas Wishes (26 page)

Back on the coach once more, she and Amy chatted away, laughing over the mix-up which had caused Joy to be mistaken for Amy and Amy for Joy. ‘I did tell my partner that he was calling me by the wrong name, but he just laughed and squeezed my hand and told me not to keep letting my feet slide together and not to bend half forward as though in anticipation of a fall. He was quite strict really, though very nice, so I told him that he shouldn’t blame me for my faults when he would keep whistling under his breath. I’m telling you, that can be very off-putting when you’re straining your ears to catch his instructions, and—’

Joy had been leaning back in her seat, dreamily remembering the feel of the ice beneath her skates and Ralph’s firm grip on her waist, but she sat up straight so suddenly that Amy gave a squeak of surprise. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t say you’ve forgotten something … but they checked us all ever so carefully. They checked our shoes at least twice, if not three times, because of the muddle.’

But Joy was not listening. ‘What was he whistling?’ she almost shouted. ‘Do stop gabbling on and tell me what
tune
he was whistling.’

There was a short pause before Amy spoke, her voice a touch sulky. ‘What tune
who
was whistling? Honestly, Joy, I’m not a mind reader, you know. Incidentally, can you and your twin read each other’s minds? I’ve often wondered.’

‘Oh, Amy, please, please do stop talking and
think
,’ Joy said urgently. ‘I’ve never told you, but when I was at home in Liverpool something rather horrid happened. Two girls attacked me and I was rescued by a feller I heard whistling as he came up the path – which was why I yelled for help. I never had a chance to thank him properly, but if your whistler was the same as mine I’d really love to meet up with him.’

‘Ye-es, I can see that,’ Amy said, having thought it over. ‘But I think my partner was whistling snatches of music rather than one tune. And honestly, Joy, it’s almost unbelievable that the man who came to your aid in Liverpool was the same feller who partnered me this evening. It sounds awfully romantic but it would be too much of a coincidence if it were the same man, don’t you agree?’

Joy sank back in her seat with a sigh. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said regretfully. ‘Oh well, never mind. But if I ever meet the chap who saved me from being beaten up I’d like to be able to thank him properly, because he was meeting someone and hurried off before I had a chance to tell him how grateful I was.’

‘And you were going to reward him with a loving kiss, I suppose?’ Amy said sarcastically. ‘He’s probably fat and forty, with a shiny bald head and those teeny little glasses … pince-nez, aren’t they?’ She laughed, and after a moment Joy laughed too.

‘But even if he’s one of the seven dwarfs, I would still love to meet him again,’ she assured her friend. ‘It’s odd, isn’t it, that whenever I’m in trouble I’m saved by someone who’s whistling …’

‘Oh, nonsense, you daft girl,’ Amy said bracingly. ‘The feller on the ice rink was probably the one who knocked you over – he certainly didn’t save you from a horrible fate, anyway.’ Joy heard a rustling and felt a paper bag pressed into her hand. ‘Have a sherbet lemon!’

Joy sat in the corner seat in which one of the older pupils had settled her, and propped her white stick carefully by her side. She was ostensibly in the charge of the guard who would come along the train whenever they were nearing a station to make sure she was all right and would assist her to alight when they reached Liverpool Lime Street. She knew that her haversack was on the rack above her head, and in the pocket of her coat nestled a florin and a packet of jam sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper. The money was to buy a drink and the girl who had brought her as far as the train had reminded her severely that she must not leave her seat, but must get a fellow passenger, or the guard, to purchase anything she might need.

‘What if I need a pee?’ Joy had said mischievously, but the older girl had only laughed, given Joy’s shoulder a friendly pat and shouted: ‘See you next term, littl’un,’ before abandoning her to the pleasures and perils of the journey.

After the train had begun to chug out of the station, Joy had spent the first ten or fifteen minutes familiarising herself with the voices of her fellow passengers. They were a mixed lot: an elderly man with a broad Lancashire accent, a woman – presumably his wife – who kept interrupting when he spoke, a couple of young persons whom Joy guessed to be the grandchildren of the Lancashire couple, and two elderly ladies who chatted in low voices, whilst a constant clicking told Joy that both were knitting industriously.

At first Joy listened to the conversation of the adults, then switched her attention to the children. She judged them to be eight or ten and simply by listening soon knew their names – Tammy and Terry – and the fact that they were brother and sister. They had come to London to see an exhibition at the Natural History Museum and were eagerly rehearsing how they would describe their adventure to their friends.

Joy had visited the museum with a party from the LSB, and of course hadn’t seen the exhibits with her own eyes, but the member of staff who had guided them from room to room had described everything so vividly that Joy could see it all in her mind’s eye, and shared in the children’s awe and delight over the vast fossilised dinosaur which dominated the main hall.

Presently, however, she began to wonder who would meet the train. It might be Gillian, eager to tell of the triumphs and disasters which had occurred at St Hilda’s, or it might be her father. Not Irene, because she would be at work, and though Mrs Clarke, according to Gillian, spent almost as much time in their house as she did at home, she doubted that the older woman would come to the station. If no one turned up, there was an arrangement that a porter, forewarned, would take her and her suitcase out to the taxi rank. But she thought it very unlikely; this was a momentous occasion, her very first return to Liverpool after twelve whole weeks away. She could not imagine her father not making his way to the station, probably a good hour before her train was due. Joy hugged herself. To be met by Dad would be best! She had spoken to him on the telephone about once a week, but because of the cost these conversations had been short, and though he had replied to her increasingly competent letters, it was briefly; Alex was not a good correspondent.

Gillian, on the other hand, had written long letters, mainly keeping her twin up to date with her life at St Hilda’s, which was fair enough, Joy thought, since she had done the same in reverse. Gillian had a friend called Keith, mention of whom had appeared at frequent intervals in her letters, and another, Paul, who had also been mentioned often. Joy assumed that Keith and Paul were boyfriends, but she was still not sure precisely what a boyfriend was. And I don’t care either, she told herself defiantly now, digging out her packet of sandwiches when she heard the rustle as other travellers produced food. I remember Dad telling Gillian that flirting was dangerous, though, so perhaps there’s safety in numbers. I’ll find out when I get back; after all, we’ve got the whole of the Christmas holidays to tell each other all the things we couldn’t put in letters, or say over the telephone. Oh, I can’t wait to get back to dear old Liverpool!

Chapter Ten

Summer 1949

Alex was sitting at the kitchen table, absently rubbing a yellow duster across his shoe whilst contemplating the list of shopping which he and Mrs Clarke had arranged to do between them. When Gillian burst into the room he greeted her vaguely, indicating a couple of rounds of toast with a jerk of his head. ‘Good morning, queen; you’re up early considering it’s the first day of the holidays. Does this mean you’re going to give me a hand with the shopping?’

Gillian slid into the chair opposite her father’s, reached for the first slice of toast and began to butter it, shaking her head as she did so. ‘No, I told you before I was planning to see Keith. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be at the station in time to meet Joy’s train, but Keith’s off to his holiday job at noon and I promised him …’

‘All right, all right,’ Alex said peevishly. He reflected that Gillian was a good girl, but somewhat single-minded. She kept declaring that her friendship with Keith was just that, but behaving as though the two of them were joined at the hip and could not be parted for long. ‘As for meeting Joy, there’s no need for that because I mean to go to the station myself. It’s just that we still need some little extras for our celebration high tea and what with rationing and shortages it could take ages to find the things we want.’

Gillian took a big bite of toast. ‘What sort of little extras?’ She smiled hopefully. ‘I know the cake’s done because Auntie Clarke told me she’s keeping it at her house so I don’t go peeping, and there’s cold ham in the meat safe …’

‘Never you mind; since you can’t help with the shopping you’ll have to wait until teatime to find out,’ Alex said. ‘And come to think of it, since it’s a celebration for both you and Joy, it should be a surprise to both of you as well. So go off with your Keith, my love, but be back here by five. If you aren’t, we’ll start without you.’

‘Celebrating my passing my end-of-year exams seems a bit excessive, doesn’t it?’ Gillian said. ‘Is the tea still hot?’ She tapped the side of the pot, then poured milk into a mug and added the tea. ‘It’s Joy who’s been made Student of the Year.’

‘For the second time,’ Alex added proudly. ‘Oh, I know they’re only internal exams, but nevertheless …’

‘We’re both bleedin’ brilliant,’ Gillian said provocatively, knowing that her father hated to hear his daughters using bad language. ‘Ho yes, we’re kids a feller can be perishin’ proud of.’

Alex laughed. ‘You get it from me,’ he observed. He stood up. ‘I’m off; the shops are open and you never know, they say the early bird catches the worm.’

Gillian shuddered, but stood up as well. ‘So you’re going to feed us on worms, are you?’ she said. ‘In that case I’m off too, and you can clear away the brekker and wash up yourself!’

As she spoke she was putting on her jacket and tugging open the back door. Alex still hoped to delay her so that she might at least help with the washing-up, but Gillian shot through the door and slammed it behind her. Alex began to clear the table, noting that they also needed mundane things such as bread, and the sticky buns the twins always enjoyed.

As soon as he finished the washing-up and clearing away, Alex checked the pantry and decided that if he could buy some nice fruit and get to the baker’s before they ran out of bread, that would just about complete his marketing. Had Gillian obliged by helping with the shopping, he would have stayed at home to give Mrs Clarke a hand, but as it was he had best get the marketing bag and start his search at once.

Five minutes later, he was out on the sunny pavement, smiling and nodding to passers-by. Several people stopped him to congratulate him on the fact that he would soon have both his chicks back in the nest. Mrs Lubbock next door must have seen him through her parlour window, for she popped out and pressed a brown paper bag into his hand. ‘A few sweeties for your lasses,’ she wheezed. ‘I remember how they used to spend their pocket money on humbugs, afore rationin’. Tell young Joy to pop round any time she feels like a chat.’

It was the same all the way to St John’s market, where Alex joined a queue at one of the stalls. He had hoped to buy some strawberries, since they were not only in season but also the girls’ favourite fruit, but there were none on view. However, he remained in the queue, thinking how strange it would be to have both the girls home at the same time, if not for good, at least for several weeks.

Last year, Gillian’s school had arranged an exchange for her, since she was doing languages and her teacher thought she would benefit from a stay in France during the summer holidays. Gillian had jumped at the chance, and had left on the first leg of her journey within hours of her twin’s arriving home. ‘We’re like that little Swiss cottage which tells the weather,’ Gillian had said gaily at the time. ‘When the old grandfather pops out, it’s going to be fine, but when it’s the old grandmother, look out for squalls!’

Joy had laughed, giving her twin an exuberant hug. ‘It’ll seem really strange to be back in Liverpool without you, but I dare say I’ll grow accustomed. And Irene is going to take a week’s holiday whilst I’m home, so I shan’t be lonely.’

‘And all your old pals will come calling and take you about,’ Gillian had pointed out. ‘Then there’s Dad, and Mrs Clarke, and that girl who works at the corner shop and was in your class at Bold Street … you’ll hardly miss me at all, but mind you write at least once a day!’

To make up for her sister’s absence the previous summer, Alex had bought a very old Remington typewriter and given it to Joy as a belated birthday present, and this had enabled her to write to her twin, if not daily, at least weekly. Alex remembered, with a twisted grin, how Joy had hammered away on the keys, sending reams of paper winging its way across the Channel to the little village in France where Gillian had been staying. And of course he also remembered Gillian’s rather rare replies, for it seemed she had been having an exciting time, thanks to being the only English girl for miles and therefore much sought after by students wishing to practise their language skills.

Alex reached the head of the queue and handed his list to the young assistant, giving her his most appealing smile. She was a pretty girl, and vaguely familiar. He was just wondering whether she was one of the girls’ friends when she leaned towards him, giving him a conspiratorial smile. ‘Mornin’, Mr Lawrence,’ she said cheerfully. ‘D’you remember me? I used to go about wi’ Irene when we was just out of school. I’m Lucy Biggins.’ She giggled. ‘Me and Reenie used to hang around the fire station, hoping you’d come out and have a word. She had a crush on you – I did meself – but a’course that were years ago. She nicked a bunch of chrysanthemums off her Dad’s allotment for you the day your kids came home after the war; she were right grateful you didn’t go gabbin’ to Mr Finnigan because she would ha’ got a rare wallopin’ if he’d knowed it were her. And now if you’ll pass me your marketin’ bag, we’ll see what I can find, ’cos I know your Joy’s comin’ back later today.’ She leaned across the counter, beckoning Alex to do likewise. ‘How many punnets o’ strawberries would you like?’ she hissed. ‘We’ve still gorra few left, for our special customers, like. And we’ve some rare nice tangerines …’