Christmas Wishes (27 page)

Presently Alex paid, thanked Lucy sincerely and left the market, having reclaimed his bag. He peeped into it and saw that the girl had done him proud, for there were no fewer than four punnets of strawberries, ranged carefully along the top of the bag, and beneath them he could glimpse a variety of fruit and vegetables, enough to make the celebration tea a real success.

Baker next, Alex told himself now, remembering with considerable relief that Mrs Clarke had offered to call on the butcher and buy anything needed for her baking, such as lard and sausage meat. Hefting the heavy bag, he wondered whether he should take the greengrocery home and then come out again, but decided against it. He meant to buy a couple of loaves of bread and some sticky buns from Sample’s; better to get them now and save himself a double journey, though he would have to persuade the baker to give him a paper carrier bag, for putting anything heavy on top of the strawberries would be asking for trouble.

He was striding along the pavement, whistling a tune beneath his breath and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his bare head, when someone shouted his name and he saw Fred Finnigan approaching, a broad grin on his face. ‘Mornin’, Alex,’ the other fireman said. ‘I hear young Joy’s comin’ home today. Want a hand wi’ that bag? You’re bendin’ over sideways wi’ the weight of it!’

Alex grinned too, but shook his head. ‘No, this one isn’t too heavy, but if you’ve time to spare you might come with me to Sample’s. I want a couple of loaves and some buns …’

‘And you’ve no more room in that there marketin’ bag,’ Fred guessed. ‘Yes, I’ll come along and give you a lift wi’ your loaves.’ He peered into the bag. ‘Looks like … cor, strawberries! Someone’s gorra pal in high places!’

Alex raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘You think so? Come off it, Fred; if anyone knows all my business, it’ll be you, so you must know I got the strawberries because of my well-known charm, not because me and the Prime Minister are hand in glove.’ Fred guffawed, but said it wouldn’t surprise him who his sub-officer knew.

Alex grinned. ‘Young Irene’s in and out of our kitchen like a perishin’ Jack-in-the-box, so if I palled up with King George she’d tell you,’ he said. ‘Not that I’m grumbling, because your daughter’s a jewel,’ he added hastily. ‘I’ll give you this, Fred; you’ve brought her up right. She’s always willing to help, no matter what the task in hand may happen to be … but of course now she works in Lewis’s she has to be careful of her hands.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s bought herself a pair of rubber gloves, keeps them in a cupboard under the sink and wears them when she scrubs the kitchen floor or washes the pots.’

The two men had fallen into step and were chatting as they walked, but at Alex’s words Fred tilted his cap over his eyes and then pushed it to the back of his head, doing a double-take. ‘Irene, scrubbing floors?’ he said incredulously. ‘Well, I admit she talks a lot about you Lawrences and Ada Clarke, and we knew she did a bake occasionally, but as my good lady will tell you, mention scrubbin’ a floor or lightin’ a fire and Madam’s off, shoutin’ over her shoulder that the mannykins at Lewis’s has to have perfect hands and nails, and she ain’t riskin’ her job, so there!’

‘Oh well, perhaps it isn’t her who scrubs the floors and light the fires …’ Alex began only to be swiftly interrupted.

‘Oh aye? Then it’ll be the little people, I suppose? I trust you leave a saucer of milk by the fire before you go to bed, ’cos they’s mortal fond of warmed milk.’ Fred chuckled hoarsely. ‘Pull the other one, Sub-Officer Lawrence, it’s got bells on!’

Alex gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Well, she’s been a great help to me, and Lewis’s must regard her highly since they allow her to show their gowns. She told me that the chief buyer examines their nails before she’ll let them put on the dresses they’re supposed to be modelling, and if anyone’s aren’t perfect they’re told to go back to their counters.’

‘Oh aye, she’s said the same at home,’ Fred said. ‘She ain’t clever, like your Gillian, but Mother and me’s proud of the way she’s got on. I reckon she’ll end up head sales lady, or summat o’ that nature.’

Alex nodded. ‘In fact last summer, when Gillian was in France, your girl just about saved my bacon. Whenever I had to leave Joy, either Irene, or Mrs Clarke, or even old Mrs Lubbock next door, kept an eye on my girl. Even now, though Joy’s seventeen years old, I shall worry about leaving her in the house alone. I know it’s foolish; she’s had three years at that fantastic school in London, but I’m still nervous. She tells me she’s been taught how to avoid accidents and how to behave if one happens, but I’m a good deal happier when she’s with Irene. Mrs Clarke does her best – she’s wonderful too – but she’s not a teenager and doesn’t pretend to be, whereas Irene’s only two years older than the twins.’

His companion grunted. ‘Aye, I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘I reckon it’s hard on your Joy, always walkin’ in the dark. Being with someone her own age must make it easier.’

Joy sat in the train looking forward to the now familiar journey, knowing it was the last one. She had travelled to and from the LSB eighteen times, she calculated – no, sixteen times, because last year she had not returned to Liverpool for the Easter break since the school was taking scholars who could afford it to Paris for a week. It had cost six pounds, not counting spending money, and Joy knew that the firemen had had a whip-round to enable her to have her first experience of foreign parts.

Now, however, that seasoned traveller, Joy Lawrence, made herself comfortable, for she had been allowed on to the train before the other passengers, and went through her checklist. Suitcase on the rack above her head, along with her navy blue duffel coat, her purse in the small handbag on her lap, her white stick leaning against the side of the compartment, for she had naturally taken a corner seat. Even though she was now seventeen years old she was in the nominal charge of the guard, but he had recognised her from other journeys and chatted quite like an old friend, assuring her that since this was a corridor train he would visit her between stations, just to make sure that she was all right and didn’t need help.

‘But I leave the train at Crewe, so from there to Lime Street the new guard will keep an eye,’ he had promised her. ‘Pa meetin’ you, is he?’ He had chuckled. ‘First time I was told to keep an eye on you I thought I’d be in big trouble for neglectin’ me duty when I saw what I thought were you on the platform at Lime Street before the train had stopped. Didn’t know you was a twin, see?’

Joy had seen, and had understood his confusion. As she waited now to see how many other passengers would join her, she remembered that very first journey, the jam sandwiches which had oozed all over her best jumper, the friendly little boy who had got off the train to buy her a drink and had only just got on again before the train left. She also remembered how the drink had splashed all over her when the train jerked.

How different it was now! When the canteen staff at Blinkers had asked her what she would like in her sandwiches, she had specified Spam or paste and had suggested they provide her with a screw-topped bottle of pop or milk to slake her thirst; indeed, clearly a seasoned traveller!

Somebody slid back the door of the compartment and Joy, whose hearing was acute, listened to a whispered conversation with some amusement. ‘What d’you reckon? But this train’s usually crowded, and I promised Ethel I’d save her a place …’

‘What’s wrong wi’ asking her? She may be blind, but I reckon she ain’t deaf.’

Joy turned towards the speakers, giving them a broad smile. ‘There’s no one in the compartment but myself, so you’re welcome to join me,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And the train is always crowded until it reaches Crewe, when half the world seems to get off.’

Joy heard the door of the compartment being pushed right back and several people entered, one of whom sat heavily down next to her and patted her hand. ‘Thanks, miss. Truth to tell, the perishin’ train’s fillin’ up fast. We’s a party of ladies from Chester what’s been to a convention up London, so we’ll be leaving the train at Crewe too. Where’s you from?’

‘Oh, I’m from Liverpool,’ Joy said at once. ‘I’m going home; my school term finished yesterday and it was my last. So now I’m an ex-pupil of the London School for the Blind.’

‘Oh aye?’ her neighbour said. ‘I’ve heard of that place; it’s reckoned to be the best.’ She wheezed as she spoke and a large and comfortable thigh was pressed against Joy’s side. Already Joy realised she was building up a picture of the woman beside her; fat and elderly, but also competent and good-natured. She must be both to have fallen into conversation with me, Joy thought; many people lack the courage to start to talk to a stranger who can’t see who is addressing them.

Joy sensed that her neighbour was waiting for her to enlarge on her comment. ‘Yes, the LSB really is the best,’ she said. ‘I’ll miss it most awfully, but of course home is even better.’

At this point other members of the party began to chatter amongst themselves, including Joy’s neighbour, and Joy was able to lean back and listen, or to read her book, for she had brought a copy of
Lorna Doone
in Braille to stave off boredom. Once her companions had got used to watching her fingers fly over the dots they began to discuss their London trip and presently there was a rustling as they produced their packed lunches, so Joy was able to do likewise without embarrassment.

The train reached Crewe on time and Joy wished her fellow travellers a good onward journey and wondered whether she should get her case and coat down from the rack so that she was ready when the train reached Lime Street. The new guard had not yet appeared, but previous experience told her that someone would be available if she needed assistance, so she settled back in her seat just as the compartment door, which the women had shut behind them, slid open once more. A man entered, speaking to someone behind him as he did so. ‘I’ll stay on this train now until it reaches Lime Street; you’d best get off or you’ll miss your own connection. You’ll be back tomorrow, I take it?’

‘Yes, I should be in by teatime,’ his companion agreed. ‘See you then.’

‘Right. Goodbye for now.’

Joy heard retreating footsteps, then heard the man who had first spoken dumping something heavy on the floor and also the soft slithering sound as he removed his coat. He slung it on the rack, did likewise with what she imagined to be a suitcase, and then he must have spotted her for the first time, obviously taking in the significance of the dark glasses perched on her nose and her white stick. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said. ‘I trust these seats aren’t taken?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ Joy said cautiously. She found herself hoping that the guard would come along, because she usually preferred to travel with other female passengers. However, the man’s voice was low and pleasant enough, in no way threatening, and since it was a corridor train she could always collect her possessions and pretend she had reached her destination, whereas in reality she would simply walk along the corridor and go into the next compartment. But her new companion was settling himself in the corner seat opposite and getting out, from some sort of briefcase or bag she presumed, what she took to be reading matter of his own, possibly papers, for there was a good deal of rustling.

The train began to move and Joy slid her fingers across the open page of her book. She found her place and was about to start reading once more when the man opposite her spoke. ‘Aha, I see you can read Braille. May I hazard a guess that you are a pupil at the London School for the Blind?’ Joy agreed that this was so and the man continued, ‘I thought I knew your face. I have given talks there from time to time.’

A large firm hand suddenly reached out and took Joy’s, shaking it vigorously. Joy steeled herself not to squeak; had he no imagination? A hand reaching out of nowhere is not a pleasant experience for one who cannot see the owner. But he was talking again. ‘I’m Dr Slocombe. How d’you do, Miss … er … but I am anticipating. If you’ve been at the LSB for two or three years, surely you must have heard my name?’

Joy bit back the words ‘I don’t know your name and don’t want to, either’, because that would sound rude, not the sort of thing one would say to a man in his forties, which she imagined he must be. She was not good at judging age, however, but guessed that as a medical man he was probably nearer forty than twenty. Then she remembered that not all doctors were medics; he could be a doctor of anything. However, she had disengaged her hand from his, and when he repeated his question she answered truthfully. ‘No, Doctor, I don’t think I’ve ever heard your name before,’ she said, wishing that she could return to her book. ‘But as one gets further up the school, one is allowed to pick and choose which lectures one attends; what is your subject?’

‘Despite being a doctor of medicine, I am a great believer in the power of faith,’ the man said quietly, and it seemed to Joy that his voice deepened. ‘And I believe in the capacity of the human soul to rise above the mundane worries which beset those with disabilities.’

She knew he was leaning close to her, could actually feel his breath on her face. She drew back a little, beginning to feel the first stirrings of real disquiet. If this man knew anything about blindness, he should know better than to invade her space. However, she answered with assumed nonchalance. ‘Oh, religion,’ she said. ‘That’s probably why I never attended your … er … lectures. My family—’

He cut across her and now his voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. ‘No, no, not religion; faith, my dear young lady, comes in many guises. Do you have faith?’

‘Faith in what?’ Joy asked bluntly, and moved still further back in her seat. This was dreadful! She now felt thoroughly uncomfortable in this man’s company, and longed to escape; yet good manners forced her to remain where she was since she could scarcely pretend to be leaving the train between stations.

She felt her companion’s fingers brush her hand once more and some sixth sense made her snatch it away sharply, so that, instead of her fingers, he fumbled with her copy of
Lorna Doone
, which fell to the floor. Joy dived for it and so did he, and for a brief instant they banged heads, dislodging her glasses, which she hastily reinstated. The man began to apologise, handing back the book, but Joy had had enough. ‘Look, Dr Slocombe, as you know, I can’t see your face,’ she said, ‘which makes for difficulties when talking to someone I’ve never met. Since I assume we have both provided ourselves with reading matter, I hope you won’t think me rude if I suggest we make use of it.’