Jane promised her friend that she would do so and the two girls set off on their separate errands. It was not far to the sawmills and very soon Kathy reached the high wooden gates and turned through them. There was a shout from a small, dusty little man in a cloth cap and overalls, sitting in a hut by the gate. Kathy went over to him and explained that she was Mr Kelling’s daughter, come on an urgent errand, and asked whether he might show her the way to her father’s office. The little man had a thin weaselly face with eyes so close that they appeared to jostle against his nose and he seemed, to Kathy, to be both bossy and self-important. ‘An urgent errand, eh?’ he said. ‘Whass wrong? Someone sick?’
Even with her own worry, Kathy decided she did not like this man. He had a crafty look in his eyes and his thin, pink nose whiffled with curiosity. She could see he was avid for gossip and would probably prevent her from entering the premises if he could. ‘My little brother’s in hospital with concussion,’ she said coldly. ‘The ward sister said I was to fetch my father at once. So, if you wouldn’t mind telling me where I can find him . . .’
The little man sniffed juicily. ‘I can’t let you wander about these premises, miss. It ’ud be more than my job’s worth,’ he said portentously. ‘I’ll have to go meself – if it’s really important, that is – whilst you wait here in this hut. Did you say the kid was seriously ill? Like to die? Only I dussn’t interrupt Mr Kelling if it ain’t real urgent and me instructions is clear: no unauthorised persons to enter the yard, pertickly kids. Sawmills is dangerous places, you know.’
Kathy could have screamed. It was just her luck to alight on a self-important, bossy little man who was too big for his boots, but there was nothing she could do about it. She would just have to hope her father would appear soon. ‘Yes, Billy’s dangerously ill, and they want me dad to go straight to the Stanley so’s he can sign a paper; they won’t X-ray Billy’s head without a signature,’ she said recklessly. ‘Please hurry, mister, it’s a matter of life or death!’
‘Oh, well, in that case . . .’ the little man said, his eyes bright with ghoulish excitement. ‘I’ll have your dad back here before you can say knife . . . but just you stay in me shed, d’you hear me? Don’t you set one foot in the yard or you’ll likely get took to the police station.’
‘I’ll stay right here,’ Kathy said virtuously. There was little point in leaving the hut since she had no idea in which part of the offices her father worked. Apart from anything else, there were tottering piles of timber, great mounds of sawdust and huge lorries which kept lumbering through the gate and across the yard, their engine noise hidden beneath the screech and whine of the machinery which, she guessed, must be turning out lengths of wood at an enormous rate.
She watched the little man as he crossed the open space, keeping close to the brick walls of the various buildings which surrounded it, and saw him disappear through a green painted wooden door. To give him credit, he must have delivered his message pretty quickly for it was scarcely more than half a minute before the green door flew open again and Kathy’s father erupted into the yard. He was white-faced, his eyes staring, and he simply tore across the paving towards Kathy, his mouth opening, though she could not hear the words he shouted for the din of the machinery.
Then everything happened so quickly that, afterwards, Kathy had difficulty in describing the events. A large lorry, entering the premises, swerved to avoid her father’s flying figure and crashed into a huge stack of timber. Another lorry, closely following the first and consequently unable to see Mr Kelling, also swerved to avoid the tail of the first lorry, the driver trying desperately to wrench the steering wheel round while at the same time applying his brakes. Kathy saw the lorry skidding wildly and momentarily lost sight of her father. Then she heard the shrilling of a whistle and what sounded like a shriek, cut off abruptly. All thoughts of the little man’s warning left her head. She darted out of the hut and ran as fast as she could towards where the second lorry now stood steaming and broken with some sort of liquid pouring from beneath it, emitting a sharp chemical smell and staining the sawdust darkly.
‘Dad!’ Kathy screamed, as the noise of the machinery died away. ‘Dad, where are you?’ She was still running towards the lorry when a blue-overalled figure jumped out of the cab, lifted her up and began to run as fast as he could away from the two vehicles, saying breathlessly: ‘We’ve gorra get out of here, kid, ’cos if I’m not much mistaken there’s going to be—’
His words were cut short by an almighty
whump
, and though they were halfway across the yard by this time Kathy felt the searing heat of the explosion. Turning in her rescuer’s arms, she saw livid orange flames begin to devour the two crashed lorries and the stacks of timber.
‘My dad’s in there!’ Kathy screamed, struggling to get away from her rescuer. ‘I must go back – my dad’s in there I tell you!’
The man was beginning to explain that she would be shrivelled up like a dry leaf if she went anywhere near the blaze when they saw a huge hose being dragged out of a nearby building by several sturdy, overalled men. Within seconds, a vast arc of water was descending on the flames and within perhaps ten minutes of the conflagration starting the fire was out and only the blackened ruin of the lorries remained. Kathy waited hopefully for her father to appear from amongst the wreckage, but nothing moved.
Chapter Two
Kathy had been afraid that her mother would break down at the funeral, but in fact Sarah Kelling seemed to be numbed by the disaster which had overtaken them. She stood in the pew, holding Kathy’s hand, white and silent, and it was she who had to comfort her daughter when the coffin was carried back up the nave and the sweet smell of the great mound of lilies wafted across to them, bringing home, as it seemed nothing else could, the fact that Jack Kelling was no longer a mortal man who could put an arm about his daughter, tell his wife to bear up, and remind them that his main aim in life was to take care of them. Now he was translated; the scent of the lilies was not something with which Kathy would ever have associated her sensible, down to earth father. If he had been able, Kathy thought that he would have brushed the lilies aside, saying that they were not for a simple man like him. He had loved roses and she and her mother had chosen, with tears, the beautiful wreath in the shape of a heart made entirely of red roses; the lilies had come from the Sidney Sawmills and because of the quantity, and the strength of their perfume, the scent and sight of the Kellings’ roses had been completely overpowered.
Kathy could not help the tears gathering in her eyes and slipping silently down her cheeks but she was comforted by the firm grip of her mother’s hand. Mrs Kelling had been devastated but had drawn on hidden reserves of strength to cope with her husband’s death, Billy’s hospitalisation and, of course, the various arrangements which both events had brought in their train.
St Aidan’s church was crowded, for Mr Kelling, and indeed his wife and daughter, were well liked. Kathy had been touched to see that several of the nurses who were looking after Billy had taken the time to come into the church to show their last respects, and just about everyone from Daisy Street, and a good few from the other flower streets, were there as well.
Before the service had begun, Kathy and her mother had visited Billy in the Stanley hospital. The X-rays had shown that the child had a hairline fracture of the skull and, though the staff assured them that Billy was making progress, both mother and daughter found the sight of his little pale face and lethargic movements infinitely painful. ‘He’s just a shadow of the little boy he were,’ Mrs Kelling had said, only that morning, as the two of them left the hospital ward. ‘But it’s early days yet and the staff seem really pleased with him. It made me smile when he said he’d like his teddy next time we came in. I think that’s a real good sign, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. Oh, Mam, the number of times I’ve wished that I’d picked Billy up the moment I went into the O’Briens’ kitchen! But he seemed so happy . . .’
‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a dozen times that you aren’t to blame yourself,’ Mrs Kelling had said robustly. ‘I’ve had a hard enough job to convince Mrs Hughes that she weren’t to blame for sending Billy to stay with the O’Briens. Why, I’ve left young Billy with them myself from time to time, and those two eldest girls, Jane and Tilly, are as responsible as you are yourself, queen. What’s more, with the Hughes boy having his front tooth knocked out, it were better for Mrs Hughes to leave Billy with someone else rather than try to take him to the dentist as well.’
‘I wonder who she left the others with,’ Kathy had said, momentarily distracted; Mrs Hughes babysat for five or six youngsters, she knew. ‘I wonder why she didn’t leave Billy with them an’ all?’
‘Because she knew better,’ Mrs Kelling said grimly. ‘She left the others with the Templetons and she knows very well I wouldn’t want our Billy in
that
house. So Mrs Hughes acted for the best, and accidents can happen anywhere, at any time, and don’t you forget it, young lady.’
Kathy had told her mother how she had let the little man at the sawmills believe Billy to be worse than he was, simply to get to him to take the message to her father. She had expected her mother to reproach her but Mrs Kelling had given her a hug and said with all her usual decisiveness: ‘I’d ha’ done the same meself, so don’t fret about that, queen. Though I’d never hear a word said against him, your da’ should ha’ known better than to run into the yard the way he did. So don’t you go blamin’ yourself for that either, hear me?’
Her mother’s attitude had been so sensible that Kathy had managed to push her deep feelings of guilt to the back of her mind, though they surfaced in dreams. During the week that had elapsed between her father’s death and his funeral, she had had dreadful dreams every night, though Mrs Kelling had assured her that these would stop completely once the funeral was over.
‘Life ain’t goin’ to be easy for us after this, but the three of us must stick together an’ work to remain a close-knit, happy family,’ Mrs Kelling had told her daughter. ‘Your father had a life insurance policy but it won’t make up for the loss of his weekly wage. Still, I dare say we’ll manage pretty well once we get into the way of it.’
The service ended and the coffin was carried out by two of Kathy’s uncles and four men from the sawmills. The congregation followed it, people stopping to murmur condolences and to ask after little Billy, but very soon the Kellings climbed into one of the funeral cars, which Kathy’s Uncle Cyril had arranged and paid for. The big car crept in the hearse’s wake to Anfield Cemetery and Kathy steeled herself for the part of the day she knew she would find hardest to bear. As she and her mother led the way to the graveside, she glanced around for Jane, then remembered that the O’Briens would be in Daisy Street, setting out the funeral meal. She saw other friends from Daisy Street School, however, and smiled, wanly, at Maria and Rose, both of whom had been in her class. It made her remember, with a slight sense of shock, the girls she had met at the high school and she couldn’t help wondering whether her first day, which she had enjoyed so much, would also be her last. She had won a scholarship but that did not cover clothing or equipment, nor could it possibly make up for the wage she would earn if she left school and took up full-time employment in a factory or an office, once she was old enough.
But now was no time for such conjecture. The priest was gathering the family about him, the coffin was being lowered into the deep hole which had been dug ready and he was speaking. ‘Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery . . .’
Kathy thought of her father, of his gentle teasing, his interest in all her doings, the way he always had time to read Billy a story or help her with her homework. She felt the tears gather and let them fall, sliding slowly down her pale cheeks. She was suddenly glad that Billy was not here, that he would not know this tearing sense of loss. She glanced up at her mother and saw that she, too, was crying at last, as though the ice that had formed round her heart had melted to let the grief escape.
Kathy’s fears that she might never return to the high school proved to be unfounded. On the very day after the funeral, her mother had told her briskly that she would return to her new school on the morrow. ‘It were what your dad wanted,’ she had said. ‘Come to that, it’s what I want an’ all. You’ve done really well, queen, and a scholarship means we’ve only to find the money for books an’ that. You’re already kitted out for this year and, so long as you don’t grow too tall, for next year as well. So don’t you even think about going back to Daisy Street School because it won’t happen. Understand?’
Kathy had said meekly that she understood, adding that she would still understand if circumstances changed and they found themselves unable to cope. This made her mother smile and give her a quick hug, though Kathy could tell by the look on her face that Mrs Kelling did not intend to let her lose this opportunity.
There had been a letter of condolence from Miss Beaver and another from Kathy’s class teacher, but because none of the girls lived in the area Kathy did not set eyes on them again until her return to school. When she walked into the classroom, she did not know quite what to expect and was relieved to find herself treated in a normal, friendly fashion. Miss Ellis repeated her condolences but then went straight on to say that Ruby Myers, one of the brightest girls in the class, had been told to write up notes on all the work Kathy had missed. ‘We did not want you to fall behind the rest of your classmates, so Ruby has been handing me her notes, which I’ve copied out on my old typewriter,’ she said. ‘Fortunately, the first week in school is always given over to trying to ensure that new girls understand the work the rest of the class have been doing, so you will not have missed anything vital. I suggest that you sit between Ruby and Isobella in class for a week or so. If there is anything you don’t understand, Ruby has permission to explain it to you.’ She smiled suddenly, the smile lighting up her thin, rather long face and banishing the seriousness of her normal expression. ‘It won’t hurt Isobella to have some things explained to her a second time,’ she added in a conspiratorial tone. ‘Poor girl, I get the impression that she’s struggling somewhat.’