Flowers on the Mersey (16 page)

She got to her feet. ‘The cat?’

‘The cat.’ He sounded amused and put an arm about her shoulders. ‘I’ll get Janet to find it while I bring the car round.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Wait for me in the porch, and while I’m driving you home perhaps we can make some arrangements for having your birthday treat in the New Year.’

‘That would be very kind,’ she said in a polite voice before hurrying out of the room.

It was Rebekah’s birthday and she was getting ready to go to Brigid’s. She gazed at her reflection, remembering how thrilled she had been with her 
appearance after her hair was cut. Now it gave her no pleasure. The ends were straggly. She should have gone to the hairdresser’s and had it trimmed. The jade green blouse made her skin look pale, almost translucent. She wondered about touching up her cheeks with rouge but decided to leave them alone. Standing, she smoothed the black serge skirt over her hips before picking up a black hat and cramming it on to her head. She pulled a face then smiled as Moggy bumped noses with his reflection in the dressing-table mirror and miaowed. She blew him a kiss. He had cheered up her life, despite Hannah’s moans about: ‘The lazy do nothing cat!’ and ‘Feeding it on best cod’s head, are we now? I could make soup out of that!’

Rebekah put on a coat and kid gloves, and went downstairs.

‘Dressed to kill,’ sniffed Hannah.

‘I suppose thou wilt be going out with him on Christmas Day?’ muttered Esther, pleating a fold of her skirt.

‘No.’ She deliberately looked pensive. ‘I said I’d be spending it with my rich aunt.’

Esther looked startled. ‘Thou means that?’

‘Of course. You’re my only close kith and kin, barring Grandpapa’s relatives up north – or so you keep telling me. Who else should I spend Christmas with?’ She smiled and went out through the doorway.

Rebekah was not so cheerful as she walked the dark streets, passing children swinging on a rope tied to the bars of a lamp post on the corner of a street, and others chasing and hiding up entries and garden paths. Should she tell Brigid about the compensation or leave it until it was official?

She caught a tram and got off near the Mere Lane cinema. A week or so ago she and Brigid had seen
When Men Betray
. The poster had proclaimed it: ‘A stirring drama of women’s frailties!’ The film had made a couple of girls behind them in the cinema say, ‘It makes you wonder if yer should ever trust a man.’ How trustworthy was Joshua Green? Her father must have trusted him, but Daniel had not liked him. She felt the familiar aching emptiness. Had that been only because Joshua owned property in Ireland? Or was there something else?

She peered at the numbers on the houses and began to count. Her nervousness grew at the thought of facing Brigid’s family. What did they really feel about Brigid’s friendship with her?

A cow’s lowing startled her, as did a series of yells. She realised that she was passing the dairy. The next moment out of the darkness hurtled Brigid’s niece and nephew, Jimmy and Veronica. The boy skidded to a halt inches from her but the girl flung her arms about Rebekah’s skirts. ‘We were told to watch out! Jimmy’s shouted to them yer coming.’ Rebekah swung her off her feet and
round and round until they were both dizzy.

Jimmy seized her hand and pulled, causing her almost to fall over her feet in sudden haste. ‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!’ he chanted. ‘Me mam had the shop make yer a cake and Auntie Bridie paid for it! But there’s only one pink candle on it. Me Uncle Pat said it’s just as well because we didn’t want to set fire to the house. That’s a joke,’ he said earnestly, his eyes shining in the lamplight. ‘It’s a joke because he said yer only a chicken yet. Scarcely out of the egg!’

Rebekah laughed because she was so relieved by the warmth of their welcome. The next moment Brigid was on the doorstep and pulling her inside the house. ‘Yer found us! I was just saying to our Pat that yer might find it difficult in the dark. I never thought. I should have gone to meet yer.’

‘I was all right. Jimmy’s been telling me about the cake. You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble and expense, with it being Christmas soon and all.’

‘Nothing’s no trouble, girl.’ A thin figure wrapped in a flowered pinafore came bustling across the kitchen floor. Her face still bore traces of the pretty girl she must have been. The tightly curled reddish hair showed few grey hairs.

‘This is me mam,’ said Brigid, the affection clear in her voice.

Rebekah was momentarily struck dumb, never having known Brigid’s maiden name. Then she held
out her hand. ‘Hello, Brigid’s mam. It’s really kind of you.’

Her hand was taken and shaken vigorously, ‘It’s sad times we’re living through, girl, and if we can’t do a kind deed, then life’s not worth living. Some people call me Ma Maisie, so you might as well. I feel like I know yer already through our Bridie.’ She released Rebekah’s hand but urged her over to the fire. ‘The table’s already set. I’ve done us something hot as it’s a real cold night. Now get yerself warm. Our Pat’s just making us a toddy. Yer’ll take a drink with us?’

‘Thank you.’ Rebekah did not like saying that she had never touched alcohol before.

A man was standing on the rag rug before the glowing fire. He was good-looking with
wide-set
brown eyes and very white teeth. Rebekah remembered Brigid’s brother Pat. ‘It’ll warm the cockles of yer heart,’ he said. ‘Bridie, have yer got the cups ready?’

‘I got them ready, Uncle Pat.’ Veronica came dancing into the kitchen from the scullery where she had vanished immediately on entering the house. She was followed by Kath, a ginger-haired woman, who nodded in Rebekah’s direction and murmured what she took to be some kind of welcome. There was a subdued air about her. Brigid had said that her husband had died last year as a result of wounds inflicted during the war.

Pat poured the steaming liquid into the cups standing on the white tablecloth. ‘Lots of water in that drop I’ve given the kids, Ma. A toast and then we’ll sit down and eat. You’ve never lived, Miss Rhoades, till you’ve tasted Ma’s spare ribs and cabbage.’

‘Call me Becky,’ she said, warming her hands on the cup.

‘Becky it is then.’ He chinked his cup with hers and smiled into her eyes. ‘Drink up! I hope you’ll be having lots more birthdays.’ She drank up, determined to try and enjoy herself.

It was a birthday like no other that Rebekah had ever had. Nothing exciting but she felt part of a real family. Although, if she had known that she would have to join in taking a turn to entertain the rest of the gathering, she might have had second thoughts about accepting Brigid’s invitation. But not knowing, and the drink, and the fact that Jimmy could do a fair imitation of Charlie Chaplin and Veronica recite a skipping song ‘Eeper-Weeper Chimney Sweeper’ about a man who shoved a wife up a chimney, made her feel that she had no choice but to sing a rather shaky ‘Keep the Home Fires Burning’ – the only song she could think of on the spur of the moment and one which Old Mary had once sung.

‘Not bad,’ said Pat, who played the piano.

Rebekah flushed. ‘I’m not as good as Kath. She sings lovely.’

‘Mam could have been on the stage,’ stated Veronica proudly.

‘No,’ protested Kath. ‘I only came second in a talent competition, and I couldn’t have done that if it hadn’t been for our Bridie, who pushed me into it.’

‘Never mind that now,’ said Pat, holding up the jug. ‘Who’s for another drink and a game of snap?’

Jimmy held out his cup but was refused. ‘You’ve had enough me lad. Go and get the cards.’

The boy went and they settled round the table. It was soon obvious to Rebekah that the game was played so that the children could win. By the end of the evening her heart had warmed to the whole family and she was sorry when it was over.

She walked home arm in arm with Brigid on one side of her and Pat on the other. All the way he bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘Swanee, how I love you! How I love you! My dear old Swanee!’ It did not seem to matter that it was December and freezing cold. She suspected that they were all slightly drunk but did not care. It took the edge off her grief.

When they reached Aunt Esther’s house she thought of asking them in but before she could voice the words, they both said they would have to be off home. ‘See you New Year’s Eve,’ said Pat, tickling her under the chin. ‘We’ll have some fun then.’

‘I’ll see yer on Monday,’ said Brigid, hugging her.
‘I’m working all weekend. There’s a dinner party on.’

They both waved and left her standing at the gate.

The week before Christmas passed swifter than Rebekah had hoped. There were sad moments. Shopping in town she was conscious of the constant trickle of people laying flowers in front of the new Cenotaph in Lime Street for their dead loved ones.

She bought
The Boy’s Own
for Jimmy and a doll for Veronica. There was a tin of Mackintosh’s toffee de luxe for Ma Maisie and perfume from Luce’s perfumery in Ranelagh Street for Brigid. A scarf for Kath, cigarettes for Pat, and several sets of the best woollen combinations for Aunt Esther. She did not dare to forget Hannah and bought her one set of the thickest, itchiest unmentionables.

In the
Liverpool Echo
it was stated that a verdict of accidental death had been passed on Mrs Emma Richards. Rebekah was relieved. She ordered flowers to be sent and remembered to buy Joshua a present just in case he called. He came when she was out and left her a silk scarf.

Christmas was quiet and Rebekah was glad when it was over. Ireland’s Yuletide had not been so peaceful. A constable in plain clothes had been set on outside the Gaiety Theatre in Dublin, and the Hibernian Bank at Drogheda had been robbed of thirty-six thousand pounds on Christmas Eve. Rebekah was glad that
she was out of it all, and vowed to stop reading the newspaper, as well as deciding to look forward to the January sales. She would allow having money to go to her head.

New Year’s Eve started quietly but her aunt was not pleased when at nine o’clock in the evening Rebekah started getting ready to go out with Brigid and her brother. ‘If thou art not in by midnight, I’ll lock thee out,’ threatened Esther.

‘But I’m twenty now – and midnight is when the fun starts,’ insisted Rebekah, with her shoulder wedged against the front door as she pulled on her gloves. She was not really worried because she had had a copy of the front door key made. ‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Auntie,’ she said in a coaxing voice. ‘There’s lots of Scots in Liverpool and first footing is popular, as you should know.’ She straightened. ‘You need all the good luck in this life that you can get.’

‘Superstition!’ said Esther, a worried frown puckering her plump face. ‘Thy grandfather would turn over in his grave! What would thy mother think? Thou art supposed to be in mourning! That frock thou art wearing – it’s green.’

‘Green for grief, some people say, Auntie dear,’ retorted Rebekah, her eyes shining with sudden tears.

‘Oh, Rebekah!’ exclaimed her aunt in a despairing voice. ‘I hope thou doesn’t come to grief.’

‘I won’t.’ She suddenly felt sorry for her aunt and kissed her cheek before hurrying down the path.

Ma Maisie’s kitchen and parlour were crowded and the party had spilt out into the street. People were dancing to the tinkling ragtime piano music of Scott Joplin. Rebekah had watched for a while but then Pat had partnered her. He was a showy dancer and because of that she had to concentrate on her own steps – steps taught her by Daniel. Then he handed her over to a shipmate at ten minutes to midnight, saying, ‘I’ve got to first foot. I’m the only dark-haired one in the family.’

The blast of hooters and whistles from the ships on the river, and the clanging of church bells, heralded in the New Year. Pat reappeared, carrying a slice of bread, a piece of coal, a lump of salt and a shiny sixpence, which he handed to his mother standing just inside the front door. Then he kissed every woman and girl at the party, including Rebekah whose head felt airy despite the aching regret gripping her. Glasses and cups were filled again and toasts drunk.

‘You’re still looking bright-eyed,’ said Brigid, yawning and coming to lean against the railings next to her. ‘I thought you’d be ready for yer bed. It hasn’t been too much for yer, then?’

Rebekah rested her head on her friend’s shoulder. ‘It’s better than sitting at home, moping. But I suppose I’ll have to make a move.’

‘Stay here,’ said Brigid. ‘Doss down with Mam and me. It’ll be a squash, but snug as a bug in a rug.’

Reluctantly Rebekah shook her head. ‘Aunt Esther just might be waiting up.’

‘I’ll get our Pat.’

‘No.’ Rebekah seized her arm. ‘He must be tired.’

‘Aren’t we all? I’ve work early this morning. Nineteen twenty-one! Another year to get through.’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Our Pat won’t mind, and I wouldn’t trust yer with anyone else. At least he’s not lying down drunk.’

Rebekah resigned herself to being seen home by Pat, not so certain as Brigid that he could be trusted. She was proved right when he pulled her into a doorway halfway along Breck Road, holding her so that her arms were wedged against her sides and kissing her in a far from brotherly fashion. She stamped on his feet twice before he released her. They looked at one another. His teeth gleamed in the dark. ‘So it’s true yer still carrying a torch for Daniel O’Neill then?’

‘Is that what Brigid told you?’ she parried.

‘Who else?’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘You women! Yer not like our Bridie now, and believing you’re a one man woman?’

‘I could be. Besides, it’s only three months.’

He smiled. ‘Early days. Yer’ll get over him. In the meantime there’s plenty of other pebbles on the beach I could pick, yer know.’

‘Pick one up then!’

‘I could do that.’

‘You’re handsome enough.’

He grinned. ‘That’s right enough. But if yer wanting the truth I’m not after getting meself shackled and there’s too many girls since the war who are desperate – if yer peck them on the cheek they think it’s a proposal of marriage. I’ve no mind to settle down just yet. And I’m not wanting the kind of girls who hang around Lime Street because yer never know what yer going to catch.’