Polly's Angel (30 page)

‘Oh you!' Polly said as they crossed Tithebarn Street and headed for the tram stop. ‘I
am
goin' to join the Navy – the WRNs, I mean – when I'm old enough but they won't let me go to sea, and well you know it. Oh Holy Mother of God, look at the length of that queue! Still an' all, it's not as bad as it would have been at five o'clock which is why I got out early. I kind of thought you might come round to Titchfield Street this evening and I wanted to get ahead with the tea. Mammy's working at Littlewoods making parachutes and she's dead tired by the time she gets home so I usually gets the tea to save her the work. Or did I mention that in me letters?'

‘You may have mentioned it,' Sunny said gloomily, ‘but that's one bit the censor would have chopped. Some of your letters come through to me lookin' more like lace doilies than correspondence. Though I love gettin' them,' he added hastily.

‘Yes, yours have holes cut in 'em too,' Polly said, having thought the matter over. ‘But one of the gals at work – she's a woman really, quite an old one, I reckon she must be thirty at least – she says she and her old feller have worked out a code, so he can tell her where he's going and what he's doing, without the censor – or the bleedin' Huns, come to that – finding out where our Navy is. Although I don't see how letters can fall into enemy hands. I mean, if they torpedo one of our ships letters would be the last thing they'd fish out of the drink, wouldn't you say?'

‘I dunno,' Sunny said. ‘You'd think so, but there's gorra be a reason. Anyway, most of your letters wait in Pompey until the
Poppy
docks, though one or two have follered me around,' he finished. ‘Hey up, gal, is this 'un ours?'

The tram bearing down upon them was crowded, but the conductor seemed to have a knack of getting his passengers to move up, and presently Polly and Sunny found themselves on the step and then being pushed by the folk behind until they were halfway down the car.

‘Reckon that feller used to pack sardines before he started tram conductin',' Sunny said in Polly's ear. ‘It's real nice squeezin'
you,
Polly O'Brady, but I dunno as I'm particularly fond of bein' squeezed by a fat mary-ellen! What's more, her basket's diggin' into me best bell bottoms. I hope I don't get caught up on her wickerwork.'

Polly giggled. ‘Well, it won't be for long, only half-a-dozen stops,' she told him. ‘Oh, what'll we do tomorrer, Sunny? Only I've took a some days off work, and tomorrer's one of 'em. We could go to New Brighton on the train, or over to Eastham on the ferry and walk in the woods. Ivan and me used to do that a lot when we was kids. We could take a picnic – or what about Seaforth? We could go on the docker's umbrella, that's a nice trip, so it is, especially if the day's fine.'

‘Anything would be grand,' Sunny said. He was pleased and flattered that Polly had taken some time off, obviously because he was coming home. ‘Whatever we don't do tomorrer we can do the next day, though, if you're off work for a bit.'

‘Ye-es,' Polly said, with considerable doubt in her tone. Sunny was about to ask her why this should be so when the tram stopped with a jerk which sent all the passengers staggering into one another and somehow the two of them got separated. The mary-ellen once more jammed her vengeful basket into Sunny whilst people fought their way out of the crush. Then the tram started up again and Sunny, staggering in the other direction, found himself pressed up against a couple of giggling girls and a thin woman whose string bag smelled strongly of fish.

Sunny would have liked to reach Polly once more but when he made the attempt the fat mary-ellen told him to stop shovin' or she'd end up on someone's lap, very probably breakin' their bleedin' legs wi' her weight, and since this was clearly no idle threat he heaved a sigh but stayed where he was. After all, he and Polly were going to have almost a week to themselves, ten minutes apart should not bother them.

And presently, they reached the corner of Tatlock Street and the tram jerked to a stop once more. This time the mary-ellen, Polly and Sunny joined forces to squeeze and batter their way off the tram, landing on the pavement with triumphant grins – and crushed clothing, Polly said, surveying her once neat jacket and skirt with some dismay.

‘Oh, a bit of a crush don't matter, but is me bum all scratched?' Sunny asked rather anxiously as he and Polly began to walk along Tatlock Street. ‘Take a look, there's a good gal. I hope I haven't ruined me best kecks.'

‘You're fine,' Polly said, giggling again. She linked her arm with his and fell into step beside him. ‘Only . . . well, there's one thing I've not mentioned . . .'

‘You must have asked for leave as soon as you got me telegram,' Sunny said. He squeezed her arm. ‘Clever little Polly!'

‘We-ell,' Polly said again, and cast him what seemed to be a conscience-stricken look as she spoke. ‘We-ell, the fact is, Sunny, that me old pal Grace is comin' to stay tomorrer, and since she's in the WAAF and has only got a week's leave, and two days of it, almost, will get used up in travelling, I thought it only fair to get some time off.'

‘Grace? Who's Grace when she's at home?' Sunny said. ‘But anyway, why does she stay at your place, eh? Wharron earth's wrong wi' her livin' at her own home, or wi' one of her other pals?'

Polly shook his arm and pulled him to a halt on the corner of Titchfield Street. He could see her house from here, the neatly painted green gate, the jigger down which he had once run when calling for his little pal. He turned to look searchingly down at her; suppose . . . well, suppose she was going to cast him aside for this Grace person? But she wouldn't, Polly wasn't like that. Only he had rather hoped . . .

‘Grace is Grace Carbery, and she's been me pal for years and years – until she went to New York, in fact, to live with me brother Brogan and his wife, Sara. She's an orphan, she was brought up in the Strawb, you know, out Calderstones way, and though I suppose she could stay with them on her leaves, she'd much rather come to us. Sunny, she were like a sister to me when we was kids, I – I couldn't expect her not to come to us.'

‘But – but you're me best gal, our Poll, and there's a war on! No one, not even this Grace girl, would expect us to spend our precious time with someone else playin' gooseberry, when all we want is to be together. Together alone, I mean!'

Sunny looked down at her rosy, determined face. She seemed unmoved by his impassioned words, and he sighed inwardly at what might easily be the death of all his bright plans. It had been going to be such a marvellous leave, with he and Polly off by themselves all day and, he had hoped, him catching up on his book work in their front parlour of an evening. He had even indulged in the unlikely dream that Mrs O'Brady would beg him to stay over, to share with Ivan, perhaps, so that he and Polly could be together for his entire leave, even sharing the same roof. And now this – this Grace person was about to spoil it all! But surely he was clever enough to circumvent this in some way? He pulled Polly to a halt and took hold of both her hands, swaying them gently from side to side. Girls, he had discovered, seemed to like this gesture, to consider it romantic. But apparently Polly was not to be numbered amongst them, for she snatched her hands away and addressed him quite crossly.

‘Don't, Sunny, you're making me feel seasick! As for Grace playing gooseberry to you and me, it's no such thing! Oh, I like you quite a lot, I suppose, but don't you tell me you've never taken a girl out since we split up all them years ago! It's grand to see you, and I want us to get to know one another all over again, but don't pretend I'm
that
special to you, or you'd have perishin' well come home and seen me before.'

‘But I tried! At Christmas I tried! I hung about outside Blackler's because that silly mare – I can't even remember her name, now – said you worked there . . . I came round to your place too, only I didn't have much time and I missed you . . . Oh, Poll, don't pretend you weren't glad to see me, because I saw your face light up, and your eyes sparkle . . .'

Polly tucked her arm in his once again and pulled gently. ‘Come along, Sunny, it's daft to quarrel, so it is! I
do
like you, I like you ever so much, but you don't understand about Grace. When we lived in the crossin' cottage she came to stay most weekends and we never had a cross word . . . Anyway, it's no use, because it's all cut and dried. Grace is coming to stay tomorrer evening and the only twosome there after that will be me and her! I can't let her down now.'

Sunny had always known when to back down and accept defeat gracefully, and he knew, instinctively, that if he continued to object he would lose Polly as well as his beautiful dreams of being alone with her. So he said remorsefully: ‘Awright, Poll, that's fair enough. We've got tomorrer, after all, and after that I'll have to make do with me own company. Unless that is . . .' Sunny pretended to be struck with a bright idea, clapping his hand to his head and momentarily closing his eyes as if in deep thought and then opening them again to say triumphantly: ‘What about this, Poll? Say I bring Dempsey along to make up a foursome? Dempsey's me shipmate and a grand feller – you'd like him and so would Grace. Unless she's got a pal of her own in the ‘Pool. How do you know she's not got a feller in the RAF, or someone who she was friendly with at the Strawb? Or d'you know of any feller she seemed to fancy?'

He glanced hopefully at Polly, and was glad to see that the frosty look in her eyes which had warned him not to go too far was beginning to dissipate; instead, she was thoughtful. ‘I don't think there was anyone special, not a feller, anyway,' she said after a moment. ‘But look. I'll have to think about it and talk to Gracie. After all, she's never met yourself, the poor, unfortunate girl, nor your friend Dempsey! Now, let's forget all that and talk about tomorrer.'

Sunny grinned but made no comment, and presently, Polly said brightly: ‘Well, if there's no one home from the war stayin' at the Strawb, you could always take Ivan so you's got someone to go about with. Don't pull a face, Sunny, or I'll t'ump you one, so I will! But we'll see what Mammy says when she gets in; she's full of good ideas is me mammy! I don't want you to be lonely either. Oh, if only things had been different . . .'

By now, they had reached the jigger and were making their way round the backs of the row of houses. Polly pushed open a tall, green-painted door in the crumbling brick wall, led Sunny across a tiny, brick-paved yard and in through the back door. They stepped into a pleasant kitchen with a table laid for a meal and a kettle steaming on the hob. As they came in Polly said: ‘Daddy, here's Sunny come to meet me! Oh, Daddy, was it a little doze you were having? I'm that sorry to waken you!'

But the tall, heavily built man got up out of his chair and limped across to Sunny, holding out one large, work-worn hand. ‘Well, and how are you, me dear feller? Isn't it a grand t'ing to see you again, after so long?' He shook Sunny's hand, smiling all the time into Sunny's eyes, clearly bent on making his feelings clear. ‘And wasn't it angry we were wit' you, all them years ago? But that's all over, old feller. You're our Polly's good friend and our guest, so sit yourself down and I'll make the tea.'

Sunny was much touched by the generosity of Peader's welcome, but could not find words to show his own feelings. Instead, he took the proferred chair and, presently, the cup of tea, and said he hoped that both Peader and his wife were well, and all the rest of the family, and allowed the talk to turn, as talk usually did these days, to the war.

By the time that his hostess came home, tea was made and Sunny, feeling quite at home, was buttering the bread which Polly sliced. He almost gave Mrs O'Brady a hug, so charming was her welcome to him, but decided against it at the last minute and shook her hand very heartily instead.

‘It's grand to be back in Liverpool,' he told her honestly. ‘I'm stayin' wi' me pal Dempsey, though it's terrible crowded. Still, they're friendly folk and I'm used to living in a crush. Once the hammocks are slung there isn't much room inside a sloop, I can tell you.'

‘How'll you study then, Sunny?' Polly asked, almost as though coming in on her cue, Sunny thought gratefully. ‘I know you've got an important exam coming up because you said so in one of your letters.' She twinkled up at him. ‘And the censor let it come through too,' she added.

‘Oh, I'll manage somehow, Poll,' Sunny said immediately. ‘Though it won't be easy. I could go down to the library on William Brown Street, I suppose, but that's a way off. Still, it 'ud be quiet, and—'

‘Sure and why shouldn't you use our parlour, Sunny?' Mrs O'Brady said at once, also as though she had learned the script, Sunny thought. ‘Peader likes to work on his books wit' them all spread out on the kitchen table, but if you can manage on your knee in the parlour – and there's one or two little tables in there – well, you're very welcome.'

And Sunny, graciously accepting her kind invitation and thanking the O'Bradys for making him feel so at home, reflected that though he clearly could not expect an invitation to stay, not with another guest due late the next evening, at least half of his hopes had been realised, and with his usual optimism Sunny was sure he would not find himself alone – even after Grace's arrival.

Sunny and Polly had a marvellous time the next day. It was another fine, warm one, and they caught the ferry to Eastham and walked, talking constantly of their lives, their work, their friends. They ate their picnic in a little glade with a stream running through it, and later had tea in a farmhouse garden, where Sunny ate enough, Polly told him, to keep a normal feller alive for a week.