‘Flatties?’ Patty said enquiringly. She was growing used to the strange expressions Toby came out with but this was a new one. ‘Or did you say fatties?’
‘No, you were right first time. Flatties is what fair folk call the customers,’ Toby explained. ‘I dunno why, except that when you’re on a brightly lit roundabout, or one of them stalls, faces just look like flat white discs – you can’t tell one from t’other.’
That night, when they returned to the shed to sleep, Toby produced a cocoa tin with a triumphant flourish. ‘Something to carry water in,’ he told her. ‘We can have a proper supper tonight ’cos I bought two of them Cornish pasties from George Kelly’s on Heyworth Street while you was queuing for a drink by the water tap. They was goin’ cheap ’cos Kelly’s never sell two-day goods.’
Patty thought this was grand and the two of them had a proper little midnight supper. They even lit a candle, though it was only a stub of a thing which someone had thrown out with the rest of their rubbish, and by its light they drank cocoa-flavoured water and ate their Cornish pasties, not bothering with the carrots tonight since Toby said they would save them for breakfast.
After such a feast, both children slept soundly – overslept, in fact, since a ray of sunshine falling on her face was the first intimation to Patty that day had arrived. She jumped out of her bed of sacks, shook her fellow conspirator by the shoulder and told him in a hissing whisper that they’d best make themselves scarce. ‘We’re late; there’s folks abroad already,’ she hissed huskily. ‘Best get away before we’re caught.’
They managed to sneak out of the shed without being seen and climbed rapidly over the gate, Patty scratching her leg rather nastily on some barbed wire. Then they made for the docks and the canny house which, they knew by now, would sell them a sausage sandwich for a couple of pence. Because they were late, they did not go first to a tap to clean themselves up, but raked their fingers through their hair and brushed off the dirt and crumbs as best they could before presenting themselves at the counter.
‘Toby, I think we’d best go somewhere different tomorrow,’ Patty said thoughtfully, as they strolled along, watching people hurrying past them. ‘The woman who served us in the canny house gave me a very funny look, I thought. You said we don’t want folks noticing us but I reckon it’s a bit late. She has – noticed us, I mean.’
Toby pulled her to a halt and looked at her critically. ‘You do look a bit of a mess,’ he observed. ‘I hadn’t noticed before, but you’ve got bits of straw in your hair and there’s a sort of line round your neck where you’ve washed so far and no further. Mind, there’s plenty o’ kids who look a deal worse than you do. Most of ’em rove the docks beggin’ for pennies or offering to cart shopping or goods of some description for anything they can get. As for the cane marks on your cheek, they’re beginning to fade. No, I reckon we’re safe enough if we just disappear each time we see a scuffer. What’ll we do today?’
‘I don’t know,’ Patty said, rather helplessly. ‘I don’t know anything about the city, except what you’ve told me.’ She looked wistfully across at the waters of the Mersey, gleaming gold under the autumn sun. ‘Do you remember telling me about New Brighton? I suppose we couldn’t…?’
‘No, we couldn’t,’ Toby said bluntly. ‘It’s too soon; I told you they’d be watchin’ the ferries and they will. Give it another two days, and we might get away with it, especially if we could get some dark handkerchief to hide your hair. Tell you what, though, there’s always the canal.’
Patty had heard of canals in her geography lessons, had even seen pictures of them, and was intrigued to learn that there was a canal in Liverpool. ‘Could we go there?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I remember one of the teachers saying ordinary folks, folks like us, live on the canal in barges painted all over with pictures. I’d love to see them.’
‘Yes, we can go there, and what’s more there’s all sorts you can do by the canal,’ Toby told her. ‘If we goes up by Tate & Lyle’s – that’s the sugar factory – we can go for a swim. There’s outlets from the factory which lead directly into the canal and the water the factory has used is warm as toast. All the kids in these parts who can’t afford to go in the swimming pool muck about in the Scaldy, as they call it. Can you swim?’
‘I expect so,’ Patty said. She assumed that if one could walk and run, one could probably also swim, but when she told Toby this he assured her she was mistaken.
‘It’s quite different; you use your arms and legs like a frog does, not a bit like walking or running,’ he explained. ‘Dogs are the only ones who swim like they run – there’s a swimming stroke called a doggy paddle – but even that’s got to be learned. Tell you what, you can dangle your legs in the water and watch me and when you think you can do it, you can have a go. How about it, eh?’
The two children had a wonderful time by the canal and this was fortunate, since it proved to be their last day of freedom. In their haste to leave the shed on the allotment that morning, they had left a good many clues behind them: the end of the stub of candle, a great many crumbs from the Cornish pasties, and the cocoa tin half full of water. When they returned to the shed that evening, all unsuspecting, they had barely taken the planks out at the back and crawled inside when they were frozen in a beam of torchlight and a deep voice said triumphantly: ‘Gotcher! Willy, guard the back! So that’s the way you got in, you young ruffians!’ It was the shed owner, who, as he told them, had realised as soon as he saw the candle and the cocoa tin that someone had been sleeping rough in his shed. Further investigation had revealed that someone had also been eating his carrots and, incensed by the thought that the hard work he had put in was being harvested by another, he had told the local bobby of his suspicions.
Constable Willy Robson had immediately put two and two together and, as it happened, made four. All the police were on the lookout for two kids missing from two different orphanages; if he apprehended them, it would be a feather in his cap, or rather his helmet. So he and the allotment owner had lain in wait and as soon as the constable clapped eyes on Patty’s startlingly white-gold hair he had known that he had been right. These were the missing orphans and he would doubtless be lavishly praised by his senior officers for his perspicacity in capturing them.
Constable Robson asked the allotment owner if he wished to press charges – the vegetables had been stolen after all – but the man said he would not do so. ‘They’ll be in enough trouble wi’out me complainin’ over a few missin’ veg,’ he said gruffly. ‘As for sleepin’ on the sacks, there were no harm in that. And I’d rather the mice ate up the crumbs they left than gnawed their way through me new season’s carrots.’
Patty and Toby, both held in the firm grasp of the law, looked at him with real gratitude. He was a short, bald man whose pale blue eyes behind ancient, steel-rimmed spectacles were as innocent as a baby’s, and when he smiled Patty saw that his gums were also like a baby’s, since he did not have a tooth in his head. Constable Robson seemed rather disappointed that he would not ‘press charges’ and tried a couple of times to impress him with the enormity of what the children had done, but fortunately it made no difference. ‘I’m not even sure as they did eat any of me carrots,’ the man said obstinately, when Constable Robson said it was his civil duty to prosecute. ‘Gerralong with you, Willy, weren’t you never a kid yourself? Didn’t you never go scrumpin’ apples in other folks’ orchards?’
Strangely enough, this brought a reminiscent gleam to the constable’s eye. ‘Boxing the fox, we called it in Dublin,’ he said dreamily. ‘Oh aye, everyone did it in them days. So you reckon nickin’ the odd carrot is no worse’n boxing the fox, do you? Well, I dare say you’re right and it’s certain sure they’ll be in deep trouble enough when I gets ’em back to the places they’ve run away from.’ He jerked their wrists, though not unkindly. ‘Come on, young ’uns, it’s the police station for you and a nice cell until we’ve informed Durrant House and St Peter’s that we’ve got their runaways. A’course, you’ll be on bread an’ water till you’re fetched, ’cos that’s all we ever serves in police stations.’
Everyone laughed except Patty, who thought it was the truth. But presently they were taken to the police station where they were given large mugs of lovely hot tea and a thick round of bread and dripping each. Whilst Constable Robson went to make his report, they had their one chance, as it turned out, of a private word and used it to good advantage.
‘We’ll gerrout again,’ Toby whispered hoarsely, ‘because it’s been grand, hasn’t it? We might have made it to Ireland – or at least to the Wirral – if we’d not overslept last night and left clues for the old feller to find. You gals take your walks in Prince’s Park, don’t you? Same as we do, only I reckon we go different days and different times.’
Patty nodded. ‘Yes, we do,’ she said eagerly. ‘But we never see other kids from orphan asylums, or not that I’ve noticed. Why, what are you planning, Toby?’
‘There’s a stone wall, partly tumbling down,’ Toby said rapidly. ‘It’s gorra loose stone shaped like a dog’s head what’s well within my reach, so you’ll be able to reach it too. If I gerraway again, I’ll shove a note behind the stone, telling you where I’ll be and at what time, then you can make a break for it as well. But if you goes first, you leave a note for me – OK?’
‘It sounds all right, but we only go to the park once a week, or sometimes twice,’ Patty said worriedly. ‘And when the weather’s bad, we don’t go there at all because it makes a mess of our boots and we get mud splashes on the skirts of our coats. You could leave me a message and I might not see it for a couple of weeks.’
Toby sighed deeply. ‘It’s the best I can think of,’ he said. ‘Tell you what, if me note’s still there after a day or so, I’ll come round to Durrant House, and get a message to you somehow. Hey up, someone’s comin’. Norranother word.’
He was right, someone was indeed coming. Miss Briggs and a spare, cold-eyed man in a grey flannel suit entered the room together and, almost as though they were twin souls, began berating their charges simultaneously. Patty and Toby bowed their heads beneath the storm and only spoke to say how sorry they were and how deeply they repented their naughtiness, for this had been agreed between them whilst they drank their tea and ate their bread and dripping. And presently, their mentors took them back to their orphan asylums, Miss Briggs saying sourly, as she pushed Patty ahead of her into Durrant House, ‘Not that I worried over you, Patty Peel! I knew you’d turn up again, like a bad penny.’
For Patty a weary vista of detentions and circumscribed meals stretched ahead. She had expected to be hauled up before Matron, but on this occasion, at least, she was spared that fate. Laura told her, as they lay in their beds that night, that Miss O’Dowd had been called back to her previous position to take over for a short period since her replacement there had become ill. But Patty neither knew nor cared if this were true. All she knew was that, had Miss O’Dowd been present, her punishment would have been a good deal more severe. Miss Briggs might not like her – did not like her – but because of the new matron’s behaviour to the staff Miss Briggs was taking a positive pleasure in ignoring what she imagined were Miss O’Dowd’s wishes, and treating the runaway with a certain amount of leniency.
Patty realised she would not be allowed to see Selina until her running away had been forgotten, however, and accordingly, over the next few weeks, she concentrated all her efforts upon being a model pupil and a meek and obedient child. By the time Miss O’Dowd returned to her post Patty’s absence was truly a thing of the past and, since the matron did not allude to it, Patty hoped that she either had not heard about the runaway or had simply let it slip her mind.
Patty was too wise, now, in the ways of adults to expect to be allowed any treats or outings for some time to come, and though she looked behind the stone in the wall whenever she had the opportunity she guessed that Toby, too, would be closely watched for a while, at least. By the same token, of course, her trips out with Selina and her Friday afternoons at the house in Peel Street became a thing of the past, and Patty did not refer to them. She would bide her time, wait until Matron had a day off or departed on some mysterious errand, and then she would ask permission to see her dear friend again.
The days became weeks, Christmas came and went, and Patty was still being an exemplary pupil. A few days before Christmas, Laura’s mother had come up trumps at last and invited her daughter – and her daughter’s friend – to visit her whenever they were allowed. Both girls seized the opportunity joyfully for now Patty could resume her visits to Selina with no one the wiser since the staff – and presumably Matron – thought that she was at Mrs Reilly’s tiny house off the Scotland Road. Gradually, as spring became summer and summer faded into autumn once more, Patty almost gave up hope that she would ever see or hear from Toby again. But she did not forget him. Over and over, when she lay in her narrow bed with the other girls snoring and snuffling around her, she relived those exciting three days of freedom, and longed to find a note behind the stone in the wall. Sometimes she thought she saw him as the crocodile of girls from Durrant House wended its way through the streets or the park. Sometimes, when she and Laura set off for a day with Mrs Reilly, she would imagine that the boy ahead of her was Toby, but when she hurried and caught him up it was always a stranger.
No one but Laura knew anything about her friendship with Toby, because she had always pretended she had spent the three days alone. Miss Briggs, it appeared, had merely been told that both orphans had been recaptured, not that they had been recaptured together, so that was all right. Patty had even been cautious about telling Selina, because her friend had warned her about the unreliability and general mischievousness of boys and might scold her for trusting one of them, but when a year had gone by without a word from Toby she decided to take her friend into her confidence, and was glad she had done so.