Patty said no more as the children in the saloon began romping noisily, running backwards and forwards and shouting to one another, jumping over feet and playing various games. Presently, Merrell awoke and began to whine that she wanted to get down.
‘Not now, queen,’ Darky said, holding her firmly on his lap. ‘We’re nearly back at the landing stage, then everyone will have to get off the ferry; those noisy brats as well as us respectable folk.’
Unfortunately, as he spoke, there was a moment of silence and Patty saw that several of the parents of the unruly children were giving Darky affronted glares. Before she could warn him that he was offending people, Darky turned his head and spoke directly to her. ‘D’you know, I wonder if Merry’s got a temperature on her? She’s come over all warm – hot, you could say – and I feel …’
He gave an exclamation of horror and rose to his feet, holding Merrell away from him as though she were a parcel. Patty followed the direction of his gaze and saw that his light grey trousers were soaking wet and that a puddle had formed on the wooden seat he had just vacated.
‘Oh, Mr Knight, I’m so sorry …’ Patty began, and then the humour of the situation struck her and she gave a breathless little giggle. It was awful and most embarrassing for Darky but she felt she could scarcely blame the child. When Merrell had asked to get down, she must have realised she wanted to wee, but had not had time to explain what was happening to her.
Darky was still holding Merrell out before him, watching with distaste as she dripped on to the deck. Next to him, a large and blowzy woman, parent of some of the noisy children, rose ponderously to her feet. ‘Well, look at me decent skirt!’ she exclaimed. ‘All covered with piddle, an’ him so high an’ mighty! Well, mister, my brats may be noisy but at least they don’t pee on total strangers!’
She had said it half laughingly but Darky clearly did not see the joke. He tried to thrust Merrell in Patty’s direction but the child turned like an eel towards him, throwing both her arms round his neck and clinging like a limpet. ‘Daddy! Daddy! I’s all wet. Don’t be cross with Merry, Daddy.’
It was too much for Patty’s sense of humour and she laughed outright, holding out her arms to take the child and saying, penitently: ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Knight – I’ll hold her if you’ll go and borrow a mop and bucket from the crew.’ She tried to take Merrell, but the child squawked indignantly, clinging to Darky’s neck like a burr.
Several of the other passengers had now gathered round, giving advice and plainly delighting in someone else’s predicament. A child of about six announced in a high voice: ‘There’s a man here wet hisself. A growed man! Ooh, there’s a great puddle on the seat. His mammy will be cross with him!’
There was more laughter and the couple from Levers came across to them, the fellow saying jeeringly: ‘Well, if it ain’t our gaffer! I see you’ve had an accident – them kecks will never be the same again. Good thing you’re in a well-paid job and a bachelor wi’ no fambly responsibilities.’
The brassy-haired girl, clinging to her escort’s arm, put in her own two penn’orth at this point. ‘Mr Knight a bachelor?’ she said derisively. ‘Well, he’s got a very nice little daughter for a bachelor, wouldn’t you say? I’d say as Mr Knight has pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. Just wait till I tell the girls wharr I’ve see’d today! Mr Darky Knight, the darkest horse o’ them all!’
Darky continued to try to thrust the child into Patty’s arms, his face burning, and Patty, who had got the giggles with a vengeance, did her best to take Merrell from him and presently succeeded. Merrell was giggling too, now, and turned to bury her face in Patty’s shoulder. ‘I’s wet,’ she announced, as though making a new discovery. ‘Knighty’s all wet, too. Is he cross, Mammy?’
Having freed himself, Darky stalked off, saying through gritted teeth that he would fetch the mop, and Patty collapsed on to a dry piece of bench just as the ferry drew alongside the landing stage.
Wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks, Patty began to dig in her canvas holdall and presently withdrew a stout brown paper bag, a small cardigan and a pair of knickers. She stripped Merrell of her wet clothing, which she pushed into the brown paper bag, then dressed her in the dry knickers and cardigan and, after a moment’s thought, took off her own light jacket and wrapped the child in that as well. Merrell did not seem particularly perturbed by what had happened so Patty did not waste time in talking about it, but cuddled the child in her arms and prepared to join the queue of people waiting to disembark. She looked round for Darky but he seemed to have disappeared. Presently a crew member came over, armed with a mop and bucket, and cleaned up the puddle, saying as he did so: ‘I telled your ole man that we’re used to accidents – it’s a deal better than puke, if you ask me – so he’s gone ahead, like. No doubt he’ll be waitin’ for you on the landing stage.’
‘No doubt,’ Patty said grimly. She realised that what had happened to Darky had caused him great humiliation but, even so, she thought he need not have abandoned her without so much as a word. After all, it had not been her fault that Merrell had had an accident; the child had asked to get off his knee but Darky had hung on to her and suffered the consequences. As the queue shuffled forward, she acknowledged that it was dreadfully bad luck that the couple from Levers had seen what had happened, but if Darky had been sensible, made a joke of it, then their barbed comments would never have been passed. What was more, it was his disgust and outrage which had made the other passengers regard the whole incident as hilarious. In fact, though he clearly blamed her, Patty felt that most of his humiliation had been self-inflicted. One cannot laugh at someone who is laughing at himself.
By the time she reached the landing stage Merrell’s head was nodding and it was clear that she would very soon be asleep, so Patty walked slowly, wondering how on earth she would get the child home without waking her. To her relief, she saw Darky and gave him a tentative smile which was not returned, though he stooped and took Merrell from her, saying stiffly: ‘Give her here. I’ll take her to the tram stop.’
‘If you hold her fairly low, my jacket will hide the front of your kecks,’ Patty said timidly. ‘I really am sorry, Mr Knight. What a dreadful thing to have happened.’
Darky shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t have mattered so much if she hadn’t called me Daddy,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘Thought it very funny though, didn’t you? I dare say you’ve taught her to call any friendly feller Daddy, eh? Makes you seem more respectable.’
Patty could not believe her ears. After giving her such a wonderful day, he was ruining it now – ruining it deliberately, it seemed. She longed to flare up at him, to tell him how she felt, but bade herself, grimly, to count to ten before she did so. After all, being soaked to the skin and humiliated before a great many people might cause the best of men to lose his temper. Darky was hitting out at the only person within reach who could be blamed for his predicament; if she turned away his wrath with a soft answer surely he would come to his senses, realise that what had happened could not possibly have been as a result of anything she had said or done?
Patty fell into step behind him, knowing that this was the most sensible thing to do. If she walked beside him, he would probably make more caustic comments and she might not be able to prevent herself from replying in kind. Then, glancing at his tall, unbending figure, she noticed, for the first time, that sitting in a puddle can be as injurious to the back of the trousers as to the front. There was a very large dark circle right across the seat of his pale grey kecks.
If I walked closer to him, no one would notice, Patty thought, but did not attempt to do so. It also occurred to her that he might tie his jacket round his waist by the arms, which would be equally effective. Indeed, she opened her mouth to tell him so and then shut it again. He would probably only snub me, she told herself defensively, walking along in his wake, and anyway, since he was in sublime ignorance of the state of his nether regions, he might as well remain so.
They reached the tram stop and stood in line and presently climbed aboard a No. 43 which would take them as far as the end of Silvester Street. She would have followed Darky as he got on, but to her great surprise he paused on the step and ushered her ahead of him into the one remaining seat. ‘I’ll put Merrell in your arms, then we won’t have to disturb her again when we get off,’ he said ungraciously. ‘I’ll go to the upper deck; there’s bound to be some room up there.’
So Patty sat down and took the child from him. He turned to mount the stairs and was several steps up when a voice hailed him. ‘Hey, mister! Did you know you’ve sat in suffin’? Your bum’s all black.’ It was an urchin of eight or nine, standing on the platform having just got on to the tram.
Patty winced as Darky turned and glared at the child before disappearing from view on to the upper deck. Then she settled into the seat with a sigh, conscious that her lovely day had been spoiled and that a budding friendship which she would have valued had been lost through no fault of her own.
‘Where are you off to, son? I hope you’re not going to be long. Supper’s all but on the table and I’m doin’ apple pancakes for a puddin’ and apple pancakes isn’t something that’ll keep hot.’
Darky turned, his hand already on the doorknob. ‘Oh, I thought I’d just stroll down to the corner shop and buy a packet of Woodbines,’ he said airily. ‘But I can put if off until after supper if you like.’
‘No, no, you go now and you can fetch me back two ounces of mints. Now that the evenings are drawing in, it’s nice to have a bag of sweeties to suck while I’m knitting.’
‘Righty-ho,’ Darky said but he was far from pleased, since he had had no intention of visiting the corner shop. Now, however, he would have to do so and supposed, resignedly, that he might as well buy the Woodbines as well as the mints. When he came to think of it, he could do with some cigarettes. He had been smoking rather more than usual lately.
Darky let himself out of the door and shut it gently behind him, glancing swiftly sideways as he did so, towards No. 24. Ever since the dreadful day when he and Patty had fallen out so dramatically, he had done his best to avoid the girls next door. To be sure, he had taken Ellen out a couple more times, but he had begun to realise that he was being unfair to her by so doing. He liked Ellen as a friend but knew there would never be anything more between them. It was odd, he reflected, that he felt no warmer feeling for her, because she was pretty, light-hearted and good company. When they went dancing, he always danced several times with her and was aware that she found this exciting, that it gave her pleasure and also encouraged her to hope that he was serious. After the time he had spent in New Brighton with Patty and the child, he had known such conflicting feelings that he had become confused, but not too confused to recognise that what he felt for Patty was a stronger and far deeper emotion than that which he felt for Ellen. Therefore, in common decency, he decided he must make it plain to Ellen that they could never be more than friends.
Ellen had not taken it well, had actually wept a little, but he thought that now, eight weeks later, she was becoming resigned. What was more, it was high time he tried to make it up with Patty.
He had known all along, of course, that it had been his fault. The kid couldn’t possibly have helped wetting him, half asleep as she was, and in his heart he was pretty sure that fatherless children tended to call any man of whom they were fond Daddy. The truth was, that having made up his mind to mend the rift between himself and his next door neighbour, he had felt doubly humiliated when things had begun to go wrong. After such a lovely day, he should have been able to laugh over the incident on the ferry. He had done so next day, at work, when brassy Bet had tried to make an issue of what had happened. ‘Good God, woman, you’re pretty keen to make a mountain out of a molehill, aren’t you?’ he had enquired. ‘Me mam baby-sits for our next door neighbour’s littl’un, so she’s in and out of our house all the time. At that age, they’ll call any feller Daddy who looks at them twice. And, though she’s pretty good as a rule, every kid has accidents when they’re first out o’ nappies. We had a good laugh over it that evenin’, me mam and me.’
It had taken the wind out of her sails; made her look spiteful and foolish, which meant that he had no more trouble. Why oh why, he had asked himself later, had he not done the same aboard the ferry? Why had he not made light of it to Patty, instead of turning on her as though the whole thing had been her fault?
The fact was, his feelings for Patty were both strong and strange to him. He had loved Alison deeply for she had been a sweet-tempered, biddable little creature, whose only desire was to please him, and he knew instinctively that Patty would never be like that. Sometimes, he thought she was so pretty that he simply wanted her, but the day in New Brighton had forced him to conclude that there was more to it than that. There had seemed to be an affinity between them, a strong bond …
Darky reached the corner shop and tried to expel the thoughts of Patty and their relationship from his mind. He was here to buy – what
was
he here to buy? Oh yes, his mam had wanted mints and he was down to his last two Woodies.
‘Yes, Mr Knight? How can I help you, my son?’ Mr Flowerdew, moustache bristling, looked encouragingly up at Darky who asked for ten Woodbine, two ounces of mints and a half pound box of chocolates – ‘Black Magic if you’ve got ’em.’
Mr Flowerdew raised gingery eyebrows. ‘Takin’ a young lady to the flickers?’ he enquired jovially. ‘It’s amazin’ how much a box of choccies softens up the toughest young lady.’
‘No, these are for me mam,’ Darky explained, as Mr Flowerdew reached down a box of chocolates from the shelf behind him and then began to weigh out the mints. ‘Now that the evenings are pulling in, she does a lot of knitting and listening to the wireless and she likes to have a sweet to suck, so I thought I’d treat her.’
Mr Flowerdew nodded understandingly. ‘She’s a grand lady, your mam, and you’re a good son to her,’ he observed. ‘Want a bit o’ paper round them chocs?’ Darky said that this would not be necessary, shoved the sweets and chocolates into his pocket and left the shop.
He walked slowly as far as the metal stairway, sat down on the lower steps, lit a Woodbine, and began to consider his next course of action. Originally, he had intended to go straight round to Nurse Peel’s place and tell her that he was deeply ashamed of his behaviour on the ferry from New Brighton. He had known from the start that the next move was up to him, he just could not bring himself to take it. Patty had every right to snub him, to turn away his apology with withering scorn, but now that he knew her a little better he did not think she would do so. He acknowledged that she was a generous person, not mean-minded in any way, and would probably be as keen for reconciliation as he was himself, though he could not blame her if after eight weeks of coolness she doubted his sincerity.
Reaching their landing, he walked swiftly to the end house and lifted the little brass knocker, letting it fall quite gently; he had no desire to bring his mother out, thinking that someone had come to call on her!
There was a nasty moment while he wondered what he should say if Ellen answered the door, but the worry was short-lived. The door opened. Maggie stood there. She was chewing and there were crumbs on one cheek, but she managed a bright smile. ‘Hello, Mr Knight,’ she said thickly. ‘Does you want a message running? If so, I’ll go soon as I’ve finished me supper.’
Darky swallowed. ‘No, it isn’t a message, exactly,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Is Nurse in?’
‘Which one?’ Maggie said baldly. ‘Oh, I suppose it’s Ellen you’re after. I’ll just…’
‘No, no, don’t fetch her,’ Darky said desperately. ‘I – I wanted a word wi’ Nurse Peel but if you’re having your tea it don’t matter, I’ll catch her later.’
‘Well you couldn’t catch her now, ’cos she’s not in,’ Maggie said briskly. Was there a hint of disapproval in her tone, Darky wondered. If so, he could scarcely blame her. Maggie was a bright child and must have known full well that there had been trouble between himself and Nurse Peel. ‘She’s attendin’ a confinement on the Scottie; it’s the flat above Brannigan’s chippie. No tellin’ how long she’ll be, though it’s the woman’s fourth baby.’ Here, curiosity plainly got the better of her. ‘Is there anything I can do? Take a message? Or give you a hand wi’ – wi’ anything?’
Darky, having recovered his composure, said, a trifle loftily, that he would not trouble her and turned back to his own house. He had intended the chocolates for Patty as a sort of peace offering but now he began to think he might as well give them to his mother after all. The chances of finding Patty alone seemed remote indeed and he had no desire to apologise for his behaviour in front of a kid of thirteen or the young woman he had recently disappointed.
Throughout the excellent supper which his mother had made, Darky pondered his problem, and by the time the meal was over he had made a decision. He would go out, letting his mother believe that he was visiting the pub, but instead he would go along to the chippie on Scotland Road. There, he would buy a bag of chips and ask, with joviality, how the job was going on upstairs. He knew enough about his neighbours to realise that every woman in the street would be well aware of what was happening and would be eager to pass on any news.
‘Well, Mrs Brannigan, you’ve got a fine, healthy boy. He weighs almost eight pounds and he’s sleeping soundly. Doctor will be round when he gets back and I’ll come and see you again between nine and ten tomorrow morning, but if you have any problems, you know where I live. All right?’
The woman on the bed smiled up at Patty. Her face was drawn with weariness but her eyes were bright, for the baby which lay, respectably cradled, at her side was her first boy, a brother for Betsy, Meg and Sue. ‘Thank you, Nurse, you’ve been wonderful,’ she said. ‘We’re going to call the baby Patrick, after your good self, and I hope as you’ll stand godmother to him when the time comes.’
Patty said she was honoured and took her coat from where it hung on the hook behind the bedroom door. Mrs Brannigan was lucky, Patty reflected as she descended the stairs. Her patient could sleep, secure in the knowledge that if the new baby cried the little maid who did her housework, and looked after the children when Mrs Brannigan was working in the shop, would instantly fly to the cradle. Patty had been at the Brannigans’ home for almost ten hours, and now would have to cycle home, boil water for a good hot wash, generally clean herself up and find herself a snack to eat before she could climb into her own bed. Furthermore, it had been a difficult birth, a breech presentation, and though Patty had sent for the doctor – Mr Brannigan had gone to his house – he had been unable to attend due to another confinement a couple of miles off.
Patty had not been particularly worried, and all had gone well, but she had had to work extremely quickly in order that the baby should not remain in the birth channel for too long, and by the time the baby was successfully delivered she was shaking from strain and fatigue and longing for her bed. When Mr Brannigan called to her as she descended the stairs, offering a cup of tea and a sandwich, she replied ruefully that she appreciated his kindness but really had to get home. ‘I’m afraid I might fall asleep on my bicycle if I stay any longer,’ she admitted, making her way to where Mr Brannigan stood by the door of the shop, ready to let her out into the street. ‘But thanks for the offer, Mr B.; one of these days I’ll take you up on it.’
She emerged into a clear but chilly night – or rather morning, for it was almost two o’clock. Her bicycle leaned where she had left it, down a short alley at the side of the shop. She unlocked the padlock which secured the front wheel, dumped her bag in the wide wicker basket in which Merrell had once travelled, and wheeled the machine on to the road. Stifling a yawn, she was about to mount it and ride off when a voice said, almost in her ear: ‘Evenin’, Nurse Peel. Can I have a word?’
To say that Patty was shocked was an understatement. She must have jumped six inches, turning as she did so to face the man who had spoken – and saw, with real astonishment, that it was Darky Knight. Immediately, she felt all sorts of barriers rising up around her, and oddly enough a frisson of fear. She could think of no possible reason why he should be walking along the Scotland Road at this hour, but she was too tired to defend herself if he had come to quarrel with her yet again.
‘Nurse Peel? I’ve been meaning to tell you how sorry I was for the way I behaved on the ferry from New Brighton, only it’s so hard to get hold of you! We both work long hours and when I’m free and you’re at home, so’s Ellen and Maggie. So this evening, I thought I’d meet you out of work, tell you I really am sorry.’
Patty stared at him, momentarily speechless. If he had been waiting here for hours just to apologise, she supposed she should be grateful, but she discovered she was too tired even for gratitude. ‘It’s all right, Mr Knight,’ she said in a flat, discouraging tone. ‘I dare say I made too much of it, but the fact is, you and I are like fire and water – we just don’t mix. Still, at least, in future, we can say “Good morning” or “Good Evening” to one another when we meet on the stairs or in the street.’
She began to mount her bicycle and Darky, with an exclamation of dismay, moved round to block her path, seizing the handlebars as he did so. ‘Don’t go, Patty,’ he said urgently. ‘I know you’re desperate tired and probably wishing I’d go to perdition, but I really
am
sorry and I want to be friends.’
Patty, now seated on the saddle of her bicycle, felt righteous wrath fill her. How dared he try to hand her an ultimatum, to say that mere neighbourliness would not be sufficient, that he wanted friendship – and after the way he had behaved, too! ‘It’s rather late for such weighty matters, Mr Knight,’ she said, with as much cordiality as she could manage. ‘I’m tired out and want my bed because tomorrow is another working day and I’ve a list of revisits as long as your arm. So, if you’ll kindly step out of my path and let go of my handlebars, I’ll be on my way.’
Darky, however, did not move so much as a muscle. ‘I don’t blame you for being angry with me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never behaved to any woman the way I’ve behaved to you and I’m downright ashamed of myself. But now I’ve admitted my fault and mean to mend my ways, surely you’ll give me a chance? Could I – could I talk to you tomorrow evening? We could go for a walk … sometimes it’s easier to talk as you walk …’
Patty compressed her lips, but once more felt too tired to argue. ‘All right; I’m off early tomorrow evening,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you outside the corner shop at seven o’clock – just for five minutes’ chat, mind.’