She told herself she would have done anything, agreed to anything, to be allowed to go home to bed and was immensely relieved when Darky let go her handlebars and stepped out of her path. ‘Thanks, Patty,’ he said, almost humbly. ‘You won’t regret it, I promise.’
Moving off down the road, Patty turned and delivered one parting shot. ‘I had better not regret it, Mr Knight,’ she said. ‘Or I will never speak to you again as long as I live.’ And with that, she cycled thankfully away.
It was an hour before Darky crawled into bed, but when he did so he could not, at first, sleep. He had seen Patty emerging from the chippie, looking so white and strained, and a most extraordinary feeling had gripped him; he had wanted to protect her, tell her she must not work so hard, nor become so involved with her patients. Normally, her self-confidence – and her blonde prettiness – was what he noticed and liked. But seeing her worn out by a long day’s work had changed everything. He had been aware for the first time that what he wanted from Patty was most definitely not just friendship. He wanted to take care of her with loving tenderness. He wanted her to turn to him, not just as a friend, but as the one true love in her life.
The thought astonished him so much that he sat up in bed, staring wide-eyed into the dark. How could he even think such a thing? He had been telling himself for months and months that he did not even like Patty and only wanted to be friendly with her to ease the situation. To be not on speaking terms with one’s next door neighbour made for a good deal of awkwardness, particularly since his mother and Patty were such good friends.
Yet seeing Patty so worn out and defenceless had brought his true feelings rushing to the surface. Lying down again, he thought that he had not felt like this since his marriage. He could remember how he had longed to protect Alison from every wind that blew, and he had never expected to feel the same about any other woman. Indeed, he did not feel the same, for Patty was the absolute opposite of his timid, gentle little wife. Yet she had aroused in him the same fierce, protective emotions – what could this mean?
He lay for a long while, puzzling over it, and was on the very edge of sleep when another thought popped into his head. I love her, he thought, astonished. Whether I like it or not, I, Derek Knight, of Levers, am in love with Patricia Peel, midwife.
A short time before, such a thought would have outraged him, but now he found himself smiling, glad that he had sorted his feelings out at last. He buried his face in the pillow, reminding himself that he must be up at six, when another thought struck him: Patty most certainly did not return his feelings. In fact, judging from her attitude earlier, she disliked him very much.
The thought should have distressed him, but it did not. I’ll
make
her see sense. I’ll
make
her fall in love with me, he told himself, just as he fell asleep.
Patty awoke next morning with the uncomfortable feeling that she had committed herself to doing something which would give her no pleasure; quite the opposite, in fact. However, she had slept through the alarm and was already late so she had no time to dwell on the thought. Instead she shot out of bed, washed in cold water, struggled into a clean uniform and set off for the girls’ room. Maggie must have heard the alarm through the thin wall which separated the two rooms, as she was already up and dressed and helping Merrell out of her nightgown and into warm clothing, for the morning was chilly.
‘Maggie, my dear, I was out until the early hours – it was well past two before I got to bed – and I’m in a tearing hurry since I slept through the alarm,’ Patty said breathlessly. ‘I’ll go through and make the porridge but I’m afraid I simply won’t have time to help you to feed Merrell or to do any of the other things I usually do. Ellen will probably give you a hand …’
‘Ellen’s already gone,’ Maggie said. ‘She had a call just after seven o’clock; Mrs Gruber is in labour. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her oldest kid bangin’ on the door. As for breakfast, don’t you worry yourself. I cooked the porridge whilst Ellen was getting dressed; it’s simmering on the back of the stove, so that’s no problem. You get yourself off, Patty, and I’ll see to little Merry here and get myself to school before the bell goes. Oh, Mrs Knight says she’s goin’ to the market and does you want any messages?’
‘Oh, Lord, I don’t know,’ Patty said distractedly, clutching her head. She could feel a tightness behind her eyes which normally presaged a headache; the last thing she wanted on such a busy day. ‘Maggie, could you be a real little darling and check the pantry for anything we need? I’m supposed to be off at five this afternoon, but with the sort of luck I’ve been having lately it’ll probably be more like seven.’ As she said the words, she remembered; she had actually arranged to meet Darky Knight outside the corner shop on Latimer Street at seven o’clock. Damn, damn, damn! After the way he had treated her, she should have had enough sense to tell him to get lost, to walk away from him. Then she remembered that he had physically barred her way, had not allowed her to even go home as she had wanted. Belated indignation at his cavalier treatment made her cheeks go hot. She thought, vengefully, that it would serve him jolly well right if she stood him up, let him hang around on the corner waiting for her in vain, and decided that she would probably do just that. After all, she could always pretend she had forgotten the appointment in the rush of the day’s doings.
Thinking back, she told herself that being horrid to her was not Darky Knight’s only sin. He had taken Ellen out, made much of her, danced with her when they both attended the Grafton Ballroom, and had then dropped her for no real reason; certainly he had not taken out any other girl, so far as Patty knew. Ellen had been heartbroken, had presented a tearful countenance at mealtimes and had shown such a lugubrious face to patients that folk had stopped Patty in the street to ask whatever was the matter with that nice little Nurse Purbright? It had all been Darky’s fault, Patty thought crossly now, rushing round the kitchen and eating warm porridge with one hand whilst endeavouring to polish her shoes with the other. Yes, it had definitely been Darky’s fault because he had led Ellen on and then dumped her, and Patty, of course, had had to pick up the pieces, apply salve to injured pride and generally put herself out.
The fact that she had never thought Ellen and Darky were right for each other and had been proved correct had not given her the satisfaction she would have expected. But Ellen was now interested in a young army officer, John Bond, stationed at the Seaforth Sands barracks and her heart seemed to be mending nicely. She had met him at the Grafton Ballroom and now he came calling at least once a week and seemed to have cured Ellen of her melancholy, at any rate.
Merrell erupted into the room as Patty was pouring herself a cup of tea. Her fair curls were on end and her blue eyes blazed with excitement. ‘Mammy, Mammy, Nanna is takin’ me to the market,’ she said importantly. ‘Me shoes is too small. They’re pinchin’ me toes.’
Patty gasped. ‘Oh, darling, I quite forgot,’ she said distractedly. ‘Nanna told me you were needing a larger size. If I give Maggie some money, she’ll give it to Nanna for the shoes. Is there anything else, queen?’
‘Nuffin’ else, ‘cep’ mebbe some sweeties,’ Merrell said. ‘I love sweeties, Mammy.’
Patty laughed, kissed the top of the child’s curly head and fished her purse out of her handbag. She extracted some coins and handed them to the child. ‘Take that to Maggie, queen,’ she said. ‘And now I really must go or I’ll never get through my work till midnight.’
Jamming her felt hat on the back of her head and slinging her coat over one shoulder and her black bag over the other, Patty shot across the kitchen and out of the door. She ran down the metal stairs, making a terrific noise, and skidded to a stop beside her bicycle. She was fishing out the key to the padlock, and trying to get it into the tiny keyhole, when someone else came thundering down the stairs. Patty glanced up and saw that it was Darky. The lock parted and Patty shoved it into her coat pocket and began to struggle into the garment. She was so used to being ignored by Darky that she did not even greet him and was pleasantly surprised when he screeched to a halt beside her and began to help her into the coat.
‘Can’t stop. I’m going to be bleedin’ late, but don’t forget we’re meeting outside Flowerdew’s at seven,’ he said breathlessly. ‘See you later!’
Patty, buttoning her coat, cramming her bag into her bicycle basket and mounting the machine, told herself that there was no chance now of claiming to have forgotten the appointment. She would simply have to go and meet Darky and make it plain to him that she would stand no more nonsense, that this was positively his last chance. She did not think they could ever be friends, but at least in future they could be polite to one another.
Having made up her mind on this point, Patty cycled off, telling herself that life would be a good deal easier if she and Darky stopped ignoring one another completely and occasionally exchanged a greeting.
As she turned into the Scotland Road, Patty saw Darky’s familiar figure standing at a tram stop literally jiggling from foot to foot with impatience, and smiled grimly to herself. He was going to be late to work because he hadn’t got to bed till the early hours through bullying her into agreeing to meet him – she dismissed his apologies as probably insincere – and it served him jolly well right! She still sometimes remembered the day in New Brighton but it had been pretty well ruined by his behaviour on the ferry. Still, she could not help wishing that poor little Merrell hadn’t had her accident on Darky’s knee, hadn’t called him Daddy …
Next year, she decided, she would have to lay the ghost of that dreadful day by returning to the seaside resort and having a wonderful time. I’ll take Ellen with me – and both girls, of course – and we’ll do all the things we did with Darky and go on the funfair as well, she decided. She and Darky had not visited the funfair because Merrell had been too tired by the time it really got going. But when Ellen and I go, I’ll buy one of those little folding pushchairs; Merrell can sleep in that if she gets really tired, and Maggie can keep an eye on her while Ellen and I have a good old go on the waltzers and the merry-go-round and the swing boats, Patty told herself. I’ve always loved the fair, I suppose partly because it makes me think of Toby.
At the mere thought of Toby’s name, Patty gave a reminiscent little smile. She had been so fond of Toby! The one fellow, she thought as she wove her way along the busy road, who had never let her down, never been cruel or nasty, never tried to take advantage. Of course, he had not turned up to meet her under the clock on Lime Street station, though she had gone to the rendezvous six years running. After that, she had been too busy, too involved with her own life to continue the vigil. But the fact that he had not turned up would not be because he had forgotten or grown tired of her. He had probably been abroad, or in the north of Scotland, or down at Land’s End with his beloved fair. She just knew he would have come to Liverpool to meet her, had it been possible.
‘Watch out, Nurse!’ A large brewer’s dray swerved to a halt against the pavement in front of her, barrels clattering, and Patty tore her mind away from Toby and returned it firmly to the present. One way of escaping the meeting with Darky would be to get killed, she told herself with mordant humour, but that seemed a bit extreme. Paying more attention to her surroundings, she continued to make her way along Scotland Road.
‘Oh, hard luck, madam – hard luck indeed. Why, you’re a crack shot. You must ha’ been practising for months. A little more to the left and you’d have won the Kewpie doll, but we won’t let a bit of bad luck send you away empty-handed, eh? You shall have either a goldfish or a big bag of toffees. Which shall it be?’
The girl thus addressed dimpled up at Toby and pointed to the bag of toffees. ‘I’m a bit old for a goldfish,’ she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. ‘But no one’s ever too old to suck a toffee.’
Toby, agreeing, handed over the toffees, putting a good face on it. Goldfish were tricky little beasts, liable to go belly-up if the weather was too hot or too cold, or if the tank got too crowded or sometimes, he thought, out of sheer spite towards the showman who was trying to make a living. Still, the girl had been pretty and the toffees were home-made. Trixie Flanagan was a dab hand at toffee making and always said that once a customer got a taste of her wares, they would come back again and again as long as the fair remained in their vicinity.
The girl wandered away from the stall and Toby sighed and looked hopefully at the clock which he could see above the roofs of the surrounding stalls. After he and Edie had split up, he had paid Ted to manage the swing boats and had dealt with the shooting gallery himself, but had almost immediately realised that this was not ideal. Takings had fallen startlingly from the very day Edie had left and Toby was quite acute enough to realise that this was because the main customers of the shooting gallery were men and men liked to have a pretty girl to cheer when they hit one of the targets. He had known that if the shooting gallery was to succeed, he ought to look about him for a pretty girl to run it. Edie, he reflected without bitterness, had been extremely pretty and was responsible for the excellent takings from the shooters.
Now, despite the fact that it had been a wet August, the fair had done quite well. The swing boats were bringing in as much as they had ever done; it was only the shooting gallery which was disappointing. This was why Toby had taken over the gallery and let Ted look after the swing boats. But my manly charms, Toby thought ruefully, cannot possibly make up for my not being a pretty girl. I’ve simply got to get hold of someone like Edie or sell the shooting gallery on, and I don’t mean to do that.