Darky had not gained his information about Toby by mere guesswork, however. For some years, he had been friendly with one of the young men who helped on the New Brighton funfair when he was not working at Levers, and on Sunday morning he had visited Jack Evans and been given the low-down on Toby Rudd.
‘He’s a grand feller, but of course his whole living is made by getting people to trust him, same as all fair folk,’ Jack had said. ‘Mebbe the sights of his rifles are all straight, mebbe the guns throw a bit to left or right, but you can be sure of one thing: every show is designed to part the flatties from their money. And to give them a good time on the way, of course. It ain’t cheatin’, it’s life, and Toby Rudd didn’t always have an easy time of it. There were a woman who ran off with another feller, takin’ half Toby’s profit with her, and now he’s desperate to find himself a decent, steady girl who’ll marry him and help him with the shooting gallery. What’s more,’ he went on chattily, ‘I heard him tellin’ someone yesterday that he’s found himself a girl who would suit.’
Darky had guessed that Jack was speaking of Patty and had gone home thoughtfully to Ashfield Place. It had been terribly tempting to go round and spill the beans to Patty, tell her everything he had learned, but some instinct, older and wiser than he, advised against it. Let her have her head for a bit longer, a small inner voice told him. You don’t want a woman who’s half in love with someone else, you want someone who loves you for yourself – loves you only. Give Toby Rudd enough rope and he’ll hang himself, and give Patty enough rope and she’ll find out the truth about him and learn where her heart really lies.
But suppose her heart doesn’t lie with you, Darky Knight, another voice asked cruelly. Suppose she really is in love with Toby? If so, was it sensible to leave them alone for a whole week while you go gadding off to Scotland?
Darky took a deep breath and pushed the little voice out of his conscious mind. Whatever anyone says, he told himself, I know I’m doing the right thing. If she really loves Toby Rudd, then it’s best that she marry him even if he doesn’t love her, because once they’re living together he won’t be able to stop himself falling for her. Look at me, I’ve never even kissed her, but I’m as deep in love as I could possibly be. So I’ve done the only sensible, logical thing; I’ve cleared out so that she can really get to know Toby and decide for herself just what she wants without having to consider me at all. But I’ll rely on Patty’s good sense. She’ll see through Toby, and once she’s done that she’ll be able to make the decision that is right for her. After all, if she wants an adventurous life, the fair and Toby can satisfy that want, but if she wants real love and the comfort of someone who adores her, then she’ll settle for me and whatever I can offer.
Satisfied at last that he was doing the right thing, no matter how many objections the small voices might make, Darky wiped the steam off the inside of the window and fixed his eyes on the passing scenery. After all, a week was only seven days, even if it was going to feel more like seven months; surely he could bear to be parted from Patty for that long?
When she finished work on Christmas Eve, Patty bustled about banking up the fire, getting herself and Ellen a quick snack, and then tidying herself up so that she would present a neat appearance behind the shooting gallery. She and Ellen exchanged Christmas presents and Patty looked rather ruefully at the small gift she had bought for Darky. Why on earth had she not handed it over when she had given him the presents for his mother and Merry? But in her secret heart she knew; she meant to give the present – twenty Woodbines and a pair of grey woollen gloves she had knitted herself – to Toby. She could always buy Darky something before his return in a week’s time.
Then, when she and Ellen were ready, they had set off, the one to New Brighton and the other to Formby. They had walked to the tram stop together and then wished one another a grand holiday and gone their separate ways.
When she reached New Brighton, Patty made straight for the big green caravan where Toby welcomed her warmly. ‘You don’t think I’m taking advantage, do you, queen? Only you said you’d like to help, so I thought… I thought…’
Patty laughed. ‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said gaily. ‘It’ll be an adventure, Toby, and one that doesn’t often come my way. Is there anything I should know? Anything I need to do? Suppose someone asks to be allowed to have three shots instead of six, do I charge them half?’
Toby laughed too but shook his head. ‘It’s a fixed price for six shots,’ he said positively. ‘There’s a black and gold japanned box with different compartments which is tucked away under the counter, and that’s where you put the money when you’ve got time.’ He reached across and handed her a leather apron with a pouch in front. ‘Wear this; you’ll find you won’t have time to use the box when there’s a queue of flatties waiting, so you just pop the takings into the pouch and only go to the box when you need change or have time to empty the apron. You’ve got a float, of course, but…’
‘What’s a float?’ Patty asked curiously. ‘Money doesn’t float, unless it’s notes, of course, and I dare say they’d just go soggy.’
Toby laughed again. ‘Your float is a quid in small change,’ he told her. ‘And the only thing you need to do is to take off that smart nurse’s coat and hat, put on the apron, brush out your hair and be yourself. They’ll love you, I know it.’
It was a mild night, so Patty felt she could not object to the removal of her hat and coat; she had noticed that the fair folk seldom wore such garments, but she felt self-conscious over freeing her long, wheat-coloured hair from its trim bun. However, she complied with Toby’s request, though she told him that it seemed rather silly since her long hair would fall across her face.
‘Yes, but the bun is so severe,’ Toby told her, putting out a strong, brown hand and touching the little fronds of curl which surrounded her face. ‘Just for this evening, I want you to look as unlike a midwife as possible, if you don’t mind. Tell you what, I’ll get Jessie Tate to lend you a couple of tortoiseshell combs. They’ll keep the hair out of your face, but the flatties will still be able to admire it. Is that OK?’
Patty agreed, somewhat self-consciously, and when the combs arrived, and Toby arranged them in her hair, she had to admit that she was pleased with the result. Certainly nobody would think she was a nurse, she told herself rather ruefully, gazing at her reflection in a large mirror by the caravan door. She wished that the combs had been less elaborate – they had tortoiseshell butterflies decorated with paste diamonds above the actual teeth – but they certainly added a touch of glamour to an appearance she had always thought, privately, was far too plain and sensible.
And whether or not it was the combs, Patty certainly enjoyed a great success as the mistress of the shooting gallery. For the entire evening, men were queuing up to take their turn with the rifles, chaffing her and telling her she was the prettiest thing on the fair, though since most of them were showing off their skills to their girlfriends Patty took these compliments with a pinch of salt. A good many of her customers returned again and again and far too many, Patty thought apprehensively, were winning prizes, though Toby told her that this was no bad thing, was in fact a good thing since it encouraged others to try their luck. ‘We don’t have no sharp cheats on our gaff because the flatties wouldn’t return week after week, year after year, if we did that,’ he said virtuously. ‘It ain’t only me as runs an honest show, everyone’s the same. We wouldn’t have it otherwise.’
So when Patty returned to the caravan to have a bite of supper when the fair closed at eleven, she was all aglow with the excitement of the evening. She put down the box, heavy with money, on the caravan table and basked in Toby’s admiration as he carefully counted it and told her she was worth her weight in gold.
‘I dunno how you do it, but you’ve even got all the money in the right compartments,’ he said admiringly. ‘It makes counting up the take a good deal easier, I can tell you. And how hard you worked, dearest Patty! But the main thing is, did you enjoy it?’
Patty thought, then beamed at him. ‘Yes I did,’ she said truthfully. ‘It was a bit embarrassing because some of the men said things … but it was all in good fun, I’m sure, and I was too busy for anyone to pester me. Oh, but I’m so thirsty. Is that ginger beer for me?’
‘It is, and presently someone will be delivering bags of chips; I’ve ordered one each.’ Almost at the same moment there was a bang on the door, which flew open to reveal a short, stout man with a basket piled high with newspaper-wrapped parcels.
‘I’m playing Santy Claus tonight,’ the small man squeaked, tipping two parcels of chips on to the table. ‘You’ve got yourself a real little smasher there, Toby,’ he added, eyeing Patty appreciatively.
‘Don’t I know it,’ Toby said fervently, unwrapping the chips. ‘And she took five times more money than Edie ever took.’
‘It’s the hair,’ the little man said, turning back towards the door. ‘The flatties always go for blondes, they tell me. Well, good night both.’
Rather baffled by this unexpected remark, Patty wondered why on earth people should be more willing to part with their money because of her hair, then forgot it as the recollection of what she meant to say to Toby came rushing back. She wondered how she could say, tactfully, that she would be on her own next day, but as it happened Toby’s next remark led her straight into the subject.
‘I’ll see you home, of course,’ he said. ‘Unless Mr Knight means to meet you, that is?’
Patty took a deep breath. ‘Mr Knight has gone to Scotland to be with his mother and the baby,’ she said. ‘They were supposed to come home today but the baby’s caught the measles, so they won’t be home for two to three weeks.’
Toby stared at her and Patty could see comprehension dawning in his dark eyes. ‘The Knight family are in Scotland?’ he said incredulously. ‘But – but you were going there Christmas Day! I remember you told me that it were all arranged and that they were coming to your place Boxing Day. So what’ll you do now? You can’t be planning to spend Christmas Day alone!’
‘Well I am,’ Patty said baldly. ‘Ellen’s gone home to her people and everyone else has already made their plans. But don’t worry. I enjoy my own company and a quiet day will probably do me good.’
Toby leaned across the table and clasped her hands in his. ‘As if I’d let you be alone, come Christmas,’ he said reprovingly. ‘You come to the Flanagan’s with me. I’ve borrowed Sid’s motorbike and it’ll take two.’
‘I’m on call on Christmas Day for emergencies,’ Patty said regretfully, ‘so I’m afraid that’s out of the question.’
‘But how about if I came to your place? I guess you’ve already got food in, but I’ll share the cost willingly. What do you say, Patty?’
In a daze of happy anticipation, Patty said, ‘Yes,’ but as she got into bed that night and snuggled down she found that there was a faint niggle of unease at the very back of her mind. She lay there for some time, racking her brains as to what it could be. It was not until she was almost asleep that the reason came to her: Toby had not once said how he meant to get in touch with the Flanagan’s, who were supposed to be his hosts on the following day. Surely he would not simply let them down, leave them worrying over his whereabouts, perhaps even delaying Christmas dinner for him?
How ridiculous you are being, Patty Peel, she scolded herself. What on earth makes you think that Toby would behave in such an unprincipled way? The answer, of course, was simple and one which she wished she did not have to face. In her heart, she knew that Toby had let her down not once, but many times. She could tell herself that he had been far away, unable to keep their rendezvous at Lime Street station, but thinking it over now she realised that there are always ways to get in touch. He could have sent a message to the station master, explaining his inability to meet her, and it could have been read over the loudspeaker system. She had heard several such messages while she waited for Toby – indeed, it was one of the reasons she had hung about for so long. Also, Toby had not attempted to explain why he had never come to Lime Street station on the appointed day. In fact, when she had timidly raised the subject of past years, he had brushed it aside, given her a hug, told her that they must forget the past and concentrate on their happy future.
I wouldn’t have done that, Patty felt herself thinking. I wouldn’t let the Flanagans down, either; I’d make jolly sure that they knew I had other plans. But then she thought of the telegraph office – was it open on Christmas Day? – and decided that Toby would undoubtedly send a telegram as soon as the office opened on Christmas morning. She knew he was an adventurer, that his charm and gaiety probably made it unnecessary for him to apologise for past mistakes, but she told herself stoutly that he was not irresponsible, not selfish. As soon as he arrived at the house next morning, she would ask him how the Flanagans had reacted to the news that their party would be one short, and he would tell her how he had telegraphed, or telephoned, or got in touch with them somehow.
Almost satisfied with her own explanation, Patty slept.
In Glasgow, winter dusk falls early, so Darky found himself trudging through the streets towards his destination under the glow of the lamplights, with people intent on last-minute Christmas shopping all around him, though thankfully, since the Scots celebrate the New Year more enthusiastically than do the English, the streets were not as crowded as they would have been – probably were – in Liverpool.
He had telegraphed his mother to say that he would be arriving as soon as possible, that he would stay for a week and that she was not to worry, for he had guessed immediately, from the sound of her voice alone, that she was worried to death by her situation. His aunt was not an easy woman at the best of times, and so his mam would be dealing not only with a sick child far from home and her mother, but with an increasingly fractious woman in her seventies, who could do very little for herself since she was crippled with rheumatism.
‘I know poor Patty won’t be able to come and give me a hand because for a start she’s not had the measles,’ his mother had said, her voice thin with worry. ‘I were wondering whether Ellen might be free, only I know she were going home with her young man for the holiday … and your poor Aunt Beryl can’t remember whether she took the measles when she were a child … you can’t blame her, it were a mortal long time ago … and although she can manage to get her messages in the ordinary way, at Christmas, what wi’ the crowds in the streets and the prices … well, I feel that guilty, landing her with a sick kid and meself …’
‘Don’t tell me she isn’t glad to have you over the holiday,’ her son had protested. ‘She’s spent weeks trying to persuade you to go up there for Christmas, or else for Hog … Hoggy … oh, well, for the New Year!’
‘Aye, she’s pleased in a way, and it’s Hogmanay,’ Mrs Knight had said. ‘Darky, love, I don’t suppose … it’s a lot to ask but I know how fond you are of Merry and as it is I can’t leave the kid for a moment …’
‘I’ll come just as soon as I’ve sorted things out wi’ Levers, and Patty,’ Darky had promised at once. ‘I may not be able to get away today, but by this evening I’ll have got things sorted. So don’t worry, Mam, help is on its way!’
He had heard her laugh, heard her voice take on a lighter note, with considerable relief. He knew, none better, what a good woman his mother was and he knew, too, that Patty would have caught the first train north had it not been for the fact that she would be less of a help than a hindrance, seeing that she was liable to catch the infection herself. So it had been good to be able to relieve his mam’s mind of at least some of its worries, and as he trudged through the dark streets he reflected that though he was a long way from Patty, at least he would be able to discuss what he had done with his mother, the wisest woman he knew. She was one of the most unselfish people he knew as well, which meant that if she thought he had done wrong to leave Patty to the mercy of Toby Rudd she would say so, even if it meant losing her son’s help a little earlier than they had planned.
He reached the narrow little street, where the tops of the houses overhung it so closely that they almost touched, and knocked on the door of No. 121. It was a narrow, granite-built dwelling with a street lamp right outside, and as he knocked he heard a small voice that he knew well. ‘Nanna, Nanna, vere’s a knock, vere’s a knock! Is it me mammy come to give me a hug an’ a kiss, or is it Santy Claus wiv me presents? I know you said he might be late, Nanna, ’cos of me not being in me own lickle bed, only – only Santy’s a magic man, like Jesus, so I thought – I thought he
might
come!’
Darky looked up and saw that the window above his head was slightly open, for though it was dark it was still remarkably mild for the time of year. He grinned to himself, then shouted up at the little, greenish glass panes of the window. ‘It ain’t your mammy, little Miss Merry, ’cos she’s turble busy around Christmas, but it’s your old pal Darky Knight. What’s more, I met Santy as I was catching the train at Lime Street station and he gave me a grosh o’ presents for a poor little kid what’s gone and got the squeezles just in time for Christmas!’
There was a shriek from above and a small, pale face appeared, distorted by the thickness and colour of the glass but immediately recognisable to Darky, who felt his heart contract. Poor little girl! Far from home, stuck in bed, no doubt feeling both ill and miserable, but she was beaming down at him, jumping up and down on something invisible so that she could see him more clearly.
‘Darky! Oh, Darky, come up an’ see me, please, please, please!’ she entreated just as the door opened.
Mrs Knight stood there, her arms held out. ‘Oh, my dearest lad!’ she said. ‘I can’t tell you how welcome you are! Your aunt has been very good and patient but she can’t gerrup the stairs without a deal o’ help and I dare not bring Merry down, not until her temperature drops to normal, and … and I’ve been trying to do everything and worrying that Merry may get worse … I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know I’ll have your help, if only for a few days.’
‘I told Patty I’d be here a week, but in fact the boss said to stay until I could bring you and the littl’un home wi’ me,’ Darky told her as the two of them entered the tiny front room. He went over and hugged his aunt, who was squeaking with excitement and telling him how much he had grown and what a fine fellow he was, then turned back to his mother. ‘I’d better get up them stairs, though, Mam, because Merry came to the window and shouted down to me and I imagine that if I don’t go up she’ll come down!’
‘You’re right there,’ his mother said, smiling. ‘She feels a little better today and that means she’s forever trying to come downstairs, so she can see more of what’s going on. I
thought
I heard voices when I came to the door to answer your knock … I might have guessed the young madam would be consumed with curiosity as soon as she heard someone at our front door. You run up, then, whilst I make a pot of tea and cut some sandwiches. I dare say you’re hungry?’
‘Starving,’ Darky said promptly – and truthfully, for he had not had a chance to get himself a bite as the train roared northwards. ‘I’ll come down as soon as I can, since I dare say you could do with some messages running, now that you’ve got one extra for Christmas dinner!’
He headed for the stairs as he spoke and heard his aunt, behind him, chuckle. ‘Your mam’s scarce had a breath of fresh air since the bairn took ill,’ she said. ‘You stay wi’ the wee one. I’ll mek something for your supper, and Nellie here can nip down to the market, for it’ll be in full swing until ten or eleven this night.’
‘Right,’ Darky said, mounting the narrow little stairs which led, ladder-like, to the upper floor. He knew his aunt never came up here and guessed that his mother and Merry had been sharing the big bed where his aunt had slept in happier days, but he was still surprised to find that the stairs led straight into the bedroom, which was clearly the only one. He looked around him, at the low, beamed ceiling and the small room totally dominated by the huge bed and containing no furniture other than the bed itself and a deep window seat set into the small bow of the window.
‘Knighty! Oh, oh, Knighty, have you come to take us home?’ Merry enquired hopefully, hugging him as he sat down beside her and sank into the feather mattress. ‘Mammy didn’t have the spotties when she were little, so she can’t come, Nanna says. Oh, I’s so bored!’
Darky returned her hug but said prosaically: ‘I can’t take you home, queen, until there’s no fear of you passing on your squeezles to someone else. But I’m here to keep you company and help Nanna Knight and Auntie Beryl until you’re well enough to go home. Does that suit your majesty?’
‘Yes, that’s all right,’ Merry conceded, leaning back on her pillows. ‘And it’s measles, not squeezles, you silly Knighty.’
‘You called it spotties,’ Darky pointed out. ‘Look, I’m going to carry you downstairs so that you can sit and watch me eat my supper and then I’ll carry you up again. But you must be very, very good and do exactly as I tell you; understand?’
Merry, who had begun to look very tired, perked up at once and presently Darky was sitting down to a meal of ham sandwiches with hard boiled eggs on the side and chatting to his aunt, whilst Merry sat curled up in an ancient fireside chair, sucking her thumb contentedly and gazing at the flickering flames behind the doors of the old-fashioned range.
Christmas Day dawned bright, though cool, and Merry was once more carried downstairs to open her presents. She was feeling a little better with each day that passed but needed to be in company since, left to herself, she scratched her spots until they bled. She ate very little of the roast fowl, potatoes and other vegetables which Nellie Knight had bought the previous evening, but she played with her toys and helped Darky with a large jigsaw. His aunt often bought jigsaws to keep her brain active, she said, and this one taxed Darky’s ingenuity to the utmost, but at least it kept his fingers occupied whilst his mind flew back to Liverpool, and Patty.
I wonder what she’s doing now, he asked himself, several times an hour. I wonder if she’s opened her presents yet. I bet she and that Toby feller are sharing a cosy dinner in the kitchen at No. 24. Oh, what a fool I was to leave them alone together at such a time of year!
But when he saw how much happier his mother and aunt were, and how Merry clung to him, he did not regret his long journey north – was glad of it, in fact. He was needed here, but he still did not know whether he was needed – or, indeed, wanted – in Liverpool.
I did right, he told himself continually, but knowing it did not stop him wondering how Patty and Toby were getting on.
The first thing Patty had asked Toby when he reached her house on Christmas morning was how the Flanagans had taken the news of his defection. Toby, hanging his overcoat and cap on the back door, had looked faintly surprised. ‘Defection? How could I tell you that, queen? I won’t be seeing them now until the day after tomorrow, or mebbe later. What makes you ask?’
‘Well, I didn’t know whether the telegraph office would be open, or whether someone at the fair is on the telephone,’ Patty explained. The look of amusement on his face made her feel, obscurely, that she was interfering in some way, being nosy in fact. But she told herself it was a perfectly normal question and continued to wait for his answer.
Toby walked over to the table and sniffed appreciatively at the good smells coming from the oven, for Patty had fetched the turkey from the bakers and roasted some potatoes and onions and now the rich aroma of the food filled the room. ‘Isn’t that a grand smell now?’ Toby said. ‘An’ it’s a grand cook you are, Patty Peel. Me mouth’s watering already.’
Patty, however, decided not to be deflected. ‘Yes, it’s going to be a good dinner, but what did the Flanagans say?’ she persisted. ‘Or did you telegraph?’
‘No, I didn’t telegraph and I didn’t telephone either,’ Toby said easily. ‘They’re good friends, the Flanagans, and they understand how things are. They’ll guess something came up to prevent me being with them and they’ll just continue as though I’d never said I’d spend Christmas in Wrexham.’ He glanced curiously at her, dark brows rising. ‘What’s wrong with that, Patty Peel? Good friends – real friends – understand.’
Patty stared at him but before she could make any other comment he had produced a small parcel from his pocket. He moved towards her, pressed the packet into her hand and, before she could prevent him, kissed her lightly on the nose. ‘Happy Christmas, Patty,’ he said softly. ‘And a prosperous New Year.’ He grinned at her. ‘Which is as good as wishing meself a prosperous New Year since I’m hopeful that we’re going to be travelling into 1935 together. Go on, open me present. I’m longing to see what you think of it.’
Hastily, Patty pulled open the drawer in the big kitchen table and produced the gift which she had intended for Darky. She had not rewrapped it but had changed the label on the front so that it now read, ‘To Toby, best wishes for Christmas 1934, from Patty.’ She handed it to Toby, feeling vaguely ashamed of herself, and then opened the fascinating little packet he had given her. It contained a very pretty brooch in the shape of a four-leafed clover which was almost certainly gold. For a moment, Patty could only stare, then she lifted her eyes to his and saw that he was watching her intently. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked softly. ‘It isn’t new, it belonged to me mam, but she gave it to me just before she died and told me it were real Irish gold and I were only to give it to the woman I wanted to marry.’ Patty began to protest, but he shushed her with a finger across her lips. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not trying to force your hand. I just want you to know what you mean to me.’
Patty looked wistfully at the pretty little brooch in its nest of cotton wool but shook her head firmly and put the box down on the kitchen table. ‘I can’t take it, Toby. I know we were pals when we were kids, but we scarcely know one another as adults. Maybe one day we’ll both feel differently and it would be too bad to take such a gift until I was certain sure.’
Toby sighed but pushed the box towards her once more. ‘Look, Patty, it isn’t like an engagement ring. It’s just a really pretty brooch, and you know four-leafed clovers are supposed to bring good luck. If you decide that I’m not the feller for you, you can give me the brooch back. But in the meantime, wear it and enjoy it. After all, it’s a Christmas present and you can’t just hand them back.’
‘Well, all right,’ Patty said, half grudgingly, pinning the brooch to the lapel of her navy wool frock. ‘But it makes my gift to you … oh, well, open it!’
Toby opened the parcel and professed himself delighted both with the Woodbines and with the grey, woollen gloves. ‘I’ll be rare glad of the gloves when the fair opens up again,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Me hands get freezing handling all the change; these will suit me a treat.’ He pulled one on. ‘Yes, nice and roomy.’