The Forget-Me-Not Summer (15 page)

‘I saw someone who looked a lot older than me, with very thick light brown hair and a scar just above his left eyebrow; I'd recognise him again because I suppose you might say he was very handsome,' Steve said. He stared hard at the small woman, who was now smiling triumphantly. ‘How the devil did you do that, Missie? Did I really see Julian, or was it just my imagination working overtime?'

‘It was Julian; he wearing his light blue shirt,' Missie said. ‘Did you see shirt?'

‘The one I saw was white and open at the neck . . .' Steve began, and Missie gave a crow of triumph.

‘That's right, that's right; just testing;' she said, grinning broadly. She looked consideringly at Miranda. ‘You see Master Gerald? Perhaps it best.'

Miranda began to say that she was longing to try, but Steve shook his head warningly. ‘It made me feel sort of fuzzy for a few minutes,' he warned. ‘Still, as Missie says, we ought to be able to recognise both boys. Close your eyes then, goofy; I won't tell you to make your mind a blank, because it always is.'

Miranda, who had closed her eyes, shot them open indignantly, then closed them again and sank back on the seat. Missie's small fingers touched her lightly on each temple and Steve watched with some interest, and listened too as the old woman began to mutter and to move her fingers gently in a circular motion on both sides of his pal's head. He was startled when Miranda suddenly shot upright, gave a scream and grabbed Missie by both wrists. ‘I saw – I saw – I saw . . .' She had gone very pale, and her eyes kept tilting up in her head, so that only the whites showed. Then she sank back on the bench and covered her face with her hands.

Steve rounded on Missie. ‘What have you done to her?' he shouted. ‘What did she see that frightened her so? What have you done, you old witch?'

‘I done nothing, 'cept think of Master Gerald and pass picture I see to Miranda,' Missie said. She looked as frightened, Steve realised, as he felt himself. ‘I didn't do voodoo, just made picture.'

But even as she spoke, Miranda had taken her hands away from her face and was sitting upright on the bench and giving them both a watery smile. ‘What's the matter? Did I startle you when I shrieked?' she asked. ‘I'm so sorry, but it was such a surprise! I saw a boy with dark eyes and curly hair. Was that Master Gerald? Only he wasn't really a boy, I should think he was fifteen or sixteen.'

Missie nodded slowly. ‘What colour be his shirt?' she asked, and just for a moment she sounded quite different.

‘It was blue and white check.' As she spoke she got to her feet, swayed a little and then smiled reassuringly at Missie. ‘I'm all right, don't worry, but I'd love to know how you work that particular sort of magic. Come to think of it, you could use it to show us the captain and crew of the
Pride of the Sea
so we'd know them if we met.'

Missie looked horrified. ‘No, no; it might give them power over you. It strong magic. I only know a little of what my grandmother teach me, because when my mother found out she made Grandma promise to tell no more. But you know boys now, and will recognise them again.'

After they had left Missie, having helped her with the composition of a short note explaining the situation to the Grimshaws, Steve looked curiously at his companion. ‘You needn't think you fooled me into thinking that the only thing you saw was that Gerald chap,' he said. ‘You saw something that scared the life out of you, just for a moment. Come on, you can tell me.'

‘Well, you know I've said quite often that I'm finding it difficult to remember my mother's face, and have to keep looking at her wedding
photograph?' Miranda said at last. ‘First of all I saw Gerald, plain as plain. It was odd, wasn't it? It wasn't so much like looking at a picture as looking at a real person. Behind his shoulder I could see a hill, and the branches of the trees were moving . . . really odd; quite spooky in fact.'

‘What's that got to do with your mother's photograph?' Steve said crossly. ‘I take it you saw her . . . only how is that possible? Missie's never seen her, has she?'

‘No, that's what makes it so very odd,' Miranda confessed. ‘One moment I was looking at Gerald and the next there was my mother with a black shawl thing covering her head, and her face was white and her eyes were closed. Then, just as I was going to scream, she opened her eyes and smiled and her lips moved, and though I couldn't hear what she said I'm sure it was my name. And then I woke up.'

‘Gosh, no wonder you looked sick,' Steve said prosaically. ‘But it must have been your imagination . . . or maybe your mother was what you really wanted to see and perhaps Missie knew it, and kind of helped the picture to come into your mind.'

‘I expect you're right, but it was bloody terrifying and I don't want it to happen again,' Miranda said firmly. She glanced behind her, then tutted. ‘Look at me, expecting to see Timmy, when I know very well he stayed with Missie. They really seemed to like each other, didn't they?'

‘Well, once we're in school he'd be at a loose end, so it's best that he stays at Jamaica House,' Steve said. ‘I say, I don't know why but I feel most awfully tired. Let's blow tuppence on a tram ride home. We deserve it after the day we've had.'

They were in luck; the very next tram which came along took them all the way to Jamaica Close, where they went their separate ways, having agreed to meet early next morning. Miranda entered Number Six expecting her usual reception, but found the house deserted, and the fire out. Sighing, she went to the pantry to get herself
some bread and jam, and found a note propped against the meat safe.
Gone to Seaforth Sands to visit Great-aunt Nell. Bread in the pantry, water in the tap.

Miranda pulled a face. Trust them to go off to visit her favourite great-aunt without a word to her. She guessed that Aunt Vi and Beth had planned to do this deliberately and decided that she wouldn't bother with the bread and jam, but would go straight to bed. She had told Missie and Steve that she believed in magic, but she had not really meant it, and the sight of her mother's face, so pale and strange, had upset her deeply. Now all she wanted was her bed, and she felt pretty sure that it was Missie's so-called magic which had worn her out.

Without even bothering to take a slice off the loaf she made her way upstairs. In the shared bedroom she glanced with distaste at the rumpled sheets, and at the clothing slung carelessly down on the dirty linoleum. She knew they would expect her to hang up clean clothes and carry dirty ones down to soak in the sink until she had time to wash them properly, but she did neither of these things. She made the bed as respectable as she could, undressed and put on her nightgown, then rolled into bed and was asleep within seconds.

Immediately, she dreamed.

She was on a beach of wonderful golden sand. Tiny blue waves, white-fringed, hissed softly at her feet, and when she glanced behind her there were great palm trees which she recognised from pictures she had seen in books. It was beautiful, but lonely. She walked into the sea until it covered her knees; it was warm as milk, and when she looked through the clear depths she could see beautiful shells and tiny fish. She would have liked to
go deeper, for since this was a dream she should be able to swim, an activity which she had never tried in real life, but something stopped her. She was on this beach for a purpose, she felt suddenly sure, and that purpose did not include testing her ability to swim. Reluctantly, she returned to shore and saw two people strolling along the hard wet sand, heading in her direction. She glanced curiously at them, and when they were within a few yards was suddenly sure that the woman was her mother. Impulsively she began to run, shouting: ‘Mum! Arabella! It's me, Miranda!'

As she got closer she realised she was being completely ignored, and when Arabella's eyes met hers their expression was that of a total stranger. Pain stabbed Miranda like a knife even as her mother became as insubstantial as mist and disappeared.

Miranda found herself sitting up in bed, her cheeks wet with tears, just as the bedroom door burst open, and Aunt Vi and Beth entered the room. They took no notice of Miranda, but began to undress, talking excitedly about the day they had enjoyed, the trip on the overhead railway, the dinner they had bought themselves at the café near the Sands and the wonderful tea provided by Great-aunt Nell.

At this point Vi seemed to notice her niece for the first time. ‘The old gal axed after you, seemed downright upset when I told her you'd bobbied off with some young feller rather than visit her,' Aunt Vi boomed. ‘Still 'n' all, you can take yourself off to the Sands whenever you've a mind, if you can find up the money for the train fare. Except, as I telled her, you'd probably rather spend your time with a dirty thievin' young feller than with a borin' old lady.'

Miranda, still scarcely awake and still fighting tears, muttered something and hunched a shoulder. A couple of weeks previously Aunt Vi had decided that, because Beth was growing so rapidly, three in a bed was no longer possible. She had bought – second-hand of course – an ancient camp bed, provided it with sheets and blankets and told Beth that it was her new sleeping place. Beth, however, had objected vociferously, saying that her feet stuck out at the end, the covers were insufficient and she was darned if she was going to even try to sleep in such discomfort. Nothing loth, Miranda had willingly swapped with her and in fact much preferred the small creaky bed, with its inadequate bedding and rusty framework, to the big feather bed where Aunt Vi took up most of the room and Beth the rest.

So Miranda cuddled down once more and tried to wonder why, in the dream, her mother had not seemed to recognise her. When Arabella had first disappeared Miranda had dreamed of her practically every night and always in these dreams her mother's loving smile had warmed and comforted her. Sometimes they had hugged, sometimes exchanged stories of what had happened to them since they had last met, but always there had been warmth and affection flowing like a stream of happiness between the two of them. And the background to those dreams had been familiar, real; no golden sand or tropical skies. So why had this dream been so different? It was not only that her mother had looked straight through her, it was the unreality of the scene in which the dream had taken place. Looking back she realised that there had been something odd about both the shore and the sea itself. Screwing up her eyes she tried to recreate the scene.
At first it was difficult but then, all of a sudden, it came to her. The palm trees looked like cut-outs, the little waves like puffs of cotton wool, and the shells she had seen through the water were, she suddenly realised, the ones on her mother's theatrical make-up box. Despite herself, Miranda gave a relieved little smile. She did not understand why she should dream what amounted to a stage set, but it must mean that her mother, appearing not to recognise her, was as false as the setting.

Satisfied that the dream had come merely because Steve, Missie and herself had been discussing tropical islands, she turned her face into the pillow, and by the time her aunt and her cousin had stopped gloating over their day out she was fast asleep.

She did not dream.

WHEN TERM STARTED,
Steve and Miranda walked to and from school together, discussing many things, for, as Miranda told herself, she had no secrets from Steve. Naturally enough they talked a good deal about ways of contacting Julian and Gerald, and wondered how Missie was getting on. They guessed that she would have been out foraging each night, for now she had to feed not only herself but also Timmy, and though Miranda thought that this was rather hard on the old woman Steve disagreed. ‘Having something to look after – or perhaps I should say somebody – is just about as good as being looked after yourself,' he told his friend. ‘You mark my words, young Miranda, Missie will see that Timmy gets the best of everything, which means that she'll eat better herself as a result.'

‘I don't see that,' Miranda objected. ‘Dogs can eat raw fish, dirty old bones, scraps of food a person wouldn't look at twice.' She giggled. ‘I can just picture Missie lying under the stone bench in the garden sharing a dirty great marrow bone with our little dog.'

Steve laughed too. ‘Ah well, you may be right,' he conceded. ‘By the way, I reckon the Browncoats have probably started classes again by now. The bus fare won't be more than a couple of bob and we've both got savings stashed away at Jamaica House, so I think we ought to
go up to Crosby this coming Saturday. Have you any plans? If your aunt wants messages you'll have to slip out and let your cousin Beth do some work for once.' He raised his eyebrows. ‘Where is she, incidentally? I've not seen her around since term started, come to think.'

Miranda grinned. ‘Two reasons. One is that she's actually got herself a job! It's a big house on the outskirts of Speke and Beth has to be there quite early in the morning. She's a great one for her bed, which makes me wonder how long she'll stick it. She has to take a tray of early morning tea up to the old lady and help her to dress, and then she has to clean the house, cook some sort of meal at midday and take the old lady out in her wheelchair anywhere she wants to go.'

Steve whistled under his breath. ‘What's the money like?' he enquired with his usual practicality. ‘And how the devil did she get such a job? I've heard my mam talking about girls going into service, but usually it's live-in.'

‘Well, I'll tell you, though it's rather complicated,' Miranda said. ‘Aunt Vi's pal, Flo, worked for old Mrs Seymour for years and she always did it as a day job because when she started the old lady's two sons still lived with her. Ned and Barry Seymour took it in turns to bring Flo to their mother's house, though she had to make her own way home. Then the boys married and moved out, and Flo discovered the sort of money that she could earn at one of the new factories making uniforms and that for the forces. She's a marvel with a sewing machine, is Flo. She knew her job at the big house was an easy one, knew that the moment she said she was quitting there'd be a queue of applicants a mile long,
so the day she gave in her notice she took Beth with her and recommended her for the job, suggesting that Beth should work there on a month's trial. The old lady was only too pleased to take Beth on since Flo had given her a good character, so that's how it happened. The only difference is that she makes her own way to and from the village; when Flo started working there there were no early buses, but there are now. And guess what . . .' Miranda giggled. ‘The other reason you haven't seen her is that she's got a boyfriend. Met him on the bus going to her new job, and discovered that he was employed a couple of days a week to help in the garden. It's huge, and very well kept, Beth says. And he asked her to go to the flicks with him one evening after work, and bob's your uncle.'