The Forget-Me-Not Summer (22 page)

Miranda bit back the words ‘That'll be a first' and went quietly out of the room. She did not wish to get on the wrong side of Aunt Vi, for in a couple of days she would be taking over the flat, and once that happened she doubted she would return to Jamaica Close, except to visit Steve.

She let herself out of the kitchen, closed the door gently behind her and headed across the back yard, then along the jigger and out into Jamaica Close. It was early but men and women were already walking briskly towards the main road, where they would catch the trams or buses which would take them to work.

Steve answered her knock, one cheek bulging, and pulled her into his mother's kitchen. ‘Here, have some brekker,' he said thickly. ‘It's a bacon sarnie; that'll line your belly until dinner.'

His mother, frying bacon, smiled a greeting. ‘Mornin', queen,' she said cheerfully. ‘Today's the great day, I gather. Done your packin' yet?'

Miranda giggled. ‘Missie leaves today, but I shan't move into the flat until the weekend,' she explained. ‘As for packing, I've got my old school skirt and jersey, my winter coat and the dress I've got on, and some underwear, so I don't think I'll need a suitcase to carry my belongings from Jamaica Close to Russell Street.' She smiled at Mrs Mickleborough. ‘As soon as I'm settled I hope you'll come a-visitin', you and Mr Mickleborough. I'll get a big pot of tea ready, 'cos I know what big tea
drinkers you two are, and a couple of dozen penny buns, the sort with pink icing on the top, and we'll have us a little party.'

‘And you'll see Timmy, Mam,' Steve said, his tone reproachful. He had begged his mother to take the little dog in, but, whilst she was still considering, Mr Huxtable had asked Miranda if he might become Timmy's new owner.

‘He's a grand little chap,' he had said appreciatively. ‘I've always wanted a dog, and livin' above the shop you'll be able to visit him reg'lar like.'

Both Steve and Miranda were very grateful to the dark-haired young man, but Steve put into words what they were both thinking. ‘That's real kind of you, Pete, but what will happen if you're conscripted into one of the forces?' he asked. ‘Or have you already volunteered?'

Pete grinned. ‘I volunteered right at the start, but they turned me down 'cos I'd broken my ankle and were still in plaster when I went for the medical. They said when the hospital released me as fit they'd be in touch again, and I dare say they will, but in the meantime I'm sellin' cycles and doin' repairs, and if I do go into the services I've a cousin who'll take over here. He's gorra dog of his own and will look after Timmy here like a mother, don't you fret.'

So very soon now they would all be settled: Missie on the ship which would take her home, Miranda in her brand new flat, and Timmy in the bicycle shop, and though Steve had said he would leave home if his mam wouldn't take Timmy in, everyone knew it was an idle threat. No family was happier than the Mickleboroughs. Not even my mother and me, Miranda thought to herself,
and was surprised and even slightly shocked when the thought entered her head. Naturally she remembered Arabella through rose-coloured spectacles, but she was a practical girl and knew there had been times when her mother had voiced the wish that she did not have to work every hour God sent in order to keep her daughter and herself. Then there had been all the usual arguments as Miranda grew up, which came, she supposed, from two females sharing a house. Arabella had grumbled over the state of her daughter's bedroom, saying that at her age Miranda should not simply sling dirty clothing down on the floor, but should take it downstairs, possibly even wash it. Miranda realised, guiltily, that she had not been a very good daughter; in fact she had been both selfish and lazy. Now that she had begun to think back, she thought of all the things she might have done to make her mother's life easier, some of the things her aunt had taken for granted she would do as a sort of return for living in her house. Only Aunt Vi had carried it to extremes; Miranda had been expected to do not only her own washing, but that of Beth and her aunt as well. Aunt Vi had expected her to make the bed and to do all the housework, yet even then it had not occurred to Miranda that she had treated her mother as unfairly as Aunt Vi treated her. Oh, when Arabella comes back I'll wait on her hand and foot, Miranda dreamed. I'll cook beautiful meals, keep the house clean as a new pin and buy her little presents from my salary at the end of each month. When she comes home . . .

‘What are you thinkin' about, dreamy? You've gorra real soppy look on your face.' Steve's voice cut across her musing. ‘What'll we do till it's time to fetch Missie?
We could go to Jamaica House and collect any windfalls so's my mam can bottle them, or make jam. Unless you want to spend the time with Missie, that is.'

Miranda jumped, then turned to smile at him. ‘Sorry, Steve. I was thinking how much you help your mum, and realising how little I helped mine. You're a lad, and a lot of lads do next to nothing in the house, not even the messages. But you do all sorts without even having to be asked. It makes me ashamed that I wasn't a better daughter when I had the chance.'

Steve looked gratified. ‘There you are, Mam, a recommendation,' he said, laughing. ‘Ain't you glad you've got me?'

He puffed out his chest as he spoke and smirked, but Mrs Mickleborough gave him a shove. ‘You ain't a bad lad, but if I'd had the good sense to give birth to a girl first I reckon you'd be like all the other young fellers round here, and wouldn't raise a finger whilst your sister was there to run messages, clean the house and do a bit of cooking on the side, so you can take that silly grin off your face and fetch my marketing bag down off its hook. I don't want a deal of stuff, just a big bag of spuds, a cabbage and Mrs Evans's laundry delivered, so mind you don't go buyin' the spuds first an' lettin' the laundry get dirty.'

Steve groaned. ‘Oh, Mam, can't I do the messages later?' he asked hopefully. ‘We meant to go straight round to Russell Street to see whether Missie needed any help in gettin' her stuff down to the quayside.'

Mrs Mickleborough laughed, but shook a reproving finger. ‘And this is the feller who asked his pal what she wanted to do until it was time to take Missie aboard her
ship,' she said. ‘Oh, go on with you! Take the laundry round for me, there's a good lad, and I'll fetch the veggies myself. It'll do me good to get a breath of fresh air on such a lovely day.'

‘Well, if you really wouldn't mind . . .' Steve was beginning, but Miranda cut him short.

‘We'll take the laundry on our way to Russell Street and fetch your messages on the way back,' she said, smiling at Mrs Mickleborough.

Miranda, who had never been aboard a ship, was assured by Steve that they would have a good chance to look round the vessel whilst all the passengers boarded, and she was glad she'd put on her best dress and her most respectable pair of sandals. When they got to the flat, having dropped the laundry off at Mrs Evans's small tea room, she saw that Missie, too, was clad in her best. When they had first known the little woman, she had been dressed in black clothing which was little better than rags, but the Grimshaws had seen to it that she had decent garments for her stay in Liverpool, and a case of lighter clothing for the voyage and her return to the island. When Steve and Miranda ran up the metal staircase which led directly to the flat they were greeted by Missie, incredibly smart in a navy coat and skirt and a crisp white blouse. She had said she would be happy with clothing from Paddy's Market which she could wash, iron and darn where necessary, but the Grimshaws had taken her to T J Hughes and kitted her out with the very best. Miranda congratulated her on her appearance and Steve agreed that she was as smart as any lady of his acquaintance.

Missie beamed. ‘I knew you would come, best of my
friends,' she said gratefully. ‘Mr Vernon said he would call, but I say no need; my friends will come. But first we will have cup of tea and bun and I show you special cake, Miranda, so when I am gone you must come back here and have tea and cake.'

Missie bustled about, pouring boiling water from the kettle on the Primus into the teapot and producing some buns, which she said proudly she had made herself. Once the buns were eaten and the tea drunk, Missie fetched her hat and coat and Steve leaned towards Miranda, his brows rising. ‘There's no oven in the flat,' he whispered. ‘She couldn't possibly have made those buns, could she?'

Miranda giggled. ‘It just shows how little you know,' she said derisively. ‘Folk without ovens take their cake or bun mix, in its tin, round to Sample's, the bakery, and pay a small sum to have it cooked for them. Aunt Vi did that once in a while, when she was too lazy to light the oven.'

Steve leaned back, satisfied, then got to his feet and went over to the sink. ‘I'll just wash up these few things . . .' he was beginning, when Missie came back into the room. Her hat was perched on her head and she was pulling on her gloves.

‘All set; let's go!' she said briskly, then glanced around the kitchen. ‘I happy here,' she said musingly as they headed for the stairs, ‘yet I glad to leave. Mr Vernon take me to Jamaica House yesterday evening and I said my goodbyes. Now I must forget past and think of future.'

The three of them clattered down the stairs, Steve swinging the suitcase, and Missie with her handbag clutched beneath one arm. It was a leather one, shiny and new, a last present from Mrs Grimshaw, and Miranda
knew that her little friend valued it highly. Accordingly she warned her not to wave it around when they neared the docks, and suggested that Missie should walk between herself and Steve. ‘It's better to be safe than sorry,' she said sagely. ‘Goodness, how the morning has flown! If we don't hurry, we'll be the last people to board the ship and I shan't have a chance to look round before they're pulling up the anchor and saying that all visitors must leave.'

When they reached the quayside, however, the Grimshaws were waiting and they all boarded the ship together. She was called the
Island Princess
, and though she was not a large craft Mr Grimshaw had been assured that her crew were experienced, her captain friendly and the passengers' quarters both comfortable and commodious. Unlike Miranda, Steve did know ships, since one of his brothers was in the Royal Navy, aboard a sloop, and Steve had visited several times when it had been in port, but he was very impressed by the
Island Princess
and told Missie that she was a lucky dog to have quarters so luxurious. ‘My brother slings his hammock along with a dozen or so others, with almost no room for his own stuff,' he assured them. ‘Missie's cabin could hold half a dozen, I'm sure; and she'll eat her dinner at a proper table with a white cloth and silver knives and forks. Oh aye, this is the way to travel!'

Miranda, thinking of her mother, asked Missie whether this ship was very different from the
Pride of the Sea
, but Missie shook her head. ‘I dunno; it a long time ago and I a slave aboard her,' she muttered, and when a member of the crew shouted through a megaphone that they would soon be casting off and advised visitors to leave
the ship, Miranda was aware that Missie was relieved.

Reaching the quayside once more, Julian and Gerald said they would stay to wave Missie off, but Mr Grimshaw wanted to get back to his office and said that if the boys could leave at once he would run them back to Crosby in his car. Julian looked thankful and Miranda guessed that his strong sense of propriety had made him reluctant to sag off school, but Gerald shook his head.

‘I'm going back to Russell Street with Miranda and Steve,' he said firmly. ‘Missie told me she'd left one of her magnificent fruit cakes and I just fancy a slice of it.'

‘You're a greedy pig; that cake was left for me, not you,' Miranda said, but she spoke without much conviction, and even as she did so the senior Grimshaws said their goodbyes and moved away to where the car was parked.

Miranda gave them one last wave and turned back to the quayside. ‘Oh, look, the ship's beginning to swing away from the quay; your parents and Julian might just as well have stayed!' she said. ‘Missie is on the deck; can you see her waving? Oh, I forgot to remind her to show everyone the sketch of my mother Betty Prince made! But I'm sure she'll remember; she's not the sort to forget her friends.' She turned to Steve. ‘She's promised to write, and will post a letter as soon as she can. Oh, isn't it sad saying goodbye to a friend you'll probably never see again? Oh, dear, and I was so determined not to cry . . . '

Gerald flung an arm round her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. ‘Everyone cries when they're waving a friend off, even if they're going to meet again in a few months,' he said reassuringly. Seeing the look on Steve's face without fully understanding it, Miranda wriggled
out of Gerald's embrace and smiled at Steve, though her eyes were still brimming with tears.

‘It's all right, I'm okay now,' she said huskily. ‘Let's get back to that cake; crying always makes me hungry!'

BY THE TIME
Christmas was over, Miranda had received several letters from Missie, only one of which had come whilst she was still aboard the ship. On an international level, the war which had been spoken of vaguely when Miranda had first joined Grimshaw, Scott and Carruthers, Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths, was now thought by most people to be inevitable, despite Mr Chamberlain's ‘piece of paper' announcing peace for our time. And Miranda had not wasted her time at work. With a good deal of help from Mrs Grimshaw at weekends, she had learned to type and to take down simple letters in shorthand and Mr Grimshaw had increased her salary accordingly. ‘Not that you're liable to be with us for long, because I dare say the government will want young women to do war work as well as young men,' he told her. ‘But for the time being at least, the firm will take advantage of your many abilities.'