The Forget-Me-Not Summer (6 page)

‘I could learn you. And what's wrong with the Scaldy, anyhow?'

Miranda opened her mouth to make some blighting remark, then changed her mind. Steve was offering friendship, with no strings; the least she could do was to be honest with him. ‘I've never heard of the Scaldy, whatever that is,' she admitted. ‘I've heard of Seaforth Sands, of course, but I wouldn't have a clue how to get there. You see, when I lived with my mother in the Avenue we hardly ever came into the city, except for shopping and that. Why, I couldn't even find my way to the Pier Head! I've heard other kids talking about playing on the chains of the floating bridge, but I don't even know what that means. You might as well realise, Steve, that all this is strange to me. I know Prince's Park – the
boating lake, and the café where they sell you a lemonade and a sticky bun for sixpence – and of course I know the theatre where my mother worked, and most of the Madison Players. But apart from that, I'm a stranger here. Go on, tell me what the Scaldy is.'

Thus challenged, Steve began to explain, then gave up. ‘When does your aunt expect you home?' he asked. ‘Can you get away for a whole day? If so we'll do the grand tour and I'll show you everything as we go. It'll be easier if you can see what I'm talking about with your own eyes.'

Miranda sniggered. ‘I shouldn't be able to see with anybody else's eyes,' she pointed out, and dodged as Steve gave her a friendly punch. ‘I can't say when Aunt Vi expects me home but she won't worry, even if I disappear like my mother did. So come on, let's have the grand tour.'

By the end of that momentous day, Miranda felt she was now as familiar with the delights of the city as Steve himself. They had visited the Scaldy, just past Burlington Bridge, so called because that was where the Tate and Lyle sugar manufactory belched out the hot water it no longer needed into the canal. They had watched enviously as boys small and large ran along the towpath and plunged into the steaming water. Miranda had wanted to follow, clad in knickers and vest, but Steve, though he applauded her pluck, had thought it unwise. ‘Girls don't swim here,' he had assured her, ‘but now you've seen it we'll skip a lecky out to Seaforth Sands. There'll be a deal of folk there, but if you tuck your skirt into your knickers you'll be able to paddle. After that we'll
go up to the barracks – sometimes the soldiers will chuck a kid a penny or two to buy tobacco for 'em – and after that . . .'

After that they had a marvellous day. They went down to the floating road, slipped under the chains, and played at mudlarks. They begged a wooden orange box from a friendly greengrocer and took it back to Steve's crowded back yard, where they chopped it into kindling. Miranda divided the pieces into bundles which they sold up and down Scotland Road for threepence each, and with the money earned Steve bought a bag of sticky buns. Miranda had been diffident about following Steve into his mother's kitchen, partly because she was shy and feared a rebuff, and partly because she was frightened of Steve's older brothers, who Aunt Vi was always declaring were dangerously wild and best avoided, but this proved to be yet another of her aunt's spiteful and untruthful comments. Ted, Reg and Joe were easy-going young men, accepting Miranda as their brother's friend, whilst little Kenny, who was just three, clamoured for her to play with him.

Miranda was just thinking how delightfully different Steve's home life was from her own when the back door opened and Mr Mickleborough came in. He was an enormous man, well over six foot tall, with huge hands and feet. Steve had told her that his stepfather was an engine driver and Miranda would have liked to ask him about his work, but Mrs Mickleborough began to lay the table and the older boys disappeared, though Kenny, the baby, rushed to his father, winding soft little arms about Mr Mickleborough's knees and begging for a shoulder ride.

Miranda, all too used to knowing when she was not
wanted, thanked Mrs Mickleborough for her hospitality and headed for the back door. She almost cut Steve in two by trying to shut it just as he was following her outside.

Out in the jigger which ran along the backs of the houses the two stared at one another. ‘Isn't he big?' Miranda said rather breathlessly. ‘He makes your brothers look quite small. Gosh, I wouldn't like to get a clack from him!'

Steve puffed out his cheeks and whistled. ‘You're right there. He's got hands like clam shovels. But he's real good to little Kenny, and Mam says he's gentle as a lamb. Still an' all, I tries to keep me 'ead down, never gives back answers, stays out of the way as much as possible, and do what he says right smartly.' He sighed ruefully. ‘He's strict, but he's fair, and much better to our mam than my real dad was, so I reckon I should count me blessings.'

Miranda was looking thoughtful. ‘If he's only your step-dad, why do you have the same name?' she asked. ‘I thought boys always kept their fathers' names?'

‘Oh, me real dad were a right mean old bugger, used to knock Mam about as well as us kids, so when he were killed and Mam married me stepfather she asked us if we'd mind being called Mickleborough too, since she wanted to forget everything to do with our dad. I don't think Reg and Ted were too happy, or even Joe, but I were only a nipper meself and couldn't see as it made any difference, so I said yes at once and the others came round in the end. So now we're the Mickleborough boys – isn't that what your aunt called us?'

By this time the two of them had emerged into Jamaica
Close, and Miranda looked towards Number Six, half expecting her aunt to appear in the doorway shouting for her, but the doorstep was deserted, as indeed was the Close itself. Most families would be either preparing or eating their evening meal, so if she wanted to be fed she would have to go indoors at once and think up some good reason why she had been away all day. She said as much to Steve, who shook his head. ‘You've already said they don't care where you go or what you do, unless they need you, and since you also said your aunt was staying at home to look after Beth you don't even have to invent an excuse. All you have to do is look astonished and say if they needed you why didn't they call.'

Miranda sighed. ‘It's been the nicest day I've had since Mum disappeared,' she said wistfully. She fished in her pocket, produced her share of the money they had earned, and thrust the pennies into Steve's hand. ‘You take care of it; my aunt will only nick it if I take it into Number Six. She'll say I have to pay something towards the rent, or she needs some coal . . . any excuse to take it off me.'

Steve accepted the money and shoved it into the pocket of his ragged kecks. ‘Tomorrer, if you get up real early, I'll show you where I cache my gelt,' he said, ‘then you can put yours there too and know it'll be safe.' He hesitated, then jerked a thumb at the great wall at the end of the Close. ‘Remember we were talking about the wall earlier? Well, now we knows each other pretty well I'll take you round t'other side of that wall tomorrer and tell you something I've not told another soul.'

‘Tell me now,' Miranda said eagerly. ‘Go on. You've told me so much I might as well know the rest. I was
sure there was some mystery about that wall as soon as I began to notice it. Go on, Steve, tell me!'

But though Steve laughed indulgently, he also shook his head. ‘No chance,' he said. ‘It's like what I told you earlier about the Scaldy; better to see it for yourself than me have to drive myself half crazy trying to explain. Tomorrer is quite soon enough.'

‘Oh, but suppose I can't get away?' Miranda wailed. ‘Suppose my aunt needs me? She'll only interest herself in Beth for a bit, then she'll expect me to dance attendance twenty-four hours out of the twenty-four. And then you'll be sorry you were so mean.'

But Steve only laughed. ‘Maybe I will and maybe I won't,' he said infuriatingly. He seized her shoulders and ran her up the three steps to the front door of Number Six. ‘Off you go.' He lowered his voice. ‘Don't forget; meet me here tomorrow at six in the morning.'

‘Well, I will if I can,' Miranda said. ‘My aunt never gets up before eight o'clock, so maybe I'll be lucky.'

She left him, turning to give a little wave as she shut the dirty paint-blistered front door behind her. Then she went down the short hallway and into the kitchen. Her aunt was sitting by the table eating cake, having clearly had her fill of the scouse, potatoes and cabbage Miranda had helped to prepare earlier in the day. She swung her chair round so that she could stare at her niece. ‘Where've you been?' she said belligerently. ‘I come back after me shopping trip and you was nowhere to be seen. Poor Beth had shouted herself hoarse, but did you appear? Did you hell! All you thought of was your perishin' self.'

Aunt Vi continued to upbraid her as though she had done something really wicked, instead of merely being
out of hearing when her aunt had called. As soon as she could make herself heard above the barrage of complaints, accusations and name calling, Miranda took a deep breath and reminded Aunt Vi that it was
she
who was supposed to be looking after her daughter. ‘You said
you
were going to nurse Beth; don't you remember?' Staring into her aunt's furious face, she saw recollection dawn there and saw, too, how dangerous it was to be right, especially if it made Aunt Vi wrong. She knew she should have reminded herself that a soft answer turneth away wrath, but it was too late for that now: she had erred and must pay the price.

‘Well, since you weren't around when I were dishin' up you can go supperless to bed,' Aunt Vi said, her little eyes gleaming malevolently. ‘Now just you go upstairs and see if there's anything Beth wants. If there's nothing you can fetch her, then you can read her the serial story out of
The Girl's Own Paper
.'

Miranda hesitated. She had had a large slice of bread and jam at the Mickleborough house and she and Steve had shared some fades from St John's market and a paper of chips from the chippy in Homer Street, which meant of course that she was not really hungry at all. However, her day with Steve had put fresh courage into her veins and she decided to be bold for once. She pointed to the blackened pan on the stove. ‘I prepared that before I went out this morning, and I've had nothing to eat all day,' she said firmly, though untruthfully. ‘I've had measles myself, you know, and it's left me quite weak. I'm not running up and down stairs at Beth's beck and call until I've had some supper. And a nice hot cup of tea,' she added defiantly.

Auntie Vi surged to her feet, crossed to the stove and heaved the pan well back. ‘You ain't havin' none of this, norrif I have to chuck it out for the perishin' birds,' she said nastily. ‘Bread and water's good enough for you; you can help yourself to that if you like.'

Miranda looked at her. She realised that this was the first time she had ever confronted her aunt and that Vi must be wondering what had got into her, but having made a stand she must not back down unless she wanted to live on bread and water. For a moment she contemplated cutting herself a large slice of the cake which her aunt had been devouring when she had entered the kitchen, then changed her mind. She had prepared the scouse, and had looked forward to having at least a helping of the stuff, so she went to the sideboard, took down a tin plate and held it out wordlessly, almost beneath Aunt Vi's nose. Her aunt began to gobble that she should not get a shred of the delicious stew, but Miranda continued to hold the plate and, to her secret astonishment, when their eyes met it was Aunt Vi who lowered hers first. To be sure, she did not ladle any stew on to the tin plate, but turned away, muttering. Miranda heard words like ‘forbid' and ‘don't you dare' and ‘defyin' me in me own house' as her aunt stomped back to her chair, picked up the teapot and poured herself another cup of tea, though her hand trembled so much that tea sprayed out of the spout and puddled on the wooden table.

Miranda could not believe her luck. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she expected it to be Aunt Vi who backed down, but it had happened. She seized the ladle and helped herself to a generous portion, then sat down
at the table and began to eat. Halfway through the meal she reached over and cut herself a wedge of bread from the loaf to sop up the last of the gravy, and when she had finished she went across to the sink and put her dirty plate with the others, while Aunt Vi continued to munch cake and stare at her as though she could not believe her eyes.

Miranda gave her aunt a big bright smile and headed for the stairs. ‘I don't suppose Beth wants anything now, or she would have shouted,' she said cheerfully. ‘However, a bargain is a bargain; I said I wouldn't wait on Beth until I'd had something to eat. Well, now I've had a meal, and a good one, so I think I'm strong enough to get up the stairs and see if there's anything I can do for my cousin.' As she left the kitchen Miranda glanced back at her aunt and had real difficulty in preventing herself from giving a great roar of laughter. Aunt Vi had her hand across her mouth as she shovelled cake into it, and just for a moment she could have modelled for the monkey in the well-known portrayal of
Speak no Evil
. But she managed to contain her mirth until she was well out of hearing.

Upstairs, her cousin was already looking a little less unhappy, though her skin was still scarlet with spots. She had drunk at least one full glass of the raspberry cordial, but the scouse beside it had scarcely been touched. She looked up as her cousin entered the room and indicated the plate of stew with a weary hand. ‘Want it?' she asked in a hoarse whisper. ‘I can't eat the flamin' stuff; food makes me feel sick.' She sat up on one elbow, peering at Miranda through swollen lids. ‘Where's you bin all day? Mam can't make the stairs more'n twice in
twenty-four hours, she says, and anyway I wanted
you
. She bought the latest copy of
The Girl's Own Paper
so's you could read me the serial story, but you weren't here.'