Winnie of the Waterfront (28 page)

‘I can’t manage without my wheelchair,’ she prevaricated.

‘Of course you can! You only have to walk a few yards to catch the boat!’

‘Yes, but what about when we get over to New Brighton?’

‘Oh, come on,’ Sandy urged, ‘it’s not much more than that when we get to the other side, now, is it?’

‘No!’ Winnie protested. ‘By the time we get back to Skirving Court and get changed the evening will be half over.’

‘Then we’ll go as we are. You look perfectly all right to me.’

‘We’re in our working clothes, Sandy,’ Winnie protested. ‘They probably wouldn’t even let us in, dressed as we are.’

‘We don’t have to go to that posh café we went to before. There are plenty of other places along the front.’

‘Maybe there are, but they won’t be open at this time of the year, will they! Most of them shut down at the end of the season and don’t open up again until around Easter-time.’

‘Peg isn’t expecting us back until around ten or later,’ Sandy argued stubbornly. ‘If we go home now she will want to know why we’ve changed our plans. She’ll think we’ve had a row or something, you know what she’s like!’

Winnie remained implacable. She stared out across the Mersey and shook her head even more firmly. ‘Sorry, luv, but I can’t face any more adventures tonight.’

Sandy put his arms round her and hugged her then stroked her black curls back from her face and kissed her tenderly. ‘No, of course you can’t. You’ve had a bad shock so what you need is something to steady your nerves. We’ll have a quiet drink and then we’ll go home and have an early
night.
I’m sure I can manage to push your chair that far, even though the wheel is buckled, so you won’t need to go on a tram. All right?’

They had a drink in one of the dockside pubs and then bought some fish and chips and ate them out of the paper on the way home, but Winnie still felt on edge. Every time a Green Goddess rattled past them as they made their way up Scotland Road she shook with fright and held on tightly to the sides of her wheelchair.

Fortunately, Peg was already in bed when they arrived at Skirving Court so there was no need for Winnie to say anything to her about what had occurred.

Even so, she couldn’t put it out of her mind. She felt more frightened about what might have happened than about what had really taken place.

Long after they were in bed and Sandy was asleep she lay there in the darkness, reliving the moment when the tram was bearing down on her. Inside her head she could still hear the clanging of the bell as the driver tried to warn her of his approach, followed by the terrible screech of the tram’s wheels on the rails as he slammed on his brakes.

She cuddled closer to Sandy, wishing he would wake up and take her in his arms. She needed to hear words of reassurance, words of comfort, but no matter how close she moved towards him Sandy went on sleeping.

Tears of self-pity rolled down her cheeks. She knew there was nothing to worry about, but she still couldn’t put the fear out her mind.

* * *

First thing the next morning, Sandy took Winnie’s wheelchair into Harry Quinn, the cycle dealer just round the corner, for repair.

‘Sorry, whacker, I can’t take on a job like that, not if you’re in a tearing hurry,’ Harry Quinn pronounced after examining the damage. ‘That wheel is too badly twisted for me to straighten it out and I’ve nothing that size in stock.’

‘How long will it take you to get a new one?’ Sandy demanded.

‘Oh, it’s hard to say. If you are in such a bleeding hurry then take it to Monk’s place a bit further down the road.’

Sandy nodded. ‘I think I know where you mean. Is it near Great Nelson Street?’

‘That’s right! They’ll probably have what you need. His place is a lot bigger than mine and he has a couple of men working for him, so he should be able to do it on the spot for you.’

The chap at Monk’s, however, shook his head and looked dubious. ‘We can fix it up, but not right away. Probably take us a couple of days: there’s a lot of work already in hand that we have to do first.’

‘It’s rather urgent, couldn’t you give it priority?’

The youngish man in charge of the workshop pushed back his cap and scratched his head.

‘I’ll try and get it done for you by tomorrow, but I can’t promise. Come back around ten tomorrow morning and I’ll do my best to have it ready by then.’

It was Sandy’s turn to hesitate.

‘What’s the matter, mate, can’t you make it?’

‘It is rather awkward. It’s my wife’s wheelchair and she’s pretty helpless without it,’ Sandy explained. ‘We’ve got our own business and we both work there. If she isn’t able to use it then we’ll be short-handed and I’ll have to stand in for her so I won’t be able to get away.’

‘Where do you both work then?’

‘At the Pier Head.’

‘You wouldn’t mean that café place down on the docks?’ The man grinned. ‘Heard about you two. Nice little number you got there by all accounts. I’ve been meaning to drop down there and take a gander, but …’

‘Tell you what,’ Sandy suggested, ‘why don’t you deliver the chair and then you can try out our menu for yourself.’

‘I might just do that! The name’s Jack Watts, by the way,’ he added, wiping his oily hand down the side of his overalls before holding it out to Sandy.

Sandy grinned. ‘Any chance you might manage to make it this evening before we close at six o’clock, Jack?’

Jack Watts raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘No promises, whacker, but I’ll do my best.’

Having to manage without her wheelchair reminded Winnie how much she needed it. Using her sticks to hobble around on not only slowed her down but made it impossible for her to carry anything.

‘The best thing you can do is sit by the till and take the money and let the rest of us run round
and
do all the serving and clearing away,’ Peg told her.

It was the longest day that Winnie could remember since they’d first opened the café. She felt so frustrated as she watched everyone else dashing about while she was forced to sit still.

‘Do you think there’s any chance that they’ve already fixed my chair, but they’re not bothering to bring it back until this evening, Sandy?’ she asked as they stopped for a cuppa after the lunchtime rush ended.

‘We agreed six o’clock. Now don’t worry, he’ll be here,’ Sandy assured her.

When it came to six o’clock and there was no sign of her wheelchair, Winnie felt more than anxious; she felt bereft.

‘Be patient. It must have taken longer than they thought. I’m sure if it was ready then they’d have returned it.’

‘They could have let us know, though, couldn’t they?’ she grumbled.

‘If it’s not back by the time we close tonight then I’ll go there first thing tomorrow morning and hurry them up.’

Reluctantly, Winnie agreed to leave it at that. Nevertheless, she was on tenterhooks. Every time the door opened she looked up expectantly, hoping it was someone from Monk’s.

The next morning they were late leaving the house so Sandy said he’d help her to the café and then go and find out what had happened to her chair. However, although he’d meant what he said, there
were
so many things needing his attention when they opened up that he had to break his promise.

When it came to midday and the chair still hadn’t been returned, Winnie was pleading with Sandy to go and see if it was ready or not when Jack Watts turned up with it.

‘I’ve promised him a meal,’ Sandy whispered to Winnie as he saw the man coming in the door.

‘Good! Give him whatever he fancies,’ she grinned.

‘His name is Jack, Jack Watts,’ he told her before he went over to collect the chair.

Jack Watts expressed a lot of interest in their enterprise. ‘You should do well,’ he told them. ‘That’s if your food is good and the service is quick.’

‘Sit down and judge for yourself. Let us know what you fancy and it will be on the table in front of you before you can change your mind,’ Sandy assured him.

Winnie was delighted to have her wheelchair back. She was so used to spinning round in it that having to hobble about on her two sticks and watch other people doing things she wanted to do herself had been sheer torture.

‘Do you want to go on home or will you wait for me?’ Sandy asked, after Jack Watts, replete from what he’d described as ‘first-class nosh’, had left.

Winnie hesitated. Until that moment she had been so pleased to have her wheelchair back, and to once more be as mobile as everyone else at the café, that she hadn’t thought any further ahead than that. Now, the idea of going out onto the main
road,
especially up Water Street where she’d had her accident, suddenly scared her. Supposing the same thing happened again! She mightn’t be so lucky next time. The tram mightn’t be able to stop in time.

‘I may as well wait for you then we can go home together,’ she said as casually as she could.

Sandy shot her a swift glance. ‘You sure?’

Winnie nodded. She didn’t want to admit how scared she was because she felt ashamed of her fears, but there was no doubt about it – she had lost her nerve.

If Sandy is with me when I go home, if he’s there walking beside me when I reach that road junction at the top of Water Street, then everything will be all right and I’ll be fine again, she told herself.

Chapter Thirty

WINNIE WAS ON
her own when the two policemen arrived at the café the following Monday morning.

It was just after eleven, and as Monday was usually a quiet day Sandy had gone to collect fresh food supplies from St John’s Market and Peg was working in the kitchen on her own. Winnie was getting the tables laid up ready for the lunchtime trade when the two policemen entered the café.

She wheeled her chair towards them. ‘Tea? Coffee?’ she greeted them with a smile.

The elder of the two, who Winnie noticed had three stripes on his arm, shook his head.

‘No thanks! Are you the Winnie whose name is over the door?’

She nodded, then frowned, wondering what they wanted. The rent was paid, their licence to trade and sell cigarettes was in order, and they hadn’t reported any disturbance.

‘Are you the owner then?’

Her frown deepened. ‘Yes! Well, a partner in the business. My husband, Sandy Coulson, and a friend, Peg Mullins, are also partners. What is all this about?’

The sergeant walked past her over to the counter and studied the packets of cigarettes stacked there.

‘We’ve got a licence to sell those,’ she told him
sharply.
‘Do you want to see our documents?’

He swung round to face her. ‘My name is Sergeant Baker and this is Constable Short.’ He stared at her, his grey eyes sharp and steely. ‘I think I know you as Winnie Malloy.’

‘That was my name before I was married,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been Winnie Coulson for over a year now.’

‘Yes, well, you were Winnie Malloy when your mother used to take you round St John’s Market begging!’ He turned to the constable. ‘I was about your age, not long joined the force. Her mother used to push her around in a weird sort of invalid carriage. She used to bring her begging in the market and down here on the dockside. Nabbing the dockers on payday as they left for home, if I remember rightly.’ He turned back to Winnie. ‘You were just a small kid, but I’m sure you remember those days. Nice little scam, wasn’t it? You and your mam did all right out of it, didn’t you.’

Winnie shook her head. ‘I don’t remember much about it. I … I was very young.’

Sergeant Baker nodded. ‘Eight, or thereabouts, if I remember correctly.’ He walked round her wheelchair, hunkering down to study the wheels and lifting the lid of the box that was fitted on the back, examining the inside of it and sniffing at it.

Winnie spun her chair round to face him. ‘What’s all this about. Is it to do with my accident?’

‘Accident?’ He frowned. ‘What accident is that?’

‘I got one of my wheels trapped in tramlines and almost got run over by a Green Goddess. I
wasn’t
hurt, though, only scared, and my wheel got buckled.’

Sergeant Baker shook his head. ‘We’ve not come about that. We’ve called about something far more serious than that, Winnie Malloy.’ He pulled himself up and gave a grim smile. ‘Ah, I was forgetting, it’s Winnie Coulson now, isn’t it! Well, Winnie Coulson, I need you to come to Atholl Road police station concerning enquiries in relation to a break-in last Thursday night at one of the bonded warehouses.’

‘Break-in? What on earth are you talking about? What has it got to do with me?’

‘Well, that’s what we’re hoping to find out,’ he told her sardonically. ‘Come along, Constable Short will push your chair.’

‘Hold on, you can’t do this,’ Winnie protested. ‘I’m needed here, I have work to do.’

‘Sorry, miss, we have to take you in,’ Constable Short told her.

‘Well, at least let me tell someone where I’m going.’

Without waiting for their permission she swivelled the chair round and headed for the kitchen, calling out Peg’s name as she did.

Peg, her face flushed from cooking, came to see what was the matter. She stared in surprise at the two policemen who were standing behind Winnie’s chair.

‘I’m needed down at Atholl Road police station,’ Winnie explained. ‘Will you tell Sandy where I am when he gets back from the market?’

Peg wiped her floury hands down her apron.
‘Do
you have to go this minute? We need you here to serve the meals; it’s almost midday.’

‘I know, Peg. I’ve tried to explain the situation to these two officers, but they don’t seem to understand.’

‘Let’s go!’ Sergeant Baker snapped. He nodded at the constable who grabbed the back of Winnie’s chair, turned it round and headed for the door.

‘Can’t you wait until Sandy gets back? He should be here any minute,’ Peg called after them agitatedly.

It was no good, the two policemen ignored her and Winnie’s chair was being pushed so fast that she had no option but to go with them.

Sandy was utterly bemused when he arrived back from the market and Peg told him what had happened. She was so upset that at first her story didn’t make any sense.