1931 Liverpool
Rose bounced through the back door, so excited and pleased with herself that she felt like proclaiming her news from the housetops, but instead she looked round the kitchen, made sure that her mother and Mrs Kibble had both turned towards her, then played a blast on an imaginary trumpet. ‘Tan tara! Guess what’s outside, in the backyard. No, don’t look, see if you can guess.’
‘Some holly an’ mistletoe? We’re goin’ to decorate the front room an’ the paper chains is up already,’ her mother said placidly. ‘Oh, norra bigger cage for Gully, chuck? His old ‘un’s fine, he teks up quite enough room as it is.’
Rose heaved a sigh. ‘No, not a bigger cage, mam. Nor holly an’ mistletoe, though I wouldn’t mind gettin’ a bus out into the country an’ pickin’ some, if Tommy an’ Mona would like to come along. What about you, Mrs Kibble? Have a guess, go on!’
‘Santa Claus, in his red coat and beard,’ Mrs Kibble suggested, smiling. ‘And the reindeer, too, of course.’
‘Well, you aren’t far off at that.’ Rose withdrew for a moment, pushing the door wide, then came in through it once more, this time grasping the handlebars of a bicycle. ‘Tan tara!’
‘Rosie, where in the Lord’s name did you get that?’ Mrs Ryder said in a gasp. ‘You’ve not saved up enough yet, you said so only yesterday.’
‘No, I know. Look, I’ll put it in the shed, then come in and explain,’ Rose said, having smoothed her hand along the saddle as though the bicycle would appreciate a bit of petting. ‘It’s not new, but it’s just what I wanted.’
‘It’s a decent-looking machine,’ Mrs Kibble remarked, as Rose disappeared once more, and walked over to push the door to, for it was a windy evening. ‘Looks as though your gal’s fallen on her feet again, Lily.’
‘Aye; it ‘ud have took her another year to save up enough for a new ‘un,’ agreed Mrs Ryder, going over to the stove and jiggling the pan of potatoes to make sure none had stuck to the bottom. ‘But that’ll be all her Christmas money gone, I reckon.’
As she spoke Rose reappeared in the doorway and, entering the kitchen, slammed the door behind her, shed her heavy coat and hat, and stripped off her woollen gloves and scarf. Then she kicked off her Wellingtons and put on her old slippers, finally walking across the kitchen and running her finger along the bars of the parrot’s cage.
‘How you doin’, Gully?’ she said cheerfully. ‘Did you see me bike? All I need now is someone to teach me to ride it.’
‘Oh, one o’ the young gentlemen’ll teach you,’ her mother said, pulling the potatoes slightly to one side of the hob and bending to remove a roasting tin, complete with a large piece of sizzling pork, from the oven. ‘I seem to remember Mr O’Neill tellin’ us once that his son had been an errand boy, so Colm could probably show you.’
‘I reckon I’ll practise by meself first,’ Rose said at once. ‘Tommy an’ Colm would only laugh when I fell over. But aren’t you goin’ to ask where I got it? An’ what I paid for it?’
‘You’ll tell us whether we ask or not,’ her mother observed. ‘But whiles you talk, queen, you might lay the table. The men will be in quite soon and Agueda and meself are a bit behind.’
‘Oh. Right,’ Rose said, going to the dresser drawer and getting out a checked tablecloth. ‘You know Mr Garnett?’
‘Aye,’ her mother admitted. ‘Since he’s come round here three times this last week to see his dratted bird you could say we know him, more or less.’
Rose grinned. Ever since the night of the dance, Mr Garnett had been more interested in his parrot than one could have believed possible. He had told her next day at work that he was ashamed of himself for not visiting earlier and in due course he came, laden with various gifts – food for Gulliver, flowers for her mother, chocolates for what he called ‘Your family, Mrs Ryder’.
‘He’s got his eye on Mona,’ Rose’s mother had remarked. ‘Well, she could do worse; he’s a nice young gentleman and clearly he’s gorra good future. Oh aye, she could do a deal worse.’
‘My dear Lily, he may not intend marriage,’ Mrs Kibble had pointed out. ‘He’s going to inherit that firm one of these days, his family is an old, proud one. Mona is a pretty girl, but ...’
‘I’m sure he don’t intend marriage,’ Rose’s mother had said briskly. ‘But he’ll take her about, introduce her to his friends ... there’s no harm in that, I’m sure.’
‘So long as he doesn’t turn your niece’s head,’ Mrs Kibble had said rather gloomily. ‘It would not do to raise her hopes, Lily.’
Rose had said nothing, but she thought that Mona was safe enough. She was always extremely polite, indeed charming, to Mr Garnett, but she hadn’t actually been out with him, far less back to his home, wherever that might be. Indeed, she was still showing far too much interest in Tommy for Rose’s peace of mind, particularly as Colm continued to eye Mona as keenly as the pigeons in Williamson Square eyed anyone scattering corn.
‘Well, besides his interest in his dratted bird, it seems he’s got a sister. She’s a bit younger than him but she’s still quite old. Twenty-two I think he said. Her name’s Penelope, an’ she’s gettin’ married next spring to some feller who lives down south somewhere.’
‘Oh aye?’ Lily said absently. ‘Wants a parrot, does she, queen?’
‘Oh Mam, you’d be real upset if anyone took Gully off of us,’ Rose said reproachfully. ‘You only say that to mek me feel bad. But if she don’t want a parrot, she don’t want a bicycle, either. She’s goin’ to have her own little sports car – imagine that!’
‘I can’t,’ her mother said, lifting the pan from the stove and carrying it over to the sink, where she began to strain the potatoes through a blue enamel colander. ‘What’s more, I don’t want to. Women didn’t oughter drive cars, that’s for the fellers, Why, they’ll be havin’ women drivin’ trams at this rate.’
‘Oh Mam, you’re so old-fashioned an’ set in your ways,’ Rose said, irritated. ‘Well, to cut a long story short I was tellin’ Mr Garnett as how I were savin’ up for a bike, an’ he said how about his askin’ his sister if she’d like to sell her old rattler, so I said smashin’, sir, but I didn’t think anythin’ would come of it. He said that a week ago an’ I thought he’d forgot all about it, and then, this very mornin’, he come into the office an’ said Penelope said I were welcome to it, only I’d have to buy a new pump, an’ mebbe get a bit o’ work done on it, so he’d got a servant to walk it in, an’ he took me down to the yard at the back an’ handed it over there an’ then.’
‘That was real generous, real nice o’ the gal,’ her mother said. ‘An’ she wouldn’t tek no money, queen? Well, that’s a right good Christmas box if you ask me. It looked awright, from what I saw.’
‘I offered to pay but Mr Garnett told me no need, she were glad to be rid of it,’ Rose said happily. ‘It’s what I’ve wanted most, as you know. Oh, I know it had flat tyres an’ no pump, an’ the brakes was a bit rusty, but the fellers in the office give a hand in their dinner-hour an’ now it’s fit to ride. Or would be if I could ride,’ she amended.
‘Well, you’re young and you’ll learn easily,’ Mrs Kibble said. ‘Ah, I hear footsteps.’
‘They’re back!’ Mrs Ryder said, beginning to mash the potatoes with some butter and a dash of milk. ‘Mek the gravy in the pan, Rosie me love, then we’ll eat as soon as the fellers have washed up. An’ after, you can see about lessons on that there bicycle. Pity it’s dark, but they may be able to rig up a light in the yard. Or you could try the street – the gaslights mek it bright enough for bicycling, I dessay. But let’s get this meal on the go, ladies!’
Colm thought afterwards that you never knew what fate had in store for you. Certainly, when Mrs Ryder had been telling them about the bicycle, which had been given to her daughter, it had not occurred to him that his life would be changed by it. Far from it, in fact. He had only volunteered to help Rose to learn to ride because, shamingly, he thought that Mona might come along too, either to learn as well or to watch.
Well, he had been right about her joining them, because on that first evening the four of them, himself, Rose, Tommy and Mona, all assembled, with the bicycle, in the road in front of the house. They had tried the jigger first, but it was too narrow, too uneven and also too dark, so they had gone round to the Vale, guessing that there would be neither traffic nor people around on such a cold night. However, though it was windy still, the rain clouds had cleared and a moon lit the scene with its frosty light. Furthermore, of course, the gas-lamps cast their warm glow, so when he began to instruct Rose in the art of mounting the bicycle it was possible for her both to hear his words and to see his actions.
‘Show her yourself, Colm,’ Mona urged, so Colm lowered the bicycle seat with one of his own spanners so that Rose could sit in the saddle and still not lose contact with the ground, and showed her how to mount the female way, how to lean the bicycle so that she could get into the saddle without losing control and how to coast, with her toes touching the road surface, to give herself a sense of balance.
Rose was all excited, pink-cheeked and smiling. Like a very nice child, Colm found himself thinking as he hung on to the carrier above the back mudguard to prevent her from falling to one side or the other. She was a quick learner, too, and though he intended to keep the saddle down until she was more expert, he could see that, with help and practice, she would soon be cycling to work.
The lesson turned out to be fun, too, and though it was indeed a cold night, they both began to warm up very nicely, Colm by running alongside the bicycle keeping Rose upright and Rose from the exertion of pedalling, swaying perilously and occasionally, despite Colm’s best efforts, falling off.
After a bit, however, the audience tired and sloped off indoors – or Colm supposed that was where they had gone. But strangely enough, he found that he no longer cared at all whether they stayed or left. He was having fun! Rose was sweet, falling off the bike several times into his very arms and clinging round his neck, laughing, panting and thanking him breathlessly as he hoisted her back into the saddle, until Colm suddenly realised that he was quite looking forward to her next tumble. She was a cuddly armful, with her breath soft against his cheek and her laughter trembling on her lips, even as she exclaimed over the various pains of a pedal in the calf, a cracked ankle or a grazed knee.
So when she suddenly managed to pedal a few feet without falling off he was quite sorry and put the saddle up, telling her with mock severity that if she insisted on being so good at bicycling he’d have to make it more difficult for her.
‘You’re mean, Colm O’Neill,’ Rose said, smiling up at him, her eyes very blue in the soft lamplight and her lips very rosy. ‘You want to see me take a real tumble, don’t you.’
‘No indeed, nothing is further from me thoughts,’ he assured her. ‘Tell you what, Rosie, let’s make it easier for you. If you can ride along as far as the next lamp-post without falling off, you’re safe, but if you fall you’ll have to give me a great big kiss, so you will.’
She had been laughing; now she stopped, looking up at him consideringly. ‘If I fall I’ve got to kiss you; is that the bargain?’
‘Yup,’ Colm said, secure in the knowledge that, between the two lamp-posts, a grid in the gutter would make at least a wobble a certainty. ‘That’ll keep you on the straight an’ narrow.’
‘It will,’ Rose said, hoisting herself back into the saddle with great determination. ‘Gi’s a push to get me goin’, then.’
‘Well, I don’t know whether I should . . . that’s helpin’ you, which isn’t in me best interests,’ Colm said, then helped her into the saddle – she still could not mount alone now that the saddle had been hoisted higher – and held her against him for a very enjoyable moment whilst she got her balance. ‘Still, one little push ... off wit’ you now!’
The bicycle wobbled furiously, then righted itself and Rose began cautiously pedalling towards the next lamp-post.
‘It’s grand you’re doin’, me little darlin’,’ Colm said encouragingly, trotting along behind her. ‘Oh, was that a wobble, now? Are ye goin’ to tipple over sideways just to please me?’
‘You’d be best pl-pleased if I showed you I could do it, then you could go in an’ ... an’ sit by the fire wi’ Mona,’ Rose said in a breathless and wobbly voice. ‘Only another couple o’ yards . . . there! What about that then, me friend?’
She had reached the lamp-post just as the bicycle swerved, bucked like a horse seeing a dog under its feet and tipped her unceremoniously onto the pavement.
Colm ran forward, plucked her from the paving stones and, with her snug in his arms, bent his head and fastened his lips on hers. Rose gave a mutter of protest, a wriggle like a landed fish . . . then she was responding, kissing him back, her arms winding themselves sweetly about his neck even as her body swayed closer against his.
Carried away, Colm lifted her off her feet and kissed her once more, long and hard, then stood her down. They gazed at one another in the lamplight, both more than a little breathless. Finally, after a moment, Rose said in a small voice: ‘You cheated, Colm O’Neill. You said I’d have to kiss you if I fell off before I reached the lamp-post and I got there!’
‘So you did. An’ didn’t I make it plain that if you did get there, wit’out fallin’ off, then I’d kiss you, so I would? Surely you realised?’
Rose giggled and punched him on the arm. Colm hissed in his breath and pretended to clutch his muscle, though he had scarcely felt the blow. ‘You’re a trojan,’ he declared. ‘Well, since there seems to have been a ... a misunderstandin’, I’ll say it clear as clear this time. If you can cycle back to the other lamp-post wit’out fallin’ off, then I’ll kiss you. But if you fall then you’ll kiss me. Is that fair or isn’t it?’
Rose giggled again and picked up the bicycle, then prepared to mount. ‘That seems fair enough,’ she said, and Colm heard the little shake in her voice and saw the way she looked at him, shyly but with a sort of trembling anticipation, and realised that he was seeing her as if for the first time. She had shed her heavy coat and thick scarf, and in the lamplight her dark curls framed a rosy and delightful face. How could he ever have thought her less than beautiful, he marvelled, with that creamy skin and those big, dark-blue eyes? And what had got into him to look past her to Mona, with her peroxided hair, her bold glance and her painted lips and cheeks? Why Rose was the prettiest, sweetest girl in the world and he ... he was the luckiest feller alive.
‘Off I go then . . . gi’s a push, Colm,’ Rose urged, and Colm launched her and then trotted alongside until she stopped, triumphant, under the lamp-post. ‘Well? How’d I do, Colm? I’ll be ridin’ to work after the weekend, I betcha.’
‘You will so,’ Colm agreed. He took the bicycle from her and leaned it against the lamp-post, then stood close, gazing down at her, and found himself breathing heavily. ‘Now was it me to kiss you, or you to kiss me? I can’t remember which way round it was for the life of me.’
‘Does it matter?’ Rose said. She looped her arms round his neck and held up her face, the lips slightly parted, looking as tempting and delicious as anything Colm had ever seen. ‘I’m almost sure you’re goin’ to kiss me, whichever way round it was.’
‘So I am, alanna,’ Colm said. He pulled her close and slowly, slowly, lowered his head until their lips met – and clung, he thought wonderingly, as though they had been lovers for years. She was wonderful, this Rosie Ryder – why in God’s sweet name hadn’t he realised it weeks and weeks ago?
When, presently, they pulled apart, he said as much. ‘We’ve been wastin’ our lives, so we have,’ he told her. ‘When we could have been doin’ this every night o’ the week. Well, I hope you don’t t’ink that now you can ride a bicycle you’re safe from me kisses, for you are no such t’ing, Rose Ryder. Will you come to the flickers wit’ me tomorrer night, an’ sit an’ cuddle in the back row of the stalls?’
‘Certainly not,’ Rose said with dignity. ‘Well, I’ll come to the cinema wi’ you, Colm, an’ thank you kindly, but ... but ...’
‘But what?’
‘Well . . . you don’t arrange to kiss and cuddle, it either comes . . . comes natural, or it doesn’t happen at all. And you ... you’re awful, that’s what you are!’
‘I’m sorry, alanna,’ Colm said penitently. ‘Sure an’ you’re right. I’ll put it another way. Will you come wit’ me to the flickers tomorrow night? I’ll buy you chocolates an’ treat you like a queen, so I will.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Rose said slowly. ‘It’s one thing to learn me to ride a bicycle an’ quite another to go to the cinema together. How do I know you really want to, and aren’t bein’ ... bein’ carried away, sort of?’
She was trying to appear offended, but all she sounded was very young and very sweet. ‘Put your coat on, and your scarf, or you’ll catch your death now that we’re not leppin’ up and down,’ Colm said, and helped her into it, then donned his own, which he had laid carefully down on top of hers on the low garden wall. Then he put a casual arm round her and began to wheel the bicycle along the pavement, turning into the jigger when he reached it, and reflecting that the hour must be late and he had no desire for Mrs Ryder to pop out to see how they were getting along, and surprise them kissing instead of cycling demurely up and down.
Rose turned in his arm and smiled up at him, a grin full of mischief. ‘But I thought it was Mona you were after,’ she said innocently. ‘She was tellin’ me only last week ...’
Colm had his arm round her waist; now he squeezed her and also gave her a playful shake. ‘She’s a fine-lookin’ girl, your cousin. I t’ought she was a real dazzler, but that was before I’d really looked twice at yourself, you see. Sure an’ havin’ had you in me arms, I’d no sooner go out wit’ another girl than fly to the moon. I’m wonderin’, now, whether the eyes in me head have been lookin’ inward ’stead o’ out, these past weeks.’
‘Pretty talk,’ Rose said as they crossed the jigger and Colm had to let go of her whilst he opened the back gate and pushed her bicycle through. ‘But pretty talk butters no parsnips, as me dad used to say. Besides, you’ve only seen me by lamplight. Wait till you see me proper, in the kitchen, wi’ me old brown coat an’ me shabby boots. Then you’ll likely think again.’
Colm wheeled the bicycle into the small shed, locked the door and offered her the key. ‘Think again, would I so?’ he said scoffingly. ‘For it’s not your old brown coat nor your shabby boots that I’ll be lookin’ at, alanna. ‘Tis your pretty face and lovely lips that hold my attention.’
‘Oh, cream-pot talk,’ Rose said. ‘Last one in makes up the kitchen fire an’ brews the cocoa.’ And she set off across the yard without waiting and shot through the back kitchen door as though the devil were after her, Colm thought, pursuing, and grabbing at the collar of her coat so that they entered the kitchen together, laughing and breathless.
There was no sign of Mona or of Tommy, but Mrs Ryder and Mrs Kibble were sitting one on either side of the fire, comfortably knitting. They both looked up as the young people appeared and Mrs Ryder put her work down and rose to her feet. ‘Has me daughter broke your neck an’ her own knees, or are you still both in one piece, Colm?’ she enquired cheerfully. ‘For ’tis no easy thing to ride a bicycle when you start in to learn by gaslight. It must be rare cold out there, too. Will you have a cup of cocoa and some biscuits before you go off to bed?’
‘We’re all in one piece, Mam,’ Rose said, a little selfconsciously Colm thought. ‘And I’d love cocoa and biscuits; what about you, Colm?’
‘That’ll be grand, Mrs Ryder,’ Colm said gratefully. ‘As for your daughter, she’ll be ridin’ to work in a week, so she will.’
‘Not if there’s frosts, or snow,’ Mrs Ryder said firmly, pulling the kettle over the fire. ‘Nor fog, neither.’
‘No, not if the weather’s bad,’ Rose allowed. ‘But when the spring comes I’ll be able to bike every day and save me tram fare. To say nothin’ of the time I’ll save hangin’ about at tram stops.’
‘I t’ought I might get me a bike too, wit’ the money I’ve been puttin’ away,’ Colm said thoughtfully as the steaming mugs of cocoa were placed on the table by the open biscuit tin. ‘For there’s more to a bicycle than savin’ time an’ tram fares. You can have a deal o’ fun, so you can. Trips into the country, further down the coast ... if there’s two of you, that is,’ he finished.
Mrs Ryder looked at him and at Rose. Then she smiled, ‘Well, well!’ she said. ‘Wonders will never cease.’
‘What d’you mean, Mam?’ Rose said suspiciously, with heightened colour. ‘Why are you grinnin’ like that?’
‘Oh, nothin’, just me thoughts,’ her mother said airily. ‘Another biscuit, Colm? No? Then it’s about time I got me hot-water bottle an’ made for me bed.’
‘Oh, yes, me too,’ Rose said. ‘As soon as I’ve finished me cocoa I’ll foller you, Mam.’ The two older women got up and began fussing with the kettle and under cover of their conversation Rose smiled at Colm over the rim of her mug. ‘Thanks for teachin’ me to ride, Colm,’ she whispered. ‘I’m goin’ to tek me cocoa to bed wi’ me. See you in the mornin’.’
*
Once in bed, Rose lay in the dark, warm as toast despite not having made herself a hot-water bottle, and smiled and smiled. Fancy, after all her heart-searchings and the way she’d felt when she realised that Mona and Tommy were a bit interested in one another, and all the time it was Colm! Of course he had muddied the waters by appearing to be interested in Mona himself – well, he had been, Rose told herself with ruthless honesty – but now that they had realised . . . she could not imagine enjoying anyone’s company more than Colm’s. And his kisses . . . her warm cheeks grew warmer at the thought . . . surely nothing could have exceeded the sweetness of them! He was going to buy a bicycle so that they might go out on trips together. He had not said that, exactly, but he had made it clear enough. She still liked Tommy, of course she did – he was a tram man, wasn’t he? – but it was, she realised now, just the normal friendliness a girl might feel for a handsome young man.
In the next bed, Mona gave a gurgling snore and brought Rose’s mind round to her cousin and Tommy. Mona liked Tommy, she could tell, and she rather thought he liked her. So where did Mr Garnett fit into the picture? Because, though Rose might not be as knowing as her cousin, she was no simpleton, either. She knew that Mr Garnett had shown no interest in his poor old parrot until he had bumped into Rose at the dance – and consequently, had met Mona. Now he came round to the house ... but so far as she knew, he had not invited Mona to go out with him. Queer! He was not slow in coming forward where girls were concerned, so the typists at work said, and his shipmate Mr Simpson had implied as much as well. And Mr Garnett had a car, which Mona would certainly like. She was sure – well, almost sure – that Mona would take up with Mr Garnett even if she liked Tommy ever so, because Mr Garnett would be a person of importance one day and Tommy, though he was handsome and very nice indeed, would surely not seem a better ‘catch’ than Mr Garnett.
For Mona had made no secret of the fact that she intended to marry someone who could keep her in the style to which she wished to become accustomed. When Rose said that this seemed a bit cold, slightly heartless, she had said, tartly, that it was all very well for Rose, with her mother and the boarding-house behind her. ‘I’ve only got meself to rely on,’ she had said. ‘And I don’t want to have to scrape and scrat all me life. It isn’t even as if I’d gorra decent job, wi’ prospects, like you’ve got, our Rose. So if I get the chance to better meself by marriage I’ll do it, even if he’s old an’ ugly.’
‘You never would, chuck,’ Rose had gasped, filled with repugnance at the thought of having to marry an ugly old man. ‘Oh Mona, nothing would be worth that.’
‘It would, because if he was old enough he’d die quite quick an’ leave me a rich widder,’ Mona had said, and laughed. Rose had joined in the laughter, but the conversation had made her uneasy. Was that why Mona never went out with Tommy alone? Was she waiting for Mr Garnett to declare himself? And would he? Rose quite liked Mr Garnett, who could be a laugh when he wanted and sometimes came into the typing pool and chatted very pleasantly. But there was no getting away from it, he was built like a clothes prop and his face was long and knobbly. His lank, pale-brown hair always looked as if it needed a brush, and his skin was sallow and pimply around the chin and hairline.
But Rose was becoming gloriously warm and comfortable, and she could feel sleep stealing up on her. I hope I have nice dreams, she told herself, snuggling down. What she meant was she hoped she would dream of Colm, but even to herself that seemed rather too bold, so she just closed her eyes, ignored Mona’s snuffles and grunts, and willed herself to sleep. I’ll see him at breakfast, she thought, and a pleasant tingle ran through her. Her last thought, before sleep claimed her, was to wonder whether, in his turn, Colm might dream of Rose Ryder.
Mona, having tired of watching the bicycle-riding lesson, had come indoors when Tommy had left to go down to the pub for a couple of beers. He had suggested she might go as well, but Mona had declined; her aunt, she knew, would not approve of a female going into the bar, though a visit to the Jug and Bottle was of course quite permissible. But she declined wistfully. She would have much enjoyed a visit to the pub with Tommy – indeed, she would have liked to go with him anywhere. However, she had herself well in hand. Tommy was fun, but she doubted that he was steady husband material. Better to enjoy his company when she could do so without anyone raising their eyebrows, and at other times steer clear. For Mona had decided that if she wanted a decent future, she must become the sort of girl that Rose was and forget that she had ever been – well, flighty. Flirting with Colm, who was so good-looking, was fun, but she did not intend to wreck her future for an Irish navvy. Besides, she was well aware that with her looks she could easily make a very good marriage, and that would mean no more toiling at the flower shop and no more helping out in the house, either. The sort of future, in fact, that girls dream about. She might not marry Mr Garnett, there were better fish in the sea, she told herself, but if she got involved with Tommy God knew what would become of her.
So instead of going down to the pub with Tommy she had spent a quiet hour or two chatting to her aunt and Mrs Kibble, whilst she embroidered cream-coloured roses on a fine white silk underslip which she meant to give her cousin for a Christmas present. She was a good needlewoman and enjoyed the work, but had gone up to bed some time before Rose and Colm came in, since she had worked late tonight and would be in late tomorrow, too, because of the date she had made earlier that day. She had been drowsing when Rose came in, but had woken some while later, to find her cousin comfortably asleep and had then, annoyingly, been unable to return to her earlier slumbers.
Wakefulness, she suspected, however, had come to her because she was elated and excited by what had happened to her earlier in the day – and God knew she had worked as hard as she knew how to make it come about. She had spotted that Mr Garnett was the sort of feller she needed the first time they’d met, at the Daulby Hall, but of course it wasn’t her part to make a move. Infuriatingly, a girl couldn’t approach a feller and suggest a date – not unless she wanted to be thought a right little wanton, anyway – but there were ways. A couple of times during Mr Garnett’s visits to the house she had mentioned casually that she now worked in a florist’s shop in the Exchange Station arcade and after watching for two whole days – and being told off by Miss Ellis for absent-mindedness – she had decided that despite Mr Garnett’s car, money and position, he was none too bright, and had not taken any of her hints. Irritably, she had begun to plot once more how to manage to meet him outside the house in the Vale, but before she could put any of these plans into action, it became unnecessary.
Just when she had given him up, while she had been in the back room surrounded by flowers and making up wedding bouquets, he had marched boldly into the shop, asking the price of the chrysanthemums which stood in deep green buckets, scenting the air with autumn.
Miss Ellis, the manageress, had served him. He had chosen the most expensive blooms, buying gold, bronze and dark-red chrysanthemums and told her to wrap them in fancy paper and all, since, he said, mysteriously, they were a present.
Hovering in the background and listening with all her ears, Mona’s heart had nose-dived – a present? Did this mean he had a young lady and had merely come into the shop by a strange coincidence? But then he had turned, with the bouquet in his arms, and begun to try to pick up the parcels which he had stood down on the floor whilst he chose the flowers. Clasping them all, he had looked round rather helplessly. ‘I say, I wonder if someone could give me a hand out to the car? I couldn’t bring it into the arcade, of course, so it’s a dozen or so yards down Tithebarn Street, a five-minute walk away. Only otherwise I’ll be bound to drop something and, with my luck, it’ll be the flowers. They’re for my mother, and she’s most awfully fussy ... Could you ... ?’
Mona knew Miss Ellis and decided that Mr Garnett wasn’t as stupid as he seemed. The manageress was far too high and mighty to stagger out into the roadway with an armful of parcels . . . and what was more, with only the two of them in the shop, she wouldn’t be likely to leave Mona by the unguarded till. Not that I’d dream of takin’ owt that weren’t mine, Mona told herself, stepping forward at Miss Ellis’s gesture. I’m far too keen to keep me job – for the moment, at any rate.
‘Miss Mullins ... ah, there you are! Would you carry the bouquet out to the gentleman’s car please? And come straight back, of course.’
‘With pleasure, Miss Ellis,’ Mona said, in the refined voice she kept for the flower shop. ‘Ay shan’t be more than a few minutes, Ay’m sure.’
She took the flowers and went out to the arcade ahead of Mr Garnett, only turning once to enquire which was his vehicle – not that she needed to ask. It was a blue sports model, very dashing, the only expensive car in sight.
‘It’s the blue one,’ he had replied and had over-taken her to unlock the passenger door so that he might begin to pile his parcels in the space behind the two front seats. ‘I say, Miss Mullins, fancy me choosing the shop you work in! What a bit of luck, eh? I’ve been hoping to meet you alone, some time.’
‘Alone?’ Mona said, giving him a coy glance beneath her lashes and glancing round the crowded street. ‘This ain’t exactly a quiet spot, Mr Garnett.’
‘No, but ... I mean without y-your cousin and aunt and so on. I wondered . . . what time do you finish work this evening?’
‘Not till eight or even later; it’s the run-up to Christmas, you see, an’ we’ve a load o’ wreaths an’ such to make,’ Mona said gloomily. ‘I’m doin’ a weddin’ now . . . but tomorrer, now . . . I’ll be off be six tomorrer.’
‘Ah! Well, how would you like to come to the theatre with me? Or for a run in the car? It’s new ... I wouldn’t mind taking her for a spin, we could eat first . . . there are several good places near here . . . what d’you say?’
‘We-ell,’ Mona murmured. ‘I dunno . . . you’re me cousin’s boss ...’
‘I know what you mean, but we needn’t tell anyone, need we?’ he said, turning and taking the bouquet out of her arms. ‘Tell you what, I’ll keep mum if you will. You can say you’re working late again, making more wreaths.’ He gave her what he no doubt imagined was a suggestive smile and patted her head rather as if she were a large and possibly dangerous dog, Mona thought. ‘Well, what d’you think?’
‘It would be lovely, Mr Garnett,’ Mona said quickly, before he could change his mind. ‘It would be real nice to go out with . . . with a young gentleman.’
He raised thin brows. ‘Oh? Don’t try to tell me you’re not in the habit of going out with chaps, Miss Mullins, for that I won’t believe! You’re far too pretty to stay at home alone, night after night.’
‘I used to go out a bit,’ Mona said, looking soulful. ‘But now I’m livin’ wi’ me aunt an’ me cousin, she likes us to go around together. I’m awful fond of our Rosie, but there’s times when I’d enjoy a bit more freedom. She’s ever so sweet, but only a kid, you know.’
‘Very well, then. Mum’s the word, hey? And I’ll meet you . . . let’s see, shall we say outside that newsagent’s? And would five past six suit?’
‘Yes, it would be grand,’ Mona said, handing him the bouquet. ‘Tomorrer night, at five past six then, Mr Garnett. I’ll look forward to it.’
‘And you can call me Garnett; they only use the “mister” in the office because we’re all Evans and it would be a bit confusing otherwise, eh, what?’ He laughed, then walked round the car and opened the driver’s door. ‘Until tomorrow evening then, Miss Mullins.’
So now, Mona began to make her plans. She had her eye on Tommy, as a sort of back-stop, so he mustn’t find out that she was seeing Mr Garnett, and she dared not let Rose or Aunt Lily know. They wouldn’t like it. She did not quite know why, but she knew that disapproval would follow an announcement that she was going out with Rose’s boss. Never mind, though. If it got serious, if it looked as though Mr Garnett was going to pop the question, then she could always move out, or brazen it out, whichever seemed the better. And what was more, if she said she had a feller, sort of introduced him slowly, then it was just possible that Rose and Aunt Lily would not only approve, but would see, as clearly as Mona did herself, that she was doing the right, the sensible thing.
Though there was no denying he was a plain feller. His long, thin face was miserable-looking, and he had long, thin hands too – damp hands. Mona had always disliked damp hands. And then there were the pimples; folk said fellers grew out of pimples but that Garnett must be in his mid-twenties and his chin and brow were fair pitted with the things. And he had that voice so many of his type had ... the sort of voice, Mona thought, that Miss Ellis and she both tried to imitate when they were serving important customers. Well, imitating it was all very well, but to have to use it always ... and to have it sounding in your ears from across the breakfast table – heavens, from the next pillow – would be a trial, to put it no stronger. I wonder if I can stand listenin’ to it, Mona thought crossly, let alone do it meself always, not just on special occasions.
But she comforted herself with the thought that she needn’t try to talk posh herself, not when she was out with Garnett. It wasn’t like work, when you needed to impress people. Mr Garnett wasn’t interested in her accent, he was interested in her – well, in her body. And personality an’ brains an’ that, Mona reminded herself hurriedly. Once she’d got him there’d be no need to crack her jaw trying to sound like someone she wasn’t.
In the other bed, Rose gave a muffled snort and turned over. If I don’t give over worryin’ an’ get to sleep soon, it’ll be mornin’ an’ I’ll be no manner o’ use in the shop, Mona reminded herself despairingly. So I better stop thinkin’ about that long streak of misery and concentrate on his sports car, his handmade shoes an’ the money he brings home each week. Wasn’t it just like fate, now, that Tommy was good-looking, fun, amusing . . . and a bleedin’ tram driver, whilst the other . . .
With a muffled groan, Mona heaved the bedding up over her shoulder and began to think about Tommy, to imagine that he was suddenly rich, that he had come into a fortune which some old geezer had left him for . . . for stoppin’ the bleedin’ tram right outside his door an’ savin’ him a long walk. It was a good day-dream, for Mona had recognised in Tommy something – she could not for the life of her have said what – which spoke to something in herself. And very soon it was no longer a day-dream. Mona slept.
Sean watched the sudden change in his son’s attitude to Rose – and Mona – and was delighted. He could see that it would make life much easier for Colm whilst he himself was enjoying his Christmas in Dublin, but it was not only that. Anyone with half an eye, Sean had been telling himself for weeks, could see Colm was always making calf’s eyes at Mona. She was very like that Nell MacThomas who had made such mischief at Switzer’s and had actually been responsible for getting Colm the sack. Why he should gravitate to another blonde good-time girl Sean could not understand, for his son was bright enough in other ways. He had good friends at work, all of whom Sean liked, and over the months that they had toiled on the tunnel together he had grown to trust Colm as a fellow worker who pulled his weight, could be relied upon, and was polite and tactful to those in command. It was, Sean thought now as he made his way to the tram stop, just the female sex who seemed to put his son in a flat spin.
But a few days ago he had begun to realise that Colm had changed. He no longer talked about Mona as though she were a mixture between a saint and a film star. And what was perhaps better, he did not speak of Rose as though she were anything but a pretty, sensible young thing. But his eyes gave him away. They softened when they fell on Rose, into a completely different look from that which Colm had been wont to give Mona. When he had regarded Mona there had been hunger, apprehension . . . but never a hint of the sort of glow which filled Colm’s eyes now when Rose came into the room. You could see he liked Rose, respected her and regarded her as someone very special. But you could also see that he wanted to be with her; he had taught her to ride the bicycle and that, Sean thought now as he made his way towards the tram stop, had just been the start of it. Since then they had been to the cinema together, and spent a couple of happy evenings shopping for Christmas extras in Paddy’s market and also – the opposite end of the scale – in Lewis’s.
Sure an’ I’ll have so much to tell me darlin’ Eileen when I get home that I’ll not stop talkin’ for the fortnight, Sean thought contentedly, climbing onto the tram and giving the conductor his money. She worries about her boy – it’s only natural – but now I’ll be able to reassure her. She’s said, over and over, that a dacint girleen would be the makin’ of him and though I know very well she had an Irish rose in mind, she’ll like the English rose when she meets her. Indeed, he intended to give such a glowing report of their landlady’s daughter that Eileen would fall for her at once, and long for nothing more than that Colm and she should find their happiness together.
He had felt desperately sorry for the lad as they had realised that Colm would not be able to go home to Ireland when his father did. They had plotted how he might come home just for Christmas Day itself, taking the ferry back on Boxing Day, but had decided it was too expensive – and too unsettling – for the bare day. And now he could see that Colm was very well content and would not want to go back to Dublin even had the foreman changed his mind and told him to buy his ticket and stay until his father returned. He wanted to be with Rose, and Sean knew that both Ryders would see that his son had a good time and did not spend the day moping.
It’s a weight off me mind, Sean told himself, beginning to stand up and make his way to the exit, for his stop was approaching. Now I’ll be able to go home without feeling mean and selfish, because I’ll know that Colm’s where he wants to be and is having a great time. Why, they might come to a proper understanding over the holiday, which would be best for everyone. It wasn’t that he thought Colm would suddenly begin to turn to Mona again, but he would be happier when young Rose and his Colm had actually committed themselves. At the moment they tried to pretend that they were seeing more of each other because they were both at a loose end, but Sean knew it wasn’t that. Oh, Mona seemed to be out most evenings and had disappeared for the whole day the previous Sunday and Tommy, who Sean considered was just the sort to lead a girl up the garden path and leave her in the lurch, had also been off somewhere most of the time. But Colm would have gone out with Rose regardless, Sean was sure of it, only he realised it was all new to them and they wanted it to be their secret for a little longer, until they felt sure enough to admit a certain fondness.
The tram stopped and Sean swung himself off the platform and set off towards William Brown Street. He and Colm were on different shifts now, though usually they went to work together. But because most of the Irish would be taking the full two weeks off, Colm had been put on a late shift, so Sean was by himself this morning.
As he turned down into the mighty beginnings of the tunnel, with the huge machinery clattering and men shouting, Sean thought happily: not long now and I’ll be out of it. Back with my darlings, handing out the presents Colm and me’s took so long in choosing ... and then it’ll be big fires and good food, and a bed warmed by the prettiest woman in Dublin . . . and herself in my arms, soft and tender and giving, the way she’s always been.
‘Why’s youse got that soppy look on yer fizz?’ someone shouted and a huge navvy, even taller than Sean himself, grabbed his shoulders and twirled him round. ‘T’inkin’ about your woman, Paddy? An’ what you’ll be doin’ a week today?’
Sean felt his cheeks grow hot and ducked under the other man’s guard to give him a sharp poke in the stomach. ‘It’s all very well for you, Scouser. Wit’ your bed warm each night an’ your own woman to cook your vittles, you’ve got not’in’ to dream about!’
The large man guffawed and pretended to clutch the stomach, hard as iron, which Sean had just punched. ‘Don’t you go knockin’ me about, Paddy, or youse won’t be home for Christmas after all, ’cos if I’m off work, who’s to keep the others at it, hey?’
‘They’d probably manage well enough wit’out either of us,’ Sean said. He and the big man did the same job though on different shifts. ‘Anythin’ to report, have ye?’
‘There’s been a blockage in one of the drainage headings, but there’s men clearin’ it now. You’ll not need to worry about it. What’s it like above?’
Once you got down into the main tunnel, the weather above was a matter of guesswork until someone came down to start his own shift. Grinning, Sean said, ‘It’s rainin’ ink, feller,’ and then, when the big man growled warningly, added: ‘Well, it’s what I’d be callin’ brass monkey weather if I was as foul-mouthed as the rest of ye! I’d call it bleedin’ chill, though. I’m wonderin’ if we’ll be havin’ a white Christmas?’
‘Nah! Never ‘appens,’ the big man said. ‘Right, now you’re here I’m off. See you tomorrer. Don’t do nothin’ I wouldn’t do.’
*
‘Rosie! Come here a tick, queen.’
Rose had been about to leave the kitchen for her bedroom, where she meant to wrap parcels, but at her mother’s words she stopped in full flight, with the reel of string, the coloured paper and a quantity of ribbon in her arms. ‘What is it, Mam? Only I want to get these things wrapped up and out of the way tonight, if I can. It’s just lucky that Mona’s out, an’ Colm, an’ Tommy, too, so I can get on quietly for once.’
‘I won’t keep you long, chuck,’ Lily Ryder said. She had been making pastry and cutting it into rounds, but now she put her cutter down and signed deeply. ‘The fact is, Rosie, I wanted a word wi’ you whilst there weren’t no one else around, so seeing as the place is quiet, for once, it seemed a good opportunity. Where’s Mr O’Neill, d’you know? Mr Dawlish won’t be back in port for another two or three days so he’s not likely to come walkin’ in on us.’ As Lily had guessed, Pete Dawlish’s decision to come ashore and do an office job had not lasted. He had missed the sea terribly and as soon as the opportunity presented itself once more he had signed on and gone back to his ship.
‘Mr O’Neill’s gone to the shops wi’ Colm,’ Rose said a little impatiently. ‘I wanted to go too, but I got to get these things wrapped. Fire away, Mam, do.’
‘Well, I will, though I wish . . . Rosie, did you take some money from my dressing-table yesterday?’
‘Money? No, ‘course not. How much?’ Rose said without undue concern. Just lately, her mother had been awfully absent-minded and indeed careless about money. She had put eighteen and sixpence in the old teapot on the mantel in the kitchen and when she went to get it, it had gone. There had been a bit of a hullabaloo, until Mrs Kibble had come in from the front room and said it was neatly piled up on the window-sill. Then there was the milk money, which her mother had stood ready by the back door, or thought she had. Only it wasn’t there when she wanted it, and so she’d had to borrow off Rose and really scrat around to pay her back. The trouble was, the back door had been open for most of the day, since she and Mrs Kibble had been going in and out with armfuls of linen. It was a fine day and they had decided to wash and – hopefully – dry the loose covers from the front room, hence the open door, so anyone could have picked up the money and walked off with it.
Whatever had happened to it, it had not been found in some spot where her mother might absently have laid it, and certainly Mrs Ryder trusted her boarders absolutely . . . but the money had gone somewhere, there was no doubt about it.
‘Are you sure, queen? You know I wouldn’t mind if you had – it would be a relief, honest to God. You see, it were on the dressing-table when I come back from Paddy’s market, yet this mornin’, when I went to put it back in me purse, it weren’t there.’
‘Oh, Mam . . . are you sure you put it there? Remember the teapot money that time. As for takin’ it meself, of course I didn’t, an’ if I had, wouldn’t I have told you? It’s not as if you’re ever mean wi’ me, or take too much off me, like some mams do.’
‘Thank you, queen,’ Lily Ryder said, turning from the sink and crossing the kitchen to give her daughter a hug. ‘No, but you’ve got to ask everyone ... Agueda says she’s gettin’ suspicious that there’s a thief hereabouts.’
‘A thief? You don’t mean one of the boarders, do you, Mam?’
‘Gracious no, I’m sure they’re all decent fellers,’ Lily said hurriedly. ‘And yesterday afternoon the window-cleaner came an’ when Agueda checked, the window weren’t properly latched. But . . . well, I’ve known old Shifty Smith twenty year, an’ I can’t believe he’d thieve from me.’
‘No-o, but what about them lads who help him?’ Rose put in. ‘Suppose one of ’em saw the money an’ slid his arm through the window? Could he have reached it from outside?’
‘I dunno. Depends whether I stood it on the left or the right an’ to tell you the truth, Rosie, I just can’t somehow ‘member exactly where I put it. Only this time I’m certain sure it were there... and it ain’t now! So you see ...’
‘Was it much money?’ Rose asked practically. ‘Or just some loose change, like?’
‘It were quite a bit . . . almost two quid,’ Lily said, sounding guilty. ‘Agueda scolded an’ said I were careless, which I suppose is true, but I never thought I’d have to be careful in me own house, Rosie. I like all me boarders, I can’t believe any of ’em would tek money, but . . . well, there’s no gettin’ away from it, it’s gone, honest to God it has. An’ I’ve been a lot more careful since the milk money went missin’, so I know it were there, even though it was gone this mornin’.’
‘I’d put money on the window-cleaner’s lad,’ Rose said, remembering the number of different young boys who had come scrambling up the ladder to give the panes a final rub with a dry chamois leather. ‘He’s always gettin’ new ones, how can he say whether they’re trustable or not? He never knows ’em long enough.’
‘I suppose it’s the likeliest answer,’ Lily admitted. ‘The trouble is, I’ve never been careful where I put things down, an’ we’ve never been short by so much as a penny... not when your dad was alive, that was.’
‘No, but then we didn’t tek boarders so there wasn’t so much comin’ an’ goin’,’ Rose pointed out. ‘What’s more, you an’ Dad cleaned our windows, didn’t you? An’ tradesmen didn’t call like they does here. And . . . well, you didn’t have money to leave about careless-like, did you. Because you were the only one who paid folk an’ you kept your cash in your purse. Now, when you’re busy, Mrs Kibble or meself or Mona will pay at the door, so you leave the money where it’s easy seen. Oh Mam, don’t worry yourself over it, but latch the windows in future when Mr Smith comes callin’.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ Lily said. She began to fit her rounds of pastry into a bun-tin which she had standing by. ‘Anyway, chuck, you go off an’ wrap your parcels and I’ll get on wi’ me mince pies. I’m doin’ some extra so’s Mr O’Neill can tek ’em home wi’ him when he goes.’
‘How about two each for after our tea?’ Rose asked hopefully. The lovely warm smell of baking was making her hungry already. ‘How about a couple for me to tek up to me room, come to that?’
Her mother laughed, but shook her head. ‘No, you’d only go gettin’ grease marks all over that nice paper. Well, I’ll give you one when you come down agin, ’cos you’ve relieved me mind. I wouldn’t like to think that old Shifty had took advantage o’ me an’ that’s a fact.’
Glad that she had put at least some of her mother’s fears to rest, Rose hurried upstairs. She had agonised over whether to buy a present for Colm, not because he might not have bought anything for her – that would be fair enough – but because getting a gift from her might have embarrassed him. She’d already got a nice tortoiseshell comb for Mrs Kibble to put in her iron-grey hair, a tablet of scented soap and some talcum powder for Mona and a brooch for her mother. She was especially pleased with the brooch, which she had saved up for ever since she had seen it in Paddy’s market, and was sure that her mother would love the tiny white enamelled lilies of the valley nestling amidst their green-enamelled leaves.
But finally she had decided that if Colm bought her a present she would produce his and if he did not she would wait until they were alone and hand hers over anyway. After careful thought, she had spent her money on a blue muffler which, she told herself, would keep him warm – and smart – all through the winter.
So now she chose a piece of bright wrapping paper and began to fold the muffler up in it, using blue ribbon to fasten the rather bulky parcel. Tomorrow, she thought joyfully as she put the wrapped parcel in her dressing-table drawer and turned her attention to the next present, tomorrow Mr O’Neill would go off for his Irish Christmas – and Mona would move into his room until he came back once more. Rose was naturally an early riser, Mona liked to lie in until the last minute and though Rose tried to tiptoe round as silently as she could she knew she usually woke Mona long before her cousin wished to greet the light of day. And Rose herself would have liked a lie-in sometimes on a Sunday morning, but if they both got up late then one of them would be hanging around waiting to use the washstand, and secretly cursing the other for her tardiness. So Rose got up early and washed first, then Mona, groaning, would drag herself out of bed and splash water around, whilst Rose brushed her hair, put on the clothes she had selected, ironed and hung up the night before, and gave her shoes a rub with the cloth she kept especially for that purpose in the pocket of her pink-and-white-checked overall.
The two girls got on well enough, but sometimes Rose missed the quiet of her own little room and felt that the two of them, dressing to go out of an evening, were always on top of one another, elbows banging, heads together to share the mirror at the last moment before rushing downstairs. Rose loved and admired many things about Mona, but knew she would enjoy Christmas all the more for the additional privacy which Mr O’Neill’s absence would give them.
Just lately, she and Mona, though they got up and dressed at roughly the same time each weekday morning, seldom went to bed at the same hour. Rose had been out with Colm several times, but they were usually home by eleven o’clock at the latest – often earlier. Mona, however, had taken to coming in well after midnight, though Rose had to admit that her cousin crept into the room and undressed so quietly that she, Rose, never woke.
But it meant, of course, that Mona got into bed still fully made-up and had to do her hair by guess in the dark. Rose had naturally curly hair – which she hated, because curly hair was not fashionable – but Mona tied her hair up in rags each night. Not into curls, it was true, but into the smooth, swooping style which she favoured. The result was that Rose felt guilty because, although she tried, she simply could not stay awake until her cousin came in, and while she apologised fervently and begged Mona to put the light on and bustle about all she liked, Mona would not. ‘Don’t worry, Rosie, I’m gettin’ a dab hand at undressin’ in the dark an’ puttin’ me hair into rags by touch,’ she had said consolingly, when Rose talked to her about it. ‘As for not washin’ before I gerrin to bed, what does it matter? I wash in the mornin’, don’t I?’
But mornings were always a rush, and Rose knew that the cat’s lick and promise which Mona gave herself when she had the use of the washstand, before re-applying her make-up, was not the sort of scrub, from top to toe, which she should have had.
But at least from tomorrow we’ll be in our own rooms for a couple of weeks and we’ll have all the time in the world in the mornings, she told herself now, finishing off the packing of her last parcel and heading for the stairs once more. Only because it’s Christmas, I dare say we’ll both be going to bed pretty late. Isn’t that just how things always work out, though? But at least we’ll have a basin and jug each instead of sharing the one, and whoever wants a lie-in can have it without being disturbed by the other.
Having finished her parcels, she glanced thoughtfully about the room. She must hide the presents – particularly Mona’s – because her cousin must not spoil the surprise by seeing what she had bought her before Christmas Day, but where to put them was a puzzle.
In the end, she put them right at the very back of her underwear drawer and crossed her fingers that Mona’s curiosity would not lead her to snoop. She did not think it would, but she knew that if Mona needed clean knickers and did not have a pair to hand, she would borrow a pair of Rose’s though she would always ask, of course. But sometimes she doesn’t wait for me to answer, Rose reminded herself. Still, the parcels are at the back – and I can tell Mona they’re there and warn her not to look. I’m sure she won’t if she knows.
Downstairs in the kitchen her mother was still cooking and, when Rose appeared, smiled rather wearily and pointed to a clean pink china plate upon which reposed a number of mince pies. ‘Help yourself to any o’ them,’ she said. ‘I’m onto sausage rolls now – how I hate the dratted things! All that rolypolying ... why can’t they be an easier shape, eh?’
Rose laughed and took a mince pie. ‘Oh Mam, you’re daft,’ she said, biting into the rich, crumbly pastry. ‘How about if I finish the sausage rolls then, while you make us both a mug of cocoa?’
‘Bless you, Rosie,’ Lily said gratefully, laying down her rolling pin and going over to the sink to wash her hands. ‘A change is as good as a rest, they say. And I reckon another dozen will see us through the festive season. Where’s your cousin gone tonight, then? Out wi’ Tommy?’
‘Dunno,’ Rose said briefly, curling her pastry round the sausage meat and cutting it off, then brushing the two long sides with water and sticking them firmly together. ‘She worked late, that I do know, but what she’s doing after that I’m not sure about. She likes Tommy, doesn’t she, Mam?’
‘So do we all,’ her mother said, then took the big black kettle from the fire and began to fill it at the sink, raising her voice to combat the gush of the water. ‘We’re a happy little crowd, ain’t we, queen? We’re awful lucky, you know. Not everyone who takes in lodgers gets along like we do. And as for Mona liking Tommy, I’d say they was just friends. Still an’ all, it’s best to be friends, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes, sure,’ Rose said absently. She chopped the two-foot sausage roll she had made into four-inch pieces and began to place them on the greased baking tray her mother had prepared. ‘Ah, there’s someone comin’ through the yard. If it’s Mona, she’s early for once.’
But when the back door opened presently it proved to be Colm and his father, rosy-faced from the cold and sniffing the warm cooking smell appreciatively.
‘That’s a grand smell, so it is,’ Mr O’Neill said, eyeing the mince pies. ‘Don’t they look beautiful, sittin’ there on that plate just waitin’ to be et? Only I suppose they’re for Christmas,’ he added mournfully. ‘And there’s me an’ Colm wit’ our bellies flappin’ against our backbones an’ all our money spent on Christmas presents.’
‘Oh get along wi’ you, Mr O’Neill,’ Lily Ryder said, laughing. ‘Them mince pies is a bit of a supper for us all – an’ there’ll be some sausage rolls too, only you’ll ha’ to leave ’em to cool. Hot sausage meat can scar a feller for life.’
‘I’ll chance it,’ Sean O’Neill said, taking off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks on the back door. ‘And wouldn’t you know it, now, young Rosie’s got the lead on us, Colm, she’s gobblin’ one already. Come on, let’s show these Ryders what an O’Neill can do in the way of appreciatin’ good food.’
The theatre trip had been exciting and enjoyable, despite Garnett trying to cuddle her for most of the performance and Mona, who wanted to concentrate on the play, having to be quite nimble at times, but now, sitting beside Garnett in his car as he drove her – he said – to a special and excellent restaurant, she began to feel the first stirrings of disquiet. Would they end up at a hotel with a meal – and a room – prebooked? God knew, Mona pondered, several times she had thought him keen as mustard, but he had always drawn back at the last moment. In a way this suited her, he was so long and thin and miserable-looking and so incredibly inept and clumsy – he usually managed to tread on her toes at least once every dance and to shut her coat in the car door, or to leave one of his own gloves at the cinema, dance-hall or theatre they had been frequenting – but she told herself that if – if – he tried to take liberties she really should let him go at least a bit further. She was doing her best to prove to him that she was a decent girl, the sort of girl who wouldn’t allow ’that kind of thing’, yet she also had subtly to encourage him or he might simply lose interest and move on to some other, easier girlfriend.
So she had not stopped him kissing and caressing, within reason that was, and usually he would draw the car to a halt in some quiet spot and begin to cuddle, always stopping, however, when she made it plain that he must do so or earn her considerable displeasure. Yet, so far, he had not suggested that their friendship might go further, had not taken that final step into intimacy, and Mona guessed that Garnett somehow knew that she would want more than a few expensive outings before she would even consider giving him her all.
In fact, she had made no secret of her rules, if rules you could call them. Kissing was all right, cuddling was fine, too, so long as too many liberties were not taken, but the ultimate prize was being saved, she told him righteously, for a real commitment. An engagement ring and a promise of wedded bliss had to be at least in view.
Of course she had not put it quite so bluntly as that, but Garnett was no fool and had clearly realised what she meant, and the moment she gave her ’desist’ sign – a kick in the shins or a french burn of the wrist proving a common language a good deal plainer than a ’that’s enough!’ had proved to be – he stopped whatever he was doing and returned to the straight and narrow.
Mona’s difficulty came because she had a shrewd suspicion that Garnett would want at least to sample the goods before he bought, to put it plainly. However, she was none too sure of how far he needed to go before deciding whether he wanted to burn his boats and settle for an engagement at the very least. And she did not intend to agree to a word-of-mouth engagement sealed by some trumpery piece of jewellery, either. A solitaire diamond ring with the stone the size of a sixpenny joe would, if the marriage did not actually come off, prove a consolation, she thought.
So if he had booked a hotel bedroom, what should she do? If she went upstairs with him, she realised shrewdly, she could scarcely act the injured innocent when he started to make the obvious moves. But if she refused ... oh Lor’, would she lose him altogether? He was her best chance so far of a good marriage, and the fact was, the more she got to know him the more she liked him. Despite what she believed Aunt Lily thought, she had only ever made love to one man during her time treading the pavements outside Lime Street station, and that was because she had honestly believed she had found herself a proper husband at last. They might have married, too, had not her mother made mischief. No, Mona had always played fair, at least by her standards. Right from the start she had known what she wanted and made it clear to any man who approached her that she was just a companion, a dancing partner, someone to be seen around with, and would never hop into bed on a mere acquaintanceship.
She had very little trouble, either, because she froze the wrong sort off with a threat to call the scuffers if they pestered her again, an’ what sort o’ a gal did they think she was, then? And even then she had had a shrewd eye for the right sort and had allowed them a little more licence. But she could scarcely pretend she didn’t know Garnett, after three weeks or so of constant outings and treats. He had bought her pretty things – a silk scarf, a gold charm bracelet and some charms to hang on it – and there was no denying his generosity in other ways too. Always the best seats at the theatre, the most delicious chocolates, the grandest and most expensive meals in restaurants which she had not known existed – at least, not from personal experience.
The trouble was, she was no longer as single-minded as she had once been and that was because of Tommy Frost. She really liked him; his wonderfully neat and experienced dancing meant that she danced wonderfully too, when in his arms. His gaiety was a tonic and it never mattered what she said to him – she had to watch her tongue with Garnett – because he was her own kind. And his kissing simply set her on fire, made her long to throw her rules to the wind and let him go on ... except that he never did. He seemed to know by some instinct what was the right moment to stop. It’s my misfortune, Mona thought miserably now, that he stops just when I least want him to, when I’m all on fire for more.
He understood her meetings with Garnett, too. Without a word of reproach he hung around the house or sat in his window until he saw her come in, then he would steal down to the kitchen in his socks and they would make their cocoa and get out the biscuit tin and talk and talk. Tommy intended to make his fortune in some unspecified fashion before he was thirty and they discussed the sort of car he would drive, the house he would buy and the way all his old colleagues on the trams would envy him. Then, when the time came for them to go to their own rooms, he always gave her a kiss and a cuddle, though he never overstepped the mark. He did take her out occasionally, but so far as that went he couldn’t compete with Garnett Evans, though she found him pleasanter and easier company.
Me and Tommy, we’re two of a kind, she reminded herself now, as the car’s headlights lit up the white country road. We’re both determined to make our fortunes – oh, how I wish we could make them together!
‘You’re very quiet, Mona, my dear.’
She had been thinking about Tommy so ardently that the sound of Garnett’s voice came as a real shock; she jumped, then laughed rather breathlessly and turned to face him. ‘Sorry, Garnett, I were a thousand miles away. Where are we goin’? You didn’t say it were way out from the city – you don’t mean to make me lose me beauty sleep, I hope?’ The coquettishness of her tone was enlivened by a little genuine worry – had she sounded cheap?
But if so, Garnett did not appear to mind. ‘We’re going along the coast, my dear, to an excellent restaurant where I’ve booked us a corner table in a quiet spot by the log fire – you’ll love it. As for missing your beauty sleep, don’t fret your pretty little head. I’ll see you get home in good time – don’t I always?’
‘Yes, always,’ Mona said, and spoke no more until they drew up outside a large comfortable-looking house with a number of smart cars already parked before it. Garnett saw her out and into the hall, where he spoke to a man in tails about their table, whilst Mona went to the cloakroom and divested herself of coat, hat and long leather boots. She had brought her court shoes in her bag and popped them on, then checked herself in the large, pink-tinted mirror which hung on one wall. Her hair was tousled and she was rather pale, but a comb and a quick flick with her little rouge pad soon cured that, and out she went to join Garnett in the hall.
‘Ah, lovely as ever,’ Garnett said gallantly. ‘Mona, I’ve just discovered that the confounded manager has made a muddle and our quiet table has been double-booked. But I’ve hired a private room and our meal will be served there. How does that suit you?’
Mona stared. A private room? Did he mean a ... a bedroom? But he was not looking guilty or shifty or anything like that, just enquiring, with his rather bulging pale eyes fixed on her face and one long pale hand fingering the bow tie at his neck.
‘Umm ... I suppose it’s all right,’ she said at last. One good thing – she was not in the least afraid of Garnett. If necessary she firmly believed she could scream louder, scratch harder and run more swiftly than her companion. ‘Let’s take a look.’
The room proved to be a small sitting-room with the promised log fire, a table and two chairs set temptingly close to the lovely warmth, and a comfortable-looking couch. It was not a bedroom nor a boudoir, whatever a boudoir might be. Mona did not know, but she believed it was a very compromising sort of room.
‘Well?’ Garnett asked. ‘Shall I tell the fellow to bring our meal in about ten minutes? Give you a chance to have a drink of something warming and to settle yourself.’
‘All right,’ Mona conceded graciously. She crossed the room and sat on one end of the couch, then patted the cushion beside her. ‘Do sit down, Garnett, and stop fidgeting about like that.’
Garnett had been poking at the fire one minute and standing up to peer at the contents of the bookshelves which flanked the fireplace the next. Now he looked across at her and grinned. ‘You sound just like my mother,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She’s always telling me to sit down and stop fidgeting.’
‘Well, do it then,’ Mona demanded. ‘Then you can tell me what we’re goin’ to have for our supper.
‘I ordered asparagus soup, roast duck and all the trimmings, and a raspberry Pavlova to follow,’ Garnett told her, taking his place beside her and putting an arm round her waist. ‘And now that we’re on our own at last, I’ve got a proposition to put to you.’
‘We’re often on our own,’ Mona said rather uneasily. ‘What d’you mean, Garnett?’
‘I’ve told the waiter not to serve dinner until I ring the bell,’ Garnett said, his long face flushing. ‘I... I’ve been wanting to ask you something for weeks, Mona, but somehow I never seemed to get the opportunity. So just listen to me for once and don’t interrupt or I’ll take the whole evening to come out with it. It’s like this...’