‘Sorry.’
Swilling his tea into the sink, he picked her up by the shoulders and, looking her straight in the eye, warned, ‘Don’t kid yourself you’ve got it made, lady. I could be rid of you tomorrow if I had a mind. Don’t forget that.’
Lottie cursed herself for having got it wrong. ‘I won’t,’ she murmured. ‘And don’t you forget, I could be gone from here when you get back. Then how would you feel?’
The smile began at the corners of his mouth, then he was grinning. ‘That’s what I like about you,’ he admitted. ‘You’ve always got summat to say for yourself.’
He kissed her soundly on the mouth, then thrust her away. ‘We’re one short on the Waltzer,’ he said. ‘Julie’s gone down with the flu, so we need somebody to take the money. It’s a hard, demanding job, with no time to catch your breath.’ He was testing her. ‘D’you think you could handle it?’
Lottie was thrilled. ‘I can handle anything, me.’
‘Right.’ He glanced at Lottie’s shoes; pretty things with ankle straps and medium high heels. ‘You can’t wear them fancy things,’ he warned her. ‘Not when you’re jumping on and off the Waltzer at speed. Get summat sensible on your feet. I’ll see you over there in an hour, and be sharp about it.’
‘I’ll have to ask Lily if it’s all right.’
‘Forget Fatso – I’ll see to her. You just turn up at the Waltzer quick as you can. All right?’
Lottie was looking forward to it. ‘It’s harder work than the coconut shy, so I’ll want double wages.’
He chuckled. ‘That’s what I mean,’ he said. ‘You make me laugh.’
He was still laughing as he closed the door behind him.
* * *
Sandra had been on the move for two days.
Having followed Dave’s trail, she was weary and spent, and aching to see him. ‘At last!’ Standing on the footbridge over the river, she looked across the field to the fairground; against the night sky the lights twinkled and shone, and the cool air was filled with music.
Peering into the semi-darkness, she read the name written across the entrance in blazing lights: MULLIGAN’S PARK. Len Mulligan owned the fair. His brother owned a bigger one. When Sandra had arrived in Skegness, and sobbed with disappointment to find out she had followed the wrong fair, Len’s brother himself had taken pity on her and directed her here.
Sandra smiled. ‘This is it, Dave. You’ll not get away from me again, I can promise you that.’
Filled with delight at having finally found him, the tiredness of her long journey seemed to fall away. At a run, she followed the path up the hill, past the caravan site and into the field, her eyes searching for the familiar wagon.
She knew it like the back of her own hand… dark blue, with a green door and window-frames, and the picture of a nude woman stuck to the windscreen.
And there it was – tucked away behind the generator, only it wasn’t tacky like when she last saw it. ‘Been smashing it up again, have yer?’ she laughed. ‘Had to give it a new coat o’ paint, did yer?’
Her gaze went to the windscreen. ‘An’ where’s yer precious pin-up gone, eh?’ For a minute she was puzzled. She had once tried to tear down that picture, and got a hiding for her pains. ‘You don’t touch what belongs to me,’ he had said. ‘This is my home and these are my belongings. Don’t forget that, bitch!’
She had been upset, but later they had made up in bed, and she forgave him. But never again did she touch any of his belongings.
Going to the wagon, she turned the knob and tried to push open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. That’s strange, she thought. He’s never locked it before. She looked about. There was no one in the immediate vicinity that she could ask.
She went round the back and banged on the window, thinking he might be lazing in his bed like he used to. She peered through the windscreen and called his name. There were no lights on inside, and not a sound.
After a while she turned away, disappointed. ‘He must have had his break already and gone back to work,’ she told herself. Recalling that he used to work on both the Waltzer and the Caterpillar in turn, she saw the Caterpillar was nearest, so made her way there.
The place was thronging with people, mostly young, mostly screaming on the rides, or strolling arm-in-arm, or pressed up against some stationary object, frantically fumbling each other.
The fairground did that to people… sucked them into a fantasy world and made them abandon their usual inhibitions.
She soon realised he wasn’t on the Caterpillar. ‘Have you seen Dave?’ she called to the operator, but he just shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry. Don’t know anybody called Steve.’ The roar of the machines was deafening. ‘I’ve only just started. You might ask Lily, on the coconut shy. She seems to know everybody.’
‘Thanks.’ There seemed no point in trying to hold a conversation with him over this racket.
She glanced across at Lily, who was busy replacing the coconuts on their stands. ‘Lily the fat lady. Still ’ere then, you old bag?’ she muttered. A wicked little smile fluttered across Sandra’s tired face. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be pleased to see me. Never did like me, did yer?’ She spat on the ground. ‘But then I never liked you neither, so we’re quits.’
Before Lily could look up and see her, she was off to the Waltzer to find Dave. To tell him he would soon be a daddy and that, whether he wanted a family or not, he’d got one in the making so he’d better get used to it.
The Waltzer was the most popular ride on the fair. Great buckets of colour and speed were packed from side to side with old and young alike, each bucket whizzing round on its own track, round and round, up and down, faster and faster, its occupants screaming and laughing through the wild music, and, on occasion, being sick over their own feet.
Sandra loved the fair; she loved the rides and the music, and all the noise. Any other time she might have paid her money and climbed aboard. But not tonight. Tonight, she had more important things to do. She had to find Dave.
And suddenly, there he was!
Thrilled at the sight of him, she ran, waving her arms and shouting at the top of her voice, ‘Dave! Dave, it’s me… Sandra!’
The music was so loud he couldn’t hear her. Head down and eyes intent on the riders, he hopped from one bucket to the next, collecting the money and dropping it into the pouch round his waist. Now the Waltzer was gaining speed and he had no time to look up.
‘Dave!’ Jumping up and down on the edge of the ride, Sandra kept on waving and shouting, desperate for him to see her. Soon, realising she wouldn’t be able to attract his attention, she lowered her arms and leaned against the pillar. ‘I can wait,’ she smiled happily. ‘Now that I’ve found you, what do a few more minutes matter?’
She recognised Tom, the mechanic; he was in the eye of the storm, the centre of the ride, where he operated the machine and smoked his old roll-ups which, according to Lily, ‘stank like ’osses’ droppings’.
There was somebody else there, too. A girl.
From where Sandra stood, and with the ride going full pelt, people waving their arms and being thrown about, and the buckets swinging noisily past, she couldn’t get a good look at her. All she could see was her long, fair hair and her slim figure, and the way she was waving at Dave, who by now was standing on the far edge of the ride.
As Sandra watched, Dave waved back and then began to wend his way skilfully across, avoiding the whirring buckets.
Mesmerised, Sandra followed his progress.
She saw him leap down, into the eye of the storm. She saw him slide both arms round the girl, and when he bent his head to kiss her, a long and passionate kiss, she felt her heart turn upside down. ‘Dave!’ His name rang out in a sob from her lips, but he still didn’t hear. He was too engrossed with the girl.
Without thought for her own safety, Sandra climbed up. Holding on to a pillar with one arm, she waved, yelling his name again and again, but the buckets shot past and her voice was carri
ed away in the rush of air.
It was when she saw him sliding his hand up the girl’s skirt that her senses exploded. With a cry of ‘No… NO!’ she ran forward, dodging the buckets as they came at her.
For a while she seemed to be doing all right. But the buckets were fast and, unlike Dave, she had never learned to dodge them properly. One after the other they came at her, these great iron monsters, swinging round, riding the tracks up and down like fiends from hell. People were shouting at her; others on the outside gesturing frantically, confusing her until she couldn’t concentrate. Now, all she could see was Dave. And the girl.
Suddenly, alerted by all the commotion, Dave finally swung round and saw her, and his eyes widened like saucers. She could read his mouth, saw the word ‘JESUS!’ Leaping on to the ride, he yelled something to Tom, who was desperately trying to stop the machine, but once you let the beast loose, it was hard to call it to heel. ‘For God’s sake, stand still!’ She knew what he was saying. ‘Hold on to the pillar!’ Now the girl had turned and was looking at Sandra, her eyes filled with horror.
Sandra knew her then, and was devastated. ‘My God! It’s Lottie Tattersall!’ The realisation threw her off-balance, leaving her momentarily vulnerable.
When the bucket hit her, she was thrown like a rag doll. As she fell, she saw them both; Dave running at her, hopping from one bucket to the other like he was born to it, and Tom, frantically weighing down on the lever to bring the monster to a halt. And Lottie, her hands to her face, a look of sheer terror in her eyes.
After the first, swift blow, Sandra felt nothing. Crunched between the tracks, she was helpless. The iron chairs swung at her time and again, pinning her there, defenceless against the crippling blows. And though there were those who risked their own safety to get her out, there was nothing they could do.
By the time they got to her, she was showered in her own blood, her poor body twisted and broken. ‘God Almighty!’ Falling to his knees beside her, Dave took her tenderly into his arms. ‘Sandra, Sandra! What in God’s name were you thinking of?’ He could feel the life ebbing out of her.
She smiled up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. Dave was holding her. That was why she had come here; the only reason. ‘For you,’ she murmured, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it.
He shook his head and pressed her to him. ‘You fool.’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘You bloody fool!’
Safe in his arms, she looked up and saw Lottie. She didn’t mind. Not now. Not when she was the one carrying his child. And so she smiled on Lottie, and felt his mouth close gently over hers. And nothing mattered any more.
* * *
After the furore came the silence. A hushed, awe-filled silence, and a sense of horror that something so terrible could have happened right before their eyes.
The ride limped to a halt and people milled round. Some were rooted to the spot, unable to speak, others screamed and then quietly sobbed. One old man had gone for help, but it came too late. The police, the ambulance – all were too late.
It was an accident, they said. She ran on to the ride and lost her footing. Shocked and humbled, the people began to drift away.
Dave remained for a long time, holding the dead girl close, talking to her. Unaware that she was carrying his child.
The policeman was gentle. ‘Come away, son,’ he urged. ‘Let the officers do their work.’
Shaking in his every limb, Dave left Sandra’s body, but he did not go far. Instead, he watched them lift her out from between the tracks, and he covered his face, unable to take in the horror.
Shaking uncontrollably, Lottie was out of her mind. ‘It was Sandra!’ she kept saying. ‘Sandra Craig.’ Between the sobs, she grew hysterical. ‘She was Molly’s best friend.’ And try as they might, they could not console her.
When Lily arrived on the scene, Lottie fell into her arms, her screams swelling louder and louder as she realised the enormity of what had happened.
‘Stop it!’ Raising her hand, Lily smacked the girl hard across the face. At first Lottie was stunned into silence, her shocked eyes uplifted to Lily’s face. After a minute, the tears came again, this time quieter, rolling down her face as she stared up at Lily in disbelief. ‘It was Sandra,’ she sobbed. ‘She’s dead, Lily… Sandra’s dead!’
‘I know, sweetheart, I know.’ Holding her tight, the fat woman rocked her back and forth, until Dave came to take her away.
‘Ssh, Lottie,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve got you now. Ssh!’
As he walked her back to the wagon, he felt a terrible grief, an emotion he had never experienced before. Sandra had come to find him. Now she was gone – and he was the one to blame.
Knowledge like that was a heavy cross to bear.
Part Three
JANUARY 1949
A SECRET KEPT
Chapter Nineteen
When they laid Sandra to rest in the garden of St Mary’s Church, the priest made a mention of the bright sunshine.
‘Sometimes, in the middle of a grey winter’s day, a ray of sunshine breaks through to lift our hearts, and give us hope. Sandra Craig was like that; a little tempest one moment, a ray of sunshine the next. Exasperating, infuriating, immensely funny, and never still.’
He smiled at the recollection. ‘Many was the time I had to reprimand her for one thing or another… as did her mother, Rosie, I know.’ He winked comfortingly at Rosie, whose eyes were bright with tears. ‘There were days when Sandra could make it feel like winter, then there were other days when her humour made you smile and lifted your heart. She taught us never to take her for granted. She was young and vibrant, and lived her life to the full. Today, we thank the Lord for letting us know her, albeit for such a short time.’
In that churchyard, in the sunshine, he made his blessing and it was done.
Quietly, sadly, they turned away; all but Molly, who lingered there, her sorry eyes downcast to the hole in the ground where her friend lay. Her thoughts went back to the happy times, and the times she had tried so hard to make Sandra see sense.
‘You never would listen, would you?’ Blinking away the tears, she gave a half smile. ‘D’you remember the day when you said you could see the cheeks of my bum up the ladder? I knew you were lying, you little blighter, but after that, I was always wary going up the ladder.’
In her mind she went over the last time she and Sandra had been together, when she had warned her about chasing after this fella of hers. Molly would never forget how Sandra had smiled then, in that serene, assured way, so unlike her. ‘I love him,’ she said. ‘Like you love Alfie.’
Remembering was too painful; it was too soon. Her tears rising, she gave up a prayer for her friend. ‘Look after her, Lord. Sometimes she was mischievous, and maybe she was too easily led. But she had a good heart, and she never hurt anyone. I’ll miss you, Sandra,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll miss your endless chatter and your teasing, and the way—’
Her voice broke. ‘Why didn’t you listen? Why did you have to go after him? Oh Sandra, if only…’
When she could no longer bear to think about it, she turned and ran from the churchyard, through the gate and down the path. Straight into Alfie’s arms.
He was as startled as Molly. ‘Are you all right?’ When he put his hands on her shoulders, she felt the warmth trembling through her.
Too choked to speak, she merely nodded, her heart pumping thirteen to the dozen. Rosie had said Alfie would be here, but Molly hadn’t seen him in the church.
Even without her asking, he explained, ‘I missed my connecting train. It made me late.’ His troubled gaze went over her shoulder to the churchyard. ‘I didn’t miss the service though.’ His face twitched into a sad little smile. ‘The vicar described her so beautifully, don’t you think?’
Molly glanced back, following his gaze and knowing how devastated he must feel. Still hurting, she didn’t know how to console him. Instead, she reached up with both hands and laid them over his. For a wonderful, heartbreaking momen
t they remained like that, he loving her so much he couldn’t tell her, and Molly, wanting to go, wanting to stay.
The moment passed and she nodded her head and went quickly down the path. When she paused at the bottom to look back, he was on his knees to Sandra, his head bowed and hands clasped.
Never had Molly seen him so vulnerable. Except, of course, for that other awful moment, when she had told him she didn’t want to wed him any more.
* * *
Outside the church, neighbours and strangers alike said what a lovely service it was and how sorry they were about Sandra. ‘A bonny lass,’ said one. ‘Her own worst enemy,’ said another, ruefully, ‘but the street won’t be the same without her, poor lass.’
Afterwards, the little party made their way back to Victoria Street; Michael and Rosie in front, then came Molly, everyone lost in their own private thoughts.
Alfie was standing by the lychgate, watching them leave, but not yet ready to go. He had come a long way and was wearied by it.
The loss of his twin sister had been a terrible blow. It was almost impossible for him to come to terms with what had happened: it was too great a shock. There were other things plaguing him, too. Things that had to be resolved one way or the other. And very soon, or he would go out of his mind.
Walking with Rosie and her father to their doorstep, Molly was concerned about Michael; the old fella was pale and wobbly on his feet. It seemed the tragic loss of Sandra, and the way it had happened, had aged him and taken its toll.
After she and Rosie had helped Michael inside, Rosie came back to the door with her. ‘Will ye mind if I pop down later on?’ she asked. ‘There’s something I want to tell ye.’
‘Come down whenever you’re ready,’ Molly replied, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘I’ll be there.’
The noise greeted Molly the minute she opened the door. When Bertha spotted her, and ran screeching all the way down the passage, the others were not far behind.
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