The yard appeared deserted but then she heard the clip-clop of hooves and the next moment a young man, jacketless and with his shirt sleeves rolled up, came out of a stable with a woman and a girl who was leading a horse. Lucy scrutinised them as they approached and realised with a sense of shock that the man was Rob Jones, the soldier who’d searched their house. Instantly she felt less sure of herself, knowing she looked far from her best. She placed her hands behind her back and gripped the handle of the cart firmly.
‘Can I help you?’ said the woman, who had a long bony face.
‘I-I’m after offcuts. I’d appreciate them if you have any?’ She glanced at Rob, who looked even younger out of uniform. He appeared to be in a mood because the eyes that met hers were stormy. ‘It’s Lucy Linden, isn’t it? On the cadge, kid?’
Lucy flinched, hating the way she must look in her grandmother’s old cut-down coat and with her hair damp with perspiration. ‘Something wrong with that, Mr Jones?’ she said truculently.
‘Did I say there was?’ He turned to the woman. ‘Give her some, Aunt Gwen. She’s in as much need as your other lame ducks.’
Lucy was not amused. ‘I’m no bloody charity case!’ she protested in a trembling voice. ‘I work for my living. I chop offcuts into firewood. If you want me to pay for them, I will!’
The three of them stared at her as if shocked and, realising she’d used a swear word, Lucy blushed and fled with her cart bumping along behind her, heading for St George’s Hill.
That was a big mistake.
Chapter Four
She lost control of the cart going downhill. It swerved into the road and she tripped over the kerb, losing her grip on the handle. The cart bounced straight in front of a horse-drawn coal wagon. The horse reared between the shafts, front legs flailing. The driver swore fluently, fighting to regain control of the beast. Lucy ignored him, thinking only of the cart and what its loss would mean to her. She shot after it, barely aware of a steam lorry hissing its way up the hill.
The hand against her back which sent her flying on to the wet cobbles came as something of a shock. Even worse was having the breath almost squashed out of her as someone landed on top of her. The steam lorry hissed past within inches of them.
A moment later the man’s weight was taken off her and she was jerked to her feet. He seized a handful of her coat and lifted her off her feet so that she was eyeball to eyeball with him. ‘You’re choking me!’ gasped Lucy.
‘I should think I am. You could have been killed!’ yelled Rob Jones. ‘Don’t you ever look where you’re going?’
‘It-It wasn’t my-my fault!’ she stammered.
‘That’s what kids always say! “It was his fault, mister, that I broke the window!”’ Rob mimicked a child’s voice.
‘I–I didn’t see the lorry!’
‘You’re not blind, are you?’ His grey eyes appeared almost charcoal and she couldn’t detect any sympathy in them.
‘I was thinking of me cart! I’m sorry if I upset you.’ Oh, why didn’t he let her go? The traffic had come to a standstill and everyone was staring at them.
‘I accept your apology.’ Rob opened his hand and she fell to the ground. She watched him hurry over to where the traffic was building up behind the coal cart. He began to give orders as if he knew what he was about.
She forced herself to look away and glanced round for her cart but it was nowhere to be seen. Her heart sank and she ran over to Rob and seized his arm. ‘I’ve lost my cart! I need it to do my firewood round!’
He shook her off and said exasperatedly, ‘What d’you expect me to do right now? Stop middering me, girl, and go home!’
‘But what about my customers? I need it! Mam’ll kill me!’ she cried despairingly.
‘I doubt it.’ He turned his back and waved on the traffic.
Lucy had an urge to drum on it with her fists but winced as she curled her fingers into her palms. She looked down at her hand and noticed an open wound with bits of grit stuck to it. She felt sick, aware how close she had come to death, and stumbled towards the pavement. Several minutes passed before she felt well enough to walk home.
It seemed to take her ages to complete the journey and she was weary by the time she arrived to find her brother sitting just inside the doorway, his skinny arms clasped about his hunched knees. He looked fed up. ‘You’ve been ages, Luce!’
‘Have I? Is Mam in?’ Feeling as exhausted as an old woman, she lowered herself down beside him.
‘Where’s your cart?’
‘I’ve lost it.’
He gasped. ‘What are you going to do? Mam’ll have a fit.’
Lucy sighed. ‘Maybe she won’t. She’ll understand when I tell her what happened.’
She got up and went in search of her mother, finding her in the kitchen, bending over the fire. The smell of barley soup almost made Lucy forget her troubles.
‘So you’re back,’ said Maureen, glancing over her shoulder. ‘You’ve been long enough.’
Lucy said in a trembling voice, ‘Mam, I lost the cart and I was nearly killed.’
Maureen dropped the ladle in the soup and took hold of her arm. ‘How? You’re not hurt?’
‘Not much. I’m sorry, Mam… about the cart.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re not badly hurt. We can find another cart. What happened?’
Words poured out of Lucy. Eventually Maureen held up her hand, palm up. ‘Enough!’
But Lucy hadn’t finished. ‘I’ll do me best to find some new pram wheels. I shouldn’t have any trouble getting an orange box.’
‘Will you stop babbling on about pram wheels and go and wash your face and hands? Get something on that graze and then come and have your supper.’
Lucy did as she was told. It was painful washing her palm but after it was done and she’d covered it with a clean piece of rag she was almost light-headed with relief. That steam lorry could have crushed her bones and flattened her like a pancake if it hadn’t been for Rob Jones. She felt calm now, drowsy even as she sat at the table. Her mother placed a steaming bowl in front of her. ‘You say the soldier who searched our house seems to be related to the woman in the timber yard? You also think he’s related to Mr Barney Jones – is that right?’
Lucy nodded.
‘Then I don’t see why our Mr Jones can’t help us with this. I’ll ask him about this timber yard and I’m sure he’ll see we get those offcuts the woman was about to give you. So stop worrying about tomorrow’s money. I’ll go up after supper and speak to him about it.’
That sounded fine to Lucy but there was only one thing wrong. ‘I’ve still got no cart, Mam. How am I going to deliver the firewood?’
Maureen didn’t look too concerned. ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’
Lucy supposed she could always carry the firewood on her back. As long as her mother was right and Barney could get her the offcuts.
Maureen left the house almost as soon as they had finished eating, telling her to see to Mick when he got in. Lucy washed the dishes and then sat on the sofa with Timmy curled up beside her and told him fairy stories. His favourite was ‘Jack the Giantkiller’.
An hour passed and there was still no sign of Mick or Maureen. Then there was a knock at the door and Lucy went to answer it. A man dumped a sack just inside the doorway. ‘Courtesy of Mr Jones,’ he said. ‘All chipped and ready to bundle up.’ Without another word he walked away.
Lucy was amazed that Barney had worked so fast. Fancy having the wood chipped for her as well! She untied the raffia fastened round the neck of the sack just to make sure the man was right and brought out a perfectly chopped chip of wood. Warmed by such kindness, she dragged the sack indoors.
It was late when Maureen arrived home and Mick was still not in. Lucy told her about the wood and her mother smiled. ‘Quick work. Lead me to the fire, kids. I’m ready to collapse.’
The three of them snuggled up on the sofa together and for a
moment nobody spoke. Then Lucy said, ‘What did Barney say when you asked him about the offcuts, Mam? Was he related to the woman?’
Maureen rubbed her chin on the top of Timmy’s head. ‘Yes. That soldier is some kind of cousin. Mr Barney Jones actually said, “If I can help somebody as I pass through this life, Mrs Linden, then my life has had some meaning.” Isn’t that a lovely thing to say, Lucy?’
‘Lovely!’ She brought her face closer to her mother’s and realised she’d been drinking. Not a lot but enough, it seemed, to put her in a very good mood. ‘Have you been to the pub, Mam?’
Maureen hummed to herself as she gazed into the fire. ‘I met Callum on his way here and he took me for a drink.’
That news didn’t please Lucy – and where was her uncle? ‘Mick isn’t home yet,’ she said.
Maureen frowned. ‘Is he not? I wonder where he is.’
They were soon to find out when he staggered home, drunk as a newt. Maureen managed to get out of him that he’d lost his job but it was not until the following lunchtime when he managed to drag himself out of bed that they discovered why.
Lucy had just returned from St George’s Hill, having gone there in the forlorn hope she might find her cart but it was nowhere to be seen. It had taken her twice as long to do her round, carrying the wood on her back. She had to find another cart, but right now her mother was more interested in finding out why Mick had been sacked.
‘The foreman didn’t like my colour,’ he said belligerently.
Maureen groaned and put a hand to her head. ‘You eejit! Fancy telling him you were Irish!’
‘You don’t think he could tell that for himself?’ said her brother sarcastically.
Maureen’s eyes flashed fire. ‘You can talk perfectly good English when you want. Daddy saw to that.’
‘Daddy, Daddy! We should have stayed in Ireland where we belonged,’ he roared.
She seized his arm but Mick shook her off, his expression sullen. ‘I was only there on sufferance anyway. I’m not ashamed of what I said. Ireland has a right to be a republic. There’s countries in Europe who’ve been given their independence since the war. England agrees with that right enough – and yet the time they’re taking over giving Ireland hers! I’ve a good mind to go and join in the fight.’
Lucy stared at him, wondering what fight he was talking about. Then her mother spoke up. ‘Don’t be stupid! You survived the war but don’t be thinking you’re indestructible. Keep your opinions to yourself and try and get another job.’
‘OK! OK!’ he shouted, banging a fist against his knee. ‘I’ll do it your way.’ Getting up, he stormed out of the house.
There was silence for several minutes after Mick had left then Maureen told them to eat their jam and bread. They had just finished when there was a knock at the door. Lucy went to open it but there was nobody there. Then she noticed her cart at the bottom of the steps. Delighted, she dragged it up before looking round for whoever had returned it.
‘A bobby brought it,’ called a girl by the drinking fountain.
Here was a puzzle, thought Lucy. Could Barney have bothered the police about finding her cart? It would be just like him. She went inside to tell her mother and Timmy that at least something had gone right that day.
Mick did get himself a job but it was illegal. Lucy found that out when Timmy revealed that while he’d been playing football on the lockfields with his uncle, a man had asked to put on a bet. ‘He was an Irish,’ said her brother. So, thought Lucy with a grin, Mick was a bookie’s runner. She told her mother who grimaced. ‘Daddy would have had a fit – but so long as he doesn’t get caught, and hands over some money to me, that’s all I care.’
It appeared that Mick did both because he and Maureen seemed happier in the weeks that followed.
Summer brought a mammoth crane to the docks and Maureen, Lucy and Timmy were not the only ones wanting to look and marvel at the size of the thing. That summer bank holiday Mick had given them some money and they queued up for the New Brighton ferry. The crane, bought by the Mersey Dock Board, had been intended for the Czarist Russian Admiralty but the revolution had overtaken matters. Lucy thought of her uncle and what he’d said about revolution and Ireland and hoped he wouldn’t get involved in the fighting that was going on over there.
They boarded the ferry and watched the crew casting off from the upper deck. ‘Lucy, there’s that Irish!’ said Timmy, shooting out an arm and pointing at the landing stage. ‘He’s there with another man and they’re arguing. His name’s O’Neill.’
Lucy’s gaze followed his pointing finger and she spotted the two men. Faintly she caught the sound of their voices. ‘You’re crazy, Shaun. I don’t want anything to do with your daft scheme. You could get the family involved and I won’t have it.’
‘You believe me such a fool, Danny? I’ve more sense than you’ve ever given me credit for. I’ve found someone to help us and a new meeting place. No one will ever suspect…’ The younger man laid a hand on the older one’s arm but he shrugged it off and walked away.
Now what was that all about? wondered Lucy.
Timmy smiled at her. ‘See. He’s a friend of Uncle Mick’s. I’ve seen him more than once.’
Lucy did not like the sound of that but soon forgot about it when they reached New Brighton. It was a bit of a job finding space on a beach that was crowded despite the overcast sky, but the tide was on its way out, exposing more sand, and soon Lucy and Timmy were digging like fury, intent on building the biggest sandcastle on the beach. It was his suggestion to make a moat and the pair of them went down to the water’s edge to fetch water despite Lucy’s feeling certain it would be a waste of time unless they lined the bottom of the moat with pebbles. She soon discovered that was a complete waste of time, too. So they went crabbing instead. But come time to go home, Timmy refused to free his crabs. ‘I want to take them home,’ he insisted.
‘You can’t. They’ll die,’ said Lucy, taking the bucket from him and running with it towards the water edge.
He let out a yell and chased after her but she had longer legs and he soon gave up. She set the crabs free and then stood listening to the hush of the waves as they formed lacy patterns on the sand. She gazed across the river to the sprawl of Liverpool; with its slums hidden it looked quite different.
‘Cruel sister,’ said a voice tinged with amusement.
Lucy spun round and stared at the young man in black corduroys and jacket. His cap was tilted so that it rested on the back of his dark head and she recognised him immediately. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and for a moment wanted to run away, then had second thoughts. What was she scared of? And besides, she owed him her life. ‘I never thanked you,’ she muttered.
‘For what?’ There was a quizzical expression on Rob’s boyish features.
‘That time on St George’s Hill… you saved my life.’
‘Oh, that!’ He grinned. ‘You got your cart back OK?’
‘Yes, thanks. But there was a bit of a mystery about that.’ She hesitated, wondering if he knew anything about it. ‘I opened the door and there it was! Apparently a policeman brought it. I thought Uncle Barney might have spoken to them, but he says not.’
‘So what’s the mystery?’ Rob’s eyes twinkled. ‘It’s what policemen do - find things and see they’re returned to their proper owners.’
‘I suppose so.’ Lucy began to walk, swinging the bucket in her hand, feeling a little shy of him. ‘I was really glad to have it back. That morning I’d carried the wood round on my back. It nearly broke.’
He stared at her and there was a tiny crease between his eyebrows. ‘Amazing! Why didn’t your uncle help you?’
She looked up at him. ‘You’ve heard about him?’
‘Your mam talks to Barney. Are you glad he’s home?’
Lucy thought about that. ‘Things are easier in some ways,’ she murmured, ‘but the house feels overcrowded. Timmy’s growing but Uncle Mick doesn’t want him in his room. Mam says I’m
growing too, but I can’t say I’ve noticed,’ she commented candidly, glancing down at herself.
Rob stopped and placed a hand on her head then swept it across to just below his chest. ‘I think you have. Give yourself another six months and you might be up to my chest.’
Lucy laughed. ‘I doubt it! You’re so tall. Taller than Uncle Mick and Barney.’ He seemed about to say something but at that moment Lucy realised how close she was to where her mother and Timmy were sitting. Immediately she wanted to get rid of him. She felt awkward, uncertain how Maureen would react to her being in this man’s company. ‘I have to go. It was nice meeting you again,’ she said politely.
‘I’d like to say hello to your mam again.’
‘Why?’ said Lucy bluntly.
‘Because of Barney. His sister-in-law’s interested in her and so is my aunt.’ Rob gave her a bland smile. ‘She’s interested in you, too. You’ve met my aunt. She owns the timber yard and said if you want more offcuts, you’re welcome.’
Lucy wasn’t sure how to take all this information. She hoped the two women didn’t see her family as charity cases. She hated that idea.
Maureen looked up at them. ‘Who’s this?’
‘I’m Rob Jones. A distant cousin of Barney’s.’ He held out his hand.
Maureen smiled and shook it. ‘You’re the soldier who searched our house. I must admit, I wouldn’t have known you. Amazing what a uniform can do for a man,’ she said drily.
‘I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not, Mrs Linden. But it’s a pleasure to meet you and your daughter in more congenial surroundings,’ he said, returning her smile.
Is he being smarmy or what? thought Lucy, wishing he would go away now he was flirting with her mother. A drop of rain fell on the girl’s face. She looked up and was surprisingly glad to see slate-hued clouds piling up overhead. ‘We’d best get off home, Mam,’ she said hastily.
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