Little Girl Lost (45 page)

Brendan was hurt by this seeming lack of trust, but when Maeve put the point to Kitty he had to admit that she was completely fair. ‘She’s your mammy, alanna, even if she did leave you to Caitlin and meself,’ she said gently. ‘Brendan wants her to see what a lovely little girl you are, but I’m going to come with you so that we can travel back home to Ireland together, because it’s possible that Brendan himself may be needed in Liverpool for rather longer than you would wish to stay.’

Kitty looked doubtfully from Brendan’s face to Maeve’s, as if trying to read from their expressions whether they were agreed on the course of action Maeve had outlined. Then she gave a quick little nod, and said: ‘All right, I’ll go and visit me real mammy, because she’s lost her own dear little girl, but I wouldn’t stay wit’ her if you paid me a hundred pounds. Ireland’s me home and Maeve’s me mammy, or as good as, so I’ll be coming back just as soon as it’s polite.’

Brendan and Maeve both chuckled and Brendan was turning away, well satisfied with what had been arranged, when Kitty spoke again. ‘But what about me pal Nick, what’s stood by me through thick and thin?’ she asked. ‘Can he come wit’ us? Only his mammy and daddy don’t care what happens to him, you know. I asked him if his family would be worried ’cos he weren’t around and he just said that they probably wouldn’t even notice. When I’m in Dublin, Auntie Cait gives me food for him an’ he comes to tea an’ that, but while I’m across the water . . .’

‘It’s all right, it’s all arranged,’ Maeve said quickly, shooting a glance at Brendan. ‘Brendan here means to keep an eye on Nick. If – if he comes back to Ireland to buy a farm, he’ll get Nick to go along wit’ him, to give him a hand and help him build a house, and so on. If he stays in Liverpool, of course . . .’ She cast a desperate glance at Brendan for they had not, in fact, discussed this possibility. ‘If he stays in Liverpool . . .’

Brendan cut in quickly. ‘If I stay in Liverpool I’ll send you money, Maeve, because I know that you and Caitlin, between the pair of you, will see Nick right.’

Nick had gone off to buy food at the nearest village so it had been safe to discuss his future, but now Brendan saw him hurrying back along the road with a bag of groceries clutched in his arms, and a big grin on his face. ‘Only another two miles and we’ll reach a railway station,’ Nick shouted. ‘In the whole of me life, I’ve never been on a train; janey mack, wait till I tell the fellers at home where I’ve been. Tommy, we’re going on a train!’

‘Mam, Mam, they’re coming! The post’s just arrived and there’s a letter from Brendan,’ Sylvie cried. ‘He says Catherine Mary – Kitty, I mean – has agreed to come to Liverpool with him, and they’re bringing Maeve as well. He says he doesn’t think for one moment that Kitty will stay, but I’m not so sure. The pub’s doing well so we could afford to pay Maeve to work in the bar; not as a barmaid perhaps, because she wouldn’t suit at all, but as a cleaner or someone to wash up. Then we could keep Kitty even though we’d have to have Maeve as well.’

Mrs Davies had just come into the kitchen and was taking off her coat and hat as her daughter spoke. She smiled indulgently at Sylvie’s bright-eyed excitement, but shook a warning finger. ‘Now don’t you go getting all excited, love,’ she said prosaically. ‘’Cos in his last letter, when he found the little lost girl, Brendan made no secret of the fact that she’d run away because she didn’t want to cross the water and come to us. I don’t doubt that Brendan’s talked her into it for your sake, because of what you’ve gone through. But that don’t mean to say the kid will want to stay here. All her pals are in Dublin, and from what Brendan’s told us, she’s mortal fond of that cousin of his, that Caitlin, and of the other kids. Why, she’s been brought up to think of them as her brothers and sisters. You can’t expect her to simply cast them aside for a woman she scarcely knows.’

Sylvie sighed and went over to pull the kettle over the flame. ‘I know you’re right, but we can give her a really good life here,’ she pointed out. ‘All right, so she would have to make new friends, but she’d have us for family, she’d have Maeve, and . . . and I suppose she’d have Brendan, too.’

The kettle began to boil and Mrs Davies got the tea caddy off the shelf and began to make a brew. ‘So you mean to marry Brendan, do you?’ she asked mildly. ‘I’m not saying I’m blaming you, queen, because it’s plain as the nose on your face that he worships the ground you walk on, and he’ll make an excellent landlord. You and meself and Bertie do our best, but there’s nothing like a well set up young man, who gets on with folk, to bring in the business. Oh, aye, if you decide to make Brendan the happiest man on earth, we’ll all be well pleased. Only before you agree to marry him, wharrabout Sam? I know you keep saying he brought the flu here and must have died of it himself, else he’d have been back long since, but you can’t be certain sure. You don’t want to do the same thing twice . . . marry in haste and repent at leisure.’

Sylvie shot her mother an indignant glance. ‘How can I find out if Sam’s dead or alive when all I know about him is that he comes from Plymouth?’ she asked. ‘It’s not as if I could take time off to go and search for him because we’re far too busy building up trade in the Ferryman. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, though.’

‘Aha, but there’s another way of tracin’ people,’ Mrs Davies said complacently. ‘Last night I were havin’ a chat wi’ a young fellow what’s a journalist on the
Echo
. I telled him as how we’d lost touch wi’ a seaman what sailed from Southampton and he said we should advertise in the local paper down there. So how about it, eh? Even if Sam don’t read the papers, you can bet your life there’s others what do. If he’s dead – sorry, love, but I know it’s what you fear – then by the same token someone will write and tell us.’

Sylvie stared at her mother and felt her cheeks grow warm. If only Sam were alive! She loved him, had loved him almost from their first meeting, and she knew he had loved her too. So why, if he were alive, had he not returned to the Ferryman? But now she supposed there could be a thousand reasons. She jumped to her feet, for she had been sitting at the kitchen table opening the post, and flung her arms round her mother’s neck. ‘You’re a wonderful woman, Mam,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ll draft the advertisement right away.’

‘What’s them, Brendan? Ooh, what’s that? Janey, it’s huge so it is, much bigger than Dublin. An’ look at all the ships, and the people, and the towers and spires and great tall buildings!’ Kitty turned towards Brendan. ‘Don’t you know? Is that why you aren’t answering me?’

Kitty, Maeve and Brendan were standing on the deck of the Irish ferry as it nosed past the Liverpool waterfront. Brendan laughed and put an arm about Kitty’s slender shoulders. ‘Of course I know what they are; I didn’t live here for God knows how many years without learning the name of practically every building in the place. And remember, this was my beat when I was a scuffer – scuffer is the name Liverpudlians give to the polis.’ He took her small hand in his and pointed with it. ‘Them’s the Liver Birds – they say they flap their wings whenever . . .’ he suddenly realised that the remark he had been about to make was not a suitable one for a youngster to hear, and continued somewhat hastily, ‘and the next building is the offices of the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board and all the towers and turrets are on the Cunard building. I expect you’ve heard of the Cunard liners – big ships that travel all over the world. Well, that’s where the company that runs them plans out their voyages and books passages.’

‘I see,’ Kitty said, round-eyed with the wonder of it all. She had thought Dublin a wonderful city, the biggest city in the world, but this place dwarfed it with its tall impressive buildings, to say nothing of the masses of shipping moving to and fro, or lying at anchor, and the docks themselves, black with people and vehicles. She glanced quickly at Maeve, who was staring with equal amazement towards the shore. She tugged at the older girl’s sleeve. ‘I know it’s huge but it’s not as pretty as Dublin, is it? I love the Dublin quays, so I do, and – and the Custom House. Then there’s the Four Courts on the northern quays and the National Library, and the Chapel Royal at Dublin Castle . . .’

Brendan cleared his throat. ‘Dublin’s grand, so it is, but remember, Kitty me love, that comparisons is odious. I’m off for a stroll along the deck. I shan’t be long, so don’t move from here; we don’t want to lose one another when it’s time to go ashore.’ And with a cheerful wave, he detached himself from the throng hanging over the rail and disappeared.

‘Oh, alanna, the size of a place isn’t important, nor the splendour of the buildings,’ Maeve said warmly. ‘It’s the people that really matter and we’re Dubliners, so we are. Well,’ she amended, glancing somewhat diffidently at Brendan’s back, ‘perhaps I should say we’re Irish. But we’re not here to criticise, we’re here to meet your real mammy and to see the sights. And then we’ll be off home again to our own place in Handkerchief Alley. Only – only it might be nice to visit your mammy again from time to time, ’cos I know she’s after hoping the pair of yez will never lose touch again.’

‘That’s right, Maeve; it’s just like a sort of holiday, isn’t it?’ said Kitty, clinging tightly to Maeve’s hand. She had already made it clear as clear to everyone who would listen that she had no intention of remaining in Liverpool, but she knew, too, how powerless a child can be if it comes to a battle of wills. It was all very well to say she would run away if Sylvie tried to keep her in England, but where would she run to? A great expanse of sea separated Liverpool from Dublin and a ticket to cross on the ferry would, she imagined, be unbelievably expensive. What was more, there would be no Nick to help her, not this time, for he had been left behind in Handkerchief Alley with the O’Keefes; another good reason for returning home, she thought rebelliously, clutching Maeve’s hand so tightly that the older girl winced. A friend like Nick was a friend indeed, and not to be cast off lightly. But it seemed that Maeve had divined the thoughts which were running through her head for, quite suddenly, she lifted Kitty off her feet, big girl though she was, kissed her cheek, and whispered into her ear, ‘Will you stop your worritin’, alanna, for I would swear on a stack of Holy Bibles that you an’ meself shan’t be parted, for aren’t you my own little girl, who’s been lost and found again, like it says in the Bible. Think of this as a holiday, and when it’s over we’ll be getting aboard the ferry and going back to Ireland, no matter what.’

She stood Kitty down, smiling reassuringly at her, and Kitty returned the smile almost gaily, for she knew that Maeve would never lie to her. ‘But what about the wedding?’ she enquired anxiously. ‘Weddings take some arranging, so they do – I’ve heard Auntie Cait say so many a time – and we can’t be after hanging around in Liverpool while Sylvie and Brendan make plans.’

Maeve’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Whatever makes you think there’s going to be a wedding, alanna?’ she said gently. ‘I’m sure I never said any such thing.’

‘No, but remember, I sleep in the same room as Clodagh and Grainne, and we goes to bed before you come in,’ Kitty said. ‘Auntie Cait told Clodagh that she was certain Uncle Brendan meant to ask my real mammy to marry him and of course she was sure Sylvie would, because Brendan’s a dote. They wondered if they’d be bridesmaids wit’ bunches of flowers an’ pretty dresses. And then Clodagh started on how she meant to get married herself, and Grainne said she’d best find herself a rich feller first, and he’d best be blind an’ all, else he’d never take on such a scarecrow. And Clodagh thumped her, an’ Grainne hit back, an’ someone’s foot got me right in the back an’ knocked me and Tommy out of bed. So you see, Auntie Cait thinks there’s goin’ to be a wedding.’

Maeve sighed deeply and squeezed Kitty’s hand. ‘I suppose it must look that way; in fact, you’re probably right and Sylvie and Brendan will get wed,’ she said, and Kitty thought she sounded sad. ‘But that’s for the future, alanna, for as Caitlin says, weddings take a deal of arranging. And we shan’t be lingerin’ in Liverpool for weeks and weeks, I can promise you that.’

‘Good,’ Kitty said contentedly. ‘Though I’d like to be a bridesmaid all right, with a pretty dress and a posy of flowers. Might we cross the water again, d’you suppose, just for the wedding?’ She looked up at Maeve, then had to peer round her, for her friend had turned her head away and was gazing steadfastly towards the stern of the ferry. To her horror, Kitty saw that there were tears trembling on Maeve’s long lashes, but then her companion produced a handkerchief, blew her nose vigorously and brushed a hand across her watering eyes.

‘I got a smut from the perishin’ funnel in me eye when I was facing forwards,’ she said. ‘As for returning for the wedding, I don’t think that’ll be possible, alanna. You see, when we go back, I’m going to try to get a proper job. You’re old enough to fend for yourself after school, and in the holidays, so I shan’t feel guilty at leaving you. Look how you coped when you ran away. Your Auntie Cait is going to try to get me some work in Switzers. Oh, I dare say I’ll only be a cleaner, but Cait reckons if I work at me brogue and spend me wages on decent, respectable clothing, then I might end up on the shop floor, like she did.’

‘Well, that would be grand, so it would,’ Kitty said. ‘I suppose it’s because you walk just fine wit’out needing the crutch that’s made the difference. Aren’t you grateful to Brendan, darling Maeve, for making you see that you didn’t need it no more?’

But it appeared at this point that another smut had got into Maeve’s eyes for she became very busy with her handkerchief and it was several moments before she remarked, in a voice which trembled a little: ‘Oh yes, I’m
very
grateful; and – and I wish him joy of Sylvie, so I do.’

Kitty had begun to agree with this generous sentiment when the ship drew close to the quay and Brendan re-joined them. He had told her he thought that her mammy would meet them and now Kitty found herself glad that Maeve had insisted on their remaining in Dublin until her hair had grown and been properly cut. ‘Appearances have always mattered a lot to Sylvie, and if she sees you looking like a ragged little boy she might think I’ve not taken proper care of you,’ Maeve had said.