Little Girl Lost (47 page)

Or could it be more than that? Kitty did not know very much about grown-up people’s emotions, but she was beginning to have a shrewd idea that Brendan meant more to Maeve than Kitty had imagined.

After a week in the city, Kitty’s attitude towards Sylvie began to change. Granny Davies had told her, sadly, that apart from colouring she was really very like Becky, so it was understandable that the sight of her brought back bittersweet memories, but she was beginning to believe that Sylvie actually liked her for herself. Her mother had accompanied her, Brendan and Maeve to cinemas and theatres but she had insisted that, when they visited the big stores, it should be she and Kitty alone. ‘We’ll probably have different ideas, but two sets of ideas are easier to deal with than four,’ she had said decisively, so on the day that she took Kitty shopping Brendan and Maeve were left to their own devices. Kitty thought this a good thing; if Brendan and Maeve really liked one another then they stood a better chance of sorting things out by themselves. So she set off, on that bright summer day, skipping along beside Sylvie and chattering nineteen to the dozen, determined to enjoy herself, to have high tea in a café or restaurant and to keep Sylvie away from the Ferryman for as long as possible.

Because she and Sylvie had been getting on so well she had expected to enjoy the day, and it was living up to her highest expectations. Kitty had never chosen her own clothes, or if she had done so it had been from the second-hand stalls on the Iveagh or Daisy Markets, but now they went into Lewis’s, Bunney’s, and a great many other shops, taking their time. Kitty tried on half a dozen dresses before she took Sylvie’s advice and chose a blue gingham dress which had a white Peter Pan collar and fastened at the waist with a big bow. That was for summer, of course, so the second dress was a lovely woollen one, honey-coloured, with a chocolate-brown sash round its middle and a neat little collar, a bit like an Elizabethan ruff, which Kitty thought the height of fashion. Never having owned a pair of leather gloves in her life – Maeve always knitted cosy mittens for the winter – she was equally impressed by the pair which Sylvie insisted on buying for her and which matched the neat leather boots with the fur tops. The purchase of the boots was followed by the buying of a lovely earth-brown coat which Sylvie suggested might be bought a little large to allow room for growth. The hat which went with it was shaped like a pudding basin with a small, upturned brim, and though Kitty thanked Sylvie prettily she knew she would never wear it, not in Dublin; Nick and her other friends would die laughing, and she did not mean to let that happen. In fact, as they sat over their high tea in a café Sylvie had chosen, she confided in her mother that she thought she ought to leave the winter clothes behind, in Liverpool. ‘Because you did say you’d ask me and Maeve over again, around Christmas time,’ she pointed out. ‘And – and if I wore lovely new clothes in Handkerchief Alley, they’d probably get nicked, or maybe I’d drop food down them. I’d rather they was here, honest I would, and you’d know that I meant to come back,’ she finished in rather a rush, feeling the hot blood rise to her cheeks.

Sylvie leaned across the table and clasped Kitty’s hands. ‘Oh, Kitty, you are a darling,’ she said softly, ‘and I’m delighted that you’d like to come back. But remember, Brendan – if he decides to stay in Liverpool, that is – and meself will be glad to see you any time – any time at all. I don’t suppose Maeve will want to come over again; she came this time to make sure I didn’t kidnap you, or try to persuade you to stay, and I know she’s going to get a full-time job when you go home. It’s not that I don’t value Maeve, because I do,’ she added hastily, ‘but good jobs are hard to find and she won’t want to risk losing hers by being away around Christmas.’

Kitty stared at her. ‘But Brendan wants a farm. He doesn’t want to be in the police any longer.’

Sylvie smiled. ‘Oh well, I’ll be delighted to see you anyway. But if Brendan were to ask me to marry him, he’d be the landlord of the Ferryman,’ she pointed out. ‘That’s a much nicer job than being a policeman and a good deal better than scratching a living on a poor patch of ground somewhere in Ireland.’

Kitty looked down at her plate, upon which reposed a large doughnut, oozing with jam – she and Sylvie had already eaten their way through an assortment of sandwiches, a plateful of sausage rolls and some tiny pork pies – then raised her eyes and looked challengingly at her mother. She would have to speak out, even though it seemed ungrateful when Sylvie had bought her lovely things and was treating her to this delicious high tea. ‘Has Brendan asked you to marry him?’ she said bluntly. ‘Because, if so, he’s said nothing to us.’

‘No, he’s not asked me yet, but I believe he will,’ Sylvie said, with a quiet confidence which Kitty found frightening. ‘He’s wanted to marry me for years, but as you know, until recently I had a husband, a husband who needed me. It’s different now. I’m a widow, you see, and that means—’

‘I know what it means,’ Kitty said brusquely. ‘But Sylvie, do – do you love him? Oh, I know you’re very sweet to him and take his hand in the cinema when the lights go down, but – but if you really love him, surely you’ll go back to Ireland with him and help him to buy his farm? He could do wit’ a bit more money to start with, I’ve heard him say so, many a time.’

Sylvie laughed, but shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t make a good farmer’s wife at all,’ she said firmly. ‘As for loving, what does a child like you know about that, may I ask? Why, Brendan is a dear man and I’m truly fond of him. Sometimes, two people marry from fondness and end up deep in love.’

‘And sometimes people marry and end up hating one another,’ Kitty pointed out. ‘Auntie Cait says you’ve got to love a feller to marry him ’cos all men has horrible habits; I don’t think Brendan has any horrible habits, but I don’t think he wants to be a landlord either, and you wouldn’t want to make him unhappy, would you?’ Privately, she thought that Sylvie had never even considered Brendan’s feelings when she had decided to marry him. She wanted a husband to help her with the pub and Brendan was so kind that he might even give up the thought of his farm rather than disappoint her. It seemed very unfair to Kitty and she repeated her question in a rather more belligerent tone. ‘You wouldn’t want to make him unhappy, would you?’

‘I’m going to make him the happiest man on earth,’ Sylvie said, but there was something in her tone which made Kitty look at her closely, and to her astonishment she saw that there were tears on her mother’s cheeks.

Remorsefully, Kitty leaned across the small table which separated them and gave her mother’s hand a squeeze. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but I’m really fond of Brendan and I like you as well, Sylvie. But why are you crying? All I did was ask whether marrying was a good idea.’

Sylvie sniffed, then got out a dainty lace handkerchief, dried her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Until a few weeks ago, I truly thought I was going to marry someone else, someone I loved very much,’ she admitted. ‘He came back from the war and visited us at the Ferryman; it was he who brought the flu, I believe, because he felt ill and left early – earlier than he had intended, I mean – and soon after that Len and Granny Dugdale sickened . . . well, you know the rest.’

Kitty stared at her. Maybe there was a way out of this tangle after all. ‘Don’t you know his address?’ she asked. ‘What’s his name, anyhow?’

‘Sam Trescoe, and he came from Plymouth. He was a seaman, sailing from Liverpool during the war, only when it ended he went back to his old ship, whose home port was Southampton; it was always to his ship that I wrote. And I have tried to contact him; I put an advertisement in the
Southern Evening Echo
– that’s Southampton’s local paper – but I haven’t had any replies at all.’

Kitty nodded thoughtfully. ‘Did you try the Plymouth papers?’ she asked.

Dully, Sylvie shook her head. ‘No, because I don’t know how often he gets enough leave to go home, so Southampton seemed the obvious choice.’ Suddenly, she jumped to her feet and began sorting out the money in her purse so that she could pay for their tea. ‘Now, Kitty darling, I’ve trusted you and I want you to trust me. I’ll make Brendan happy, I promise you. I told you about Sam because I wanted you to know that I have loved someone very deeply, but you must forget I ever said anything, because that really might hurt Brendan, and neither of us wants to do that.’

Kitty smiled reassuringly and patted her mother’s hand, but already a plan was forming in her mind. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t hurt Brendan for the world,’ she said reassuringly.

Sylvie was beginning to wonder how she could get rid of Maeve and Kitty for a whole day so that she could have Brendan to herself. He was sweet to her, understanding and sympathetic, but he still had not asked her to marry him. I’ve given him every encouragement, too, Sylvie thought resentfully now, as she rolled out the ball of pastry she had just made, and began to line a pie dish. However, if she got him to herself she was certain that he would seize the opportunity and ask her to be his wife.
And suppose he doesn’t?
a nasty, niggling voice in her head asked spitefully.
Suppose he’s had to wait so long that he thinks his case is hopeless? Why, he might even have met someone else and it may not occur to him to ask you. What’ll you do then, eh?

I’ll ask him myself, Sylvie told the niggling little voice. And believe me, he’ll jump at the chance. Why, he’s been in love with me ever since he rescued me from the Mersey; he isn’t going to change now. She waited, but the niggling little voice was silent, and presently, when Kitty, Maeve and Brendan came back from doing the messages, she suggested brightly that Brendan might take her to see his Uncle Sean. ‘I’ve always longed to meet him because he’s been a good friend to you, Brendan, and a day in the country would do us both good,’ she said. ‘Mum and Bertie can manage the pub during the day and we’ll be back before opening time.’ She turned to Maeve. ‘I thought you and Kitty might like to catch the ferry over to New Brighton and have a day at the seaside,’ she said. ‘It was one of Becky’s favourite places, and . . .’ her voice wobbled, ‘she really loved the beach,’ she continued bravely. ‘And the truth is . . . I can’t bear to go back there without her, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you.’

Brendan looked uneasy. ‘When’ll we go?’ he asked. ‘Sure and we can’t just turn up on Uncle Sean’s doorstep wit’out a word of warning.’

‘We’ll go tomorrow,’ Sylvie said firmly. ‘After all, in three days’ time you’ll be back on the ferry, heading for the Emerald Isle. And I’ve often wanted to visit your uncle; I believe the surrounding countryside is very beautiful, so we can spend most of the day exploring and just pop in to see the O’Haras for a cup of tea and a chat.’

Brendan agreed to this, and to Sylvie’s great relief Maeve and Kitty took to the idea of a trip to New Brighton, especially when Sylvie promised to pack them a splendid picnic and Brendan insisted on giving them money for tram and ferry fares and ice creams and rides on the funfair. Mrs Davies agreed that she and Bertie could manage the pub between them, though the look that she cast at her daughter was a quizzical one. Sylvie ignored it. ‘I’m making this pie for tonight, but as soon as it’s out of the oven, I’ll make some small ones which you can take to New Brighton,’ she said. ‘I’m really looking forward to a long day out!’

Chapter Seventeen

The morning dawned brilliantly fine and warm, just the day for a trip into the country, or to the seaside. Brendan was no fool and had realised from the moment Sylvie had outlined her plan that she was giving him the opportunity to ask the question he had so longed to put to her, so why wasn’t he feeling overjoyed? He told himself he was a lucky dog that Sylvie had grown more beautiful with every year that passed and that he would soon grow accustomed to living in the city once more, for he was pretty sure she would not wish to become a farmer’s wife.

The two couples parted at the Pier Head, Maeve and Kitty sparkling with anticipation of the delights to come, and, waving them off, Brendan found himself wishing desperately that he could accompany them. He glanced at Sylvie, opening his mouth to suggest that they, too, should visit New Brighton, then remembered her saying that she could not face the place because Becky had loved it so.

Crossly, he turned back towards the bus stop thinking as he did so that he did not believe a word of it, though he had no intention of admitting as much. Poor little Becky must haunt these streets; there must be a dozen places which she and Sylvie had visited far more often than New Brighton beach, yet Sylvie had insisted on accompanying them wherever they went.

The bus drew up alongside and Brendan helped Sylvie aboard. As they settled themselves in their seats, he glanced at that perfect profile, that smooth pale golden hair, and tried to plan how he would put the all-important question. But his mind kept wandering. At first, he thought it was regret for the farm which, if he married Sylvie, he would never possess. And as the bus trundled on, he grew quieter and quieter. He told himself that he had always loved Sylvie, longed to make her his wife, but odd little pictures kept cropping up in his mind. He remembered the journey across Ireland when he and Maeve had been chasing after Kitty and Nick; how happy they had been! They had shared the bad times as well as the good, and Maeve had never complained, never suggested that he should carry her knapsack as well as his own, though he had often done so, made the best of inadequate food and nothing but water to drink. He admired her tremendously and was astounded to remember that he had once thought her plain; now, he thought her the prettiest thing, though it wasn’t simply her looks, of course. She was so lively – so gallant, somehow. But he was supposed to be concentrating on Sylvie, sitting beside him, chattering away, so he had no right to keep thinking of Maeve. He tried to fix his mind on Sylvie, but her prattle, which had always amused and delighted him, suddenly bored him.

Presently, the bus drew up in a town which Brendan told Sylvie was Ormskirk and they got to their feet. ‘You said you’d like to take a look at the town. It’s quite close to where my uncle and aunt live,’ he said, helping her down the step. ‘We can have a wander round – they hold a market here today – then have a bite of lunch, and after that make our way across to Uncle Sean’s place.’ He looked anxiously at Sylvie, noting that she wore her best coat, which was cream-coloured, and dainty black patent leather high-heeled shoes. Brendan indicated the shoes with a jerk of his thumb. ‘I thought you said you wanted to explore the country; in
those
shoes?’