Rainbow's End (50 page)

‘Sammy, love, will you pop these loaves down to the bakery on the corner of Mission Road? There’s a dozen . . . can you manage ’em? They’re not too big.’

Sammy got up from his place at the table and looked at the round loaves, then up at his mother. ‘Mam, I casn’t carry that many on me own, it ’ud break me arms off at the elbows! Can’t Tobe come too?’

‘If I let the pair of ye out of me sight . . .’ Ada was beginning, when Deirdre straightened up and smiled across at her.

‘It’s awright, Mam, Tobe’s doin’ pretty well, so soon’s he’s finished he can lay the table for tea. I’ll go wi’ Sammy. Come on, our Sam, it won’t tek us more’n five minutes if we run in both directions.’

‘I aren’t runnin’ to the bakery wi’ that lot,’ Sammy objected, struggling into his coat. ‘They’s heavy, Dee.’

Deirdre laughed. ‘True. Awright, Mam, we’ll be ten or fifteen minutes, likely. Want any messages whiles I’m out? Anythin’ you’ve not got for tomorrer?’

‘No, you’re awright, queen,’ Ada said. ‘Tell the baker we’ll call for the loaves first thing, if that’s all right. Or you can get ’em after tea, if you like.’

‘We’ll see what time we finish tea – wharris it, anyway?’ Deirdre asked, piling the loaves closer on the big tray. ‘It’s gettin’ nice an’ springlike out, but there’s still a nip in the air. I’m starvin’!’

Ada laughed. ‘I’m goin’ to mek do tonight,’ she said. ‘Save your appetite for tomorrer, young ’un. We’ll ’ave blind scouse, though. At least it’s hot.’

‘An’ if we go for the loaves, after, could we have a slice for us puddin’s?’ Sammy suggested hopefully, hefting his own burden. ‘Cor, these loaves weigh somethin’ awful.’

Ada opened the door for them and Deirdre sailed through, grinning over her shoulder at her small brother trailing behind, one boot unlaced, his socks round his ankles. ‘Don’t tell our mam she makes heavy bread or you’ll be lucky to get a crumb,’ she said, clattering across the tiny backyard. ‘Best foot forward, our Sammy! Even blind scouse’ll taste good to me after this.’

The baker was busy, but he came across the kitchen, sweat shining on his forehead, and took the loaves from them. ‘I’ll charge a farden a loaf for them littl’uns,’ he said. ‘Why so many, chuck?’

Deirdre explained that it was for a party, since her sister was arriving back from the war next day. ‘And me brothers said they’d not have a party until everyone were back,’ she continued. ‘So tomorrer we’re havin’ a real bit of a do for ’em. The whole street’s comin’, just about.’

‘A party? Well, gi’s a penny an’ we’ll call it square,’ the baker said. ‘Ready in an hour. That do you?’

Deirdre said that would be fine and she and Sammy left the warm, sweet-smelling shop rather reluctantly and proceeded to jog through the busy streets. They reached home in record time and went round the back, sniffing appreciatively as the smell of the meatless stew came to their nostrils.

‘Mam’ll put an Oxo cube in, that’ll give it a bit more taste,’ Deirdre said, opening the back door. ‘Come on, Sammy, it’s on the table! Did you save some for our Donny, Mam?’

‘A dacent plateful,’ Ada said. ‘But I put the rest out, knowin’ how hungry you said you were. Come on, get dug in. I let Toby start bein’ as he eats slower than the rest of us.’

‘Currant loaves ready in an hour,’ Deirdre said, hanging her coat on the hook behind the door and taking her place at the table. ‘I’ll tek a big string bag, or a coupla paper carriers an’ bring ’em back in that, then I can meet up wi’ Donny at the same time. We’ll walk home together, he can carry one o’ the bags.’

‘Right, luv,’ her mother said, picking up her own spoon and fork and beginning to eat. ‘Only . . . suppose Donny’s goin’ out somewhere? You never know.’

‘I do,’ Deirdre said complacently. ‘He’d ha’ told me if he were goin’ out. ‘Sides, he’s too busy wi’ the spring lambs an’ all.’

Donal and his latest boss had gone into business for themselves, much to Ada’s amusement. They had bought some weaned lambs, rented a small meadow not too far from the lairage and were fattening their new acquisitions there, going up to the meadow each night after work, laden with any bits of hay, straw or cast-down cabbage or carrot they had been able to find around the street market stalls. Donal was not only sure that they would sell the lambs for a good profit next Christmas, he intended to slaughter one of them for the family, so that they would be able to feast on meat over the holiday.

‘Right, then. But don’t hang around if it starts to get late,’ her mother advised. ‘I’m keepin’ Sammy off school tomorrer, so’s he can help unload the ale when the pub deliver the barrel. An’ I’ll want him to keep his eye on it, else the neighbours’ll start in on it afore our Ellen’s so much as stepped ashore.’

‘Right, Mam,’ Deirdre said obediently. ‘Eh, this scouse’s a treat! Jest what the doctor ordered!’

Later, when the washing up and clearing away had been done and the two small boys despatched to bed, Deirdre put her coat on again and took two paper carriers and a string bag down from the dresser. ‘I’ll be goin’ for Donny then, Mam,’ she said. ‘An’ for the fruit loaves, acourse.’ She glanced at the kitchen clock, ticking away on the wall above the dresser. ‘It’s gone an hour, so the bread’ll be ready.’

‘Good girl,’ Ada said absently. She was sitting down for what was probably the first time that day, Deirdre reflected, knitting a sweater for Toby. She had got the wool by purchasing three old jumpers from Paddy’s market, unravelling them, then washing the best wool and rewinding it and, though the colours were not a perfect match, Deirdre doubted that anyone would notice. Mam was a first-rate knitter, she thought, buttoning her coat and clattering across the yard. She had knitted Deirdre a matching jumper and skirt in a variety of different coloured stripes and it was a much-cherished garment. In fact, Deirdre would wear it to the party next day.

She was still thinking about the party as she walked out of the bakery, all her bags positively bulging with currant loaves. Donal usually got home by about eight to eight-thirty, and it was eight-fifteen now. I’ll just stroll down to the tram stop and back, Deirdre told herself. Without quite knowing why, she was sure that Donal would be catching the tram tonight and she was proved right when one squealed to a halt by her and a crowd of people got off, her brother amongst them. He was clearly labouring under some considerable excitement, for he fairly pounced on her, beginning to gabble so fast that Deirdre had to tell him to talk slower before she could understand a word.

‘What’s bit you?’ she enquired truculently, trying to make Donal take the heavy string bag from her. ‘Catch a holt of this, Donny, we’ll talk as we go. Now. What’s up?’

‘Our Ellie’s up,’ Donal said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘She’s come ’ome, Dee!’

‘I know that,’ Deirdre said briefly, setting off along the pavement in the direction of Mere Lane. ‘That’s to say I dessay she’s well on her way, but . . .’

‘She’s bleedin’ here, I tell you,’ Donal shouted, red-faced. ‘I gorron the tram at the Pier Head, same’s I allus do, an’ when we reached the London Road stop there were a fair crowd – I ‘spec’ a train had just come in – an’ there were our Ellen, waitin’ in the queue for the tram. I were on top, so I yelled an’ that, but she were talkin’ to some feller an’ never heard me. An’ when I tried to push me way off the bleedin’ tram the folk wouldn’t let me by . . . what’ll we do, Dee? What’s our Mam gorrin the house for supper?’

‘Oh, lor, it’s blind scouse, ’cos Mam thinks they’re comin’ back tomorrer,’ Dee recalled. ‘An’ only enough for you, our Donny! What’ll we do? If they catch the next tram they won’t be more’n a few minutes behind us. There’s a lorra trams runnin’ at this time o’ night.’

‘Fish an’ chips!’ Donal declared suddenly. ‘We’ve got some time to spare; the next tram’s not for ten minutes – if they gerron it, that is. You know what our Ellen is, she does hate to shove.’

‘Money?’ Deirdre said briefly.

Donald patted his pocket, looking smung. ‘I’ve a few bob,’ he said with assumed nonchalance. ‘Enough for fish an’ chips all round, I reckon. Come on! We’ve gorra get back before they do!’

They made it, too, though by the skin of their teeth. They burst in through the back door and hurled the newspaper packages on to the table whilst their mother began to protest that this was no time to go treatin’ theirselves, an’ she’d thank them to take that stuff off of her kitchen table.

‘You’ll be glad of it presently,’ Dee said briefly. ‘Tek off your apron, Mam, an’ run a comb through your hair. An’ get those paper chains off the table, young Toby, or you’ll gerrem all over grease from the chips.’

‘Wharron earth . . .?’ Ada began, but she obeyed, nevertheless, taking off her apron and laying it across the back of a chair and beginning to tidy her hair with her hands, whilst Donal swept paper chains, poster paints and brushes off the table and over to the draining board, ignoring Toby’s furious protests.

‘There you are,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Plates, Dee . . . they’ll be arrivin’ . . .’

‘Donal! Deirdre! If you don’t explain this very minute . . .’ Ada was beginning crossly when the back door burst open for the second time in two minutes and a familiar figure entered, closely followed by a total stranger. Ada screamed and flew across the kitchen into her elder daughter’s arms, whilst the twins danced around shouting a welcome and Toby and Sammy stared, open-mouthed, at the sister they had not clapped eyes on for three years.

‘Oh, Mam, Mam,’ Ellen was crying. Tears were running down her face, Deirdre saw with interest. ‘Oh, it’s been so long . . . it’s so good to be home . . . Oh, Mam, this is me feller . . . come in, Liam, don’t hover in the doorway!’

Deirdre watched with approval as her elder sister released her mother and seized the arm of the very tall, dark-haired young soldier and dragged him right into the room. ‘Liam, this is me mam, the redhead is me sister Dee and this feller’s Donal, her twin. The little feller wi’ paint all over his face is Toby and the other one’s Sammy. Mam, me an’ Liam’s goin’ to be married.’

‘Well, that’s nice . . . pleased to meet you, Liam,’ Ada said faintly, taking his hand. ‘Wharra surprise, chucks! We’d a big party planned for tomorrer, wi’ all the fambly comin’, an’ friends an’ neighbours, too. Oh my Gawd, I reckon you’ll be starved an’ all I’ve gorris a few odds an’ ends an’ a little pan o’ blind scouse. Oh, I’m so ashamed of meself, but you did say tomorrer.’

‘Our Mam’s gorra a head like a perishin’ sieve; if we weren’t just a-sayin’ as how you’d enjoy a fish supper,’ Donal said agreeably. ‘Dee, where’s them plates, girl?’

There wasn’t time to get anyone else round – nor enough fish and chips, as Donal pointed out – so they sat down round the table almost at once, with Ada bustling about, one minute kissing Ellen, the next dividing one piece of fish between Sammy and Toby, the next asking Liam about his family, then running to the cupboard for bread and margarine, and making everyone a nice cup of tea, with conny onny in it since they had run out of fresh milk.

Deirdre saw that Donal had been right to get the fish and chips. Eating a meal is a great breaker of the ice, and once they were sat down with a plateful in front of them the small boys stopped gawping at their sister’s young man, Ada stopped worrying that she was not entertaining her daughter’s friend properly and they all began to act naturally. The sauce bottle and the vinegar were passed round and Liam was loud in his appreciation of this unexpected supper, whilst Donal had to explain all over again how he’d been on the top deck of the tram when it stopped at the London Road stop and had seen Ellen and Liam in the crowd which had been unsuccessful in boarding the tram.

‘And we knew as how Mam weren’t expectin’ them till tomorrer,’ Deirdre said with relish. ‘And all she’d gorrin the cupboard was the pan o’ blind scouse for Donny. An’ I’d been for the bun loaves, so we went an’ got fish an’ fried potatoes, enough for us all, an’ then we fair tore home, so’s to be indoors first.’

Then Ellen had to explain how they came to be a day earlier than they had expected and Liam, having begun to talk a little more easily, was finally put to the question. It’s like the bleedin’ Spanish Inquisition, Dee thought. She had done the Inquisition in her last term at school and remembered it still. But of course it was just interest and Liam seemed happy enough to answer their questions.

Yes, he had brothers, though no sisters. Yes, there were twins in his family too – Seamus and Garvan were going on nineteen and like as two peas in a pod, though Seamus was, on the whole, considered a good boy and Garvan was a young devil.

‘Even now they’re so old?’ Donal asked, for nineteen seems old when you’ve only just attained fifteen.

Liam chuckled. ‘I’ve not seem ’em since I went to France,’ he said. ‘Probably they’s both angels now, like the pair of ye, Donal. But perhaps you’ll meet ’em some day, for if Ellen and meself live in Ireland you’ll be wantin’ to visit from time to time, no doubt?’

‘Visit? Oh, but aren’t you goin’ to settle down here?’ Ada asked. ‘Course, work isn’t goin’ to be so easy now the troops are all comin’ home . . .’

‘Easy? Mam, we saw a soldier beggin’ outside Lime Street station,’ Ellen said, her voice sounding more sad than shocked. ‘The poor devil had no legs . . . I never thought I’d see such a thing. And everyone’s sayin’ that jobs are hard to get, even for men who’ve won distinction fighting the hun.’

‘Oh, the country’s still in a muddle,’ Ada said easily. ‘They’ll sort things out; they’ll start buildin’ houses an’ makin’ provision for the troops. But as I told the lads there, it’s more important than ever for them to get a good education, so’s they can get a job when their turn comes.’

‘I can read a treat,’ Toby said boastfully. ‘Even the newspaper. Shall I read a bit to you, Ellen?’

He picked up a sheet of the
Evening Echo
, which had been wrapped around the chips, turned it right way up and began to read.