Daughters of Liverpool by Annie Groves Page B

side, and the meat, fruit and veg market on the other.
    Although it was nothing like the size of Covent Garden, St John’s Meat Market did remind Katie a little of the famous London market, as much, she suspected, for the cheery confidence of those working there as anything else.
    With Christmas so close the market was especially busy, with the bustle of porters; horse-drawn deliveries arriving; errand boys ringing their bicycle bells and then pedalling furiously as they raced about, shoppers protesting when they had to dodge them. Stall holders were shouting their wares, whilst small children, bored with the quays, were trying to escape their mothers’ surveillance.
    With so many people pressed into the market it was no wonder police officers were patrolling between the stalls, Katie acknowledged. Somewhere like this would be a paradise for thieves and pickpockets.
    Jean, raising her voice so that Katie could hear her above the noise as she hurried her through the maze of stalls, pointed out that at the other end of the market were the Royal Court Theatre, then Roe Street and Queen Square.
    ‘The station hotels and Lime Street itself are only the other side of the fish market,’ Jean added. ‘But you’ll soon find your bearings. Just remember, if you’re walking uphill along Edge Road thenyou’re heading away from the city centre and the docks; if you’re walking downhill you’re heading for them.’
    St John’s Market was especially thronged with people collecting their Christmas orders. Every other stall, or so it seemed to Katie, was filled with poultry. Those that weren’t selling ‘fattened geese and turkeys’ were selling all those things that went with them: strings of sausages, hams and tongues to cook for Boxing Day, special Christmas pâtés and stuffing, whilst in the fruit and vegetable section of the market, which they had come through earlier, Katie had seen stalls selling boxes of dates, even if there were signs up stating, ‘No oranges/lemons/bananas/tangerines or nuts – don’t blame me, there’s a war on.’
    ‘Sam’s got all the veg sorted out. He’s grown most of it on his allotment and bartered for what he hasn’t grown with some of the other allotment holders.
    ‘I’ve made a bit of a pudding but it won’t be up to my normal standard … There’s the stall over there,’ Jean told Katie, ‘that one with the poultry painted on the sign board. I don’t know why I come back to him every year because I’m sure he’s a bit of a rogue, even though he says his prices are the best in the market.’
    There was a queue at the stall, and whilst they waited for their turn, Jean said to Katie, ‘You’ll be looking forward to going to the Grafton tonight with your friend.’
    ‘I’m not sure that I am really,’ Katie admitted. ‘It’s kind of her to ask me, but I’m not much of a dancer.’
    ‘You’ll enjoy it once you’re there,’ Jean assured her firmly, stepping up to the counter for her turn to be served.
       
    ‘I appreciate what you’ve bin telling the twins about it not being all that glamorous going on the stage, Katie,’ said Jean, once they had finished their shopping and they were on the way home, carrying the turkey between them.
    ‘Well, it’s the truth otherwise I wouldn’t say it, but I can understand that they can’t see that. It’s like I said to them, all the audience sees is the sparkle from the sequins, they don’t see all the darning and patching in the cheap fabric that’s underneath.’
    They exchanged understanding looks.
       
    Emily hadn’t seen the boy for the last two days. The last time he had had a nasty bruise on his face and he had looked thinner and dirtier than ever. She’d got more than enough to do as it was, without coming down here and hanging around a back alley with a packet of sandwiches and a flask of hot soup.
    Hot water was what that boy wanted, and plenty of it, along with a generous lathering of soap. Not that it