reminding me how I had a little travelling bed and slept in it beside you, whenever we were on tour. And how you gave me Golly when I was one, and Baby Susan when I was two, and Teddy when I was three.’
‘And don’t forget that your daddy gave you Raggedy Jenny, just before he died,’ Louella said, dropping her voice impressively. ‘Poor Daddy. He’d so looked forward to having a little daughter of his own, and was so excited when he heard you’d been born, that he bought the doll and ran into the road to hail a tram so he could come and see us in the maternity ward. Only he didn’t notice the brewer’s dray thundering down upon him until it was too late. His last act had been to buy you that rag doll.’
Lottie opened her mouth to remind her mother that the last time she had mentioned the fatal accident, it had been a Guinness lorry which had ended her father’s life, then bit back the words. Her mother was a true actress, she reminded herself, and a born storyteller, fond of embroidering every tale she told or incident she described. She simply could not help it, and already Lottie had heard several versions of her father’s sad demise, including the best one, when he had slipped off the roundabout at the fair just as the traction engine which powered the amusements had come trundling past, ending his life in a manner most dramatic and terrible.
Max had been sitting at the kitchen table, eating his porridge, but now he looked up and cleared his throat. ‘Lou, my dear,’ he said, and there was definitely a note of amusement in his voice. ‘I was under the impression that Denham was killed by a Guinness lorry. You really must keep your imagination in check, you know.’
‘Oh, didn’t I say it was a Guinness lorry?’ Louella said, looking surprised. ‘But of course I wasn’t there myself, I was still in the maternity ward, with my darling little daughter. When they came and told me that poor Denham was dead I saw the whole scene so clearly in my mind’s eye that it was as though I had actually been present, but I dare say I got things a bit muddled.’
‘To be sure,’ Max said mildly. He grinned at Lottie, a companionable sort of grin which said we know how she is, but we love her anyway . ‘And now what about getting a few sandwiches and some fruit into a basket and heading for Prince’s Park?’
‘Of course; and if you think Kenny would like to come, Lottie darling, then you’d best go round and tell him to get himself ready,’ Louella said lazily. ‘I’ve got plenty of pilchard and tomato paste and some cheese so I can make sandwiches in a trice.’
‘I’ll help when I get back from next door,’ Lottie said eagerly as Max lounged out of the room. However, thinking it over she decided that right now would be a good time to ask a few questions herself. ‘When we were living in Rhyl, Louella, did we know someone called Sassy?’
Louella had been collecting her sandwich ingredients on the big wooden table, but for a moment it was as though she had been frozen in one position. Then she reached for the bread knife and the loaf and gave an exclamation of annoyance. ‘Oh, dammit, we’ve not got nearly enough bread! Nip round to the corner shop, darling, and ask Mr Andrews if he can spare me a loaf.’
‘I’ll go on my way back from seeing Kenny,’ Lottie said, knowing that the remark had been made simply to divert her thoughts whilst Louella decided how to answer. ‘But Mrs Brocklehurst makes her own bread and usually has some over. Shall I ask her if she can spare a loaf?’ Out of the corner of her eye she could see the bread bin standing on the pantry shelf, see the big white loaf inside it as well, and decided to persist. ‘Mam, I asked you if we knew anyone called Sassy . . .’
‘So you did,’ Louella said with apparent placidity. ‘And now I come to think, I bought a loaf as we left the theatre last evening – Sample’s were selling them off cheap – so there’s no
‘And don’t forget that your daddy gave you Raggedy Jenny, just before he died,’ Louella said, dropping her voice impressively. ‘Poor Daddy. He’d so looked forward to having a little daughter of his own, and was so excited when he heard you’d been born, that he bought the doll and ran into the road to hail a tram so he could come and see us in the maternity ward. Only he didn’t notice the brewer’s dray thundering down upon him until it was too late. His last act had been to buy you that rag doll.’
Lottie opened her mouth to remind her mother that the last time she had mentioned the fatal accident, it had been a Guinness lorry which had ended her father’s life, then bit back the words. Her mother was a true actress, she reminded herself, and a born storyteller, fond of embroidering every tale she told or incident she described. She simply could not help it, and already Lottie had heard several versions of her father’s sad demise, including the best one, when he had slipped off the roundabout at the fair just as the traction engine which powered the amusements had come trundling past, ending his life in a manner most dramatic and terrible.
Max had been sitting at the kitchen table, eating his porridge, but now he looked up and cleared his throat. ‘Lou, my dear,’ he said, and there was definitely a note of amusement in his voice. ‘I was under the impression that Denham was killed by a Guinness lorry. You really must keep your imagination in check, you know.’
‘Oh, didn’t I say it was a Guinness lorry?’ Louella said, looking surprised. ‘But of course I wasn’t there myself, I was still in the maternity ward, with my darling little daughter. When they came and told me that poor Denham was dead I saw the whole scene so clearly in my mind’s eye that it was as though I had actually been present, but I dare say I got things a bit muddled.’
‘To be sure,’ Max said mildly. He grinned at Lottie, a companionable sort of grin which said we know how she is, but we love her anyway . ‘And now what about getting a few sandwiches and some fruit into a basket and heading for Prince’s Park?’
‘Of course; and if you think Kenny would like to come, Lottie darling, then you’d best go round and tell him to get himself ready,’ Louella said lazily. ‘I’ve got plenty of pilchard and tomato paste and some cheese so I can make sandwiches in a trice.’
‘I’ll help when I get back from next door,’ Lottie said eagerly as Max lounged out of the room. However, thinking it over she decided that right now would be a good time to ask a few questions herself. ‘When we were living in Rhyl, Louella, did we know someone called Sassy?’
Louella had been collecting her sandwich ingredients on the big wooden table, but for a moment it was as though she had been frozen in one position. Then she reached for the bread knife and the loaf and gave an exclamation of annoyance. ‘Oh, dammit, we’ve not got nearly enough bread! Nip round to the corner shop, darling, and ask Mr Andrews if he can spare me a loaf.’
‘I’ll go on my way back from seeing Kenny,’ Lottie said, knowing that the remark had been made simply to divert her thoughts whilst Louella decided how to answer. ‘But Mrs Brocklehurst makes her own bread and usually has some over. Shall I ask her if she can spare a loaf?’ Out of the corner of her eye she could see the bread bin standing on the pantry shelf, see the big white loaf inside it as well, and decided to persist. ‘Mam, I asked you if we knew anyone called Sassy . . .’
‘So you did,’ Louella said with apparent placidity. ‘And now I come to think, I bought a loaf as we left the theatre last evening – Sample’s were selling them off cheap – so there’s no
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