spill a crumb or a drop,’ Lilac said wryly. ‘Then there’s coal for the bedroom fires, carrying down the ash-cans . . . domestic service may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it keeps your muscles in trim.’
‘Well then, I shan’t need to worry about you at all,’ Nellie said cheerfully. ‘Is that Stuart’s key I hear in the lock? Mash the tea, our Lilac!’
After weeping dolorously for ten minutes or so, Kitty scrubbed her eyes dry with the backs of her hands, blew her nose into her fingers, and scrambled to her feet. Kitty Drinkwater, you’ve bin a-tellin’ yourself these past two years that you’d leave, one of these ’ere days, she told herself fiercely. Well, now’s your chanst, girl! If you poke the gelt through the ’ole in the door when they’re all asleep, with a note to say what ’appened and who took the trimmin’s, then probably Mam won’t set the scuffers on to you. What’s more, since you’ll be far away by then, she won’t be able to mek you go back to get ’em yourself. Kitty had no illusions about her mother; if there was a choice between never seeing her trimmings again or having her daughter’s throat slit from ear to ear but regaining her property, she was sure Sary would have plumped for her trimmings without a thought.
Unfortunately, however, she didn’t have a stub of pencil or a chalk on her, which made the writing of a note difficult, to say the least. And she was too near to Paradise Court; at any moment her mother or a brother or sister might stumble out to see what was taking her so long – at the thought of the explanations, the blows, Kitty turned pale all over. Best clear off until the early hours, then return with the note written on the envelope. If she wandered down the Scottie, she was almost bound to see a friend who might lend her a writing implement of some description, particularly if she looked in on Paddy’s Market. They stayed open late and someone there, a stallholder or a customer even, might have the necessary pencil or chalk.
Despite the lateness of the hour it was still not dark and the air, after the sunny day, was warm and pleasant. Kitty began walking rather gloomily along the pavement despite this, but very soon the good humour of the women shopping and the men lounging in front of the pubs lifted her spirits and she began to look about her and take more notice.
Scotland Road was a wide thoroughfare, and most of the shops didn’t close until very late, so that goods and lights spilled in a prodigal fashion out across the pavement. Shopkeepers shouted their wares, housewives shouted back, bargains were struck and baskets piled. Kitty was not usually out so late, since Sary tended to shout the kids to bed early in order that she could go off out, and the brightness and intensity of this side of the city’s night-life intrigued her. Who’d ’a thought it, she marvelled, all these folk wanderin’ the streets when us is abed! Oh, there’s Wally Mick – wonder if ’e’s got a pencil on ’im?
Wally Mick was in school with Kitty and lived a bit further along the court but since he was older than she they rarely exchanged more than the most casual of greetings. But Wally Mick’s sister Dora was one of Kitty’s cronies, which meant that they were on quite good terms, since Wally Mick was a fond brother and Kitty had long admired his kindness to his sister as well as his fair, cheeky face. Asked for the loan of a pencil, however, Wally Mick could not help. He had no pencil right now, he was helping the greengrocer. But later, when the shop closed, he would get given any fades that were going besides a bob for his pains.
‘Waddyer want wi a pencil?’ he asked rather plaintively, rubbing a filthy hand across his spiky fair hair. Kitty thought it was Wally’s yellow head and round blue eyes which had got him his job – he looked so trustable, somehow. ‘Most kids is after a plum or a handful o’ cherries, which I can manage, now
‘Well then, I shan’t need to worry about you at all,’ Nellie said cheerfully. ‘Is that Stuart’s key I hear in the lock? Mash the tea, our Lilac!’
After weeping dolorously for ten minutes or so, Kitty scrubbed her eyes dry with the backs of her hands, blew her nose into her fingers, and scrambled to her feet. Kitty Drinkwater, you’ve bin a-tellin’ yourself these past two years that you’d leave, one of these ’ere days, she told herself fiercely. Well, now’s your chanst, girl! If you poke the gelt through the ’ole in the door when they’re all asleep, with a note to say what ’appened and who took the trimmin’s, then probably Mam won’t set the scuffers on to you. What’s more, since you’ll be far away by then, she won’t be able to mek you go back to get ’em yourself. Kitty had no illusions about her mother; if there was a choice between never seeing her trimmings again or having her daughter’s throat slit from ear to ear but regaining her property, she was sure Sary would have plumped for her trimmings without a thought.
Unfortunately, however, she didn’t have a stub of pencil or a chalk on her, which made the writing of a note difficult, to say the least. And she was too near to Paradise Court; at any moment her mother or a brother or sister might stumble out to see what was taking her so long – at the thought of the explanations, the blows, Kitty turned pale all over. Best clear off until the early hours, then return with the note written on the envelope. If she wandered down the Scottie, she was almost bound to see a friend who might lend her a writing implement of some description, particularly if she looked in on Paddy’s Market. They stayed open late and someone there, a stallholder or a customer even, might have the necessary pencil or chalk.
Despite the lateness of the hour it was still not dark and the air, after the sunny day, was warm and pleasant. Kitty began walking rather gloomily along the pavement despite this, but very soon the good humour of the women shopping and the men lounging in front of the pubs lifted her spirits and she began to look about her and take more notice.
Scotland Road was a wide thoroughfare, and most of the shops didn’t close until very late, so that goods and lights spilled in a prodigal fashion out across the pavement. Shopkeepers shouted their wares, housewives shouted back, bargains were struck and baskets piled. Kitty was not usually out so late, since Sary tended to shout the kids to bed early in order that she could go off out, and the brightness and intensity of this side of the city’s night-life intrigued her. Who’d ’a thought it, she marvelled, all these folk wanderin’ the streets when us is abed! Oh, there’s Wally Mick – wonder if ’e’s got a pencil on ’im?
Wally Mick was in school with Kitty and lived a bit further along the court but since he was older than she they rarely exchanged more than the most casual of greetings. But Wally Mick’s sister Dora was one of Kitty’s cronies, which meant that they were on quite good terms, since Wally Mick was a fond brother and Kitty had long admired his kindness to his sister as well as his fair, cheeky face. Asked for the loan of a pencil, however, Wally Mick could not help. He had no pencil right now, he was helping the greengrocer. But later, when the shop closed, he would get given any fades that were going besides a bob for his pains.
‘Waddyer want wi a pencil?’ he asked rather plaintively, rubbing a filthy hand across his spiky fair hair. Kitty thought it was Wally’s yellow head and round blue eyes which had got him his job – he looked so trustable, somehow. ‘Most kids is after a plum or a handful o’ cherries, which I can manage, now
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