Forgotten Dreams (5 page)
He began to take one of the sandwiches out of its wrapping, but Lottie darted across the kitchen and laid her hand over his. ‘Don’t start on them yet,’ she said urgently. ‘They’re for us dinners. If you’re still hungry, have some bread and jam.’
Baz sighed, but replaced the sandwich and reached for the loaf. ‘I’ll cut a slice for each of us,’ he said gruffly. ‘Then we’d best be mekkin’ a move, else we’ll be late.’
‘Right,’ Lottie said breathlessly, beginning to wash up the crocks, but she had scarcely sunk her teeth into the round of bread and jam which Baz handed her when someone banged on the door and it shot open to reveal Kenny and his small sister, Daisy.
The two children tumbled down the passage and into the kitchen, both beaming. ‘C’mon, youse,’ Kenny gabbled. ‘We don’t want to be late. Got your nib-nabs? Mam has give us pilchard and tomato paste and an apple. Wharr’ve you got?’
‘Corned beef,’ Lottie and Baz said in unison. Baz had jammed his sandwiches into his jacket pocket but Lottie picked up her satchel, which already contained her packed lunch, then glanced guiltily around the kitchen. She always tidied and washed up before leaving for school but today there had not been time. Should she just whisk round quickly or . . .
She was about to turn back into the kitchen when Kenny seized her arm and pulled, and Baz pushed her so hard in the small of her back that she popped into the court like a cork out of a bottle.
‘Gerra move on, our Lottie,’ Baz said. ‘Here, take your perishin’ jacket an’ don’t worry ’cos you haven’t washed up. Today’s special, after all. Your mam knows that.’
‘Right you are then,’ Lottie said, falling into step between the two boys. She was relieved to have had the decision not to linger taken for her and suddenly she felt light and carefree, looking forward to the day ahead. The sun was shining, there was a light breeze and she was off to the seaside! Dancing along and chattering to Kenny and Daisy, Lottie was sure she had never been happier.
‘Tuck your dress into your knickers. I’m gonna roll me trouser legs up. I’d take all me clothes off and have a swim, only you can be sure if I do, some teacher will spring up and send me back to the coach in disgrace,’ Kenny said, as the two of them, up to their knees in seawater, surveyed the happy scene. Daisy had gone off with a crowd of little friends and Baz, having eaten his sandwiches aboard the coach, had disappeared in search of fish and chips, leaving Lottie and Kenny to the joys of the beach and each other’s company.
‘The teachers did say we should just paddle, and not go in above our knees,’ Lottie reminded her friend. She had no wish to see Kenny get into trouble, and besides, since he had neither towel nor swimsuit, she thought going further into the water ought to be out of the question. ‘What about collecting shells? My mam has a box all covered with the most beautiful shells. It’s on her dressing table and she keeps her jewels in it. I say, Kenny, are you going to take your mam a present? I expect shell boxes are very expensive, though.’
‘Mam said not to bother – she said she’d give us some money so’s we could enjoy ourselves, not so’s we could buy a present for her. But there’s four of us on this here trip – only Jimmy ain’t here, bein’ at work now – so we all got together and Patsy took tuppence off each of us. She’s goin’ to spend it on the biggest stick of rock she can find, ’cos our mam loves peppermint rock.’
‘Rock! That’s a good idea,’ Lottie said enthusiastically. ‘That’s what I’ll get for my mam, and I’ll buy another stick for Max. Oh, look – there’s a big curly shell. It’s a bit deep for me to pick it up here unless I can grab it with my toes . . .’ This was easier said than done and presently she began to kick it nearer the shore until it reached a spot shallow enough for her to plunge her hand in and bring it up from the watery depths. She moved her hand gradually nearer and nearer to the magnificent shell and as she did so the sight of her small white hand, wavering like some exotic fish through the clear water, reminded her of something . . . somewhere. She had done this before, fished around for a shell, seen her hand beneath the waves . . . but she could not remember anything else about the incident. I suppose Mam brought me on the beach when we were in Rhyl before, Lottie told herself. But she did wish she could remember! What a nuisance that nice things were no longer in her head to be enjoyed, though perhaps there were nasty things best forgotten as well. She was musing on this when she felt the shell beneath her fingers and grabbed triumphantly, which meant a good deal of splashing, though what did that matter? She had the shell, the biggest one she had ever found, despite the fact that by the time they regained the beach her dress was decidedly wet. She pointed this out to her companion but he merely grinned and told her that such a wonderful shell was worth a bit of a ducking. ‘We’ll go and sit on the soft sand higher up the beach and eat our sarnies while you dry off,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Then we’ll build the biggest sandcastle in the world, bigger’n anything else on the beach.’
Lottie agreed to this and presently the children settled themselves comfortably just by the tideline, for the sea was coming in and this would make filling the moat which they intended to dig round their castle less of an effort.
Lottie lay on her tummy on the sand, enjoying the sandwiches and every now and then taking a bite out of the tomato which Louella had included in the greaseproof wrapping. It had got rather squashed but was still very welcome, for the bottle of lemonade which she and Kenny had shared for elevenses seemed a long time ago. When they finished their food Lottie pointed out that they had nothing to dig with, unlike the children around them who were enthusiastically wielding small tin shovels or large wooden spades, but Kenny waved such a defeatist remark aside. ‘Me mam always says fingers was made before forks, so it stands to reason hands was made before spades,’ he told her. ‘D’you see that little dog, with its nostrils all clogged up from diggin’ in the sand? Well, that’s how we’ll do it.’
Lottie giggled. ‘He digs a hole then shoves his head down it, an’ I don’t mean to do that, even if you do,’ she said. But presently they began on the great work of construction, and when one of the teachers came along and announced that everyone had been set to making sandcastles and that he, personally, would give a prize of a sixpenny piece and a stick of rock to the makers of the best and most elaborate edifice, Lottie and Kenny were already well on their way to winning. They piled and patted until the castle was as tall as Lottie herself, and then collected shells, feathery red and rubbery green seaweed, and round white pebbles with which to decorate their enormous monument. They duly won the prize, though Kenny donated the sixpence to the children whose castle had come second, and then he and Lottie, tired but happy, made their way back to the promenade where they shook off large quantities of sand, donned their footwear and headed for the pier, for Lottie’s half-crown was still intact.
They paid their pennies to join the bustling crowds. Lottie was fascinated as they drew near the end of the pier by the fact that she could see the sea through the gaps in the wooden planking. It gave her a delicious thrill to think that she was over deep water, though when she said as much to Kenny he said, reassuringly, that it would probably only reach up to her shoulders. Then the two of them found an empty bench and knelt upon it, to look over the side. Lottie saw what looked like round transparent balls with pinkish markings bobbing under the calm surface, and Kenny told her that these were jellyfish. ‘Good thing none of ’em come up to us when we was paddlin’ ’cos they’ve got poisonous stings on the end of them trailing things what’ll kill you in a second,’ he said impressively.
Lottie was about to say that she would never paddle again when one of the teachers, overhearing, cuffed Kenny playfully and called him a wicked little liar. ‘There are jellyfish which can sting you but they’re usually only found in tropical waters,’ the teacher assured her. He turned to her companion. ‘The ones you see round this coast are absolutely harmless, so don’t you go scaring your pal, young fellow-me-lad. And don’t forget to come to the clock at five because I popped into the restaurant just now and there’s a grand spread laid out ready for us.’
‘Is it fish and chips, sir? I does love fish ’n’ chips,’ Kenny said eagerly.
The teacher grinned but shook his head. ‘No, but I saw sandwiches, sausage rolls, meat pasties and all sorts of jellies and cakes, besides bottles of ginger beer and lemonade,’ he told them. ‘If you ask me, it’s better than fish and chips because you don’t have to sit down and wait to be served. They give everyone plates and tell you to help yourselves, and last time the kids just ate until there wasn’t a crumb left on the tables. So I do advise you, my little friends, not to be late at the rendezvous.’
‘Gosh,’ Kenny breathed, clearly almost unable to believe his ears. ‘Don’t you worry, sir, we won’t be late . . . we’ll be
early
, won’t we, Lottie? We wouldn’t want to miss grub like that!’
early
, won’t we, Lottie? We wouldn’t want to miss grub like that!’
After the teacher had wandered off, Kenny checked the time on the clock. ‘We’ve got a whole half-hour before we need come back here. What’ll we do?’ he enquired. ‘If we go into town we could go to the rock shop. Ever been there? You can go inside and watch them making the rock, pulling it until it’s thin enough to chop up into sticks.’
‘No, I’ve never been there,’ Lottie said uncertainly, then was suddenly sure that she was speaking the truth. She knew she had lived in Rhyl once, Mammy had said so, but she was positive she had never watched rock being made. She accompanied Kenny, sure that she was in for a treat. And so, presently, it proved. The rock factory smelt deliciously of sugar and mint, and it was a real thrill to see the girls taking a large ball of the warm, soft sweetmeat in their hands, two girls to each piece. Then both girls began to pull, smoothing their hands along the rock and keeping it the same thickness throughout. Then they laid it on the long chopping board at the back of the shop where a young man using a cleaver cut it into lengths. Kenny told Lottie importantly that though the girls’ job was interesting to watch, the cutting of the rock into even-sized pieces was a real art, since it had to be soft enough to cut but hard enough to keep its shape otherwise the ends would seal and it was important that the lettering inside each stick should be clear and readable.
Having admired the work for ten or fifteen minutes, Lottie bought two sticks of rock for her mother and Max, and they emerged on to the pavement once more. ‘We’d best be making our way back to the clock,’ Kenny said. ‘We dursen’t be late; I’m mortal fond of sausage rolls.’ He took Lottie’s hand and began to hurry her along the crowded pavement.
A group of lads was coming towards them, talking, laughing and arguing, each one holding a newspaper packet containing chips, well salted and vinegared judging by the delicious smell which came wafting towards the two children. Kenny pulled Lottie into the road to avoid them, and as he did so someone shouted. ‘Hey, Sassy, hang on a minute! What the devil are you doing here?’
Lottie ignored the call and would have walked on, but someone caught her arm, dragging her to a halt. It was a boy, very thin and brown, whom Lottie to her knowledge had never set eyes on before, but he was gripping her arm so hard that it hurt and he dragged her on to the pavement, giving her a little shake. ‘Sassy! The old ’un’s been desperate worried ever since you left! When you weren’t at the Tower I asked around, but no one knew a thing . . . oh, Sassy, we’ve been that worried!’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Lottie said helplessly. ‘Do I know you? And who’s Sassy?’
The look of blazing indignation on the boy’s face faded into uncertainty. ‘Sassy?’ he said again. ‘It
is
you, ain’t it? I was dead certain, but now I look closer . . . oh, my God . . . but you’re real like her, honest to God you are, only your hair’s quite different . . . what’s your name?’
is
you, ain’t it? I was dead certain, but now I look closer . . . oh, my God . . . but you’re real like her, honest to God you are, only your hair’s quite different . . . what’s your name?’
Kenny had been staring, open-mouthed, but now he stepped forward and pulled Lottie away from the other boy. ‘She’s Lottie Lacey, if that means anything to you,’ he said angrily. ‘What d’you mean, grabbing the kid like that? And who’s this Sassy, anyroad?’
The boy dropped back a pace. He was older than Kenny, probably thirteen or fourteen, with straight, golden-brown hair and eyes so light that they were almost golden too. He had a strange face, with a broad brow tapering to a narrow jutting chin, which gave him a look of great determination. He was wearing ragged denim trousers and a grey shirt, open to the waist, and now, Lottie saw with some pleasure, a blush was stealing across his high cheekbones. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I – I mistook you for a pal. I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’
Lottie opened her mouth to say indignantly – and untruthfully – that he had not scared her, but it was too late. He had turned and melted into the crowd, and though she stood on tiptoe and tried to follow him with her eyes, he had disappeared as completely as a raindrop in a puddle.
For a moment, she and Kenny stood just where they were, staring at one another. Then Kenny took her hand and began to tow her along the pavement towards the clock on the promenade. The boy had gone in the same direction but Lottie was certain they would not see him again. Indeed, she wondered if she would recognise him, for the encounter had been brief, but then she remembered the blazing golden-brown eyes and thought, with a little shiver, that they would remain in her memory for some time to come. They were strange eyes, the sort of eyes which normally belonged to cats or tigers, not to thin brown boys in ragged kecks. She had a feeling that he might have been barefoot, but when they reached the clock and she had time to cross-question Kenny, he was quite positive that the boy had been wearing ancient black plimsolls with a hole in the toe. ‘So he weren’t here on a school trip, ’cos if he had been, he’d have wore shoes. Come to think of it, his mam wouldn’t have sent him out in kecks all covered with holes.’ Kenny thought this over and then added, ruminatively: ‘If he’s got a mam, that is.’
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