Читать книгу A Family Secret: No. 1 Bestseller of family drama - Josephine Cox - Страница 8

‘WAS THERE EVER a more splendid sandcastle?’ said Marie, beaming on her daughter, Anne. ‘Those little flags on the sand-pies round the moat make a castle fit for the King.’

‘I like this one best,’ said Anne, pointing to the paper Union Flag, fluttering furiously in the strong April breeze blowing straight off the Irish Sea. ‘It matches my bathers.’

‘That blue matches your skin all right,’ laughed Derek. ‘Tony and Eileen have got the right idea – going for a stroll along the Promenade. Tony said he’d look what’s on at the Winter Gardens; said he’d treat us to a night on the town if we can get the landlady to babysit Anne.’

‘Yes, he’s a good friend,’ Marie said, leaning forward in her deck chair to unscrew the lid of the Thermos and pour a steaming cup of tea. ‘They both are. Tony’s such a generous sort, kind-hearted and so sweet with Eileen.’ She lowered her voice. ‘She told me she’d like a little one, too, but they’ve not been blessed yet. Still, there’s time … Here, love, have some of this.’ She passed Derek the cup and poured another for herself. ‘When I’ve drunk this I think I’ll take a stroll, too, if you’ll keep an eye on Anne? This saggy old deck chair is starting to lose its appeal.’

Having drunk her tea, she climbed up the steps to the Promenade, stopped at the railings to wave to her husband and daughter, then set off in the direction of the Tower, hoping she might bump into Tony and Eileen returning from their walk.

Two workmen, canvas bags containing paint pots and brushes at their feet, were leaning over the railings a few yards down from where the pretty, dark-haired young mother had emerged up the steps and onto the Promenade.

One was a striking figure, a handsome towering giant of a man with a fine pair of shoulders so broad they looked as if they could carry a horse. A huge dark beard covered almost the whole of his lower face and thick neck, and his narrow dark eyes constantly danced, missing nothing.

In contrast, his colleague was slight of build, with small features, fair colouring and bright blue eyes, and when he turned to address his mate his voice had a musical Irish lilt.

‘The first of this year’s Blackpool Beauties,’ he said, watching the young woman walk elegantly away.

‘Aye, gives you something to hope for,’ said the big fella, his voice betraying his Scots heritage. ‘I tell you, Danny Boy, it’s not just better weather I’m looking forward to. It’s the sight of the ladies sunbathing on the beach that makes my hard working day worthwhile.’

‘I’ll drink to that, Big John,’ said Danny Magee.

‘There’s a fair few things you’ll drink to,’ grinned John Ferguson. ‘Comes of being Irish, I reckon.’

‘So what’s your excuse?’ laughed Danny, slapping him on the back.

‘Luckily we’re going her way,’ said John, nodding at the receding figure of the pretty young woman who had been on the beach. ‘First pint’s on me if you can find out her name. Your round if she tells me.’

‘Yer’ve got money to lose, big man.’

Marie started along the Promenade in the direction of the Tower, the cold wind lifting the skirt of her coat. She glanced back and waved to Derek, and to Anne, now snuggling into a towel, filling Marie’s heart with joy. What fun to be on holiday with the four people who meant most to her in the world: her darling daughter, her handsome husband, and her dearest life-long friends. The Blackpool holiday had become an annual treat by now, sometimes at Easter and some years in summer, when the weather was more predictable and the beaches were packed with workers from the industrial towns on their break. She spotted Eileen and Tony sitting on the Blue Bench, the renowned meeting place for visitors and locals alike, a refuge for lost children, a trysting place for young sweethearts and place for weary travellers to rest. Since last century the bench had occupied this prominent position facing the sea and had passed into local folklore. No one could remember now how the bench had come to be there in the first place, and today, Marie saw, it was beginning to betray its age. Although it had been repainted every year, the ironwork was showing through with rusty stains. Marie thought that so far this year the Corporation hadn’t got round to repainting it and she hoped it wasn’t going to be neglected and allowed to fall into disrepair.

‘Hello! Eileen, Tony, how was your stroll?’ Marie called as she approached.

‘Marie, we guessed if we sat here for a bit you might come to find us,’ grinned Tony, shuffling along to make room for Marie on the bench next to Eileen. ‘Didn’t think you had the staying power.’

‘Oh, it’s not that cold,’ Marie protested. ‘Although Anne insisted on wearing her bathers and I left her looking bright blue.’

All three laughed and Eileen passed across a brown paper bag of humbugs. ‘Here, love, help yourself. Neither my waistline nor my fillings will stand another one.’

For a while Anne sat sucking the sweet while Tony related what he’d seen of the programme at the Winter Gardens and Eileen commented on the choice.

‘We’ll simply have to go to hear this new Wurlitzer organ that’s been installed in the Empress Ballroom,’ she enthused. ‘There’s a new organist – Horace Finch his name is – and he’s supposed to be brilliant. To me, that’s the sound of the seaside.’

‘The sound of the seaside to me is the howling of a gale,’ said Tony, deadpan.

The women burst out laughing and by the time their chatter had receded they saw that there were two young men in overalls standing before them. From the look of the bags they were carrying their business was with the bench the friends were sitting on.

‘Good afternoon,’ said the short wiry man with the fair curly hair. ‘And a fine afternoon it is indeed.’

‘Good afternoon to you,’ Tony responded. ‘I’m guessing you’re here to smarten up the Blue Bench?’

‘Right you are,’ answered the Irishman, ‘but it seems downright rude to turf the ladies off when they look so comfortable. I’m guessing you’re on holiday, is that so?’

‘I think that’s a fairly safe bet,’ said Marie with a smile.

‘Smart as well as pretty,’ said the irrepressible workman, lifting his flat cap politely. ‘Though it just happens I do have a bit of a gift – being the seventh son of a seventh daughter – and I can tell ye a thing or two about yerself ye wouldn’t expect me to know.’

The other workman rolled his dark eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Just listen to his blarney,’ he said as Eileen dug Marie in the ribs with her elbow and they whispered and giggled.

‘All right, you’re on,’ said Marie, ‘but I’m not crossing your palm with silver.’

‘No need, dear lady,’ answered the little fella. ‘My gift is free to a beauty like you.’

‘Hark at him,’ guffawed the big man, who had a Scots accent.

‘All right, then, where are we from?’ asked Eileen.

Fortunately for Danny, Eileen had the distinctive accent of the area, and Danny had a good ear for the various Lancashire and Cheshire voices that were so often heard among the Blackpool holidaymakers. When he’d guessed right, his answer greeted with oohs of admiration, he decided to direct the conversation back to the young mother before he got out of his depth.

‘Now, give me your hand,’ he said, and Marie half-reluctantly extended her left hand into his none-too-clean, rough and work-worn one with a slightly nervous smile.

He studied her hand carefully for half a minute, then said, ‘Now I can see that you’re married, am I right?’

Marie, Eileen and Tony caught each other’s eyes and rocked with mirth.

‘I think the wedding ring is a bit of a clue,’ Marie spluttered, and this time all of them were laughing.

‘All right … all right … Let me see … I see a handsome husband, a tall man with dark hair. He’s a bit older than you are. Would I be right?’

‘Yes!’ said Marie. ‘How did you know that?’

‘It’s the gift,’ said the workman. ‘And … what’s this? A child, a little girl … maybe four or five years old?’

‘Right again,’ gasped Marie. ‘Anne is four. How did you know that? You really do have a gift, don’t you?’

‘The gift of the gab,’ said the big fella. ‘Only saw you on the beach earlier, didn’t we?’

Marie snatched her hand away, tutting at her own gullibility, but she couldn’t be cross at the charming rogue with the twinkly blue eyes.

‘You had me for a moment there,’ she smiled.

‘Me, too,’ said Tony, impressed with the friendliness of these two likely lads. ‘Do you always try your “gift” with the visitors?’

‘Only the pretty ones,’ the big Scot answered. ‘I’m John Ferguson, by the way, known as Big John round these parts, and this is my workmate and partner in mischief, Danny Magee, known as Danny Boy.’

‘Tony and Eileen Withers.’

‘And I’m Marie Foster.’

‘Your round, I think,’ said Big John to Danny, inexplicably to the others.

The young workmen appeared to be in absolutely no hurry to begin their painting and settled down on the path in front of the bench where they continued to chat. They asked about the visitors’ holiday plans and what they had seen so far. Eileen passed round the bag of humbugs and John and Danny moved on to entertaining anecdotes about their various tasks as handymen for Blackpool Corporation. It was clear they were often in trouble with their boss and had probably held on to their jobs partly through a combination of low cunning and charm, and partly by being rather good at what they did – when they were actually doing it.

‘Right …’ said Danny, rubbing his hands together in a show of enthusiasm for the task ahead, ‘I think you and I had better be starting on this here Blue Bench, if these lovely people don’t mind?’

‘No, of course you must get on. And so must we,’ said Eileen. ‘Heavens, Marie, have you seen the time? Derek and Anne will think we’ve gone back to Cheshire and left them.’

‘Oh, good grief!’ Marie exclaimed, looking at her watch. ‘I said I wouldn’t be long, I’d better run ahead. Goodbye, Danny, goodbye Big John. I hope we’ll see you around. We’ve got a couple more days here so I’ll look out for you.’

‘We all will,’ said Tony, shaking hands with the workmen. ‘See you soon.’

‘I hope so,’ said Danny, looking especially at Marie. ‘And if not this year, then maybe next year?’

‘If I’m not on the other side of the world,’ said John.

‘Or in the clink,’ said Danny, and as he watched the three friends happily making their way down to the beach he thought that Marie really did have the prettiest laugh he’d ever heard.