up West sent fabric for a set number of jackets or suits ordered in bulk to the tailors, who often managed to squeeze an extra garment out of the cloth, giving them something to sell on. Such items were commonly known as cabbage.
Patrick shrugged off his jacket, handed it to Brian then slipped on the new one. It sat squarely on his shoulders and hung well. He ran his hand over the fabric, feeling the fine weave with his fingertips. It was so dark it was almost black, and even with his old work shirt underneath it gave him a look of understated elegance. He twisted this way and that, feeling the lining move with the jacket over his body.
Brian let out a rolling laugh. ‘Look at yourself, then,’ he said. ‘You just see how the girlies’ eyes light up when they catch a glimpse of you, Pat me boy.’
‘Very nice,’ the shop assistant cooed. ‘It complements your athletic figure. The trousers are ready to fit.’ He indicated the un-hemmed bottoms and unfinished waistband.
Patrick studied himself in the mirror. Although it might be a sin to say so, he didn’t look half bad. But would Josie think so? Would her eyes light up?
He glanced down at the cuff and caught sight of the paper ticket.
Two pounds, fifteen shillings and sixpence!
‘Worth every penny,’ the supervisor said swiftly, seeing that he had spotted the price.
Perhaps . . . but this was nearly two weeks wages.
Patrick looked at his reflection again, and this time imagined Josie on his arm. In his mind’s eye he saw her laughing and smiling as she walked beside him. Her eyes would flash and sparkle as they always did, and if they danced, as they very well might, then the silk of her skirt would glide over, not snag on, the fabric of his clothes.
But two pounds, fifteen and six . . .
‘I don’t know,’ he said, studying the sharp line of the shoulders.
The supervisor’s encouraging expression faded a little.
A smile spread across Brian’s freckled face. ‘I’ll tell you what, Pat, it won’t only be the local girls who’ll be giving you the glad eye.’ He winked. ‘I bet when a certain young lady catches sight of you looking like the dog’s naggers, she’ll wish she’d come back from America sooner.’
Patrick slipped the jacket off and handed it to the assistant. ‘I’ll take it.’
Patrick and Iggy Bonny stood on the stone quayside and surveyed Roy MacManus’s barge, the Mary Ann , lying half submerged in the ebbing tide. Inside its hull, Roy stood up to his knees in slurry, desperately packing cork into the damaged timber.
Patrick had strolled down to the Mermaid’s mooring before sunrise and had arrived just before Iggy about half an hour ago.
Ignatius Cassius Bonny, to give him his full name, had joined Patrick on the Sea Horse in Kingston ten years before. Sailing around the Cape in the teeth of icy winds and mountainous waves had soon cemented a friendship between this unlikely pair. Although Iggy was as dark as any other native African, his light green eyes and aquiline nose betrayed the other races that were part of his ancestry. When Patrick returned to London, Iggy declared himself finished with the roving life and had crewed the Mermaid with him ever since.
He’d met and married Colly, a fair-skinned, red-haired Irish lass, and settled down in Tait Street, around the corner from the Nolans. Colly sold sweets in twists of newspaper to the local children from her front parlour window and presented Iggy annually with an infant - brown-skinned and red-haired, or with a buttermilk complexion and curly black hair, or some other exotic combination. Usually it was Iggy who was early, waiting on the dockside, but since Josie’s visit a few days ago, Patrick found himself awake well before dawn with a vision of her imprinted in his mind’s eye.
Although the sun was barely up, the waterfront was already alive with dock labourers working under
Patrick shrugged off his jacket, handed it to Brian then slipped on the new one. It sat squarely on his shoulders and hung well. He ran his hand over the fabric, feeling the fine weave with his fingertips. It was so dark it was almost black, and even with his old work shirt underneath it gave him a look of understated elegance. He twisted this way and that, feeling the lining move with the jacket over his body.
Brian let out a rolling laugh. ‘Look at yourself, then,’ he said. ‘You just see how the girlies’ eyes light up when they catch a glimpse of you, Pat me boy.’
‘Very nice,’ the shop assistant cooed. ‘It complements your athletic figure. The trousers are ready to fit.’ He indicated the un-hemmed bottoms and unfinished waistband.
Patrick studied himself in the mirror. Although it might be a sin to say so, he didn’t look half bad. But would Josie think so? Would her eyes light up?
He glanced down at the cuff and caught sight of the paper ticket.
Two pounds, fifteen shillings and sixpence!
‘Worth every penny,’ the supervisor said swiftly, seeing that he had spotted the price.
Perhaps . . . but this was nearly two weeks wages.
Patrick looked at his reflection again, and this time imagined Josie on his arm. In his mind’s eye he saw her laughing and smiling as she walked beside him. Her eyes would flash and sparkle as they always did, and if they danced, as they very well might, then the silk of her skirt would glide over, not snag on, the fabric of his clothes.
But two pounds, fifteen and six . . .
‘I don’t know,’ he said, studying the sharp line of the shoulders.
The supervisor’s encouraging expression faded a little.
A smile spread across Brian’s freckled face. ‘I’ll tell you what, Pat, it won’t only be the local girls who’ll be giving you the glad eye.’ He winked. ‘I bet when a certain young lady catches sight of you looking like the dog’s naggers, she’ll wish she’d come back from America sooner.’
Patrick slipped the jacket off and handed it to the assistant. ‘I’ll take it.’
Patrick and Iggy Bonny stood on the stone quayside and surveyed Roy MacManus’s barge, the Mary Ann , lying half submerged in the ebbing tide. Inside its hull, Roy stood up to his knees in slurry, desperately packing cork into the damaged timber.
Patrick had strolled down to the Mermaid’s mooring before sunrise and had arrived just before Iggy about half an hour ago.
Ignatius Cassius Bonny, to give him his full name, had joined Patrick on the Sea Horse in Kingston ten years before. Sailing around the Cape in the teeth of icy winds and mountainous waves had soon cemented a friendship between this unlikely pair. Although Iggy was as dark as any other native African, his light green eyes and aquiline nose betrayed the other races that were part of his ancestry. When Patrick returned to London, Iggy declared himself finished with the roving life and had crewed the Mermaid with him ever since.
He’d met and married Colly, a fair-skinned, red-haired Irish lass, and settled down in Tait Street, around the corner from the Nolans. Colly sold sweets in twists of newspaper to the local children from her front parlour window and presented Iggy annually with an infant - brown-skinned and red-haired, or with a buttermilk complexion and curly black hair, or some other exotic combination. Usually it was Iggy who was early, waiting on the dockside, but since Josie’s visit a few days ago, Patrick found himself awake well before dawn with a vision of her imprinted in his mind’s eye.
Although the sun was barely up, the waterfront was already alive with dock labourers working under
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