Children of the Tide by Valerie Wood Page B

so close with dwellings that the sun never filtered through to warm the damp and festering walls. The residents of these abodes would sometimes wander out of their own area and hang untidily over the respectable iron railings, until someone fetched the uniformed constable to flush them out and send them back where they belonged.
    Billy ran down the stairs. ‘I’m off, Mrs Parker,’ he called. ‘I might be late, but don’t worry about supper, and I have a key.’
    His landlady came out of the parlour. ‘Oh, I shallworry, Mr Rayner. I’ve always worried about my young men, but there we are, it’s my nature you see, and I can do nothing at all about that.’ She nodded at him, the ribbons on her cap bobbing around her chubby chins. ‘I’ll dampen down ’fire and leave ’kettle on ’hob so’s you can make a drink if you want it. But if you can’t manage that, for I know what you young men are,’ she dimpled with an entreating girlish laugh, ‘then just knock on my door and I’ll come and make it. I won’t be sleeping. I never sleep!’
    He thanked her and said that he would, even though he had no intention of doing so. He had been brought up with a cook and kitchen maids and a bevy of housemaids in his home, but he still knew how to cook a simple supper for himself. His mother had sent both him and Sammi down to the kitchens when they were very young, telling them that if they didn’t learn how things were done, then they would never appreciate those who did for them.
    He walked briskly down Posterngate and Lowgate to the Cross Keys Inn. Roger Beresford-Brown was already there and waiting for him, with brimming tankards which slopped their contents onto the small round table. Billy pushed his way through the crowd and waved his hand to another companion, Henry Woolrich, who was also battling his way across to them.
    ‘There you are, old fellow.’ Roger pulled out a chair for him. ‘Sit down and put that inside you. I’ve ordered a jug, but this will do for the time being.’
    ‘I’m not used to strong ale,’ Billy began, mindful of his mother’s warning. ‘I only usually drink wine at supper.’
    Roger and Henry both guffawed. ‘We’ll have to take you in hand, Rayner. You need to oil the wheels, and all the other bits and pieces, eh?’ Roger winked and nudged him in the ribs.
    Billy shrank away from the offending elbow. ‘I thought we were going to the theatre?’
    ‘Music hall, old fellow. There’s only boring old Shakespeare playing at the Queen’s, so I thought we’d go and have a laugh and a bit of a singsong at the Mechanics. The one and only Herr Dobler is opening his Palace of Illusions for our entertainment!’
    ‘Shakespeare isn’t boring!’ Billy protested, annoyed at the thought of having to spend the evening watching a magician, even though it was one who was billed as having appeared before the Queen.
    ‘He’s right, old boy.’ Henry took the jug of ale from a barmaid and slipped a coin down the front of her bodice. ‘There’s lots of dirty bits if you listen; you know, by the minor characters, the plebeians and such. Don’t you remember how we used to pick them out to read when we were at school?’
    Billy looked from one to the other and wondered why he had ever thought that they were sensible, well-bred fellows.
    ‘Come on, then,’ Henry Woolrich hiccupped at last. Their third jug of ale was down to the dregs, he and Beresford-Brown shaking out the last drops after Billy had refused once again to take more, having already drunk more than he had intended.
    ‘Let’s call for a chair, like the fine ladies do.’ Roger looked down at the debris on the road, blown over from the Market Place, and then at his shiny shoes and neat pin-striped trousers.
    ‘Good idea!’ Henry swayed unsteadily and had difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. ‘Call for a double, there’s a good fellow. I say – I say! A double, do you get my meaning? Mine’s a double!’ He