Josephine Cox Mother’s Day 3-Book Collection: Live the Dream, Lovers and Liars, The Beachcomber

Rosie thought on that. ‘Well, mebbe not. Y’see, if ye ask him, ye might frighten him off, then your chance is gone for good. On the other hand, if ye don’t ask him, you may never know where ye stand. The two of youse could go on for years and in the end it could lead nowhere.’

‘I’ll have to take that chance.’ Kathy could not see herself asking Tom how he felt about her. It was too early. Too bold.

‘There ye are then.’ Rosie sighed. ‘Like I said … you’re a lost cause.’ She drained her glass. ‘I’d best be off. I’ve to get meself ready for a date. Y’see, there’s this caravanner who wants to take me out for a night on the tiles, and who am I to waste an opportunity like that, eh?’

Kathy had a warning. ‘Be careful, Rosie. Some of these single blokes are only out for what they can get.’

‘Ah sure, don’t I know that?’ She giggled like a schoolgirl. ‘And I don’t give a damn.’

She went away down the street waving and chuckling, and Kathy waved back. ‘Have a nice time,’ she murmured with a little smile, ‘and don’t get into mischief.’ Rosie was made in the same mould as Maggie, she thought, and, rain or shine, she wouldn’t want either of them any different.

‘D’yer want that drink, missus?’ The little cockney boy had slid into Rosie’s seat without Kathy seeing. ‘’Cause if you don’t want it, you might as well give it to me.’

Momentarily taken aback, Kathy recognised the little chap as being one of the caravanners whose mother, with one other child, had only recently arrived at the site. The mother appeared to have little money; from what Rosie had told her, the woman’s husband had paid in advance to book them all into the caravan and promptly ran off with some woman, supposedly a friend of theirs.

Angry and disillusioned, the mother had been determined to enjoy their holiday anyway. As she said to Rosie, ‘To hell with him … before too long he’ll come back, wanting his warm bed and an easy meal on the table, but when he does he’ll be shown the door, you can depend on that.’

Without hesitation, Rosie had been in full agreement. ‘You do right,’ she told the hapless woman. ‘Men like that want their doofers chopped off.’ Though, knowing Rosie, Kathy thought that would be the last thing she wanted … for any man to be without his ‘doofer’, as she called it.

‘Well, missus, do I get the drink or not?’

Kathy pushed the glass of orange towards him. ‘I’d had enough anyway,’ she told him with a smile. ‘Go on, son. You finish it if you want.’

‘Cor, thanks, missus!’ In minutes he had wolfed the drink down. ‘Mam says we can’t afford luxuries,’ he said, his eyes filled with tears. ‘She says our old man’s run off with his tart, and we’ll have to go without.’

‘Without what?’

His little face was downcast. ‘Everything! Me dad promised we’d be going on the donkeys in Weymouth and we’d ’ave ice-cream. He said if we were good he might take us for a ride in one o’ them boats … he said sometimes if you pay, they let you take them out all by yourself.’ He glanced up, his eyes alive with anger. ‘An’ now we ain’t gonna get nuffin.’ As he talked he nervously wound his tiny fists one into the other. ‘I hate him.’ His bottom lip began to tremble. ‘I hate him!’

Aware that at any minute he would burst into tears, Kathy put a comforting arm round his shoulders. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘How about if I treat you to an ice-cream? A big strawberry cornet, with chocolate sauce on top.’

Though he licked his lips at the prospect, he shook his head. ‘Naw. Me mam says she’ll tan me arse if I take anything from strangers. I shouldn’t have had that drink, only I were thirsty, and she ain’t got no money.’ He thought about the ice-cream and wondered if it would be all right, but then he shook his head. ‘Naw. I’d best not, missus.’

‘What if we find your mammy and ask her?’

As it turned out, they didn’t have to look far for her, because just then she could be heard calling for him, and a moment later she appeared from round the corner. ‘Where’ve you been, you little sod?’ Taking him by the scruff of the neck, she told Kathy, ‘I’m sorry if he’s been a nuisance. He keeps wandering off, and I can’t keep track of him.’

Kathy assured her he had been fine. ‘In fact, I was thinking of asking you a favour.’ She could see how, in spite of her bravado, the poor woman looked haggard and pale. It must be hard for her to cope, she thought.

The woman was instantly suspicious. ‘What kind o’ favour?’

‘I could take him off your hands for half an hour if you like … give you a break?’

‘Why? What you got in mind?’ God only knew she could do with a break. The girl was too young to realise what was happening, but not the boy. He was in such a rebellious mood, she didn’t know how to deal with him.

Kathy understood her dilemma. ‘He’ll be safe enough, I promise. I thought I might get him an ice-cream and take him down to see the boats … if that’s all right with you? A friend of mine has just bought a small boat. I’m sure, if we asked him, he wouldn’t mind letting your lad go aboard … just to have a look round.’

‘Oh, please, Mam!’ By this time the boy was leaping up and down. ‘Please!’

The woman studied Kathy for a minute; it wasn’t often anyone was kind to them. ‘You’re from the reception, ain’t yer?’

Kathy nodded. ‘I work with Rosie, yes.’

The woman laughed, a roar of a laugh that stopped passers-by in their tracks. ‘That Rosie’s a buggeroota and no mistake! If she had her way she’d cut my old man’s doofer off, that’s what she said, and I reckon she’s right an’ all!’

When she’d composed herself, the woman said, ‘Go on then, Frank. But only for half an hour. Keep an eye on him,’ she said to Kathy, ‘’cause he’s like slippery Jack: you never know where he’ll be off to next. He might be a bag o’ trouble, and there are times when I could swing for ’im.’ She smiled down on the boy, who returned the smile with affection. ‘But I don’t want him drowning.’

So it was agreed.

‘Where’s the boat?’ Frank asked for the umpteenth time.

‘Just there.’ Kathy pointed to the small boat moored at the harbour. ‘The one with the furled-down sails.’ Amongst the fishing boats it was easy to spot.

‘All right. I’ll be there in half an hour to collect him.’ Wagging a finger at the boy, his mother told him, ‘You behave yourself, or there’ll be a smack o’ the arse waiting for you when I get back!’ With that, and the other, small child in her arms, she went away, ‘To sit by the river and watch the ducks,’ she said.

Kathy had bought him an ice-cream, just as she had promised, with a river of chocolate sauce running down the sides; while he slurped at that – with ice-cream and sauce mingling to form all manner of patterns on his shirt – she led him down to the harbour. When he’d finished, she wiped his face and shirt with her handkerchief, until at length he looked near enough respectable.

‘I’m not sure if my friend is on the boat,’ she explained. ‘If not, I’m sure Jasper will be there. He’ll persuade one of the fishermen to let you on board.’

‘Who’s Jasper?’

‘He’s another friend.’

‘That’s a funny name.’

‘It suits him though.’

‘What does he look like?’

Kathy smiled. ‘Rosie says he’s a rough-looking Father Christmas.’

The boy laughed. ‘There ain’t no Father Christmas.’

Kathy was shocked. ‘Who told you that?’

‘My dad.’

‘Well, I believe in Father Christmas, and I don’t care what anybody says.’

There was a minute of quiet contemplation while Frank considered Kathy’s profound statement, after which he declared boldly, ‘I believe in Father Christmas too!’

Kathy squeezed his hand. ‘Good for you!’ If she did nothing else today, she had restored a child’s belief.

As they approached the harbour, Kathy could see Tom on the decking. ‘TOM!’ Having caught his attention, she took the boy at a run over the little bridge. ‘We need to ask you a favour,’ she said breathlessly.

Tom looked pleased to see her. ‘Who’s your little friend?’

Kathy looked down at the boy. ‘This is Frank.’