The Girl From Seaforth Sands Read Online Free

spuds were heavy, but Albert hadn’t hesitated. Odd, really, when you thought about it, how different the Logans were, one from another. Bill was a nice old bloke who would do anything for anybody, but Isobel was sharp as they came, while Mary was an angel – there was no other way to describe her – and Albert as good a bloke as ever breathed. And then there was the detestable Amy. She had ginger hair when the rest of the family were all blonde, and she was sharp and spiteful when the others – Mary, Albert and Bill at any rate – were all good-hearted and generous. Paddy knew full well that, had he asked Amy to carry spuds for him, or to do him any other favour for that matter, he would have received a dusty answer, probably laced with invective. Like mother like daughter, I suppose, he told himself, diligently sorting spuds with hands that were very soon as earthy as any potato. In a way, you could say us Keagans wereall different, too. Mam’s easygoing and soft as marshmallow, while me gran is sharp as a needle, like what I am. Oh, well, Gran always says there’s nowt so queer as folk. And with that philosophical thought, Paddy gave all his attention to sorting the spuds as quickly and neatly as he could.
    Much later that evening Suzie came out of the canny house on Scotland Road, where she had worked for the past eight weeks, and looked, a trifle apprehensively, up at the sky overhead. It was full of scudding grey clouds but, although the road and pavements were still generously puddled, the rain seemed to have ceased, for the moment at any rate. Suzie only had a light shawl cast over her arm but she didn’t bother to put it on, for it was warm despite the recent rain. Besides, she usually caught a tram home and on such an evening a shawl was not needed; the tram, though draughty, was a good deal warmer than the street. Added to which, the shawl was hiding something she would far rather her employer did not see in her possession. Mrs Hathaway, mean old cat, would not be best pleased to discover that her cleaning woman had managed to possess herself of a number of currant buns and the best part of a nice bit of ham. It wouldn’t hurt her to give me some leftovers, the way she makes me slave, Suzie thought righteously, tucking the shawl securely round the purloined food. Anyhow, it ain’t often us Keagans see meat; this’ll be a rare treat for everyone, so it will.
    There was a tram stop opposite the canny house where Suzie worked, so she crossed the road and joined the short queue of people waiting for the next vehicle. Other people might walk the fivemiles home, but Suzie did not believe in overexerting herself. The tram ride was only tuppence and she had some tips jangling in her apron pocket. The staff were supposed to share out their tips at the end of the day but Suzie, neither cooking nor serving but merely skivvying, rarely got tips. Instead, however, as she cleared tables and cleaned floors, walls and chairs, she whisked any pennies or halfpennies she might find into her apron pocket and outfaced anyone who suspected that she was feathering her nest instead of passing on the largesse to those who had earned it.
    Mrs Hathaway was a marvellous cook, though, which was why Suzie had stayed in the job for so long, despite the pay being on the mingy side. She was employed to clean the room where the customers ate and the kitchen, of course; to do rough work such as scrubbing potatoes, cleaning vegetables and scouring pans, but when the main midday rush was over she sat down to a good meal with all the other employees. Work officially finished, for Suzie, at six in the evening, but she usually stayed later, despite not being paid to do so. There was the big dinner which Mrs Hathaway served to her workers when the place began to empty of regular customers, and there were what Suzie thought of as the ‘leftovers’. Some people were given leftovers, but they were staff who had been with Mrs Hathaway a long time,