The Long Walk Home by Valerie Wood Page B

which I'm not.
    'Mikey! Mikey!'
    He turned as the voice called him. 'Please don't let it be Bridget,' he muttered. 'I'll never get rid of her.' He turned and saw her waving, but it wasn't Bridget calling his name. It was Milly, and she reached him first.
    'Mikey! Phew! I thought I'd never catch you.' Milly was breathless. 'Look,' she panted. 'We had a collection for you when we realized that you hadn't any money. Here.' She thrust a fist towards him. 'Two bob and threepence.' She grinned. 'Don't know how far you'll get on that.'
    He took the money and impulsively kissed her. 'Thanks. I'll get to London now,' he said eagerly. 'That's what I was planning. Do you think it's enough for 'ferry across 'Humber? I can walk 'rest of way.'
    'Walk!' she said incredulously. 'How brave you are, Mikey. Wait till I tell 'other lasses. They'll be that proud!'
    'Well,' he said bashfully, 'that's 'intention, anyway!'
    'Wait,' she said and fished in her skirt pocket. 'Here. Another penny. No, tek it. I'll mek some more tonight.'
    He wavered. It didn't seem right. Ill-gotten gains; money for— money for . . . But she was gone, a quick wave and a garbled excuse that she had to get back to Walter, and he was left holding a handful of coins.
    'Mikey.' Bridget came over. 'Who was that?'
    'Nobody you know,' he said abruptly.
    'Huh! I know that all right.' She was scornful. 'She's a street lass, en't she? I've seen her about on a night.'
    Mikey didn't answer, only shrugged.
    'What did she give you?'
    'Nowt to do wi' you.'
    Bridget eyed him suspiciously. 'It's usually 'other way round. Men give them summat. For their services,' she added.
    'How do you know?' he retaliated. 'Who telled you about such things?'
    'I just know,' she said. 'I'm older than you so I know about women like that.'
    Mikey turned away. 'Well you don't know everything and like I said, it's nowt to do wi' you. Anyway, I'm off. See you about.'
    'Where you going, Mikey? Can I come?' She seemed anxious, yet eager.
    'No,' he called over his shoulder. 'I'm going away and I don't know where.' He certainly wasn't going to tell her he was going to London, as she would want to come with him. 'I'm off to look for work.'
    'Go on then, see if I care. You won't get far on your own,' she sneered. 'You was allus a mammy's boy. Allus being good!'
    'What's wrong wi' that?' he snapped. 'My ma was a good woman. She'd not have turned anybody away if they were in trouble.'
    He didn't say 'like your mother did', but that's what he meant and she knew it.
    'That was my fault,' she said contritely. 'I didn't mean to get you thrown out of 'house.' She gazed archly at him. 'Ma wants me to stay pure till I'm wed. She thinks I'll be a catch if I am.' Her lips turned down in a cynical gesture. 'As if any man would know!'
    He turned to her one more time. 'Some might,' he said. 'They're not all like me. Cheerio, Bridget. Be seeing you.'
    He walked away, leaving her looking forlornly after him. No, she thought. They're not all like you, Mikey. But where was he going? He was heading towards the pier. She gave a gasp. I know! He's going to catch 'ferry!
    She turned swiftly and ran back home, hoping that her mother wouldn't be in. She flew through the door and gathered up her few belongings, a shawl and an underskirt with a few coppers sewn into the hem. Then she searched for a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper, but finding none she called up the stairs to the woman who lived in the room above.
    'Mrs Brown! Mrs Brown!'
    When an answering shout told her the woman was in, but too idle to come to the top of the stairs, she yelled up to her, 'Will you tell my ma I'm going away for a bit? Tell her I'll be all right.'
    The door upstairs opened and a blowsy middle-aged woman appeared, smoking a pipe. 'Where you going then?'
    'Away,' she said. 'I'll be gone for a bit. Going to look for a job.'
    'That'll be the day,' the woman grunted. She turned back into her room and shut the door.
    'Thanks, you old cow,' Bridget muttered.