she served and she knew she had not behaved any differently in Ashfield Place, yet the neighbours had taken her to their hearts. Smiling a little ruefully she realised she had a lot to thank Merrell for.
Now, Patty dismounted her bicycle and began to heave it up the iron stairway. It had been simple enough when Merrell was tiny, but now her weight made carting it upstairs really difficult. As she struggled, a figure came clattering down towards her, a tall, dark figure. It was difficult to identify him against the light but as he drew level Patty recognised Darky Knight. By now she was used to him ignoring her and expected nothing else, so she was considerably surprised when he looked at the baby in the basket, gave a martyred sigh, and turned back, grabbing the front wheel of the bicycle as he did so. He began to pull the machine up the remaining stairs, though without a word said, and Patty, breathless from the effort she had already expended, held her tongue until they reached the top landing. Then she said: ‘Thanks, Mr Knight.’
He turned away and Patty essayed a small smile, thinking crossly that he might at least acknowledge her thanks, if nothing else. But Darky Knight did not reply. With averted head, he went past her and hurried down the stairs, two at a time. Patty now knew that he was an electrician at Lever Brothers; knew also from his mother that it was a responsible and well-paid job. They do shift work at Port Sunlight so he’s probably in a hurry, she told herself, but she could not help feeling a little aggrieved. Why was he so rude to her? It was impolite to ignore someone who had spoken to you. Mrs Knight had said, excusingly, that her son was shy and had become even more so after losing his wife, but Patty had heard him talking to Mrs Clarke and other neighbours in a normal fashion. To be sure, he did not gossip but he was always polite to everyone, except herself.
It is a nasty thing to feel oneself disliked for no obvious reason, as Patty knew well, but she comforted herself by remembering that she had no interest in any young man and really had no desire for a friendship with Darky Knight.
As she wheeled her machine along to her own section of balcony, Patty’s thoughts reverted to her problem: who was going to look after Merrell now that she was becoming too big for the bicycle basket? She told herself sadly that she could not go on as she did at present, lugging the child around with her. It was fair neither to Merrell nor to Patty herself, for at five months Merrell was beginning to take a considerable interest in her surroundings, and in a few weeks more she would be sitting up by herself and wanting to crawl or to shuffle along on her bottom, the way Patty had seen other children do. Unstrapping the basket, Patty took her bag in her other hand, then had to set it down to unlock her front door. Once this was done, she carried Merrell across to the kitchen table and put the basket down on it, then began to set about the tasks which she performed on her arrival home each evening. First, she lifted Merrell, gurgling happily, from the basket and wedged her into a corner of the one easy chair she possessed. Then she emptied her instruments into the sink and washed them thoroughly before popping them in a biscuit tin and placing it in the bake oven for sterilisation, for the fire was kept alight in the stove day and night.
Patty had noticed a couple of weeks before how intently the baby now watched her every movement and as she prepared the child’s bottle, and a simple meal for herself, she spent a good deal of time chatting to Merrell as though she understood every word. Right from the start, she had realised that the child needed constant loving attention as much as she needed feeding, cleaning and clothing and had done her best to provide it. The lack of such attention in her own childhood had, she guessed, contributed to the deep unhappiness from which she had suffered in the orphan asylum,
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