Daughter of Mine. Anne Bennett

on her shoulder smelt of vinegar and fish and she turned her face away, but she said nothing and they went on through the crowd.

      There was a man tied up in chains demanding more money in the hat before he tried to get free. Lizzie thought he looked decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Have you ever seen him get out?’ she whispered to Steve.

      ‘Never,’ he said, tossing a florin into the hat, ‘though I’ve paid enough to, over the years. Mike says he’s seen it, but I doubt it.’

      They got fed up waiting in the end and walked on. ‘I think it’s all a con, anyroad,’ Steve said.

      ‘How?’

      ‘Them chains can’t be real, can they? I mean, how could anyone get out of real chains when they are trussed up like he was?’ And then, seeing Lizzie’s crestfallen face, he gave a gentle laugh and tightened his arm around her. ‘Spoilt your illusions, have I?’

      Lizzie didn’t answer, for her attention was taken by two stilt-walkers moving effortlessly amongst the crowds and between the stalls and barrows, and standing so immensely high that her mouth dropped open in amazement.

      But Steve pushed her on to where the boxing ring was set up. ‘Me and Mike had a go here when we was lads,’ he said. ‘Knocked on our backs, the pair of us,’ he added, laughing at the memory. ‘Wouldn’t be so easy for him to do that to me today.’

      ‘Like to try your luck, sir?’ the man in the black top hat and red jacket encouraged, seeing Steve’s interest. The assembled crowd turned to see who he was addressing and shuffled their feet in anticipation of a fight. ‘Five pounds if you beat the champ,’ the man said.

      Steve looked at the glowering champ sat in the corner of the ring. He was broad and hefty, terrifying to him as a boy, and he remembered the way the big man with fists like hams had felled him with one blow, and how he lay on the ring floor with the breath knocked out of his body and thought every bone and joint had been loosened. But the champ was running to fat now, and Steve, full-grown, well-muscled and strong, reckoned he could give the bruiser a run for his money.

      ‘Don’t, Steve.’

      ‘Five pounds is five pounds, pet,’ Steve said. But it wasn’t the money. It was the thought of the fight wiping the supercilious smile off the champ’s face, maybe making Lizzie proud of him. He didn’t know that such an action would not make Lizzie proud; that she hated violence.

      ‘I could beat that bastard with one hand tied behind my back,’ Steve sneered, and Lizzie pressed against him and felt the excitement pounding through his body.

      The champ snarled at him. ‘Words is cheap, mate. Come up here and prove it. I’ll pound you into the ground, you cheeky young pup.’

      ‘Right,’ Steve cried, and tried to disentangle himself from Lizzie, but she held on to his coat. ‘No, Steve. Please don’t.’

      ‘Come on, darling, it’s only a bit of fun.’

      ‘Please, I can’t bear it. For my sake, don’t do this.’

      Steve was pleased that Lizzie was showing such obvious concern for him. He hadn’t been aware she felt so strongly about him getting hurt and it gave him a glimmer of hope. No way was he going to risk upsetting her, so he smiled ruefully and said, ‘We’ll have to settle the score some other time, mate. I’ve got my orders for the moment.’

      There was understanding laughter amongst the crowd and Lizzie was embarrassed by everyone looking at them. ‘Come on.’

      ‘I would have been all right, you know,’ Steve said when they were out of earshot.

      ‘I don’t care.’

      ‘You didn’t want me face messed up, is that it?’

      ‘I didn’t want you hurt at all,’ Lizzie said.

      ‘I didn’t think you cared.’

      ‘Of course I care.’

      Steve pressed her close. ‘You don’t know how good it makes me feel when you say things like that.’

      Lizzie’s heart gave a lurch. She didn’t mean it that way at all, but before she was able to explain this Steve had grabbed her arm. ‘Look, there’s the man who lies on the bed of nails,’ he said, and taking her hand he pulled her into the ring of onlookers watching the man, lying seemingly unconcerned.

      ‘Who’d like to stand on my stomach?’ the man said as they approached, scanning the women in the crowd. ‘You, darling, or you? Come on. Don’t be shy. Promise I won’t look up your skirt.’

      Eventually, a girl stepped forward. She would have been about Lizzie’s age, and she was out with a crowd of similar-aged girls who were egging her on. In horrified fascination, Lizzie watched the girl remove her shoes and step gingerly onto the man’s stomach. Lizzie was glad of Steve’s arm around her, glad that she could bury her face in his coat and not see the nails sinking into the man’s flesh to the sympathetic ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ah’s’ of the crowd.

      Coins splattered into the bucket, but Steve led Lizzie away. The accordions and fiddles had begun their tunes, and as they passed the hot potato man, Steve bought them one each, served in a poke of paper folded into a triangle to protect hands.

      The tunes being played at first reminded Lizzie of Ireland and they lifted her spirits. She had the urge to lift up her skirts and dance the jigs and reels of her youth, but she didn’t, for she guessed Steve wouldn’t like her to make such an exhibition of herself. She contented herself by leaning against Steve and tapping her foot to the music as she ate her potato. Then they changed to the popular songs of the music hall that Lizzie had learnt during her time in Birmingham. They began with, ‘By the Light of the Silvery Moon’ and went on to ‘Just a Song at Twilight’, before changing tempo to, ‘I’m Getting Married in the Morning’. By the time they’d got to ‘Daisy, Daisy’ the crowd had begun to sway and they really belted out ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ and ‘Knees up, Mother Brown’ before the musicians ended the impromptu concert with ‘The Old Bull and Bush’.

      Lizzie had had a wonderful time, finishing off her visit to the Bull Ring singing the hymns with the Salvation Army band until they marched back to the Citadel with the tramps and the destitute trailing behind them, confident of a good feed. She acknowledged that Steve had been kind, generous and good fun to be with. He’d also been the perfect gentleman and had not done or said anything even mildly suggestive, and so she relaxed against him as they sauntered back to the pub for a drink before Steve would leave Lizzie at the back door of the hotel.

      Steve had also felt the difference in Lizzie, but he put a totally different interpretation on her behaviour, especially when he remembered how she’d reacted at the boxing ring when there was the possibility he could have been hurt.

      In the pub, they talked easily of that night and the things they’d seen, and they discussed the budding romance between Mike and Tressa. As they made their way back to the hotel, Lizzie realised she might have had a totally miserable time without Steve, for she’d not have wanted to tag along after Mike and Tressa, even if they had allowed her to, so at the doorway she said, ‘Thanks for tonight, Steve.’

      ‘S’all right. My pleasure.’

      ‘Well, I truly appreciated it,’ Lizzie continued. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’

      It was on the tip of Steve’s tongue to say he could think of a more satisfactory way of finishing the evening, where she could show him just how appreciative she was. But he bit the words back. Nor did he force her lips open when she kissed him goodnight, though he was so filled with desire that he shook slightly, and his groin ached so much he knew he’d have to seek relief before he made for home that night. And yet, despite his frustration, he went home whistling because he really thought Lizzie was warming to him, as he’d prophesised she would in time.