Coming Home to the Four Streets

by Nadine Dorries

  Paddy had held her gaze, his face full of concern. ‘Ma, can I do something? Do you need help? Can I help, Ma?’

  ‘Paddy, you can help me with the chips when I get back and I’ll make sure I get enough for everyone to have a saveloy each too.’

  Her children had looked up at her, their eyes filled with the kind of adoration reserved by the masses for the pope. Oh, she would not let them down. Knowing the women would be in their houses, preparing the tea for their own families and away from the street, she’d opened the front door and, pushing the pram before her, slipped out. She had taken the one and sixpence she had left to her name, money Kathleen had given her to help with food for the tea, knowing that unless she could find more, they would be turned out of their house on Friday. To keep a roof over their head and food on the table she would sell herself down on the docks. Everyone knew, when Annie O’Prey had fallen on hard times, it wasn’t a cup of tea and a slice of Annie’s famed Victoria sandwich that the coalman had stepped inside for. She would never admit it now, but the black handprints on Annie’s backside half an hour later had been a dead giveaway. Annie had paid for a hundredweight in kind and Peggy knew of others who had done the same in desperate times.

  Now, if she couldn’t get what she needed from the pawnbroker, there was nowhere else for her to turn. She was days away from losing her home and the children’s welfare would take her children into care when that happened. All she would be left with was big Paddy – and what a thought that was. Her children were hungry. She would sell the clothes off their backs, the shoes off their feet – and if she had to, Peggy would sell herself.

  Now she wandered down the Dock Road, looking around her, watching carefully, and then she saw it happen before her very eyes. A woman stepped out from a closed shop doorway and a man approached her. They spoke and then she opened a door in the wall and they disappeared inside. Peggy sighed; this woman was not wearing slippers. She wore heels, a fancy coat and her hair was done.

  *

  The visit to the pawnshop almost robbed her of the last of her dignity, or so she thought.

  The pawnbroker picked up each shoe and checked the soles. He put the blankets on one side. ‘I don’t suppose they’ve had a wash?’

  Peggy looked down at her hands.

  ‘Well, in that case, I can’t give you much because if you don’t come back, I’ll have to get them to the wash house before I can sell them. Three shillings for the blankets and ten and six for the shoes.’

  Peggy gasped. ‘Is that all?’ It had hardly been worth the long and exhausting walk.

  ‘I’ll have to get this lot resoled. It’s a business I run, not a charity.’

  Peggy felt as though she had been winded. ‘But why? They’re made of good leather?’ She was in shock; she had guessed at three pounds at the very least. She was depending upon that amount to call off the dogs. To persuade Mr Heartfelt that she could return with more and to let them stay in their home because they had nowhere else to go.

  ‘Leather is leather,’ the pawnbroker said. ‘No one from around here has ever brought me good leather. They don’t even know what it looks like.’ He laughed out loud and then, with little compassion for the bereft woman standing before him, asked, ‘Am I taking them, or not?’

  Peggy looked over her shoulder and out of the window. Normal people living normal lives were bustling past. Workmen on their way home to a tea on the table. Old, invisible women, returning from mass, children answering the call to return home for tea; and she thought of her own children, huddled on the stairs and hungry. And very soon there wouldn’t even be the stairs to sit on.

  ‘Take them,’ she said as she placed her mother’s clock on the counter and the man peeled away the layers of newsprint.

  ‘Ah, now you’re talking,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a fiver for that – it’s an original.’

  A thrill ran through her. She could deliver chips to the kids after all, and saveloys too – and surely this would be enough for Mr Heartfelt. Frank the Skank and the threat he and his wife posed had faded. She would rather keep her home with them as neighbours than have no home at all. It had come to that.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ she said, and as she pushed the clock across the glass-topped counter, she heard her mother’s voice, ‘That clock’s been my pride and joy; it was your grandmother’s, so don’t you ever let it go, do you hear me?’

  Peggy’s breath caught in the back of her throat. If she died before she got the clock back, and if she had the last rites and went to heaven and her mam was there, what would she say? Was her shame on earth not enough? Must she take it with her? The pawnbroker placed the money in a brown envelope with the items listed on the front and ripped a corresponding page out of his book. Peggy took it and slipped it into her coat pocket.

  ‘Aren’t you going to check how much is in there, that I haven’t short-changed you?’ he asked but Peggy didn’t answer him; she could do no more. Turning, she headed for the door and, lifting the brake on the pram, set off towards the four streets and the chip shop.

  *

  Mary sat in the chair, with the cape around her shoulders and Cindy undid the ribbons on the bottom of her pigtails and let her hair fall onto her shoulders.

  ‘You’ve got lovely hair, Mary,’ Cindy said, looking at the girl in the mirror. Mary had never been into Cindy’s, or any hairdresser’s, in her life. Deirdre had always cut her hair in the kitchen, along with the boys’. ‘Does your mam know you’re here?’ Mary shook her head. ‘I thought as much. Was it all Alice’s idea?’

  Mary managed a half smile. ‘It was. She said I had to be more like you and the best way for that to happen was for you to give me a modern haircut.’

  Cindy grinned. ‘Well, she’s not wrong there, I know all about haircuts. Have you seen this one?’ Cindy picked up a magazine and began to rifle through until she came to the page she was looking for. Mary gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I know,’ said Cindy, looking proud of herself. ‘It takes someone bold to have that cut, but look at her cheekbones – they’re the same as yours. You’re a chrysalis, Mary, and with the right haircut, a butterfly will appear.’

  Mary’s eyes were wide. It wasn’t just the things Cindy said, it was the way she said them. Cindy was totally confident in her own skin and Mary realised that Alice was right: Mary did want to be like Cindy.

  ‘Don’t you dare go and knock on his mam’s door,’ Alice had told her when she’d unburdened all her woes, that Jimmy was out of prison and had made no attempt to see her. ‘I did exactly that; I knocked on Jerry’s door and it’s the wrong thing to do. Oh, I know I’m happy now and you are too young to know or remember, but we’ve been to hell and back along the way and I took people with me. Do not be me, Mary. Be more like Cindy. You go to Cindy and get her to make you look so fantastic that when you walk down the street with your head high, everyone looks at you. And if you do see Jimmy O’Prey, you look the other way and ignore him, do you hear me?’

  Mary had looked as though she was about to burst into tears. Her mouth was full of custard slice and her eyes were huge. ‘I can’t,’ she’d said, through flakes of puff pastry, ‘I love him.’

  Alice had instantly felt guilty. ‘Mary, I know you won’t believe a word I say, but believe me, love has to work both ways; if it doesn’t, it will only bring you years of heartache. Look, if you really want him to notice you, let’s make you unmissable. I suggest you start with a visit to Cindy and then we’ll get to your wardrobe. I was your size once and, honestly, I have some lovely clothes I brought back from America which just don’t fit me any more and never will again. We’ll see if there’s anything there, shall we? It’s good stuff too and will fit you a treat, but first, the hair! Let the transformation of Mary begin. Jimmy O’Prey, eat your heart out.’

  Alice had held her cup in a mock toast and, despite her tear-stained cheeks, Mary had laughed as she picked up her cup and toasted Alice back. For the first time in her life she’d felt as though someone
had not only noticed who she was, but could see her dreams and knew who it was Mary really wanted to be.

  *

  As she made her way back home, with the pawnbroker’s money safely in her purse, Peggy stopped and watched at the dock wall until the woman and the man she’d seen earlier emerged from the doorway, the deed obviously done. The man, who was well dressed and wearing a gaberdine mac, went away down the street while the woman walked over to another man who was leaning against a lamppost on the opposite side. She handed him what looked like money. He counted it and gave her some back and the woman walked away to the next lamppost swinging her handbag back and forth provocatively.

  Peggy watched, mesmerised, then a voice behind her asked, ‘Fancy a go? Short of a few bob? I saw you coming out of the pawnbroker’s. That pram looks lighter than when you went in.’

  Peggy almost jumped out of her skin. It was the pimp; he’d crossed the road while she stared at the woman. ‘What? No! I mean…’

  He looked her up and down. He had customers who liked their ladies on the larger side and while she was bedraggled-looking, he would bet she scrubbed up decent. She was what? Maybe forty? ‘Look, my name’s Fred – you don’t need a second name. That there is Stella and she’ll show you what to do. You go home, love, have a wash and do something with your hair, then get yourself back here and it’ll be five quid in your pocket for each punter. It’s busy and I’ve got a couple of girls off so I could use you.’

  Five pounds, Peggy thought, maybe she would get enough to pay the rent arrears off in one night. But the children were hungry, they needed chips, so she would see to them first.

  ‘Oh, and put a pair of heels on, no slippers on my patch.’

  Peggy’s heart sank. She walked away and didn’t turn around, pushing the pram with her head held high and her slippers flapping on the pavement, her humiliation complete. She couldn’t even sell herself, wasn’t good enough for that, because she didn’t own a pair of shoes to her name.

  *

  There was a queue in the chip shop and it was almost an hour before she arrived home to be greeted by a cacophony of noise. The pain in her abdomen had increased with a vengeance as she’d stood in the queue. She decided that it was worse when she stood and when all this was over, when she had saved her family and they were out of the woods, she would return to the doctor and let them take it all away. What a relief that would be, the rent up to date and a life without pain.

  Little Paddy had done all that he could to stop the boys from crying and complaining, he’d even resorted to using Max, letting his brothers hold him one by one, but after half an hour little Paddy’s last resort had lost its appeal. He went out to the entry and dark thoughts ran through his mind. His mother wasn’t coping and he didn’t know what he could do to help. He’d thrust his hands into his pockets and, as he did so, looked up to the Dohertys’ bedroom window. She was there and he’d whispered her name.

  ‘Kitty? It’s all going bad, Kitty.’

  Tears had filled his eyes as the street lamp flicked on overhead and the day relinquished its hold…

  ‘Little Paddy?’

  It was Peggy in the entry, pushing a pram. He could smell the vinegar-soaked newspaper and he laughed with relief. ‘Mam, I thought you weren’t coming back!’ he said.

  ‘Where’s your da?’ she asked, turning the pram in through the gate.

  ‘He’s not home yet,’ his voice falling again, along with his hopes, for his mother looked dreadful. As Peggy walked into the house, the complaints the children had stored ready for her return were all silenced by the smell of the hot chips. Even Scamp flew out from under the table.

  ‘I put Max away,’ whispered the second-youngest to his brother.

  ‘Sit still, everyone,’ Peggy said as she and little Paddy handed the newspaper parcels to the boys, all sitting in a row of wriggling excitement. The youngest licked the fat off the paper and smeared newsprint all over his face. The others began to giggle at the sight, their mouths stuffed full of chips and the room was filled with laughter.

  Then suddenly Peggy felt water run down her legs. ‘Oh, Jesus God in heaven!’ she exclaimed, her eyes stretched wide, both hands on her back in an attempt to suppress the huge ache that had suddenly seized her.

  ‘What, Mam?’ asked little Paddy.

  ‘Nothing, Paddy,’ said Peggy, ‘I’m caught short, that’s all, and I need the outhouse.’

  The children were so eagerly stuffing chips and saveloy into their mouths that not one had noticed the puddle of water on the floor. The deep ache came again, sharper and longer. Peggy, in a state of confusion, walked towards the back door, her slippers soaked and squelching. She had to get to the outhouse as quickly as she could, biting down an all-consuming urge to scream.

  And with it, Peggy was thinking: no, no, no, please God, no, this isn’t happening, it can’t be! But she also knew that no amount of denial would alter a thing; she was about to deliver a baby! She had done it many times before and the pressing urge, deep in her abdomen, was unmistakeable. She shivered, feeling as though ice was running through her veins, and nausea consumed her as she lunged towards the back door. Her sons, high on the excitement of hot food, had not noticed her dilemma, not even little Paddy.

  Peggy reached the outhouse door and looked over the wall at Maura’s empty house, feeling a powerful need for her friend. She blinked when she saw Kitty at the upstairs window. She often did, but had never told Kathleen or anyone else, in case they thought she was going mad, but she had no time to think about that now; she was panting furiously, out of breath, a baby was coming and it was coming fast.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eric had hoped he could slip out of the dairy and in through the doors of the Anchor before Gladys arrived back from her sister’s over in the Wirral. Cindy’s words had barely left his mind since he had been in her shop. ‘Don’t forget, you know where me and Reg are if you fancy a drink and a natter, we’ve only got one life, Eric.’

  One life… those words… His breath caught in his throat as he placed a kiss on the warmth of Daisy’s neck. Was this it for him, this one life, lived in dread and fear of stepping back indoors? Spending more time in the stable with his horse than any man should? Counting the minutes until he could make an excuse to head to his cold and lonely bed in the back of the house? As though sensing his thoughts, the mare bent her head and pushed her nose against his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, Daisy,’ he said, ‘thank goodness I’ve got you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the very best girl in my life.’

  He almost leapt out of his boots as Gladys’s stinging voice sliced through the air. ‘Charming, I’m sure.’ Her tone was unmistakeably acerbic and accusing. ‘I fall in behind the horse now, do I? Well, I have to say, I’m not surprised. Her intelligence is about at your level, so I suppose you’ve something in common.’

  Without knowing where they came from, alien words now fell from Eric’s mouth. ‘That’s as may be, but you’ve a face like a horse’s behind,’ he muttered and then, instantly regretting it, finished his words with an exaggerated cough.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Gladys.

  He took a long deep breath and turned to face his wife’s puckered grey lips and fake orange cheeks. Her dyed black hair with its tight curls lay almost flat against her scalp.

  ‘Is it true, you gave that Peggy Nolan on Nelson Street milk? I know it is, so don’t try denying it. I’ve done the accounts today and there’s two pints missing and two ticks in Nelson Street not crossed and accounted for from last week.’

  Eric sighed. He’d given Peggy the milk a few days ago and, of course, she hadn’t paid as she had promised and he’d done it in secret, without telling Maggie.

  ‘I thought you were off to your sister who lives on the Wirral?’ he said, attempting to change the subject.

  ‘Eric, we have been married for twenty-five years. Her name is Pauline. Why do you insist on calling her “your sister who lives on the Wirral”? Is it because i
t bothers you that she married a man who can keep her in a lifestyle I can only dream of?’

  Gladys knew how to deliver maximum hurt in the fewest words possible to cut him down to size and leave him speechless. Pauline, the younger sister, had married Dennis, a bank clerk from Hoylake who, following the war when there was a general shortage of men, rose quickly through the ranks despite his mediocrity, to become manager at the Hoylake branch he had worked in before he was called up. Milkman, bank manager; Daisy, Austin Seven; detached house, end-terrace dairy. Pauline and Dennis lived on a tree-lined street that ran down to the shore while Eric and Gladys lived a stone’s throw from the docks and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t match the lifestyle of the bank manager.

  With a glance at his wife, Eric lifted Daisy Bell’s water bucket, slipped back the bolt on the stable door and pushed it open, forcing Gladys to step backwards as he carried the bucket to the outside tap. He had intended to say, ‘Sorry, Gladys,’ as she stepped back, but instead he kept his mouth closed.

  ‘You stupid idiot, you almost knocked me over there. Close the stable door behind you,’ barked Gladys and banged the door shut, spooking Daisy Bell.

  ‘She’s not going anywhere while she’s eating her mash,’ said Eric, turning the tap full on to drown out her voice. But Gladys wasn’t going to let the subject of Peggy and the milk drop.

  ‘Well, did you? Did you give our hard-earned money away? She still owes us for eight pints and you know that.’

  Eric took a deep breath; there was no point in his denying it. ‘Yes, I did, but she promised me I would be paid on the collection round and I just haven’t been able to catch her since.’

  ‘What a surprise. Well, on Friday, it won’t be you going, it will be me.’ She glared at her husband and Eric could see the thoughts running through her mind as clearly as if she had spoken them. Gladys would take huge delight in knocking on Peggy’s door and that delight would only be increased if Peggy couldn’t pay and had to ask for extra time.