Christmas on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  She was so engrossed in looking at the window, wishing she could change her image, she didn’t hear the footsteps. It gave her a fright when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘What are you gawping at in there, eh?’ It was a man’s voice, deep and strong. ‘I could show you far better Christmas trees than that,’ he said.

  Elsie whipped round. A huge man was standing there, looking even taller because of his hat. His open overcoat showed he was dressed in a suit, and it wasn’t even Sunday. Her mouth gaped open but she didn’t feel able to speak. Not that it mattered, for he was talking again.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ he said, ‘and we have real tears too. Now what are those all about? Crying because Santa didn’t come?’

  Elsie felt anger flare; how dare he make fun of her! ‘No, I’m not,’ she snapped. ‘There’s no such thing as Santa Claus. I’m not a child.’ She paused then and added under her breath, ‘Not that he’d know where I bloody live anyway.’

  The man held his large hands up in surrender like John Wayne did in her favourite cowboy films. In fact, she thought he looked a bit like John Wayne. Very tall, with broad shoulders, big feet and hands. But this man’s fingers were scrubbed clean with no dirt under the nails. His face was darker than the film star, like he needed a good shave, and thick dark hair curled out from under his trilby. She couldn’t see his eyes until he bent down to look at her face, but then she saw that they were dark as well.

  ‘Oops, sorry,’ he said. His eyes had laughter in them. ‘Only joking. Maybe it’s just the rain. Anyway, you look half-frozen. How do you fancy a hot cup of coffee?’

  Elsie screwed up her nose, she’d never had coffee.

  ‘OK, tea then,’ he said. ‘There’s a café down the road.’

  ‘Do you mean the Milk Bar?’ Elsie asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Aye, I know it. Though I’ve never been inside.’

  ‘Well, now’s your chance. What do you say? Warm us both up?’

  Elsie felt a rush of excitement. She wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity of going to a café, even if it was with a complete stranger. The offer of a hot drink and a warm place to sit down with an attractive man, without one of the kids mithering at her skirt, was very tempting indeed. It was obvious he was quite a bit older than her, and no doubt a hell of a lot more worldly wise, but it was only a cup of tea. Besides, she was going to be sixteen next birthday. Old enough to look after herself.

  Despite the large window overlooking the street, it was impossible to see into the Milk Bar from outside because the glass was all steamed up. As she walked in, Elsie was hit by the smell of strong coffee and sweet sticky buns. It seemed to hang on the blast of warm air that greeted them. There were people sitting at almost all the tables and there was a steady low buzz of noise. A young girl in a white apron was ferrying drinks and cakes to the tables and clearing up the dirty cups and saucers as she went.

  ‘Morning, Arnold,’ a tired-looking woman behind the counter greeted him as soon as he walked in. ‘The usual? Cup of tea, is it?’

  ‘Morning, Lizzie. Make that two, if you please.’ He took his trilby hat off and tossed it on to the hat stand in the corner.

  ‘Right y’are,’ she said. ‘Coming up.’ Elsie was aware the woman was eyeing her up and down. Her cheeks suddenly felt warm and she hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  Arnold walked over to an empty table by the window and pulling out a chair sat down. Elsie sat down too, though the solid wooden chair was heavier to move than it looked. She gazed round the small room. It was the first time she had been inside any café, not just this one, and it all seemed very different from the pubs she was used to. The tables were smaller, the chairs bigger. There was no sign of sawdust on the floor but the large diamond-patterned tiles made it look bright and stylish at the same time. The walls had originally been painted yellow over wallpaper but where the steam had made contact the paper was now peeling away and there were stains and marks on the ceiling which looked like something had carelessly been tossed up there and never come down.

  As people came in, they gave their orders to the woman behind the counter and she speared a copy on to a hook as they paid their bill. Then a little while later the extremely young-looking little waitress served the orders on a tray.

  But it was all the equipment that fascinated Elsie, even though she was no stranger to machinery, working in the factory. But she had never seen apparatus like the array of gleaming metal lined up behind the counter. One machine was making a series of gurgling noises before some extremely dark coffee began to drip into a cup. Another was whipping up a head of steam that sounded like the engine on a train she’d once seen at Exchange Station.

  ‘Are you going to tell me who you are, and do you make a habit of picking up stray girls and buying them a cup of tea?’ she demanded as soon as he sat down. ‘And ta very much, by the way.’

  ‘Arnold Tanner,’ the rather gruff voice told her. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘I’m Elsie Grimshaw.’ She didn’t know why, but she put out her hand. He looked slightly surprised but he wiped his hand on his trouser leg before taking hold of it and shaking it.

  ‘And where do you live, Elsie Grimshaw, that Santa and his reindeer didn’t bother stopping on his way past?’ The teasing note was back in his voice and she grimaced as he mentioned Santa again. But this time she held on to her temper.

  ‘Back Gas Street,’ she said, with equal emphasis on each word, and she looked him directly in the face as if offering a challenge.

  If she was hoping for a reaction she was disappointed, for he didn’t flicker so much as an eyelid. All he said was, ‘Do you now?’ as if that explained everything.

  ‘Where do you live?’ she asked, and sat back folding her arms across her chest.

  ‘Good question,’ he said.

  They were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress and a tray loaded with two thick-lipped cups of steaming brew.

  ‘Two teas with milk and extra sugar,’ she said, slapping them down so hard that the strong brown liquid spilled over into the saucer. She also brought a large bun on a plate with a thick layer of a shiny white something smeared on the top. She put that down in front of Arnold. Elsie could hear her stomach growling but he didn’t seem to notice. He bit into the bun and didn’t offer her any.

  ‘Why’s that then? What’s so good about it?’ Elsie persisted.

  He laughed. ‘Because officially I’m not really living anywhere at the moment. I’m kipping down at my friend Joe’s. But I’ll soon be on the move.’

  Elsie sipped her tea even though it was still scalding hot and wondered if she dare ask for a bite of the sticky-looking cake. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry. He looked at her without smiling as he took another bite and put the remaining piece back on his plate.

  ‘I collect rents for one of the landlords and he’s about to fit me up in a new place all on my own.’

  Elsie was amazed. What kind of a place would that be, she wanted to know. And where had he been living before he moved in with Joe? But she bit back the questions; it sounded too forward to ask so much at once. Instead she said, ‘So where’s your new place going to be then?’

  ‘In Coronation Street,’ he said.

  ‘Blimey, that’s posh,’ she couldn’t stop herself exclaiming. ‘Anywhere near the viaduct? I learned to cycle there.’

  He nodded. ‘Not far.’

  ‘How d’you manage to get a place there?’ she blurted out.

  He laughed. ‘Well, I suppose it is posh, compared to Back Gas Street.’

  She was aware of his eyes studying her face and was determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. ‘Young man like me needs ’is own place, see. Only losers and mummy’s boys still live at ’ome.’

  He leaned forward then, his eyes narrowing as he said, ‘And in answer to your other question, I deserve it because I work bloody hard.’

  So do I, she wanted to retort, but nobody gives me owt like that
. She thought it best not to say a word though.

  He sat back, resting his chunky arms on the curved wings of the chair and Elsie looked down at the table. It was freshly scrubbed wood, stained with heat rings from cups and glasses that obviously couldn’t be rubbed off.

  ‘I bet you’re not even old enough to work,’ he said.

  Once again, anger nearly got the better of Elsie, but when she looked at him a slight smile was twitching at his lips. So she told him about the factory and that she had once worked in a bar as well.

  ‘How old are you?’ he asked. ‘Working in a bar and all.’

  ‘I’m eighteen,’ she said and smiled, but disbelief was written across his face.

  ‘Get out of it! You must think I was born yesterday – you’re just a kid,’ he said, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

  ‘Well, you’re hardly much older than me, acting flash, bragging about getting your own place.’ Elsie hated being called a kid; she’d seen more life in her almost-sixteen years than most people did in their entire lives.

  At that his hand shot out and he grasped hold of her arm, his fleshy fingers holding it in a vice-like clamp. Elsie had to stop herself from crying out.

  ‘Don’t you come that lip with me, lady,’ he snarled. His eyes flashed, his grip was strong and painful and for a brief moment Elsie felt afraid. The switch from fun to anger had been so sudden.

  Bloody hell, she thought, there’s just no getting away from the bullies in this world. But he was different to her dad, she could tell. There was a confidence about him, and you could see he wanted to go places, unlike her lazy parents.

  As quickly as he’d grabbed it, he let go of her arm and patted her hand lightly as he laid it down on the table. She was as much amazed at the gentleness of his touch as she had been by his anger. At the same time she was aware of butterflies in the pit of her stomach and a warm glow filtering through her body. There was something mild yet wild about this man that sent thoughts of Douglas Fairbanks and Clark Gable flashing through her mind. She hadn’t felt so excited in months.

  But the excitement didn’t last. She was disappointed when they were ready to leave the café and he didn’t suggest another time for them to meet. After he had collected his hat from the stand and seen her out of the door and safely across the road, he walked away in the opposite direction without so much as a word or a backward glance. Elsie had seen enough films to know that lovers never parted like that. They wandered off hand in hand into the mist, stopping every now and then to kiss. What would it be like to hold Arnold’s hand, she wondered, his huge fingers closing entirely around hers? Would she ever be able to reach up close enough to test out the warmth of his lips and tongue that had looked so inviting as they had talked? One thing was for sure: if she was ever to see him again, she would have to raid the Sally Army shop for some high-heeled shoes.

  As she wandered slowly home, Elsie pondered on how much she had enjoyed being treated like a lady, if only for a few brief moments. It had felt wonderful to have someone actually buy her something. It didn’t matter it was only a cup of tea. Arnold had bought it especially for her, the same way Stan had once bought her a bar of chocolate. Both times, it had made her feel very special indeed. She sighed. Perhaps now was the time to put Stan into the background and to stop living in the past. There had been a time when she’d looked to him to help lift her out of Back Gas Street, but that dream was well and truly over now. It was time to stop looking back.

  Elsie stopped dead in her tracks as a new thought struck her. She patted her hair and pouted her lips as if she were in front of a mirror, making herself laugh. She had always been determined to have a boyfriend by her sixteenth birthday and time was running out as she would be reaching that grand old age next March. Not for her the kind of boyfriend who was only interested in a quick grope in the bushes – she was already too worldly-wise for that. No, she wanted someone more serious, someone who acted like a grown-up.

  What with Stan’s death and people gloomily predicting that the world would soon be coming to an end if Hitler had his way, Elsie was more determined than ever to make the most of whatever time she had left. She didn’t want to die having never known anything but the squalor of Back Gas Street and the drudgery of the factory. She wanted to die happy. And what would make her the happiest would be to find someone who would take her away from Back Gas Street.

  Arnold, it seemed to her, fitted the bill perfectly. He looked to be the sort of man who could help her to thumb her nose at her father – and her mother, for that matter. If she threw in her lot with him, she’d leave them and the slums behind. She clapped her hands and chuckled out loud at the prospect, then looked round to make sure no one had heard her. But there was no one else on the street right now, so she did a little skip and a jump. She knew exactly what she must do. If Arnold Tanner collected the rent from properties around Coronation Street, then she knew where she had to go to make sure she would ‘accidentally’ bump into him.

  As she rounded the familiar corner of Back Gas Street, she started to count down in her mind the number of times she would have to see the front door of number 18 again.

  Chapter 19

  Elsie remembered well the smooth cobbled streets of Coronation Street, even though it seemed a lifetime ago that Stan had brought her here so he could teach her to ride Charlie’s bike. Though she smiled at the memory, it was one she was determined to put behind her. As she walked along the pavement she wished she had a bike with her now so she wouldn’t feel so exposed. Maybe Stan forgot to mention the bike to Charlie, or Charlie thought the bike too precious to give to her but it had never materialised. Anyway, it seemed to her that all the locals were watching her, thinking she didn’t belong. It was obvious from the state of her clothes and her too-tight shoes that she had no place here. If she’d had a bike, she could have whizzed up and down the road and no one would have tried to stop her to ask what she was doing there. Not that anyone had stopped her, yet. The few people who were out and about seemed too intent on their own business to worry about what she was doing there. She was grateful for that, because she had no idea what her response would be, if challenged. She hadn’t even decided what she would say if she actually ran into Arnold Tanner.

  It wasn’t like her to feel nervous about such things, but she had to admit she was feeling completely out of her depth. Not that she was about to let that stop her. You had to seize your chances in this life, and once Elsie had made up her mind to do something she wasn’t one to give up until it was done.

  The one advantage of walking over riding a bike was that it gave her a chance to take a closer look at all the houses. She walked slowly down one side of the street until she could go no further, then up the other side, admiring the neat houses with their sparkling windows and donkey-stoned steps. And most of the windowsills and front doors looked like they had been freshly painted too. Some of the chimney pots were belching out a considerable amount of smoke and she imagined hearty fires burning in the grates.

  She stopped in front of one house where the gleaming brightness of the brass doorknocker caught her eye. Even the brickwork looked like it had been scrubbed. She longed to take a peek inside, but it was impossible to see directly into the front room because there were lacy curtains blocking the view. It was a homely looking house, with green paintwork on the windows and door. Standing back, she saw braids of smoke curling out of the chimney pot. She pictured the occupants warming themselves in front of a cosy fire. What wouldn’t she give to live in a house like that! She wondered what the reaction would be if she knocked on the door and asked to have a look around. But she knew that couldn’t happen, so she carried on walking.

  Several other houses had the same type of lace over the windows and a couple of times she thought she saw the curtains twitching, yet no one accosted her and no one banged on their window shouting for her to bugger off. She had never seen curtains like that in Back Gas Street, where many of the windows were broken and bo
arded up, and the sills and doors were badly in need of a lick of paint.

  These houses looked much bigger than anything she had ever seen in her neck of the woods, yet there were far fewer children playing in the street. They must have smaller families than what I’m used to, she decided, and she wondered how many people lived in each house and how many bedrooms there were. From the looks of it, she guessed there was more than one bedroom to every house and they probably had either an indoor privy or a private outdoor one. She knew of only one family in Back Gas Street who had a bathtub indoors, and that was where they kept their coal.

  What did people do with so much space? Maybe they filled it with other people? Maybe more than one family lived in each house? Or did they have lots of ‘things’ like she’d seen in some houses she had been to. At her friend Aggie’s, they had a separate gas cooker in the kitchen that meant they didn’t have to cook on the open fire. And they also had so many chairs that everyone who lived there could be sitting down at the same time.

  At one end of the street was a pub called the Rovers Return, and that too looked neat and tidy on the outside, though of course she couldn’t see in through the frosted-glass windows. It had a green facade that looked fresh and the windows had been polished to within an inch of their lives. The sign said it was a Newton and Ridley pub – same owners as the Butcher’s Arms. She wondered if the layout was the same inside.

  When she passed the pub for the second time, she paused. A wind had whipped up and the bitter cold was striking through her thin clothing. Snow had been threatened by the end of the afternoon, too. She would have loved to go in and get warm, but she had no money and didn’t want to risk being thrown out of the pub. She could hardly rely on some stranger buying her a drink again and Arnold Tanner was nowhere to be seen. Dispirited, she decided to go home. She obviously wasn’t going to bump into Arnold here.