Christmas on Coronation Street

by Maggie Sullivan

  ‘So long as you don’t expect this kind of treatment all the time,’ he said grumpily as he pushed her into the cab. ‘I’m not made of money, you know, so you’d best get yourself some shoes for once that don’t cripple your feet.’

  When the taxi pulled up outside number 11, Fay insisted she was all right walking the rest of the way on her own and refused Joe’s offer to see her home.

  ‘I’d feel more obliged to see you home,’ she said and she shied away as he reached out towards her and almost fell over.

  As Elsie watched her sister go she felt a sudden moment of regret. She’d got what she wanted, now she had to hope everything would turn out all right like in the children’s fairy tales she used to read at school. Then on the evening breeze she caught the sound of hymn-singing floating up from the bottom of the street. Good grief, she thought, I hope I’m not going to have a bunch of religious nuts for neighbours.

  She looked at Arnold as he paid the driver. She really wasn’t sure whether she had done the right thing. Whatever she was caught up in, it was all a new adventure. And true to her nature she looked forward to seeing what was going to happen next.

  Chapter 30

  Elsie had not actually seen the inside of her new home yet. Arnold had stopped her visiting before they were married saying he wanted time to do it up first. But when he opened the front door and switched on the light, her first feelings were of disappointment for he didn’t seem to have done much at all. He picked up the small bag which held everything she owned that she had brought with her from his mother’s house. As he carried it inside she was about to say that he should have carried her over the threshold, not the bag. But when she saw the peeling paint and the darkly papered walls, all fantasies in her head of her husband being anything like Clark Gable or Laurence Olivier were driven from her mind.

  Arnold went straight up the stairs and she followed. They were much wider stairs than in Back Gas Street and to her amazement at the top there were two doors doors leading off the tiny landing. Arnold kicked one of them open and threw her bag down beside the unmade bed. Elsie stared at the bed, not caring about the rumpled sheets or the bare patches where the wallpaper had been stripped off the ceiling and the walls. She was just delighted to see that it was so big and she threw herself down on it without waiting to be asked.

  Arnold flopped down beside her and immediately rolled over and planted his mouth firmly over hers. His hand automatically moved up to the top of her legs and she began to wonder how she was going to get her skirt off so that it wouldn’t be ruined. But then she realized his hands had stilled and his mouth had unlocked from hers. Before she could say anything she heard loud snores as he rolled away on to his back.

  She didn’t know what time it was when she was woken by the feel of his hands roaming her body once more. The smell of beer was still strong on his breath as he pressed himself to her, mean and hard. She hardly had time to realize what was happening before he was deep inside her and she was lit up momentarily by a flash of joy. Then with a grunt and a sigh his desire had shrivelled and she could only lie there in the dark with her own thoughts, listening to a baby screaming next door.

  The next morning they hardly spoke at breakfast time as they sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. Despite being dressed in his smart suit, he looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair stuck up in spikes in all directions and he looked like he hadn’t shaved for a week. Elsie herself wasn’t any better, for the kohl with which Amy had carefully outlined her eyes for the wedding had now rubbed on to her face and all the pins had fallen from her hair. She was going to put on her coat over her nightdress but then, remembering a film she’d once seen with James Stewart, grabbed something she thought looked like a dressing gown from a nail on the back of the bedroom door. She’d wrapped it around her like she had seen the film star do, but even with her protruding belly she could have fitted someone else inside with her.

  She had come down early, woken by the noise of the screaming baby next door. She’d tried to shut it out by focusing on what she might make for breakfast. She’d looked carefully into all the cupboards in the back room and kitchen for there were quite a few, but the only thing she could find to eat was in a metal bread bin in the scullery, home to a crust of mouldy-looking bread. Elsie looked around to see if she could heat some water for coffee and Arnold pointed to the range while he helped himself to a beer. Needless to say, only ashes were left in the grate, but there were a few lumps of coal in the scuttle on the hearth and some kindling and Elsie set about trying to light a new fire.

  ‘If you leave me some money I can get a few things from the corner shop for our tea,’ she said. Arnold looked at her as if she had spoken a foreign language, then he reluctantly threw a ten-bob note and a few coins on to the table.

  ‘You’d better make that last,’ he said. ‘I’m not made of money, you know. There’s a war on. Fun time’s over.’

  ‘No, but you do like to eat,’ Elsie snapped back, ‘same as me.’ As she said it, his hand lashed out and he slapped her hard across the face. Astonished, she put her own hand to her cheek to sooth the stinging.

  ‘Yes, of course I bloody like to eat,’ he yelled. ‘And I expect my tea to be on the table when I get home.’

  ‘You rotten bully, fine way to treat a woman that’s expecting.’ She nursed her fast-swelling mouth but she tried to keep her voice strong, determined not to show her tears. ‘If I don’t know what time you’re getting in, how can I know when to cook?’

  ‘How the hell should I know? Just have it ready. I’ll eat at whatever time I get in.’

  Elsie stared at him. Where had the generous young man gone so quickly? Who was this monster who was no better than the father she thought she’d left behind?

  She didn’t speak again while she made them both coffee and she wasn’t sorry that he didn’t bother to drink his but picked up his hat and left to go to work.

  Elsie pulled the dressing gown as close as she could round her. She was determined not to let his shocking behaviour get her down, so she set about exploring the house, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

  The back room, kitchen and scullery she’d already seen first thing this morning. They were a decent size and took up half of the ground floor. There wasn’t much furniture apart from two battered armchairs, a table and some chairs with green padded seats. The seats had darned patches but what was left of the original material matched the faded curtains framing the window on the back wall. All the walls had once been some shade of green too with the trimmings picked out in dark brown. But now everywhere looked like it could do with a fresh lick of paint.

  The scullery had the luxury of a large Belfast sink with its own tap of fresh running water. Even more exciting, there was a separate back door that led out to a small cobbled yard and the privy – a privy that was for her and Arnold’s use alone. Someone had strung a small line from the privy to a hook buried in the wall of the house. She presumed it was for washing but nothing hung from it. A rusty-looking mangle stood in one corner of the yard with a washboard and wooden washing dolly beside it.

  Elsie went into the house again and shut the back door, turning the key with delight. She was pleased she wouldn’t have to walk all the way around the outside of the building with a bucket. The floorboards were not as cold to her bare feet as the outside cobblestones as she made her way down the dark passageway to the front of the house, to the only door she hadn’t yet tried. When she opened it, she was pleasantly surprised to see that the front parlour was actually quite bright as it looked out on to the street. The two-seater couch and matching armchair had seen better days and so had the threadbare square of carpet that covered most of the linoleum on the floor. But it was not an unpleasant room. Elsie quietly closed the door then laughed, remembering she was on her own in the house and she could make as much noise as she liked. Though she doubted she could match the noise of the screaming child she could still hear through the wall. She thought about tr
ying to use the tin bath she’d seen hanging on the nail in the scullery but felt it might take too long to fill. It was thrilling enough to have an indoor tap. She filled a small bowl with water and had a stand-up wash by the sink instead.

  She had finished getting dressed and was putting on a dab of lipstick when she heard the air-raid siren wailing for the first time. It was so loud it might as well have been in the room and for the first time since the war had begun she felt afraid. Elsie grabbed her gas mask, glad she had kept it with her, and ran to the front door, realizing that she wasn’t sure where to go.

  Several people were already in the street. They seemed to be heading towards the large building down by the viaduct where she’d seen a sign saying The Mission of Glad Tidings. That was where she’d heard all the bloody hymn singing yesterday and to her disgust there were strains of hymns coming from there now. She was wondering if there was another shelter she could go to when a voice called ‘Good morning.’ Elsie turned to see an older woman emerging from number 9. ‘You’re new to the street, aren’t you? My name’s Vi.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Elsie said. ‘My name’s Elsie.’ She slammed her front door shut and fell into step with her neighbour. ‘Are we headed for that Mission?’ Elsie asked. ‘Is there a shelter there, do we know what’s going on, is it a drill?’

  ‘Aye, it must be, but you can’t be too sure. I hate it, all that bloody singing, but folk reckon the Mission basement is as safe as anywhere to hide, and pray that the Germans won’t ever find us there.’ Vi gave a shudder. ‘I’m not long back from a stay at the seaside. I went there for my health, so I don’t want to be spending my last days in a damp basement, thank you very much.’

  ‘Are you still poorly, then?’ Elsie asked.

  ‘No, I’m much better now, thank God. But if I do get sick again I’ll know who to blame. It’ll be those bloody Germans’ fault.’ She shook her fist in the air and gave a hoarse cough. ‘My daughter’s about your age. She’s out at work right now but happen you two should get to know each other. Are you married then?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Elsie said proudly, holding out her finger with its narrow brass ring.

  ‘Oh, you’re the one as wedded Arnold Tanner.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Elsie smiled.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Elsie Tanner,’ said Vi with a giggle.

  Elsie followed her new friend into the double-fronted foyer of the Mission and down the stairs. There she was stopped by a stout woman wearing a dark coat fastened to the top. She had a scarf tied at her neck and a hairnet covering her greying hair.

  ‘You’re new around here.’ The woman with the hairnet stopped her. ‘I’ve not seen you before. My name’s Mrs Ena Sharples.’ The woman’s tone was as sharp as her name. ‘I’m the caretaker here.’ She didn’t put out her hand but stood with her arms folded across her bosom, eyeing Elsie up and down. ‘Aren’t you the one who’s moved into number 11?’

  Elsie nodded. That was all she could do for the woman didn’t stop talking long enough for her to reply.

  ‘So, Arnold Tanner finally got caught,’ Mrs Sharples cackled.

  ‘As a matter of fact, Arnold Tanner is me husband. What of it?’ Elsie said, trying to hang on to her dignity. ‘We got married yesterday.’

  Mrs Sharples looked down pointedly. ‘Looks like you only just made it in time an’ all,’ she said.

  Elsie was shocked that the woman could be so rude and she opened her mouth to say something, but Mrs Sharples hadn’t finished. ‘You can tell him from me, just because he tried to make an honest woman out of you, it doesn’t suddenly all become respectable. And none of that changes the fact that his like is not wanted round here. He’s nothing but a bully boy who likes to throw his weight around, but that doesn’t wash with me. I remember him when he was this high.’ She held her hand out, palm down, not far from the ground. ‘He might look big and strong when it comes to fighting with weakling pensioners, but them Germans won’t bother to pick out the heroes from the cowards when they drop their bombs.’

  Elsie was fuming. She stood as tall as she could, glad she’d taken time to pin her hair up as it made her look taller. ‘He might be a bully boy, but he’s my bully boy. Why don’t you keep your lousy opinions to yourself.’

  Mrs Sharples came sharply back at her. ‘I make the rules here. This is my Mission and I can say anything I like. But I think you’ll find I’m well known for plain speaking. And what’s more, for speaking the truth.’ She looked round the large basement room. ‘You can ask anyone, they’ll tell you. A spade is a spade as far as I’m concerned, and it chucks up muck, no matter whether you like it or not.’

  Elsie thought that Ena Sharples was an interfering old cow. Welcome to Coronation Street, Mrs Bloody Arnold Tanner, she thought. What a great way to get to know the neighbours! She gritted her teeth as she tried to think up some retort. But then she was aware of being jostled as other people were trying to get past her into the safety of the shelter and she had to move away.

  As she went further into the basement she was aware that Mrs Sharples had left her post by the entrance and was now sitting down at the harmonium. She was playing a medley of well-known hymns and encouraging everyone to join in. ‘Come on, folks, let’s hope for the best and have a singsong while we wait for the all-clear,’ she ordered.

  ‘What about something a bit more jolly than a hymn?’ someone shouted.

  ‘Yes, “Run, Rabbit, Run”,’ said another.

  There was a faint titter of laughter. But Ena Sharples ignored this request as the strains of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ belted out of the harmonium. Before long a few people began to sing and the voices gradually started to swell.

  Elsie didn’t join in, she was too angry. She found a chair next to a young woman who wasn’t singing either. She was rubbing her enormous pregnant belly with one hand and mopping her brow with the other. Elsie thought the woman looked like a ripe peach.

  ‘I’m Elsie Tanner,’ she said as she sat down. ‘You look ready to drop.’

  ‘I’m Ida Barlow,’ the woman said. ‘Aye, you’re right n’all, they tell me it could ‘appen any minute.’

  ‘Bloody ‘ell, let’s hope it’s not tonight.’

  ‘It can’t come quick enough for me, I’m fed up carrying this canonball around.’

  ‘That air-raid siren was almost as bad as my bloody neighbours,’ Elsie said. ‘Noisy buggers.’

  ‘Oh, and who’s that?’ Ida asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t met them yet. But I sure as heck can hear them. The walls must be paper thin.’

  Ida laughed. ‘You can say that again. So long as you don’t try saying owt like that to the landlord.’

  Elsie stiffened when she heard that word. It seemed everyone here hated anything to do with their rent. But she knew she’d get nowhere if she were too thin-skinned, so she ignored the jibe.

  ‘I’ve moved into number 11. I’m talking about the people at number 13,’ she said.

  ‘Oh dear, that will be May Hardman’s lass, Christine. All day and all night I believe she can scream sometimes. I wish you the best of luck. Poor mite’s got chronic colic. I hear they’ve been at their wits’ end. Not that you’ll see much of May. Keeps herself to herself. But Madge, her sister, has been helping out, so maybe if it gets too much you could have a word with her. Not that she’ll be able to do much about it, mind.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Elsie thought about Jack. When he got in a paddy there was no stopping him. He could scream for hours on end. Not even his teddy helped. A lump rose in her throat and she had to look away.

  Ida suddenly put her hand to her mouth and looked apologetic. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry, I’ve only just realized. Is it you that’s married to Wormold’s man, the one who lives at number 11?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Elsie said, trying to sound confident.

  Ida nodded without saying anything further and Elsie was glad when at that moment she heard the ‘all clear’ blasting int
o the street above. The residents were shaken up but glad it had been just a drill.

  Elsie took her time walking home. At least, she was trying to think of it as home, though she’d not been there long. Suddenly she felt a wave of loneliness wash over her and realized one of the things about Back Gas Street was, you were never on your own. Maybe once she’d got to know more of the neighbours it would be the same here. She reached number 11 and pushed at the front door but it remained tight shut.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Vi from number 9 called over to her.

  ‘I don’t know. The door won’t open. It seems to have got locked somehow.’

  ‘Yes, they all do that. Did you not put it on the latch?’

  ‘No.’ Elsie had never heard of a door that locked itself without you having to turn the key.

  ‘Have you got a spare key?’ Vi asked.

  She didn’t like to say she didn’t have any key at all because Arnold had forgotten to give her one. That wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to admit to any of her new neighbours.

  ‘Ah well, my husband will be home soon,’ Elsie sighed. And she sat down on the front step and lit a cigarette.

  ‘By the way,’ Vi called over. ‘Next time there’s an air raid, you should know you can always take shelter in the cellar at the Rovers Return,’ and without another word she disappeared inside her house.

  Chapter 31

  When Arnold came back, it was much later than she had expected and she was still waiting on the doorstep surrounded by cigarette butts. She’d just finished the last one in the packet.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ she asked without thinking, for she could smell the booze on him from a distance. She was surprised when he answered civilly: ‘I’ve been out with Joe to thank him properly for being best man.’