The Girl from the Docklands Café

by June Tate

  ‘Oh, Iris!’ She turned to Daisy, who’d followed her. ‘The poor woman’s gone to her Maker.’

  Conor went to the pub where there was a phone and asked the landlord to call the police, which he did. They arrived and by then most of the inhabitants of Union Street were stood watching. Eventually, a doctor was called who pronounced the woman dead and a funeral car came to take the body away. Neighbours stood watching, murmuring softly at the sight. Some were sympathetic, others, remembering her vicious tongue, had no sympathy at all.

  As the car drew away, Jessie and the others went back to her place where she made them all a pot of tea. The festive spirit was no longer in the air, just one of shock. They sat at the table and Jessie poured the tea.

  ‘I know she was a miserable old woman,’ she said, ‘but that’s no way to die, all alone in the dark. There is one thing: she was so drunk that hopefully she just sat in the chair and fell asleep.’

  ‘There’ll be an inquest,’ said Conor, ‘then they’ll know more.’ They drank their tea in silence, all with their own thoughts and, shortly after, Daisy and Bill went back to their own house.

  Alone as she washed up the cups and saucers, Jessie couldn’t help but think about Iris and she smiled. The last time they saw her she was singing at the top of her voice and was blissfully happy in her drunken state. That really wasn’t a bad way to leave this life, she thought.

  Boxing Day was spent quietly in the McGonigall household. Jessie taking advantage of a rest before returning to the bustle of business, Conor resting his leg and contemplating the days when he’d be fit again.

  It was mid afternoon when Jessie said she’d just walk along to the cafe to check on her stock for the following day and Conor said he’d go with her for the exercise.

  The streets were quiet as all the shops were shut, as were the pubs until the evening. There were no trains chugging into the docks, no sound of ships’ funnels announcing their departure, no whistles – no noise at all, which seemed very strange, but it was pleasant strolling slowly and unhindered for a change, stopping to gaze into the shop windows, commenting on the contents.

  They arrived at the cafe and stood outside to look at it with a sense of pride. They had kept the name ‘Ames Cafe’, after all. George had run it for many a year, to change it seemed pointless. It was now part of the history of the street.

  Unlocking the door, Jessie kept it open to let in some fresh air, then opened the back door too. She warmed some water, and then poured it over some green soap into a bucket to mop the floors.

  ‘Can’t have my customers coming into a place that smells stale,’ she remarked as Conor watched her.

  ‘Can I do anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, there’s a washing-up cloth in the kitchen. Pour some water in the sink and add a bit of disinfectant to it, but not too much or the place will smell like a hospital, then wipe down the tabletops.’

  On finishing their chores, Jessie made a pot of tea and sat making a list of the goods she needed to buy the next morning. As she finished, she looked up and saw that Conor was looking at her with a strange expression.

  ‘What? Why are you looking at me that way?’

  ‘I’m just thinking how competent you are. You never cease to amaze me and at this moment I feel surplus to your needs!’

  She was stunned. This was Conor McGonigall, the man who had captivated her and with whom she had fallen in love because of his strength of character, his attitude to life, his certainty. He was her rock and she needed him.

  Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared in anger. ‘How bloody dare you sit there and say that to me! Yes, I can run this place without you, yes, I am competent, but so are you or have you forgotten? You’ve had an accident and yes, you were injured, but they didn’t bloody well remove your brain or not that I’m aware of. I need you, of course I do. How could you ever doubt it?’

  A smile crept over his features, and then he began to laugh.

  Jessie, still angry, glared at him. ‘Perhaps you’ll tell me what you find so funny?’

  ‘Oh, darlin’, you are such a firebrand. I love a woman with spirit!’

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him convulsed with laughter. ‘You survived the accident in the dock, Conor, but I’m not sure you’ll survive the thrashing you will get if you don’t stop laughing at me!’

  He rose to his feet and limped around the table, pulling Jessie to her feet and holding her close. He kissed her, but she didn’t respond. He looked at her, and then he held her by her chin, gently but firmly and he kissed her again and again until eventually she gave in. Returning his kisses with so much passion he could feel the stirring in his loins.

  He released her. ‘You’d best stop, darlin’, else I’ll take you here on the floor now, in front of the window.’

  She placed her hand on his crutch and, with a chuckle, said, ‘Best we go home now, then, Conor. It’s obvious we need each other, wouldn’t you say?’ Laughing, she walked towards the door, ready to leave.

  ‘I knew you were trouble the morning I walked in here and I’m so happy I was right. You are a minx and I love you.’

  She tossed her hair out of her eyes and opened the door. ‘Then let’s see you prove it!’

  Chapter Eight

  Jessie was up early as she had to go to the butcher to buy fresh meat for the daily menu. When Nancy arrived, she told her what had happened to poor Iris.

  ‘It was a shock when I realised she was a goner, I can tell you. But it was so sad. All alone in her chair, the fire out, especially at Christmas when families are together. But she doesn’t seem to have any relatives. Well, best get on.’

  The day went well. Her regulars were happy to return to their normal routine. Jessie was her usual buoyant self, exchanging banter with the men as she served them.

  Ever since the sudden death of Iris Jones, her friend Emily Coates had been very quiet and Betty now kept herself to herself, which was a great relief to Jessie and especially Daisy, who no longer had anything to fear from the gossips now that Bill knew about her clients. Peace reigned in the street. Now everyone was waiting to see who would move into Iris’s house once the council had cleaned it. Iris had no family, it appeared, so the contents of the place had been removed and disposed of. Her funeral was being held in a few days’ time.

  As she was making a cup of tea in her kitchen, Jessie was thinking about the woman, wondering what her life had been like before she knew her, wondering what had made her into the sad and vicious person she’d become. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Iris had died alone, with no one to mourn her and, with this in mind, she called on Daisy to come and have a cup of tea, saying she had something to discuss with her.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ Daisy asked as she sat down.

  ‘It’s Iris’s funeral next week,’ she began. ‘It seems she has no family, so no one will attend. It’s bad enough that she died alone, I just can’t bear the idea that she’ll be buried and no one gives a damn, so I’ve decided to go and I wondered if you would come too?’

  Daisy looked at her in astonishment. ‘Jessie McGonigall, you are a strange one. That woman didn’t have a nice bone in her body, yet you are worried on her account.’

  ‘I know, but it’s enough that it’ll be a pauper’s funeral, that’s as bad as it can get – except for no one to be there.’

  ‘Beneath that tough exterior, you are just a softy. I’ll come with you, if you want me to. It’s the least I can do. What about the cafe?’

  ‘I’ll wait to see what time the funeral is. If it’s when the cafe is open, I’ll go in early and cook, then I’ll hire a girl to help Nancy.’ And so it was decided.

  As it happened, the funeral was in the afternoon as there had been a plethora of other services beforehand. It was a bitterly cold January day as Jessie and Daisy stood and listened to the brief sermon given by the vicar. His voice seemed to echo round the empty church. There were no hymns and before very long they were standing bes
ide the open grave, collars pulled up around their necks, hats pulled down, trying to keep warm, both holding a small bunch of flowers.

  ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,’ the vicar intoned, and Jessie felt the tears prick her eyes.

  She stepped forward, picked up a handful of soil and threw it in the grave on top of the coffin. ‘Bless you, Iris. I hope you will be happier now.’ She crossed herself and walked away, waiting for Daisy. They left their flowers by the grave.

  Daisy wiped her eyes. ‘Never did I think I would feel pity for that old woman,’ she said, ‘but that was so sad.’

  ‘Come on, love, we both need a drink,’ said Jessie, and they walked away, took a tram as soon as they could and found a pub.

  ‘I think it very fitting that we should both have a gin and tonic,’ said Jessie. ‘After all, it was the old girl’s tipple; it seems the right thing to do.’ And they did.

  ‘All we need now is to make old Emily take a bath and we’d have done a good job,’ said Jessie.

  Daisy turned to her. ‘If you think I’m going in to clean that cesspit of a house with you, you’ve another think coming!’

  ‘Don’t be daft! We’d probably catch the plague. No, I was just thinking aloud. I don’t understand how a woman can live like that, that’s all. Come on; let’s have another drink before we go.’

  But on the way home, Jessie began to think about old Emily. She was alone. The same thing could happen to her and that thought distressed her. The old girl should be somewhere where she could be cared for. So that night she wrote to the council.

  Two days later, there were sounds of ructions coming from Emily’s house. The old girl could be heard swearing and screaming at the top of her voice. Then two men came out of the house, carrying her between them. Not an easy job as she was struggling. They put her in the back of a van and one climbed in with her. The following day, the house was cleared and fumigated before the decorators arrived.

  While all this had been going on, Conor was at the outpatients’ department at the hospital, waiting to see the doctor, who examined his leg and made him walk around the room, then sit down.

  ‘It seems to have healed well, but, of course, the muscles are weak. It will take time and exercise to get them back, but eventually you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Can I go back to work?’ Conor held his breath.

  The man frowned. ‘I am signing you off, but do you think you can do your job just yet?’

  ‘Doctor, I’ve been out of work for weeks. I need to be earning again.’

  The doctor read his notes. ‘You’re a stevedore, I see, which means you need to be active. I think you’re pushing it a bit, to be honest.’

  Conor just looked at him, then said, ‘If you’ll sign me off, I’ll be on my way and thanks for everything.’

  Seeing the determination on the face of his patient, the doctor knew that to argue would be fruitless. He signed the paper and handed it to Conor.

  ‘Just be careful, is all I’m saying, Mr McGonigall.’

  Conor put the paper in his pocket, rose from his seat, shook the doctor by the hand and left. He then made his way to see his boss.

  John Irving greeted Conor warmly when he entered his office. The men shook hands.

  Conor handed him the note from the doctor. ‘I’ve been signed off, boss, so when can I return to work?’

  Irving read the note. ‘How’s the leg?’

  ‘All healed now, thanks. I can’t wait to return to normal.’

  ‘You were a lucky man that day, Conor. You could have been killed. I’m really pleased to see you’ve been given a clean bill of health, but the only thing is, I don’t have a place for you at the moment.’

  ‘What?’ This was the last thing he expected to hear.

  ‘I’m really sorry, but I have a full complement of men. I can put you on the list. You’re a good man, but I just don’t need another stevedore, unless we get really busy and, at the moment, I have enough men to cope with the incoming ships. Obviously, we get the ordinary dockers that we need at the daily call-on.’

  Conor was at a loss for words as he’d expected to be taken on immediately.

  Seeing his consternation, Irving said, ‘I had to find someone to take your place, of course, but I can’t now give him the sack to make way for you, as he’s done a good job. You’ll just have to wait. As soon as I have an opening, you’re top of my list. I can’t do more than that, I’m afraid.’

  There was nothing more to be said so Conor took his leave. Outside, he sat on a bench, lit a cigarette and wondered what he was to do. How long would he have to wait to be called? Was it weeks? Obviously not days. He went into the nearest pub for a pint of beer, then he walked home.

  Jessie had returned before him so when her husband walked in, knowing he’d been to the hospital she asked him how he got on.

  ‘The doctor signed me off.’

  ‘Oh, Conor, that’s marvellous. You must be relieved.’

  ‘Yes and no. I went to see my boss, but he hasn’t a job for me at the moment.’

  ‘What? But I thought you were on a permanent basis.’

  ‘I was until I had my accident and they had to fill my place, and now they don’t need me – well, not until they get busy. At the moment he has enough stevedores, apart from the dockers which, as you know, are taken on daily when needed. I am top of the waiting list.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not if I have to wait very long, Jessie. I could still be out of work for some time.’

  She could see how depressed he was and she knew he had longed for the day to be signed off from the hospital, but now he’d lost his position, which had been a matter of great pride to him.

  ‘Never mind, love, it may not be for long and we still have money coming in from the cafe. We aren’t destitute.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ His eyes flashed in anger. ‘I’m the man of the house. Now I’m fit I should be earning.’

  Jessie stood in front of him. ‘Now you listen to me, Conor McGonigall. Don’t you give me all that bullshit about being the man of the house. You may think you’re fit enough to work, but, frankly, you need more time. Time to walk, to exercise, get the strength back into your leg. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.’

  He glared at her. ‘You just don’t understand!’ He got to his feet and shoved her out of the way. ‘I’m off to the pub.’

  She let him go. She knew her husband well enough to know his pride had been hurt. He was disappointed at not being able to return to the hierarchy of his workplace, among his peers. She knew this made him feel less of a man. She also knew he’d come home legless having drowned his sorrows and the next day she’d have to find a way to rebuild his confidence. But how the hell was she going to do that? A knock on the door stopped her train of thought. She opened it and Daisy stood there.

  ‘Have you heard about Emily?’

  ‘No,’ said Jessie. ‘Come in.’

  Daisy walked in and sat down. ‘Old Emily was taken away today and the council arrived shortly after. They took all the furniture away on a cart to be burnt. Oh, Jessie, the smell was awful. They fumigated the house and soon it will be painted and decorated. She’s not coming back.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I asked one of the men. They’re taking her to some old people’s place to be cleaned up and there she’ll stay. Some charity home, as far as I can tell. She went kicking and screaming. Her language was awful!’

  ‘Well at least she’ll be clean and fed, and if she dies, she won’t be found like Iris!’

  Daisy looked at her friend and suddenly realised. ‘You sent for them, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It’s the best thing that could happen to the old bitch!’

  With a chuckle, Daisy got up from her chair and hugged her neighbour. ‘You are a sly one, but that old lady won’t thank you. However, I do, on her behalf. I’ve got to go, see you tomorrow.’

  Jessie made herself a pot of tea and, as
she sat drinking it, she started laughing. In her mind, she could see how Emily would put up a fight if anyone tried to get her into a bath! It cheered her considerably.

  Chapter Nine

  A week later and Conor was still depressed and restless. Jessie knew that he’d been looking at the situations vacant in the local paper, but he’d been working in the docks all his life, it was all that he knew, and he pushed the paper away. He decided to wait a couple of weeks and if he didn’t hear from his boss, he thought he’d join the call-on in the hope of getting some work. It wouldn’t be easy for him to do so after being a stevedore with responsibilities, but he was anxious to get back to work, so he’d have to swallow his pride.

  Bill Brown was walking into the docks to join his gang when he happened to glance across at the men huddled together hoping to be chosen for the day’s work. To his surprise, he saw Conor standing among them. He didn’t have time to stop and have a word, but knowing what it was like to be in his shoes, he felt for him. Being a stevedore was a good position, one that many aspired to, so he knew that Conor must be desperate to be standing there.

  If any of the other dockers recognised Conor, they didn’t say so. All of them were fighting to be chosen. A daily wage was enough to put food on the table, and friendships were forgotten in the pushing and shoving that followed to catch the eye of the gang boss.

  Dave Jennings cast his eye over the men, looking for the strongest to add to his gang. He only had three vacancies. He spotted Conor McGonigall. He had worked with him on many a shipment and knew his capabilities. He knew, also, that he’d been in an accident and the fact that he was here meant that he was desperate, which suited Jennings. Desperate men wouldn’t argue too much about handing a percentage of their earnings over to him on pay day. He pointed to him.