by Joan Jonker
I’ll Be Your
Sweetheart
Copyright © 2005 Joan Jonker
The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 9072 4
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Joan Jonker
Foreword
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her best-selling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.
Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won millions of adoring fans:
‘Wonderful … the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York
‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon
‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall
‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire
‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool
Also by Joan Jonker
When One Door Closes
Man Of The House
Home Is Where The Heart Is
The Pride Of Polly Perkins
Sadie Was A Lady
Walking My Baby Back Home
Try A Little Tenderness
Stay As Sweet As You Are
Dream A Little Dream
Many A Tear Has To Fall
Taking A Chance On Love
Strolling With The One I Love
When Wishes Come True
The Girl From Number 22
One Rainy Day
Featuring Molly Bennett and Nellie McDonough
Stay In Your Own Back Yard
Last Tram To Lime Street
Sweet Rosie O’Grady
Down Our Street
After The Dance Is Over
The Sunshine Of Your Smile
Three Little Words
I’ll Be Your Sweetheart
Non-fiction
Victims Of Violence
Hi to all my readers
I’m dedicating this book to you because I know you will enjoy it. Molly and Nellie are doing what they do best and that is lending a helping hand where needed, and bringing love and laughter wherever they go. In this book there is laughter on every page.
As Nellie would say, ‘It costs nothing to laugh.’ So make the bed, wash the dishes and then spend a few hours having fun with the loveable duo.
Take care now.
Lots of love to you and yours
Joan
Chapter One
The Bennett house was like bedlam on the Monday morning, for the alarm hadn’t gone off and the family had overslept. While Molly busied herself making a pot of tea and toast, her husband, Jack, and youngest daughter Ruthie shared the kitchen sink for a cat’s lick and a promise. And as they didn’t have time for their usual leisurely breakfast, they each drank their tea standing up, and left for work with a piece of toast in their hand.
‘They’ll have indigestion all day, gobbling toast down like that,’ Molly told the empty living room when she came back after seeing them off. ‘I’ll have to get another alarm clock; it’s the second time that one’s let us down in the last two weeks.’ She began to clear the table. ‘Mind you, we’ve had our money’s worth out of it. I only paid a few bob for it when I bought it, and that was at the beginning of the war if my memory serves me right. So I shouldn’t be moaning about it.’
However, when Molly walked through to the kitchen, and her eyes rested on the dolly tub, which was filled with clothes she’d left in steep over night, she decided a good moan was in order. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, where shall I start? Would it be better to tidy and dust the living room, or get started on the washing?’ She pondered for a while, her chin cradled in her hand as she leaned against the doorjamb. Then, with a sigh, she straightened up and told the kitchen of the decision she’d reached. ‘I’ll do the living room first, ’cos yer never know, I might just have a visitor. Not that it’s very likely at this time of the morning. And if by some strange chance I did have one, they wouldn’t get a very warm welcome. Still, as me ma always told me, yer should be prepared for any eventuality, so I’d better make the room respectable.’
When Molly stood back half an hour later, she felt very pleased with herself. The living room was as bright as a new pin. The hearth gleamed, the aspidistra looked satisfied that the table it stood on in front of the window was highly polished, and you could see yourself in the shine of the sideboard.
‘Not bad going, even if I do say so meself.’ Molly nodded to endorse the self-congratulation. ‘I’ll have a quick cup of tea with a round of toast, then get cracking on the ruddy washing. It’s been in steep all night, in soapy water, so by rights it should be clean enough to rinse.’ She hummed as she lit a match under the kettle. ‘Then it’ll go through the mangle and be ready to hang out. There’s a decent breeze out, so it should be dry enough to iron tonight.’
All went according to plan, for Molly was very methodical in her work, and at ten o’clock she was opening the kitchen door with a sheet over her arm and four wooden pegs in her mouth. She was about to step down into the yard when she heard a familiar voice. It came from three yards up, and belonged to her best mate, Nellie McDonough. A smile came to Molly�
��s face when she recognized the tune. It was a song Laurel and Hardy had sung in a picture the two mates had been to see a few weeks ago. They’d laughed till they cried in the picture house as they’d watched the antics of the two funny men, and they’d had many a laugh about it since.
Molly looked down at the sheet, was thoughtful for a second, then made a sudden decision. She did an about turn and made her way back to the kitchen where she spat the pegs into the sink before putting the sheet down on the draining board. Then, throwing off the washday blues, she hurried down the yard, closed the entry door behind her, and tiptoed over the cobbles to her mate’s door. Nellie was still singing so loud she didn’t hear her mate come up behind her, and she was startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Molly Bennett, yer stupid sod! Why did yer creep up on me like that? I nearly jumped out of me skin.’
‘I didn’t creep up on yer, sunshine, it was you what was singing so loud yer didn’t hear me. Anyway, that was a nice welcome to give yer very best mate.’
Nellie’s eyes narrowed. ‘If yer were me very best mate, yer wouldn’t have tried to give me a heart attack.’
‘It would take more than me to give you a heart attack, Nellie McDonough, it would take a ghost … or the devil himself. Anyway, the reason I came up was for a bit of light entertainment. Anything is better than turning that ruddy handle on the mangle. And I could hear yer singing, so I thought I’d join yer. With the two of us, we could sing that song like Laurel and Hardy. You can be Stan, and I’ll be Oliver.’
Nellie put the wet towel she was carrying over the clothes line. ‘How can I be Stan, yer silly nit? He’s as thin as a drink of water, while I’ve been blessed with this voluptuous body. So, I’ll be Oliver, and you can be Stan.’
‘Are we going to give it the full works, sunshine? The dance as well as the singing? It would cheer us up for the rest of the day.’
Nellie’s eyes disappeared from view as her cheeks moved upwards in a smile. ‘Just the job, girl, just the job. I hate bleeding washday.’
Nellie’s next-door neighbour, Beryl Mowbray, had heard the exchange and knew whatever Molly and Nellie got up to would be a laugh. Just what she needed to take her mind off the mound of clothes waiting to go in the dolly tub. As she’d heard Molly say, a little light entertainment would brighten the day. So over the yard wall she called, ‘Hang on a minute, ladies, while I fetch a chair out to stand on. I won’t be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
‘Well, the bleeding cheek of her!’ Nellie folded her arms and they immediately disappeared from view beneath her mountainous bosom. And when she heard the sound of a chair being scraped along the yard next door, and saw Beryl’s head appearing over the wall, she snorted in disgust. ‘Yer’ve got a ruddy cheek, Beryl Mowbray. I’ve a good mind to charge yer tuppence for a ticket.’
Molly jabbed her mate in the ribs. ‘We haven’t got no tickets, sunshine.’
‘Well, if we did have, I’d charge the cheeky article at least threepence. Just look where she is, girl! She’s up there in the best seat in the house, and will see more of us than we’ll see of ourselves.’
Beryl leaned her elbows on the top of the wall. ‘Ye’re dead right there, Nellie. I’m definitely in the best speck. If yer like, I’ll give Mrs Harris next door a knock. Then yer’ll have a proper audience.’
‘If there’s any knocking to be done, it’ll be me what’s doing it.’ Nellie rolled her sleeves up and made a fist to wave at Beryl. ‘See this, missus? Well, if yer don’t keep quiet and let me and me mate get on with a private performance, then this will knock yer off that ruddy wall. And it’ll knock the bleeding smile off yer face, as well.’
‘Nellie, will you and Beryl call a truce, please?’ Molly asked. ‘I came down for a little light-hearted amusement, to cheer meself up. But the mood is beginning to wear off.’
Nellie’s face was transformed into a beaming smile. ‘Yer’ve got a smashing way with words, girl. I wish I’d gone to the same school as you, ’cos then I’d be as clever as you, and understand what ye’re talking about all the time.’
Her lips pursed and her head shaking slowly, Molly said, ‘Nellie, sunshine, if I’d gone to the same school as you, and we were mates, I certainly wouldn’t have the vocabulary that I have now. So as far as I’m concerned, it’s thank God for small mercies.’
Nellie stared open-mouthed at her mate. Then, after she’d given the matter some thought, she asked, ‘What was it yer said yer wouldn’t have, girl? It sounded like “big belly” but I can’t see yer saying that. Besides, it’s me what’s got the big belly, not you.’
Beryl was having the time of her life. At that moment she didn’t care if the washing never got done. ‘Molly said vocabulary, Nellie, but it’s too big a word for you to understand, never mind get yer tongue round.’
Molly screwed up her eyes and through gritted teeth she groaned, ‘Ooh, that was a bad move on your part, Beryl. Yer should have kept yer mouth shut. Nellie will have yer guts for garters now.’
The little woman was standing with her arms folded, looking up at Beryl. ‘Okay, clever clogs, now spell it for me.’
‘Spell what, Nellie?’
‘Yer know what word I mean, Beryl Mowbray, the one yer said I wouldn’t understand. Just spell it for me. If yer get it right I’ll eat me hat. Get it wrong and I’ll knock yer off that bleeding perch for poking yer nose in where it wasn’t wanted.’
Beryl chuckled. ‘Nellie, I couldn’t spell the blinking word if yer paid me. It took me all me time to say it. Yer see, queen, the school I went to must have been like the one you went to.’
Nellie asked herself if that sounded like an apology. Then, after due consideration, she decided it was good enough to let Beryl off the hook. ‘Okay, girl, I’ll let yer off this time. But keep yer gob shut, eh?’
‘Oh, sod this for a lark,’ Molly said, making for the entry door. ‘I could have had me clothes on the line by now. I’ve got more to do than waste me time listening to two grown-up women acting like a pair of spoilt kids.’
For an eighteen stone woman, Nellie was very light on her feet. With her lips set in a thin line of determination, she covered the few yards in seconds. Grabbing Molly’s arm, she pulled her back. ‘Where the hell are you off to, girl? If ye’re desperate to go to the lavvy, yer don’t need to go home, yer can use mine. I won’t charge yer.’
This was the outcome Molly was reckoning on. There was no way she was going back home until she’d done her little turn with Nellie. She was going to cheer herself up even if she killed herself in the process. ‘I’m going home, Nellie, to get the washing on the line before it goes dark.’
Her hand flat on the door keeping it closed so Molly couldn’t escape, Nellie said, ‘What are yer on about, girl? How can it go dark at bleeding ten o’clock in the morning?’
‘It was ten o’clock when I left our house, sunshine. I was hoping to have a little singsong with yer, and a laugh, and be back putting me washing on the line by a quarter past ten. Thanks to you and Beryl playing silly beggars, I’m later than I expected to be, so I’m on me way to make up the time.’
‘Over my dead body, girl, over my dead body.’ Nellie did a perfect imitation of Oliver Hardy shaking his head and playing with his tie. ‘Yer came here to visit me and have a laugh, Molly Bennett, and a laugh yer’ll have. Even if I have to go upstairs and take that ostrich feather off me wedding hat to tickle yer with.’
Not to be outdone, Molly took on her Ethel Barrymore dramatic pose. With her body limp, and the back of a hand on her brow, she sobbed, ‘Oh, not the ostrich feather, I beg of yer. Please have some pity on a poor widow who is about to be thrown out into the street because she won’t let the landlord have his wicked way with her.’
‘Don’t be sad, girl, I won’t let the landlord have his wicked way with yer.’ This was right up Nellie’s street and she was thoroughly enjoying herself now. ‘I’ll stand in front of yer, and I’ll offer myself in your place. And when the landlor
d sets his eyes on my voluptuous body, he won’t be able to resist my charm. So dry yer eyes, girl, for all is not lost. I am willing to sacrifice myself so you have a roof over yer head.’ Nellie couldn’t keep all the laughter back, and some escaped. ‘While he’s under my spell, I’ll make a deal with him. He can have my body, in exchange for your roof.’
Beryl was quite taken with Nellie’s performance, and she clapped with such gusto that the chair she was standing on toppled over, and she was left hanging on to the wall for dear life. But it didn’t stop her from gasping, ‘That was great, Nellie, yer surpassed yerself. Yer were so good, yer brought tears to me eyes.’
‘Thanks, girl, it’s nice of yer to say so.’ Seeing the predicament her neighbour was in, Nellie offered some advice. ‘That happened to me once, girl, and it’s a bugger when ye’re left swinging. But what I did, I let meself down slowly, and I found the drop not nearly as bad as I’d thought. I landed on me backside, like, but it didn’t hurt.’
They could hear Beryl’s shoes scraping down the wall, followed by a loud groan. ‘It was all right for you, queen,’ her voice sailed over the wall. ‘With the size of your bottom, yer had plenty of flesh to cushion yer fall. I bet I’ll be black and blue tonight.’
‘Get your feller to rub some cream on it when yer go to bed,’ Nellie suggested. ‘It’ll make you feel better, and your feller will think he’s won the pools.’
‘Sod off, Nellie! The day I let my feller rub cream on me backside is the day I’ll have given up on life.’ Beryl’s left buttock had taken the brunt of the fall, and she rubbed it gently. ‘Anyway, he might enjoy himself so much he’d want to make a habit of it. And I couldn’t be doing with that.’
‘Oh, stop yer moaning and get round here.’ Nellie showed no sympathy. ‘Ye’re holding the performance up.’
‘I thought I heard Molly say she was going home to put her washing out?’
‘Molly Bennett is staying in this yard whether she likes it or not.’ Nellie nodded, forgetting her neighbour couldn’t see through a brick wall. ‘Even if it means carrying her under me ruddy arm.’
