A Mother's Love

by Katie Flynn

  ‘’Ere, Dora, look out. It’s Wee Willy Winky,’ the man guffawed.

  His girlfriend giggled, nodding her head towards Ellie’s departing figure as she called after her, ‘I’ve ’eard of sleepwalkin’ before, but never sleep runnin’.’

  Yelling a brief ‘Sorry’ over her shoulder, Ellie continued to run until she came to a covered doorway at the end of a row of shops. Panting hard, she ducked into the doorway and waited for a moment or two before risking a peep down the road. To her relief there was no sign of a pursuer. Placing her boots on the ground, she winced as she shoved her wet feet into the dry leather. Why on earth had the young man called her Wee Willy Winky? A sheet of lightning illuminated the shop doorway. To her horror a ghostly white figure stood before her in the shop’s window. Stifling a scream, she hastily began to pull the sleeve of her coat over her arm, noting out of the corner of her eye as she did so that one of the spectre’s arms disappeared. Another flash of lightning brought Ellie to a realisation. In her haste to escape Lavender Court she had forgotten that she was still in her nightie. She shook her head ruefully. ‘That’s what happens when you let your imagination run wild, Ellie Lancton. You’re jumping at your own reflection now. No wonder that chap called you Wee Willy Winky,’ she murmured.

  With her coat buttoned up, Ellie peered cautiously round the shop doorway, and finding the coast to be clear she stepped out on to the street, only this time she continued at a more leisurely pace. She was heading towards the house of her best friend, Arla Winthorpe. She won’t mind me coming round in the middle of the night, Ellie reassured herself, especially when she knows what’s happened. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she ducked her head against the wind and reflected on the evening’s events which had brought her to this point.

  It had been nearly two months since the passing of her mother, and whilst Ellie had managed to pay the rent every week, her payments were nearly always a day or so late.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Crowther. I know I owe you the money and I promise you’ll get it, but Mrs Wardle, the one I do laundry for, well she says she’s still waitin’ to be paid by the folk what give her the laundry, and she reckons she can’t afford to pay me till she’s been paid herself, you see.’ Ellie had looked nervously at her landlord. ‘I did tell her I owed you the rent, and she said she would definitely pay me tomorrer, or the day after at the very latest. Sorry.’

  Sid stood, arms folded, glaring. ‘And how’s that meant to be my problem? You’re the one who owes the rent and you should make sure you get it to me on time. I don’t care how you do it, just make sure you do. No one I know lives rent free, and even if they do they sure as hell don’t do it my ‘ouses, not when I’ve bills of me own to pay.’

  Heading out into the court, he had slammed the front door behind him whilst Ellie retreated to her room and padded over to the window. Her heart sank as she watched her landlord enter the Cock and Bull public house. He was already in a bad mood, but throwing alcohol into the mix would be like pouring petrol on to an already blazing fire.

  Turning from the window, she went to the small cupboard which she used to store food and cutlery, and pulled out a rather stale end of bread which she managed to half cut, half tear into two pieces. She glanced round the bare cupboard, wishing there was a small jar of dripping or jam in there, and put one of the pieces back on the shelf before biting down into the other and beginning to chew.

  When war had first been declared, Ellie had asked her mother if she might leave school and get a job working in one of the munitions factories, but her mother had been against the idea.

  ‘You ain’t leavin’ school, so there’s no point in arguin’. Get your certificate first and then you can get a better job; only stands to reason.’ Seeing the disappointment on Ellie’s face, she had softened. ‘I know you want to do your bit, but you’d be better off waitin’ till you’re sixteen. That way you can apply for one of the services, then you’d get a proper job, like one of them secretaries what do the shorthand and type stuff up – you know the sort of thing. Summat that’ll set you up for life. You won’t get that if you work in a munitions factory, even if you don’t get blown up first.’

  This conversation had taken place one Saturday whilst Ellie helped her mother scrub sheets in Mr Wong’s Chinese Laundry. One of the women working opposite them had voiced her opinion.

  ‘Our Reenie works in the Royal Ordnance factory in Kirkby and she’s turned as yeller as a daffodil. It don’t come off neither, no matter how hard she scrubs. You don’t want to work in the one in Fazakerley neither. That poor Billy from Maple Court will never be the same again, not since the accident.’

  Ellie had sighed. She knew they were right, but she would not turn sixteen until the following December, which was over a year away.

  When her mother had died Ellie had reconsidered applying for one of the factory jobs, which would bring better wages and regular work. It meant she wouldn’t have to worry over such things as rent, but it would also mean going against her mother’s wishes, and that was something Ellie could not bring herself to do, no matter how hard the going got. She already felt guilty about having left school immediately after Millie’s death, but that had been necessary and she knew her mother would have understood.

  She drew the threadbare curtains closed and padded over to the washstand, dipped her flannel into the ice-cold water, then took a deep breath and gingerly drew the flannel swiftly across her face and hands. Shivering from her brief wash, she pulled her thick nightie over her head, then laid her clothes on top of her bed and climbed carefully between the sheets.

  Curling up into a ball, she blew on her hands as she rubbed them together. They were halfway through spring, and even though the weather outside was mild the inside of the glass window was laced with frost and the room itself was icy cold.

  ‘These bloody courts want knockin’ down,’ Mr Rogers, one of Ellie’s oldest neighbours, had commented as they queued for the water pump which stood beside the privies.

  Mr Turnbull had nodded his head in agreement. ‘I reckon they should shoot the bugger who built ’em in the first place,’ he tutted disapprovingly. ‘Who in their right mind would build houses what was always in the shade? Stands to reason they’ll allus be damp and mouldy. My missis is hackin’ up summat awful, mornin’, noon and night. And fancy stickin’ the water pump next to the lavvy. It’s a wonder we ain’t all got cholera, especially when the bogs get bunged up.’ Behind him there had been a general mumur of agreement.

  Ellie turned her thoughts back to the problem of the overdue rent and how her landlord had reverted from the understanding man who had told her not to worry to the surly man who claimed he had been mistaken about her mother’s payments.

  ‘Dunno ’ow it ’appened, but I were wrong about your mam being a month’s rent in advance, I noticed it when I were checkin’ through me books, so you see you ain’t got the time I thought you had.’ His furtive glances and shifty stance had left Ellie in no doubt that the man was lying, but she had no proof. Sid insisted on keeping everyone’s rent book in his room, so he could easily change any entries previously made. Asking to see her mother’s book would be a waste of time.

  It was shortly after this revelation that he had started hassling her for the money, making vicious, spiteful remarks if she was late with payments. So far, however, she had never been subjected to his violent temper. She had heard from her neighbours that he was known to fly into blind drunken rages, smashing windows or kicking in doors; then the next day, when he had sobered up, he would demand payment for the damage, reasoning that if they had paid on time in the first place he would never had got so angry. Of course it was unfair, but you were given two choices: pay or leave.

  Ellie froze as she heard someone shouting outside, then relaxed again as she recognised the voice of an ARP warden ordering someone to ‘put that light out’. It was Arthur Byrnes, Archie Byrnes’s father, who lived in the same court as Arla. Ellie smiled as she remembered the last time she h
ad seen Archie. She had gone to visit Arla and the two girls had been chatting whilst Arla waited for the privy.

  ‘One pump and two lavvies between ten houses ain’t enough!’ Arla had said, as she hopped from one foot to the other. She had hammered her fist on the wooden door of the toilet. ‘Archie Byrnes, you’ve been in there for the last five minutes, and you know full well the other one’s busted. Stop bein’ selfish and get your backside out here. Some of us is bustin’.’

  ‘Sod off!’ had come the reply from behind the wooden door. ‘I told you already, I can’t go wi’ you standin’ there with yer ear pressed to the door listenin’.’

  Arla had rolled her eyes. ‘I have not got my ear pressed to the door. Who wants to hear that?’ She had turned to Ellie. ‘When we join the WAAF it won’t be like this. They’ll have proper fassi – fassilli – lavvies, and more than one, no doubt.’ She had grimaced at Ellie as she tried to stop nature taking its course. ‘Remember when Miss Siege came back into school to show us her uniform? It was really smart; much nicer than anythin’ we got. I think it’d really suit me.’

  There was a rattling noise followed by the sound of rushing water and Archie Byrnes opened the toilet door. Wafting a hand in front of his face, he had winked at the girls. ‘I’d give it a minute or three if I were you. I reckon this ’un’s on its way out an’ all.’ Walking past Arla, he had grinned mischievously. ‘They won’t let you in the WAAF, not till you’ve got rid of them nits.’

  Arla had balled her hand into a fist, ready to give Archie a good thump, but nature was calling, in fact it was yelling at her to get into the lavatory, so instead she had stuck out her tongue. ‘I ’aven’t got nits, Archie Byrnes, but if I did it’d be you what give’m me in the first place.’

  Lying as still as she could so as not to come into contact with parts of the sheets not yet warmed by her body, Ellie grimaced as a sheet of lightning penetrated one of the many holes in the curtains. She slid out of her bed and trotted across the cold floorboards to pick up her wash towel and hang it over the top of the curtains. From outside there came the sound of male voices. Pulling the towel delicately to one side, she peered through the gap, and watched as a couple of men, neither of whom was Sid, stumbled their way down the road. With a bit of luck, she thought, he’ll be as drunk as a lord by the time he comes out, and at least that way he’ll be too tired to pick a fight. She had been about to turn away when the pub door had swung open again and another man had left the pub. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly. This time it was Sid, and judging by the way he was holding on to the lamppost for support he was very drunk indeed. Ellie’s brow wrinkled as she tried to make out what he was doing, until, to her disgust, she realised he was relieving himself against the lamppost. ‘No better than a dog,’ she had muttered, shaking her head reprovingly, and then Sid had tilted his head back and stared straight into her room. Their eyes had locked momentarily before Ellie let the towel fall. Chastising herself for being caught spying, she had climbed back into the small bed and pulled the mixture of sheet and clothes up around her ears, closing her eyes and praying that Sid had been too drunk to focus. There was another flash of lightning and she waited for the inevitable clap of thunder, then jumped as it boomed loudly before rumbling into the distance. The front door slammed shut and she held her breath, her heart sinking as she heard Sid mount the stairs. She lay motionless as the door to her room creaked open. Taking a deep breath she listened intently, but the only thing she could hear was the beating of her heart, which seemed to grow louder and louder until she felt sure he must be able to hear it. She had been wishing him far away when, to her relief, she heard the bedroom door click shut. Letting her breath out in a big whoosh, she was about to turn over when a voice from beside her bed broke the silence.

  ‘Spyin’ on me, were ya?’ Sid had hiccuped, the foul odour of alchol filling the room. Lying still, Ellie was wondering whether she should pretend to be asleep when Sid gave the leg of the bed a vicious kick, causing it to scrape across the floor. ‘Don’t ignore me, you bloody tart,’ he slurred. ‘I seen you tryin’ to tek a peek at me … me manhood.’ Grabbing her roughly by the shoulder, he turned her over.

  Ellie had rubbed her eyes in a pretence of waking. ‘S-s-sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I was asleep … what did you say?’

  Swaying, he leaned down in front of her until their noses were inches apart. ‘Now then, you mustn’t be coy. I seen you through the winder.’ He screwed up his eyes in an effort to focus. ‘Fancy a bit o’ me, do ya?’

  Despite her fear Ellie had eyed him in horror. ‘You’re old enough to be my dad …’ she had begun, but Sid, clearly offended by her statement, leaned back and struck her with the back of his hand. Blood spurted from her nose.

  ‘You cheeky, ungrateful … who’s been lookin’ after you since your ma died, eh? Kept a roof over yer ‘ead, promised to keep you on?’

  Ellie had clasped her sleeve to her nose to stem the flow of blood. Wiping a few drops from his cheek, Sid placed his hands on her knees and leaned unsteadily forward. Staring hard into her face, he raised a hand, but this time instead of striking her he smoothed her hair back.

  ‘Now I come to think of it, it’s not such a bad idea is that. You’re allus havin’ trouble payin’ the rent, and I remember you sayin’ we could work summat out if you had difficulties, and I agreed. So the way I see it, two birds with one stone …’ He dropped his gaze to her chest. ‘You know, I ain’t noticed till now, but youse ain’t a child no more, are ya?’ Ellie clutched the neck of her nightie as Sid pressed his mouth close to her ear. ‘You keep me satisfied, and I reckon we can turn a blind eye to the rent …’ As he spoke, he gripped hold of her nightgown with one hand whilst the other fumbled with the crotch of his trousers.

  Fearing the worst, Ellie had balled her hand into a fist and punched him as hard as she could. As both hands flew to his nose, his trousers dropped to his ankles and he sprawled backwards, unable to keep his balance. He fell to the floor with a thud, his head knocking into the legs of the washstand as he went, and the ewer teetered briefly on the edge before plummeting towards his thick skull.

  Leaping to her feet, she had looked down at her agressor. His eyes were shut and the broken ewer lay in pieces over his cut and bloodied face. Without further hesitation, she had grabbed her coat and boots and descended the stairs two at a time before heading into the stormy night.

  Dodging to one side as the mud cascaded back down towards her, Ellie took careful aim with another handful of dirt just as a rather annoyed and sleepy-looking Arla lifted the sash window and squinted down at her.

  ‘Bugger off, you little sod, else I’ll report you to …’ She paused briefly. ‘Ellie? Hang on a mo.’

  Within a few seconds Arla appeared at the front door. Standing aside, she placed a finger to her lips and ushered her friend in. ‘We can talk in my room. Go quietly – I don’t want to wake me mam and dad.’

  Closing the bedroom door silently behind her, she whispered, ‘I thought you was Willy Johnson from down the court. His mam lets him stay out till all hours and he’s a habit o’ wakin’ folk up whenever he gets bored.’ Turning to face Ellie, she gave a small shriek and clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘What happened? Are you all right? Do you know you’re covered in blood?’ She pointed to the bed. ‘Sit down, and I’ll fetch a cloth to clean you up. Just make sure you don’t sit on our Sally.’

  Ellie looked at the double bed which contained all three of Arla’s sisters, and carefully positioned herself on the edge. Arla dipped a flannel into the bowl and began to carefully wipe the concotion of blood, mud, sweat and tears from Ellie’s face. ‘So come on, what’s happened?’ she repeated.

  Taking a deep breath, Ellie told Arla about Sid, his repulsive suggestion, and the ewer. ‘Mrs B warned me about him. She told me to be careful, said I should go to her if I ever needed help. I think she suspected summat like this might happen.’ She looked at Arla through tear-brimmed eyes. ‘All I wanted was for him to leave me al
one, but instead he’s flat out on my bedroom floor, covered in blood. If he’s dead the scuffers’ll blame me.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘It’s not fair, Arla. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted him to go away.’

  Kneeling down, Arla rubbed Ellie’s shoulder with a comforting hand. ‘Don’t go worryin’ about the likes of Sid Crowther. It’d take a lot more than a ewer to kill him off. You said he was drunk, so you’ve more than likely just knocked him out.’

  There was a snort from one of the occupants of the bed. ‘No one would give two figs if you had killed him. Everyone hates him, and once they find out what he’s done to you—’

  Ellie turned sharply. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone. You know what folk can be like – he’s bound to twist things, make it look as if it was all my fault, or I’d led him on somehow. I’d be so ashamed.’

  Sitting up on one elbow, Sally gazed into Ellie’s frightened eyes. ‘No one who knows you would ever think such a thing, Ellie luv, and you’ve nowt to be ashamed of either. It’s him who should be ashamed, not that he will be, of course, but you needn’t worry. If you don’t want me to say owt I promise my lips are sealed.’ Looking round the dimly lit room, she frowned. ‘Where’s your clothes?’

  Ellie looked down at her nightie. ‘I’m afraid this is it.’ She let out a small groan. ‘I’ve just remembered. All my money, the photos of me mam, everything I own is back in Lavender Court, so like it or not I’m goin’ to have to go back at some stage.’

  Arla jutted her chin forward in a determined fashion. ‘You’re not goin’ anywhere near that foul beast of a man. I’ll go for you.’

  ‘Sidney Crowther would hit you as soon as Ellie,’ Arla’s older sister informed her brusquely. ‘Why don’t you go and see Connor Murray? I bet he’s as tall as Sid.’ Sally lay back down in the bed and yawned sleepily before adding, ‘We all know Sid’s a coward when it comes to confronting men, and I know wild horses wouldn’t stop Connor if he knew Sid’d hit either of you.’