by Anne Bennett
Lizzie saw there was just one small-paned window letting light in, and that was covered with curtains of lace and heavier curtains of blue brocade hanging on either side. ‘So you’re here then,’ said a thin, sour woman Lizzie assumed to be Steve’s mother.
‘As you see, Ma, as you see.’
Now she had time to study the woman, Lizzie saw she had many of the same features as Steve and thought it odd that though they turned Steve into a handsome and presentable man, they turned his mother grimfaced and surly looking, unless it was life itself that had given her that discontented air.
Steve’s father was introduced as Rodney and was just a little taller than his wife, and Steve’s brother Neil was the same. Both had sandy hair and pale brown eyes, their noses had little shape and they had slack lips and an indeterminate chin, while Steve’s was chiselled and firm. Lizzie wondered if Neil resented his brother at all, for he was obviously at the back of the queue when good looks were given out. Beside his tall, brawny brother, he looked like a wee boy, and when he shook her hand his was clammy and limp and his father’s little better. It was like shaking hands with a warm, wet fish.
But she was to soon learn much of Neil’s rancour was caused by his mother, and it had nothing to do with looks or size, for, as Steve had boasted the first time Lizzie had met him, Flo only had eyes for her eldest son. He was the light of her life, and in case there should be any doubts, Flo went into a litany of how good, honest, upright, decent, respectable, etc. Steve was. What a marvellous son, a tremendous man altogether, and, she inferred, Lizzie was lucky to have him.
The point was, Lizzie didn’t want him. Flo could keep him by her side a wee while longer, but now wasn’t the time to say so.
It was a comfortable and well-furnished room, Lizzie had to admit. A brass clock was set on the mantelshelf below the picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, that familiar picture in all Catholic homes. A selection of brass ornaments were either side of the clock, and a shop-bought, fluffy blue rug was before the gleaming brass fender. Dark blue armchairs and a matching settee, each scattered with cushions of pale blue and cream, were pulled in front of the fire, which was roaring up the chimney. The linen, lace-edged arm covers on the chairs matched the antimacassars draped across the backs of the chairs and settee. Against the wall was a sideboard with a runner across the length of it and a large oval mirror above. Brass candlesticks stood each end of the runner with a potted aspidistra in the middle.
Lizzie guessed the table against the other wall matched the sideboard, for the ladder-backed chairs around it certainly did, but it had a tablecloth of lace covering it.
In one of the chimney recesses were shelves holding some books and a few toby jugs, but the wall the other side was covered in photographs of Steve. The brothers were so unlike each other, both in looks and stature, there was no mistaking them. There was just the one picture Lizzie could see that had been taken when Steve looked to be about ten and Neil about five. The rest were all of Steve: one of him as a baby on a lambskin rug, then as a toddler and a schoolboy. Steve’s First Communion was also documented, as was his Confirmation, and him in his new suit for the occasion, and another where he wore new overalls, checked shirt and shiny new boots, probably for his first day at work. There were none of anyone else.
The visit could not be considered a success. She knew afterwards that, whatever she’d done or said wouldn’t have been right, for the talk was stilted and false, and though the tea was adequate and well-prepared it felt like sawdust in Lizzie’s mouth. I pity the girl who eventually takes Steve on, she thought, for Flo will make her life a misery. Thank the Lord it’s not going to be me!
Eventually, Lizzie ran out of things to say and there was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two before Rodney Gillespie began on his favourite topic: hatred of the Irish generally and Ireland in particular. ‘I was found by the parish priest when I was but seven years old,’ he said, ‘and all about me were dead or dying of TB. He took me in and tended me and apprenticed me to a brass worker in Birmingham the week after my eighth birthday.’
Lizzie did feel for the old man for Steve had explained some of the work they did the night they’d gone to the Old Joint Stock after the pantomime. He’d told Lizzie how the copper and zinc were turned into molten brass in furnaces that burned white-hot, and how they had to carry heavy ladles of it to pour into crucibles. He spoke of the heat and the danger and the way hands grew cracked and calloused and how bare backs ran with sweat all the day long, and of how his father had been at the work since he’d been a young boy.
‘Ah, God, for a wee child to be in such a place,’ she’d said.
‘Yeah, it was a hard life for him I think,’ Steve told her. ‘The apprentice was always the whipping boy, the one who got the toe of someone’s boot in his behind if he slackened at all, or spilt precious metal. Yet he has a love of England and brass, for he says it’s given him a home. There was always enough food for us, bags of coal and warm clothes and boots for the winter and blankets for the bed. My mother has never had to pawn.’
Lizzie had never heard the word pawn, so Steve had explained it to her, but she’d understood the rest: how a young boy was given the gift of life, and a good life, though a hard one. But now she saw he was revelling in this story that he must have told often, almost enjoying it, when life for many was hard then. So when he said, ‘Ireland took everything from me: parents, brothers and sisters,’ Lizzie said,
‘I thought it was tuberculosis did that?’
And then she nearly jumped out of her skin as Rodney’s hand slammed the table with such ferocity the crockery rattled. ‘Tuberculosis wouldn’t have taken hold if they’d all had the right food, and a decent cottage rather than the stinking hovel we had, and money for medicines,’ he thundered. ‘Ireland is no friend of mine.’
No one said a word after that, and the silence was strained. Lizzie left as soon as she decently could.
‘Don’t start my father on about Ireland if you don’t want a tirade,’ Steve warned later as they made their way to the tram stop. ‘He’s a mild-mannered man in most things but that, and he can’t bear being contradicted.’
‘Well, we might not meet again, so it will hardly matter.’
‘Of course you will, you silly girl.’
Lizzie decided she couldn’t let Steve go on in blissful ignorance of how she felt, and so she said gently, ‘Don’t read too much in to this, Steve.’
‘In to what?’
‘This visit to meet your parents.’
‘What’re you on about?’
‘I’m not ready for anything serious, not with you or anyone yet.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Steve said. ‘When you agreed to come it meant…well, it means something. Why did you come if you feel like that?’
The tram pulled up then and Steve waited until they were seated before he said, ‘It was him, wasn’t it, that put you off: the old man, and our poker-faced Neil.’
‘No, it wasn’t them.’ Lizzie tried to explain without hurting Steve’s feelings too much. ‘I admit I was alarmed by the way your father reacted, but that isn’t the reason I’ve said I don’t want anything serious. I…I just don’t want to be tied down.’
‘I ain’t in no hurry for marriage,’ Steve said. ‘But you can still be my girl, can’t you?’
‘No, Steve.’
‘Look, it’s how it is: Tressa and Mike, and me and you.’
‘Tressa and Mike have got nothing to do with us. We’re separate people.’
‘Mike won’t see it that way. We’re marras, mates, like, and if I tell him this he’ll chuck your cousin without a thought.’
‘He wouldn’t.’
‘Yeah, he would.’
Lizzie wondered if Steve was right. She remembered Tressa’s face earlier that day, the adoring looks she kept giving Mike. She had it bad, Lizzie knew that, and she also knew she couldn’t live with herself if she was to be the cause of the break-up.
‘Look,’
Steve said. ‘Do you dislike me; find me physically repulsive?’
Lizzie shook her head, for her initial dislike of Steve had frittered away, and he was a very good-looking man.
‘Do you like me, even a little?’
‘Of course I like you, but as a friend.’
‘That will do, Lizzie. I have enough love for both of us.’ ‘No, Steve. It isn’t like that.’ ‘I know, but sometimes feelings take time to grow,’
Steve urged her. ‘Give it a few more weeks, eh? Give me a chance. For God’s sake don’t pull the bleedin’ rug from under me already. We’ve only known each other a short time.’
‘And then what, after a few weeks?’
‘You’ll be madly in love with me.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘I don’t accept failure,’ Steve said.
Nor does he accept ‘No’, Lizzie thought. He’s like Tressa. He wants his own way all the time, for he’s used to it.
But she said none of this, for the tram had pulled into the terminus in the city centre and Steve put his arm around Lizzie as they walked along. She didn’t object, because she was thinking over Steve’s words. Would it be any better if she told him in a few weeks’ time? She didn’t know, but at least then he couldn’t say she hadn’t given it a fair crack of the whip.
‘I’ll give them all what for when I go home,’ Steve told Lizzie, convinced, whatever Lizzie had said, that it was his family’s behaviour that had made her say what she had.
‘Steve, there’s no need.’
‘There’s every need,’ Steve snapped. ‘They’ll behave better next time, I promise you. I’ll even have a go at the old woman. She could have been more welcoming.’
‘She loves you, Steve,’ Lizzie said. ‘She doesn’t want anyone, especially any woman, to be more important in your life than she is.’
‘She’ll have to learn then,’ Steve said. ‘Silly cow. She’ll do as she’s bloody well told.’
‘Hush, Steve. Try and understand her point of view,’ Lizzie said, though she had no love for the woman herself.
‘She should bloody well understand mine,’ Steve growled. ‘And she will. I’ll see to it.’
Lizzie had had quite enough of Steve’s family. ‘I’ll have to go in, Steve,’ she said. ‘I’ll be late and then I’ll catch it.’
She was glad to go, for this bad-tempered Steve unnerved her more than a little. She almost felt the anger coursing through him as he drew her into his arms. The kiss was like a stamp of ownership. It was a hard, unyielding kiss, which bruised Lizzie’s lips and pushed them against her teeth, but Lizzie bore it without complaint, for she was too nervous of Steve to protest much.
She was changed and ready to go on duty when Tressa dashed in, red-faced both from the cold and the warmth of Mike’s embrace, and the kisses which had left her breathless. She was prepared to make light of any trepidations Lizzie might have had about Steve and his family problems, though she was pleased that Lizzie had agreed to go out with Steve a little longer. Lizzie felt she was being inexorably drawn into a future she didn’t want and felt filled with apprehension as she and Tressa went down to the kitchen.
The following Saturday morning, the head waiter, who had a soft spot for Lizzie, approached her as she was finishing her breakfast stint. ‘You and your cousin were down to work tonight, but you can have the night off if you like.’
‘I thought we had a big party in?’
‘We did have, but so many have come down with flu they’ve cancelled, and the hotel isn’t exactly bursting at the seams at this time of year. So, do you and Tressa want this or shall I offer it to one of the others, because the manager won’t pay for half of you to be doing nothing?’
Lizzie didn’t need asking twice and neither did Tressa, who insisted on letting the boys know. Lizzie would have preferred for the two of them to do something together, as they used to, but she told herself she had to get used to the fact that Mike was now the most important person in Tressa’s life. She also knew that Tressa was quite capable of throwing a mammoth sulk if Lizzie refused to do what she wanted, and then the value of the Saturday night would be lost to the both of them. And so they travelled up to Edgbaston to tell Steve and Mike.
They met that evening in the Old Joint Stock again, because it was easiest, and when Tressa and Mike sloped off after the one drink, Lizzie and Steve weren’t surprised.
‘So, what do you want to do?’ Steve asked.
There was no hesitation. ‘I’d like to go down to the Bull Ring,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’ve never been at night, but all the other girls have told me how good it is and the entertainment to be had there on a Saturday.’
Steve had no problem with that and Lizzie was filled with excitement as she stood at the top of High Street and saw it all arrayed below them. She was glad too that she had Steve’s arm around her, for the night was a chilly one.
It was all so different from the daytime, though just as full of people. Now it was lit up by spluttering gas flares and looked almost magical. There were still the poor, hoping to get meat or vegetables cheap, but they were hidden by the darkness. The flower sellers had gone from their usual space around Nelson’s statue, along with most of the old lags selling their wares from trays around their necks, and there was no little old lady outside Woolworths urging people to buy a carrier bag. However, others had taken their places, and one was a stall selling cockles and mussels and jellied eels. ‘Are you hungry? D’you want some?’ Steve asked.
‘Ooh no, thank you,’ Lizzie said. She had no liking for cockles or mussels, and as for jellied eels…‘I’ve tried them just the once,’ she said. ‘They’re slimy.’
Steve laughed. ‘That’s the idea,’ he said, and he smacked his lips as if he was going to enjoy a great feast, as he soaked his dish liberally with vinegar. He lifted one to his mouth and sucked it in with a slurp, laughing again at Lizzie’s look of distaste. ‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘Slips down the throat a treat.’
‘You’re welcome to them,’ Lizzie told him, wrinkling her nose. ‘Give me a hot potato any day.’
‘I’ll buy you one if that’s what you want,’ Steve said. ‘Might even get one myself to fill a corner.’
‘Fill a corner!’ Lizzie said scornfully. ‘You’re always filling corners, you.’ She was right, for Steve had a voracious appetite. ‘I think you have worms.’
Steve roared with laughter. ‘Worms! Don’t be so daft, woman. There’s a lot of me to fill. I’m a big strapping chap.’
He was right there, Lizzie thought, as with the eels finished he draped a heavy arm around Lizzie once more. His fingers resting on her shoulder smelt of vinegar and fish and she turned her face away, but she said nothing and they went on through the crowd.
There was a man tied up in chains demanding more money in the hat before he tried to get free. Lizzie thought he looked decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Have you ever seen him get out?’ she whispered to Steve.
‘Never,’ he said, tossing a florin into the hat, ‘though I’ve paid enough to, over the years. Mike says he’s seen it, but I doubt it.’
They got fed up waiting in the end and walked on. ‘I think it’s all a con, anyroad,’ Steve said.
‘How?’
‘Them chains can’t be real, can they? I mean, how could anyone get out of real chains when they are trussed up like he was?’ And then, seeing Lizzie’s crestfallen face, he gave a gentle laugh and tightened his arm around her. ‘Spoilt your illusions, have I?’
Lizzie didn’t answer, for her attention was taken by two stilt-walkers moving effortlessly amongst the crowds and between the stalls and barrows, and standing so immensely high that her mouth dropped open in amazement.
But Steve pushed her on to where the boxing ring was set up. ‘Me and Mike had a go here when we was lads,’ he said. ‘Knocked on our backs, the pair of us,’ he added, laughing at the memory. ‘Wouldn’t be so easy for him to do that to me today.’
‘Like to try your luck, sir?’ the man
in the black top hat and red jacket encouraged, seeing Steve’s interest. The assembled crowd turned to see who he was addressing and shuffled their feet in anticipation of a fight. ‘Five pounds if you beat the champ,’ the man said.
Steve looked at the glowering champ sat in the corner of the ring. He was broad and hefty, terrifying to him as a boy, and he remembered the way the big man with fists like hams had felled him with one blow, and how he lay on the ring floor with the breath knocked out of his body and thought every bone and joint had been loosened. But the champ was running to fat now, and Steve, full-grown, well-muscled and strong, reckoned he could give the bruiser a run for his money.
‘Don’t, Steve.’
‘Five pounds is five pounds, pet,’ Steve said. But it wasn’t the money. It was the thought of the fight wiping the supercilious smile off the champ’s face, maybe making Lizzie proud of him. He didn’t know that such an action would not make Lizzie proud; that she hated violence.
‘I could beat that bastard with one hand tied behind my back,’ Steve sneered, and Lizzie pressed against him and felt the excitement pounding through his body.
The champ snarled at him. ‘Words is cheap, mate. Come up here and prove it. I’ll pound you into the ground, you cheeky young pup.’
‘Right,’ Steve cried, and tried to disentangle himself from Lizzie, but she held on to his coat. ‘No, Steve. Please don’t.’
‘Come on, darling, it’s only a bit of fun.’
‘Please, I can’t bear it. For my sake, don’t do this.’
Steve was pleased that Lizzie was showing such obvious concern for him. He hadn’t been aware she felt so strongly about him getting hurt and it gave him a glimmer of hope. No way was he going to risk upsetting her, so he smiled ruefully and said, ‘We’ll have to settle the score some other time, mate. I’ve got my orders for the moment.’
There was understanding laughter amongst the crowd and Lizzie was embarrassed by everyone looking at them. ‘Come on.’
‘I would have been all right, you know,’ Steve said when they were out of earshot.
