by Anna Jacobs
Not wanting to get into trouble, Eva ignored her sister. Next year, she thought gloomily, she’d probably have to go part-time herself and sit at the side of the class as if she didn’t matter any more. It wasn’t fair. She wanted quite desperately to go to the secondary school. If her father hadn’t been killed, he would have managed the fees and the cost of the uniform somehow, she knew that. It just wasn’t fair!
* * *
When Meg arrived home from the visit to the school, she made herself a cup of tea and allowed herself a ten-minute sit down, for she felt exhausted already. Just as she had poured the boiling water into her own little teapot, however, someone knocked on the front door. “Oh, bother!” she muttered and put a tea cosy over the pot.
At the door she found Mr. Beckins, the new manager from the brewery, with two men standing behind him, shuffling their feet and looking embarrassed. She scowled at them all impartially. If Mr. Beckins hadn’t insisted on buying that horse, her Stanley would be alive now.
He nodded. “Mrs. Kershaw.”
She nodded back and folded her arms.
“I wonder if we could come in? I—we have something for you.”
She could guess what it was so she led the way into the parlour, feeling a pang as she went inside it. She was even going to lose this, the room that was her pride and joy, because the lodgers would want somewhere to sit. Manners obliged her to offer the men seats, but she kept Stanley’s big armchair for herself, feeling comforted by the shape of it, as if he were still nearby, somehow, watching over her. “What can I do for you, Mr. Beckins?”
“I…” He cleared his throat. “That is, the owners of the brewery want you to take this.” He got up and walked across to press an envelope into her hand. “It’s something to help you out till you get on your feet again.”
“I’ll never get on my feet properly again without my Stanley,” she said, but took the envelope. Pride kept her from looking inside it, but she hoped they’d been generous.
Frank Beckins turned to one of the men. “Peter?”
“The lads took up a collection as well, Mrs. Kershaw,” he said, standing up and twisting his checked cap round in his big callused hands as he spoke. “We thought a lot of your Stanley.” He could not resist a sideways scowl at the new foreman. They none of them thought much of this new fellow and his penny-pinching ways, but he was thick as thieves with the owners. “So we’d like you to accept this, with our sincere sympathy.”
Meg accepted a second, heavier envelope, full of coins. “Thank you, Peter. I’m grateful to you all. Tell the men thank you for me. It’s going to be a—a bit hard. With the children still so young.”
“But your Percy is, I believe, working at Pilby’s?” Frank Beckins said, angry that she was not showing more gratitude. “At least you’ll have a man’s wage coming into the house still.”
“And my Percy was going to take a year on half-time, to get himself some more schooling. He won’t be able to do that now, will he? And it’s all your fault.” Suddenly Meg couldn’t bear to see him sitting there in her parlour, looking down his nose at her. “If you hadn’t insisted on buying that animal … my Stanley told you it was a bad ’un…” Her voice broke and she buried her head in her hands, sobbing.
Peter stared at the floor. She was right about that, and Beckins was still insisting on keeping that brute, which was just asking for trouble. It was the most edgy drayhorse he’d ever seen, for all its good looks. Twitched at the mere sight of a dog coming towards it in the street. No one liked driving it. Suddenly, hearing her sobbing, realising how much trouble his own wife would be in if anything happened to him—for none of their four children was near working age—he said gruffly, “We’re getting rid of that horse.”
Meg gaped at him. “Is it still there? Haven’t you had it put down?”
Beckins glared at them all. “That’s a valuable animal. We can’t just buy and sell horses all the time, or what would happen to the owners’ profits?”
Meg’s voice came out shrilly and she made no effort to moderate it. “And what are you going to do about the next man that brute kills? Or maybe it’ll be one of the stable boys another time.”
Peter exchanged glances and nods with his companion. “Well, none of us’ll drive it, Mrs. Kershaw. Nor shall we let the yard boys near it.”
Beckins coughed sharply. “This is not the time to discuss something like that!”
Peter stood up. “No, but I think Mrs. Kershaw deserves reassuring that we’re going to get rid of it.” He bobbed his head awkwardly to Meg and walked towards the door, remembering with a shudder the mess the horse had made of Stanley’s lower body.
Beckins gave her a sour look and followed him out.
Meg had to make a huge effort to force herself upright. “Please thank the owners for their kindness,” she said formally at the front door, but as she turned to Peter, her voice softened. “And thank the men, too. For everything.”
When she had shut the door behind them, she trailed into the kitchen and freshened up her tea with some hot water, before opening the envelope.
“Five pounds! The mean devils! Is that all the value the owners set on my Stanley’s life?”
The other envelope, from the men, contained over ten pounds, much of it in loose change. She was touched, knowing how much it had cost men who had their own families to look after to give so generously.
She felt a bit shaky still, after her anger, and her breath was rasping in her throat as it did sometimes, but the money was comforting, sitting there in little piles on the table. Then she remembered suddenly that someone had stolen her purse from this very room and scooped the coins into her apron, rushing upstairs to hide this money in her best hat box.
“I’ll have to get on or the children will be home for their dinner,” she muttered afterwards as she finished drinking the last of the stewed tea. But it was a while before she started her housework. What was the point? What was the point of anything now?
* * *
At dinner time, the two sisters walked home together, with Lizzie boasting of all she had seen in the shop and how much she was looking forward to working there. Eva was silent over the meal, and when they met some other girls on the way back to afternoon school, she managed to drop behind a bit and get away from Lizzie’s talk about the shop. She didn’t feel like chatting. She felt plain miserable about everything.
That afternoon, when the final bell rang, the pupils tidied up their desks enthusiastically and rushed off as soon as Miss Blake nodded permission. Eva gestured to Lizzie to go ahead without her and lingered. She didn’t want to go home and have her mother weep all over her again. So she rearranged the books on a shelf and dusted the window ledge absent-mindedly.
“No home to go to, Eva?”
She jumped in shock. “Ooh! I didn’t hear you come back in, miss.”
Alice Blake hesitated. You shouldn’t have favourites, but she couldn’t help it with this child. If she had ever had a daughter—which she hadn’t and never would now that she was forty-five—she’d have wanted one like this. Clever and yet gentle. Thoughtful, too. “Are you all right, dear?”
Eva nodded, but to her dismay, tears suddenly flooded her eyes.
Alice looked down at the big blue eyes, bright with tears, and was betrayed into giving her pupil a quick hug, something she would not normally have done. But the girl was suffering. You got them every now and then, special ones like Eva. As if God had given you a reward for all the “unspecial” ones you had to deal with the rest of the time.
“Did I get on the list for going to secondary school, miss? Did Mr. Dacing say it was all right?”
“Of course you got on the list.”
“I won’t be able to go there now, but—I’d like to think I was good enough. So could you leave my name on the list, please?”
Alice Blake nodded.
“Don’t tell Mam, though, will you? She’ll only ask you to cross my name out, say it’s a waste of time.”
> “No, I won’t withdraw your name.”
“I bet I’ll have to go part-time next year, like our Lizzie,” Eva whispered, staring down at her clenched hands. “But I want to go to secondary school and learn to be a teacher, like you. I want it so much. It’s just not fair!”
“We’ll have to see if we can think of something before then.” She felt sure Eva would be offered a scholarship to secondary school—the child was quite exceptional. It would be a crying shame if she lost her one big chance to make something of her life.
Frowning, Alice Blake decided to go and see her old friend, Mavis Pilby, to ask whether the family could see their way to doing anything to help this most deserving case. The Pilbys did a lot of good in this town—well, they owned half of it, didn’t they?—so why not seek their help for Eva? And she could talk to the manager of the brewery. Mr. Kershaw had worked there a long time. Surely they’d be prepared to help the children?
Eva was fiddling with a pencil. “Mam says I have to look for a Saturday job.”
Alice sighed. That would be the beginning of the end. It’d be just Saturdays at first, then skipping school to “help out” wherever Eva worked when things got busy or some other worker was ill. She had seen it happen time and time again with the needy families. It would be terrible if it happened to this child!
It was then that she had the idea. She didn’t say anything about it, of course. She always liked to think things through first. But if—no, she’d wait till later to work it all out. “Get off home, now, child,” she said gently. “And try not to worry. Something’ll turn up. It usually does.”
Eva trailed out, feeling comforted. She’d never seen Miss Blake hug anyone before, not even when Jimmy Pikely broke his arm. She knew she was the teacher’s pet and she liked that. Who cared what the others said? Miss Blake was wonderful, with her gored skirts and her crisp white blouses. Even the dark aprons she wore at school were more elegant than other teachers’ aprons. Miss Blake had style.
And it didn’t matter if she wasn’t good-looking. Where did being good-looking get you anyway? Eva sniffed scornfully. It got you into trouble with the lads, being good-looking did, like Mary Holden’s sister Flo. And then you had to get married and have babies and stay at home all day looking after them. Well, she wasn’t going to do that! She’d go mad with nothing to do but housework. If she couldn’t become a teacher, she’d find some other way to escape her mother. She didn’t much like their mam, whatever it said in the Bible about honouring your parents.
Tears filled her eyes again and the world turned to a blur of colours. Why did her dad have to die like that? Life wasn’t fair. And it was only going to get more unfair, so far as she could see.
* * *
That night, Sam went out on the prowl. He wanted to see what the town was like after everything had shut down. He strolled along as the Town Hall clock struck two, enjoying himself. There was a moon to light his way and the only sound was his own footsteps, though once a dog barked as he walked past a house.
He stopped and frowned down at his feet. He hadn’t worn his work clogs, but even his best shoes had metal heel and toe tips to make the leather last longer and they made too much noise. He’d have to buy a pair of shoes with rubber soles. Hmm. His preference for clogs was well known at work and in Fowler’s shoe shop on York Road. He’d better go over to Manchester and buy some quiet shoes there. No one knew who you were in Manchester—or cared.
What about Gran, though? She’d notice the new shoes and wonder why he needed them. He’d have to hide them somewhere she couldn’t reach. Eeh, there were a lot of things to think about. He wasn’t like Josh Lumb. He liked to think things out and plan for them. Whatever Josh said about its being easy pickings, so long as you didn’t go out thieving too often, Sam intended to tread very carefully at first.
And any road, it wasn’t just a question of getting the stuff, but of selling it for a decent price. He had to sort out that side of things, too. Though on the other hand, he had a few contacts already from his buying and selling of this and that—so maybe it’d all fit in quite well. If he took a bit of care. And he would. Josh might only go for money when he broke into a house, but there were other things you could take which sold well, things like fancy clocks. Look at the prices he’d got for the Harpers’ oddments.
A noise alerted Sam long before he saw the bobby in the distance. He slipped down a back alley and watched the fellow pass. Stupid sods, policemen. Listen to the row that one’s boots were making. You could hear him coming a mile off.
When he got home, Sam lay in bed, wide awake and excited, for all he’d have to be up early to get to work. He was going to do it. Oh, yes. And he was going to make himself a lot of money. By the time that little lass grew old enough to marry, he’d be in a position to look after her properly. Funny, the way he’d taken to the idea of wedding Lizzie. But he had. And he always got what he wanted.
Chapter Four
When Percy got home that evening, a bit late after a quick visit to the pub with Sam after work, the children had already eaten but Meg had a place set for his tea, with the remains of a loaf covered by a cloth in the middle of the table and a big helping of hearty stew bubbling gently on the gas stove. She looked red-eyed, but a little brighter than before.
“Come and have your tea, Percy love. The children have eaten. I sent them out to play because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Eva doesn’t like playing out,” he joked. “She’d rather bury her head in a book.”
Meg’s voice was grim. “She’s playing out today. And she’s helping out round the house more from now on. So is our Lizzie.”
So far as he could see, Lizzie already did quite a bit round the house, and usually quite cheerfully, too, but he didn’t waste his breath saying so, just went to wash his hands in the scullery behind the kitchen, calling over his shoulder as he went, “I got the money out of the savings bank at lunch time and paid Sam what we owed him. I got a bit extra out for you, too.”
“What? Oh, yes, the rent. I’d forgotten about that. And someone found my purse in the park today—empty, of course—and brought it round. Stealing my money at a time like that…” Her voice broke and she set the dish of stew on the table, then went to fuss over the stove. She knew how hungry men always were when they came home from a hard day’s work, how they didn’t like to talk until they’d had time to relax a bit, though from the smell of his breath, Percy had already relaxed with a sup of ale on the way home. She wouldn’t mention that now, though she’d keep an eye on it. What they’d all do if he took up drinking, she didn’t know.
A few minutes later, seeing he’d taken the edge off his appetite, she brought him a big mug of tea and some for herself in the china cup and saucer she always insisted on, because tea tasted better in it.
Sitting down, she said abruptly, “Mr. Beckins came round to see me.”
Percy stopped eating to look sideways at her. “Oh?”
“An’ the brewery owners sent us some money to help tide us over.” Her voice became bitter. “Five pounds!”
“The mean buggers!” He saw her look of shock. “Sorry for the language, Mam, but it is mean after all the years Dad worked there.”
She nodded. “The men took up a collection as well. Just over ten pounds, they gave me.”
“That was kind of ’em.”
Meg began to fiddle with her teaspoon. “I’ve been thinking. About the lodgers, you know.”
He laid his hand over hers. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. There’s no need for you to do it, Mam. We can move to a smaller house and manage on my money. I don’t want you wearing yourself out.”
“We’ll have what Lizzie earns now, as well as your money. It’s only a few shillings, but it’ll make a difference.”
He stared at her, mug halfway to his lips. “She did get the job, then?” Since his mother had not mentioned it, he’d assumed Lizzie had been unsuccessful.
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Dearden was very kind
. But—the thing is, I don’t want to leave this house, Percy.” She looked around and tears filled her eyes. “We’ve been happy here. And it’s got memories of my Stanley.” It was also better than most other houses in the Southlea district. She liked that, too.
“But—”
“I think if I take two lodgers, women perhaps, friends who would share a room—if I do that, then we can manage all right here if we’re careful.” She glanced quickly sideways at him. “If you don’t mind giving me some of your money every week, that is?”
“You know I don’t mind. You can have most of it.”
She let out a sigh. She had known she could rely on him, but it still made her feel better to hear him say it. “Thanks, love. If you and Johnny move into the attic, I’ll take your room and that’ll leave the big front bedroom for the lodgers.”
Percy sat frowning. “Hmm. I’ll get some paper out and we’ll do this properly, work out what money we’ll need.” You couldn’t beat seeing the proof in figures, so far as he was concerned. He’d always liked arithmetic. He pushed away the empty plate. “That was lovely, Mam. No one makes stew like you do.” While she cleared up, he found an old exercise book and pencil, then made her sit down and help him with the calculations.
“All right,” he said when they’d gone through the money side of it twice, just to be sure, “let’s see if we can find two lodgers. Women, mind, since they’ll be less work for you. Then we’ll give it a try, see how we go. If it’s too much for you, we can still move to a smaller house.”
“Yes, Percy.”
Although neither of them realised it at the time, from that evening she treated him as head of the household, deferred to him, gave him the biggest chop, the armchair that had been his father’s. But Eva noticed. And Lizzie. Their mother had never fussed over her daughters the way she had over her menfolk and now it was, “Get our Percy a cup of tea!” or “Pass our Percy the paper.” Even when Lizzie’s feet were killing her after working in the shop, or Eva had homework to do, they still had to get up and serve their brother.
