by Anna Jacobs
Blanche much preferred to live in the attic room in Bobbin Lane, knowing there was always someone nearby in case she needed help. For it had to be admitted that her health went up and down, and that she’d had one or two funny turns. And she also enjoyed Polly’s company, the two of them seeming more like aunt and niece nowadays. Though that was obviously going to change when Polly started work.
Emma tried to settle down. She always felt full of energy and was relieved to have a job to expend it on. If she hadn’t had to earn money, she’d have had to find a job for other reasons. Though if she’d been able to marry and have children, that would have kept her nice and busy. Oh, drat, why was she thinking like this today? “Work,” she said aloud. “Concentrate on your work, you fool.”
But she couldn’t concentrate. She had decided last night that she wasn’t going to stay in Bobbin Lane for much longer. Mrs. Kershaw was getting stranger and stranger, so if Emma had to force Blanche to move, she would. She was just waiting for an excuse to leave. Any excuse. And the sooner the better.
Chapter Twelve
It was nearly a month before Lizzie was fit enough to go back to work. During all that time, she lived in a state of outright hostility with her mother, who ignored her and didn’t even cook for her until Percy realised what was happening and had a word with her one day.
“Where’s Lizzie’s tea?”
“If she’s not earning, she can make do with bread and jam. That’s what happens in other families.”
“Well, it doesn’t happen here.” He turned to his sister. “Here, take half of mine, love.”
“You can have some of mine, too,” Polly said, pushing her plate towards Lizzie.
Johnny ignored them and continued to shovel food into his mouth.
“No. Thank you. I—I’m not hungry,” Lizzie faltered.
Percy folded his arms and pushed his plate aside. “If you aren’t, then I’m not either.”
Polly followed suit.
“It’s not worth it!” Lizzie’s voice was pleading. She didn’t even want to stay in the kitchen with her mother looking at her like that.
“I mean it.” Percy got up and fetched a clean plate, scraping some food from his plate on to it. Polly added some from hers, then patted her sister’s leg under the table, giving her an encouraging smile and ignoring their mother’s glare.
So Lizzie ate most of what was put before her and from then onwards was given the same food as the rest of the family.
Percy was so worried about his mother he even went to see Dr. Balloch to ask his advice. “She’s gone downright funny and really taken against poor Lizzie—for no reason. My sister’s a nice lass, hard-working—” He broke off, unable to continue for a moment, so upset did he feel.
“Mrs. Kershaw is going through a time of life when women sometimes do grow rather strange. Medical science has no answers for this, unfortunately, so you just have to let nature take its course. She’ll probably come out of this patch in a year or two.”
“Probably?”
The doctor shrugged. “We can never tell precisely.” And if truth be told, he, too, found Mrs. Kershaw erratic and irrational. Nothing definite, just a feeling you got when people were off kilter. Medical science was powerless to help these troubling cases.
As Percy walked home, he felt even more depressed. He had hoped for something to calm his mother down. Anything. And all he’d been told was that this might go on for years, or even for ever. “Why me?” he asked the starlit sky, then hunched his shoulders and walked slowly home, bitterness roiling in him.
Later that evening he passed on to Lizzie what the doctor had said and she scowled at the floor. “Well, I’m not putting up with it for years.” She blinked and turned away, trying not to let him see her eyes fill with tears. She wept too easily since her illness.
Percy pulled her round to face him and wiped away the moisture with one fingertip. “I’m sorry, love. I’ve thought and thought, and I can’t see what we can do about her.”
“If I earned enough, I’d go into lodgings straight away, but I don’t.” Suddenly it all came out, her worst fear, the nightmare that kept her awake sometimes. “Oh, Percy, what if she chucks me out? What shall I do then?”
“If she does that, I’ll go too, and we’ll find somewhere to live together.”
She gaped at him. “Would you really do that?”
He nodded, his heart breaking for her, and all he could do was give her another hug.
* * *
On the Friday night Sam called for Percy. He always had a word with Lizzie when he came round, bringing her a magazine (time she grew out of those comics), or the occasional bag of sweets, or just a big rosy apple. He never arrived empty-handed and Lizzie’s face always lit up at the sight of him. He was definitely making progress with her, he felt.
“Isn’t Sam kind?” she said to Polly that Sunday when her sister came home on her day off.
Polly looked at her sideways, opened her mouth, then shut it again.
Lizzie stared. “What’s the matter? Why did you look like that when I said Sam was kind?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“About Sam.”
Lizzie frowned. “What are you on about?”
“He’s courting you.”
“Sam Thoxby! Courting me? Me!” Lizzie nearly fell off her chair laughing. “He’s never!”
“He is. I heard him talking to Percy once. He wants to wed you.”
Lizzie turned first red, then white. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why did he pay for you to have a private room at the hospital then?”
“I—” But she couldn’t think of a reason, never had been able to, though she’d racked her brain many a time. Percy had just shrugged when she asked him, so it had remained an ongoing puzzle.
“And he never comes round here without a present. Only for you, not for the rest of us.”
Lizzie was still trying to come to terms with this idea. “But Sam’s much older than me. He’s even older than our Percy.”
Polly shrugged.
Lizzie blushed scarlet and stared down at the fabric of her skirt, which was crumpled as usual. After a while she looked up, her expression worried. “I don’t think I’d want to marry him. He’s too old. And I’ve never really liked ginger hair.” She liked dark wavy hair, like the Deardens had. They were a good-looking family all right. She’d seen Peter in the street the other day and he’d stopped the van to ask how she was going on and said how they all missed her at the shop. He was a lovely man, and much better looking than Sam.
“Well, it’s your choice who you marry, isn’t it? No one can force you.” Polly felt relief surge through her.
“No-o-o. Of course not.”
There was a long silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the shifting of coals in the grate as the fire burned down, then Lizzie asked, “Does Mam know—about Sam courting me, I mean?”
“She must do. Everyone else does. Even Mrs. Preston said something about it to me the other day, only I pretended not to understand. And Mary Holden’s jealous. She’s been after Sam herself.”
“Mary Holden? He wouldn’t want someone like her!” For the two girls had continued hostile to one another even after they’d left school. “And anyway, she’s walking out with a fellow from down Peter Street, isn’t she?”
“So they say. But she still looks at Sam as if she’d rather have him.”
“Oh.”
More silence, then Lizzie scowled. “Well, I don’t want to talk about him—or even think about marriage. At the moment, I just want to get better and go back to work.”
* * *
The next time he came to the house, Sam realised that either Lizzie had guessed what he was up to or someone had told her, more likely the latter. In some ways she was still a child and he liked that. He didn’t want a wife who knew it all. He wanted one he could shape to suit his own needs. So long as that one was Lizzie.
“You go on to the pub,” he told Percy, taking a sudden decision. “I want a private word with your Lizzie.”
“I’m tired. I was just going upstairs,” she said hastily.
He followed her into the hall and took hold of her arm, swinging her into the front room and closing the door behind him with a shove of his foot. “What’s wrong, lass?”
“Nothing.” She pretended to rub her arm, as if he’d hurt her. “You haven’t half got hard hands, Sam Thoxby.”
He reached out to stroke her arm, smiling. “I didn’t hurt you, but I don’t mind kissing it better for you, if you like?”
Lizzie gasped and turned away from him, feeling out of her depth with not the faintest idea how to deal with this.
“Someone’s told you, haven’t they?”
“T-told me what?”
“That I want to court you.”
She gulped and managed a nod.
He eyed her sideways. “Did it upset you that much?”
“It—it made me feel funny. I’ve never—never thought of you like that, Sam.”
He watched her face, wishing he dare touch that pale skin, kiss her, do all the things he’d dreamed of lately. He couldn’t even approach another woman to relieve his need because he wanted Lizzie so badly, and for some strange reason only her. “Well, couldn’t you try thinking of me like that for a bit, see how it goes?”
“I don’t—don’t want to—to start courting anyone. I’m too young.”
“You’re a woman now.” His eyes lingered on her figure briefly.
“Well, I don’t feel like a woman. Sam, please, can’t we just forget it? You’ve been that kind to me, but I—I—”
He put his finger on her lips. “Shh! Don’t say something you’ll regret later.”
She felt a shiver run through her. He was so much bigger than she was, and she wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of him. Everyone said he never forgot a wrong.
He tried to keep his voice gentle, coaxing. “What I want, Lizzie, is for you to give me a chance. That’s all. I won’t rush you, won’t do anything you don’t like, but surely you can give me a bit of a chance?”
There was a small sound from outside in the hallway and Sam turned, looking suddenly angry. He put one finger to his lips, tiptoed across the room and flung the door open wide.
Meg nearly fell through the doorway, yelping in shock.
Sam took hold of her arm and marched her off towards the kitchen.
Lizzie crept across to the door and peered out. They all knew Mam eavesdropped and it served her right if Sam shouted at her.
His voice echoed down the hall, loud and emphatic. “You won’t do that again, will you, Mrs. Kershaw? I don’t like people listening to my private conversations. I don’t like it at all.”
“She’s my daughter. I have a right to keep an eye on her.”
“You don’t treat her like a daughter, so you have no rights so far as she’s concerned, none at all. I’ve spoken to Percy and I have his blessing, so I’m doing the right thing by Lizzie, don’t you worry.”
“Our Percy never said anything to me about it.”
“Why should he, given the way you feel about that poor lass?”
“You’d be better off looking elsewhere.” Meg laid one hand on his arm and said coaxingly, “Sam, she’s not worth it. Believe me, she—”
He fairly bellowed, “You old cow! Fancy talking like that about your own daughter. You make me sick, you do. If you weren’t a woman, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”
Lizzie heard a chair fall over, then a shriek of, “You keep away from me, Sam Thoxby!” Then silence.
When Sam came back into the front room, Lizzie was sitting on the edge of the sofa, waiting for him, hands clasped in her lap. He closed the door and winked at her. “I don’t think your mam will do that again.”
“You’ve probably frightened her silly.”
His expression was grim. “Aye. I hope I have, for your sake, lass.”
Suddenly Lizzie felt better about things. If anyone could protect her from her mother, it was Sam. Percy did his best, but he wasn’t—well, he wasn’t strong enough. Not in the way Sam was anyway.
He came across and sat down beside her on the sofa, taking her hand and keeping hold of it, patting it from time to time as if to emphasise what he was saying. “Well, Lizzie Kershaw? Are you going to give me a chance to court you or not?”
She stared down at their linked hands and cast a quick glance sideways at him, feeling warmed by the expression on his face. “Well—all right. But nothing’s settled, mind. It’s just—we’ll see how we go, eh?”
He beamed at her and gave her a great rib-cracking hug. “Eeh, I’m that glad.”
She pushed at him, not liking to feel so helpless. “Get off me, you great daft lump! Someone might see us.”
He planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “I don’t care if they do. I’m proud to be your fellow.”
She flushed scarlet again. “Sam, we’re just seeing how we go, right? So don’t tell folks we’re courting. Because we’re not—not yet.”
“Right, love. But if they see us going out together they’ll guess. And I can’t help that, can I?” Though, of course, he would tell folk, just to make sure no other snotty-nosed lad tried to take his girl away from him. “And for a start, let’s go out to the pictures on Saturday.” He knew how much Lizzie loved film shows.
Her face lit up. “Oh, Sam! I’d love that! I haven’t been anywhere for ages.”
“You’re not working full-time yet?”
“No. Mrs. Dearden says I’m not up to it, so I just go in for the mornings.” Which meant she didn’t bring home as much money as before. Her mother had tried to take all her wages, saying she still had to pay her way, but again Percy had intervened and so Lizzie was allowed to keep some. But she didn’t have any to spare for cinema visits.
“I’ll pick you up at half-past five, so get your tea early. We’ll go to the six o’clock show, eh, so you’re not too late getting to bed. My treat.” He wasn’t sitting in the penny seats, either. They’d do this in style. “Then I’ll buy you some fish and chips afterwards.” He pinched her arm and shook it to show he was worried about its thinness. “You need feeding up.”
Lizzie beamed at him. “Oh, it’ll be smashing to go out! I do hope there’s some funny films on. I’ll be ready and waiting.” She looked up at him tremulously. “And—thank you, Sam. For everything.”
“My pleasure, love.”
When he’d gone, Lizzie went to get herself a cup of tea. Meg turned her head away as the door opened.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now, Lizzie thought, as tears dripped into her cup. But it hurt. It always hurt.
* * *
Sam was very careful not to touch Lizzie as they walked into the town centre together on Saturday, but he did take her hand when they were sitting in the cinema in the best threepenny seats. And after a jerk of surprise, she let him keep hold of it, enjoying the warmth, the human contact, the way they could laugh together at the funny bits. There were six different films shown that night, all one-reelers. The third one was so exciting, with the heroine in mortal danger, that Lizzie had to clutch Sam’s arm with both her hands till the danger was past.
Afterwards, while the reels were being changed, he leaned towards her. “By, you’ve got a strong grip when you’re frightened of summat.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, of course not. I liked you holding on to me.”
“Oh.” She could feel herself blushing in the darkness and was glad when the next film started; glad, too, that it was a comedy.
Afterwards, he bought her some fish and chips on the way home, as he had promised, joking that they had to fatten her up, get her strength back. He had a double helping himself and coaxed her into eating most of hers. He didn’t like her looking so thin and washed out all the time.
At the door of her house, he took hold of both Lizzie’s hands. �
��That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I enjoyed myself.” Honesty compelled her to add, “A lot.”
“There you are, then. We’ll do the same thing next week, if you like? An’ how about a stroll in the park tomorrow?”
“Don’t—shouldn’t we—people will—” She didn’t know how to refuse him.
“I’ll pick you up at two. You can bring your sister with you, if you like.” He leaned closer and said huskily, “But I’d rather have you to myself.”
Lizzie swallowed hard as she watched him walk off down the street whistling. She hadn’t expected to enjoy herself so much. It had been nice to be spoiled. But she didn’t fancy him as a man, not at all. And she still felt a bit nervous in his company sometimes, especially when he looked at her in a certain way.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” Percy asked the following day.
Lizzie beamed at him. “Yes, I did. Sam was really kind. He bought me a bar of Fry’s chocolate cream. An’ some fish an’ chips afterwards.”
“What were the films like?”
Lizzie launched into an eager description of each film, laughing again at the funny bits, shuddering at the dangerous parts. Her happiness made Percy very thoughtful.
* * *
The following week, Mrs. D said Lizzie could work full-time, just to see how she went. For some reason, she was suddenly feeling much better.
“I hear you’ve got yourself a fellow,” Sally said when she and Lizzie were alone in the shop towards the end of the afternoon. Peter had told her—and had expressed his worries about who the fellow was. “Sam Thoxby, isn’t it?”
Lizzie nodded, smiling at the memory of the outing.
“He’s a good bit older than you. As old as my Peter.”
“Yes.”
“Be careful, won’t you? You might be wiser finding someone nearer your own age.”
Lizzie flushed. “I don’t—it’s not—we’re just—you know, seeing how we go.”
“Well, go carefully, lass. You’re a long time married.”
