‘I hope you’ll be comfy. The bathroom’s across the landing,’ she said, holding the door ajar. ‘As I said, it’s small but it’s a nice room. You’ve a wardrobe there and a small bedside table. If yea need ought else, let me know.’
Aileen smiled her reply. When Mary left her alone, she moved over to the window that overlooked a long back garden with a couple of empty clotheslines and galvanised dustbins. Then she kicked off her shoes, stretched out on the single bed with the pink candlewick bedspread, and closed her eyes. Birmingham was a fast, vibrant city, from what she had seen of it so far. It made her all the more aware of how laid-back her life had been in Ireland. Her new life would take a while to get used to, but she was determined to make it work.
Chapter Thirteen
When Aileen woke in a strange room, it was dark. She switched on the bedside lamp and looked at her watch. Eight o’clock. Was that morning or evening? She had been tired, but surely she hadn’t slept for ten hours during the day? A cup of cold tea and a biscuit sat on the table.
She got out of bed and slipped into her shoes. Unlatching her case, she took out her wash bag and went along the corridor to the bathroom. Back in her room, she put on fresh clothes and brushed her blond hair loose. Her stomach rumbled, and she ate the digestive before making her way downstairs.
Mary was in her sitting room, knitting with the door open. When she saw Aileen, she rolled her knitting around the pins and stuck them into a ball of blue wool. ‘Had a good sleep, love?’ she asked, coming into the hall.
‘I did, thanks. And I’m sorry about earlier. I felt dead on my feet.’
‘It’s all right, sure. I understand. Come on down to the kitchen. I’ll make yea something to eat.’
Aileen hadn’t taken much notice of the kitchen earlier; it was small and narrow in comparison to the size of the house. A grey worktop flanked both sides of the cooker, with matching overhead cupboards filling one side of the kitchen, and a square table and four chairs against the other wall. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘Do yea like eggs?’
‘Right now, I could eat anything.’ Aileen laughed.
‘You’re not the first guest I’ve had from over the sea. Several hours, isn’t it, the ferry? Then you’ve had the two train journeys. Oh, I remember it well.’ She broke eggs into a bowl and beat them together with milk and a knob of butter. ‘Twenty years ago now that I came here, and I slept for nearly two days. So there, ten hours is respectable.’ She poured the mixture into a big, black frying pan and stood over it. ‘Your Aunt Bead was just the same when she was over last. She was at sixes and sevens for days.’
Aileen smiled. Mary’s accent was as broad as if she’d just walked out of Ireland. ‘Can I do anything?’
‘Just eat up,’ she said, placing a cheese omelette down in front of her.
‘This looks lovely, Mary.’
‘Well, you don’t want anything heavy on your stomach if you want to sleep again tonight.’
Aileen ate as Mary sat opposite her and took a small notebook and pencil from her apron pocket. ‘Now, as you’re family, shall we say two pounds ten shillings a week, including a cooked breakfast when yea find work?' How does that suit you?’
‘That sounds very reasonable, Mary, thanks.’
‘I wouldn’t be doing it for everyone, mind.’
Aileen reached for her bag and took the money from her purse.
‘Put that away. You needn’t pay me until you find work, and believe me, you’ll be spoilt for choice around here.’
‘Really? That’s kind of you, Mary.’
The door clicked, and Aileen heard someone come into the hall. ‘That’ll be Miss Brady.’ Mary told her. ‘She’s a teacher and she works at the college. Staff meeting tonight!’ Mary raised her eyebrows.
‘How many boarders do you have?’
‘Just two others. The teacher is on the first floor and a young girl. She’s a bit younger than you; her name’s Bella Smith. She’s a worry, that one. She comes in at all hours o’ the night.’ Mary sighed. ‘You might get to meet her in the morning if she gets up on time.’
‘That will be nice.’ Aileen was pleased to know there was another young girl in the house.
‘Not if you follow her example, it won’t.’ Mary stood up and lifted a pile of newspapers from a chair. ‘The Birmingham Post is here somewhere.’ She looked at the date and passed it to Aileen. ‘Tek it inside and have a read. I’ll tidy up here and then I’ll join yea.’ There was something about Mary that reminded Aileen of her ma.
The front room had a settee and one enormous armchair with balding armrests; a wireless muttered on top of a sideboard, and a copper-potted fern sat on the windowsill. A frameless mirror hung over the fireplace, and a two bar electric fire was fitted into the empty grate. Aileen curled up in the huge armchair and glanced through the newspaper. Mary was right; it was full of vacancies for various jobs, but Aileen had no idea where any of them were.
When Mary joined her, she picked up her knitting and began to knit with three pins instead of the usual two. Aileen gave her a quizzical look.
‘What are you knitting Mary?’
‘Bed socks for me sister. She’s always complaining of cold feet, so she is. And blue’s her favourite colour.’
‘It must be nice having a sister.’ Aileen thought about the brother she might never get to meet.
‘Aye. Mavis has been living in England longer than me. She was here when I came over. Whereas she talks proper English now, she tells me I’ll never lose the brogue.’
‘Did she ever marry?’
‘Ah, sure she did, but their only child was stillborn and Ed, her better half, he died soon after that. So she’s had it tough. Then I lost Ken, but sure, we have each other.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s life.’ Mary paused to count stitches.
Aileen sat forward in the armchair and fidgeted with her hands. ‘Mary, can I ask you something?’
‘Ask away. I won’t charge yea.’
‘Did you know my ma very well?’
‘Well, sure, course I did. Jessie and me, we were good pals. She married Jonny, and not long after you were born, I came over here.’
‘You say… I mean… did she ever tell you anything private like?’
Mary’s knitting pins stopped abruptly, and she placed them in her lap. ‘Oh, umm, in what way, love?’
‘You said you were friends. I just wondered if she ever, like, told you anything personal.’
Mary looked pensive, and Aileen hoped she knew something. ‘I’m not sure I know what yea mean.’ She crossed her arms. ‘We went dancing together and we kept in touch for a while until I married Ken. Well, you know, life takes over, and we lost touch.’ She sighed. ‘I was sorry she died, love, and I would have come over if…’
Aileen nodded. ‘I was hoping she might have told you a secret?’
‘A secret! What kind of secret are yea talking about?’ Mary unfolded her arms and linked her fingers. ‘What’s troubling yea?’
Aileen swallowed. ‘It’s a bit, well…’ She felt a little awkward talking about her ma to someone she had only just met. So she just came out with it. ‘Did my ma have any other children, apart from me?’
Mary was on her feet. ‘Glory be to God! What gave yea that notion?’
‘Ma left me a note asking me to find my brother, and ask him to forgive her.’
Mary scratched her head. ‘What? I mean, how? Why would she say that? Have you asked your father about this?’
‘Da says she was rambling. I don’t believe him.’
Mary went over and placed her arm around Aileen's shoulder. ‘Look, love, there’s probably no truth in it.’
Aileen sighed. ‘Aunt Bead and Uncle Paddy don’t believe it either. But I do. Ma wouldn’t lie to me, especially as she was anxious to confess to a priest.’
Mary’s eyes widened. ‘She did what?’ Mary looked uneasy as she gathered up her knitting. ‘She could have b
een confessing anything, love. People can say strange things when they’re close to death. Try and put it from your mind.’
Chapter Fourteen
Aileen couldn’t put it from her mind. How could she? Mary had looked shocked, and if she knew nothing about her mother’s baby, Aileen’s hopes were dashed.
The following morning, she woke to the sound of a toilet flushing, then footsteps running downstairs. Was that the young girl, Bella? Or was it Miss Brady?
She dressed hurriedly and went down. A pretty young girl was in the hall, pulling on her coat. When she saw Aileen, her brown eyes widened.
‘You must be Bella.’ Aileen held out her hand. ‘I’m Aileen.’
‘Nice to meet yea.’ The girl gave Aileen a lopsided smile. ‘Sorry, I’m late. Can’t stop.
Tarra,’ she shouted and headed out the door.
Aileen, disappointed not to have had a few more minutes to talk to a fellow lodger, made her way towards the kitchen where the smell of bacon frying reminded her of home.
‘Sit down, love.’ Mary turned and faced her, her hair in pink rollers. ‘That young ‘un’s yampee.’
‘Sorry?’ Aileen pulled a face.
‘By heck.’ Mary laughed. ‘I’ve picked up a few Brummie sayings in me time. It mean’s crazy! Young Bella, she’s a strange ‘un. Do you like black and white pudding?’
‘Oh, yes please. Ma always cooked it with a fry.’
‘What did yea make of Bella then?’
‘She seems nice.’ Aileen ran her fingers across the plastic tablecloth. ‘I hope I get to talk to her later. What did she mean by “tarra”?’
Mary chuckled. ‘Oh, everyone says that here. Means ta-ta, as they say in Dublin, or bye-bye. You’ll get used to it after you’ve been here for a while.’
Aileen placed her elbow on the table. ‘How old is Bella?’
Mary poured the tea and then sat down, nursing her own mug with its picture of a black cat with green eyes. ‘She’s sixteen. To tell the truth, I’d be happier if she went back home.’
Aileen cut into the crispy black pudding and chewed her bacon. ‘This tastes good.’
‘Get it down yea before it goes cold.’
‘Why is she living here?’
‘Her parents only live in Smethwick. Not far from here, like. They’ve kicked her out because she’s cavorting with a married man.’
Aileen gasped and almost choked on her bacon. She swallowed some tea. ‘But she’s only sixteen! How old is he?’
Mary shrugged. ‘Old enough to know better, and she’s a pretty little thing. What’s worse is that she sees him nearly every night until he has to go home to his wife.’ She removed her hairnet. ‘Yea know what beats me?’ She began taking her pink rollers from her hair, placing them into the pocket of her apron. ‘Why his missus hasn’t cottoned on afore; it’s a mystery. Bella’s never here at weekends. And you can imagine what goes on.’ Mary shook her head, and her curls danced on her forehead.
‘Really! You’re codding me?’
‘You’re shocked, aren’t yea? You’ll find people over here more broadminded. Not that I approve, mind.’
‘But what if she, you know?’
‘Oh, she’s not worried about that. Sez she’s on the pill.’ Mary shrugged. ‘It’s
not fool proof. Many a one’s been caught out on it. I’ve tried talking sense to ‘er. She came home sozzled a week ago. There was no talking to ‘er, sure; she thinks the sun shines out his backside.’
‘But isn’t the pill only prescribed to married women?’
‘Where do yea think she gets it?’
‘No. Surely not!’
‘Aye! I’m surprised that no-one’s reported ‘im for corrupting a minor.’
Aileen had a bad feeling about this man. Cheating on his poor wife was something she couldn’t condone. But she would like to be friends with Bella. The girl was bound to be as lonely as she was, being away from her family.
‘Where does Bella work?’ Aileen asked, clearing the breakfast dishes.
‘She works at that seed mill place down on Windmill Lane. It’s only a short walk from ‘ere. Why don’t yea go down there and ask about a job yourself?’
Aileen nodded. ‘I will after I’ve helped you wash the dishes.’
Mary wiped down the plastic tablecloth, and Aileen washed up in a sink full of soapy water then dried her hands. ‘I’ll go up and get myself ready.'
‘I’ll come with yea as far as the ‘ill,’ Mary said, removing her apron. ‘I’ve some bits to pick up.’
A short time later, Aileen came down in a black boxy jacket and a white miniskirt and black court shoes.
‘You look nice,’ Mary said, slipping on her grey mac. It was the sort of thing her ma would have said, and Aileen smiled.
‘‘Ere,’ she said. ‘Yea can have me spare key until I can get one cut for yea.’ Mary took a gold coloured Yale key from her keyring and handed it to Aileen.
It was a warm, muggy day as they made their way down the long avenue towards the shops. It was the first time Aileen had been out since she arrived, and she was looking forward to seeing something of her surroundings.
It didn’t take her long to realise that what Mary called the ‘ill was, in fact, Cape Hill—a busy street with lots of shops. They crossed over and paused outside a jeweller’s shop.
‘This is where I leave yea,’ Mary said. ‘Now, if you go down ‘ere, this is Windmill Lane. If you get as far as Vicky Park, yea’ve gone too far. I think it’s halfway along on the right. Good luck.’
‘Thanks, Mary, I’ll need it.’
‘You’ll be grand. Now,’ she said, shifting her large handbag to her other arm, ‘can yea find yer way back?’
Aileen nodded and Mary shuffled away, leaving her to make her way down the street towards the mill. At the gate, she was met by the sound of grain being crushed in a grinder. As she advanced further in, the smell was worse than the pet shop back home. She heard the sound of water and seed being screened and washed as it filtered through a seed processor.
A man in a brown shop coat stood watching the seed fall through into containers, and another man humped sacks of raw materials inside. The man in the brown coat—stocky build and sporting a quiff—walked towards her, extinguishing his cigarette. She hoped she would be able to understand him.
‘What can I do for yea, luv?’
‘Actually, I’m looking for work.’
He pointed her towards the office entrance. ‘Ask at the hatch.’
She nodded and went in through the open doorway. There was a wooden staircase on her left and, further along on the right, a hatch where she knocked and waited. A young girl with wavy blonde hair, cut close to her head, glanced up.
‘Can I help?’
‘I’m looking for work. Do you have any vacancies?’
‘Hold on,’ she said, and quickly lifted the phone. Within minutes, an older woman in a navy twinset and a straight, grey skirt came down the stairs.
‘Hello,’ she said, twirling a pencil between her fingers. ‘Can you type?’
‘Well, yes, I started a secretarial course in Dublin, but I had to leave before I’d taken my exams because my ma took ill.’
‘Is she better now?’
‘I’m afraid she died a couple of months ago.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The woman looked embarrassed and removed her glasses then put them back on again. ‘Are you looking for permanent work?’
‘Yes.’ Aileen nodded.
‘If you can type, you might have a job.’
‘Thank you.’ Aileen was surprised to be interviewed in the passageway.
‘Come in here.’ The woman went before her into the office and placed a sheet of paper into an Imperial typewriter. ‘Can you type this paragraph?’ She placed a printed sheet on the desk and pulled out a chair.
Aileen lowered herself down, feeling a little nervous. It was some time since she had done any typing, and her fingers hit the wrong key more than once. T
he woman whipped it from the roller.
‘I’m sorry, would you like me to type it again?’
‘Well, you won’t be typing letters or statements, so you’ll do nicely.’ The older woman smiled. ‘When can you start?’
‘Would tomorrow be okay?’
‘Fine.’
Aileen blew out her lips. She thought it rather strange that she didn’t have to produce her reference, but they were obviously desperate for a typist so she wasn’t complaining. She now had a job.
‘We’ll start you off on five pounds a week and see how you get on. Then we’ll look at increasing it by ten shillings. Are you happy with that?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I’m Miss Grimshaw. I hope you’ll be happy here.’ She turned to the young office girl. ‘Val, can you take…’ She turned back to Aileen. ‘Sorry, I never asked your name.’
‘Aileen. Aileen Maguire.’
‘Take down Aileen’s details and we’ll see her tomorrow at nine.’ Smiling, she inclined her head and hurried back upstairs as if she hadn’t a minute to spare.
‘Was that the boss, then?’
‘No, Miss Grimshaw runs the accounts and generally sees to the overall running of the office staff,’ Val explained. ‘Mr Bill is the boss, but he rarely comes out of his office. We’re lucky to see him once a week.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s okay. We don’t have much to do with him. Occasionally when Miss Grimshaw’s away, or busy, you might be asked to type a letter, and then you’d have to ask Mr Bill to sign it.’ She laughed when she saw Aileen frown. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not hard work, but it can be busy.’ Val reached for a pen. ‘Now I’d better get your details.
After a few seconds, she stopped scribbling and glanced up. ‘So, you don’t live far from here! How old are you?’
‘I’m eighteen.’
‘Really? Oh, good,’ Val said. ‘I’m a year older, so we should have a lot in common. You’ll probably get tax stopped on your first week’s wages,’ the girl continued. ‘But you’ll get it back at the end of the tax year, or if you leave. And I hope you won’t be doing that.’ She placed Aileen’s details into a folder and popped a sheet of paper between the roller of her typewriter. ‘We’ve been waiting for someone like you for months. The last woman who applied was at least fifty and she couldn’t even type.’
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