'Why? What have I got? She has more than I have.'
‘Like what?' Mam's voice went high with impatience.
'Like a dad!' Lily cried. 'Dads watch over their girls. All the girls say, "I'm telling my dad. He'll fix you." If I had a dad he’d fix Doreen Grimshaw. And friends. Everyone likes her best. You do.’
Mam said, 'I don't like her better than you, you silly!'
'Don't call me silly! That's what she calls me.' Mam said nothing and Lily asked again, 'Why does she hate me? Why is she jealous?'
Mam said, 'Because you're prettier ... because you'll go a lot farther.'
She was not all those things. She wished Mam didn't see them as better than everyone else. Lily had no dad, no best friend, they had no· savings and Mam 'went in for drink' like the lowest of the low. Lily pleaded, 'Tell her not to call me Silly Lily.’
‘You should say, Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me!"
'It's not true! Names hurt. You don't like it if Nellie Plant says things about you! Tell Doreen to stop.'
Then Mam, trying to put some iron into Lily's soul, sighed and said, 'If you don't stand up to a bully your life will be misery. Fight your battles. Take the battle to her! Beard the lion in his den!'
Finally she understood what Mam meant.
It was December, frosty underfoot, and just as it was coming light at about half past eight - she had gone early to school to avoid Doreen and Lily had to run the gauntlet. Doreen and eight of her gang were waiting in Fowler Street, the narrow cobbled lane near school.
Doreen left the others grouped together, leaning against the wall of one of the cottages. She came forward. 'What did you say to my mother about me, Lily Stanway?'
Lily was shaking but she stood her ground. 'I said nowt!' Then she was mad with herself for saying 'nowt' just to be like the others.
Doreen curled her lip up at one side. She was taller than Lily, broader, and her thick brown pigtails hung heavy down her back. Her eyes narrowed. 'Say you're sorry!'
‘Aye. Say yer sorry,' chorused her troop. They tried to be threatening but Lily was not in the least afraid of them. There were a few seconds of silence, and she knew, in those few moments that if Doreen killed her she wouldn't say sorry. And knowing she would not apologise gave her soul-the iron it needed. Her face was burning. She was dragging freezing foggy air into her lungs with loud rasping noises and at the same time she was filling with a powerful energy and the knowledge that it was now or never. It was time she stood up for herself. Lily put her shoulders back like Mam did, then went forward until her face was right up against Doreen's.
'Bugger off!' she yelled, exactly like the carter's lads. 'Bugger off, Doreen Grimshaw. Great fat bully!' There was a shocked silence as her words rang out on the still air. The onlookers drew breath as one, and then quickly let it out with long sighs of pleasure. Lily's eyes never left Doreen's face.
She was trembling with rage when Doreen slapped her hard across the face. Lily staggered backwards and fell heavily, landing winded in a pile of horse muck in the middle of the street. Her best coat was covered in it. Mam had only finished it yesterday. Now she had nothing to lose but her life. Screeching with fury, she leaped up and grabbed Doreen Grimshaw's pigtails and dragged her down to the cobbles. They were rolling, punching, kicking, screaming for what seemed like hours. Doreen was the stronger and every blow sent Lily reeling backwards until she got her wind and charged Doreen again. Again and again she went for the girl.
She used her chapel trick to concentrate on what she had to do. 'Keep hitting her. Hold her down,' she ordered herself. 'Don't stop. Don't cry.' And she thought, right to the end, that she was losing because she could hear Doreen's supporters shouting, 'Give it to'er, Doreen. Go on!'
There were sharp stabbing pains in her knees, in her ribs, in her stomach. Her ankles were wrenched and her stockings torn and filthy. Her hands were grazed, stinging, smarting but she fought on, holding Doreen's head, trying to bash Doreen's face into the spread-out dung on the cobbles. Then she heard first one, then a few more urging her on - the poor boys who wore mission jerseys and police charity clogs. They had not gone into the boys' playground but were stamping and cheering for her. 'Come on, Lily!' they yelled. 'You're winning!' They must be wrong. Doreen had not begged for mercy. Doreen covered her head with her arms as Lily tried to pull her to her feet so she could hit her again, until, with blessed relief, they heard the school bell.
The fight was over. The shouting stopped. The boys' clogs went ringing on the cobbles, clanging towards the school gate. Doreen's friends ran ahead into the playground, and with grazed hands Lily bashed her clothes before slinking in after them.
Lily and Doreen were seized by their head teacher who stood over them while they washed. 'I'm ashamed of you,' she said. 'I never thought I'd see the day my two cleverest girls would behave like street urchins.'
'It wasn't me, miss,' Doreen whined. 'Lily Stanway started it. I'm telling my mother when I get home.'
'That's enough!' Miss Kirk was sharp. 'I'm going to speak to both your mothers. I will not have my pupils brawling in the street.'
Lily was in awe, like everyone else, of this terrifying authority but in spite of the fact that every bone in her body was protesting in pain, though Mam would be angry about the fight and the coat, she knew as Miss Kirk spoke, that nothing in her life would ever seem so important as having fought Doreen Grimshaw and not lost.
She'd done it. She had shown them all. When pushed too far she could prove that she was a soldier's daughter. She felt as if she'd won her dad's medal. Nobody would beat her now.
Miss Kirk said, 'I won't cane you. I'll speak to your mothers. Shake hands. Promise never to ftght again.'
Doreen closed her eyes as she took Lily's hand. From now on she would be wary. She would never challenge Lily again. What Lily had not expected was that Doreen would make a pretence of friendship for her. She would say nasty things but with the 'You know me. I speak my mind' sort of preamble of one who is entitled, through closeness, to be critical.
The other surprise outcome was that Lily made a friend. Shandy -Shirley Anderson was the nicest girl in the school. She didn’t belong to anyone's gang, and now she became Lily's bosom pal.
Lily felt as if she had won not just a battle but a campaign. She would meet challenges head on now. She began to assert herself, to shout. 'Mind your own business!' and 'See if I care!' in public - on the streets - at every intrusion and insult that came her way.
Frank and Elsie's first quarrel came on a blustery March morning, a Wednesday half-closing day. Elsie was doing the shop window, first thing, because Frank took her to bed on Wednesday afternoons. It was risky. The three nights a week were safe because he was always round· this end of town and had keys to her back door. Wednesday afternoons were different. Last week he missed bumping into Howard Willey-Leigh by a whisker. There was nothing between them, but Frank didn't like Howard.
Tackling the window would take her mind off the niggling doubts she had. Frank didn't try to teach her those highbrow things or recite poetry to her any more. She could not remember when it had stopped, but sometimes it seemed as if he wanted to provoke a quarrel, to justify a waning interest. Last night they had had a tiff -about Nellie Plant, who was still at Chancellor's though her designs were hideous. Elsie took a pail of water and a soapy cloth through to the shop and set to, trying not to dwell on last night. But it kept coming back ...
Last night, when he came in, he gave her a beery peck on the cheek and immediately pushed the table out of the way and wedged the armchair against the stair door, in case Lily came downstairs. Lily never came down at night. 'What's the hurry?' she whispered.
'Come on. Get your clothes off.' He was smiling, but he meant it. He was not patient as he used to be.
'I can't just turn it on like a tap,' she said. 'It takes a woman longer to get in the mood ...'
He pulled her towards him and kissed her roughly. He needed her. N
ow. She'd tell him later.
His mouth was on hers and her body was leaping' in response, as it always did. He unfastened her blouse, her skirt. .. His tongue was moving about hers and she was trembling as she tried to slow him down, taking her time as she took off his shirt and slid her hands round his hard, muscled back. He did the rest, threw their clothes across the room and, holding her, sank down on to the rug. Desire was leaping, burning through both of them as he pleasured her, body, making her ready until she was whimpering for him. 'My way?' he whispered.
'Yes. Oh, yes...' she said. 'Hurry...'
‘His way' was when he rolled her over, pushed her legs apart and slid his hands under her to raise her hips so that, kneeling...
He gripped her hips and slowly went sliding deep and high into her, filling her, moving inside her. Then he was holding her tight, driving into her, and she could do nothing but let go ... let go...' 'Oh God! Oh God!' she called out as she felt her thighs going weak and her insides moving in perfect time with him and the muffled sounds of his last plundering.
Then when it was over and they lay, limp and relaxed. He propped himself up and held her against him, her back to him while he held her breasts and tenderly kissed the back of her neck, trying to rouse her again. Elsie loved it when they lay like this; relaxed after their first loving, with hours and a longer, slow-burning lovemaking ahead of them. She said, on an impulse, because lately he had been casual, 'Do you ever want to do it with anyone else, Frank?'
He gave her a playful little tweak, then he held her fast and said softly, 'What makes you think I don't?' And there was something in the way he said it - there was challenge in him. She pulled away, sat up and faced him, and said, 'I think I’d get to know if you did.'
He laughed, and she had to tell him to hush in case Lily heard them. He said, 'There's a woman of forty-five -a rich, well-kept widow-woman, and then there is that young lass who works in our design..'
'Stop!' Her peace was shattered. 'Nellie Plant! I knew all along!'
He did that - made her mad. It amused him to see her rise to the bait. He put his hands over his face and she saw his shoulders shaking with laughter as he said, between bouts of stifled laughter, 'I knew it. You're jealous!'
'Of Nellie Plant? You'd want someone with a bit more class than Nellie Plant!'
He threw his head back. 'You're right! Nellie Plant's not my sort.'
She was getting angry. 'What is your sort?'
He put his hands on her shoulders as if they were acquaintances. 'One of my women, a hot piece, likes a bit of rough stuff…the common touch…’
One of his women? Was he trying to upset her? She was utterly faithful to him. She would be devastated if she thought he had anyone else. But he told her time and again that she was his only love. Jealousy flared, consumed her. 'Don't! How dare you say that?'
He took his 'hands off, and, in a swift change of mood regarded her angry face. 'Don't get possessive, Elsie. I'm not answerable to you.'
She stood up. He'd never said that she was possessive. 'You’ve been happy to be possessed.' She grabbed her clothes then kicked his things across the floor. 'Get dressed. Go to Nellie Plant! Go wherever you want. I'm not answerable to you, either!'
To her astonishment, for lesser tiffs had ended in endearments, loving caresses and assurances that she had nothing to fear, he dressed quickly and left without a word. That was last night. He'd be back this afternoon. He couldn't stay away. He needed what only she could give him. He had told her so. He always told the truth, and not only in the heat of passion.
She cleared the window, laid everything on the counter and was washing inside the glass when he came into the shop. 'You're early,' she said breezily, as if nothing had happened yesterday. She backed out of the window. 'It's only just gone eleven.'
He carried a long box, some kind of peace offering, and was dressed in his best suit, a navy-blue pinstripe with a white shirt and striped silk tie. He had gone to all this trouble to make up with her. 'Here,' he said; He put the box on the counter with the sheepish, apologetic look of a schoolboy.
Elsie rinsed her hands in the bucket and dried them. 'What is it?'
'A china doll. For our Lil's birthday.'
'She's a bit old for dolls…’
'It's an old-fashioned one. I thought she'd like it.'
She pulled the lace curtain so nobody would be able to see through the shop. Frank edged towards the door. 'Don't stand there,' she said. 'If anyone comes in...'
'I can't stop, love,' he said. 'I've a lot of work to do.'-,
He had not dressed to please her. 'This afternoon as well?'
'Yes. I'm going down to the PA.'
'The where?'
'Public Assistance. There's a man in charge who's going power-crazy, refusing genuine claims. You'd think it was his money.'
Elsie hadn't much time for others' hard-luck stories. She said, 'Friday then. It's our Lil's birthday.' Lily had drawn and coloured a few invitation cards. She had given one to Frank and asked him to come to tea on her eleventh birthday which fell on the Friday after Easter, rent-collecting day. Frank liked to take Ray rent-collecting with him, when the boy was at home. Lily had written on his card, 'You can bring Ray.' Lily had never met Ray but she had seen him, out with his mother or father.
Frank said, 'I've told you before. We can't let them grow up together as we did. They might fall in love.'
'That's no excuse.’ Sometimes she wanted to shake him and tell him that there was not a drop of Chancellor blood in Ray, but she would not. She was hurt. And so would Lily be. Frank was doing well. He was an important man in the town. The way he was going on he'd soon be mayor and then he'd have even less time to himself. He was leaving her behind. She said, 'Isn't our Lil good enough? Is your Ray so grand he can't take a bite on Lily's birthday?'
His expression hardened. He said, 'Bolt the door. Come in the back. We have to talk.'
He went ahead and, nervous because she had never seen him so determined, she pulled the bolt on the door and followed him to the kitchen where he stood with his back to the fire. She would try to take control. 'Well?' she said. 'You haven't answered my question.'
'You don't know what it's like for me,' he said quietly. 'The big sorrow in my life is that I can't tell our Lil that I'm her father. I want to tell her but I know you're right when you say we can't burden my precious lass with our secrets. But I don't have the same feelings for Ray. You have to let boys go. I have to protect Lily and yet I have to stand back and have no say...'
'Ha!' she interrupted. So that was what he wanted. He wanted to tell Lily he was her father. They had made a pact right at the start that neither of them would tell Lily unless the other agreed. Now he wanted to tell so he and Lily could have a cosy little secret. Where would that leave her, Elsie? On the losing side, that was where.
She gave a bitter laugh and her eyes flashed. 'I am sorry! It must be dreadful for you. Free to come and go - all the nice bits. "Here's sixpence. Spend it! Eeh! What a clever girl you are... " Let me tell you something now. Lily's better off believing she has a dead father than thinking she's our shameful secret. Why would she want to be the daughter of an adulterer?'
'Stop!' He was furious. 'I have no shame about my precious girl. I love her. I'm proud of her.'
'You are not! When I told you she was going wild-shouting across the street in a loud, common way, what did you say?'
'When was this?'
'Last week she had a street fight. With fists. And swearing. Minnie Grimshaw said Lily attacked Doreen. The head teacher came here.'
He was shocked. 'l can't have that.'
'Exactly. You are ashamed of her! You say, "Send her to elocution. Send her for music lessons, dancing lessons! Take her away from Beech lane. Send her to St Bride's!"
He snapped. 'Well! Do it.'
'And how d'you think I feel when your precious lass calls the daughters of jumped-up nobodies, the Posh Girls? Eh? Your precious lass feels like their inferior. She d
idn't give the Posh Girls invitations to her birthday party. She never asks them back here for tea. You don't know what it's like for me.'
He dropped into a chair, his face pale, anger gone. 'I know what it's like for her, poor child. I know how it feels to be the odd one out.'
She said, 'She's envious of them. And I don't know why.'
He said, 'Take her away from there. Please. Send her to St.Bride's. I don't want her to suffer as I did.'
'I can't. She knows I don't have enough money.'
'I'll pay. You know that.'
'And who do I say is paying? What do I tell my mother? Myfather?'
‘What more can I do?'
'You can come to tea on her birthday. You and your Ray. It's only an hour of your valuable time.'
He stood up. His face was set, determined. 'No. No. No.'
This was an impasse. He would not change his mind. Elsie said, 'Why?'
'How can I explain to Ray? And what's Ray going to say to his mother, eh? "Dad took me to a child's tea party?'
'What do you tell Sarah? How d'you explain three nights a week and Wednesday afternoons?'
'I tell Sarah nothing. She thinks I spend every night on my properties or at council meetings.'
'Then it's high time she woke up! Learned the truth!' Her face was red. His was white as they faced one another. She wanted to apologise but she would not. The seconds ticked by. Then he relaxed, 'You aren't going to come clean. Nor am I,' he said. 'Come upstairs.'
She could not resist. He put out a hand to her and she took it and followed him to the top floor where, on her rumpled, unmade bed, he made love to her so tenderly, so sweetly, with such protestations of undying love that all her doubts were dismissed from her mind as unworthy jealousy.
Afterwards he stroked her hair and, smiling, sang to her 'Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage' until she told him to stop teasing her. He said, 'You didn't mean it, did you - that our Lil's better off not knowing I'm her father?'
Elsie had him back, though she could not explain how it had come about. So she leaned over and kissed him on the ear and tried to sound deep and mysterious. 'She can't be told,' she said. 'But it's a wise child that knows its own father.' Then, because he often quoted him, she smiled at Frank and said, ‘Shakespeare.'
Wise Child Page 11
