by Joan Jonker
Strolling With
The One I Love
Joan Jonker
Copyright © 2002 Joan Jonker
The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 7553 9034 2
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.headline.co.uk
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Joan Jonker
Dedication
Forward
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War – a period that Joan remembers so well – when she met and fell in love with her late husband, Tony, while out with friends at Liverpool’s St George’s Hotel in Lime Street.
For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and her first book, Victims of Violence, is an account of those years. She has recently retired from charity work in order to concentrate on her fiction writing. Joan has two sons and two grandsons and she lives in Southport, where she is busy working on her next bestselling saga. Her previous novels of life in Liverpool’s backstreets have won her legions of fans throughout the world:
‘You’ve done it again! Molly and Nellie are so funny, I love the bones of them. More please’ Jean Breward, Norfolk
‘Your books are fantastic’ Jill Gibas, Slough
‘Your latest saga had me laughing and crying. Keep them coming, I can’t wait for the next’ Norma Kemp, Bolton
‘Once again your book had me laughing, crying and falling deep into the story’ Joanne Ryder, London
‘Absolutely wonderful’ Jean Bowers, Canada
‘Being an ex-Scouser, I find your books thoroughly enjoyable’ Norma Holborow, Western Australia
‘Your sense of humour and knowledge of the old Liverpool is unsurpassed by any other writer’ Judy Down, New Zealand
Also by Joan Jonker
Victims of Violence
When One Door Closes
Man Of The House
Home Is Where The Heart Is
Stay In Your Own Back Yard
Last Tram To Lime Street
Sweet Rosie O’Grady
The Pride of Polly Perkins
Sadie Was A Lady
Walking My Baby Back Home
Try A Little Tenderness
Stay As Sweet As You Are
Down Our Street
Dream A Little Dream
Many A Tear Has To Fall
After The Dance Is Over
Taking A Chance On Love
The Sunshine Of Your Smile
To my family – Philip, Paul and Marie, Mark and Rachel,
David and Heather, and my new great-granddaughter Olivia
– I dedicate this book with love.
Hello readers
We have a lovely young heroine in this book who I am sure you will take to your hearts, along with her friends, family and neighbours. There’s a little sadness along the way but plenty of humour too. A half-box of tissues required, I think!
Take care.
Love
Joan
Chapter One
Kate Spencer lowered the gas under the pan of potatoes then turned over the sausages sizzling away in the large iron frying pan. She sniffed up in appreciation of the mouth-watering smell given out by the sliced onion she’d just added to the sausages, and speaking aloud in the tiny kitchen, said, ‘Only another five minutes, thank goodness, ’cos me tummy’s rumbling.’
Wiping her hands down the sides of her pinny, Kate made her way through the living room to the front door. The first sight that met her eyes was of two young boys kneeling in the gutter playing ollies. One of them was her ten-year-old son, Billy. ‘In the name of God, Billy, will yer get up out of there! Yer’ll be as black as the hobs of hell, and yer dad’s due home any minute.’
A face smudged with dirt looked up at her in horror. ‘Ah, ay, Mam, I’m beating Pete by two flicks! If I stop now he’ll say I haven’t won and take his bobby dazzler home. I’ve been after this ollie for two weeks now, it’s a beauty!’
His mate, who had more dirt on him than Billy, grunted, ‘We can finish the game after we’ve had our tea. Me mam’s probably looking for me anyway so I’d better go.’
This didn’t go down well with Billy, who was nearer to winning the bobby dazzler than he’d ever been. For weeks now he’d lain in bed dreaming of making the multi-coloured marble his and walking around with his chest sticking out, the envy of every lad in the street and at school. But he could see by his mam’s face that she meant business, so settled for saying, ‘As long as yer remember where we’re up to, and I’ve got two goes when we start again.’
The boys picked up their ollies and stuffed them in their pockets as they stood up. ‘Holy suffering ducks,’ Kate said, rolling her eyes towards the sky, ‘will yer just look at the state of the pair of yer! Yer’ll need a scrubbing brush to get that dirt off yer knees, it’s an inch thick. And if yer’ve ruined those trousers, Billy Spencer, so help me, I’ll clock yer one.’
Pete thought it was time to make himself scarce. ‘I’ll see yer later, Billy.’
‘I wouldn’t count on that, Pete Reynolds,’ Kate said, ‘’cos your mam will have a fit when she sees the state of yer.’ The look of dejection on their dirty faces made her smile. ‘Our coalman’s been today, and he wasn’t as black as you two.’
‘I’d better go in the back way,’ Pete said, ‘and with a bit of luck I can wash meself before me mam sees me.’ With that the boy took to his heels and disappeared down the side entry.
Billy glared at his mother. ‘Just two more goes and I’d have won that ollie. Yer should see it, Mam, it’s a beauty. Every lad in the street is after it and none of them’s got as near as I got just now. Me luck was
in, and now it’s been spoilt.’
‘I’ll tell yer what, son, there’s more for yer to worry about than a ruddy ollie. If yer’ve torn those kecks then yer luck will most definitely not be in ’cos I’ll give yer a thick ear.’
‘I haven’t torn them, I’ve been careful.’ The boy shook his head in disgust. How could she think about trousers when he’d come so close to winning the pride of the neighbourhood? ‘I can’t get over being so close to winning, and then you have to come out!’ The boy scratched his head as a woebegone expression crossed his face. ‘Another two minutes and it would have been mine.’
‘If yer don’t get in this house right away, yer’ll really have something to moan about. Yer’ll be getting burnt sausages for yer dinner.’ As her son passed her, Kate patted his head. ‘Right to the sink and wash some of that dirt off yer hands and face while I rescue the sausages. And then yer can go and fetch yer sister, wherever she is.’
‘She’s in next door with Dolly, playing some daft girls’ game.’ The boy watched his mother pour hot water into a bowl for him then picked up a block of carbolic soap. ‘Ay, those sausages don’t half smell nice, Mam, how many am I getting?’
‘Ye’re getting two, as usual, and I don’t want to hear any moans from yer. There’s plenty of starving people who would gladly swap places with yer.’ Kate had an urge to kiss the boy’s dirty face, ’cos she loved the bones of him and his sister, but decided she’d wait until he’d washed. ‘Put a move on, I don’t want yer dad seeing yer like that or he’ll think I don’t look after yer properly. I’ll knock next door for Nancy.’ She got to the middle of the living room and turned back. ‘I know how many sausages there are, son, and if yer pinch one then watch out, ’cos I’ll be giving yer a thick lip to go with the thick ear I promised yer.’
Left alone, the boy grinned as he washed his hands and face. His mam was always threatening to give him a thick ear and lip, but he knew it would never happen. The most he got if he’d been really naughty was a smack across the back of his legs. And that didn’t hurt a bit, although he pretended it did. Not like getting the cane off the headmaster. Now that was something dreaded by even the toughest boys in his class. Four strokes off Mr Sykes and you couldn’t sit down for a few days. A picture of the headmaster flashed through his mind, and even that was enough to make Billy shiver. Mr Sykes was a very tall man, very well-made and very bad-tempered. He could reduce a boy to a mass of quivering jelly just by glaring at him. The best course with him was to behave yourself, keep your nose clean and try not to blot your copy book. Billy made sure he watched his behaviour at school which was why he’d only been caned once in all the time he’d been in the junior.
Kate knocked a second time on the front door of the house next door, then shouted through the letter box, ‘Are yer all deaf or something? Me dinner will be ruined at this rate.’
The door was finally opened by a woman who looked as impatient as her neighbour. ‘In the name of God, Kate, what’s yer hurry?’ Monica Parry’s mousy-coloured hair was standing on end as though she’d just run her fingers through it. ‘Yer nearly knocked the ruddy door down, and I thought the rent man had sent the bleedin’ bailiffs in!’
She was a nice-looking woman was Monica, with a slim figure and a face that was never far from a smile. But her looks couldn’t be compared with her neighbour’s. Kate Spencer had been blessed with an abundance of rich dark auburn hair which framed a face of real beauty. With her high cheekbones, clear, faultless complexion, a set of strong, even white teeth, perfectly arched black eyebrows and long curling eyelashes, she was the envy of every woman in the street and of interest to quite a few of the men.
‘If our Nancy’s here, Monica, will yer tell her to come home pronto while the dinner is still fit to eat?’ Kate saw a familiar figure walking up the street and groaned. ‘Oh, here’s John now, I’d better scarper. Be a pal and chase our Nancy home, will yer?’
‘Of course I will, girl. Are yer coming in later for a cuppa and a natter? I get fed up looking at four walls when my feller goes to the pub.’
‘I’ll see how the land lies, Monica,’ Kate shouted over her shoulder. ‘I’ll give a knock on the wall if I can get away.’
‘Do yer best, girl, or I’ll end up talking to meself, and I’ve already told meself all I know. I mean, I can only laugh so many times at me own jokes.’ Monica saw her friend disappear into the house next door then waved to the man who was coming closer. ‘All right, John? How’s the world treating yer, lad?’
‘Fair to middling, Monica, I can’t complain.’
‘I was going to say yer can complain if yer want to, John, but everyone’s got their own bleedin’ troubles and wouldn’t listen to yer. Anyway, I’ve got to chase yer daughter home or Kate will have me guts for garters. So leave the door open, save her knocking.’
Billy was sitting at the table when Kate got in, wriggling about in anticipation of the meal about to be put before him. ‘Hurry up, Mam, I’m starving.’
If he hadn’t spoken his mother would have gone straight through to the kitchen without giving him a glance. As it was she took one look at his neck before putting her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, my God! Don’t yer ever look at yerself in the mirror when yer get washed? Yer’ve got a bigger tidemark than Seaforth Sands.’
Billy heard his dad coming in and tried to pull up his shirt collar to cover the dirt. But John had heard his wife’s words. Trying to keep back a smile, he put a hand on his son’s head and pushed it sideways, all the better to see the unmissable tidemark. ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear! What have we here?’
Kate could see the twinkle in her husband’s eyes and laughed to herself as she carried on to the kitchen. Like father, like son. Her husband and Billy were as alike as two peas in a pod, with their dark blond hair and hazel eyes. Their natures were alike, too, Kate thought as she stood listening to them talk instead of draining the potatoes, and their keen sense of humour.
‘It’s a tidemark, Dad,’ Billy said, stating the obvious. ‘But I’ll have a good wash when I’ve had me dinner.’
‘A tidemark! Yer call this a tidemark? I’d have been ashamed of meself at your age if that was the best I could come up with. Why, my tidemarks would have knocked yours into a cocked hat!’
Billy cheered up. ‘And did your mam tell yer off, and make yer use a scrubbing brush to get rid of the dirt?’
Kate was back in the living room like a shot, wagging a stiffened finger. ‘Don’t you be making a joke of it, John, ’cos it’s not funny. You side with him and he’ll never wash his neck again.’ She tapped Billy on his nose. ‘It’s the tin bath in front of the fire for you later, me laddo. Yer dad can carry it in from the yard after we’ve had our dinner.’
‘Ah, ay, Mam! I’m too big to be getting in that thing with all of yer watching! I’ll give meself a good wash in the kitchen, I promise.’
‘Yer don’t have to worry about me watching yer,’ the young girl standing in the doorway said, ‘I don’t want to give meself nightmares.’
Kate grinned across at her twelve-year-old daughter. Nancy had inherited her mother’s features and colouring, but her beauty had yet to blossom. ‘You and me will make ourselves scarce, eh, sunshine? We’ll nip next door for an hour, so Billy can have some privacy.’
Nancy grinned. ‘I beat yer to it, Mam, ’cos I’ve already told Dolly I’ll have a game of Snakes and Ladders with her.’
‘That’s settled then. Now perhaps I can get the dinner out. It’s a wonder the sausages haven’t got fed up waiting and walked out of the frying pan on their own.’
John slipped his work coat off and hung it on a hook in the narrow hall. ‘I’m ready for a plate of sausage and mash, I’m starving.’ He winked at his son to let him know that what he was about to say was only teasing. ‘And it’ll give me the strength to stand the sight of me son in his nakedness without fainting with shock.’
‘Ay, don’t yer be making fun of my kid brother,’ Nancy said, giving Billy a hug as she pa
ssed his chair. ‘When he gets older he’ll be as big and strong as Tarzan. And to make sure he gets plenty to eat, I’m going to give me mam a hand with the dinner. Sit yerself down, Dad, and I’ll wait on yer.’
‘I’ll have to wash me hands first, pet, otherwise I’ll get a go-along off yer mam for sitting at the table with dirty hands.’
Billy’s shoulders shook with laughter. ‘She’ll make yer get in the tin bath after I’ve been in. Wouldn’t that be funny?’
Kate came in carrying a plate in each hand. ‘It would be more than funny to see yer dad getting in that tin bath, son, it would be hilarious.’ She put the two plates down and chuckled at the look on her husband’s face. ‘In fact, I could sell tickets to the neighbours and make meself a few coppers.’
‘Yer’d make more than a few coppers!’ John rose to his full height and pushed his face close to his wife’s. ‘There’s women in this street would pay at least a tanner to see my fine physique. And they’d queue up a second time.’
‘If they did, it would only be because they didn’t believe what they saw the first time. Yer’ve got legs like knots in cotton, sunshine, and there’s no getting away from it.’ Kate gave him a playful push. ‘Get those hands under the tap, love, and then perhaps we can sit down to eat in peace.’
‘Ay, Mam,’ Billy said. ‘These sausages are talking to me and they’re not in a very good temper, either!’
‘Neither would you be, son, if you’d been frying away for an hour in hot fat. Even sausages have feelings, yer know.’
‘One of these is dead bad-tempered, it’s just spat at me.’
‘Well, yer know what to do.’ Nancy put her plate down on the table and pulled out the chair next to her brother’s. ‘Stick yer fork in it and that will shut it up.’
Alone in the kitchen with his wife, John put his arms around her waist. ‘How about a nice, long passionate kiss?’
‘Let me go, yer daft nit, or the kids will hear yer.’ Kate had a plate in her hand and she held it aloft. ‘This is your dinner, and yer’ll get it on yer head if yer don’t behave yerself.’ She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. ‘There’s a place for long passionate kisses and it’s not a kitchen smelling of fat.’
