The Fight for Lizzie Flowers

by Carol Rivers

  Although Ethel said this light-heartedly, Lizzie knew their business plan was still their guilty pleasure. Would they both be free enough one day to lead the lives they really wanted to?

  ‘I should really call by the shop to see if Frank’s all right,’ Lizzie said as she thought of the invalid she had left struggling to dress himself that morning. ‘I gave him some breakfast and left him a sandwich. I didn’t want him messing around in me kitchen.’ She knew they would be away all day. But neither she nor Bert had said they would be back to look in on him. Which now made her feel all the more conscience-stricken. If Frank had been Danny then she wouldn’t have hesitated, would have hated to see him painfully trying to perform the simplest of actions, like buttoning up a shirt. But this was Frank. And Bert had insisted he must help himself. Bert still didn’t trust Frank.

  ‘Why did you want to keep him out of the kitchen?’ Ethel asked.

  ‘It’s too dangerous with the gas and all. He might turn it on and forget to turn it off. I don’t want another explosion like last year.’

  ‘He wouldn’t do that again, would he?’

  ‘No, not deliberately. But he seems to have lapses in concentration. It’s all them medicines he takes. Pills for this. Pills for that. What if he took too many?’

  ‘You sound concerned.’

  ‘Do I?’ Lizzie realized she’d been talking non-stop about Frank.

  Ethel nudged Lizzie. ‘Tell you what, I’ll look in on him for you. Then you can go to Mum’s and see Flo. I need a bit of breathing space.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Course. As long as Frank don’t attack me,’ Ethel teased.

  ‘If he did, at least we’d know he was getting better.’

  They both laughed.

  Lizzie rummaged in her bag. ‘Here’s the key to the shop.’

  Ethel pointed. ‘Look, there’s a bus! Let’s run for it.’

  Holding on to their hats they made a dash. Lizzie was excited as they climbed aboard. She would have time to enjoy the party now. And for one whole day, forget about Frank.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Lizzie sat next to Danny on Lil and Doug’s yard wall, the only vacant space left now the party was under way. Her thoughts turned with affection towards the tufts of dried weeds that once were Doug’s vegetable patch.

  Before the war, her father and Doug had often passed time here. Two strong men, best friends and neighbours, admiring the spuds or carrots that Doug managed to encourage into life. As a small child she remembered the men enjoying an ale on a wooden bench by the shed while Kate and Lil gossiped in the kitchen. None of them, thank God, Lizzie thought with a pang of sadness, could have imagined in 1914 what was to befall them. Both the Sharpes’ sons lost in the trenches, Kate’s unexpected death and Tom Allen’s fatal injuries – events that were mirrored in almost every family by the end of the conflict.

  She sighed. Like Doug’s small green oasis, family life as they had all known and enjoyed it had disappeared forever. And now she gazed with more than a little longing at the neglected oblong of turf and dilapidated wooden shed, its buckling tin roof leaning heavily against the outside lavatory.

  Suddenly she was jolted back to the present. A group of young people came laughing and talking from the house; the Miller grandchildren and Timothy and Rosie among them. Lizzie watched Timothy as he picked up the wreck of Lil’s old bike and sat astride it. His fair hair flopped over his face, as he gained the attention of one young girl. She was, Lizzie thought, very pretty and looked close to Timothy’s age.

  ‘Do those two remind you of anyone?’ Danny asked as he followed her gaze. ‘You was about her age when I plucked up the courage to ask you out.’

  ‘To the Hammersmith Lyric, wasn’t it?’ Memories flooded back.

  Danny grinned. ‘Yeah. The Beggar’s Opera. I’d been putting a few bob away to make an impression.’

  Lizzie blushed. ‘You never told me that before.’

  ‘I’ve never told you a lot of things.’ He sipped his ale then looked at her, his blue eyes teasing. ‘I’d try to catch you alone at the market but your dad always kept a close eye on you.’

  ‘I had to push his chair.’

  ‘Course, but I found a way in the end.’ He took another long swallow of his ale, licking his lips and grinning.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘You remember that old geezer, the newspaper seller?’

  ‘Dickie Potts. He was a nice old man.’

  ‘I had a word with him. He used to keep your dad talking so we could have a minute to ourselves.’

  ‘You never did!’

  ‘It was worth a few bob.’

  They laughed together and Lizzie realized how long it had been since they’d shared a joke. That’s what she’d loved about him. He always used to be cheerful and a bit reckless. ‘Devil-may-care’ as her mum used to say. She wanted to say that things might have been different for them if he hadn’t gone to Australia. Frank would never have got a look-in. But why rake up the past again? One thing they couldn’t deny: the attraction was still strong between them. Now Danny was at ease, he had dropped his guard a little. She could feel it in the way he was looking at her. In the warm summer’s air and in the husky depths of his voice.

  Lizzie knew her feelings must be easy to read on her face. She said quietly, ‘We’re still young, Danny.’

  He drew back his shoulders. ‘Don’t feel young when I think of you with Frank. I feel angry. And cheated.’

  ‘Come and see your brother—’

  Danny began to shake his head. ‘It won’t make no difference.’ Just then a rumbling sound came from the lane and Danny stood up. ‘Sounds like Cal’s motor. He’s dropping Tom off.’

  Tom came racing across the lane. His first question as he climbed over the wall was, ‘Where’s Polly?’

  Lizzie was surprised to see how quickly Tom was growing. He was almost as tall as her now. ‘Polly’s inside. She’s been waiting for you.’

  ‘I’ve got a job at the garage,’ he told her. ‘I have to sweep the forecourt and wash a car.’

  ‘Did it come up shiny?’ Danny asked, crooking an amused eyebrow.

  ‘Yeah, I could see me face in the windows.’

  ‘Are your hands clean?’

  Tom turned up his palms for Danny to see. ‘I washed ’em and changed my clothes an’ all.’

  ‘Off you go then and join the party.’

  Cal had followed Tom across the lane. He was wearing a clean shirt and trousers and gave Lizzie a big grin. ‘Flo tied the knot, did she?’

  ‘Yes, well and truly.’

  ‘Give her and Syd me best. Tell them to have a drink on me.’

  Lizzie knew Cal hadn’t been invited to the wedding. Ethel had confided that Lil had her suspicions about her daughter’s affair. And even though Lil didn’t care for Richard, she wouldn’t entertain the thought of Ethel ever straying.

  Cal glanced over Lizzie’s shoulder. ‘Ethel inside?’

  ‘She’s at the shop. We’re supposed to be closed for the day. But Ethel called by for me, just to see if . . . if everything’s all right.’ She glanced quickly at Danny.

  Cal grinned. ‘I’ll see if she wants a lift.’

  ‘Thanks for driving Tom over,’ Danny said, clapping Cal on the arm. ‘You’d better scoot now before Lil sees you.’

  ‘Right,’ agreed Cal swiftly and, nodding at Lizzie, he hurried off.

  Lizzie sighed. ‘Lil will give Ethel hell if she finds out, for sure.’

  Danny nodded. ‘Cal’s a good bloke but he’s a loner. Always has been.’

  Lizzie said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps Cal’s never been in love before.’

  Danny just shrugged. ‘He’s me best mate. But he was born and bred in the outback, never settled down in the mines and is a wanderer at heart. I don’t want to see Ethel get hurt.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  Just then, Lil poked her head out from the kitchen door. ‘Lizzie, Danny, go in to Flo’s,
will you? Tell them it’s time to stop gassing and come in here to cut the cake.’

  Grinning, Danny took Lizzie’s arm. ‘Better jump to it. It’d be a braver man than me who challenged Lil Sharpe.’

  ‘Christ, Frank, how did you get in this state?’ Ethel stared at the figure lying on the kitchen floor. ‘You wasn’t supposed to come in here.’

  ‘I thought I’d make meself a cuppa.’

  ‘The place reeks of gas.’

  ‘I managed to turn off the tap but lost me footing when I heard noises downstairs. I thought it was Lizzie and she’d give me a rollicking if she caught me.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there. You’re a walking accident, you are. Now I’ll try to lift you up. Grab hold of the table and I’ll push.’

  As Ethel assisted him, he let out a cry. ‘Now what’s the matter?’ she demanded as he stood up shakily.

  ‘It’s my back.’

  ‘I’ll help you to the bedroom and you can sit down. You ain’t safe around here. Then I’ll make you a cuppa.’

  She gave him his walking stick and helped him along the landing. Ethel was determined not to let her pity show. But it was difficult. The man who everyone hated was a shadow of his former devious, lying, villainous self. For a moment she could understand Lizzie’s dilemma. Frank didn’t deserve her goodness. He’d been a rogue all their marriage. And if it was only sickness that changed him, what would happen when he got well?

  If he got well. Either way, Ethel couldn’t see an easy way out for Lizzie. Her friend had a soft heart, no matter what she said to the contrary. The question to be asked was why hadn’t Lizzie taken the opportunity to rid herself of a deadbeat husband?

  The answer was clear to Ethel, if it wasn’t to Lizzie herself. It was the way Lizzie had been raised. Lizzie’s mother, Kate Allen, had stuck by her husband who had returned from war without his legs. Literally, half a man. Kate had never weakened, not for a moment. Even though Tom Allen himself was slowly dying of gangrene. Kate had instilled into her oldest daughter that marriage should last forever. Through thick and thin. Or, until one of them died. This was what kept Lizzie tied to Frank.

  Ethel watched Frank collapse onto the bedroom armchair. The sweat poured from his face. His shirt was wet and his eyes were full of fear. Like Tom Allen, Frank was certainly half the man he once was.

  ‘Ta, Ethel.’ His face was screwed up in pain.

  ‘Is it your back?’

  ‘Yeah, gel. It’s a bugger.’

  Ethel sat down on the bed. ‘You’d have thought the knife would have done you in.’

  ‘If it had gone any deeper, it would have.’

  Ethel raised an eyebrow. ‘Some might have welcomed that outcome.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t blame them.’

  A changed man, eh? Ethel thought to herself ruefully.

  ‘I’ll get you that cuppa.’

  ‘Ethel?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know I think the world of her, don’t you?’

  Ethel frowned, tilting her head. ‘No, I don’t. You’ve given Lizzie hell and you’ve got no one to turn to now, so you’re behaving yourself.’

  Frank’s thin face contorted. ‘No, it’s not like that.’

  ‘It’s what everyone thinks.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘If you let Lizzie down, Frank Flowers, I’ll find a knife and stick it in you myself. You can take that as a promise.’

  He nodded, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his sleeve.

  In the kitchen, Ethel thought about what she’d said. She had just threatened Frank, but it had only been words. She loved Lizzie like her own sister and she didn’t want to see her hurt again.

  Ethel picked up the carving knife that lay on the bread board. And turned it in her hands. She smiled. Frank was a lucky sod. He’d come through a knifing and a good kicking and survived. Perhaps people like him always did. So chewing his ear off a little with a few threats wouldn’t do any harm.

  She put the kettle on to boil.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘You’ve got to keep shtoom, Syd,’ Clifford Miller instructed his younger brother. ‘No one will find out who did it. It was only us and the bastard himself who was there.’

  ‘You said it was just going to be a tickle,’ Syd remonstrated weakly.

  ‘He put up a struggle. Didn’t reckon on that.’

  ‘You said no knives or dusters.’

  Clifford frowned and pointed a grubby finger in his brother’s face. ‘No, you said that, Syd. Now listen, mate, you are a Miller. Your birthright is to take what you want in life. So far, all you’ve done is ponce around with a load of fish on your uncle Ned. Well, those days are over. You’re a scrapper now. You can drive. Well, almost. You are in the firm. And rule number one is we take care of each other.’

  Syd thought that comment was a bit ripe. Neither Clifford nor Walter had taken care of their other three brothers who were doing time for burglary and aggravated assault. They’d been nicked and sent down because they were Millers. So why should Cliff and Walter look down their noses at fish portering? It had been a steady job, a solid one. And though he’d had to kowtow to the fish buyers at the market, he’d worked his arse off since school to get his licence. Something none of his other brothers had achieved.

  Syd’s gaze slid across the front room to the women of his family stuffing their faces and knocking back the port wine. His mother was holding court, as usual. But none of the women was a patch on his Flo. He loved his family. But he was also ashamed of them. He’d tried to do as Flo wanted. Steer clear of their influence. It was just the one time in his life he’d slipped up. And it was Frank Flowers who’d been his undoing.

  And somewhere along the line, he, Syd Miller, had not only lost his beloved job, but also was learning the age-old skills of shafting punters and flogging old tat.

  Syd looked into his brothers’ florid faces. They were sinking as much booze as they could lay their hands on. In their cheap suits, they thought they looked the bee’s knees. They gave him hearty slaps on the back and knowing winks. Syd looked round to see if anyone was watching.

  To his dismay, someone was. Syd offered Lizzie a weak smile. He regretted having spoken the way he did to her. Guilt had made him aggressive.

  Syd tried another smile, deliberately tuning out Clifford and Walter’s voices. He widened his eyes and raised his glass.

  But Lizzie just stared at him.

  Ethel finished making the tea and sandwiches, wondering just how quickly she could make her escape. She’d left the bowl and jug full of warm water, a flannel and soap on top of the bedside table. All Frank had to do was wash himself. That wasn’t much to ask. She hadn’t fancied helping him to do that. And to be honest, Frank had seemed happy enough to be left to his own devices.

  She lifted the tray and made her way back to the bedroom. Frank was sitting where she had left him, but he’d still not finished with his ablutions.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you tidy.’ Reluctantly Ethel put the tray on the bed.

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself. I can manage.’

  Ethel saw he’d taken off his shirt and vest and loosened his braces. His movements were slow as he tried to put his shirt back on. Wincing, he pushed the cloth over his skinny chest. He wasn’t complaining and, if he had, Ethel suspected she would have told him what to do with his aches and pains.

  She found a clean shirt in one of the drawers. ‘You’d better put this on.’

  Ethel looked at his skinny chest and protruding ribs. There was a bandage around the top half of him which she realized must cover the wound.

  ‘You’re dead lucky,’ she told him again as she took away the old shirt and helped him with the new.

  ‘More dead than lucky, you mean.’

  ‘Don’t start that.’

  ‘There was three of them. I could have handled one.’

  ‘And you really don’t know who it was?’

  ‘No. Don’t think so. But . . . ma
ybe the voice. It rang a bell.’

  ‘Did you tell Lizzie that?’

  ‘No. I kept shtoom.’

  She helped him to link his cuffs. ‘Frightened to put a foot wrong, eh?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Listen, Frank, if you want my advice, get better quick.’ She let him button up the front. ‘Then leave Lizzie alone to get on with her own life. You’ll stay friends a lot longer that way.’

  At this, he stared up at her, his blue eyes pale and watery. ‘I don’t want to be friends. I want to make up for the past and—’

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ Ethel cut in, quickly taking away the bowl. ‘You have to make a new life for yourself. It’s the jam you got yourself into. And let’s face it, you’re off your trolley half the time.’

  Frank gazed up at her, like a dog, she thought, about to be whipped. ‘I’ve got me tablets now. I’m not going crazy again. Look at me. This is what I am, a bleeding cripple. But I’m on the mend. And I want a chance to give her a better life—’

  Ethel put the basin down on the dressing table. ‘Listen, Frank, you’ve got to stop this.’

  ‘If you was to tell her I’ve changed, she’d believe you.’

  Ethel laughed. ‘You crafty sod. That’s what you’re after. Me on your side, cos you know Lizzie and me are best mates.’

  ‘No, honest, Ethel—’

  The shop bell tinkled and startled both of them.

  ‘I must have forgotten to lock the door.’ Ethel looked round. ‘Someone thinks we’re open. Now eat your sandwich. And when I come back I don’t want to hear a word more from you. Lizzie’s better off without you and you can take that as my confirmed opinion.’

  Ethel hurried along the landing and down the stairs. She wasn’t about to start serving spuds, not in this get-up. Whoever it was would have to catch the market before it closed. There was still time—

  Ethel gasped as a tall figure loomed before her. ‘Cal, my God! You gave me a fright!’ She put her hand on her racing heart. ‘What are you doing here?’