The Children of Lovely Lane

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘He does. They say he will have his own processing plant soon. Lockie is always the first down the docks every morning. It’s the horse I feel sorry for.’

  Amy turned around and folded her arms. ‘Don’t waste your sympathy on the horse. It’s me you should be feeling sorry for, because I can tell you, this is the last place I want to be. You see out there...’ Amy checked that she had Lily’s attention. ‘Out there is the Atlantic and it doesn’t stop until it reaches New York. That’s where I should be, New York. Not in this hellhole.’

  Lily made no comment. She sat down at her desk and opened a ledger. The hellhole, as Amy referred to it, had kept her in employment and her siblings fed for three years.

  ‘Is he married?’ Amy barked the question. She stood with her back to Lily, still facing the river.

  ‘Lockie? God, no. Who would marry Lockie?’ Lily almost laughed. ‘He lives at home with his mam and dad.’

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend?’

  Lily was taken aback. ‘No, not as far as I know.’

  ‘Is he sweet on you, Lily?’

  Lily spluttered her response. ‘No, never! Of course not.’

  Amy turned round and stared at Lily long and hard. Satisfied that Lily had answered her truthfully, she replied, ‘Good. Right, he will have to do then.’

  And much to Lily’s relief, that was the last word Amy addressed to her all day.

  12

  On Sunday, Lily had taken the children to Mass and prayed that Mr and Mrs McConaghy would have very long lives and see no need to retire in the near future. Spending a week with Amy had been a trial. Her selfishness knew no bounds.

  ‘Oh God, Lily,’ she’d said every time Mrs McConaghy left the room, ‘is this not a living hell? I was not cut out for this. I’ve only been here a few days and it’s killing me.’

  Lily didn’t see any point in telling Amy that she’d been there for three years and considered her job a lifeline. Even if she had told her, Amy wouldn’t have cared. Amy was interested only in conversations that revolved around her.

  ‘Tell them you don’t want to work here,’ said Lily.

  ‘I wish I could! Never once when they were paying for my schooling did they say that it was because I was to be locked up like a prisoner in a dirty office all day long, in front of books and columns of boring figures. Lily, am I not better than that? Look at me. Do I look like someone who should be sitting at this dull, dull desk?’

  As she spoke, she kicked the new desk with her foot and sent the chair spinning backwards into Lily’s desk.

  Despite herself, and despite Amy’s condemning attitude, Lily began to laugh along with her.

  ‘Oh God, we are both delirious with the tedium. Lily, does this powder match my complexion?’ Amy had a habit of completely changing the subject without a second’s warning, leaving Lily struggling to keep up. ‘I don’t want to be like Auntie, with a big orange line under my chin and around the side of my face.’

  She clicked open her compact and studied her reflection in the mirror. She did this a dozen times a day.

  Lily stepped over to her desk and gently removed the accounts Amy was supposed to be working on for her auntie. Mrs McConaghy had gone into town to meet a friend who was visiting from Ireland and would be back shortly. Lily had already learnt how to disguise her handwriting in order that Mrs McConaghy wouldn’t guess she was doing Amy’s work.

  Lily, who had never owned a compact and only occasionally saw one of the women in the cottages wearing powder, had no idea what to say. She looked at Amy, who was pouting her lips in the mirror, licking the tips of her fingers and smoothing her eyebrows.

  ‘It does suit you, Amy. You look lovely,’ she said. It was the truth. Amy did look lovely. Of course she was dissatisfied, sitting in the McConaghys’ office. Someone as beautiful as Amy was surely cut out for an entirely different life, thought Lily.

  Outside the back door of the office, at the top of the stairs down to the processing plant floor, was a small wooden balcony, and at the bottom of the stairs was a tall, padlocked iron gate, to which only Mr and Mrs McConaghy and their brother-in-law held the keys. This ensured that traffic went only one way, from the office down. It prevented anyone on the plant floor from having access to the office, or, more critically, the safe. The only time the traffic changed course was on payday. The front door of the office opened on to a steep flight of concrete steps that led to the street. When traders had made their delivery to the plant at the rear, they received a note confirming the weight of their goods, then moved their wagons or drays round to the front and called into the office for payment.

  As a way of amusing herself, Amy stood on the wooden balcony and waved to her father down on the plant floor.

  ‘A real family girl, is Amy. Dotes on her, her father does – well, he did until...’ Mrs McConaghy said several times to Lily, but she never went further than that.

  Lily, who often used one word where others might have used five, never replied. She simply could not imagine being close to her own stepfather. But not for one minute did she think that Amy stood on the balcony to wave to her da. Amy was waving to the world, or at least to anyone who would look up at her and pass her a compliment.

  ‘That’s a nice frock, Amy,’ someone would shout up when her da was out of earshot.

  ‘Who did your hair today, Amy?’ shouted another.

  ‘Have you got yourself a fella? Good-looking girl like you?’

  ‘Is there a pocket in your knickers, Amy, to keep the money your uncle is making?’

  Lily wondered why Mrs McConaghy hadn’t noticed that Amy only stood on the balcony to wave to her da just as he was leaving the plant floor, never when he was in the middle of working or had just arrived.

  Lockie had provided Amy with her biggest distraction. She watched him through the window as he went up and down with his cob and cart, from the old dock to the door of the processing plant and back again, three, sometimes four times a day. He bought his jute as it was unloaded on the docks, transported it in cartloads up to the plant, and sold it to the McConaghys for a higher price. Lily would then take his delivery sheet, enter the figures into the ledger and then pass the banker’s draft to Mrs McConaghy to sign. After which she would count out the cash or hand him a banker’s note as payment.

  Lockie had begun to pay Lily compliments of late and she found she was enjoying them. She now looked forward to Lockie’s deliveries whenever a ship came into the old dock. He had built up her confidence and made her feel less of an ugly duckling as a result of having to spend her days sitting in close proximity to the beautifully turned-out and fashionable Amy.

  ‘Are you sure there is nothing going on between you and Lockie?’ Amy had asked her a dozen or more times.

  Each time, Lily had responded with the same comment. ‘Amy, he is more like a brother to me. We were born neighbours and I’ve known him all me life.’ But Lily was confused. Lockie was changing and she didn’t know why.

  When no one was looking, Lockie had begun whisper to Lily, ‘Go on, Lily, come out with me tonight for a drink. You can trust me, we’ve known each other for years. I will treat you right, you can trust Lockie. Haven’t you always been able to? Let me take you out for a bite and a walk about town.’

  Lily’s answer was always the same. ‘I can’t, Lockie. I have to look after the kids when I get home. You know I have responsibilities.’

  ‘Let me come home and help you then, Lily,’ he would plead. ‘I’m one of nine, I’m used to kids, it doesn’t bother me. Bloody hell, I know your mam and stepfather – isn’t the reason he keeps his fists to himself because he knows he will have me to deal with if he doesn’t?’

  ‘He’s from such a decent, hard-working family, is Lockie,’ Mrs McConaghy would say. ‘I knew his mother’s family in Ireland. They have great religion and the old folk never touched a drop, any of them.’ Mrs McConaghy always smiled fondly when she spoke of Lockie.

  Lockie’s interest, Mrs McConaghy’s opin
ion and even Sister Therese’s praise of Lockie set Lily’s thoughts on a new path. Maybe she should say yes to one of his many invitations. He knew what her life was like.

  ‘Go on, will you, Lily?’ had been the last thing he’d said to her when she pushed him away. Maybe she shouldn’t push any more because when she had, she’d seen a different look in his eyes. One of hurt and rejection.

  ‘Even a worm can turn,’ Mrs McConaghy said as she watched him from the window as he ran down the steps, shoulders hunched. ‘You need to be careful there, Lily.’

  ‘What are you whispering about then?’ Amy had returned from the cloakroom and joined Lily and her auntie at the window. They all watched as Lockie jumped up on to his cart.

  ‘We aren’t whispering,’ Lily snapped back, expecting Mrs McConaghy to give her away. She was embarrassed at having being caught out and terrified that Amy would discover the real reason.

  ‘Seems that way if you ask me.’ Amy twirled her bobbed hair in her fingers. ‘Auntie?’

  Mrs McConaghy ignored her question and said, ‘Right, I’m off down to Sayers. ‘What’s your fancy today, girls?’

  Amy looked Lily up and down with her perfect Max Factor kohl eyes, Goya lips and ill-concealed contempt. She took in Lily’s worn clothes and shoes and Lily watched as a smile began at the corner of her mouth and then quickly disappeared. ‘You would be lucky to land a good-looking bloke like Lockie. I’ve been making some enquiries. Every girl around here has her eye on him. He’s first division, is Lockie, Lily. Looks, money and prospects. Way out of your league, love.’

  Lily’s breath left her body so quickly, she felt as though she had been dealt a blow to the stomach. Of course, Amy was right. But even if she couldn’t have Lockie for herself in that way, he was her friend. Her only friend. He spoke to her like she was already his and she was his social equal. She felt her face redden under Amy’s immaculate gaze. Looking down in shame, she stared at her shoes. Second-hand, scuffed, dirty. Every morning she sneaked into the toilets as soon as she arrived at work, slipped out the sodden piece of cardboard and replaced it with a fresh one. Without turning her head, she looked at Amy’s shoes. Polished, leather, a kitten heel and a neat T-bar with a pearl-button fastening on the side. Why on earth did Lily think anyone would consider her someone worth talking to? Least of all Lockie. He could have any girl he wanted.

  Lockie was good-looking. He was well built from his hard physical work. His eyes were blue and twinkled with mischief and his dark hair was slicked back under his cap, giving his jawline a sharp edge. He worked hard, his business was growing and he had wonderful prospects in a city that was recovering from the war. Lily loved the freckles that dappled his nose and cheeks. But, there was no use in her daydreaming. No man would take on another man’s children and she would never leave home without Katie and Joe.

  Amy was right, Lockie was way out of her league. She felt crestfallen, committed to a life that would be shared with a pair of alcoholics until Joe was old enough to work, and by then it would be too late. She would be old and unattractive and past the marrying age.

  ‘Oh God, you didn’t really think you had a chance there, did you, Lily?’ Amy roared with laughter.

  ‘No, no, I didn’t, not like that. I’ve known Lockie since I was a girl, he’s always looked out for me,’ she stammered. Her words were coming out all wrong and she knew that Amy would never believe her anyway.

  It was Lockie who had shown the interest. Lily had done a good job of holding him at bay and making sure that there was no ambiguity. Her pride was intact. Lockie had not been misled. She had simply behaved like a lonely girl enjoying the company of the childhood friend who made her laugh.

  At home time, Lily needed to change the cardboard in her shoe and as she did so, she overheard Amy talking to Mrs McConaghy.

  ‘Auntie, do we have to have someone from Clare Cottages working here? Her hair smells some days and she wears the same things all the time. And have you seen the state of her shoes? They don’t have soles and they’re full of holes with cardboard stuffed in. She’s not up to your standard, Auntie.’

  ‘Her clothes are a darned sight better than they were on her first day,’ replied Mrs McConaghy tartly. ‘If you want to know what rags look like, you should have seen her then. Are you offering to do her work, Amy? Because unless you are, it might be best to keep your opinion to yourself. I know for a fact that Lily visits the public baths and the Clare Street wash house every week. I don’t know how she manages it. Hardest-working person I know.’

  ‘Look, queen...’ Mr McConaghy had come into the office. Sensing a row brewing, he wanted to add his tuppence worth. Lily had never taken to him. He was a mean man and often treated the men who worked for him unkindly. ‘Look, Amy, one day this will all be yours and you’ll have to learn that in order to get on in business, you have to get along with everyone and employ people from all walks of life. We can’t just employ girls like you, Amy. It’s necessary to take on riff-raff because they have to do the grind so that we can get on with making the money.’

  Lily waited for a moment and then, when her breathing was calm enough so as not to make her appear flustered, she walked back into the office with her head held as high as she could manage.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs McConaghy,’ she said as she passed the older woman. She had meant for her voice to sound firm and proud. It let her down and came out as nothing more than a squeak.

  ‘Goodnight, Lily. See you in the morning.’

  Lily said no more, but as she went out of the front door, she let it bang shut behind her.

  *

  The following day, Lockie tried his luck one last time.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Lily. ‘I’ve told you a thousand times, Lockie, I have responsibilities. Why don’t you ask Amy?’

  ‘Amy? No, she’s not for me. Too expensive and high and mighty. Money burns a hole in the purse of women like Amy. Lily, are you mad? You can’t live your life looking after your brother and sister. You know that now, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, yes, but it’s difficult.’

  ‘What do you mean, difficult?’ he asked. ‘What does difficult mean, Lily? That tells me nothing.’

  ‘It is just very difficult. They need me...’ Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t even convincing herself. She had toyed with the idea of taking up Lockie’s offer, but Amy had killed off the happiness she’d felt at his attentions.

  This time Lockie didn’t wait for any further explanation. He snatched his draft out of her hand and turned away. Lily’s heart belonged to little Joe, but she hoped Lockie would remain her friend.

  ‘What were you talking to Lily about, Lockie?’ Amy had sidled up to Lockie at the door just as he pulled it open with some force, ready to leave. Their silhouettes were dark and framed in the morning sunlight and neither of them saw the frown cross Lily’s face when, turning from locking the safe, she caught sight of them.

  ‘Nothing, Amy, just chatting,’ Lockie replied.

  But Lily saw it the moment it happened, as Lockie turned around and took a second look at Amy. She saw the temptation of possibility cross his face. How could it not? Amy was smiling up at him and fluttering her Rimmel-coated eyelashes. Her lips had been freshly painted ruby red and she always smelt of powder, petals and sweetness. Lily, who owned nothing in the way of make-up or cosmetics, could only wonder at how she did it.

  The previous evening, she had wandered into Woolworths as she waited for the bus home and looked at the palettes of eye-shadow colours and lipsticks. She was in awe of the nail varnishes and the ten different fragrances of talcum powder. As she smelt one of the bottles of perfume, she recognized it as belonging to Amy. It was the smell that filled the office in the mornings. Gardenia. She knew it was a smell she would never want to own herself.

  As Amy looked up at Lockie, she was almost licking her lips. She was pretty and she knew it, and now so did Lockie. ‘Do you want to take me out, Lockie?’ she said. Lily blinked, hard. She could barely b
elieve the audacity of Amy asking Lockie out, just like that. ‘Go on, you know you want to. I am so bored in this office all day. Why don’t you take me to the pub after work? I’d let you. Go on, Lockie, I dare you to ask me.’

  Lockie gabbled a reply that went something like, ‘I can’t really, Amy, I’m meeting up with the lads in the Grapes, already promised. Err, have to go now,’ and before he left, he threw Lily a look that told her it was her fault.

  He would never ask her out again. She had turned him down once too often and, set against the eager Amy, she had been found wanting. Lily felt relieved. She wished him well. She wished him better than Amy.

  But as the door closed behind Lockie, it felt to Lily as though the brightness of the day had left with him. The office suddenly seemed dull and the sense of loss and loneliness that hit her took her by surprise. Her heart crunched as she wondered if he would ever speak to her again.

  Mrs McConaghy, who had stepped out of the office momentarily, returned. ‘Come along, girls, neither of you earn us a good day’s profit by chatting to traders.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs McConaghy,’ said Lily straight away.

  Amy didn’t say a word. She flounced back down into her chair with the grace of a sack of potatoes and, picking up her pen, pulled a face at Mrs McConaghy behind her back.

  From that day on, Lockie spent less time dawdling in the office than he had before. There was less chat and banter and, one day, he didn’t speak to Lily at all, just addressed Mrs McConaghy directly as she handed him his banker’s draft. Lily watched him through the window as he ran down the steps two at a time. Her heart felt heavy at the sight of him. He was the only person who had ever enquired about her life or paid her any attention. She couldn’t have him for a boyfriend and it appeared he didn’t want her for anything else. In her naïveté, she had supposed that their banter and chatter would carry on as before, but it had almost stopped dead. She had spurned a suitor and lost a friend. Her eyes filled with tears.