‘Well, if you ask me, you were a fool letting that boat sail, and that’s a fact,’ said Mrs McConaghy as she locked the safe.
Lily looked back at her in shock. She had no idea Mrs McConaghy had been aware of her conversations with Lockie.
‘It’s a pity, especially as he’s doing so well. Works hard, that young man does. Brings us twice as much as he did when he first started. Mr McConaghy said we need to box clever or Lockie will be opening his own processing works and we will lose his business. Seems to me he is casting his net in another direction altogether, in more ways than one. It doesn’t do to set your eyes above your station in life, Lily, if that is what you’ve done. You won’t do any better than Lockie, and sure, I can’t see any other reason why you would spurn a nice fella like him. He would have been a very nice catch for you. God only knows what you thought you were doing. Never mind, his loss is our gain. You’ll be working for us for a little longer now then. No marriage taking you away.’
Lily turned back to the office window. Lockie had jumped on to his cart and was lifting the reins to wake his nodding cob. She willed him to look up at the window, but she knew he wouldn’t. She had been honest and that was all she could do. She couldn’t change her life and she couldn’t just head off and leave little Joe and Katie to be taken into the home on Menlove Avenue. Besides, she had enough on her plate.
Joe had been ill that morning and Lily had begged her mother to stay at home with him. ‘Please don’t go to the alehouse until I get back, Mam. Please don’t leave him,’ she’d pleaded as she left the house. ‘His breathing, it’s really bad today. Can you take him to the doctor’s?’
‘I will if I have to, now it’s free,’ her mother said with a scowl. ‘But the last time I did that, they made me take him to St Angelus and we just sat there all day and then they told me to take him home again. They said it’s all in his head, remember? And I believe them. They all told me that, up at the hospital. So what’s the point of me taking him? I’m not going through all those shenanigans again.’
Lily knelt down beside Joe, who was lying on what passed for a rag rug in front of the fire. At least her mother had been concerned enough to light the fire; that was some blessing. Joe was flushed and pink, his wheeze louder than usual. He was struggling. The air in the house was blue with her mother’s cigarette smoke. Joe coughed and choked.
‘I’ll be home as quick as I can, love,’ Lily whispered to him. ‘You just stay there and don’t move. Are you all right?’
Joe opened his eyes. They were filled with fear. The only person he felt safe with was Lily.
‘Don’t fret. You know I’ll be straight home, don’t you? If you feel a bit rough or sad, just think to yourself, “Lily’s back soon.” You got that?’
‘I’ll be good, Lily,’ Joe wheezed. ‘Can I play with your hair?’ he begged.
Lily smiled. Joe liked to wrap his fingers in her long chestnut hair. Sometimes, when she was sleeping, he would carefully undo the knots of the rags she tied in her hair at night and take them out one by one, in order that he could better run her hair through his fingers.
Lily planted a kiss on his brow, then placed her hand on his forehead. ‘I won’t be long. Katie will be home from school before I’m back from work. She’ll look after you.’
Joe had tried to smile, but he was distracted by his own discomfort and looked unconvinced.
When six o’clock came, Lily laid down her pen, shot out of the seat and took her coat off the hook.
‘Well, you are keen to leave, aren’t you,’ said Mrs McConaghy. ‘You are a good worker, I’ll give you that, and you have a lovely hand, but you’re always quick to be out of the door.’ She sniffed in disapproval, but Lily didn’t care. She had struggled to put Joe to the back of her mind all day long while she’d been working and she was now desperate to get the bus home and reassure herself that he was all right.
‘Amy has already left.’ Lily’s voice was little more than a whisper, but Mrs McConaghy had heard her.
‘Yes, well, she was running an errand for Mr McConaghy.’
Lily knew this was not true, but she had little interest in Amy; it was Joe she was concerned about. Without another word, she ran out of the door.
Sitting on the steamy bus, Lily wiped a circle in the misted-up window and looked out into the dark night. The street glowed amber from the sulphur street lamps. Shop lights were being extinguished and black-out shutters, relics from the war that were still used in places, were slammed shut and locked as workers made their way home. The only buildings to bustle and brighten as the night wore on were the public houses.
As the bus pulled into the stop outside the Grapes, the pub door flew open and noise and light from its welcoming coal fire spilled out on to the pavement as workers piled inside. There was no mistaking what Lily saw. Amy in her fur-trimmed coat and high heels was standing outside the pub door and she was holding Lockie’s hand. With a jolt, Lily sat back in the seat. She willed the bus driver to move on quick lest either Amy or Lockie should jump on board. It was the last thing she had expected to see. The shock sent a wave of prickles running across her skin.
‘You stupid girl,’ she whispered to herself as she took one of Sister Therese’s handkerchiefs out of her pocket. She had no idea why she felt so lonely. It was the glimpse of the pub, of people having fun, of office- and shop-girls like her rushing to meet each other and have a drink in front of the open fires in the amber-lit pub. She noticed their clothes, their shoes, their handbags and their Outdoor Girl make-up, the uniform of the shop-girl, and pulled her wicker basket further up her knee and closer to her, almost hugging it protectively. Inside was a scone and two barley sugars Mrs McConaghy had dropped on her desk as she’d passed her the luncheon-meat sandwiches she’d provided for lunch. Lily had been so hungry and light-headed, she’d eaten all of the sandwich and now she felt sick with guilt and anticipation. What would she find when she arrived home?
The bell on the bus rang and as they pulled away she let out a sigh of relief. She would know soon enough. As she sat back on the hard green leather seats, she thought to herself, you are someone, Lily, who must never expect nice things to happen to you. But even as she thought this, her heart was contracting with pain at having seen Amy with Lockie. She knew Amy well enough by now; if she wanted Lockie, she would have him.
Lily blinked away the tears and took rapid shallow breaths to steady the burning in her chest. Most of the time she looked on the bright side. When Joe cuddled up to her in bed and twiddled her hair, she knew the love of a mother for her child was no greater than what she felt for her little brother. But today had been a bad day, spent worrying about Joe, being stung by Mrs McConaghy’s comments and ignored by Amy. And now, seeing the man she had known her entire life holding hands with another, she could not help feeling sorry for herself and the miserable life she led. His interest had made her feel validated. Now that it was well and truly gone, she felt wretched and worthless.
Her eyes were red by the time she climbed the concrete steps to the half landing and walked along the walkway to their front door. The light was on and the fire was lit, but the house was unusually quiet. As she entered, she saw that Katie was at the chipped Formica-topped table eating a hot supper and Sister Therese was sitting on one of the four hard wooden chairs with Joe on her lap. ‘Your mam and da are out, Lily,’ Sister Therese said. ‘Katie here came and got me. She thought that Joe was getting worse.’
Lily glanced at Katie, who was looking a little sheepish. ‘It’s OK, love,’ she said as she went over and kissed the top of her sister’s head.
Sister Therese continued. ‘Joe here, he’s had a bad day, but we are over the worst of it now, aren’t we, little lad?’ She jiggled Joe up on her knee to make him more comfortable and gave him the biggest smile. ‘His breathing began to ease at around four o’clock and I would say that he is much better now.’
Lily looked down at Joe. She had spent many days like that with him on her lap and
she knew the signs; he was very much over the worst. His inhalations were almost the same length as his exhalations. The wheeze had become a whistle. Lily knelt down on the floor and threw a shovel of coal on the fire. The bucket was full. Sister Therese had been busy.
‘I got the coalman to drop a hundredweight of coal into the coal house, and he doesn’t want paying, before you waste your breath objecting,’ she said.
Lily wanted to kiss her. She knew the cold often made Joe’s chest worse. But this did not prevent her parents from drinking away the coal money, no matter how often the facts were presented to them. They would sit in the warmth of the alehouse without a second thought for their children, as long as they had a tankard in their hands.
‘What am I going to do, Sister Therese? How much longer can we go on like this? I feel at the end of my tether.’
Lily began to cry and Sister Therese stroked her hair. She wished she had an answer. She had a dozen families like this, who depended on her to hold things together. Families whose fathers had returned from the war more useless than they’d been before they left. Lost, damaged or just plain lazy, they took solace in the public house, and as there was a pub on almost every corner, they were spoilt for choice.
‘Shall I visit the welfare officer tomorrow, Lily?’ Sister Therese asked the question she knew Lily was dreading having to answer. ‘I think these two will have to come into our care in the home at St Chad’s, but the welfare might have different ideas. What do you think? I won’t do it without you, but your mam, she lied to me. I popped out for the Angelus Mass and she told me she would stay with them both, but when I returned, she was gone. We can keep them until they are fourteen. You would have to remain here, or you could find lodgings. I will help you to do that. You have no life here, child. If we don’t do something, this will be it for you, for ever. I can see no way out.’
Lily buried her head in Sister Therese’s lap. In just one day it felt like she had lost everything.
13
Biddy was delighted to see that the bingo hall was only half full when she arrived.
‘I’m going to try and get there a bit early,’ she’d said to Elsie that morning at the hospital, when they’d stopped for a tea break. ‘I hate those new red shiny seats. My backside keeps slipping off. I can’t get meself up on to the flamin’ things.’
She purchased her bingo books and, stuffing them into her coat pocket, trotted over to the seat she hoped would still be vacant. It was Welsh Hattie’s seat, which made her want it even more. A grin of sheer pleasure slipped on to her face as she secured the coveted stool, even though it took three attempts to haul herself up on to it, putting one hand on the new high tables and her foot on the dazzlingly shiny chrome rest.
‘God in heaven, I deserve to win for this effort alone,’ she muttered as she undid the buttons on her coat, cursing herself. ‘Jesus, I should have took it off before I started the climb up.’ Out of breath, she turned round to see if Elsie had come in yet and almost fell off the stool as it swivelled round with her. She grabbed the table and swore. She decided to leave her coat on until Elsie arrived and could help her.
There was more than the bingo at stake tonight. Biddy had sent a nervous Elsie on a spying mission and she needed to know whether or not Elsie had been successful. ‘Keep your eye out for any letters or notes from Miss Van Gilder to Matron, or from Matron to her. You get to polish the desk every day, it shouldn’t be hard.’
Elsie had frowned. ‘But what if I get caught?’ And Biddy had felt her patience slipping away faster than her pay packet.
‘You won’t get caught, soft girl. Wait until Matron has gone on her rounds, or takes that vicious little dog of hers down to the park.’
Matron was nothing if not a creature of habit and every day at 1 p.m. exactly, whatever the weather, she took Blackie on his daily walk around the Lovely Lane Park. Blackie had a temper as dark as the colour of his coat. Nonetheless, Matron loved him like a child. He spent most of his time in a basket behind her desk and the only time he didn’t accompany her was on her morning and evening ward rounds.
Biddy knew Elsie would deliver. If she could have spent the time in Matron’s rooms herself, she would have, but that would have raised suspicions. Elsie being caught at Matron’s desk would need no explanation. Elsie had been Matron’s housekeeper for many years. She had polished the large oak desk every single day and was a valuable source of important information, but Biddy had never asked her to write anything down before. This deviation from the norm had spooked Elsie somewhat.
Biddy cast her eyes across to the ladies’ toilets. She would need to go soon. ‘Thank the Holy Mother for small mercies,’ she said as she slipped her hands below her rear and across the seat to make it look as though she was smoothing her coat beneath her. She was dry. She had Sister Haycock to thank for that and for forcing her to seek help. Sister Haycock had transformed her life. Before, she would never have made it at a trot from home to the bingo hall without having some kind of accident. She blessed herself. It was a miracle. Almost as much of a miracle as the fact that she was perched on one of the few shiny red plastic-covered stools not ripped across the middle and ready to snag at her stockings.
‘You’ll be in trouble on that stool,’ said a gentle voice from behind her. It was Doreen O’Prey, the clerk from casualty. This was her first week back at work since the attack, and tonight was her first time out. Her mam was with her.
‘I don’t give a monkey’s, Doreen. Hattie Lloyd can whistle. First here as far as I’m concerned. Where are you sitting, love?’ she asked in a kinder voice. ‘Amongst friends, I hope. Mind you, everyone here is your friend, Doreen, you don’t need to fret. Are you holding up, love?’
Doreen gave Biddy a look loaded with gratitude. ‘I am, thanks, Biddy. I’m expecting there will be some who won’t be able to help themselves. Best get it over and done with, eh? I’ve been long enough in ward two and indoors.’
‘Oi, you, what you doing on my seat? Give it back!’ Welsh Hattie squealed in her Swansea accent as she dashed through the door.
‘Get lost! Does it have your name written on the bottom?’ said Biddy in a tone few dared to challenge.
Elsie was just behind Hattie, handing over her shilling to the doorman and waving her hand in the air to signal to Biddy she was there. ‘Keep me a seat,’ she mouthed to Biddy as Hattie made for the stool next to Biddy.
Biddy placed her bag down on top of the vacant stool with a definitive thud and folded her arms, glaring at Hattie. Few women argued with Biddy. Hattie took the message with little grace and, pulling a face at Biddy, flounced off.
‘Please yerself,’ she threw over her shoulder as she made for the nearest empty seat. ‘You’re the hard-faced one, aren’t you,’ she said to Doreen as she stormed past. ‘I wouldn’t be showing me face around here for a while. And you, Biddy, you wonder why the Irish have a bad name in Liverpool. Very churlish behaviour, that is.’
Biddy snorted. ‘Well, if ye want to know why they call the Welsh dirty, take a look at yer kitchen floor when you get home, and wonder no more.’
Some of the women sitting around giggled and some told Biddy to hush. Others gestured to Doreen to come over and join them. The lights were dimming and the bingo caller stepped on to the stage to take his place. Bingo was a serious business. No distractions were tolerated, not even from Biddy.
The sound of handbags being clicked open and shut filled the hall. Woodbines, roll-ups, Swan Vesta matches, pens, spectacles, handkerchiefs and boiled sweets were being extracted and laid in the middle of the long tables, ready to begin.
The room smelt of damp wool and cigarette smoke as the wide old radiators pumped out the heat. The sound of the rain danced on the tin roof of the hall and against the windows and Biddy blessed herself and gave thanks for having made it in before the heavens opened. Elsie had not been quite so lucky.
‘Jesus, I thought I would never get here,’ said Elsie as she took off her headscarf and, shaking it,
sprayed rainwater all over Biddy. ‘Was that Hattie having a go at poor Doreen?’
‘It was. How did you guess?’
‘Oh, give me a break. When did that woman ever not seize the chance to be mean to someone? No, I knew it, the minute I saw Doreen. Hattie’s mouth must be dripping blood from the sharpness of her tongue.’
Elsie unclipped her handbag and began to mine her essential possessions for her regular Monday night of entertainment. All the women who worked at the hospital spent two evenings a week at the bingo, Mondays and Thursdays. The addicted, and there were many, travelled on the bus to Everton on a Friday and, away from the priest’s prying eyes, to the Dingle on a Sunday night too.
Biddy looked over to see where Doreen had settled. ‘Ah, that’s a stroke of luck,’ she said. ‘She’s sitting with Maisie Tanner and the crowd from Arthur Street. They’ll take good care of her.’
Elsie looked up and waved to Maisie. ‘Her Pammy’s going to be on casualty soon, she’ll be working with Doreen now she’s back. She’s a brave girl, after what she’s been through.’ A hint of sadness had slipped into Elsie’s voice and Biddy detected it immediately. Elsie had had her own problems with her Martha before she’d married Jake and the worry had taken its toll.
‘Don’t be fretting, Elsie,’ Biddy said in a no-nonsense tone. ‘Your Martha is the happiest girl around here now and maybe Doreen will be one day too. It’s all in the past. Doreen is a brave girl, she’s moving on and isn’t that tough to do with the likes of Hattie Lloyd sniping at your back? But she’s no braver than your Martha. She’s had her trials too and it all worked out for her.’
Elsie sighed and, nodding her agreement but making no further comment, continued to extract her bingo paraphernalia from her bag.
Biddy watched as Elsie’s belongings began to fill the table. Along with the usual accoutrements of the game, Elsie took out her lucky leprechaun from Galway, her lucky pencil, which had been blessed by the priest back home, a brown paper bag of broken biscuits – ‘in case we get a bit peckish; never like to be without food’ – a penknife in a leather sheaf in case her pencil lead snapped, and her Bible.
The Children of Lovely Lane Page 18
