The Women of Lilac Street

by Annie Murray

  ‘Sit yourselves down,’ Freda Adams chivvied them. ‘You’re not a gang of navvies.’

  There were only four chairs so they made do with a stool and a couple of orange boxes when extra were needed.

  ‘Where’s our mom?’ Silas asked, wide-eyed.

  Nanny Adams ran one of her gnarled fingers over his round cheek, her watery eyes affectionate.

  ‘Yer mother’s feeling bad,’ Nanna told him.

  ‘Are we getting a new brother or sister?’ Ann asked solemnly.

  But then they heard a door open, feet on the stairs, Dad coughing, then spitting up, halfway down the stairs. He always had a rag with him for the purpose. Surprised, they all turned to the door. Dad had been confined to bed for more than a fortnight. They had not been expecting to see him up. When his emaciated figure appeared, he was dressed to go out, his belt pulled as tight as it could go and knotted.

  ‘Dad!’ John said happily.

  ‘Son . . .’ they heard him whisper, then coughing folded him over.

  Aggie and the others watched as, walking stooped over as if it hurt him to stand upright, he crossed the floor in his socks, toes and heels poking through like potatoes, and waved John off his chair so that he could sit. He took a heaving breath, going red in the face with trying not to cough again.

  He was a wiry, undernourished-looking man at the best of times, but now his usually amiable face was sunken in, the cheekbones standing out sharply. They could see his collarbones standing out through the neck of his shirt. His dark, usually wayward hair lay greasy and lank against his head and a sour smell came from him. He stretched his back, put his head back and gasped, ‘Oh, God!’

  ‘You better, Dad?’ John asked hopefully.

  Tommy let out a sound which curdled somewhere between a laugh and a groan. ‘Do I sound better, son?’ His face was deathly pale, though there were hectic pink patches on his cheeks.

  No one knew what to say. Silas went up to him, hungering for his company. No one could resist dark-eyed, beautiful Silas.

  ‘Ey up, feller – what’s this, eh?’

  Tommy leaned to him and put his fist to Silas’s nose, pretending to pluck it off. He poked his thumb out between two fingers. ‘Look – got yer nose!’

  It caught Silas out every time and startled, he put his hand up to check. The others laughed happily, even though it was an ancient joke. But Aggie had gone all tight inside. Dad looked shockingly poorly. She was frightened by the noise his chest was making.

  ‘It’s all right, son,’ Tommy grinned, ruffling Silas’s hair. ‘Don’t fret. It’s still on yer face. John, son – fetch us me Woodies, will yer?’

  Tommy’s hands shook as he struck a match. He inhaled, then coughed until tears ran down his face.

  Aggie watched. Everything felt wrong.

  Her father took another drag, then sat back, seeming happier.

  ‘Ah – that’s the ticket.’

  ‘Come on,’ Aggie urged the others, sharp with them. ‘We gotta go.’

  ‘I’d best get off myself,’ Tommy said. Talking made him heave, trying not to cough.

  ‘You going out, Dad?’ John asked.

  ‘Tommy?’ Freda Adams said, horrified. ‘You can’t – not in that state . . .’ But he waved her away.

  They could all see that this was wrong, but he wasn’t having any argument.

  ‘I’ll take the barrer out for a bit. Your mother’s bad today. Someone’s got to bring in a bob or two.’

  ‘I can’t stop yer, Tommy Green,’ Nanna said quietly, her eyes burning with concern. ‘But I never thought I’d call you a fool.’

  Ignoring her, he stubbed out his cigarette and struggled out to the back to get his barrow of cooper’s hoops and tools. As Aggie chivvied the others out of the front door for school, they could hear him coughing in the yard.

  Aggie was full of a sick dread. She’d never seen Dad look that bad before. But in seconds she was distracted by the sight of her friend Babs tearing along the road from the Mansions, dark plaits bouncing as she ran and her brothers straggling somewhere behind. A grin spread over Aggie’s face.

  ‘’Ello, gingers!’ Babs called out, seeing them coming out of the house. ‘Oh – and Silas! Hey, Aggie –’ She seized her friend’s arm. ‘I thought you was coming up ours to get me!’

  ‘I never had time,’ Aggie said as they all set off together, dodging brooms when some of the housewives swept off their bit of pavement into the gutter. Others were already out scrubbing their front steps, gossip puffing out white from their lips in the cold. Irene Best smiled at Aggie and Babs as they passed.

  ‘Never mind,’ Babs said easily, then shrieked, ‘Ow! There’s summat sticking in me foot!’

  She bent, tapering brown plaits falling forward as she pulled a tack from the sole of her shoe. ‘Cor – look at that. No wonder that hurt! Look – my toe’s bleeding.’

  One of her bigger brothers, Freddie, caught them up and gave Babs a teasing shove which sent her sprawling on her side and then ran off laughing, calling, ‘What’re you looking for down there, Babs?’

  ‘Oi!’ Babs leapt up, furious. ‘I’ll get you later, Freddie, you stupid pig!’ She got up, cursing at the graze on her leg, then grinned. ‘When school’s out, I’m gonna go and find something disgusting and put it down his neck!’

  They were both straightening up, giggling, when they saw two of the Taylor sisters coming along the road, walking heads lowered and close together, almost as if they were trying to keep each other warm. They were wearing matching coats, one in grey, one dark brown.

  As they passed the two little girls, one of the Taylors raised her head and said rudely, ‘What’re you staring at? It’s rude to stare.’ When they didn’t reply she added nastily, ‘Cat got your tongue, has it?’

  Aggie and Babs waited until they’d gone by then stuck their tongues out.

  ‘Mardy cow,’ Babs said, limping along. ‘Which one was that? They all look the same to me.’

  ‘That was Rachel.’ Aggie looped her arm through Babs’s again, relieved to see that her own brothers and sisters had gone on ahead. ‘Rachel’s the one with the spot on her face – you know, a mole thingy.’

  ‘But they’ve both got a mole,’ Babs said.

  ‘No, they ain’t.’

  ‘They have – I saw!’

  ‘You’re seeing things.’

  ‘I swear. The other one . . .’

  ‘Dolly . . .’

  ‘Dolly, if that was Dolly. What’s the other one called?’

  ‘Susanna.’

  ‘Well, whichever it was, she’s got one.’

  Aggie didn’t argue. She was a spy – it was her business to know things and she knew perfectly well that Dolly Taylor had no mole on her cheek.

  ‘So – are you coming to play out later?’ Babs asked as they went in through the school gates. She was a sunny girl, always thinking about the next thing to look forward to.

  Aggie’s spirits lifted. Maybe Mom would be up when she got back and Dad would get better today and everything would be all right.

  She nodded eagerly. ‘Yeah – all right.’

  Jen Green dragged herself into a sitting position. Her abdomen lurched inside with nausea and the back of her head was pounding. A second later she reached for the bowl by the bed and vomited a bilious stream into it, then sat panting, holding her throbbing head. She hadn’t the strength at that moment to get out of bed.

  Thank God Aggie and some of the others were old enough to see to a few things now. And, she reluctantly had to admit, she wouldn’t get far without her mother these days. She owed her. A tower of strength she was really, Mom, even if they did clash at times. Somehow between them they’d have to get everything done.

  She felt guilty that she had scarcely noticed Tommy getting up. He’d coughed and drenched the bed in sweat beside her all night but all she’d heard this morning were a few creaks of the floorboards, she was that far gone. Where the hell had he gone to? Perhaps he couldn’t stand lyi
ng in bed any more and had gone to sit downstairs.

  As she turned to put the bowl down on the bed, a jolt of shock went through her. Along the old, greyish slip on Tommy’s pillow, there were streaks of red-stained phlegm.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ It was like being punched. Her heart was pounding. The shock made her feel stronger and she climbed out of bed on unsteady legs.

  Everyone knew what coughing up blood meant. That was it, she thought, her heart pounding. She was going to go and see Dr Hill and talk to him, whatever Tommy said. She was too frightened to go on without help. But she sank back on to the bed for a moment. She felt too weak to make it downstairs, never mind along to wait in the surgery.

  Jen had managed to start getting dressed when she heard her mother call from the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Jen? You up? Tommy’s out. He never should’ve gone . . .’

  ‘I’ll be down in a tick,’ she called.

  As she stood upright, another wave of nausea passed through her and she bent over the bed until it passed. It was days since she’d kept anything much down. She was so weak that the thought of even moving out of the room felt like climbing a mountain. But it had to be done. She stood up and forced herself.

  When Jen got downstairs, her mother was stoking up the range in the cramped back room, in her old black dress and boots. Freda had a way of standing, getting her feet firmly planted a distance apart as if she was about to tackle a heavy job like digging a pit in the ground. Thus anchored, she was a strong woman who could manage a range of tasks with her gnarled hands so long as she was not required to move far or fast from that spot. So wielding the coal scuttle was well within her compass, but bringing coal up from the cellar was not.

  ‘Well, you look like death,’ she observed as Jen came in. ‘D’you think it might be twins?’

  ‘Oh – don’t say that!’ Jen moaned, sinking on to a chair. ‘That really would be the death of me. I feel half dead now!’

  ‘Only, of all the ones I’ve known to carry more than one . . . Let’s see now, Maggie Edmunds and that other wench, now what was her . . .? Doesn’t matter . . . Ooh, no – that were triplets, come to think of it! Any’ow –’ She poked the coal vigorously for a moment. ‘Both of them were sick as dogs at the beginning . . .’

  ‘Mom, don’t,’ Jen groaned. She didn’t even have the energy to get cross. ‘Pass us a bit of that bread. I’ll see if I can keep anything down.’

  Jen started to nibble the bread. Her mother made tea.

  ‘Where’s Tommy gone?’ Jen asked anxiously.

  Freda Adams peered out into the yard. ‘His barrer’s gone.’

  Jen kept quiet. Her innards felt horribly unstable.

  ‘What about the dinners, then?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing in,’ Jen said faintly. ‘I just don’t think I can get down there, not in this state.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ her mother said.

  ‘No, Mom! I don’t want you having to carry all that back.’

  ‘Get one of the neighbours to go for yer,’ Freda said. ‘They’ll help you out. We’ve got a few spuds already – I’ll get going on them.’

  Jen wrapped her old black shawl round her and shuffled over to gather her pennies. She felt like an old woman. What would she do without neighbours? But who could she catch to ask? Dulcie was too far away. Going to the front she stood with the door open a crack to look out.

  First of all, she saw Dorrie Davis coming along, bony and ramrod straight with her sour, gossip’s face. Dorrie’s gossip wasn’t the sort of general interest in the human circus that makes the world go round; it was sheer, probing malice. Jen closed until Dorrie had passed, then cautiously peeped out again. Mrs Taylor loomed into view. She shut the door again. For all her religious airs she wasn’t the sort to do you a favour: Phyllis Taylor looked after her own and sod everyone else. On the third attempt she was met by a much more appealing sight: Rose Southgate with her little girl. Jen hesitated. She was shy of Rose. The young woman was so pretty and nicely dressed that Jen felt rough and awkward beside her. She’d moved to the street about a year ago but Jen had never got to know her very well – didn’t think she was her sort. But she knew nothing bad about her and she was kind to Aggie . . .

  ‘’Ere!’ Jen called to her. ‘Can you come ’ere a mo’, bab?’

  Rose stopped and looked round, startled. Lily pointed. ‘There – that lady . . .’ But still she hesitated.

  ‘Yes, you – can you come over?’

  Rose Southgate, to Jen’s surprise, seemed quite eager and came to her door smiling. Jen thought how lovely and fresh-faced she was, and that blonde hair was a picture.

  ‘Hello,’ Rose said. ‘I didn’t know you meant me to start with. Did you want something? Oh, dear, you do look poorly.’

  ‘It’s a cheek, I know,’ Jen said. ‘But . . .’ Dizzy, suddenly, she leaned against the door frame.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Rose said again. Jen thought how nice she was. There were no airs about her.

  ‘I . . . It’s . . .’ But she really was feeling very queer. ‘Can you come in a minute?’

  The only thing to sit on was the old sofa with its tufts of horsehair sticking out and she collapsed on to it. She indicated that Rose and Lily should sit. Jen leaned over, too nauseous to worry what her visitor thought.

  ‘Mom!’ she called weakly, feeling she couldn’t get another word out.

  Nanny Adams limped through from the back, wiping her hands on a rag. She nodded at Rose, who gave another lovely smile.

  ‘Tell Mrs Southgate what we need, will yer,’ Jen said, half fainting.

  ‘She seems terribly ill,’ Rose said anxiously. ‘Should you call a doctor?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no call for that – it’s just another ’un on the way,’ Freda Adams told her. ‘She’s specially bad with it this time. Get your head down, bab, that’s it.’

  She explained about the groceries required and Rose said she’d be glad to help and would be back as soon as she could.

  When she returned with the bag of food, Jen was looking a little more lively.

  ‘You poor thing,’ Rose said as they paid her for the goods. ‘I hope you’ll feel better soon.’

  She said it with such genuine concern that Jen looked up at her and managed a faint smile. ‘Ta. Well, there’s one thing for sure. It’ll be over in a few months.’

  Rose laughed sympathetically. ‘I was a bit sick with Lily,’ she said.

  ‘While you was out,’ Jen said, ‘you dain’t see my . . .’ She had been about to say ‘old man’, but corrected herself. ‘. . . my husband about, did yer?’

  ‘Oh – yes,’ Rose remembered. ‘I did. He was coming along Turner Street – just by the corner. Did you want him? We could probably go and find him if you like? Couldn’t we, Lily?’

  The little girl looked at her with huge blue eyes and nodded.

  ‘Oh, no – you’re all right. I just wondered whereabouts he’d got to, that’s all,’ Jen said, relieved. She thanked Rose again and Rose said if she ever needed any help she should just knock.

  When she’d gone, Freda Adams said, ‘Well, they’re a lovely-looking pair, ain’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jen said. ‘She’s nice enough.’ But she had been warmed by Rose, cheered somehow, especially as she’d seen Tommy in one piece. ‘Any road – sitting ’ere canting won’t get the dinners done.’

  Eleven

  ‘Everyone’s staring at us, Mom, I know they are,’ Rachel complained, glaring across the table at Dolly. ‘This is your fault. Now we all have to suffer!’

  Dolly stared mutinously at her plate, feeling as if she was going to explode. But she was feeling queasy and, in any case, knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on. The worst thing of all was knowing she was going to have to eat humble pie for ever now.

  They had closed the curtains at the front again even though they were all round the table in the kitchen, the dim lamplight only illuminating the bare essentials of their faces, the rest in shadow. />
  ‘Don’t talk daft, Rachel,’ their mother snapped. She stood over the table, slamming plates down in front of them. ‘Why should they be staring? There’s nothing to see, is there?’

  ‘That Mrs Davis just stopped and gawped at us when we went down the road this morning,’ Rachel said, prodding at the ox liver on her plate with distaste. ‘Even the kids – those redheads, Aggie and that, they stared at us as if we’d grown two heads!’

  Phyllis sat down, still an imposing, matriarchal figure at the head of the table.

  ‘I think we should remember to give thanks to the Lord,’ Charles said in a stiff voice, as if it pained him now to be there at all.

  Thanks? Dolly was about to argue. What the hell do I have to give thanks for?

  ‘Quite right,’ Mom agreed, shooting her a look.

  ‘We need all the help we can get,’ Rachel muttered.

  Susanna dug her in the ribs.

  Dolly lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, her rage turned this time on her brother. Would you believe it? Couldn’t he, just for once, say something that wasn’t religious and stupid?

  They all put their knives and forks down and shut up for the ‘what we are about to receive’s, though all except Charles appearing less thankful than it had just been requested they might be. Dolly couldn’t hold back any longer.

  ‘I’m never going to get a job!’ she burst out emotionally, once they had started the meal. ‘Not in this state. I’m never going to be able to do anything ever again!’

  ‘Don’t talk silly – of course you are,’ her mother said. ‘Just ’cause Mrs Dunne doesn’t want anyone else . . .’ Dolly had been with Rachel that morning, pale and sick, to see if by any chance the milliner might take on another assistant. The answer was no. She felt sure by the way the woman looked at her that she had guessed her shame. That it was written all over her.

  ‘You can go with Susanna tomorrow,’ Phyllis said.

  ‘They won’t have her,’ Susanna said. ‘I know they won’t.’ Susanna was courting with a nice young manager called David Kay, in the curtain material department. Dolly knew that the last thing she wanted was a disgraced sister trespassing on her territory. ‘She should go in a factory where no one’ll know her.’