The Women of Lilac Street

by Annie Murray

  ‘You might catch it,’ he said, anxious. ‘They said I should never’ve stayed near you all . . .’

  ‘It’s a bit late to worry about that,’ Jen said. ‘Everyone’s all right. Go on, give us a kiss.’ She touched his lips with her own. ‘Don’t know if we’re s’posed to do that in here,’ she said afterwards, perching on the chair.

  ‘Never mind that, kid – how are yer? How’s the little ’uns?’

  ‘They’re all right – all of ’em – even this little so-and-so!’ She pointed at her belly. ‘She ain’t half giving me the runaround though.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘I’m always more bad with the girls.’

  ‘Still sick, are yer?’ he said tenderly.

  ‘Sick as a dog.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘Mom thinks it might be twins. All your cowing fault, you devil, you!’

  ‘No!’ Tommy grinned sheepishly. ‘Twins – that’d be summat. Soon have my football team, eh?’

  She wanted to take his hand but felt embarrassed to, in here. But then she took it anyway. It was so thin and dry. She held it gently.

  ‘Any road – we’re all all right and our mom’s keeping us in order.’

  Tommy rolled his eyes. ‘As usual.’

  ‘What’ve they said – how are you? How long’re they going to keep you in ’ere?’

  His face fell. ‘Well, that’s the thing – they’re talking about months. Could be quite a stretch. I keep telling them, I need to get home and keep my family. I can’t be apart from you and all of them lot that long.’

  Jen tried not to show the lurch of dread that his words had given her inside. Months! Surely that couldn’t be right. They couldn’t do without him all that long.

  ‘They said you nearly died.’

  ‘Ar, so they did.’ His grin was back. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you ’ear, kid.’

  ‘You’ve been very poorly, Tommy.’

  ‘I’m getting better as fast as I can.’ His face clouded and he reached for her hand. ‘I miss you like mad. It feels all wrong in here – though I’ve not a lot to complain about, ’cept being away from you.’

  They spent the rest of the time catching up on the children and how things were in the hospital, and then Jen had to go out into the wet and make her way home.

  At least he was in good hands, she thought, waiting at the bus stop. It was terrible, him being away – like a prison sentence. But at least he was still alive. God knew, it could be worse. Somehow, in the meantime, they were going to have to manage. She felt desperate and ashamed that her old mom, who had struggled most of her life, had now gone back to beg a job at one of the factories where she’d collared for years. It was all wrong. She and Tommy ought to be keeping her in her old age. She wanted to stop her, but she knew the wages would be a godsend.

  Much as her mother’s interfering irritated Jen, she had a burning pride in her spirit. She wasn’t going to have her family fall into the clutches of the parish, whatever it took to keep them above water. Jen had to admit, that old lady was determined.

  Twenty-Three

  Rose waited for her visitors that Sunday afternoon in a complete nervous flutter. It had been bad enough waiting for Harry to go out. The weather was cold and showery and she had been terrified that he would change his mind and decide that an afternoon sitting by a bleak stretch of water was not what he wanted.

  But Harry loved the outdoors and nothing would keep him from fishing except inches of solid ice.

  ‘Tararabit,’ he said, heading off as soon as dinner was finished. ‘See yer later.’

  From the window she watched him disappear, his strong legs pushing eagerly down on the pedals. Saturdays, fishing or football and the pub; Sundays, fishing. They didn’t see very much of each other really. She watched him with a pang. I loved him once, she thought. I’m sure I did. Or I thought I did. But the tension eased out of her. He’d gone – the afternoon was clear!

  She was expecting Arthur King at three, but she knew the little girls would be along before then. Aggie had said that for once her brother John was taking the others to Sunday school. Rose realized that Jen Green didn’t mind whether her children were in the hands of the church or a neighbour as long as they were out of her way for a bit. She was glad to be able to do Jen a favour, even though she could be a bit brusque, and at the same time, she hoped Arthur would be reassured by the children being there. She didn’t want him to think her a fast, desperate widow. And, truth to tell, she knew Aggie and May would help keep Lily occupied so that she could fix her attention on him.

  She had baked a sponge, filled it with jam and dusted the top with sugar. It had risen well and she was pleased with it. She set out her cups and saucers on a tray. In the front parlour she lit the fire and laid the little side table with one of her embroidered cloths. Then she went upstairs to see to her hair. How strange it was, getting ready to greet a blind person. She still had to look right in her own eyes even if Arthur could not see her. She had on a soft blue woollen skirt and a white blouse and cherry-red cardigan. Turning this way and that in front of the mirror, she knew she looked nice. Catching herself out, she told herself, You’re a married woman – he’s a friend, that’s all. But he thought she was a widow . . .

  By two o’clock there was a little scrabbling knock at the door. As usual the two little girls appeared bashful, Aggie especially. The child looked thin, she thought. She must be missing her father. And she was still wearing those awful cut-off boots. Oh, how horrible and ugly they were. Rose’s heart went out to her. Surely something better than that could be done? Rose greeted them kindly.

  ‘Mrs Southgate,’ Aggie asked, ‘Babs says is it all right if she comes up here for a bit too? Her mom said she could today.’

  Rose hesitated. Why not? All the more company for Lily and it wouldn’t make any difference. And she was fond of Babs with her toothy smile and lively ways.

  ‘Go on then – you can leave May here – run and tell her.’

  The two friends were soon back and Rose was glad to see them giggling together as she opened the door. She managed to stop herself saying, ‘Whatever have you got on?’ to the child.

  Having no sisters, Babs often had odd hand-me-downs from her brothers and today she was wearing a skirt that had obviously been fashioned out of a pair of boys’ flannel trousers with the legs cut off. Dulcie Skinner wasn’t the handiest of needlewomen either and there was something cock-eyed about the whole thing. Had it not been that afternoon, of all days, Rose might have been tempted to get it off the child and alter it for her.

  The four little girls settled down to play with some wooden bricks. Rose noticed that Aggie had taken off her ugly boots and pushed them under a chair. The wait seemed long and Rose grew more and more nervous. The fire was burning well now in the front parlour and the room was warm and cosy. Everything was spick and span and as she wanted it.

  She had a fit of panic about one of the girls mentioning Harry, so she said suddenly to Lily, ‘Your dad’s out fishing – he won’t be back till quite late.’

  Lily looked up at her with a frown.

  ‘Just in case you were wondering,’ Rose said, and subsided into her nerves again.

  At last she heard a knock.

  ‘I wonder who that can be?’ she exclaimed.

  He was already holding his hat when she opened the door but it was raining and his curls, a little longer than when she had last seen him, were already spotted with drops.

  ‘Oh, come in,’ she said. ‘Don’t you have an umbrella?’ She stepped out into the dull grey afternoon and took his arm.

  ‘Well, if I do, I can’t find it,’ he said as they stepped inside. ‘Of course I try and keep everything exactly in place so I know where to find it, but if I mislay it – well, there’s not much hope. And no one to ask except my landlady – but on a Sunday afternoon I didn’t like to disturb her. Oh, hello – do we have company?’

  He had felt rather than heard that there were others in the
room.

  ‘Some children from up the road – company for Lily,’ Rose said, taking his coat. She looked at Lily. Remember, her eyes said. There had been several conversations. It’s just better if you don’t ever, ever mention to your father that Mr King has been round, all right, dear? Just better that way.

  She installed him in the most comfortable chair near the fire and went to make tea. She heard him say to Lily, ‘So – have you begun your piano lessons yet?’

  Lily must have nodded. Piano lessons were another thing she was not allowed to mention. It just makes Daddy cross. I don’t know why but that’s how it is. So don’t talk about it in front of him, will you, love?

  She served the tea from the little side table and cut cake for Arthur King and the children.

  ‘It’s suddenly gone very quiet!’ Arthur said, laughing, after she handed the plates round. ‘Mouths all full, I presume?’

  The children chewed and stared but as soon as the cake was finished they went back to their play. Rose and Arthur chatted. She had been surprised, the first time he came, to discover that he lived alone. She had thought that, being unable to see, he must still live with his family. She wondered how he managed. He had a room in Oldfield Road, not too far from the factory, he said. That was what made life easiest.

  ‘Is your landlady nice?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes – not bad at all,’ he said. Rose thought that any landlady would have her heart melted by Arthur. ‘She’s a decent sort. She’ll help me sometimes, with a few extras like, reading the odd letter to me or where have I put my umbrella. But as I say I didn’t want to interrupt her Sunday nap.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ Rose said. ‘Some of them can be proper old tartars.’

  ‘So I gather – I’ve never been in digs before. Not here anyway . . .’ He hesitated. ‘One or two French places – we sometimes put up in a pension if we were on leave. They were a mixed bag.’

  ‘Must be nice, France,’ she said, unthinking.

  ‘In the right circumstances, yes.’

  ‘Oh –’ She blushed, mortified. ‘I’m sorry – what a silly thing to say.’

  ‘It’s all right. You’re right – it is nice. I’d have liked to see it in peacetime, you know, travel round, especially the south. But now – well, there’s not a lot of point.’ There was an edge of bitterness to his voice, well controlled, but still present. ‘Still – no good feeling sorry for myself. I’ve seen a lot worse – before, I mean.’

  Rose glanced at the children. They were happily absorbed, Babs leading the way, building a tower of bricks, chattering nineteen to the dozen.

  ‘Was it gas?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘My eyes? Oh – no! No, the injuries from some of the gas attacks – well, you wouldn’t even want to survive, I tell you. That’s what I always thought, anyway. Utterly terrible – much worse than this. I was too close to a shell that went off. It blew a whole lot of rubbish into my eyes – shrapnel, grit – I don’t really know but the light went out. And stayed out. I was barely conscious for a long time and when I really came round – well, I’ve never been able to see since.’

  ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Well – me too. But there we are. I had a lot of help. St Dunstan’s, bless them. I was sent to Brighton for a good while for rehabilitation as they call it. And it was they who saw to it that I got my training. They’re quite wonderful.’

  ‘They sound it,’ Rose said. There was a pause, before she added, ‘Would you like some more tea?’

  ‘That’d be lovely – and how about some music?’

  She had got up and was saying, ‘That would be lovely too!’ when there was another knock at the door.

  Rose actually jumped, clattering the cup and nearly spilling tea all over the tray. Surely to God that wasn’t Harry home? Sense told her that he would never knock.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, flustered. ‘It sounds as if we have another visitor.’

  It was Muriel Wood. Rose felt she had to invite her in, and in a moment Muriel had joined them, bringing in a rush of fresh air and her plain, kindly self in her old winter hat and coat. With her was her little boy, Oliver, who went over rather cautiously and sat with the girls. Babs was soon bossing him about.

  Rose took her coat, then introduced them – Muriel, a friend from church; Mr Arthur King, who tuned the piano for us. ‘Do sit down, Muriel,’ she said. ‘I’ll top up the pot.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go to any trouble, dear – we were just passing and your window looked so warm and cosy we thought we’d call.’ She gave her little laugh and said to Arthur King, ‘Rose keeps such a lovely house. I do believe it’s a gift.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said.

  In the kitchen Rose was gritting her teeth. She was fond of Muriel, but why, of all days, did she have to come today?

  By the time she returned with the pot they were talking about music and how Muriel was teaching Lily.

  ‘I know she’s very young,’ Muriel said, ‘but I tend to think the younger the better. After all, look at Mozart!’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he was agreeing. ‘It starts to get them used to it. I believe I was her age when I first had lessons.’

  Off they went, and Rose could do nothing but listen. After a while, Arthur clearly wanted to involve her and he leaned forward a little as if to identify exactly where she was.

  ‘It’s very interesting, this area of town, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s all built over now, but it’s odd to think that only a hundred years ago – well, a hundred and thirty or so, where we are now was right at the edge of Joseph Priestley’s estate. It was between Priestley Road and Larches Street.’

  ‘So it was,’ Muriel said.

  ‘He had a laboratory there, didn’t he?’ Rose said. ‘He was one of those Lunar Society people.’ She thanked heaven, silently, for Professor Mount, who had told her about Priestley, about his house being burned to the ground because people didn’t like his new notions.

  ‘He did,’ Arthur said. ‘He was a very impressive person – one of those who can take on so many different ideas.’

  ‘Extraordinary how much change there’s been since then, isn’t it?’ Muriel said. ‘If you think, this was just fields, mostly.’ She was pink from the firelight and from being in company. But Rose couldn’t help still wishing that she hadn’t come, though she was ashamed of this thought. Muriel was so good and kind. And it was nice to have an interesting conversation. But she noticed, uncomfortably, that Muriel Wood and Arthur King must be about the same age. And Muriel really was a widow . . . Rose found herself thinking unworthy thoughts. But look at her – she’s so plain. Almost without realizing it, Rose had been used to being usually the prettiest woman in any room. If he could only see me . . . But then Arthur King could not see how pretty she was – or for that matter how plain Muriel was. It was a strange feeling.

  ‘Arthur said he would play something for us,’ she said, trying to chase away these shameful thoughts.

  ‘How about a song?’ he said. ‘Do any of you fancy singing? So that I don’t have to perform on my own?’

  Seeing him move to the piano, all the children got up and gathered round, looking up at the adults and waiting for something to happen.

  ‘I expect you know this one . . .’ He started to play ‘The Ash Grove’.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Muriel said. ‘How lovely – my father was Welsh.’

  Rose knew it as well and they both joined in singing. Arthur played easily, fluently. Muriel was tuneful enough, though her voice was a bit thin, but Rose felt hers soar into the high second verse:

  ’Twas there while the blackbird was joyfully singing

  I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart,

  Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing

  Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.

  She smiled down at Aggie’s eager face and Babs’s mischievous one, trying not to show how affected she was by the sight of Arthur, by the back of his slim ne
ck as he played, by the lovely words. They played it again and got the children to join in as best they could. Muriel’s little boy Oliver had the makings of a lovely voice.

  Arthur played more songs and time rushed by, until Muriel said, ‘Heavens, I’m supposed to be at evensong – I must fly! Come along, Oliver!’

  Rose jolted back to the present. What was the time? It was certainly almost dark. Harry must be on his way back.

  She said goodbye to Muriel and Oliver and the other children thanked her and trickled off along the street in different directions.

  ‘I must go,’ Arthur said. ‘Or I’ll have overstayed my welcome.’

  ‘No – not at all,’ Rose said, meaning it with every fibre of her but on tenterhooks now in case Harry were to turn up. ‘But I do have to see to Lily. It’s been so nice . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘More than nice.’ He paused. ‘You have a lovely singing voice—’ She made to protest, but he said. ‘No – you do. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No – not really.’

  There was a pause, as he stood at a loss and she was about to move and get his coat.

  ‘Damn it,’ he said, with such force that she jumped. ‘I do wish I could see you.’

  Her heart pounded. ‘It must be . . . Well, it must be awful.’

  ‘It is. It’s damnable.’ He paused, as if unsure whether to go on. When he did it came out in a rush. ‘The thing is, Rose – it’s lonely. I’ve got my mother and father – not too far away, and my sister’s in Wolverhampton, a few male friends. But most people don’t want to know. They’re embarrassed, or – I don’t know what it is. I’m a cripple as far as they’re concerned . . .’

  His face was full of tender emotion. Awkwardly, he stretched out a hand into the darkness in front of him. Rose reached forward and took it. She saw something pass across his face, a moment of wonder.

  ‘Will you come and see me again?’ she said. I’m lonely too, she wanted to say.

  ‘If I may. D’you know – you’re lovely, Rose. That’s all I can say.’