The Women of Lilac Street

by Annie Murray

  ‘Some pal of the old man’s – had a few going spare. Ask no questions like.’ Harry grinned, tapping his nose. ‘Nice, eh? Shall us have it tonight?’

  Rose shrugged. ‘It’ll take a long while to cook – it’s a bit late . . .’

  ‘Well? We can’t save it for long or it’ll walk off on its own. Let’s get it in the stove – it’s only five o’clock and it’ll be done in a couple of hours.’

  She seemed to have no energy, her limbs and voice no force. ‘All right, then,’ she agreed.

  At her lack of enthusiasm, Harry’s temper switched.

  ‘What the hell’s the matter with you now, yer mardy cow?’

  ‘Harry!’ she protested. ‘Lily’s here . . .’

  But he was livid, spoiling for a fight. ‘You’ve done nothing but mope about for the past week, face as long as Livery Street and not a word for any of us. There ain’t no pleasing you, wench. You’re no sort of wife, you ain’t – you can’t even put a smile on yer face when I come in through the door. I’ve been collarin’ all day and what do I get? You, you miserable bint!’

  ‘Harry!’

  ‘Don’t “Harry” me!’ He came up close and Rose saw Lily run out of the room. They heard her feet on the stairs.

  ‘You’re no good in the bed and you’re no good out of it neither – I’ve had about enough of it.’ He came round the table so that she was trapped, her pelvis forced painfully up against the range. Rose was taken aback by the sheer speed and force of his change of mood. He took her face in one hand and squeezed painfully.

  ‘I should never’ve married such a pretty bitch – I knew there’d be a drawback.’ He squeezed harder, pressing his groin against her.

  ‘Ow – that hurts, Harry!’ She pulled at his arm, twisting her head to try and get away from him. She managed to free her face from his grasp but he still had her pinned. Her own temper rose to boiling point. ‘Get away from me – don’t you dare touch me like that!’

  ‘Touch you!’ He brought his face right up to hers. His breath was a blast of stale cigarettes and onions. ‘Why shouldn’t I touch you? You’re my wife, or supposed to be! I’ve got my rights, you know. I’ve got the right to you – not this half-and-half wishy-washy offering I get. Rights – that’s what!’

  She looked aghast at him. Who had he been talking to? Had he been complaining to other men about their most intimate life? What was all this sudden talk about rights? It took the wind out of her sails. Not only was she trapped with him now, for life, but he had it in his head suddenly that there was no holding back. He had rights to anything.

  ‘Get off me,’ she said quietly, her voice full of venom.

  ‘Get off yer!’ He mocked. ‘That’s all I ever sodding well do – just when I want more. You’re a cold bitch, you are. I wish I’d married someone with a bit of fire, a bit of summat for me! I wish I’d never married you!’

  ‘Well, that makes two of us,’ she cried, hating him with a force that swelled in her, and he could see it. Grimacing, he drew back his hand, slashing it across her face, back and forth several times, stunning, stinging blows, until she was limp at the knees, sliding to the floor, hands shielding her face. She pulled her knees up and buried her face in them, arms over her head to fend off more blows. She could tell her face was bleeding. Harry stood over her.

  ‘Ah, you stupid, useless bitch,’ he said contemptuously. He stood over her. ‘I should finish you off for good, that’s what.’

  She heard him go out again, then the slam of the back door.

  June 1925

  Forty-Four

  ‘Go on, Silas.’ Aggie stood on the step with her hands on her hips like a miniature mother, watching as Silas trotted along trying to catch up. ‘John – wait for ’im!’ she yelled furiously.

  Mom had made her stay off school today and she never really trusted John to get the others there on time and in one piece. She was about to shout after John again when she heard another voice.

  ‘Aggie! Aggie!’

  Lily came running along from her house. Even though she only lived two doors away, Aggie knew that Mrs Southgate hardly ever let Lily out on her own.

  ‘What’s the matter, Lily?’ Aggie bent over her kindly.

  Lily’s pretty face was pale and she looked upset, but she was not tearful. There was something tight and mutinous in her expression.

  ‘Mom wants you.’ She pulled on Aggie’s hand. ‘Come quick.’

  At number fifteen, Aggie found the door open a crack. Lily pushed it wide and dragged her inside. To Aggie’s surprise, Mrs Southgate was standing in the front room as if she was waiting for her. Aggie froze, shocked. The left side of Mrs Southgate’s face was all mauve and swollen and she could hardly open her eye. There were other signs of bruises and cuts on her face as well. She stood frantically rubbing her hands together as if she was washing them over and over again.

  ‘Aggie . . .’ There was a tremor in her voice. ‘I wanted to ask you if you could take a message for me later, please – when you get back from school? I can’t go,’ she added faintly. ‘Not like this . . .’

  Aggie’s heart was pounding. Mrs Southgate looked terrible! Whatever had happened? She knew instinctively that it was Mr Southgate who had done it to her.

  ‘I ain’t going to school today,’ she admitted. ‘Mom wants me at home. What with our dad being bad and . . .’ Tears suddenly filled her eyes.

  ‘Oh!’ Rose Southgate clenched her hands over her heart. ‘Oh, dear. I’m so sorry – but if you could take the message straight away . . .’ She stopped, seeming to think. ‘It’s no good, he won’t be there,’ she muttered to herself. ‘No, it’s all right – take it later as usual. You promise me?’

  Aggie nodded solemnly. She didn’t know what else to say.

  Rose Southgate touched the side of her face selfconsciously and gave a strained little laugh. ‘I do look a terrible mess, I know. I’ve been so silly – had a little fall. Didn’t I, Lily?’

  Lily stood stony-faced, without agreeing. What Aggie noticed more even than Mrs Southgate’s face, was the change in Lily, who had always been a precious, sunny little girl.

  ‘You will come then, later?’ Rose insisted. ‘You won’t forget, will you?’

  ‘I’ll come,’ Aggie said.

  She left Mrs Southgate’s house, for the first time ever feeling that she was glad to escape.

  Aggie spent the day minding May and helping Mom. Now Mom was feeling better herself she was cooking the meals again. She said all she wanted was to keep busy, and the house felt quiet and bereft without Nanna. But Aggie could see changes in her grandmother. Although the work was gruellingly tiring, Nanna seemed more able to get going these days and there was a new light in her eye. Instead of sitting about trying to keep out of the way, she came home with news and chat and seemed suddenly livelier.

  Aggie washed a few clothes in a pail outside, as it was a nice day. The backyard was paved with blue bricks and led out on to a narrow alley which ran along the backs of the houses, accessed by the entries every few houses along. Right outside the back door there was the brick privy. Dad kept his barrow just across by the wall, and on the back wall of the house beside the window, hooked on a nail, was the family’s tin bath. The washing line hung the length of the yard, fastened to the back of the house and to a post by the gate.

  The blue bricks were already running with water. Aggie had dragged the mangle out from the privy where they kept it under a piece of sacking to stop it rusting too quickly. It was a tight squeeze in there when you wanted to piddle. She squatted down to work while May splashed about in another pail of water beside her.

  ‘Don’t go getting your clothes all wet,’ Aggie scolded her.

  May decided her job was to take a scrubbing brush to the clothes pegs and as this seemed a harmless pursuit, Aggie let her get on with it, even though she got soaked in the process.

  Aggie was glad to be kept busy. She didn’t like to think about the fact that only a few feet above their hea
ds her dad was lying, wasted as a skeleton and so frighteningly yellow. From inside she heard the faint sound of voices when Mrs Sissons arrived to help wash and turn Dad and try to get him to eat or drink. It was days now since he had eaten anything.

  ‘I don’t know how he’s still hanging on,’ she had heard Nanna say. ‘Must be tough as old boots.’

  Mom was upset all the time. ‘I can’t stand seeing ’im like this,’ she’d sob. ‘I almost wish it was over for him – but I don’t want him to go . . .’

  Aggie felt a bit sick nearly all the time. Trying to push away any thoughts about what was going on indoors, she stood up and tipped the rinse water into the drain.

  ‘Come and catch the clothes then,’ she ordered May. ‘Empty out your bucket now and you can put the clothes in it.’

  May obeyed gladly; she liked this game. The washed pegs were all rowed up on the side wall like little soldiers, to dry out. As Aggie turned the handle of the mangle, pushing through the bits of hand washing, May waited the other side ready to catch the clothes as they came through like flattened snakes.

  As she was about to mangle the second item, Aggie said, ‘This is John’s shirt. I’ll have to put it through and then back to save the buttons – they’ll smash, else.’

  May watched solemnly as she performed this feat. Aggie caught sight of her sister’s dark-eyed, squashy little face fixed in complete concentration the other side of the mangle, and for an unexpected moment felt such a rush of love for her that she almost started to cry. She felt bewildered. Everything seemed to be heightened at the moment, her feelings at times storming up within her, overwhelming her. She stopped and after a moment May looked up questioningly at her. Aggie struggled to control herself.

  ‘Right. I’m gonna turn it back the other way now,’ she said gruffly. ‘So the buttons don’t go through. Mind your fingers, May!’

  After Mrs Sissons had gone, Aggie, May and Mom had a bite of dinner together, just bread and tea. Mom looked so pale and sad. Afterwards she slowly climbed the stairs and Aggie heard her speak. A few minutes later she came down. Aggie’s innards tightened even further when she saw Mom had tears in her eyes. They were never far away these days, grief flooding out of her for the man who was leaving them and leaving life too young.

  Softly, she said, ‘Your dad wants to see you – and May. Take her up in a minute – before he falls asleep again.’

  May looked at them, wide-eyed. Aggie’s stomach clenched, but she became the grown-up one again.

  ‘Come on up with me, May. We’re going to see our dad.’

  Full of both longing and dread, she climbed the creaking stairs holding her little sister’s hand. May looked up at her more than once on the way up, as if for reassurance. Aggie could hear Mom weeping quietly downstairs.

  They tiptoed to the bedroom door and looked in. Dad was all bones and so shrunken, it was almost as if there was no one in the bed. They heard him make a faint sound, a papery rattle in his chest as if he needed to cough but hadn’t the strength.

  Aggie looked at May and pulled on her hand. She felt almost afraid, as if Dad had become someone else now his flesh had wasted away, as if death was stealing him, piece by piece. They walked round to his side of the bed and stood looking. There was that funny smell hanging about him, Aggie noticed, like pear drops. They didn’t say anything but he seemed to sense them there. He couldn’t really see any more, only shadows, he said, but he turned his shrunken face towards them. Aggie saw the bones and skin moving at his neck.

  ‘Is that my wenches?’ he whispered.

  Aggie was almost afraid to speak and was nodding when he said again, ‘Is it? Speak up.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Dadda . . .’ May said in a frightened voice. They had both almost forgotten how he used to be.

  There was a movement under the covers.

  ‘Take my hand,’ he whispered.

  Aggie looked down and uncovered his hand with its odd, bulbous nails. She pulled May’s warm little hand close and put it between hers and her father’s.

  ‘Here we are, Dad. It’s Aggie and May. The others’re at school.’ Tears ran down her cheeks as he tried to tighten his grasp but hadn’t the strength.

  Her father’s face convulsed and Aggie thought for a terrible moment that he was going to cry. She didn’t know whether it was twisted by pain or grief. But the spasm passed. They stayed for a few moments, in an agony of feeling mixed with not knowing what to say.

  There came the faintest of squeezes from his hand, then he whispered, ‘That’s my good wenches.’

  Before long they realized he had drifted off to sleep, and traitorous with relief, they tiptoed away again from the man who was barely their father any more.

  As promised, Aggie called in to number fifteen later that afternoon. This was also nerve-racking, because Mrs Southgate had become a stranger as well.

  When she knocked, she sensed that Mrs Southgate had been looking out for her because she was not long coming to the door, which she opened a crack to let Aggie swiftly inside. Her face was still a dreadful mess, though her eye was a little bit wider open than it had been in the morning. She seemed pleased with Aggie for coming on time, but there was something frantic about her which Aggie found a bit alarming.

  ‘Did you want me to take a message to Oldfield Road then?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Rose said, almost gasped. ‘But Aggie dear, this time I want you to do something different from usual, please. I haven’t written a note to Mr King this time. He should be home from his work quite soon. What I need you to do is speak to him. If he’s not there when you get there – his landlady will tell you – you must wait for him. D’you understand?’

  Aggie nodded solemnly.

  ‘When he comes, tell him who you are – remember he can’t see you.’ She spoke with great intensity. ‘Give him your name and tell him that Mrs Southgate has a problem with her piano and she needs to speak to him about it urgently.’

  ‘With her piano,’ Aggie repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ She didn’t enlarge upon this. ‘He’ll understand. And you bring me his reply. All right?’

  Aggie hurried away, and trotted past the Mission Hall and along to the Ladypool Road, glad to have something to do with all her own pent-up energy. It took a little while to get to Oldfield Road and when she reached the house she was panting. She didn’t feel much like ringing the bell and after a few moments she thought she caught sight of a figure walking along from the opposite end of the street, moving in a way different from everyone else. His gait was slower and more uncertain.

  As Mr King approached she felt a bit nervous. Seeing him again though, she remembered what a kindly manner he had. But as he drew near the gate, she was startled to see that instead of having a sunny, amiable look, his features were now drawn and sad.

  ‘Mr King?’

  He stopped, startled. ‘Yes?’ he said wearily and not in expectation of anything that would interest him.

  ‘I’m Aggie – Agnes Green. I’ve come from Mrs Southgate, in Lilac Street, to give you a message, like.’

  ‘Yes?’ His tone was wary, almost angry.

  ‘She says she’s got a problem with her piano and that you’re to come and have a look at it.’

  ‘Oh, does she?’ He turned away slightly, preparing to go to the door, as if he wasn’t even going to bother answering, but then his better nature had mercy on Aggie. Without turning back to her, he said, ‘Tell Mrs Southgate that so far as I’m aware, her piano has had all the attention I can give it – there’s nothing else I can do.’

  Seconds later, he had let himself into the house and closed the door.

  Forty-Five

  Aggie was scared as she hurried back to give Rose Southgate Mr King’s message. This was not the answer the woman had wanted, she could see, and she sensed that there was far more going on than she could understand. She was not knowledgeable enough to realize what it might be, only that there was something strange and intense abo
ut it all.

  Aggie thought Mrs Southgate might be angry and blame her and she tapped the door of number fifteen nervously. Rose opened the door a crack.

  ‘Yes?’ Her voice was faint.

  ‘Mr King said to tell you that he can’t do anything more for your piano. And he’s sorry,’ Aggie added, not quite truthfully but feeling something was needed to soften the blow.

  Rose Southgate stared at her through the crack in the door, as if she couldn’t take in what Aggie had just said.

  ‘What?’ Her tone was desperate.

  Aggie repeated the message and Rose’s face took on an expression of such despairing misery that she almost ran away. But there was something she needed first.

  ‘Can I have that twopence, then?’

  Mrs Southgate seemed to come to herself. She disappeared for a few seconds and then came back.

  ‘Here. Thank you, Aggie,’ she said faintly. ‘Take this – it’s all I’ve got.’

  The door closed. Aggie looked at what was in her hand. A silver joey! Three whole pennies just for a run along the road! Well, that wasn’t bad going. She hurried home, hoping the sight of it would make Mom happy.

  That night Aggie woke, hearing a kerfuffle downstairs, voices, feet hurrying back and forth. None of the others stirred, but Aggie slipped out of bed, and crept round the boys’ mattress and down the attic stairs. She paused on the bottom step, feeling the rough wood under her bare feet.

  A dim light came from Mom and Dad’s room and she could hear whispering. A moment later, she saw her grandmother’s shape in the doorway. Aggie could not see her expression in the shadows, but she had the impression from her bearing that everything was very solemn.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Nanna caught sight of the little figure on the stairs. ‘That you, Aggie?’

  Aggie stepped on to the tiny landing. She felt Nanna’s warm hand on her shoulder, and the lavender-scented shawl she was wearing over her nightclothes tickled Aggie’s ear.

  ‘It’s your father,’ Nanna whispered tenderly. ‘’E’s on his way out, bab.’