by Lyn Andrews
‘Too right I’m not, because I’m not going! I’m not going anywhere with him ever again! I hope you’re all satisfied now!’ she cried, her cheeks flushed. Snatching up her bag she flounced upstairs.
‘I wasn’t being awkward, Rhys, lad. I just didn’t want you to be humiliated,’ Jimmy said.
‘She’s got ideas above herself! I don’t know what gets into her at times!’ Lily felt sorry for the lad. He looked so downhearted. She was angry with Phoebe-Ann because she had hoped the friendship would blossom. ‘She’ll get over it, Rhys. Give her a day or two and ask her again,’ she advised.
He smiled. He didn’t know how to cope with Phoebe-Ann but it didn’t make him love her less.
When he returned to Lonsdale Street on Monday lunch time after having no luck at the docks, Rhys was dispirited. He’d take anything he thought. Anything. As he walked disconsolately, hands in pockets, head down, he almost collided with three thickset drunks who staggered around the corner.
‘Gerrout of me way!’ one yelled at him.
He wanted no trouble. ‘Sorry, mate!’
‘Who’re yer callin’ mate? Yez not me mate!’
He ignored them and walked on.
Lily was standing on the pavement, a brush in her hand. ‘Take no notice of them! Drunken pigs! It’s the brothers Malone, the Mona Street Mob, three of them at least and by the look of them they’ve been paid off.’
Rhys looked after the three staggering figures. ‘Paid off ?’
‘Aye. They all work in the stokehold of the Mauretania. Come on in and I’ll get you something to eat.’
Albert looked up as Rhys entered, while Lily informed him of the current state of the Malones, adding some acid comments on what she’d do if they were any relation of hers, which she thanked God they were not.
‘Would there be jobs there?’ Rhys asked.
‘Where?’
‘The stokehold. The Mauretania was it?’
Lily was horrified. ‘You don’t want to work there!’
‘I’ll take anything I can get. Where would I find out?’
Albert looked perturbed. ‘The Labour Pool I should think. At Mann Island.’
‘Will you come with me?’
‘Oh, Albert, don’t let him go! I’d have nightmares thinking of him working down there and with that lot!’
‘Lily, I just want to work and I’m used to coal.’
Albert stood up and reached for his cap. ‘We can try but don’t expect too much.’
The clerk at the Pool informed them that it was their lucky day. ‘Not Irish are you?’
‘No, Welsh. Is that a problem?’ Rhys replied.
The man grinned. ‘No but I can’t say “the luck of the Irish”, can I? Also most of the black squads are Irish, well, Liverpool Irish.’
He went on to inform them that there were two jobs going on the Maury. It appeared that there had been a fight on the homeward journey, yet another fight, he corrected himself. The protagonists had been discharged.
‘Wouldn’t have been named Malone by any chance?’ Albert enquired.
‘Right first time. Seamus Malone and Frank O’Rourke and it’s not the first time they’ve tried to brain each other either!’
Albert looked grim. He knew that the black squads usually worked in family teams and he guessed that neither the Malones nor the O’Rourkes would take kindly to anyone who filled their brother’s shoes. He looked at Rhys and his heart sank. The lad looked as though he’d won first prize in a raffle. He stood back while the forms were completed and the clerk handed Rhys his copy. ‘Take this to the Registrar of the Mercantile Marine; they’ll issue you with your discharge book.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Royal Liver Buildings.’
As they crossed the cobbles of the Pierhead, Rhys looked exuberant. ‘Wasn’t that a piece of luck then? Do you think Phoebe-Ann will change her mind and let me take her out before I go?’
‘I think she might well do that. She’s a nice girl really, just a bit highly-strung, so her mam says.’
Rhys looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose she needs to be treated rather specially then?’
Albert nodded. ‘But don’t let her get the upper hand, lad. Be firm but kind. She’ll respect you for it in the end. And you’ll respect her feelings.’
‘My intentions are honourable. I know it’s all been very quick, but I know she’s the girl for me. If I work hard and . . .’
Albert caught his arm. ‘Hold your horses, boyo! Think about your mam. Send her what she’s due, isn’t that why you came here?’
‘Yes, but she’ll understand about Phoebe-Ann when I tell her.’
‘I don’t understand about Phoebe-Ann. God above! You’ve only taken her out once and you want to go hurtling into an understanding!’
‘I don’t want an understanding.’
‘You don’t?’
‘No. I’m going to marry her.’
Albert stared at him in astonishment before he wondered just what Phoebe-Ann would think of that and he hoped there would be no trouble.
Chapter Twelve
ALBERT’S HOPES HAD BEEN dashed. Rhys, bolstered by the fact that he now had work, plucked up courage to ask Phoebe-Ann out on Friday night, his last night before he sailed. She had politely refused. She pointed out that she had made prior arrangements. Albert had watched the lad’s face fall and he had to agree with Lily that Phoebe-Ann was becoming a flirt.
Lily had been furious with her daughter and had pushed her into the scullery. ‘If you have any sense in that empty head of yours you’ll accept the lad’s offer! Far better than going out with your so-called friends and kicking up your legs in common dance halls!’
‘Mam, I’m not going out with him!’
‘Why not? What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s so stuffy! Look at the way he took notice of our Jimmy.’
‘He had sense and so did Jimmy. You’d have been mortified if you’d been asked to leave the Imperial and so would he. You still fancy yourself as a lady like Miss Olivia Mercer, don’t you? And you know how that ended up.’
‘It’s not fair the way you keep throwing that up at me, Mam! It wasn’t my fault!’
Lily was not deterred. ‘You’re getting too big for your boots lately. He’s a decent lad from a good home and now he’s got a job. Not a job that we would have liked for him, but it shows he is a worker. And he’ll work damned hard. He doesn’t smoke or drink or gamble. What more do you want?’
Phoebe-Ann wanted to cry out that it was because of those virtues, which in her opinion made him dour and no fun at all, that she wasn’t remotely interested in going out with him, but she didn’t dare. ‘He can’t string two words together and the way he dresses . . .’
‘What have clothes got to do with anything? That’s just typical of you. You’d go out with a tailor’s dummy as long as it had the “right” clothes on it. Have the sense to look under the clothes and see the man. Fancy feathers count for nothing in the end and you’ll do well to remember that, miss!’
‘You’re matchmaking. You’ve been planning this all along, you and Albert. That’s why he’s come to live here, isn’t it? Well, I’m not going out with him again.’ And she turned and stormed out of the scullery, leaving the door wide open and Lily standing rigid with anger, her hand itching to slap her daughter. He was everything that she would have looked for in a son-in-law but obviously Phoebe-Ann didn’t view him in the same light. He was obviously not sophisticated enough, although that was no bad thing.
As she walked quickly down the street, her heels tapping loudly on the pavement, guilt nagged at Phoebe-Ann. She understood that her mam wanted to see her settled, to see both herself and Emily married to decent, hard-working men, especially since all that trouble at the Mercers’. That hadn’t been her fault. It hadn’t. Nor was she going to enter into an ‘understanding’ with Rhys Pritchard just to set her mam’s mind at ease. It wasn’t fair of Lily to even think she should. Her mind wen
t back over the time she had spent at the Mercers’. She often tried to recall all her words and actions, to reinforce the fact that she was utterly blameless, but she could never manage to completely dismiss this nagging guilt and now it increased her annoyance.
Her face was set and the frown lines had deepened in her forehead when she reached Alice’s house. It was always untidy no matter what time of the day it was and Phoebe-Ann wrinkled her nose with distaste at the strong smell of cabbage that lingered everywhere.
‘What’s up now, your face is like thunder?’ Alice greeted her. She was small and inclined to plumpness that would in time run to fat.
‘Oh, it’s Mam!’ Phoebe-Ann plumped herself down on the sofa, after first pushing aside a pile of unironed clothes.
Alice turned back to the mirror and continued applying the oxblood lipstick to her lips. ‘She got a cob on again?’ she mumbled.
‘So have I. She keeps pushing me at Rhys Pritchard. She thinks he’s the perfect man for me.’
‘He’s a big drip,’ Alice stated. ‘Quite good looking but a drip just the same.’
‘That’s just what I mean. Look at the carry on when I wanted to go to the Imperial.’
‘The feller on the door wouldn’t ’ave let you in.’
‘He might have. It would have been fun, but our Jimmy had to go and put his oar in and spoil it.’
She wondered if she should beg some lipstick from Alice then changed her mind. Even if, later on, she were to rub it off with her handkerchief Mam would still know. She had eyes like a hawk and then there would be the handkerchief to explain away. It wasn’t worth it. She did accept Alice’s offer of a ‘touch of rouge’ that could be explained as rushing home to be in on time. ‘I’m not going to let it ruin my night out,’ she stated firmly, removing her hat and drawing a piece of black ribbon from her bag. She’d spent hours sewing sequins on it in the privacy of her bedroom. ‘How do you think this looks?’ She tied it around her forehead, making a neat little bow above her left ear.
Alice was suitably impressed. ‘Dead classy, I’d say. It’s like that one we saw in the Bon Marché that they were asking a small fortune for. Where did you get it?’
‘I made it.’
‘Honestly?’ Alice was suspicious and a little envious. Phoebe-Ann always managed to look so smart. Alice didn’t know how she did it either because Phoebe-Ann didn’t have as much money to spend on herself as she did. Also Phoebe-Ann was tall and slender; she’d look good in a sack. Not like herself, small and dumpy with hair that wouldn’t lie down flat and smooth and shiny like Phoebe-Ann’s.
‘It took me hours to sew these things on but it was worth it. I wish I’d bought some of that glittery material.’
‘Oh, shut up! You make me sick. I suppose you can make your own frocks, too?’ Alice retorted but with a smile that softened her words.
‘I can if our Emily helps me.’
Alice was teasing two curls forward against her powdered cheeks. ‘Your Emily wouldn’t approve of that glittery stuff. She’s like your mam; you wouldn’t think she was only a bit older than us. She looks dead old, especially in those awful frocks she has to wear for work. Catch me goin’ out lookin’ like that!’
Phoebe-Ann opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She couldn’t tell Alice why Emily had suddenly become so quiet and dressed so dowdily, even though Alice was her best friend. But it was as though Emily was trying to look plain on purpose these days. Sometimes she felt exasperated with her sister, then at others she felt guilty. She hadn’t encouraged James Mercer. She’d been kind to him that’s all. Still, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that he wouldn’t have forced himself on her. Would he have had to, she often mused? Then she’d shudder. She hadn’t known he was bordering on insanity.
‘Are you ready then? We’ll get caught in the crush if we’re late,’ Alice reminded her.
Crowds of people were milling around the entrance to the Rialto, and Phoebe-Ann felt her heart begin to beat faster. ‘I wonder who we’ll meet tonight?’
Alice poked her in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Could be “Mr Wonderful” or it could be Mr Rhys Pritchard.’
‘He wouldn’t come here, would he?’ Then Phoebe-Ann laughed. ‘You’re a tease Alice Wainwright!’
They left their coats at the desk and then went into the ladies’ powder room, which was crowded with girls elbowing each other for room in front of the large mirror that extended across one wall.
‘Would you look at the gob on that one!’ Alice whispered, indicating a very plain girl in a bright green dress. ‘If I looked like that I’d go round with a bag on me ’ead.’
Phoebe-Ann thought this was very unkind and said so.
‘Oh, it’s all right for you. You look like a fashion model. Come on, it’s too hot in here an’ all that cheap scent is gettin’ on me chest.’
They had managed to get a seat at a table near the edge of the dance floor. That way they could appraise the dancers and yet be clearly seen by hopeful admirers.
‘What time is this cabaret thing going to start?’ Alice asked.
‘Eight o’clock but it must be nearly that now. I wish I had a watch.’
‘We don’t really need to watch all this “show-off ” dancin’. We know the basic steps anyway, we’ve practised them often enough at lunch times.’
‘It’s bound to be different. They’ve come all the way from America.’ Phoebe-Ann clasped her hands tightly together and closed her eyes. ‘One day I’m going to go to America. You should hear the tales Edwin has to tell about New York and the places he’s been.’
‘I’ll bet, and I’ll bet the only places he’s seen the inside of are bars and knocking-shops.’
Phoebe-Ann was shocked. ‘He’s not like that! Mam would never let him go within a mile of our Emily if she thought he did . . . things like that.’
Alice made a rude noise with her mouth. ‘Me mam says that’s all men think about and if they can’t get it with decent girls then they get it with the other kind.’
Phoebe-Ann was glad she’d at least lowered her voice but she felt her cheeks burning. ‘Shut up, Alice! Look, here they come! Oh, look at her dress! Next pay day I’m going to get some of that glittery material no matter what Mam says.’
For the next half hour she was enthralled by the expertise of the dancers and she took in every detail of the girl’s costume: the loose-fitting bodice, the wide sash tied around her hips, the ends of which trailed almost to the floor, the handkerchief hemline that sparkled with a silver fringe that swayed so alluringly, the silver bracelet worn above the elbow and through which was threaded a flimsy scarf, the short dark hair encircled with a band of silver which sported two white ostrich feathers.
Phoebe-Ann’s eyes sparkled, her cheeks were tinged with colour and her foot tapped in time to the music. She made a pretty picture and one that was not lost on a young man on the other side of the floor. Jake Malone had had a few drinks but he was far from drunk. It had been Vinny’s idea to come here tonight. At first he had been scornful, as his brothers were, but then when Vinny had implied that a ‘bit of skirt’ might be forthcoming, he’d changed his mind. As he’d stood surveying the crowd he’d begun to think it was all a waste of time and that he looked like the ‘nancy’ he had been called by Seamus as he and Peader and Franny had gone off for a heavy night’s drinking. ‘Fine bleedin’ pair we look,’ he said peevishly.
‘God, there’s no pleasin’ some people! Have a bit of patience will yer.’
‘I’m a bit short on that just now. Go an’ get the ale in, I’m spittin’ feathers.’
When Vinny had shouldered his way towards the bar and he’d seen her, Jake’s annoyance fell away. She looked like something out of a book or a film, he thought. Strangely, he didn’t start to strip her with his eyes which was what he usually did when he first met a girl. ‘Who’s she?’ he asked nodding in Phoebe-Ann’s direction as Vinny came back with the drinks.
‘How the hell should I know, I haven�
��t got second sight!’
‘I think I’ve seen her before but I can’t remember where.’
‘Yer soft get! Do yer think you’d forget someone who looks like that?’ Vinny, too, was looking interested.
Jake downed his pint in one and shoved the empty glass at his brother. ‘Keep yer hands to yerself. I saw ’er first!’
‘Where are yer goin’? It’s your bloody shout!’
Jake ignored Vinny’s question and, as the music and the dancing exhibition had stopped, he pushed his way towards her. ‘Can I have this dance, girl?’ he asked, feeling awkward.
Phoebe-Ann turned a dazzling smile on him, but it was a smile that instantly faded when she realized who it was asking her to dance. ‘Er . . . no. No thanks.’
‘Why?’ he demanded feeling even more awkward. It hadn’t entered his head that she would refuse him.
‘Oh, Lord! Let me think up an excuse,’ she prayed. Yet he didn’t look drunk. In fact he didn’t look too bad at all. ‘Um . . . er . . .’ she stammered, casting an imploring glance at Alice who was trying to smother a grin. That annoyed Phoebe-Ann. ‘Yes. I’ll dance with you.’ Her smile returned and, from the corner of her eye, she saw the look of astonishment on Alice’s face.
To her surprise he wasn’t a bad dancer. ‘Come here often?’ he asked.
She glanced up at him. ‘Can’t you do better than that? It’s not very original.’
Cocky with it, he thought, but it only made him admire her. ‘I think I’ve seen you before.’ He hesitated. He wished she wouldn’t keep looking at him like that, smiling in a sort of secretive way. It unnerved him. At least she wasn’t afraid of him. Most girls were, especially those who lived in their neighbourhood.
‘But you can’t remember where,’ she forestalled him.
‘If you’re goin’ to be a smart arse . . . sorry.’ He missed the beat and stumbled. He had never found himself apologizing before; she was having a peculiar effect on him. Or was it the beer? he wondered.
