by June Francis
‘Now where shall we go?’
‘You know who I am now, Dad?’ she asked.
‘Yer my daughter, Tilly. I only forgot for a moment because yer look so like yer mother when she was young.’ He offered her his arm and she slipped her hand through it.
‘Shall we go to the park?’ she asked.
‘Aye. It’ll be pleasant in the park. Trees and grass and birds. It’ll be peaceful, like,’ said Mal.
Tilly agreed.
They made their way along West Derby Road, passing Wright’s shop on the other side until they turned into Sheil Road and crossed to the other side. Her father took her through some public gardens and along Denman Drive until they eventually came to Newsham Park. They strolled in silence until they reached the boating lake. There, they paused on the bridge to watch the ducks squabbling over the crusts a woman and some children were throwing to the birds.
Tilly took out the bag of sweets and offered it to her father. He took a bon-bon and popped it into his mouth. She thought about the swans and ducks and boats on the River Dee on a summer’s evening and puzzled over whether her sister had ever seen this side of their father. She tried to imagine what Alice would have thought if she had been in the cinema with them. No doubt she would have said that their father was a bad influence on her because Tilly had reacted violently to the man behind them. Tilly had never thought herself capable of reacting in such a physical way to aggression. Yet she had felt such a strong need to protect her father because sometimes he seemed childlike to her. Perhaps her mother had understood him much more than Alice could ever know. She felt the need to talk to someone about it. But who could she speak to about such a disturbing episode?
They returned to the house a short while later to find Joy reading a newspaper in the garden now the sky had cleared and it had turned into a fine evening. Nanki Poo was sprawled at her feet and he opened one eye as they approached. Joy glanced up at them. ‘You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be.’
‘We decided we didn’t like the film,’ said Tilly, ‘so we went for a walk in the park.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Joy, folding the newspaper.
‘No! You stay where you are,’ said Tilly, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘I can make tea.’
‘Thanks. I was just reading an article in the paper so I’ll finish it.’
‘What’s it about?’ asked Tilly.
‘A woman who wants a separation from her husband because he tortured her by bringing mice home and setting them free in the kitchen. He even tried to put one down the front of her frock,’ said Joy, pulling a face.
‘What an odd way to behave,’ said Tilly.
‘It’s the kind of thing our Bert would have done if he’d thought of it. I still find it hard to believe sometimes that we’re rid of him forever,’ said Joy. ‘Most of us like to believe we’re safe in our own homes, but it’s far from true.’ Her expression was sad.
Tilly could think of nothing to say to comfort her, remembering Joy’s brother Bert had been responsible for the death of their younger sister. She took the bag of sweets from her handbag and dropped them on top of the folded newspaper. ‘Help yourself while I put the kettle on.’
Joy took out a bon-bon and was about to offer the bag to Mal but he was no longer where he had stood a couple of minutes ago. She glanced down the garden and saw him vanish inside the outbuilding. She opened her newspaper and finished reading the article before getting to her feet and going inside the house.
‘The judge gave the woman a separation,’ she said to Tilly. ‘I wouldn’t bother making a cup for your dad. He’s gone off to his quarters and will no doubt forget about us.’
‘Is he often that forgetful?’ asked Tilly.
‘Sometimes he is and sometimes he isn’t. Mother’s the same,’ said Joy. ‘You’ve got to remember neither of them are spring chickens. Mother seems to remember the past better than the present. She still believes Bert’s alive and God’s gift to humanity.’
Tilly spooned tealeaves into the pot. ‘Dad went a bit peculiar in the cinema. He believed what was happening on the screen was real and briefly thought I was my mother.’
‘That must have given you a shock,’ said Joy, sounding sympathetic.
‘It did! Then a man behind us got really nasty and said Dad was a loony. That’s why we left.’ Tilly sighed. ‘I won’t be taking him the cinema again.’
‘Sounds sensible,’ said Joy, taking milk from the larder and placing it on the table. ‘I’m sorry your birthday hasn’t been as good as you hoped but at least you can have some cake.’ From the larder she produced an iced cake with a candle in the middle. ‘Happy birthday, Tilly, and may you have many more of them.’
Tilly flushed with pleasure. ‘Thanks!’
Joy produced a box of matches and lit the candle. ‘Now blow out the candle and make a wish.’
Tilly was not sure what to wish for because there were several things she wanted but she decided on one thing dear to her heart and crossed her fingers as she blew out the tiny flame.
Chapter Eight
Liverpool: Autumn 1920.
Tilly limped into the shop and was relieved to see that there were no customers waiting. Wendy was serving cigarettes and a newspaper to a young woman, whilst Mrs Wright had her head together with a middle-aged woman, who appeared vaguely familiar. Tilly placed her handbag on the counter and leant on it. She slipped off her left shoe and looked inside it. Yes! A nail had come right through the sole. She resisted inspecting her foot and eased the nail from her shoe. The young woman brushed past Tilly, almost knocking her off balance.
‘What’s up?’ asked Wendy, peering over the counter at Tilly’s foot.
‘A nail. It went right through my sole and stocking and into my foot. It feels really sore,’ said Tilly.
The woman talking to Mrs Wright paused in mid-speech and turned and looked at Tilly. ‘Yer’d best wash that foot right away, girl. Yer don’t want it getting septic and ending up with blood poisoning killing yer.’
‘You’re a right cheerful one,’ said Mrs Wright, smiling and giving the woman a poke in the arm with her elbow.
‘I’m just advising the girl,’ said the woman.
‘Yes, yes, she is,’ said Tilly, recognising the woman who had been in charge of the shop on the evening of the Bennetts’ wedding. ‘I don’t know where that nail’s been so she’s right.’
Wendy lifted the counter flap. ‘You’d better come in. Did you have any luck?’
‘No.’ Tilly sighed. She had never thought it would be this difficult to find a job. ‘All the ones I’ve gone after they either want a young man, or I’m too old or too young for the money they want to pay an employee.’ If it hadn’t been for the belated birthday card from Seb and Alice with a postal order inside, she would be absolutely broke by now. As it was she had not been able to visit them and neither had they been to see her. Perhaps her sister was still vexed with her. Tilly dreaded the thought that if she didn’t find a job soon, she would have to swallow her pride and ask for help from her family. She didn’t want to do that because she could too easily imagine what Alice would have to say. Besides, she would be distanced from her father if she had to return to Chester. If only the short stories she had sent to the Red Letter had not been rejected, she would have got her foot in the door and the publisher would have looked with favour on her next offering. One thing was for certain: she had to spend more time writing and at least the last rejection letter had been encouraging.
‘Never mind,’ said Wendy, resting her elbows on the counter. ‘I mean you have skills. Mam’s not going to kick you out and something is bound to turn up sooner or later.’
‘Yous still looking for a job, girl?’ asked the woman.
‘Yes! Mrs Pain, isn’t it?’ said Tilly.
The woman looked gratified. ‘Yer’ve a good memory.’
Tilly smiled. ‘If I have it’s not helping me to get a job. You haven’t seen an office job advertised o
n your travels, have you?’
Mrs Pain pursed her lips. ‘Now, I can’t say yeah to that but there might be one coming up at the insurance office in Prescot Road where I clean. Miss Langton’s assistant is leaving to get married. Nineteen, she is, and a plain little thing but she’s managed to catch a man. Still, I reckon she’s not half as clever as yous are.’
‘You flatter me, Mrs Pain,’ said Tilly, managing a smile despite the pain in her foot. ‘What do you suggest I do? Go there and ask whether there is the likelihood of a position becoming vacant in the near future?’
‘If yer mean by all those words what I think yer mean, then why not, girl? The early bird catches the worm. But I’d advise you not to dolly yerself up.’
Tilly was puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘There’s women that don’t like a girl that catches the men’s eye. They think they’re flighty. It’s down to jealousy, if yer ask me,’ said Mrs Pain.
‘Are you talking about the woman you mentioned. Miss Lang — Miss Langton?’
‘That’s her!’ Mrs Pain nodded her head vigorously. ‘Miss Langton! Must be in her forties, I reckon, and already grey and as miserable as sin. Don’t want to discourage yer, girl, but I thought I’d best warn yer. But if yer desperate and use yer nous, then I reckon yer could get on the right side of her and the job could be yours.’
Tilly did not know what to think. On the one hand, she was grateful to Mrs Pain for telling her about the job, but on the other, she didn’t make it sound very attractive. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers and so she would have a go at getting the post. ‘I appreciate your help, Mrs Pain. Where is Prescot Road? Perhaps I could go along there tomorrow morning and enquire.’
‘All yer’ve got to do is catch the tram along Sheil Road and when yer come to the end of it, get off and turn right. Then yer cross the road and walk along for a bit and yer’ll come to the Friendly Assurance Society office. It’s the only one along there.’
‘Thanks,’ said Tilly in heartfelt tones, despite her mixed feelings.
Mrs Pain’s face creased into a smile. ‘Good luck, girl. I’m sure you can do it.’
Tilly smiled. ‘I’d best get myself organised.’
‘I’ll come upstairs with you,’ said Wendy. ‘I can leave you looking after the shop for ten minutes, can’t I, Mam?’
‘Yes, but don’t be long,’ said Mrs Wright.
As the two girls went upstairs, Wendy said, ‘You just missed Mr Simpson this morning.’
Tilly was always just missing the detective and, although curious to see what he was like, she was not that bothered about meeting him. ‘Did he want anything other than his newspaper and chocolate?’
‘He’s got a new case.’
‘What is it?’
‘He said it’s not wildly interesting but it’ll help pay the bills. He’s taken on another part-time job for a salary because work has been slow in coming in since the bigamy case,’ said Wendy.
‘That’s a couple of months ago,’ said Tilly, thinking of the poor woman who had been left pregnant and without a husband. Fortunately her family had stepped in to help her, Mrs Wright had not pressed charges and she had got off with a warning.
‘I know! He said if it weren’t for his savings and his sister, he’d be in the workhouse.’
Tilly gasped. ‘I hope he was joking.’
Wendy fiddled with a strand of mousy hair. ‘I hope so but these are tough times, as you know, Tilly.’ She tucked her hands up her sleeves. ‘They reckon in Liverpool alone there are three hundred more men out of work every week and there’s ex-soldiers who can’t find jobs. Alongside that there’s these strikes going on. Even the printers are at it and it says in the Echo that there might be no newspapers next week if matters don’t improve.’
‘Whatever will you read, Wendy?’ joked Tilly, knowing the other girl was an avid reader of the local paper.
They had reached Tilly’s bedroom and she opened the door and went inside. Wendy followed her. Tilly sat on the bed and eased off her shoes. ‘I should have brought up some hot water to soak my foot,’ she said.
‘I’ll go down and get you some,’ said Wendy, picking up the jug on the washstand and hurrying out of the bedroom.
Tilly moved to a chair because the bed was a little too high for her feet to touch the floor. She removed her garters and rolled down her stockings. The sole of the left one was bloodied and she dropped it on the floor and, with difficulty, looked at her foot where the nail had pierced it. Mrs Pain had put the wind up her a bit and she hoped the cut would not grow worse.
A few minutes later Wendy re-entered the bedroom, carrying the steaming jug. She poured the water into the bowl and said, ‘I hope it’s not too hot for you.’
‘If it’s too hot for me, then it’s going to be too hot for the germs that cause trouble.’ Despite her words, Tilly felt the water with her elbow and let it cool down a little before plunging her foot into it. To take her mind off it, she said, ‘So Mr Simpson never told you what his latest case was about?’
‘Something to do with a missing dog.’
‘A missing dog? That sounds really exciting.’
‘There’s no need for you to make a joke of it,’ said Wendy seriously. ‘It’s a valuable dog! It has a pedigree, just like Uncle Robbie’s Pekinese has. They cost a lot more than tuppence ha’penny, pedigree dogs, you know.’
‘I should imagine they would,’ said Tilly, bending down and rubbing the sole of her foot. ‘So what plans does he have to find it?’
‘I didn’t have a chance to ask,’ answered Wendy gloomily. ‘He was in a hurry. I might never find out.’
‘Cheer up! You just might if he’s already told you as much as he has done,’ said Tilly.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Wendy, her expression brightening. ‘Anyway, I’d best go. Mam will be complaining if I don’t shift myself. By the way, if I were you, I’d cut a sole out of cardboard and put it inside your left shoe before you wear it again.’ She left the room.
Tilly remained where she was with her foot in the bowl, thinking about what Wendy had told her and also about the vacancy that would soon become available. She only hoped that her foot would feel better so that she could have a try at putting herself forward to get the job.
* * *
‘You do look smart,’ said Mrs Wright, inspecting her lodger the following morning.
‘I was hoping I looked dowdy,’ said Tilly, dismayed. It was the reason she had decided to wear the charcoal grey costume with the well-worn white blouse.
‘I think it would be impossible for you to do that,’ said Wendy, resting her elbows on the counter. ‘Not with your figure and coloured hair, it – it’s just so – so bright.’
‘Even with a hat on?’ asked Tilly. ‘Perhaps I should stuff it all under my hat and pad out my figure so I look dumpy.’
Wendy was about to say But you haven’t got a fat face! But Tilly had already gone.
She reappeared a short while later. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, glad that there were no customers in the shop. She tried to do a twirl and almost overbalanced.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ asked Minnie, making a sudden appearance. ‘You look older an-and…’
‘And what?’ asked Tilly.
‘I don’t like to say. Perhaps you should put on some lipstick.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘There’ll be no painting of lips in this house.’
Minnie pulled a face. ‘You’re so old-fashioned, Mam. What’s wrong with a girl adding a bit of colour to her lips?’
‘It’s not right. If God had meant us to have bright red lips then he’d have given us them,’ said Mrs Wright. ‘It’s -i t’s of the devil and painting your face says something to a man about a girl.’
‘What?’ asked Minnie with an innocent expression. ‘And you never go to church, Mam, so I don’t know what you’re going on about the devil for. I don’t believe he exists.’
Her mother turned almost puce.
‘That’s enough. Just you believe me when I say men think a girl is giving them the old come-on if she paints her face.’
‘Come-on what?’ asked Minnie, inspecting her fingernails. ‘You’ll have to explain, Mam. I need to know as much as I can when I go out into the wide world.’
Her mother seized her arm and dragged her out of the shop into the room at the rear.
‘If you ask me,’ said Wendy, ‘our Minnie already knows more than is good for her.’
‘I’d agree,’ said Tilly, smiling.
‘Whatever you do, don’t smile,’ said Wendy hastily. ‘Look as sober as you can. You’ll dazzle her and she’ll—’
Tilly blushed and pulled a face. ‘OK. I get the message. So what d’you think about these?’ From her handbag she produced a spectacles case and put on plain lenses glasses.
‘Where did you get them from?’ asked Wendy.
‘I bought them secondhand. I wanted to try out a look for one of my characters.’ Her voice trailed off as the door opened and a customer entered.
‘Gosh, they change the real you even more,’ said Wendy. ‘And you’re wearing flat shoes, too,’ she added.
‘Why d’you mention that?’ asked Tilly. ‘I have to walk there and I can’t risk my foot getting worse.’
‘You need heels to go with that costume but I understand why you need to look sensible.’
‘That’s what I want to hear. I want Miss Langton to believe me to be a sober, sensible person,’ said Tilly, removing the spectacles, only to bump into the man standing behind her. She glanced up at him from mischievous hazel eyes. ‘Excuse me.’
He stepped aside and held the door open for her. ‘My pleasure,’ he said, his gaze washing over her.
‘Thank you,’ said Tilly, having a vague feeling she had seen him before. Then she was gone.
‘Who was that?’ asked Mr Simpson, dosing the door behind her.
‘Our lodger,’ said Wendy, beaming at him. ‘Good morning, Mr Simpson. What can we do for you? Your usual paper?’
‘Yes, please, Miss Wright,’ he answered. ‘I didn’t know you had a lodger.’
