Coming Home to the Four Streets

by Nadine Dorries

  She let the letter flutter to the desk and then, peering distastefully at her handkerchief, dropped it to one side of her typewriter. Peggy blushed from her toes to her scalp and willed the floor to open up and swallow her.

  Frank grinned viciously and, holding Peggy in his glare said, ‘I thought so.’

  To their credit, the two young ladies appeared to be totally occupied with their own shoe leather, but Peggy was in no doubt that they had heard every word. Meanwhile the receptionist’s eyes never left Peggy, not even for a moment, as if she expected Peggy to lean over the counter and steal the discarded handkerchief. She picked up a large black telephone receiver and dialled a number. ‘A Mrs Nolan to see you in reception, Mr Heartfelt,’ she said. ‘It’s about her rent arrears.’

  Peggy felt as though she was standing on a precipice and she knew she had to move away from the edge, because one breath away was darkness and a fear that made her heart race. The thoughts, you are alone, there is only you, ran through her mind and, taking a deep breath and holding onto the oak counter by her fingertips to steady herself, she managed to look upwards and fix her gaze on the large wall clock, and holding on, the ache in her belly throbbed.

  Mr Heartfelt took twenty minutes to arrive and although there were two chairs in the reception area, Peggy was not invited to sit. Frank the Skank, though, was offered not only a chair but also a cup of tea. Once Frank had settled himself down, the only sound in the office was the clatter of his cup on the saucer, the angry clashing of the typewriter keys and the ting of the bell when the carriage reached the end before it was returned to the beginning again.

  Mr Heartfelt arrived and looked around the reception area; his eyes alighted on Frank the Skank. ‘I’ll be half an hour, don’t go,’ he said to him.

  Frank removed his helmet and said, ‘That’s fine by me. I’m being well looked after here.’

  It occurred to Peggy, even in the midst of her panic, that there was something unusual about the familiarity between Mr Heartfelt and the police sergeant, who was acting as though he owned the reception area, and winking at the two young ladies who had discreetly shuffled as far into the corner as they could.

  ‘Are you ladies for the secretary’s job?’ asked Mr Heartfelt and both women nodded. ‘Good, I won’t be long with this.’

  Peggy looked down at her slippers; water had soaked into the toes and the fronts were now a different colour to the backs. She remembered Maura’s parting words to her, ‘Peggy, I won’t be here, but you have to act as though I am. If you get into a difficult situation, you have to ask yourself, “What would Maura say?” and if that doesn’t work, promise me you will go to the convent and speak to Sister, or the priest.’

  With Maura’s words in her ears, Peggy took a deep breath and, looking up, presented her bravest face. Mr Heartfelt avoided looking directly at her, pushing back wayward and unusually long strands of hair over the top of his bald head, flattening them into place with the palm of his hand. Peggy’s heart sank. Mr Heartfelt, unlike his name, was not kindly. It was a cruel trick. His face was extraordinarily long and thin. He wore a knitted Fair Isle sleeveless jumper over a crisp white shirt with a maroon tie fastened so tight his Adam’s apple protruded over the top. He carried a buff-coloured folder in the hand that was not concerned with his balding pate.

  Peggy’s eyes rested on the folder, knowing that her life and that of her parents and grandparents and those who had arrived through the gates of the Clarence Dock in 1848, during the time of the Irish famine, lay in that folder. They had come straight to the docks and every one of them had been employed by the dock board ever since. The house they lived in had belonged to her mam and da and to theirs before them. For over one hundred years, since Nelson Street was built, Peggy’s ancestors, all hard-working dockers, had lived there and the rent book was passed down from the eldest of one generation to the next. She was about to alter the course of her family history and all because she had married a man her father had begged her not to.

  Her heart sank at the expression on Mr Heartfelt’s thin face. She thought of the last time she and Maura had been here together; they had laughed on the way home, Maura making fun of Mr Heartfelt all the way. ‘Why the long face, Mr Heartfelt, it’s only the rent?’ Maura had joked, mimicking the way he looked and spoke and the laughter had been such a tonic that Peggy had felt much better. Today, however, he did not greet her with the smile he always had for Maura and went straight to the point.

  Peggy tried desperately to speak, for something about the look in his eyes had rung an alarm bell and she instinctively knew she had to ward off his words with some of her own and her mouth began to engage before her brain had time to think.

  ‘H-hello, Mr Heartfelt, you wrote me a letter—’ There was a loud crash and the ping of a bell from the direction of the counter. Peggy almost jumped out of her skin and stopped mid-sentence. She looked back at the receptionist, whose smile was openly mocking. The noise had been made by the typewriter carriage as she’d slid it forcefully along to the end.

  Peggy turned back to Mr Heartfelt. What had she been saying? She had forgotten. Her mouth was dry, her head was spinning, black spots were swarming before her eyes. She had been out of the house for hours, had stood for so long, waiting, and she desperately needed to use the bathroom. Frank the Skank was shaking his head at her disapprovingly.

  ‘Mr – Mr Heartfelt, I would just like to explain…’

  But he held up his hand and stopped her. ‘Mrs Nolan, I wrote to you asking you to call in to see me and I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news—’

  Peggy’s panic reached her mouth as the words spewed out. ‘Oh, please, don’t you be worrying, I can pay the arrears off, I’ll have no trouble doing that. No, we just need the appointment at the hospital to come through so that someone can look at Paddy’s back and then it will all be back to normal. He’s sick, you see.’ Peggy’s head swam and she put her hand out to steady her against the wall; it landed on a drawing pin. She flinched and, pulling her hand back, rubbed it hard. A spot of blood appeared in the middle of her palm and she smeared it away.

  Heartfelt paid not the slightest attention, simply thinking to himself, if I don’t get the rent book back from the Dohertys this one will do. In fact he hated this part of his job. It was a massive inconvenience – those who had inherited rent books were the worst. He looked over to Frank who nodded in his direction with a knowing half-smile and he recalled their last conversation.

  ‘We will get you the Dohertys’ house. The trouble with these people is that they feel a sense of entitlement, as though the house is their own,’ he had said to Frank. ‘Think it’s their right to keep it, even when they can no longer pay, because the rent book gets passed down the line. It’s a bloody nuisance.’

  ‘Is that why the Dohertys are still paying?’ Frank had asked.

  Mr Heartfelt had shaken his head. ‘I’ve no idea what’s going on there. I know they came into money, but they bought a pub in Ireland and, by all accounts, it’s not doing too well. Maybe they are coming back?’

  Frank had scowled. ‘That’s not part of our agreement; you owe me.’

  Mr Heartfelt had looked nervous. ‘Frank, we can’t draw attention to ourselves, can we? I’ve written and asked for the rent book from the Dohertys and I’ve sent a bailiff’s notice to the house next door. You will get your house, two weeks, tops. You wait and see, it will all be done, Frank. You just get on with your end of the bargain.’

  Mr Heartfelt could see Frank’s unwavering gaze, his disconcerting eyes, watching every gesture. Yes, this was definitely the part he hated; he much preferred to use letters and his brother-in-law the bailiff but he had to press on.

  ‘Mrs Nolan, you are now into your fourth week of arrears and I have noted from the clocking-in sheets that your husband has not worked a full week for six months. This concerns me. Under normal circumstances, Mrs Doherty would be with you and I would be very willing to accept a payment plan, as I have in the
past.’

  Peggy looked so drained of colour he realised that she had moved beyond taking in anything he was saying. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his folder. ‘It does clearly state on the back of the rent book that, if you are more than two weeks in arrears, you have to present yourself at the administration building for an appointment to discuss matters. You haven’t been anywhere near.’

  Peggy felt as though the world were spinning. She looked at Mr Heartfelt; she could make out the movement of his lips, but could no longer hear the words he was saying. She couldn’t breathe and the pounding in her ears moved into her head and beat against the sides of her brain while the pain around her lower back and across her abdomen was sickening in its increasing intensity. She needed two Anadin, she had forgotten to ask Kathleen. He held out another brown envelope towards her.

  ‘Mrs Nolan, please accept this letter as your notification of eviction. It is the dock board policy to give you a further seven days’ notice. If the rent isn’t paid within that time, the property must be emptied within forty-eight hours. If not, the bailiffs will be on your doorstep at 10 a.m. on Friday the twentieth of May. They will board the house and seize whatever is left inside. I suggest you go straight from here and visit the Liverpool Corporation offices in search of help. They will contact the Salvation Army to ask for temporary accommodation for you and your family; please note, it may be that you are not accommodated together.’ He was reading from the letter he would have sent, but he might as well have been talking to himself.

  ‘You then need to make your way to the Giro office in Bootle and tell them you have no access to money or accommodation and, finally, I will telephone children’s welfare this morning. I have already made enquiries and am aware you have young children who may have to be taken into care.’

  Peggy felt as though she had been punched in the face a hundred times. Surely this could not be happening? ‘My husband – my husband – if we aren’t in the house, he can’t get down to the docks to work… he can’t do anything else.’

  Mr Heartfelt sighed and shook his head. ‘Mrs Nolan, if he worked, you wouldn’t be in this position. These are dockers’ houses, owned by the board, and a condition of service is that the dockers actually work, and you make regular payment. My advice to you is to prepare your children before the children’s welfare department arrive at your door.’

  Peggy’s world crashed and shattered at her feet as she heard the sound of a woman’s voice, a shout. Her head turned. The woman who’d shouted was one of the two who had been waiting for an interview. A frown crossed Peggy’s face; the young woman was running to her, Peggy, to catch her. But why? Just before she hit the dusty wooden floor, the last thing she saw before darkness blessedly claimed her, was the grin that passed between Frank the Skank and Mr Heartfelt.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alice was on her way to Cindy’s when a car, an unusual sight in itself, made its way slowly up Nelson Street, lurching from side to side over the cobbles. Alice recognised Mr Keeble as the driver almost instantly, but her jaw dropped when she saw that it was a rather pale-looking Peggy in the passenger seat. She waved him down and he drew to a halt and wound down the window.

  ‘She fainted in the administration hut and I was bringing her back up home.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Alice asked Peggy, who didn’t answer her.

  ‘I think she could do with seeing the doctor,’ said Mr Keeble and Alice boldly said, ‘Would you mind taking us? I’ll just collect Kathleen.’

  And before Mr Keeble could answer, Alice had run back into number 42 and shouted, ‘Kathleen, it’s Peggy! Get your handbag and your coat on, we’re going to the doctor’s in a car.’

  *

  Kathleen had never got used to calling Brendan Cole, Dr Cole. She had known him since the day he was born back home in Ireland and now he greeted her warmly when she arrived in his surgery, but not as warmly as he would have done if she had been passing him on his way into mass on a Sunday morning, back in Ballynevin. Like many before him, Brendan Cole had arrived in Liverpool as a houseman at St Angelus and never returned home to Ireland. Here in Liverpool, he had never lost his keenness to impress and remain professional at all times.

  Brendan Cole listened to Peggy’s complaints about her shortage of breath and her aching veins with the patience of Saint Patrick himself, before he gave her a thorough examination behind the screen while Kathleen sat and waited on the other hard-backed chair beside his desk. Peggy had told Kathleen and Dr Cole about everything, but not about the bailiffs.

  ‘Your heart sounds fine, but it is a bit fast and your blood pressure is too high. Your nerves are in a bad way, Peggy,’ he said, as Peggy fastened her blouse. ‘Are you feeling OK back on your feet? Maybe I should just give you an internal and check those fibroids. Did you go back to the clinic? Are you bleeding heavily at your time of the month?’ he asked, wondering if bleeding from the fibroids had caused an anaemia that had brought on the faint.

  ‘I’m going to have them out, when I’ve got time,’ she said, trying to remember when exactly it was she had had her last period. ‘But I’ve no bleeding to speak of; the tablets they gave me worked a treat so there’s no need for an internal.’

  Reassured, Dr Cole smiled. ‘Sit yourself down next to Kathleen,’ he said in a voice that was loaded with the sympathy he felt for all the women who lived around the docks and were married to underpaid stevedores.

  ‘I have a lot on my plate, doctor,’ said Peggy, as she flopped onto the chair, which creaked loudly in protest, ‘haven’t I, Kathleen?’

  ‘She has, you’ve no idea, Brendan – sorry, doctor,’ said Kathleen taking hold of Peggy’s trembling hand, and holding it tight.

  Kathleen had been rolling pastry when Alice ran into the kitchen. ‘Oh, Holy Mother of God, what is it?’ Kathleen had asked as she flaked the pastry from her fingers and rubbed her hands on her apron.

  ‘Peggy must have been paying the rent and fainted in the dock administration offices. She’s outside in Mr Keeble’s car and he’ll take us to the doctor’s.’

  Katheen slipped her arms into the coat Alice held out for her. ‘Paying her rent, today? She must have missed Mr Keeble when he called on Friday night. I’ve never said a word to anyone about the number of times we feed those kids, Alice, and Maggie Trott hasn’t either, because we know that if we’re feeding the kids, then Peggy is paying the rent to keep a roof over their heads which is what matters. Even Peggy isn’t stupid enough not to pay the rent. Right, I’ll go with her and you go and check on the kids. They’ll be up on the wasteland, so make sure Malachi isn’t beating the living daylights out of any of them.’

  ‘Kathleen, I’m supposed to be having my hair done…’

  But Kathleen wasn’t listening. ‘I’ve kept all the fatty bits from the meat and the rind from the rashers for Scamp.’ They were already alongside the car. ‘Hello, Mr Keeble, thank you so much for this and for waiting, it’s very kind of you.’

  Kathleen let herself into the car, slamming the back door. Alice saw Mr Keeble wince as she did so and sighed. She would miss her appointment with Cindy. ‘And my hair’s a mess,’ she wailed, but no one was listening as she made her way to rescue Peggy’s kids.

  Alice had almost reached the wasteland when she bumped into Mary, who was hurrying down the entry and Alice could see she’d been crying. ‘Mary, are you all right? What’s up, love? Is it Malcolm, I know he’s a stickler for the rules.’

  Alice’s voice tailed off as Mary shook her head. ‘Malcolm is a dote,’ she said, fishing in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘It’s not Malcolm.’

  Alice linked her arm through Mary’s. ‘I’ve got to check on Peggy’s kids and I was supposed to be having my hair done, so honest to God, I really do have something to cry about, look at the state of me?’

  Mary looked up at Alice’s hair and smiled. ‘You look lovely,’ she said.

  Alice smiled back at the young waif next to her. She had watched Mary grow up and had
always felt as though they had something in common; and if Alice had been raised in a house and a community where people cared, she often wondered, who would she be? In recent months it had occurred to her that she would have been like the diligent, deep and thoughtful Mary. She had travelled a very hard road to get to where she was and never a day went by when she wasn’t grateful to be accepted by everyone around her.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you walk with me and if our Nellie is watching the kids, let’s go to the café and have us a cup of tea and a custard slice; do you fancy that?’

  Mary couldn’t speak; she was so touched by Alice’s kindness, she was sure she would erupt into a fresh bout of tears if she tried to. Alice squeezed her arm. ‘Come on, over that cake you can tell me all your troubles. I’m sure you know I’ve had enough of my own over the years – and one thing I’ve learned is that nothing is ever as bad as it seems, especially when you’ve talked it out over a custard slice.’

  *

  Peggy shuffled forward on the chair and a wooden leg beneath her groaned. ‘Doctor, the Wrights are moving in next door to us – you know, Frank the Skank, the policeman even the other policemen don’t like – can you imagine?’ She almost shrieked the words. As she said it out loud, she could barely believe the nightmare she was living. She had told no one she couldn’t pay the rent and had no idea how she had got into this mess, had gone weak with relief when Kathleen had said to her, ‘Fancy missing the rent man last night, Peggy. If you had paid it then, you wouldn’t have had to go down those steps.’