The Four Streets Saga

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘Good morning, my beautiful colleen,’ he said, swinging her up in his arms and lifting her above his head. ‘One, two, three,’ he shouted, and then threw her six inches into the air. ‘By Jaysus,’ he puffed, ‘I won’t be doing that for much longer, I’ll be hitting the roof, so I will, and sending the tiles flying into Harrington Road, yer getting such a big girl.’

  She hugged his neck, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, just the same as her mother’s. He savoured the moment, as he closed his eyes, rocking her slowly from side to side, hugging her tight. Nellie closed her eyes too. They both remained quiet, locked in their special moment until they felt her join them, as she nearly always did. They both felt the intensity of the love that flowed and wrapped itself around them, holding them tightly together and lasting for just a minute. Then it was gone as quickly as it came. But it never failed them; it was always there.

  After crashing the range doors once he had put his rashers of Irish bacon and sliced tatties in the oven, Jerry started dancing around the kitchen with Nellie, as he did almost every morning, holding one of her hands out to the side as if they were waltzing. Some mornings Nellie left after him for school, but her weekends were just like the early years with Alice had been, lonely.

  Jerry sang at the top of his voice, accompanying Cliff Richard on the red and grey Roberts radio, as he swirled her around the kitchen, and she began to giggle. He never seemed to be in the slightest bit scared about waking Alice.

  When they finished dancing, he filled a bowl with milk and water, dropped four or five cobs of bread into it with a sprinkling of sugar and popped it into the range oven with his rashers. If Nellie didn’t have her breakfast and milk with her da in the morning, she might go all day without food, but she would never tell him that, because Alice had told her not to. She might also have a bit of bacon and tatties, if she hurried and finished her bowl first. She made sure she hurried.

  Jerry took his breakfast and Nellie’s ‘pobs’ from the range and placed them on the dark wooden table. Jerry had loved the yellow table he and Bernadette had saved for and bought together. Now, he and Nellie sat on Alice’s very cumbersome oak chairs with dark brown leather seat pads. Jerry and Nellie called them chairs; Alice called them ladder-backs.

  At least the bright yellow table had gone to Maura and Tommy, who had been delighted beyond words. They had too many children ever to be able to afford anything new in the way of furniture. Everything they owned was falling to bits. Maura had cried the day he and Tommy carried the table into their kitchen along with the four modern chairs, with spindle chrome legs and plastic seats and backs, covered in the same pattern as the Formica table. It was bright yellow with a design that looked as if someone had scattered a box of grey matches over the top. Maura wrote to her relatives in Mayo and told them it was time they came for a visit. She wanted them to report back to her relatives and friends in the village how prosperous Maura and Tommy were in England and how good the wages must be, if they could afford a Formica table.

  Once Jerry and Nellie sat down to their breakfast together, the chatter began. Nellie’s chatter, that is. Jerry could never get a word in edgeways. She talked and rambled non-stop. Sometimes she almost made him late, a disaster for a docker. Work was on a first come, first served basis and it was getting harder to be taken on each day.

  This morning, the tide was out and Jerry had an extra half-hour. It was Sunday and there was no school for Nellie. From the upstairs window he could see out across the river. He knew, from having popped into the dock office the day before, which boats were expected in and he could see the tugs and pilots weren’t moving out yet.

  ‘Let’s play a game, shall we,’ he said to Nellie. He didn’t often get time to romp about with her. There was no Alice up and making demands on his attention, so why not? Nellie was squealing and jumping up and down on the spot.

  Eager to make her happy, Jerry remembered a game Nellie had played at Maura’s at the weekend and said, ‘I have an idea. Why don’t we make a den?’

  Nellie could not believe her ears and was beside herself with excitement. Jerry took her into the living room and they pulled out the dark oak sideboard, which was normally flush with the wall, and put it across the corner of the room. Jerry lifted her over the top, so she was in the triangle-shaped space, and then pulled the sideboard away and squeezed in himself.

  The sideboard was another of Alice’s possessions. Again, it was too large for the room but it was her pride and joy and she polished it every day.

  Nellie and her da played in the den, pretending that they were in a cave and that out in the living room were lots of wild animals they had to hide from. They both had to go into the kitchen to fetch essential supplies for the den, dodging the imaginary wild animals.

  ‘Quick, let me in,’ squealed Nellie, who did the first run to the kitchen to fetch water. ‘The fish are chasing me.’

  ‘The fish?’ laughed Jerry. ‘Why is ye worried about the fish? It’s a big lion I can see chasing ye.’

  Nellie squealed and both feet left the floor in shock, as she ran, spilling her water on the way. As she squeezed back in behind the sideboard, she screamed when Jerry once again pulled it across the corner, closing the little gap he had left for Nellie.

  After they had been playing for a while, Jerry heard the tugs. ‘I have to go, Queen,’ he said to Nellie. ‘You stay here and play with Alice, I will go and wake her.’

  Nellie froze. She couldn’t speak or move. Within seconds Jerry had moved the sideboard out, removed himself and easily pushed it back again. Jerry was a docker and his upper-body strength was immense. It was no effort for him. He took his cap from the nail on the back of the kitchen door, along with his jacket, and shouted up the stairs to Alice, ‘Come down and play with Nellie, she’s waiting for ye. Alice, do you hear me?’

  He waited for a ‘yes’ to come down the stairs and then he was off, out of the back door, down the entry, across the road and down the steps to the dock. He was standing at the dock gate, shouting greetings to the other men and laughing about the football prospects for the Everton team, just as Alice put her feet out of bed and onto the bedroom floor. Alice didn’t like being woken. Alice wanted to hide in her bed under the blankets and be alone. She liked being shouted awake even less. What did Jerry mean, Nellie was waiting for her? If the child had any sense she would be back in her room, where she ought to be.

  Nellie tried to move the sideboard to get out, but it was too heavy and she was trapped. She put her fingers onto the top and tried to scramble up. It was too high. Her feet had nothing to grip onto. Her toes pounded like a dog at the door scraping to come in, with no effect. She could hear Alice’s footsteps upstairs and she knew she needed to get out. She lifted her hands higher and tried hard to pull herself up. She heaved her feet off the floor, pressing her knees into the back of the sideboard and the soles of her feet flat against the wall behind, to shimmy herself up, one last time. She gave it every ounce of strength she had. The sideboard rocked towards her as she tipped it slightly up off its front legs, just for a second, and then she heard the crash and froze.

  As a terrified Nellie squatted behind the sideboard alone, where, only a few minutes ago, both she and her da had been laughing heartily, she heard Alice’s footsteps slowly descend the stairs into the kitchen. Alice didn’t say a word. She never did. She walked over to the radio and switched it off. Alice hated noise. She was slightly surprised that the kitchen looked exactly as it always did, and yet she knew something was different; she knew Nellie wasn’t in her room. She could sense her, smell her, and she wanted to know what had made the loud crashing noise.

  Alice put the kettle back on the range to boil, and then walked into the living room. She saw the sideboard moved from its usual place and she stared, with absolute horror, at her parents’ precious ornament, a china dancing lady, smashed to smithereens on the floor.

  Alice didn’t shout. She never shouted. Hissing was more her style.

&nbs
p; ‘So, this is it, this is the day it all changes, eh?’ she spat quietly. She walked to the corner of the room and attempted to heave the sideboard back into its original place. Then she saw Nellie, huddled as far back against the wall as she could be, cowering and shaking. Nellie didn’t say a word; she knew that was forbidden.

  ‘You dirty, stinking, foul little bitch,’ Alice hissed under her breath. ‘Stand up.’

  Nellie couldn’t. She couldn’t even breathe properly, let alone stand up. Her legs were shaking so much she couldn’t move. Her throat had closed over and her mouth was so dry that, even if she had wanted to speak, she couldn’t have.

  ‘STAND UP!’ Alice shouted. Nellie wished she could. She wished she could stand up and run out of the door and down to Maura’s house, but she couldn’t move a single limb.

  ‘How dare you touch my furniture, how dare you touch my furniture, how dare you?’ Alice hissed.

  Nellie looked at Alice for the first time. Blotches of red had appeared on Alice’s neck and were marching up towards her face. A dribble of spittle below her lip had flown out in anger and stood out bright white against the now very red chin. Alice wasn’t looking at Nellie, she was talking to herself. Muttering about vermin and foul children, about her ruined life, ruined because of a brat. Even as she was moving the sideboard, she carried on talking to herself, looking over her shoulder to the door. She was in such a rage that she didn’t care if Jerry walked in.

  Alice’s dark hair was tied back in a tight bun, but a section from the front, which would have been a fringe if Alice had ever had a style, suddenly flew out and bobbed backwards and forwards across her eyes like an overlarge windscreen wiper, distracting her. Alice tried to tuck it back, but the errant strand was adamant. As soon as Alice managed it, it flew straight back out, with such a flop it was as if ghostly fingers had pulled it out, and it landed again in front of her eyes. Nellie knew that piece of hair was saving her.

  The sideboard was heavy, but Alice heaved and pulled until the gap between it and the wall was big enough for her to get inside.

  ‘Come here, you little bitch,’ she shouted, as she leant down and took hold of Nellie, who was tiny and frail by any measure, by the top of her hair, lifting her off her feet. The pain was excruciating, but still Nellie never made a sound. As her feet touched the ground again, she wet herself. She couldn’t help it.

  The pain in her head was searing and the amber liquid running down her legs stung. She had no time to register the extent of the pain, it was all happening so quickly. Alice let go of Nellie’s hair and grabbed the top of her arm. She dug her fingers and her nails into Nellie’s shoulder and arm so tightly that, despite herself, Nellie let out a stifled scream. She was as light as a feather and as Alice swung her through the doorway from the living room to the kitchen, her shins crashed against the door frame.

  Nellie could smell Alice’s acrid sweat. Alice was wearing a bottle-green jumper and she could see every stitch in every row as her face was rammed up against it. The smell was overpowering close up and caught the back of Nellie’s throat, making her gag. Out of the corner of her eye, Nellie could see her ‘pobs’ bowl and her da’s tea mug on the draining board. Suddenly, the sight of something that was her da’s made her cry with lonely desperation. Seeing his mug accentuated the fact that her situation was hopeless; she needed him back now.

  As they got closer to the range, Nellie began to breathe so fast she became dizzy. She was crying so hard she was beginning to panic. Her feet kept leaving the floor as Alice jerked her along, gripping the top of her arm tightly, lifting her up and swinging her through the air like a rag doll towards the kitchen. This was it, she knew. Finally, Alice was going to put her in the fire. She was going to burn in the flames of hell, like the priest in church said you did when you sinned. She had broken the dancing lady. She was a sinner. She knew was going to die, like her own mammy.

  As they approached the range, Alice picked up the boiling kettle. She was still talking and hissing to herself; about her ruined life and having to change the bed sheets of dirty people no better than scumbags, and now she was expected to pander to a verminous brat. Still holding Nellie off the floor by the top of her arm, Alice poured the boiling water out of the kettle into the sink. Then suddenly, Nellie’s arm was set free as she grabbed her hair again, jerking her head back.

  Although it hurt her so much, Nellie was relieved. The pain in her arm had been so bad she had felt like it was going to snap. She didn’t know that in a few more minutes, her shoulder would have dislocated and that Alice had let go just in the nick of time. Alice pulled her head so far back Nellie thought her neck was going to break. She let out another stifled scream and her breath came in short, fast gasps, as Alice brought the bottom of the boiling-hot, copper-bottomed kettle down close to Nellie’s face. She stopped with only half an inch to go.

  The heat of the kettle was burning into Nellie’s nose and cheeks; paralysed with fear, she couldn’t move. Her cheeks were burning with a raging heat and it felt as though silence had descended over the kitchen. She whimpered, ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ each word followed by a tiny sob.

  ‘See this?’ screamed Alice. ‘See this? Next time I won’t stop, next time I will smash it down straight onto your ugly face. Do you get it, do you?’

  Nellie tried to nod, but she couldn’t move her head because Alice’s grip on her hair was so tight.

  ‘Do you?’ Alice screamed, spit flying out of her mouth to sizzle where it hit the boiling-hot kettle.

  The sudden loud smash of pottery on the concrete floor startled Alice. Nellie was vaguely aware of the noise as it happened somewhere in the kitchen, but it was a mere backdrop to the sound of the pain screaming in her ears.

  Alice turned her concentration away from Nellie and looked down at the smashed statue of the Madonna, broken into a hundred tiny pieces, fanned out like broken eggshells across the kitchen floor. Alice slowly placed the copper kettle back onto the range. Turning away from Nellie, she stood and looked at the pieces on the floor and then at the mantelpiece above the range. She couldn’t have done that, could she? Alice ran her hand along the shelf, feeling for a reason to explain how the Madonna had moved six inches to the edge and fallen off. For a moment she forgot about Nellie as, in utter confusion, she bent to pick up the larger broken pieces from the floor.

  Nellie hadn’t taken in what had happened. She could not see through her tears or feel through the pain searing across her scalp and throbbing in her arm. She was quietly sobbing and felt sick and dizzy. The hyperventilating from her fast breathing was having an effect and her legs felt weak, pins and needles pricking her whole body. And then, as violently as it had begun, it ended. Everything went black.

  Nellie had fainted in blessed relief.

  Just at that moment, Jerry moved to take a corner of the crate being unloaded from the back of a newly arrived merchant navy vessel. The other dockers called him Stanley Matthews after the great footballer because he always took the corner. Tommy leapt to take the other corner.

  ‘How’s the colleen this morning?’ he shouted to Jerry, as with six others they carefully steered the crate away from the ship’s gangway.

  ‘Sure she’s grand, never better,’ Jerry shouted back.

  They both knew they were talking about Nellie, not Alice. As he spoke, the image of Nellie, not half an hour since, came into his mind. The thought of her running through their imaginary jungle with a cup of water and squealing that she was being chased by fish, looking and sounding just like her mother, made him chuckle yet again. His heart was warm. When Nellie was excited or happy, he saw his Bernadette. It made a difference to his day. The glimpse would stay with him all day as he still thought about her, often.

  His daydreaming was broken by the yells of warning from the men at the front. The side of the butter crate they were moving had come adrift and collapsed. Two hundred and fifty smaller wooden crates of New Zealand butter were spilling out of the side of the crate all over the
dock floor. As Jerry heeded the warning and ran, two of the crates hit him hard, square on, one on the top of his arm just below his shoulder, the second on the top of his skull.

  He didn’t see them coming, which was rare. He was usually one of the fastest to jump out of the way of trouble, making him one of the few men on the docks who had never sustained an injury. Neither crates hurt him badly, but enough to make him scream out in pain.

  ‘Shut yer feckin’ moaning,’ said Tommy, as he ripped open a lid of one of the smaller crates and started stuffing half-pound packets of butter into his pockets. ‘Stop crying like a babby and fill yer fecking pockets, there’ll be butter on the table fer weeks.’

  Jerry did as he was told. He scooped up the smaller packets and, flinching, rubbed the top of his arm and his head. He felt the pain from the bruises for days afterwards.

  An hour later Nellie woke, exactly where she had been thrown onto her bed. Her head was at the bottom where her feet should have been and she was shivering, on top of the blankets. As she lifted her head to look around the room and check she was alone, she felt a sharp pain in her arm and as though her scalp was raw. She lay back, face down, on the bed, eyes open, heart closed. She couldn’t even sob. Her bed was wet and cold. She knew her room smelt and her legs stung. For hours she lay, staring at her fingers or at the door. The pain in her arm and head throbbed, and she felt so alone, so sorry for herself.

  She cried quietly, as she listened to the sounds of Harry and the other children playing outside on the green while the light began to fade. The noise tormented her and emphasized her loneliness. She could pick out the individual children by their voices or their laugh. She thought she could hear them shouting, ‘Nellie, where are you, come out and play.’

  They weren’t and never would. The kids in the street had got used to Nellie being kept inside, and Nellie’s was the only house that the kids dare not run in and out of without knocking on the door first – and no one did that. Harry’s mammy had said Alice was a witch, they had all heard her, so it must be true. The children were scared half to death of what would happen to them if they did knock on the door and she said, ‘Come in.’