by Sheila Riley
‘How much did you say he will pay…?’
‘Three pounds ten shillings, with an evening meal thrown in – it’s a good price.’
‘It’s more than most, I’ll grant you.’ Mim nodded, mulling over the situation, then she said, not without an air of smug satisfaction, ‘Cissie Brown gets twelve and six off her lodger and she does his laundry. Three pounds ten shillings, you say…?’ Connie nodded, no longer daring to breathe. Mim hadn’t said a definite ‘no’, but she hadn’t said a definite ‘yes’ either.
‘Three pounds ten is not to be sniffed at, considering the average docker gets a pound for a forty-eight-hour week – this Mr McCrea must have a well-paid job.’
Connie lifted her cup from the matching saucer, gazing into the fire while Mim plotted, weighing up the pros and cons – then she played her ace.
‘Mr McCrea said he doesn’t mind doing his own washing and ironing…’ She heard Mim’s horrified gasp, but she didn’t look in Mim’s direction. It wouldn’t do to look eager.
‘A man doing his own laundry?’ Mim was obviously outraged if her irate tone of voice was anything to go by. ‘I’ve never heard the like in all my days!’
‘He was in the army.’ Connie watched the dancing fire gain momentum. Nearly there.
‘Well, I’ll be having no man washing and ironing in my kitchen!’ Mim said. ‘I’m sure we can come to an arrangement…’ Connie sipped her second cup of tea.
‘Three pounds and fifteen shillings, with meals and laundry thrown in?’ Mim conceded. ‘And that’s me last offer.’ She gave a deal-affirming nod of her head.
‘You drive a hard bargain.’ Connie smiled. ‘He only works for the Mersey Dock Board, he doesn’t own it.’
‘He won’t get better, not around here.’ Mim knew her own home was a cut above the average. ‘What does he do? I’m having no docker in dirty overalls mucking up my antimacassars!’
‘I told you. He’s suit and tie, works in the office. And here’s the supplied references.’ Connie took out the brown official-looking envelope, and could have jumped for joy when she gave the envelope to her mother. Three pounds fifteen shillings would go a long way when trade was down.
‘They decorated him for his war work, did you know?’ Mim asked, peering over her new spectacles, bought from Woolworths. Connie nodded. She knew.
‘Thirty-seven, and already a widower…’ Mim said, folding the reference and sliding it back into the envelope. By the raised eyebrow and agreeable expression on her mother’s mature, attractive face, Connie deduced everything was in order. ‘He’s got implacable credenzas.’
Impeccable credentials, Connie thought, knowing her mother often got her words mixed up. ‘You can congratulate him when he gets here – at half past eight.’ She nodded to the clock on the mantelpiece.
‘Half past eight! Today? This morning?’ Mim’s eyes widened as she shot up from the table. ‘It’s that now, and here’s me in me night-shift… It would have been a kindness to tell me!’
Connie had never seen Mim move so fast.
14
When she heard the knock on the front door, Connie felt her insides tighten. There hadn’t been a man in the place since her father died six years ago.
‘You’ll hardly know I’m here,’ Mr McCrea had said when he caught her undecided expression, his vibrant blue eyes coaxing. ‘I’ll be out all day. All I need is a bed and a bite to eat, and I’ll be satisfied.’
Be that as it may, thought Connie, heading down the stairs, but would Mim feel the same way? Since she’d decided to take in the lodger, Mim had a face on her like a wet week in Weatherby, and nothing was more miserable than that. Before opening the side door downstairs, Connie took a quick peek in the mirror. Pinching her cheeks to give them a dash of colour, having already removed the pin-curls under her turbaned scarf. But when she got to the door, she was surprised to see Evie, huddling in the doorway, hopping from one foot to the other.
‘I hope you don’t mind me knocking this early,’ Evie said, her arms folded across her slim body trying and keep some body heat. But Connie knew nobody could keep warm in this arctic weather. ‘I’ve come to—’
‘Come in,’ Connie said standing to one side. ‘We don’t want to let all the heat out.’
‘That’s what I’ve come about,’ Evie said. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m on the scrounge and I didn’t sleep a wink for worrying.’ Evie didn’t want Connie Sharp thinking she was brazen like her mother, who wouldn’t think twice about accepting a hand-out. ‘I forgot to pay you for the coal last night.’
‘You had a lot on your plate,’ Connie said, ushering Evie up the stairs. Then, lowering her voice, she said in a confidential hush. ‘The brewery make sure we don’t go short. They don’t want their regular customers going somewhere warmer.’ Connie led the way up to the front living room and Evie made a determined effort not to let her jaw drop.
She’d only been in the Tram Tavern once on that terrible Sunday last Summer and had never seen the upstairs living quarters. But even before she got to the top of the stairs, she knew this was no ordinary accommodation. It was like how she imagined a high-class hotel. Even before she followed Connie into the furnished front room, Evie could see this place was a million miles away from the Kilgaren house next door.
This lot must have cost a queer penny, Evie thought, taking in the velvet plumb coloured curtains keeping out the cold draught from eight bay windows and fitting the rounded corner bay, which allowed an all-round view of the area – right down to the docks. Evie couldn’t take her eyes off this rare view of the borough and she could even see her lodgings on the other side of the canal, next to Old Man Skinner’s haulage yard.
‘Come and sit down,’ Connie said patting the brown leather Chesterfield sofa so like the one that had graced her mother’s kitchen, except this one looked as if it belonged. Evie complied, her feet sinking into the deep-pile carpet that covered the whole floor. No lino here, she noticed, eyeing the kind of luxury she wanted one day. Nobody would ever dream this was a backstreet pub in the heart of the Mersey dockland.
‘I can’t stay long.’ Evie felt the extravagant heat seeping into her frozen limbs, and she knew the kids would thrive in a place as warm and luxurious, and then some. ‘I’ve got to get back to Jack and Lucy.’ She felt guilty, knowing their fire was nowhere near as inviting as this one.
‘I’m not going to take your money,’ Connie said pushing away Evie’s outstretched hand. ‘We get it off the brewery, like I said, so it’s no skin off my nose.’ By the looks of it, poor Evie needed all the help she could get.
‘I won’t take charity.’ Evie sounded determined and Connie surmised the girl had something about her that was a million miles away from her parents. She was not going to be the cause of a good jangle, like her mother. And as for her father – well, Connie thought, the least said about Frank Kilgaren the better.
‘I pay my way, then I know what’s what.’ She didn’t elaborate but Connie had a good idea what she was getting at. Her family had filled the mouths of Reckoner’s Row inhabitants for many a long year, and it looked like Evie thought the time had come for the gossip to stop.
‘Suit yourself,’ Connie said good-naturedly taking the proffered money, knowing Evie was still as independent as she remembered and knowing there were some around here who would take the eyes from your head and live in the holes. She smiled as she tucked the money inside her blouse, Evie wasn’t like that.
‘I must get back,’ Evie said. ‘I didn’t want you thinking I diddled you out of the coal money, not like some.’
‘I know you didn’t, you soft mare,’ Connie laughed. ‘But say what you like about Rene, she was a bloody good worker until now. No stinting. Always gave me notice if she was going to miss a shift behind the bar…’ Connie paused as if remembering, then said, ‘Oh, before I forget, I’ve got some candles here – for when the gas goes off, later.’
‘I’m sure we’ve got candles.’ Evie was sure they didn
’t have any candles, Connie had done enough already. They would manage with the light of the coal fire.
Realising the girl looked a bit shame-faced, Connie nudged Evie’s arm and said, ‘don’t worry about the money. I mean it!’
‘Are you sure you can spare them?’ Evie asked, knowing she needed every penny. ‘I don’t mind paying for them.’ She knew they possessed only one nub of candle for the whole house next door, so a couple more would come in very handy.
‘They cost me nothing,’ Connie said. ‘The brewery makes sure we’re well-stocked – they know the customers won’t drink in the dark during the blackout.’
When she disappeared to fetch the candles, Evie allowed her taut body to relax a little. The dark wooden framed pictures on the pale cream walls looked ever so posh and her eyes were drawn to a sepia coloured photograph above the marble fireplace, it showed a young woman in white lace. The style looked straight out of the 1920s. The drop-waist dress showed off her white silk stockings at her slim ankles, her dainty Mary-Jane shoes and flowing veil completed the stylish outfit.
The newly-married girl was smiling up to her new husband dressed in the uniform of a soldier in the First World War, who had his arm around her small waist outside the doors of the tavern, and Evie guessed the adoring couple were Connie’s mam and dad on their wedding day.
As she stood admiring the photograph, something struck her. Her own mother had taken all the pictures down when her father’s ship went down. She couldn’t bear to be reminded of the happiness they shared, Evie supposed. Mam never talked about her wedding day. Never said where she was married. Nor how she met Dad. But he had made sure they knew how much he loved her mother. Adored her. Worshipped the ground…
‘Here we are,’ Connie said, holding out three long white alter candles. ‘But say nothing to anybody – if someone in the street gets wind of spare candles, they’ll all want some.’
Evie shook her head. Who could she tell? Connie was the only person in Reckoner’s Row who had ever given her the time of day. Except for Danny Harris. Her heart gave a little flutter and she ignored it. Being in the army, he didn’t count. He was nice to everybody.
‘Thanks ever so much, Connie,’ Evie said, bundling the candles under her coat. She’d always been a bit scared of Connie, thought she was a bit… sergeant major-ish, but really she was very kind and not a bit like Evie imagined.
As she headed towards the door to leave, Connie’s mother came into the room. Now Mim really was a character and as far removed from the girl in the photograph as it was possible to imagine. Her bleached blonde hair was wrapped in tin curlers and covered with a brown hairnet. But that wasn’t the thing that disconcerted Evie as she gave Mim a quick nod of greeting and tried not to look puzzled at the sight of the middle-aged, but still handsome woman, dressed in her nightclothes while sparkling like the crown jewels.
‘Any news from your mother?’ Mim asked, ignoring her daughter’s wide-eyed glare, as Evie shook her head. ‘Knowing Rene, she’ll be back in a day or two with her tail between her legs.’
‘Mim!’ Connie’s unblinking retort made no difference; her mother was noted for speaking her mind. ‘Evie doesn’t want to hear you talking about her mother like that.’
‘How could any good mother in their right mind leave their kids? In this weather!’
‘She’ll be getting the length of my tongue when she does get home.’ Evie forced the words through clenched teeth.
‘It takes all kinds, I know,’ Mim had no intentions of keeping her opinions to herself, ‘but this country’s gone to the dogs since the war…’
‘Don’t forget, Evie,’ Connie said interrupting her mother before she caused the poor girl any more embarrassment, ‘if you need anything, you know where I am.’
‘Thanks, Connie,’ Evie said, her smile tight. Opening the side-door and stepping out to the yard, where beer crates stacked as high as her head lined white-washed walls, Evie felt privileged to see behind-the-scenes.
‘I must go back to my lodgings,’ Evie said, ‘though, I begrudge paying rent for a room I’m not using.’
‘Why don’t you move back home? And if it doesn’t work out when your mam gets back, you can have a room here,’ Connie offered. ‘I’m sure it’s much better than where you’re staying now.’
‘Not half!’ Evie said, delighted. ‘I swore I’d never come back, but I didn’t realise I was going to miss the old place.’
‘I felt exactly the same when I came back from Italy, after the war,’ Connie said, not allowing herself to dwell. ‘It’s funny how you get used to the noise and the dirt and the smoke from belching chimneys.’ Suddenly she started laughing. ‘Oh I really missed the belching chimneys and the stink off the dock.’
‘All seven bloody miles of it,’ Evie joined in and for the first time in who knew how long, she heard the sound of her own laughter. It felt good. Connie wasn’t the harridan she had imagined. In fact, she was lovely. Even if she did have to put up with a strange mother.
‘It’s good of you to offer me a room, Connie…’ Evie hesitated, unsure of her next words. ‘Don’t think I’m being nosey, but does your mam always sleep in her jewellery?’
Connie threw her head back and laughed, something she did often.
‘Take no notice of Mim.’ Connie lowered her voice. ‘We’re getting a new lodger today, and she thinks the first thing he’ll do is ransack her jewellery. It’s only paste, not worth a balloon off the ragman.’
‘Oh, Connie you are so funny,’ Evie laughed, realising this feisty woman was not as formidable as she first thought. Connie could still hear her laughing when Evie reached number two next door. The sound raised her spirits, knowing Evie Kilgaren had been desperately short of a bloody good laugh.
Closing the high wooden side-gate, Connie heard the rumble of a hackney cab trundling over the icy cobbles at the bottom of the street and the sound spurred her on. Hurrying upstairs she pulled the turban from her head and slid the grips from her pin-curled hair. Leaning forward she gathered the little Catherine wheels into Betty-Grable-style curls and secured them on top of her head with the pins she had removed.
A quick squirt of sugared water held the glamorous coils in place, and her look was finished with a hunter’s bow of red lipstick and a dot of rouge on each cheek. She could not greet her new lodger in a turban without her face on, not at this hour of the morning.
Connie had finished getting ready when she heard the throb of the taxi’s engine outside. Like a young gazelle, she crossed the room and pulled back the lace curtain, sensing Mim close behind her. Craning their necks, they peered down into the frozen street opposite the canal to where a man in a dark Crombie overcoat and black trilby hat was taking two large suitcases from the boot of the black cab, bringing attention from every kid in Reckoner’s Row.
‘Come and have a look at this, Mim,’ Connie called. ‘Trust Bobby Harris to stop and say something,’ she added when she saw Mr McCrea smile at Bobby’s unsuccessful attempted to pick up one suitcase. But she could not explain why her heart did a little flip when the new lodger ruffled Bobby’s hair.
‘No doubt he’s getting all the information he can for his mother, save her the bother of asking when she comes in to clean afterwards,’ Mim said with a sniff.
‘Looks like he’s offered to carry the suitcases the whole three feet to the tavern door,’ Connie said, smiling.
‘For a small consideration, no doubt,’ Mim answered when she saw Mr McCrea reach into his trouser pocket and hold up a threepenny bit. ‘Those new threepenny bits are worthless,’ Mim said. ‘All the silver’s needed to pay back the bullion lent by the Yanks during the war.’
‘Really?’ Connie answered, not taking much notice, more interested in watching what Bobby was up to. Mr McCrea said something, which she couldn’t hear, and Bobby nodded. Then, the Scotsman slapped the twelve-sided coin onto the back of his hand. Bobby must have got the answer right, she thought, as the boy raised his hand in salute when Mr Mc
Crae gave him the money.
‘He’s no spring chicken,’ Mim said, raising her chin, taking all in.
‘We’re not asking him to lay an egg.’ Connie’s sudden anxiety was making her tetchy.
‘By the look of those leather suitcases, I’d say he wasn’t short of a few bob, though.’ Mim knew if most people even owned a suitcase it would be made of stiff cardboard.
‘As long as he can pay his rent, that’s all that need concern us.’ Connie knew what would happen. Her mother, a wily interrogator any secret service would be glad of, would cross-examine every ounce of information out of their new lodger.
‘He might be useful after all.’ Mim’s shrewd expression softened, and Connie watched the fine web-like lines that etched her face disappear.
‘No, Mother,’ Connie warned when she saw her mother’s familiar expression, which told her the quest had begun. Under the hospitable exterior of an ex-landlady, beat the heart of a predator. Whilst removing her dinky curlers with apparent haste, Mim watched Connie hurry down the carpeted stairs to answer Mr McCrea’s ran-tan on the side door.
Taking a deep breath and wiping her hands on her skirt, Connie opened the door, her eyes bright. ‘Well, you got here then?’ She gave him an accomplished smile, ushering him inside.
‘Aye,’ Angus answered in that deep Scottish brogue as he removed his hat. ‘I got here.’
‘Here, let me bring these inside.’ She bent to pick up a suitcase and Mr McCrea put his hand on her arm.
‘You will never lift it,’ he said, irritating Connie with his condescending smile. She had been through more than enough to know her limitations.
‘I am stronger than I look,’ she answered, trying to pick up the heavy suitcase, without success. Taking a deep breath, she smiled. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘I am sure you’re capable,’ he remarked picking up the two cases as if they were empty, ‘but I do not travel light.’
‘Come and meet my mother.’ Connie tried to sound casual, while calming the fluttering butterfly wings beating inside her stomach. Just then, Mim came downstairs. Her hair was set in perfect finger waves. Connie noticed Mim had even had time to apply a vivid coat of pillar-box red lipstick. Never one to be under-dressed, her mother came over all regal when she had a mind.