Looking Back

by Looking Back (retail) (epub)

  ‘Go on?’ Intrigued, Rosie leaned forward in her chair.

  ‘I couldn’t really do it on my own though,’ the girl admitted. ‘Not with the children.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ Rosie wanted to help in any way she could.

  Taking the last swig of her tea, Molly put the empty cup in the hearth, and outlined her plan. ‘Have you ever seen them old folk down the market – they buy their potatoes and such, and then can hardly walk upright, ’cos their bags are so weighed down.’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I know what ye mean, lass,’ she said. ‘I struggled home with vegetables and fruit the other day, and it took me all the time to climb on to the tram, the bag was that heavy.’

  ‘What if you didn’t have to go down the market, or the greengrocer’s, or the bakery at the top of Cicely Bridge?’ Molly grew excited. ‘What if it were all brought to your front door? Would it be worth the price of your tram ticket, and sixpence beside?’

  ‘Well, I never!’ Rosie clapped her hands together. ‘Is that what you’re planning to do?’

  ‘I thought I could do all the shopping, and deliver it to their doors. Do you think it might work? Will folk pay for the service?’

  ‘Sure, I would, and that’s a fact.’ Rosie was impressed, but realistic. ‘But why would folks come to you, when there are already delivery vans going up and down the street?’

  ‘There’ll be a difference, Rosie. You see, I won’t just turn up at the doorstep with my goods. I’ll ask them first what they need, and I’ll go and fetch it for them. That way they’ll get exactly what they want, and not have to take what’s left by the time the delivery van gets to their door.’

  ‘A glorified errand girl, you mean. Well, me darlin’, I think it might just work, especially since some of these delivery men sneak yesterday’s leftovers in, and you can never get what ye want ’cos they’ve already sold it along the way. But how will you do it?’

  ‘I’ll buy a second-hand barrow. Old Tom Connor’s got a few standing outside his pawnshop on Ainsworth Street. Happen I could do a deal with him. And I’ve got a few bob put by.’ She paused, her voice falling quiet. ‘I were saving for me and Alfie’s wedding. I’ve got a few little bits that I bought an’ all – pillow slips and that kind of thing. Happen I won’t be needing them now.’

  ‘Oh, it can’t be altogether lost, surely to God!’ Torn between her fondness for Molly and the love of a mother, Rosie didn’t know what to say.

  Molly sensed her dilemma. ‘I do love him, Rosie.’

  ‘I know you do, but that only makes it worse.’

  ‘I want you to help me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘When Alfie finds out what’s happened, he might think it his duty to take me and the children on.’

  ‘It’s likely.’ Rosie knew her son. ‘Sure, he loves you enough to do something like that.’

  Molly was sad, but adamant. ‘It wouldn’t work, Rosie. It wouldn’t be fair on him, and in the end, it might come between us, and that would break my heart. Besides, knowing our dad, he would probably forbid me to take the children, and fetch in one of his tarts to look after them. I couldn’t stand by and watch that happen.’

  ‘So, what’s on your mind then?’

  Molly hesitated. What she had planned would split her and Alfie apart, maybe for ever. But what choice did she have? What choice had her mam left her? With a heavy heart, she outlined her plan. ‘I have to make Alfie believe I don’t love him enough to get wed, or to go to America with him.’

  ‘That’s a bit drastic.’

  ‘It’s the only way.’ Molly was thinking of Alfie and his dreams. ‘You want him to go to America, don’t you, Rosie?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  ‘You said yourself, if he keeps on with the street-fighting, he could be maimed, or even killed. I don’t want that and neither do you. If his only chance of getting off the streets is to take up the offer of America, I don’t have the right to stand in his way, you must see that.’

  ‘Yes, I see that, but it’s not fair on you. What you’re saying is, let him think there’s no hope of you and him ever getting wed, and he’ll go to America without you. Only he’ll be devastated.’ Rosie knew it was a terrible sacrifice for Molly to make. ‘I can’t let you do it,’ she said. ‘Not to him and not to yourself.’

  Molly was desperate. ‘So you want him to be lumbered with four children that don’t belong to him, plus Lottie, taking on another man’s responsibility, and street-fighting until he’s crippled or worse? Because that’s what it will come to in the end.’ Molly had to convince her or Alfie was lost, and his dreams with him.

  Rosie couldn’t deny it. ‘Oh lass, I’m so afraid for him.’

  ‘Then help me. Please, Rosie… help me!’

  Lost for words, Rosie dropped her head to her hands, and for the first time in years, she cried shamelessly, partly through guilt, partly relief. ‘It’s a wicked thing your mam’s done, so it is.’ Sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with a hankie handed to her by Molly, she said fondly, ‘You’re a special person, dear, to put my lad before yourself, especially when you could have him taking care of you and the children both.’

  ‘I can’t let him do it, and you wouldn’t want me to. He’s too young to be burdened like that. Besides, it’s not for him to make the sacrifice. What’s happened in this house is nothing to do with him. Alfie has his dreams and he has a right to see them come true.’

  ‘Yes – but will he want it without you? I don’t think so.’

  Taking hold of Rosie’s hands, Molly told her firmly, ‘That’s why you have to help me. You can convince him, I know it. Forget about me and think of him. He’s your son. Do it for him.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I’ll be all right. At least I’ll know he’s off the street and building a future for himself. It’s what he wants, Rosie, and it’s what I want. But I can’t do it without you. You have to help me!’

  Rosie was badly shaken. ‘I didn’t think it would come to this.’

  Scrambling out of her chair, Molly got to her knees in front of the older woman. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she murmured. ‘He’ll get over me.’

  But she would never get over Alfie. Not till the day she died.

  Chapter Nine

  When Rosie was gone, Molly set about her work. With the children happily occupied, she immersed herself in the housework; anything to stop her dwelling on the situation in which she found herself. Besides, the house needed a good clean.

  Since learning of her mam’s hurried departure from these parts, Molly had been able to think of nothing else. Now though, she deliberately set her mind to other things.

  Turning the wireless on, she let the music invade her senses, even humming the tunes on the Home Service as she washed the breakfast things and put them away. She then took out a small galvanised bucket from under the pot sink; filled with rags and small shoe-brushes, it held all the tools with which to clean and blacklead the fire-range.

  Setting the bucket down beside the hearth, she removed every ornament from the mantelpiece… her mam’s sewing box, the pretty brass candlesticks given to her by Rosie last Christmas, a sprig of lucky heather palmed on to Amy down the market by some toothless old Romany. Hanging underneath the mantelpiece was one of Frank’s old socks; tucked into this was a box of matches and two penny candles. When Molly came home from work one day to wonder at the sock hanging from under the mantel-cloth, Amy told her, ‘If the gas goes, we won’t all be in the dark.’ The gas had gone many times since then, and Amy had saved them all with her funny little idea.

  Taking down the sock, Molly felt her tears rising and quickly put it with the other artefacts. But when she came to take down the small cameo frame holding a photograph, the tears finally fell, and with them went the last vestige of her self-control.

  The photograph was of her mam and dad on their wedding day, and behind them, standing proud and stiff, were their respective parents. There was Grandad Henry
, with his long droopy moustache and balding head; his wife, small and pretty, wearing a black hat with a feather; and her mam’s parents, Granny Mary and Grandad John, both wonderful people. All gone now these past ten years and more.

  Molly looked at the face of her mother and was struck, as always, at how pretty she had been, the fresh young skin and smiling, bright eyes, and the joy in her face as she held on to the arm of her new husband. Stroking the tip of her finger along her mother’s face, Molly murmured, ‘I don’t suppose you thought he would ever turn out the way he did.’ For a moment she felt a surge of empathy with her mam, but the sound of laughter caused her to cast her gaze down at the two children, and her heart was filled with bitterness. Laying the photograph on the table, she told her mam, ‘You both turned out bad!’

  Tearing into the work, she took down the mantel-cloth, a beautiful green velvet thing, with long tassels that danced in the heat from the fire. With great care, she took it out to the back yard where she gave it a gentle shaking; as the dust flew upwards and away, Molly wished she could go with it.

  Taking the mantel-cloth back indoors, she folded it and laid it over the back of a chair, then set to washing the mantelpiece. That done, she put back the cloth and all the ornaments. Next, the hearth rug was taken outside and hung over the line. After giving it a good beating, Molly left it to freshen in the breeze, while she swept the carpet and dusted the furniture.

  The next job, and one she hated, was blackleading the fire-range. Taking the old socks out of the galvanised bucket, she drew them over her arms, then got out the cloth and blacklead and rubbed a generous measure into the ironwork, working it round and round like her mam did, until the whole thing was covered. Next, she took off the surplus, then finished the job with the soft brush, polishing and polishing, until the range positively glowed. Stepping back to study her handiwork, she gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘That should do for a month at least,’ she muttered.

  Her mam used to blacklead it once a fortnight, but though she had no intention of neglecting the wonderful old range, Molly had other plans for her spare time.

  After all the work was done and the parlour was neat and tidy, Molly discovered that Eddie had a dirty napkin. ‘We’ll have to get you used to the potty,’ she said, changing his nappy and making him laugh when she tickled his belly. Amy had already started with his potty habits, but Molly hadn’t yet had the chance to get herself properly organised. Tomorrow though, she would make it a priority.

  Bertha was hungry and wanted elevenses – a jam butty. Molly sat with her at the table while Eddie played on her lap. ‘Do you want to come out with me while I wash the windows?’ she asked Bertha, and the answer was a whoop of joy.

  Securing Eddie in his pram, Molly took him outside. Manoeuvring him so she would be able to see him, she put on the brake and went back inside. ‘I want to go out now.’ Bertha was being impatient.

  ‘Come and help me first,’ Molly said. The child followed her into the scullery, where Molly got ready the bucket and cloth for the windows, and the hard stone for the front step. Taking one of Frank’s billycans from the cupboard she half-filled it with warm water and gave it to Bertha to carry. ‘Steady now,’ she warned. ‘We don’t want it all over the floor.’

  Before going out, Molly rummaged about in the wash-tub and found a bolster case. Taking a baggy old jumper from the pile of dirty washing, and a smaller one for Bertha from the cupboard, she pulled the big one over her own head and carried the other to where she found Bertha poking a finger into the bucket. ‘Hey! Hands off,’ she laughed. ‘That’s my bucket.’ It took only a minute to slip the woolly on to Bertha, roll up the sleeves, and they were all ready.

  ‘Right. Let’s go.’ Taking Bertha in one hand and the bucket in the other, she made her way outside.

  ‘Eddie’s gone to sleep,’ Bertha observed, and Molly was glad of it. ‘Don’t you go to sleep on me, will you,’ she teased. ‘At least not until you’ve white-stoned the front step.’

  Tying the bolster-case round Bertha’s waist, she set her to work. ‘I’ll draw the lines down either side,’ she explained, ‘then you dip the stone in the water and rub it over the step until it comes up white. And don’t dip too far into the water or you’ll get your arms all wet. Then you’ll be cold and I’ll have to take you back inside.’

  Molly was up the ladder, washing the windows, when Sandra rocked the ladder from below. ‘I can see right up your drawers,’ she laughed crudely. ‘Shame on yer, Moll Tattersall!’

  Concentrating on her work, Molly was taken by surprise. Clinging on for all she was worth, she yelled back, ‘Give over, you daft devil! You’ll have me off!’

  ‘You’d best come down then, hadn’t yer?’

  When Molly was safely on the ground, Sandra teased her mercilessly. ‘You’ve a good pair o’ legs on you, gal,’ she chuckled. ‘If the old knocker-upper had seen your bare arse wiggling about up there, he’d have had nightmares for weeks.’

  Molly burst out laughing. ‘You’re daft as a brush, Sandra,’ she said. ‘Anyway, my posterior certainly was not bare.’

  Sandra made a face. Mocking Molly, she teased, ‘Posterior, eh? Does that mean the same as arse? Anyway, you’re wearing them French knickers off the market, aren’t you? They don’t leave much to the imagination, I can tell yer that!’

  Ignoring her, Molly asked, ‘Why aren’t you at work?’

  ‘I’ve got a right bad cough.’ And to prove it she began coughing and spluttering like a good ’un. ‘Ready for the knackers-yard I am,’ she said pitifully.

  ‘Liar!’ Molly knew her only too well. ‘You’ve no more got a cough than I have.’

  ‘Hey! Don’t tell our mam that. It took me ages to convince her I were at death’s door.’

  ‘So where are you off to now?’

  Sandra lowered her voice. ‘Me mam thinks I’m off to the quack’s, but I’ve a date with a fella and it won’t wait.’

  ‘What – the one you picked up with the other night?’

  ‘The very one.’ She winked cheekily. ‘He’s – how shall I put it? – well-built and, I’m happy to say, very generous with it.’

  ‘I see.’ With Sandra grinning wickedly like that, her meaning couldn’t be clearer. ‘And is that his only merit?’

  ‘It’s enough to be going on with.’

  ‘Honestly, Sandra, you want to be careful who you pick up in pubs and clubs. You don’t know this fella from Adam.’

  ‘Give it time, gal. Give it time.’

  ‘Does he have a name?’

  ‘His name’s Dave.’

  ‘Dave who?’

  ‘Never asked. All I know is, he thinks the world of me.’

  ‘Does he work?’

  ‘Bleedin’ hell, gal, you want to know a lot!’

  ‘So would you if it was the other way round.’

  ‘All right then. Yes, he does work, and bloody hard, I’ll have you know.’ Leaning forward she confided, ‘He’s got an old lorry that he lives in… honest to God, Moll, you should see it. It’s got a little cooker and a table with stools, all screwed to the floor, for when he travels about. There are curtains, and rugs on the floor, and little cupboards on the wall for his bits and bobs.’ Rolling her eyes she declared with amazement, ‘Oh, it’s like home from home.’

  Giggling like a naughty schoolgirl, she added softly, ‘There’s even a double bed. It makes a lot o’ noise when you bounce about a bit, but that don’t bother us.’

  Molly was worried. ‘Be careful, Sandra,’ she advised. ‘He’s probably married with a dozen kids.’

  ‘Nah. He ain’t married.’ But she looked uncertain.

  ‘How d’you know he’s not?’

  ‘’Cos he would have said!’ Irritated, Sandra prepared to leave. ‘Jesus, Moll, I ain’t telling you no more, and I don’t want you telling Mam neither.’

  Molly knew that whatever she said, Sandra would go her own sweet way. ‘Just don’t let him use you, that’s all.’ In spite of the anguish
she caused from time to time, Sandra was a good friend.

  In her usual boisterous way, Alfie’s twin threw her arms round Molly, almost knocking her over. ‘He can “take me in” any time he likes,’ she joked filthily. ‘Now you get back to cleaning yer winders. Hey!’ She suddenly remembered. ‘You never said why you weren’t at work? Skiving, are you, like me?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’ve lost my job.’

  ‘Never!’ Sandra’s eyes were like saucers. ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I’ve got a few ideas.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll do all right, gal. Somebody’s bound to snap you up.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Mind you, I expect you and our Alfie will be tying the knot any day now, then there’ll be hundreds o’ kids and you’ll have more than enough to keep you on your toes.’

  Molly didn’t answer. It was obvious Sandra hadn’t stood still long enough to catch up with what was happening.

  ‘How’s yer mam?’

  Carefully phrasing her answer, Molly told her, ‘As well as can be expected. Isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘Well, that’s all right then. Hey, Molly, can I use your parlour?’

  ‘What for?’ What was Sandra up to now?

  ‘Look.’ Holding out her bag, she explained, ‘I need to change. I daren’t let Mam see me go out all dolled up.’

  ‘Oh, go on then.’ You couldn’t argue with Sandra. She always got her own way in the end. ‘But I won’t lie for you if she asks!’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  When Sandra went inside, Molly got back up the ladder. ‘Daft as a brush,’ she muttered, but the girl’s antics brought a smile to her face all the same.

  In no time at all, her friend was back, anxiously peeping from the doorway. ‘Me mam’s not about, is she?’

  When Molly shook her head, Sandra ventured out. Dressed in a tight skirt and an equally tight-fitting top, she teetered down the step on high-heeled shoes. ‘Do I look nice?’

  Molly gave her the once-over. Sandra had plastered her face with make-up, and her hair was piled up and secured in a pretty comb on top. ‘You look… different.’