by Rosie Harris
She shrugged. ‘Got a fag? Helps me think when I’ve got a fag in me gob.’
Michael Quinn hesitated then took a half-full packet out of the pocket of his leather apron and held them out. He waited as she took one and then he lighted it for her.
‘I’m Di Deverill,’ she told him as she blew out a cloud of smoke.
‘Yes, I know,’ he told her. ‘You’ve got quite a reputation.’
She grinned. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know me.’ She placed a hand on his arm. ‘Cards on the table. You’ve got a racket going, making a bit on the side, right?’
‘And you want a cut?’
Di drew long and hard on her cigarette. ‘Not really. I want more than a cut. I think we are birds of a feather and that we should team up.’
Michael Quinn looked perplexed. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Team up? It means that I move in here with you and your family. You look after me and I keep my mouth shut about your little money-making schemes. Now wouldn’t you agree that’s a good arrangement?’
As he listened to them, Benny grew more and more worried. He’d always been frightened of his dad, thought no one could stand up to him, because next to God he was the most powerful person in the universe. Now he knew he’d been wrong. This woman, this Di Deverill, was twisting his dad round her little finger.
She could talk the hind leg off a donkey, he thought gloomily, and she was getting the better of his dad. Any minute now he was pretty sure that his dad was going to give in and say that she could come and live with them and it would be all his fault.
That had been months ago, Benny thought gloomily and things had changed so much since then. Their Eddy couldn’t stand her. He’d hated living with Di Deverill so much that he’d packed his things and gone to sea.
Di Deverill treated Vera like a skivvy, but there was nothing she could do about it because she couldn’t afford to leave home.
He loved Vee so much. She’d taken the place of his mam; she looked after him and fought his corner with their dad. She made sure he had clothes to wear, food to eat and that he got to school on time. Now and again she even bought him sweets or a comic when she had a few coppers left over at the end of the week.
He wished he’d told her straight away about the errands he’d been sent on by his dad two or three times a week. But after what had happened over the betting slips his dad had threatened to thump his skull if he breathed a word to her about going to Coombes’s.
She knew now, of course. Di Deverill had gloated about it to Vera. He’d felt so bad about it. He’d seen the hurt look in Vee’s eyes because she hadn’t known what was going on and he felt that he’d let her down.
He couldn’t wait to tell her that he had passed his eleven-plus. He hoped she would be pleased and forgive him for the trouble he’d caused. He’d done his best because he’d wanted to prove himself to her.
Vera wasn’t simply pleased, she was over the moon. She hugged him, kissed him and told him how proud their mam would have been because he was the only one in the family who’d ever managed to pass the exam. He was glad she was so happy, but he wondered if his dad would say anything.
When they sat down for their meal that night he found the whole lot of them were talking about nothing else. Di Deverill even gave him a shilling and told him he was a ‘clever little bugger’.
‘Well, Dad, does this mean that Benny will be off to grammar school in September?’ Vera asked.
Benny looked at her in astonishment. He’d never dreamed that she would want him to do that.
‘Christ no!’ Mike Quinn took the wind out of his sails. ‘Him, go to bloody grammar school? What the hell are you thinking of, girl?’
‘He’s worked hard and proved he’s got brains, so why waste them?’ Vera argued.
‘Have you thought of what it costs to go to one of those bloody places?’
‘Mam would have wanted him to go. She would have been so proud that he’d passed that exam.’
‘Well he’s not going and that’s that. Now clear away the dishes and shut your trap.’
Vera refused to let the matter lie. She pleaded, she nagged, she threatened and she cajoled.
Di Deverill scoffed at the idea, Michael fought against it, but in the end Vera won. So, by the time September came Benny found that he had all the clothes, books and everything else he was going to need to start at the grammar school.
Chapter Twenty-three
It took Vera every penny she could squeeze out of the housekeeping, and what she managed to save from her own wages, to keep Benny at the grammar school.
She’d thought that once she’d bought his uniform – the grey trousers, the smart dark blue blazer with the school crest on the pocket, the blue and grey striped tie and the matching cap – that would be it.
But in next to no time she found out how wrong she was. There were so many other extras, things she’d known nothing about, but which were essential if he was to keep up with the other boys, most of whom came from families that were quite well-off.
There were special clothes for all the sports they played: football in the winter, cricket and swimming in the summer, as well as plimsoles and special vests and shorts needed for gym. There was also money for the school magazine each term, and for school dinners every week.
She hadn’t taken any of these items into account because no one they knew had ever gone to grammar school.
She economised in every way possible to pay for these extras. In the home, she skimped on cleaning materials and, as far as possible, didn’t replace anything that became worn out.
She even economised on food. She was afraid her father would notice, but she managed to placate him by making sure that he never went short. The only way she could do this was to give him food from her own plate, just as her mother had done when they’d been hard up.
She didn’t mind this, she simply had to be sure that her father was happy and that Benny also had a good meal. He can’t study properly if he isn’t well fed, she told herself. Even though he had a midday meal at school, she also made sure that he never went to bed hungry.
Benny came home every night laden with homework, but their father still insisted he did the deliveries, even though Vera tried to intervene.
She knew Benny resented the fact when he had to set out with the basket on the second-hand carrier bike his dad had now bought piled high with boots and shoes, but he never openly rebelled.
When he had work to learn by heart he often took his textbook with him. He propped it up on the handlebars and repeated it to himself over and over again, as he rode from house to house, until he had memorised every word.
Vera was afraid he might have an accident because he wasn’t watching the traffic. His father was afraid he might make a mistake in the deliveries. Benny’s only worry was that he wouldn’t have time to get through all the homework he’d been assigned.
Benny had been at the grammar school for almost two years, had settled in well and was loving every minute of it, when Vera had a stroke of good luck. Joan Frith had married Liam Kelly and that summer she fell pregnant.
When Joan left Elbrown’s to have the baby, Vera found herself promoted. It meant extra work and much greater responsibility, but it also meant more money.
She told no one at home about this. She hoarded the extra money to pay for new items of uniform for Benny. It had been worrying her the way he grew out of his existing clothes so rapidly, even though she felt proud of the way he was developing. He was already head and shoulders taller than her and a great deal broader than their brother Eddy had ever been.
Extras at school had increased. He had to pay for field trips which he now went on at least once a term.
These jaunts, as her father termed them, had started so many rows that it seemed to be like one continuous battle. Vera found that pitting herself against her father and Di Deverill, in order to find the extra money to let him go on them, completely drained her. She never had any money for
new clothes for herself or to pay to go out anywhere, even though her dad and Di seemed to find the money to enjoy themselves, she thought bitterly.
Sometimes she felt she wanted to throw in the sponge and do as they asked: take Benny out of grammar school and send him to work. They constantly argued about this, saying that if he wanted to better himself he should do it by going to night school.
Then, as she saw him poring over his books late into the evening, lost in a world that she couldn’t begin to understand, learning subjects that were completely beyond her comprehension, she knew she couldn’t do that.
She’d been bursting with pride when he’d passed his eleven-plus and she was still amazed by his ability and how he applied so much energy to learning.
Di Deverill took a special delight in needling Vera. Her caustic remarks about Benny and the fact that a boy who was as tall as his dad should still be going off to school every day, were her favourite ways of doing so.
‘Benny should leave school as soon as he’s fourteen and get a job. All this education stuff is a waste of time, in my opinion,’ she commented time and time again.
‘Then it’s a good thing we don’t have to take any notice of your opinion, isn’t it,’ Vera would tell her.
‘If you have a decent brain then you can always find a way of making a living,’ Di would argue, puffing out clouds of blue smoke.
Vera usually held her tongue when Di said this. She longed to ask her why she didn’t go out and get a job, instead of sitting there smoking like a chimney and scrounging off everyone else. Or ask if the reason she didn’t work was because she didn’t have a brain.
Whatever she said, Vera knew it would only start up a row between herself and her dad. Michael seemed to be on Di’s side no matter how much she criticised either of them, or what barbed remarks she made about their home or anything else.
She knew Di wanted to see Benny working in the shop alongside his father; that way, the shop could do more repairs and make more money. This would mean that Mike Quinn would have more time to take her out and about as well as more money to spend on her.
There had been a time when Vera had hoped that her father would tire of Di Deverill, or she of him. However, Di had become such a permanent fixture in their home over the past years that she’d given up even thinking about it.
Di and her father had established a routine that they both seemed to enjoy. They couldn’t get to the pub quick enough each evening. The minute they’d finished their meal they were off upstairs to get ready to go out. Her father would put on one of his expensive, well-tailored suits. Di would change into one of her flashy dresses and apply lashings of lipstick and powder to her face.
The fact that they were leaving her to clear the table and wash up, even though she’d been the one who’d had to cook the meal, never seemed to bother them at all, Vera thought bitterly. All Di’s promises to help were nothing more than hot air.
It was always chucking-out time before the pair of them arrived back home and, more often than not, they were completely drunk. Vera often wondered how her dad managed to work, he was so hung-over every morning.
Di always stayed in bed until mid-morning, but her father had to be up and get the shop open by eight o’clock so that people on their way to work could call in with their repairs.
Vera was concerned in case he had an accident of some kind when working with a hangover. It would be so easy for him to hammer his own fingers instead of the sole he was repairing, or swallow some of the tacks he held between his lips when he was working.
The regular bouts of drinking also made both her dad and Di more bad-tempered than ever. Because Vera was the one most likely to be around in the morning, and again in the evenings, she was the one who took the brunt of their carping, and she resented the constant disgruntled bullying she had to put up with all the time.
Benny spent his time either out doing deliveries or upstairs in his room doing homework. He had long ago given up trying to do any studying in the living room. Vera had bought a cheap little wooden desk and put it in his bedroom so that he could work up there in peace.
Sundays were the worst day of all, Vera reflected. The shop was closed, Di and her father usually had even worse hangovers than usual from their Saturday-night super binge. They either stayed in bed or sat in the living room nursing their heads and drinking copious cups of strong black coffee, which they expected her to make for them.
They found the noise and disturbance as Vera tried to catch up with the cleaning excruciating. As a result, the rows between the three of them became more and more intense.
Because she was tired, and frustrated by the direction her own life was taking, Vera no longer tried to keep the peace or even control her temper when the rows started.
Whenever her father began complaining about the noise or disruption she let fly.
‘If Di helped by doing her share of the housework throughout the week, or even tried to tidy up after herself, there would be no need for me to spend all day on Sunday scrubbing and polishing and cleaning,’ she pointed out forcibly.
When this happened, her dad would rise to Di’s defence. ‘We don’t want any lip from you, so keep your bloody opinions to yourself,’ he’d shout angrily.
‘Then tell Di to pull her weight. She doesn’t do much else, she doesn’t even help get the meals ready. You two turn this place into a pigsty.’
Usually the rows petered out before they could develop into anything more than an exchange of a few angry words. Vera knew they took very little notice of what she said, but she felt better for airing her grievances.
Over the years she’d accepted that their bedroom was a jumble of dirty clothes, discarded wherever they took them off. Sometimes she refused to clean their room, but in the end she usually capitulated knowing that Di wouldn’t do it, and she couldn’t bear to think of it being in such a state.
What infuriated her the most was coming home each evening and finding that the kitchen was piled up with all the dishes they’d used during the day whilst she was out at work.
It was on Benny’s fourteenth birthday that a violent dispute broke out. It was unseasonably warm for September, as if a thunderstorm was brewing, and all of them were feeling irritable.
Benny was piqued that his dad hadn’t even wished him Happy Birthday. His only present had been a Brownie Box camera from Vera.
‘Put that bloody thing away,’ his father told him. ‘You’ve done nothing but point it and click that bloody shutter all day.’
‘It’s a camera, that’s what you do with them …’
‘Don’t you come that sarky stuff with me,’ Michael Quinn shouted. His head ached and the air was oppressive, even indoors.
Benny grinned and made for the stairs, intending to go to his room and get on with his homework. He paused on the third step, and, leaning on the balustrade, lifted the camera and pretended to take a snap of his dad who had followed him out into the passageway.
Michael’s arm shot out, catching Benny across the side of the head and knocking him off his feet. Benny slipped, lost his balance and came crashing back down the stairs; he ended up sprawled awkwardly on the ground.
Full of concern for his safety, Vera rushed to help him to his feet. She was tired and resented the way her father had ignored Benny’s birthday.
Angrily, she turned on her father, her blue eyes steely. ‘What are you playing at, trying to kill him, are you?’ she accused sardonically.
‘Shut your soddin’ gob and watch your bloody tongue!’ Michael Quinn exploded. He lunged at her, but she was too quick for him. She had dodged away before he could reach her.
The fact that he had turned on her enraged Vera. Years of anger and frustration suddenly boiled up and erupted.
‘You want to be on your guard, Di,’ she warned spitefully. ‘He killed our mam, you know! He pushed her down the stairs when he was in one of his rages. You want to watch out he doesn’t do the same to you.’
‘How dare
you!’ Michael slapped Vera hard across the side of her face, leaving a vivid red mark.
‘You don’t like the truth, do you,’ Vera taunted, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘If you ever strike me again I’ll make you pay for it. It might be eight years since she died, but I could still go to the police and tell them what happened that day, you know!’
‘And do you think that for one moment they would bother to listen to your trumped-up lies,’ he sneered.
‘Oh they’d listen all right. I’d make sure of that. I can remember every detail of what took place that day and I have Eddy as a witness. If we told them about the way our mam died they’d arrest you and put you inside … or hang you for what you did!’
Michael Quinn laughed cruelly. ‘I wouldn’t count on that runt Eddy backing you up, he’s frightened of his own bloody shadow.’
‘Yes, and who made him like that?’ Vera retaliated. ‘Who taunted and bullied him when he was a little kid because he was small and puny? Whose fault is it that he’s left home because he can’t stand living here any longer? You’d treat Benny the same way as you did Eddy only he’s bigger than you!’
Vera looked at her father with contempt. She could see how upset he was by her outburst. A nervous tic was pulling at the corner of his mouth as he tried to control his rage.
Vera felt so drained of energy as she waited for him to attack her that she faced him without flinching. She knew it would be her own fault for goading him, but something inside her had snapped and she’d been unable to suppress the fury that she had bottled up for so long.
She was aware that Di was watching them both, her painted mouth open in shock as she heard the accusations and revelations.
Gritting her teeth, forcing herself not to say anything further that could make things worse, Vera waited for her father’s reaction. She felt angry, bitter and ashamed over the scene as she met his ferocious stare.
Clenching and unclenching his fists, he gave a growl that seemed to erupt from somewhere deep inside him, then turned on his heel and slammed out of the house.