by Maureen Lee
‘About me mam?’ Josie was startled.
‘I wondered what she got up to after she left, that’s all. I miss her terrible. She was like a ray of sunshine, Mabel.’ He shifted in the bed and scratched his perfect nose. ‘Did she ever talk about me?’ he asked casually.
‘Sometimes.’
His arm tensed around her shoulders. ‘I hope she only said nice things.’
‘I can’t remember. Did someone used to live here called His Lordship? She didn’t like him much.’
Uncle Vince gave a funny little gasp. ‘Not since I’ve been here, luv.’ He looked down at her with his kind, blue eyes. ‘I expect you still miss Mabel, your mam.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Perhaps it was the arm on her shoulders, the kind eyes, the wistful, understanding expression on his face, as if he knew exactly how she felt, that made her cry – not the despairing, hopeless way she cried at night, her head under the clothes, but sad, gentle tears, more to do with the fact that she hadn’t slept a wink and had been frightened out of her wits during the raid.
‘There, there, luv.’ Uncle Vince stroked her face and kissed her cheek, and it was so nice to think that someone actually cared that Josie cried for ages and ages, until she fell asleep.
‘Josie, luv.’ She woke up to find Vince, fully dressed, beside the bed. ‘Your friend’s here, Lily.’ He lifted her up and sat her on his knee. ‘Let’s not tell anyone about our little tête-à-tête, eh? Ivy, well she’s inclined to be jealous, like, and she’d only take it out on you. We’ll keep it a secret, luv, just between you and me.’
The bombing of Liverpool continued for another year. It wasn’t until after the following Christmas that it stopped altogether, and everyone gave a collective sigh of relief.
After that, it was easy to believe there was no such thing as war. Josie and Lily went regularly to the pictures, and Josie fell in love with Humphrey Bogart, who was, Lily said scathingly, hideously ugly. She far preferred Alan Ladd, who was a little bit like My Vince. If the film was a U certificate, they were allowed to go by themselves, otherwise Mr and Mrs Kavanagh would take them, or Stanley and his girlfriend, Beryl. The minute they got inside, Stanley and Beryl would make for the back row, where they would kiss each other extravagantly and entirely ignore the film, which Josie and Lily thought daft. Why didn’t they do it outside for free?
It came as a shock when, twelve months later, Stanley received his call-up papers. He was nearly eighteen.
All the Kavanaghs, Josie and Beryl, went to the Pier Head to wave goodbye to the thin young man about to sail to North Africa, looking so vulnerable in his khaki uniform. Beryl burst into tears when the ship’s horn went, and soon everyone was crying, including Josie. It was like losing a big brother. She turned, without thinking, and buried her head in Ben’s shoulder.
‘Don’t worry, Josie. You’ve got me.’
She looked up in surprise, remembering Tommy, who’d once said the same thing. Ben was blushing but, then, he rarely spoke without going red. ‘I’ll take you to the pictures from now on.’ He went even redder, and looked as if he were about to curl up and die with embarrassment.
‘It would have to be a U certificate, or we wouldn’t be let in,’ Josie said practically. He was only ten.
Two weeks later, they went to see Will Hay in The Ghost of St Michael’s. Josie had assumed Lily would be coming, but Ben made it plain his sister wasn’t welcome. A furiously jealous Lily hardly spoke to Josie for a week.
In the cinema, they sat in the front row where the seats only cost threepence, and he gave her two warm, melting lumps of Cadbury’s milk chocolate wrapped in silver paper. She felt a little thrill. This was her first date. She had one up on Lily for a change.
She peeled the silver paper off the chocolate. ‘Would you like some?’ she enquired, and was a bit put out when he took half.
During the interval, he told her he was going to be a scientist when he grew up, and discover something vital that would change the world, like penicillin, which she’d never heard of, or radium, which she hadn’t heard of either, or electricity, which fortunately she had.
The film was dead funny, but frightening when the ghost appeared. Josie hid her head in Ben’s shoulder during the scariest bits. She heard him swallow nervously, then reach for her hand, and they managed to remain hand in hand throughout the remainder of the film and all the way back to Aunt Ivy’s.
‘Shall we go again next Friday?’ Ben gulped.
‘I wouldn’t mind, ta.’
‘I think we should get married when we grow up.’ He stood before her, suddenly not the least bit red, not at all nervous, very manful for ten.
‘If you like.’
Ben nodded seriously. ‘I would, very much.’
3
They pretended Uncle Vince was her dad. It wasn’t often they were alone. Only in the school holidays, when he was on late shift and Ivy had gone to work, did they have the house to themselves.
‘Josie,’ he would call as soon as Ivy closed the front door, and she would run along the landing in her nightie. They would roll around the bed, and he would tickle her, cuddle her, kiss her, just like a dad.
‘Aren’t we the perfect couple,’ Uncle Vince would say afterwards, looking at their flushed faces in the dressing-table mirror.
But she had learned, a long time ago, that things could never be relied on to stay the same. Within the twinkling of an eye, everything could alter – sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.
She was nine, and it was just after Christmas. They were looking at themselves in the mirror and, as she watched, she saw his expression change. He seemed abstracted and vague, not very pleased about something. Josie thought she’d done something wrong. She fell silent, hunched her knees and stared at her toes.
Suddenly, Uncle Vince grabbed her, roughly turned her on her side, away from him, and held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She felt something stiff and hard pressed against her bottom, and Vince started to make dead funny noises, like gasps. It made her feel frightened, but she daren’t ask him to stop in case he got annoyed, something best avoided. Uncle Vince rarely got annoyed, but when he did he was like a child, worse than Lily. He would jump up and down, wave his fists and shout in a funny, squeaky voice, like the day Aunt Ivy scorched his best shirt, or the time he lost one of his gold cuff links. Even his wife was struck dumb when My Vince lost his temper. Josie had a feeling that telling her uncle to stop when he was making the funny noises was something that would make him very annoyed indeed.
She couldn’t stop thinking about it all day and next morning pretended to be asleep when he called. After a few minutes, she gave a sigh of relief – he must have given up. Instead, the door opened and he came in.
‘Who’s a little sleepyhead this morning?’ He smiled, but behind the smile his eyes looked strange. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a squash in a single bed, but never mind, eh?’ Josie turned away, feeling trapped, helpless, when he climbed in. She kept her eyes shut until he finished making the funny noises.
‘Don’t forget, luv,’ Vince whispered, ‘this is our secret. It’s just between you and me. Don’t think of telling Ivy, ’cos she’d never believe you. She’d think you were making it up, like, and there’d be hell to pay. She might even send you to one of them orphanage places, and you’d never see your friend Lily again. And that’d be a shame, wouldn’t it, luv?’
At St Joseph’s, class 5 was being prepared to sit the scholarship in June. Miss Simms had left long ago to get married, and Mr Leonard had been called up, although he was forty-one. Other teachers had gone, either to join the forces or take up important war work. Their replacements were retired teachers, glad to return and do their bit.
As there was no one to know better, Josie was assumed to be nine and entered for the scholarship along with Lily. Lily had convinced herself she would pass with flying colours.
Their form teacher, Mrs Barrett, was eighty if a day. Mr Crocker, the headmaster, was even o
lder. They had worked together before and disliked each other intensely.
Everyone had been working hard and was looking forward to the Easter holidays. Lily would be ten on Good Friday, and was having a party the next day. Mrs Kavanagh had made them a new frock each. Lily’s was a genuine party frock – green taffeta with short sleeves, a heart-shaped neck and a gathered skirt. Aunt Ivy didn’t believe in party frocks, they were a waste of money. ‘You don’t get enough wear out of them,’ she said thinly, so Josie’s frock was more sensible – cream Viyella, with long sleeves, a navy blue collar and matching buttons – and would do for less salubrious occasions, like church. Even so, Josie was delighted. She was having a final fitting after school. It was her own birthday in May, six weeks off. There wouldn’t be a party. Josie’s age was something her aunt preferred to ignore.
She sighed happily, ignored Mrs Barrett, who was enthusing about fractions, and thought instead about Ben, who’d passed the scholarship two years ago and was now at Quarry Bank Grammar School. He’d kissed her for the first time last week, but only on the cheek. They’d discussed where they would live when they were married. Would she mind leaving Liverpool? he wanted to know. Josie said she wasn’t sure.
In desperation, because she felt left out, Lily had more or less forced Jimmy Atherton to be her boyfriend, and they went out in a foursome, to the Pier Head or the pictures, to the fairy glen in Sefton Park or for a cup of tea in Lyon’s in Lime Street. Jimmy insisted Lily pay for herself. He was prepared to be her boyfriend, reluctantly, but not if it meant being out of pocket. Mr Kavanagh had doubled Ben’s pocket money for passing the scholarship and also, he said, chuckling, ‘Because he’s got a woman to support.’
The Easter holiday would be the gear. There was only one fly in the ointment, an enormous one: Uncle Vince, who was part of that other, inside world, where nothing had ever been the gear.
Josie’s stomach churned. She gnawed her lip and wondered how she could avoid him. If she got dressed and sneaked out of the house as soon as Aunt Ivy left, it would mean wandering around for ages until it was time to meet Lily, which she wouldn’t mind. But she’d have to return home eventually, see Uncle Vince, meet his eyes, feel as if she’d let him down.
‘Josie Smith! I have asked you twice what four over four equals.’ Mrs Barrett’s voice was sharp with annoyance. ‘Your body is present, but your mind clearly somewhere else. If you could bring mind and body together for a moment, you might come up with an answer.’
‘Sixteen?’
Mrs Barrett sighed. ‘No, dear. I think you’ll find the answer’s one. I expect you’re all tired, I certainly am. Thank goodness we break up tomorrow.’ The class uttered a huge groan of relief, and Mrs Barrett smiled wearily. ‘It might be nice to dispense with lessons on the last day, do something less taxing – a quiz, for instance. I’ll see what his lordship has to say.’
‘Who, Miss?’ Josie’s hand shot up.
‘His lordship, dear. In other words, Mr Crocker, our esteemed headmaster.’
‘Why did she call him that?’ Josie whispered hoarsely to Lily, sitting beside her.
Lily looked puzzled. ‘It’s not rude or anything, Jose. Me ma sometimes says, “Where’s his lordship?” when she wants me da’, or “What’s his lordship up to?”’
‘Lily Kavanagh, stop talking, please!’
‘Sorry, miss.’
‘It was my fault, miss.’
‘In that case, Josie, you must be an expert ventriloquist. I could have sworn the words I heard came from Lily’s mouth.’
His lordship!
Either she believes me, takes us in, and gives his lordship his marching orders, or …
Had Uncle Vince been doing the same thing to Mam, pressing against her, making funny noises? Was that why Mam had left?
No, Aunt Ivy had chucked Mam out because she was in some sort of condition.
It was very confusing. Josie’s head ached with the effort of trying to make sense of it all. She began to dread the Easter holiday even more. Vince would be home as he was on nights.
Aunt Ivy got up at six. Josie heard her pottering around the kitchen. The smell of frying bacon wafted upstairs. Her aunt came up and went straight down again. She must have put the hot-water bottle in the bed. Shortly afterwards, Vince came home.
‘Oh, hello, luv,’ Aunt Ivy said in a warm, thrilling voice, as if she hadn’t seen him in years. Vince’s light voice was inaudible. Josie wondered if they were kissing, or was Aunt Ivy patting his shoulders, stroking his cheek with the back of her finger, caressing his hair, like she did all the time?
‘She can’t keep her hands off him,’ Lily had said, who’d noticed. ‘She finds him irresistible, like I find Alan Ladd.’
‘Come on, luv. Your breakfast’s ready. Put your slippers on, they’re warming by the fire.’
The truth might have killed the poor woman.
Josie sat up. Gradually, things were falling into place. Uncle Vince must have done something bad, but Ivy was Mam’s sister. Mam didn’t want to hurt her by telling the truth. Ivy was ‘besotted’ with Vince. Lily had looked it up in the dictionary. It meant ‘to be blindly infatuated’. Then she’d had to look up ‘infatuated’. ‘To be inspired with foolish passion’, it said. If Mam had told her sister the truth about Vince, it might have killed her.
Her aunt and uncle were coming upstairs! Josie quickly got dressed. She sat on the edge of the bed and heard the springs creak as Vince lay down. Aunt Ivy went to and from the bathroom several times. Instead of bacon, the house was full of her powerful scent.
At a quarter past eight, dead on time, her aunt’s heels clattered downstairs. She paused in the hall to put on her coat, the front door closed.
Josie was dying to use the lavatory. She reached the bathroom just in time, and went back to collect a cardy. She felt the hairs prickle on her neck when she turned to leave. Uncle Vince, in his pyjamas, was smiling at her from the door.
‘Here’s me, looking forward to the holidays so we can have our little tête-à-tetês, and you’re about to run out on me. Are you deserting your Uncle Vince, Josie?’
‘No, me and Lily are going to Mass, the nine o’clock one. It’s Holy Week, see. She’ll be here in a minute.’
‘No, she won’t, luv,’ he said mildly. ‘That’s three quarters of an hour off. There’s still time for a cuddle.’ He came into the room. ‘Come on, luv, let Uncle Vince give you a nice big kiss.’
‘No!’
He frowned, hurt. ‘No?’
Backing away, Josie furiously shook her head. ‘No!’
‘Why not, luv?’ He shrugged, mystified.
‘I don’t like what you do, the other thing.’
‘There’s no harm in it, luv.’ He came closer. Josie took another step back and found she’d reached the bed. She sat down, though she hadn’t meant to. Uncle Vince sat beside her and laid his arm across her knees. She was trapped. He idly played with her hair, making curls around his finger. ‘You know, luv,’ he said softly, ‘if you’re not nice to me, I might tell Ivy one or two things, not very nice things. A word from me, and you’ll go shooting out the door faster than a bullet. You’ll end up on the streets like Mabel, or in one of them orphanage places I mentioned before. You’ll never see your friends again.’
‘But I haven’t done anything.’ Her voice trembled. She tried to push his arm away, but it felt like a rod of iron. He was stronger than she’d thought.
‘I know, luv, but it wouldn’t stop me saying I caught you nicking a quid out me wallet, or I saw you up to no good with that little boyfriend o’ yours. What’s his name, Robert?’
‘Ben, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He was being dead horrible, worse than Aunt Ivy because he spoke so kindly and reasonably and smiled the whole time. ‘Anyroad, Ben’s not little,’ she said heatedly. ‘He’s bigger than you.’ She threw caution to the winds. ‘You’re only a little sprat, Lily ses.’
His pale eyes narrowed angrily. He shoved her back
on to the bed, and began to untie the cord of his pyjamas, watching her all the while. Then his face seemed to melt. ‘You’re a lovely girl,’ he said huskily. ‘Almost a woman, almost ten, double figures. You get more like Mabel every day. Take your clothes off, there’s a good girl. It’s time we were a proper couple.’
‘No!’ She tried to push him away, but when this had no effect she remembered the way Mam had got rid of Roger and Thomas. She planted her feet forcefully in his stomach, and pushed with all her might. His blue eyes popped, he gave a funny little hiccup, folded his arms over his stomach and fell back against the wardrobe with a soft thud.
She flew downstairs. Outside the house, she panicked. Which way to go? If she didn’t get a move on, Uncle Vince might come out and drag her back. No one would stop him, they’d consider he had a perfect right. She began to ran towards St Joseph’s. By the time she reached it she had a stitch in her side. The iron gate was padlocked, as expected, and she wondered why she’d come. A few boys had managed to climb over the high, spiked wall and were playing football in the playground. She watched them through the gate, envious. They seemed without a care in the world.
Where now? She needed somewhere quiet, to think. More slowly now, she walked towards Sefton Park, to the fairy glen.
The gently sloping banks were a carpet of yellow daffodils, and the trees looked as if they had been sprinkled with pale green confetti as buds sprouted into tiny leaves. Josie watched two squirrels chase each other up and down the branches, leaping skilfully from one tree to the next. There was a fresh, invigorating smell, springy. Could you smell the spring?
A pale sun shone weakly through a veil of light grey cloud, and it made the dew glisten like little diamonds on the grass. It was too wet to sit on, and the only bench was already occupied by a girl in a yellow frock, her face buried in a newspaper. Josie went down to the stream and watched the large goldfish moving ponderously through the water and the smaller ones dart aimlessly this way, that way, backwards and forwards.