The Girl From Barefoot House

by Maureen Lee

  ‘I love you,’ she replied in a small voice.

  The celebrations continued late into the night. When it grew dark, the lights in every room in every house were switched on, and the whole street sang ‘When the Lights Go On Again’ followed by a tremendous cheer and a chorus of ‘God Save The King’.

  Next morning, before she went to work, Aunt Ivy offered her one and only piece of motherly advice. ‘I saw you dancing with Ben Kavanagh last night, luv. You want to be careful there.’

  ‘But he’s ever so nice,’ Josie protested.

  ‘Oh, he’s a lovely lad, from a lovely family. I’d be dead chuffed if you became a Kavanagh.’ She closed her eyes, as if imagining herself sharing the limelight with Mrs Kavanagh at the wedding. ‘But you’re far too young for boyfriends, luv. Ben’s obviously smitten, and if you’re not careful you’ll find yourself walking blindfold into marriage with a chap you don’t love because you’ve never known anyone else. All the love will be on his side, and although he might think that’s enough for both of you it’s not true.’ She pursed her lips sadly. ‘It’s something I know from bitter experience. I loved my Vince enough for ten women, and look at what he did.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Auntie,’ Josie sighed.

  ‘Oh, Lord, luv, don’t apologise. He tried to ruin your life, as well as mine. But at least we’re still alive to tell the tale, eh, not like our poor Mabel.’

  5

  ‘Of course, we’re middle-class, stupid,’ Lily said furiously. ‘Me da’ owns his own shop, our Stanley’s a sergeant in the army in Berlin, Marigold’s married to a solicitor, Daisy’s a qualified librarian, well, almost, our Robert manages something or other down in London, I work in an office and look at our Ben, off to Oxford or Cambridge next October.’ She finished her litany with a superior sneer.

  ‘I’ve got exams to take first,’ Ben reminded her.

  Lily tossed her waist-length hair. ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Ben. We all know you’ll come top in everything.’

  Francie O’Leary, the prime target of Lily’s wrath, looked at Ben with his small, mean eyes. Lily was madly in love with him. She found him attractive in a small, mean way, like a handsome rat. Francie talked out of the corner of his mouth like Humphrey Bogart. Even though they were inside, he wore a trilby hat on the back of his head that made him look a bit of a rogue. ‘What have you got to say about this, Ben?’ he enquired lazily.

  ‘Me!’ Ben laughed. ‘I don’t believe in the class system. As John Ball said, “Ye came as helpless infants to the world, Ye feel alike the infirmities of nature, Why then these vague distinctions?”’

  ‘Who the hell’s John Ball?’ Lily interceded.

  ‘Leader of the Peasants’ Revolt.’

  ‘I thought that was Wat Tyler.’ Francie had been Ben’s friend at Quarry Bank. His father had been killed in the war, and he’d left at sixteen to provide for his mother and two young sisters. Josie wondered if he resented his friend going to university. It seemed very unfair that the son of a man who’d given his life for his country had been denied higher education.

  Ben said, ‘Wat Tyler was the brawn, John Ball the brains.’

  ‘He can’t have had much in the way of brains,’ Francie said drily. ‘The whole bloody revolt was a wash-out. The peasants were routed, if I remember right.’

  ‘They were betrayed. John Ball was hung, drawn and quartered. I don’t know why we’re arguing, Francie. We’re both on the same side. Our Lily’s the only one out of line.’

  ‘Do you mind?’ Josie broke in. ‘I’ve no idea whose side I’m on, thanks all the same. I don’t know what class I am either, and, quite frankly, I don’t care.’ Months ago, the four of them had got into the habit of coming to town on Saturday mornings, sitting for hours in a restaurant and arguing – about politics, life, religion, the headlines in that morning’s newspapers.

  ‘You’re what’s called a “white-collar” worker, Jose, so you’re definitely middle-class,’ Lily said firmly. ‘And you live in Machin Street, which is in a middle-class area. There’s already five families with cars, me da’ amongst them.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Francie snorted. ‘If it were middle-class, it’d be a road, Machin Road – or Machin Avenue. Streets are only for us poor, working-class fodder.’

  ‘What about Downing Street?’ said Josie. ‘And Harley Street, where the posh doctors live?’

  Lily threw her a grateful smile, and Francie clutched his brow and pretended to look devastated. ‘You got me there, Jose. That was a knock-out blow.’

  Ben squeezed Josie’s shoulders. ‘Clever girl,’ he whispered.

  She thought it obvious, not clever. He was being a bit patronising, but she daren’t say anything because he got disproportionately upset if she criticised him. She could never truly be herself with Ben.

  The manageress glared at them from behind the till. They’d been there two hours and had bought only a single coffee each, and she was expecting an influx of lunchtime customers any minute.

  They took the hint, drained the dregs of the coffee, now stone cold, and wandered into Bold Street. Josie pulled on a woolly hat that covered her ears, buttoned her coat against the bitter February wind and wrapped a scarf twice around her neck. Francie took Lily in his arms and they kissed passionately.

  ‘Young love!’ Ben rolled his eyes and took Josie’s hand. He disapproved of such demonstrations, which he considered showy and insincere. Lily had kissed previous boyfriends with equal passion, though she swore things were dead serious between her and Francie. They hadn’t yet gone all the way, but it was likely to happen any minute. Lily couldn’t wait.

  Ben had never tried to go all the way with Josie. He respected her too much. Although he had never discussed it, she took it for granted that they would wait until they were married, which would be after he’d got his degree and found a job. Josie felt relieved, as she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. She quite enjoyed Ben kissing her and touching her naked breasts, which he’d never properly seen because she was always fully clothed, and he merely slid his hand inside her frock or under her jumper. Pleasant though these occasions were, she had the feeling she wasn’t enjoying herself remotely as much as Lily when she did the same thing with Francie, but, then, Lily was always prone to exaggeration.

  ‘It was heaven,’ Lily gushed the first time. ‘I went all woozy. I completely lost control, and so did Francie. We might well have gone all the way if it hadn’t been raining.’

  Lily and Francie paused for another kiss. Ben said, ‘Hey, folks, where are we going?’

  ‘The Pier Head?’ Francie suggested.

  ‘It’s bloody freezing.’ Lily shivered. She looked up at the bleak, grey sky. ‘It looks as if it might snow. Can’t we go somewhere inside? Has anyone got any money?’

  ‘I’m skint,’ Francie announced. ‘You gave a penny towards me coffee, remember?’

  ‘I’ve only got three bob, but I need half that for next week’s fares to work. Then there’s tonight …’ Josie’s finances were a mess. She’d only been paid the day before, but by then she had owed Aunt Ivy her entire wages. The same thing happened nearly every week. She couldn’t resist the clothes she saw as she wandered around town during the dinner hour. Last week, she’d seen a lovely black frock with embroidery on the bodice that looked like a waistcoat. Aunt Ivy had loaned her a pound towards it, and she’d had to borrow her fares for the rest of the week.

  Lily was rooting through her purse. ‘I’ve got nearly eight bob, but I need stockings and a Max Factor panstick. If there’s enough over, I’ll treat everyone to another coffee, as long as someone does the same for me next week.’

  Ben, who had to exist on five shillings a week pocket money, took no part in this debate. Josie paid for herself at the pictures nowadays, and sometimes for Ben, though he claimed it made him feel like a kept man.

  They went to Owen Owen’s department store. After Lily had bought the stockings and the panstick, they decided to tour the shop for something to
do. In the furniture department, Francie pushed Lily down on a fully made-up bed and kissed her again.

  ‘Do you mind?’ an elderly assistant said frostily.

  ‘We were just trying it out, like, seeing if it felt comfortable.’ Francie pulled Lily up, and patted the bed. ‘What do you think, darling? Shall we buy it or not? We’re getting married soon,’ he explained to the assistant.

  ‘I’d like to look around other shops first.’

  All four exploded into giggles and made for the stairs.

  ‘Would you say that was a proposal?’ Lily gasped as they raced to the ground floor, the boys ahead.

  ‘He was only joking, Lil.’

  ‘I’ll sue him for breach of promise, take him to court. You and Ben can be me witnesses.’

  ‘I doubt if that would work.’ If Lily was set on capturing Francie O’Leary, she needed to be a bit more agreeable. He wasn’t the sort of chap who appreciated being called an idiot, or told he was dead stupid if they happened to disagree.

  ‘I suppose not,’ Lily sighed. ‘But I’m determined to get Francie to the altar one way or another. I could get pregnant – that might do the trick.’

  ‘The baby will look like a little rat.’

  ‘Yes, but a very handsome little rat.’

  ‘What are you two laughing at?’ Ben enquired when they caught up.

  Josie and Lily looked at each other and started to laugh again. ‘Nothing,’ they said together.

  ‘Let’s go to Lyon’s,’ said Lily. ‘I’ve enough left for a pot of tea for four.’

  Outside, Ben said, ‘Where shall we go tonight?’

  ‘Where else but the pictures.’ Josie shrugged. ‘It’s the only place that’s cheap, particularly if we sit at the front and go somewhere outside town. Oh, Ben, I wish I weren’t so extravagant. Auntie Ivy takes hardly anything for me keep, and I spend a small fortune on clothes. Me new frock cost almost two pounds. But it’s dead pretty. You’ll love it. I’ll wear it tonight, shall I?’

  Ben stopped and looked down at her shining face. He glanced round to see if anyone was looking, then kissed her. ‘I love you, Josie. I’d love you even if you wore rags.’

  Josie noticed two girls about her own age eyeing her enviously from across the road. They were envious of Ben – blond, six feet two inches tall, no longer all elbows, slim instead of gawky, graceful and self-assured. He clearly didn’t feel the cold. He wore flannels, a green tweed jacket and an open-necked shirt. His school scarf was draped casually around his neck. Even Lily conceded her soppy brother had become a handsome young man.

  She nestled against him. ‘And I love you.’ She was immensely lucky. She had never had to suffer, as other girls did, the torture of praying a boy she liked would ask her out, or the awkwardness of a first date, wondering if she’d be asked again, or hoping she wouldn’t because the chap had picked his nose non-stop throughout a picture you’d been dying to see for ages, as had happened with Lily during Blood on the Moon, with Robert Mitchum. She didn’t have to worry if she would get married, because it had all been decided a long time ago. As Mrs Kavanagh had said, they were ‘made for each other’.

  Two years ago, when they had left school, after much discussion between Mrs Kavanagh and Aunt Ivy, Josie and Lily had been sent to the same commercial college Marigold had attended. They practised on the same typewriter. College was dead boring, but what else could girls do except work in a shop, a factory or an office? There were no vacancies in the Liverpool Echo for actresses or dancers or singers. No one advertised for fourteen-year-old girls to climb mountains, go to Timbuktu, drive trains or fly aeroplanes, any one of which Josie and Lily would have done like a shot.

  If college had been boring, work was even worse. Lily worked for a stationery suppliers in Edge Hill. She spent her days processing orders for copy paper, bank paper, boxes of carbon, bottles of ink, pencils, all the rubbish people needed to work in other offices. Worst of all, not a single man worked there she fancied marrying, though it didn’t matter since she’d met Francie two months ago.

  ‘Sometimes I feel as if me brain’s gone dead,’ she moaned to Josie.

  ‘It can’t be as bad as insurance,’ Josie grumbled. ‘Car insurance. Nothing but policies and premiums. The letters are as dull as ditchwater. It wouldn’t be so bad in Claims. At least they have accidents to deal with.’

  They yearned for adventure. One day they would get married, settle down, have children, but in the meantime it would be marvellous if only something exciting would happen.

  Josie had already tried on the new dress several times. It fitted perfectly. She put it on again that night, twisting and turning in front of the full-length mirror in Aunt Ivy’s bedroom. Sometimes it was uncanny, looking at herself. She would feel pins and needles all over because it was as if she were looking at Mam. The same eyes, dark blue and wide apart, the same over-generous mouth. The nose that had looked dead perfect on Mam, because everything about her had seemed perfect, was actually a mite too long. She wore her thick brown hair shoulder-length, and brushed it frequently, as Mam had done, to make it shine.

  Only the other day, Ivy said in a puzzled voice, ‘You know, when I look at you, it feels like our Mabel’s never been away. She was fifteen when I last saw her. Now you’re a year older, and it’s almost like you’ve taken over and there’s never been a break.’

  Ivy was in the bathroom humming as she made herself up for a night on the town with her friend, Ellen. Josie walked towards the figure in the mirror and held out her arms. ‘Hello, Petal. I’m home,’ she whispered. She put her hands, palms facing, on the glass and pressed her mouth against the cold, reflected one. When she stepped back the glass was clouded, and it was even more spooky, watching the face of her mother reappear as the cloud began to fade. ‘I love you, Mam.’

  ‘I’m off now, luv,’ Aunt Ivy shouted from the landing.

  Josie jumped. She went to the bedroom door. Her aunt was wearing her fur coat and an unusual amount of diamanté jewellery. ‘Which picture are you going to see?’

  ‘I’m going to the theatre, luv, for a change. Margaret Lockwood’s on at the Royal Court in Pygmalion.’

  ‘I thought Ellen didn’t like the theatre?’

  ‘Ellen got herself a new fella a long while ago. I’m going with another, er, friend. That frock looks lovely. Take care, luv. Have a nice time.’

  ‘You, too.’ She wondered if Ivy’s new friend was a fella, and she was too embarrassed to say.

  Ben came minutes after Ivy had gone. He thought the frock was well worth the inconvenience of being broke for a whole week.

  ‘You look gorgeous.’ He slid his arms around her waist and kissed her soundly. ‘Ma’s loaned Lily and Francie five bob,’ he said when they came up for air. ‘It was only to get them out of the way while she and me da’ got ready for a dinner dance, so they’re coming with us. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  They went to the Grand in Smithdown Road to see Samson and Delilah, which Josie and Lily thought very moving. It was annoying when the boys laughed when Samson grew his hair and pulled the temple down on top of the entire cast.

  ‘Let’s go for a drink,’ Francie suggested when they came out. Tiny particles of ice were being blown about in the freezing wind, like fireflies against the yellow streetlights.

  ‘A proper drink?’ Lily squeaked. ‘In a proper pub?’

  ‘A proper drink in a proper pub,’ Francie confirmed. ‘We can just afford two pints of ale between us.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll ask for four straws.’

  Lily wrinkled her small nose. Josie knew she had planned on getting Francie back to the house while it was empty. ‘Me and Josie aren’t old enough.’

  ‘You look old enough. Ben and I will get the drinks. You two sit in the corner. What do you say, Josie?’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ It would bring back memories of the Prince Albert, but she couldn’t avoid pubs for the rest of her life. It was only nine o’clock, too early to go h
ome and consider the night over. She shivered, and stamped her feet on the icy pavement. ‘Can we go somewhere before we all freeze to death?’

  ‘We’ll go to the first pub we come to,’ Francie promised.

  A welcoming fire burned brightly in the grate of the first pub. Whoever was playing the piano had their foot pressed firmly on the loud pedal as they banged out ‘Bless ’em All’, but perhaps the pianist was determined to be heard above the deafening singing. Inside, the air was warm and full of smoke. They looked for somewhere to sit, but every seat was taken and there were crowds standing round the bar. Lily immediately began to complain. The smoke got in her eyes, the singing hurt her ears, she was tired and wanted to sit down. And she hated war songs, she added, as if further confirmation of her discomfiture was necessary.

  ‘Let’s find somewhere else, then,’ Francie said patiently.

  ‘I bet all the pubs around here are just as rough. It’s that sort of area. Every single man here is probably a crook, and the women look no better than they ought to be. This is a dead stupid idea, Francie.’ She fluttered her eyelashes and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’d sooner go home.’

  The fluttering eyelashes and the hand had come too late for Francie. He lost his temper. ‘Me dad used to come here.’ His small eyes flashed and he gestured angrily around the room. ‘These people are the salt of the earth. Who the hell d’you think you are, calling them criminals and whores?’

  Lily’s jaw sagged. ‘But I didn’t …’ she began.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Francie said curtly. ‘You know what you are, Lily Kavanagh? A snob! A petty, mean-minded, prejudiced snob. You and I have got nothing in common, and we never will. Quite frankly, you get on me fucking nerves. Oh, and it’s about time you got your hair cut. It looks daft on someone your age.’

  ‘Eh, hold on a minute, Francie.’ Ben touched his friend’s arm. He and Josie had been watching the proceedings, stunned. Francie shook the arm away.

  ‘I’m off, Ben. Enjoy your drink.’