‘I wouldn’t argue with that but you’ve already got a job.’ Lucy’s voice trembled. ‘Yer’ve no right to take what’s mine! My gran built that round up.’
‘So what? She’s dead! And how are you going to stop me?’ He managed to seize the cart’s handle and wrench it out of her hands. He ran.
Oh, no, not again! thought Lucy despairingly, and raced after him as he weaved his way along the pavement between people. Owen kept looking back to see where she was so did not see the policeman and ran headlong into him. The bobby seized him by the ear. ‘What’s the rush, boyo? You’re a danger to the public, racing along the pavement like that!’
‘Lemme go! I’m sorry, Constable, but I’ve got to get home to me mam? She’s sick!’ Owen wriggled to free himself.
‘He’s a liar!’ gasped Lucy, coming up to them. ‘He stole my cart!’
The policeman looked down at her and Lucy stared and blinked, recognising the face beneath the helmet. She could scarcely believe it was Rob Jones. He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. ‘Well, if it isn’t Lucy Linden of Court 15. Perilous Pauline has nothing on you, kid. I thought you’d given Owen the cart? Now you’re saying he stole it. Shall I lock him up?’
Put Owen in prison? She stared at this boy who was getting to be the bane of her life, and wished he could be locked away and the key thrown in the Mersey, but he was frantically signalling a message with his eyes and she thought of his mother and the fright she’d get if a bobby came knocking at her door. ‘I just want me cart back. I think he only meant to borrow it,’ said Lucy.
‘I did, I did,’ put in Owen, eager to agree to anything she said, it seemed. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we, Luce? I was just messing about.’
‘Friends, hey?’ said Rob. ‘Now there’s a surprise.’ He released Owen with an abruptness that took the youth by surprise so that he fell over the cart. ‘Don’t let me catch you careering along this pavement again or I’ll have you before the magistrate. Now beat it!’
Owen shot off. Lucy was about to follow him when she was stopped by a hand on her arm. ‘You’ve forgotten something.’ She looked up at Rob, anxious to get away. ‘Your cart.’
It struck her then it might have been he who had returned it when she’d lost it on the hill. She smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Sedately she walked away. It was only when she arrived home that she realised Owen had left his sack in her cart. The corners of her mouth lifted. He’d reaped the rewards of more than half her round. Well, she’d take his bundles of wood as just payment and tomorrow she would make sure she got a head start on him, just in case he tried something else on her.
Chapter Six
Lucy decided to make up the deficit in her firewood money out of the threepences she’d been saving in a drawstring bag she’d made from a scrap of cloth and which hung inside her skirt from a button.
The following morning her first customer told her he’d been offered firewood a farthing cheaper than she charged by the lad who’d delivered the other day so he’d bought at that price. Lucy was hurt as well as angry. ‘I thought you’d tell him where to go!’ she cried, stepping backwards off the step.
‘Sorry, luv!’ The man sounded like he meant it. ‘But a farthing a day is nearly twopence a week and I’ve six mouths to feed.’
‘I can add up,’ she muttered, and turned on her heel and went next door, hoping that at least they had stuck by her, only to be told the same thing. Stubbornly she continued on her round, hoping to find at least one person who’d remained loyal to her and was relieved to find several. She was so grateful she felt compelled to lower her price to match Owen’s. She realised by the time she arrived home that she was going to have to tell her mother what had happened.
Lucy poured out the whole story but Maureen didn’t seem to realise the seriousness of what her daughter was saying. ‘Well, that’s clever of him,’ she murmured, putting on her coat and picking up her cleaning implements.
Lucy was furious. ‘Clever? It’s downright sneaky!’ She seized her mother’s arm. ‘I’ve only got a shilling to give you.’ This time she had Maureen’s full attention. ‘So what do I do? Lower my prices to less than his to win them back?’
‘But that would leave us with hardly anything,’ said Maureen, frowning. ‘If only our Mick hadn’t been such a eejit as to get involved in Ireland. Now Callum wants me to go back there with an answer to Mick’s letter. I’ve told him I’m not a carrier pigeon. That man – he’s a dreamer! Got no sense. The things he says to me, you wouldn’t believe.’ She sat down, gazing into space. ‘I’ve told him I’ll go one more time to see how our Mick is but that’s it.’
Lucy was exasperated. At the moment she didn’t care about Mick. ‘Stick to the point, Mam. My round! What am I going to do about Owen?’
Her mother pulled a face. ‘I don’t know what we can do. He’s surprised me. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be so unkind to you. But give credit where it’s due, he’s managed to get one step ahead of you, girl. I don’t know how we can stop him.’ She picked up her bucket and broom. ‘I’m going to have to go. You’ll have to think of some other way of selling your firewood.’ And she hurried out of the house.
Lucy flopped on to a chair, feeling let down. Her gran had worked hard building up that round. She felt sad, thinking of the old woman. Gosh, she’d been gutsy! What would she have done in Lucy’s position? The girl sat thinking for a long time and suddenly she came up with an idea.
‘Timmy, I need your help.’ She took a bundle of firewood out of the cart.
Her brother looked up from chalking on the slate Aunt Mac had given him. The tip of his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth. ‘What is it?’
‘Help me take a chip out of every bundle,’ said Lucy, her fingers working busily. ‘I’ll get extra bundles that way and make up the money I’ve lost. We’ll got up to Netherfield Road where they have more money and nobody knows us. You can pull down your mouth and look pathetic. All the woman’ll feel sorry for us, and with a bit of luck they might even pay the full whack for a bundle. I’ll try that first. If in ten minutes they don’t go, I’ll knock a farthing off. ’
But Lucy didn’t have to lower her prices. She sold the firewood without any trouble and for less effort. Thrilled by her success, she decided to carry out another idea she had and bought apples and sugar with the money she’d made from selling the extra bundles. She’d make toffee apples just like her gran used to.
‘Well, well, well!’ said Maureen, smiling, as Lucy told her what she had done. ‘I’d never have believed my girl had so much sense.’ She dipped a finger into the lentil soup Lucy had made. ‘Your idea knocks spots off Owen’s.’
Lucy flushed with pleasure. Her mother wasn’t often forthcoming with praise. ‘I wish I’d thought of it before. But the toffee apples, Mam? Is it OK for me to make them?’
Maureen nodded. ‘Mammy’d be pleased if you did. I can see her now, a smile on her face, gazing down from Heaven on us. You’ll need greaseproof paper to wrap them in, don’t forget – and sticks!’
Lucy thanked her for the reminder and knew she would have to use some of her savings, but hopefully this way she’d have more money to put away.
‘I’ll add up how much we spend and then work out what I need to sell them at to make a profit,’ she said aloud.
Her mother laughed. ‘You do have a brain. But I hope this doesn’t affect what you bring in from the firewood?’
‘It won’t, Mam!’ Lucy hugged her, grateful for the words of encouragement.
Later that day it wasn’t the only reason she had to be grateful to her mother. Her gran had made boiling sugar and water into toffee appear easy but it wasn’t. To get the toffee to set it had to reach the right temperature and Lucy had no way of knowing what that was. It was Maureen who reminded her to drop a teaspoon of the precious mixture into a cup of cold water and if it hardened, it meant the toffee was ready. She made several attempts before getting it right.
Soon there was a
row of greaseproof paper-wrapped toffee apples on the mantelshelf. All Lucy had to do now was sell them – and where better than to the cinemagoers who queued up outside the picture palace every night? She voiced her idea aloud to her mother.
‘Why not?’ said Maureen, looking round from the table. ‘You just make sure you get there early, girl.’
Lucy knew she had to get the price right otherwise she wouldn’t sell her toffee apples. So she made sure her profit margin was only small, to encourage people to buy.
She sold a plateful of toffee apples at the first performance and with her mother’s encouragement returned for the second house. She had sold half her wares when a little woman turned up with a basket of oranges. Her eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw Lucy and she ran at her, swinging her basket. Lucy easily dodged her but was intimidated when the woman came at her again. Even so, she wasn’t going to give up. It was a free country and she had as much right as the old woman to be there. But she felt an idiot as the orange woman came at her again and the people in the queue laughed. The woman was not amused and shrieked at Lucy. ‘What d’yer think yous are at, girl? Yous are pinching my customers.’
‘It’s the early bird that catches the worm,’ said Lucy, remembering what Owen had said to her.
‘I’ll have you and your worms,’ yelled the woman. ‘Yous are only a kid! Yous should be at home, getting yer beauty sleep. Now scram or I’ll get a scuffer. There should be a law against kids your age working.’
‘I’m not a kid, I’m thirteen!’ cried Lucy crossly. But having no wish to tangle with the law – especially if he came in the shape of Rob Jones, and as she had sold most of her toffee apples, she went home.
Her mother was dozing in a chair and laughed when Lucy told her about the little old woman. ‘That’ll be old Mary! She’s always at the second performances at the top. I’d forgotten about her. Perhaps you should just sell to the early queue, and you can always go to other cinemas.’
So Lucy did that, buoyed up by her mother’s encouragement and her own sense of achievement. Her days fell into an agreeable pattern. Occasionally she was surprised by how easily she’d surrendered her round to Owen. She did not know whether Maureen had mentioned what she was doing to him, would prefer it if she didn’t in fact, but she wasn’t going to lose any sleep over him. As long as she could make money, Lucy felt certain her gran would have understood about giving up the round.
When Maureen eventually went back to Ireland, Lucy and Timmy did not go with her. Instead they stayed with Callum’s mother. Lucy had known Aunt Mac since childhood and was fond of her. She had never had a daughter so welcomed the girl with open arms, taking an interest in everything she did, as well as talking about the old days when Lucy’s grandmother was alive and they were neighbours.
Aunt Mac did not think it was right, though, that Lucy should have the job of chopping wood. ‘If your Uncle Mick had his head screwed on right, he wouldn’t have got himself involved with the troubles in Ireland,’ she observed.
Lucy dropped the axe and sat on the back step, wiping her sweating brow with the back of her hand, guessing the old woman mustn’t know about her own son’s involvement. ‘I agree, Aunt Mac, but you can’t tell fellas, can you?’ The girl closed her eyes against a suddenly blazing sun before it slid behind a cloud once more. For a moment she enjoyed the silence then she began to sing, ‘“Is the struggle and strife we find in this life, really worthwhile?”’
‘You can say that again,’ muttered Aunt Mac.
Lucy smiled and sang the next bit. “I’ve been wishing today I could just run away, out where the west winds call. With someone like you, a pal good and true, I’d like to leave it all behind. Her voice soared. ‘“And go and find, a place that’s known to God alone. Just a spot to call our own.”’
‘Now that would be nice,’ agreed the old woman. “‘We could find perfect peace “‘Where joys never cease,”’ crooned Lucy, before her voice rose again, ‘“Out there beneath a kindly sky!”’
“‘We’ll build a sweet little nest, somewhere up in the West,”’ quavered Aunt Mac.
‘Big finale,’ hissed Lucy.
“‘And let the rest of the world go by!”’ they chorused.
There was a moment’s silence when Lucy giggled and Aunt Mac chuckled. ‘We’ll never make the stage of the Hippodrome, girl. But I’m glad you’re still able to sing and aren’t weighed under worrying about your mam and Mick.’
Lucy threw back her head and gazed up at the old woman. She had pure white hair and the few teeth she had left were blackened stumps from eating molasses which her husband brought from Tate’s down on the dock road. ‘I do worry but it’s no use letting it get me down.’
The old woman rested a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Finished all your chopping?’
She nodded. ‘Ma’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll come and see you again.’ Lucy hesitated. ‘What d’you think, Auntie Mac, about me one day owning my own sweet shop?’
‘We can all dream, girl. I remember Wignall’s shop. It was Molly Bushell’s grandson who had it. She it was who made the first Everton toffees from a recipe given to her by a doctor to help her make money. She had very little and mouths to feed. Who’d have believed her grandson would end up supplying them to the old Queen! If you’re sensible and work hard and don’t rush into marriage, unless you can find yourself a rich husband who’d indulge you, then why shouldn’t your dream come true? I remember…
The old woman was off, talking about when she’d worked in a boarding house on the dock road which took in emigrants waiting to go to America, and how they were risking all to fulfil their dream. It was exciting but scary as well.
Lucy was thinking about all that Aunt Mac had said when she arrived home the next day after going to the timber yard. To her surprise she was welcomed by singing. Her eyes widened at the sight of Barney, flamboyantly dressed, sitting on their doorstep, built-up booted leg stuck out straight in front of him, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, a folded newspaper in his hand with which he was conducting a group of women and children.
‘The Boy I Love’ came to an end and the gathering broke up. Women went back to their daily tasks and children began to play, squabbling over stones and pieces of chalk. A couple of girls were playing ball, chanting: ‘Ikey Moses, King of the Jews bought his wife a pair of shoes’. Lucy smiled at Barney and he asked how she was and stood up to allow her to get the cart indoors.
Curious to why he was there, she picked up her skipping rope and went out again. He was still outside, leaning against the metal handrail and talking to her mother. Lucy kept an eye on the pair of them, as she began to skip to the accompaniment of ‘Salt, pepper, mustard, vinegar’, when Callum came whistling through the passageway. At the sight of Barney the whistling tailed off and his expression darkened.
Lucy stopped skipping and went over to her mother. Their voices trailed away as Callum, his bushy brows drawn together in disapproval, approached the step. ‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Jones,’ he said, adding in a tone of underlying menace, ‘Sling your hook, matey!’
Barney’s smile didn’t falter. ‘Isn’t that a docker’s term? Don’t they have hooks to pick up goods when unloading a ship?’
Callum scowled. ‘Don’t try and be clever with me. Clear off! What does Maureen want with the likes of you?’ He prodded Barney’s boot with his foot and didn’t need to spell out what he meant.
Lucy was watching Barney’s face and for a split second it was as if a mask had slipped. He’s furious! she thought. Then his smile was back again. ‘And you think she wants the likes of you?’
‘More so than you. I can look out for Maureen. You can’t! You don’t belong here. So beat it!’
‘He wasn’t doing any harm,’ chorused a couple of neighbours.
‘Indeed he wasn’t! You’re a vulgar little man, Callum McCallum, and you don’t own me,’ said Maureen, cheeks aflame, body
quivering as she stood and faced him.
‘Calm down now, Mrs Linden,’ said Barney, placing a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Mr McCallum is indeed a sorry, ignorant creature if he judges a man by outer appearances. But I’ve met his like before and whatever he says – “Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me”. I have performed my errand and was just about to leave so I’ll go on my way in full confidence that you can deal with Mr McCallum without my help.’
‘Indeed I can, Mr Jones,’ said Maureen, and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re a real gent.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘Lucy, see Mr Jones out into the street.’
Lucy hurried to do her mother’s bidding but couldn’t wait to get back to see what happened next between Callum and her. She waved Barney off as he clumped up Bostock Street then raced back up the passage just in time to hear Callum tell her mother she was a disgrace to her family and religion and wouldn’t be allowed to get away with her flirtatious and mercenary ways.
‘And how are you going to stop me?’ snapped Maureen. ‘What’s between me and Mr Jones has nothing to do with you. So go boil your head!’ She picked up her brush and waved it in his face.
Callum backed off, a comical expression on his face. ‘But I thought there was something between us. What about the other week? I love you, darlin’!’
‘I must have had one too many. Now go! You’re making a show of me in front of my neighbours.’
He went, looking down in the dumps. Maureen waved to her neighbours. ‘Show’s over!’ she said, cocking her nose in the air, and beckoned Lucy inside. ‘Well, did you behave yourself at Aunt Mac’s?’ Lucy caught a whiff of alcohol from her and wondered what Barney had made of that.
‘Of course. How’s Uncle Mick?’
Her mother’s expression darkened. ‘Miserable as sin! Sorry for himself! Wanting to be on his feet when he isn’t up to it. Just sits there, oiling a revolver. And to top it all Callum had the nerve to write him a letter, telling him about me and Mr Jones! Mick was angry about it. Had the cheek to tell me I was betraying my own kind.’ She snorted. ‘I was mad, I can tell you. I told him he was a fool and should leave the fighting to those he thinks are “his kind”. They’re a lot better at it than our Mick is. So he just might come home now.’
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