Someone to Trust

by Someone to Trust (retail) (epub)

  Lucy’s eyes shone. ‘Me too! Whether it’s a weepie or a comedy or a crime passionel!’ She had seen that written on a billboard advertising that week’s film outside the Mere Lane Super Cinema. ‘I’m caught up in a different world – and what makes it even more lovely is sharing the magic with other people. It gives me a warm feeling.’

  He chuckled. ‘My goodness, girlie! You should write the cinema advertisements for the newspapers. We’d get loads coming in.’

  She leaned against the desk. ‘I’d like to run the whole show. Pick the films, choose what people are offered to eat, work in the cash office, have a go at doing everything.’

  His expression was almost comical. ‘What a dreamer! You’re a female. You’re not capable of running the whole show.’

  ‘No?’ she said with a mischievous smile. ‘We’ll see. I’ll have to work my way up from the bottom. I know it’ll take years but…’

  ‘You’ll be married before then. Some chap’s bound to snap you up,’ he said with a sigh.

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I want my dream. Besides, you’ve spoiled me for all the young men.’

  She thought Barney was going to burst with pleasure. His face turned a beetroot colour and he took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Nice of you to say so, lovey. I’m sure I can find you something. There’s a vacancy coming up soon for a waitress. One of our girls is getting married. How about that as a place to start?’

  ‘Why not!’ she said, having no illusions about how hard the work would be.

  ‘Good. Next step usherette.’

  That pleased Lucy but she wanted more. ‘How about the projection room after that?’

  He threw back his head and laughed. She laughed with him although she was deadly serious. Barney mopped his eyes with a large white linen handkerchief. ‘This is real, girlie, not the pictures. That’s a man’s job. Those reels of film are heavy.’

  ‘I could turn the handle. When do I start?’

  He looked down at her hands, inspecting their chapped appearance. ‘You’ll need to do something about these.’

  ‘I will,’ she promised.

  ‘Then I’ll speak to the head waitress tomorrow.’

  That was good enough for Lucy. She thanked him and almost danced out of the room. She went downstairs and asked her mother did they have any soft wax, glycerine and almond oil left? ‘I’ve got to do something about my hands before I start my new job.’

  Maureen sank on to a three-legged stool and the colour drained from her face. Startled and worried, Lucy said, ‘I didn’t mean to give you a shock.’

  Her mother shook her head, then took several deep breaths. ‘Nothing to do with you. My legs just went on me. So don’t fuss,’ she said brusquely. ‘Now hang that washing on the rack!’

  ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t go out to work,’ said Lucy with a sigh, taking a wet shirt out of the basket.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be OK. I’m glad you’re to get what you wanted.’

  But it was to be several months before Lucy really got that.

  Her mother had another funny turn at the table later that day. ‘Are you all right, lovey?’ said Barney, bending over her and patting her face.

  ‘Don’t fuss over me!’ she snapped. ‘And don’t call me lovey!’ She rushed out of the room.

  ‘Mam had a funny turn this morning,’ said Lucy hastily.

  ‘You go after her then. See that she’s all right,’ said Barney.

  Lucy nodded and hurried upstairs. She found her mother sitting in the dark by her bedroom window, gazing out over the front garden. The girl knelt beside her and put a hand on her knee. ‘What’s wrong, Mam?’

  ‘I’m having a baby.’

  It took a few seconds for the words to sink in but as they did Lucy’s heart lifted with relief and pleasure. A little brother or sister! That explained everything. How many times had she heard old grannies say that women carrying babies could behave oddly? ‘That’s wonderful!’ cried Lucy, putting an arm round her mother’s waist.

  Maureen was stiff and unwielding. ‘There’s nothing wonderful about it at all! I’m worried sick. It could have his trouble,’ she said in tragic tones. ‘What if it’s a girl and ends up having to wear a big boot? This is a punishment for me marrying out of the faith!’ Her face crumpled and she burst into tears.

  ‘Mam, Mam, don’t cry.’ Lucy stumbled to her feet and put both arms round her. ‘It’ll be OK. She could just as easily take after you and be a beautiful baby… and to be honest I don’t know why you go on about the faith. You hardly went to church after Dad was killed. I remember Gran used to nag you about it.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Maureen pounced on her words. ‘And she was right. It would have been a comfort to me. I don’t feel at home in St George’s. It’s not what I was brought up to.’

  Lucy groaned. ‘It’s not what I was brought up to either but you can get used to anything if you want. It’s in English. Latin’s so highfalutin’!’

  ‘I like it. It sounds lovely.’

  Lucy thought it sounded dreary but didn’t say so. She tried a different track. ‘The main thing is that we all try to do our best to live up to what we’ve been taught is the right way to live. Isn’t that what you meant when we took the fruit and the boots that time? I’ve been angry with God at times, Mam, for taking Dad and all those other men who were killed in the war. But I’ve also thought those in charge didn’t really follow what Jesus taught, did they?’

  ‘Aye. It was all pride and power and greed,’ agreed Maureen vehemently, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Even so I’d like my baby baptised into the faith.’

  Lucy almost groaned again. Barney wouldn’t agree to that and her mother knew it. ‘I’d worry about that when it happens,’ she muttered.

  ‘Well, who’s to know what the future will hold?’ Maureen gave a watery smile as she stood up. ‘Thanks, love.”

  ‘For what?’ Lucy returned her smile.

  ‘You know.’ She put her arm round her daughter and hugged her briefly before closing the curtains and switching on the light. She grimaced. ‘I’m going to have to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m sure Uncle Barney’ll understand when you tell him about the baby.’

  Maureen groaned and sat on the bed. ‘He’ll be too understanding. Will swamp me with words and wrap me up in cotton wool.’

  That’s what you need. You’re no spring chicken, Mam.’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky!’

  Lucy sat beside her. ‘Perhaps I should stay at home? You’re going to need help.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me.’ Her mother’s eyes had a determined glint in them. ‘I’ll make sure his understanding runs to extra help. A woman coming in daily to cook the evening meal will suit me down to the ground.’ And on those words she got up and went downstairs.

  The following morning Barney was already up and dressed in his Sunday best when Lucy came into the kitchen. He was reading the newspaper and had a cup of tea near at hand. The newspaper was lowered and there was a broad smile on his face. ‘Your mother’s gone back to bed. She was feeling queasy because of the baby so she won’t be going to church with us this morning.’

  ‘It’s good news, isn’t it?’ Lucy smiled at him.

  He nodded. ‘We’re going to have to look after her. I’ll find a woman to do the cooking. Your mother doesn’t want you not being allowed to do what you want because of this but I’d like you to wait a bit longer and see how she goes. I’d feel happier if you were with her. You’ll have to wait until another vacancy arises.’

  Lucy was disappointed but accepted that in this special case her mother’s needs came first.

  Due to Maureen’s not going to church with them that morning Lucy was able to linger after the service. Her mother generally insisted on their rushing back to see to the Sunday dinner. Dilys greeted Lucy like a long-lost cousin but she didn’t waste any time in pleasantries, going straight to the point and asked about Rob and his girlfriend.

  Dilys shrugged. ‘I get th
e impression she doesn’t like the hours he works and the company he keeps.’

  Lucy was astonished. ‘Shouldn’t she have thought about that before getting engaged to him? And what does she mean, “the company he keeps”?’

  Dilys looked at her squarely. ‘What she calls the “lowest of the low”. You’re showing a lot of interest.’

  Lucy flushed. ‘Your brother saved my life. I want him to be happy.’

  Dilys seemed to accept what she said and slipped an arm through hers. ‘Why don’t you come along to my dancing class, Tuesday? It’s great fun.’

  Why not? thought Lucy. If she wasn’t allowed to get a job then she might as well go dancing. She’d get round her mother to lend her the money. When she told Maureen about the dancing class her mother thought it was a good idea and insisted on Lucy’s having a new frock so they went into town together. The dress was off the peg in C&A’s and made of jade green and cream taffeta, straight up and down and sleeveless. Her mother suggested a pair of long gloves to hide Lucy’s scar, which was normally covered up. Whenever the girl saw it she was reminded of the fire. Would she ever be able to forget that day? she thought, feeling tortured by the memory. Her mother looked tired so Lucy decided she would come another day to look for gloves.

  It was late-afternoon the following day when she arrived home to be greeted by the most mouthwatering smells coming from the kitchen. A woman she vaguely recognised stood in front of the range, stirring a stewpot. Her mother was sitting in a rocking chair, a smile on her face similar to the Cheshire Cat’s. She introduced the woman as Mrs Davies. She gave a reserved smile and Lucy realised this was Owen’s mother whose knees had started to give her trouble, forcing her to give up her cleaning job on the liners.

  ‘Something smells good,’ said Lucy, nostrils flaring.

  ‘The tenderest breast of Welsh lamb,’ said Mrs Davies, holding a dripping spoon over the pan. ‘It makes a lovely sweet stew and melts in the mouth.’

  Lucy winked at her mother. ‘Can’t wait. I’ll just go up and wash my hands and face and then I’ll set the table.’

  She found her brother in the bathroom up to his elbows in filthy water. ‘Don’t you be leaving a tide mark round the sink, me lad, or Agnes’ll have you.’

  Timmy grinned. ‘She likes me. She won’t mind.’ Even so he pulled out the plug and rubbed at the ring of scum left behind with the edge of the towel. ‘What do you think of us having a cook? We’ve become right toffs, haven’t we, Luce?’

  ‘Naw!’ She gazed at her reflection in the mirror over the sink as she ran hot water and wondered where most of her freckles had gone. Her skin was almost unblemished and creamy as her mother’s once was. ‘If we were right toffs we’d be living out Childwall way or Blundellsands and you’d be at boarding school, playing rugby and tennis and the like, not having taken over selling firewood to earn a few extra coppers.’ She worked up a lather with the Pear’s soap and dabbed a soapsud on her nose. ‘You know who the cook is, don’t you?’

  ‘Owen’s mam.’

  ‘Yes, the lad who called me a slummy. And now his mother’s cooking our dinner.’

  ‘You don’t think he’ll be here next?’

  She shrugged. ‘He’s got a couple of jobs but if they’re hard up it wouldn’t surprise me if Uncle Barney gave him work to help them out.’

  Lucy discovered how right she was as she came downstairs later that evening, passing Owen on the way. He was carrying coal for the fire in the master bedroom where her mother was resting, reading Vogue. Lucy, having changed into the new tube dress, had brushed her hair until it shone. She had rouge for her lips in her bag and planned on applying it once she was out of the house. Despite his obvious admiration for the ladies of the silver screen Barney disapproved of young ladies wearing make up.

  As Lucy shrugged on her jacket Owen was descending the stairs. She could tell from his expression she had made an impression but only acknowledged his presence with a brief nod before leaving the house.

  There was a spring in her step as she hurried in the direction of St George’s church where she had arranged to meet Dilys. Lucy was a little late and her friend was already there.

  ‘Gosh! You look nice,’ she said, linking her arm through Lucy’s. ‘It’s hard to believe you’re the same girl who came to the timber yard only a few years ago, looking like you didn’t have two farthings to rub together.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘I’m not so different from her inside but I don’t think Owen realises that. His mother’s cooking for us now. She started today and he was there, too, carrying up coal. I behaved real haughty to him but I have to admire his determination to help his mother keep a roof over their heads.’

  ‘He’s been helping in my aunt’s garden once a week now the light nights are here,’ said Dilys, a fatuous expression on her face. ‘She admires his industry, too, finding work when there’s so many unemployed. He’s got his firewood round…’ My firewood round, thought Lucy, feeling a prickle of irritation as Dilys ticked off his jobs on her fingers, ‘he works part-time at the yard, does gardening, and now he’s carrying coal in your house. He’ll go far, Aunt says. Don’t you think he’s good-looking, too?’

  Lucy acted as if she’d never thought about it. ‘Maybe.’ Dilys seemed pleased by her answer. ‘Sometimes, just to show him I’m there, I hang around the garden and point out the weeds he’s missed. He’s a quick learner, though.’

  ‘I know the difference between a dandelion and a daffodil and that’s it,’ said Lucy with a shrug. ‘I think it was Winnie who kept the front garden tidy. Perhaps Uncle Barney’ll get Owen to do ours?’

  ‘You should suggest it. Your stepfather can afford it after all.’

  Lucy agreed, and changed the subject by asking how much the lesson would cost. Dilys told her, adding, ‘You’re going to love it. We’ll be learning some of the new dances soon that have been taken up by the bright young things in London.’

  Lucy had heard about them from Barney who read aloud from the newspaper anything he considered shocking. Her mother had expressed sympathy for them. ‘The poor things are all mixed up. What future have they now their young men are dead because of the war? They have money to squander so they waste it on drugs and drink, trying to forget. They’re eejits but they’re lost… lost…’ Her voice had trailed off and for a moment she’d looked unhappy.

  Lucy was scornful of them. Money, class, education meant they were free to choose how to handle such loss. If they were poor they wouldn’t have time to squander but would be fighting for survival.

  The dancing class was situated over a shop on Netherfield Road and was run by a husband and wife team, Betty and Joseph Merton, who were given to demonstrating in flamboyant style exactly how the dance steps should be executed. Fortunately there was a decent number of young men just as eager as Lucy to have a go. In the first instance they tried without music and following the lead of the dancing teachers, then went on to try it to the strains of the piano played by the widowed Mrs Cracker, who wore lace mittens and a hat fashionable before the war which dipped and swayed in time to the music.

  Lucy’s partner was tall and thin. He had an Adam’s apple that due to his nervousness bobbed up and down in his throat like the counter on a Show Your Strength machine at a fairground when the hammer falls. She could not help thinking that at least she had an idea where her head would reach if she ever danced with Rob Jones.

  Despite having her toes trodden on several times Lucy enjoyed her evening and told Dilys she was looking forward to the next. ‘You could do with a better partner, though,’ said her friend. ‘It’s a pity we couldn’t drag Owen along then you could have mine.’

  Lucy was beginning to think Dilys had a real pash on Owen. She said dreamily, ‘Have you ever seen Rudolph Valentino dance? He’s sleek and slinky and holds his partner so close you couldn’t get a sheet of paper between them. It shocked me the first time I saw it but the second time it sent a lovely shiver down my spine. I read on a poster he’s got anim
al magnetism.’

  ‘I know just what you mean,’ said Dilys, beginning to sway. ‘I’m dancing down Mexico way with him right now.’

  ‘No, you’re not. I am,’ said Lucy.

  ‘He reminds me of Owen – dark, a bit of a beast and a good mover,’ said her friend, still swaying, eyes closed. ‘I’ll ask him to come with us next time, definitely.’

  Owen refused, saying he couldn’t afford the lessons. In the weeks that followed Lucy was glad he had turned Dilys down. He turned up most evenings at their house for an hour or so and would shift furniture, change light bulbs and talk to Barney. Miss Griffiths must have mentioned to Barney about Owen’s doing her garden because in no time at all he was digging over theirs as well.

  Sometimes Lucy would pause when she did see him and ask how he was doing. Generally he answered in monosyllables but sometimes he forgot himself and asked where she was going or where she’d been. She told him dancing. ‘I can guess who got you on to that,’ he said, pausing in his task of unscrewing a tap to fix a new washer. ‘Miss Dilys Jones. Now she’s a real eyeful and time’ll tell if there’s any future for me there. As Mam says, nobody’s better than anyone else in God’s eyes and Miss Griffiths does rely on me quite a lot now to do jobs for her, Mr Rob Jones being on some course. And other people in her road are always asking me to do things. If it carries on like this I’ll be setting myself up in business one day.’

  Dilys hadn’t mentioned Rob was doing a course but before Lucy could ask Owen what he knew about it she heard her mother calling her from the bedroom and excused herself.

  She found Maureen standing on a chair in front of the wardrobe, clutching her belly, a terrified expression on her face. ‘I’ve got up here and can’t get down again and my pains have started and it’s not time,’ she cried. ‘You’ll have to get the midwife.’