by Joan Jonker
The Girl From
Number 22
Copyright © 2004 Joan Jonker
The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 7553 9038 0
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Joan Jonker
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War – a period that Joan remembers so well – when she met and fell in love with her late husband, Tony.
For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and her first book, Victims of Violence, is an account of those years. She has recently retired from charity work in order to concentrate on her writing. Joan has two sons and two grandsons and she lives in Southport. Her previous bestselling Liverpool sagas have won her legions of fans throughout the world:
‘Your sense of humour and knowledge of the old Liverpool is unsurpassed by any other writer’ Judy Down, New Zealand
‘I am proud to say I own all the books you have written. Thank you, Joan, for so many hours of pleasure’ Ena Gardner, Newbold Verdon, Leicestershire
‘Wonderful . . . The characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York
‘I picked up my first Joan Jonker book and knew I had made a friend. You make me laugh, cry and are like a light in a dark room’ Thelma Morris and Karen and Geoff, New Mills, High Peak
‘When I’m low and feeling sorry for myself . . . all I need is to pick up one of your books . . . and I’m soon feeling better’ Marion Carver, London
‘Absolutely wonderful’ Jean Bowers, Canada
Also by Joan Jonker
When One Door Closes
Man Of The House
Home Is Where The Heart Is
The Pride Of Polly Perkins
Sadie Was A Lady
Walking My Baby Back Home
Try A Little Tenderness
Stay As Sweet As You Are
Dream A Little Dream
Many A Tear Has To Fall
Taking A Chance On Love
Strolling With The One I Love
When Wishes Come True
Featuring the McDonoughs and Bennetts
Stay In Your Own Back Yard
Last Tram To Lime Street
Sweet Rosie O’Grady
Down Our Street
After The Dance Is Over
The Sunshine Of Your Smile
Three Little Words
Non-fiction
Victims of Violence
I am dedicating this book to all my readers, who have enriched my life so much with their letters and their friendliness.
As one of my characters would say, ‘I love the bones of yer.’
Hello to all my friends.
This is another of my one-off stories. The characters will be strangers to you until you get to know and enjoy them. You will love the goodies, and from the depths of your easy chair you can hiss at the baddies.
Take care.
Love,
Joan
Chapter One
‘I’m going to the shops, Ada. Is there anything yer’d like me to get for yer?’ Harriet Watson looked up to where her next-door neighbour was standing on the top step. ‘Save yer going out yerself.’
‘No, I’m going to the shops meself, girl, but thanks all the same. I haven’t made up me mind what to get for the dinner yet.’ Ada Fenwick opened the door wider. ‘If yer want to come in and wait a few minutes, Hetty, I’ll come with yer. I’ve only got to wash me hands and comb me hair.’
‘Yeah, okay, I’m not in a hurry.’ Hetty smiled at what she was about to say. ‘I’ve even got time for a cuppa.’
‘Ye’re a cheeky sod, Hetty Watson. Ye’re certainly not backward in coming forward. And I suppose yer’d like a biscuit to dunk in the tea?’
Hetty squeezed past her neighbour of twenty years. ‘It pays to be cheeky sometimes, queen. But I’ll repay yer kindness by giving you afternoon tea, eh?’ Her mousy-coloured hair was neatly combed, and with her slim figure and the smile that was never far from her pretty face, she looked much younger than her thirty-eight years. ‘We could always buy ourselves a cake to bring back, and make a proper job of it.’
‘Don’t be going all posh on me, Hetty Watson. Next yer’ll be asking me to go to Reece’s tea dance with yer.’ Ada’s ample body shook with laughter. ‘Someone told me once, bragging like, that Reece’s dance hall had a sprung floor, and it would need it if I started doing me stuff on it. I used to be quite a raver in me time. Jimmy will tell yer, the boys used to queue up to dance with me.’
‘To hear you talk, anyone would think yer were like Two Ton Tessie O’Shea. Ye’re not fat, Ada, ye’re pleasantly plump. Yer can certainly move when ye’re in a hurry. While I’m puffing and panting, you sail along as though ye’re floating on air.’
Ada’s bonny, rosy face broke into a smile. ‘No, girl, I only float on air after two bottles of milk stout. Anyway, I’ll go and make that pot of tea, girl, before I forget I promised yer a drink. Once I get started on the old days, I don’t know when to stop.’
Hetty looked around the room and nodded. It was like a little palace as usual. You could see your face in the sideboard, it was so highly polished. The net curtains on the front and back windows were pure white, and the panes of glass gleaming. ‘Have yer got any bright ideas for what to get in for the dinner?’ she called. ‘It’s a worry every day, trying to come up with something for a change.’
Ada came in drying her hands. ‘It’s a toss-up between a sheet of ribs, which would please Jimmy and Danny, or sausage and mash.
We had stew last night so we can’t have that again, or I’ll be getting complaints. The kids aren’t fussy. They’re like me, they’ll eat anything that’s put in front of them.’
‘Me too. I’m not a fussy eater,’ Hetty said. ‘It was easy before Sally and Kitty left school and started work, they weren’t fussy then either. But now they expect me to do miracles with the few bob they hand over.’ Her elder daughter, Sally, was eighteen, and her younger, Kitty, was seventeen. ‘So shall we stick with ribs tonight, sausage tomorrow, and to hell with whether they like it or not? I’m not going to start cooking different meals for everyone, they’ll have to eat what’s put in front of them. As me mam used to say, hunger’s a good sauce.’
The kettle began to whistle, and Ada made for the kitchen to turn off the gas and pour the boiling water into the brown teapot. ‘Yeah, we’ll do that, girl,’ she shouted back. ‘Not that mine would moan no matter what I served up, but I like to please Jimmy and Danny. I think they deserve to come home to something they fancy after putting in a hard day’s work. And when the two youngest start work and are bringing a few bob in, then I’ll listen to their likes and dislikes.’
Hetty pushed her chair back and walked into the kitchen. ‘You bring the cups in, queen, I’ll carry the pot.’ She turned her head to add, ‘And don’t forget the promised biscuit.’
When they were sitting facing each other across the table, Ada said, ‘I haven’t seen much of Eliza the last few days. D’yer know if she’s all right?’
Eliza Porter was an elderly woman who lived across the street from them, and most of the near neighbours kept an eye on her. ‘She waved to me this morning when she was taking her milk in, so she’s all right.’ Then Hetty frowned. ‘Mind you, come to think of it, I haven’t see her going to the shops for a few days. Shall we give a knock on our way out, and ask if she needs any shopping?’
Ada nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ll do that, just to make sure.’ Again she nodded her head, but this time it was towards the plate. ‘Yer may as well dunk that last ginger snap, then I can take the empty plate out. I’m not going to ask if yer want any more, ’cos our Danny would blow his top if there were no ginger snaps.’ Danny was her eighteen-year-old son, and her pride and joy. ‘Honest, he’s like a big soft kid sometimes.’
‘Oh, don’t be trying to kid me, Ada, for I know yer love the bones of him, and yer spoil him rotten. But I have to admit if he was my son I’d spoil him too. He’s a lovely lad, and it’ll be a lucky girl who gets him.’
‘She’ll have to be more than lucky to get past me,’ Ada said jokingly. ‘I’ll want to know everything about her and her family, right down to how many blankets they have on their beds.’
‘For heaven’s sake leave the lad alone and let him enjoy himself.’ Hetty tutted. ‘He’s only young once.’
‘And he’s making the most of it, girl, believe me! He’s out every night at one dance hall or another, having the time of his life. And I don’t begrudge him one minute of it. He may as well enjoy himself before he settles down. His mates tell me he’s a smashing dancer, and he’s got all the girls after him. But Danny never mentions girls to me, so I can’t see there being anyone in particular . . . not yet, anyway.’
‘He wouldn’t tell you if there was, queen, not the way you dote on him. He knows he’d get the third degree if he even mentioned a girl’s name.’
‘Ay, I’m not that bad! I’m only thirty-seven years old, young enough to remember what it was like to have a mother who wanted to know every time I took a breath. She was so strict with me, I used to have to tell her fibs, just so I could go out.’ Ada chuckled. ‘I have to confess, though, that I asked for it. I was a cheeky little beggar when I was at school, and a damn sight worse when I left. I thought the world was there for me to enjoy meself, and I led me poor mam and dad a merry dance.’ She became serious, and said, ‘I made it up to them, though, when I learned a bit of sense. I met Jimmy, we fell in love, and suddenly I realised what I’d put me parents through.’
‘Yer were the only child, weren’t yer, queen?’
Ada nodded. ‘I didn’t know, ’cos in those days nobody mentioned having babies, not in front of children, anyway. I must have been about thirteen when I heard one of me aunties talking to me mam, and I heard her saying something about when I was born the doctor had told me mam, and me dad, that she mustn’t have any more babies, for her life would be at risk. It all went over me head, really; I didn’t understand. And I was too young to ask anyone about it. All I knew was, me mam never had any more babies after me.’
Hetty was leaning forward, interest in her eyes. In all the years they’d been neighbours and friends, Ada had never mentioned this. ‘When did yer eventually find out?’
‘When I met Jimmy. He asked me about having any brothers or sisters, and I told him what I’d heard me auntie saying. When I’d been out with him a few times, I asked me mam if I could bring him home to meet her and me dad. I remember she seemed really pleased that I’d asked her, and both her and me dad really liked him. And a few weeks later, Jimmy made it seem like a joke when he asked if I’d been such a bad baby that they’d decided not to have any more. It was me dad who told us, with me mam sitting blushing like mad. But when I heard the real story, it made me pull me socks up, I can tell yer. I made up for all those years when I’d never told them how much I loved them. And I thank God that I did, for me mam was only forty-seven when she died. I took time off work to help me dad nurse her. I was courting Jimmy at the time, and he would call every night to see if he could do anything.’ Ada swallowed hard to rid herself of the lump forming in her throat. ‘She was only bedridden for four weeks, and she wasn’t in a lot of pain, thank God. But me dad was out of his mind when she died. He idolised her. He never went back to work, he just seemed to fade away. And six months after me mam died, he passed away. The doctor said he’d died of a broken heart.’ She sniffed up. ‘I should never have told yer all that, I’ve upset meself now. Ye’re the first one I’ve ever told the full story to, and I’m sorry, girl, if I’ve upset yer. But yer can blame yerself, for you were the one what started it.’
‘I know, I was being nosy. I’m sorry I’ve brought it all back, queen. I should have minded me own business and kept me mouth shut.’
‘No, it does me good to talk about me parents, even though it does make me weepy. Never a day goes by I don’t think of them, and thank God I made it up to them for the worries I caused when the only person I thought about was meself. And I was also able to give them the love they deserved.’ Ada smiled at her neighbour. ‘Anybody watching us two over the last fifteen minutes would have thought they were in the Gaumont watching a sad movie and clutching their hankies wringing wet with tears. So let’s liven ourselves up and press ahead with our daily chores.’
Hetty looked round. ‘From the looks of things, yer’ve done all yer chores, except seeing to the dinner for the family. My living room doesn’t look like this, it’s a shambles. I cleaned the grate out, washed the breakfast dishes, and was about to start polishing when me mind went on strike. It told me to stop work and go out and get some fresh air in me lungs. So I threw the duster on the couch, combed me hair, and here I am.’
‘That mind of yours will get yer in trouble one of these days. It sounds bolshie to me. If yer were working in a factory, it would make yer into a real troublemaker, and yer’d have the whole factory out on strike. I can see yer now, standing outside the factory gates, with all the workers behind yer carrying big banners and chanting slogans about low wages.’
Hetty looked at her neighbour with eyes wide. ‘My God, Ada, yer don’t half let yer imagination run away with yer. I wouldn’t say boo to a goose, and you’ve got me bringing a whole factory out on strike. Plus ruddy banners!’
Ada chuckled. ‘There’s worse things yer mind can make yer do than bring workers out on strike, girl, but yer’ll have to put yer foot down hard if it does.’
Hetty’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know whether to ask what it is, o
r leave well alone. Me mind says don’t bother asking, ’cos there’s nothing can be worse than starting a revolution in a factory. But me nose is telling me not to be so miserable, ’cos it would like to know. So go ahead and I’ll keep tight hold of the table.’
‘Before I say a word, Hetty,’ Ada said, laughter building up inside her, ‘yer do believe that all is pure to the pure, don’t yer? And don’t be looking at me with that blank look on yer face, it was an easy question. You are pure at heart, aren’t yer?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so. As pure as you are, anyway.’
Ada pursed her lips and wagged her head from side to side. ‘Ooh, that was the wrong answer, girl. Yer should have thought of something else.’
‘Why? You’re pure at heart, queen, aren’t yer?’
‘That’s debatable, girl. Sometimes I have very un-pure thoughts in me head. Perhaps we’d better leave things as they are, and get down to the shops.’
‘Not on your ruddy life, Ada Fenwick. I’m not moving from here until yer tell me when I should put me foot down when me mind tells me to do something.’
‘Okay, yer asked for it.’ Ada was really enjoying herself. ‘Can yer imagine yerself in bed one night, and your Arthur is getting very amorous? And just at the height of his passion, your mind tells yer to go on strike! Where would that leave your Arthur if yer didn’t put yer foot down and tell yer mind to sod off?’
A grin spread slowly across Hetty’s pretty face, then it gathered momentum until she was roaring with laughter. ‘Oh, you are a case, Ada,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Yer don’t know my Arthur very well, do yer? If yer did, yer’d know he wouldn’t let a little thing like my mind, or my foot, put him off. When my husband’s feeling passionate, queen, not even a storm would put him off. In fact, we’d both be making more noise than the storm.’
‘Oh, he’s that good, is he? Mmm, I’ll have to have a word in his shell-like ear, and ask him if he’ll pass on any tips to my Jimmy.’
‘Yer’ve pulled me leg over a few things, queen, but I’m not falling for that one. What yer seem to forget is, I live next door, and the walls are not very thick.’