She hated doing it and was filled with embarrassment and regret when she walked back up the wooden steps with the empty tray at her side. She would see the eyes of the other men as they glanced at the empty wooden tray and, occasionally, at Mr McConaghy as he drank his tea. Some would arrive for work with glass bottles full of cold tea. Some with nothing at all.
She would have happily made a cuppa for everyone. After all, there were only a dozen men on the plant floor. She had suggested as much once to Mrs McConaghy and had been roundly scolded for even daring to consider the workers.
‘Would you like me to make a tea for everyone?’ she’d asked during her first week. Her own had left a bad taste as she thought of the men working in front of the huge furnace, parched.
‘Tea? For everyone? No, I would not. ’Tis not a charity we run here. This is a workplace, not a kitchen. There is a water pump in the yard. They won’t die of thirst.’
Mrs McConaghy’s tone had been so scathing, Lily had never mentioned it again.
‘Give them tea and they’ll be after a cake and a sit-down next.’
Like yourself, then? Lily had thought the words, not daring to say them out loud. She had to keep her opinions to herself. She needed her job.
It was many weeks before she joined Mrs McConaghy in a cup of tea in the morning again. Her cup and saucer sat on her desk unused, her own small, silent protest in solidarity with the men downstairs.
Lockie placed his cup on the new desk.
‘Pick it up,’ said Lily. ‘You idiot, it will burn the leather.’
‘Oh, well, get you. All protective now. Worried I’ll mark the grand desk. Stop kidding me, Lily, you know this new desk is for you. All I can say is, you are really making your mark here. They must think very highly of you because the McConaghys wouldn’t spend a penny they didn’t need to. Unless of course...’
‘Unless of course what? There’s no reason it would be for me, is there? I can’t believe it’s for me. Do you really think it can be?’ She bent her head in to whisper this, even though there was no one in the office to hear her.
‘I do think so, yes. Who else is going to sit at it? Mrs McConaghy would never give up her own desk.’ Lockie took a package out of his pocket, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. ‘Here, Lily, I have something for you.’
‘For me?’ asked Lily, eyes wide and inquisitive. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. It’s a bit late, as I didn’t see you before the break, but Happy Christmas, Lily.’
Lily’s eyes filled with tears and she hurriedly wiped them away with the back of her hand. She carefully undid the paper and her smile widened in wonderment. It was a hairbrush. Made of polished wood and bristle. She had never seen anything so handsome. She’d always longed to have such a thing to brush her long chestnut hair.
‘Oh, Lockie...’ she whispered, but she could barely speak.
‘Come here, you daft lump!’ Lockie scooped her into his arms and for a second he rocked her.
She felt the coarse wool fibres of his donkey jacket scratch against her face and for a moment she let her cheek rest and take in the smell of the jute that Lockie hauled up and down, on and off the cart all day long. She was like a sister to him. Someone he had known for all of his life. He protected her, cared for her, but she knew he most certainly did not think of her as any more than that, and nor did she of him. He was a special person in her life and she loved him for it.
Lockie pulled back and held her away from him by her shoulders. ‘Did you get through Christmas all right, Lily? He didn’t hit you, did he? If he did, tell me. I swear to God, I will kill him if he did.’
Lily sniffed. Lockie handed her his handkerchief. It was pristine white and crisp. Lily knew that Lockie’s mam was the proudest woman in Liverpool and she would never let her son set foot outside the house without a clean handkerchief in his pocket. She was also a woman of strong opinion, and that opinion was particularly strong with regard to the Lancashires.
‘No, they were in the pub or asleep for most of it. Sister Therese bought us presents. Lockie, it was the best Christmas we ever had.’
‘Well, it looks to me like it’s getting better. You never know, that desk could be your Christmas present from Mrs McConaghy.’
Lily laughed. ‘Don’t be daft. She bought me a beautiful scarf. I’ve hidden it under the bed and the kids’ presents are in Mrs McGuffy’s.’
‘Have you thought of telling the McConaghys how tough it is at home?’
Lily shook her head.
Lockie didn’t have to ask why. He knew why. Lily was proud. She would rather die than tell the McConaghys that both her parents were alcoholics and that she was the only thing that stood between little Joe and Katie and the care home.
The new desk was a mystery. They both looked over towards where Mrs McConaghy usually sat. Her chair was placed right next to the safe door. Lockie was right, she would never move. She guarded the door to the safe with more diligence than St Peter at the gates of heaven.
‘She gave me a big cake for Christmas and some extra money,’ Lily whispered. ‘She’s not all bad. Just a bit mean sometimes.’
‘A bit mean?’ said Lockie. ‘Are you kidding me? Well, there you go then. If she remembered you at Christmas, it’s obvious, isn’t it? They are pushing you up in the world, Lily. Making sure people give you the respect you deserve. That’s why they’ve put the new desk in. Look, they are both going to either retire or kick the bucket very soon. Who else can run this place if that happens? You have well and truly taken over. Was that not always the plan, Lily?’
Lily blinked. It was as though Lockie was speaking in a foreign language. She had no idea what he was talking about. ‘I only know how to do the banking, the ordering and the wages, Lockie,’ she whispered, scared that someone might come through the door and hear her. She was loyal to the McConaghys, despite their frequent displays of selfishness, and Lockie’s words made her feel uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know anything about the processing, down on the floor.’
‘Don’t come the innocent with me, Lily.’ Lockie smiled. ‘You also look after the office, barter a price with the traders, make all the decisions. What is there left, other than for the likes of me with horses and carts to turn up from the docks? The men who work on the plant floor have done the same job all their lives. They know how it works. Processing jute into rope and metal into wire isn’t women’s work. You’ve got it made here, girl. Play your cards right and all this might be yours one day. And when it is, Lockie here can help you out. I’ve had me eye on this place for a while. Neither of them has a clue, Lily. This place, it could be ours.’
Lily’s expression was frozen somewhere between terror, disbelief and hope. For a fraction of a second, she dared to hope.
‘And now, sit at your new desk and let’s try it for size.’
The moment was gone. The warm smell from his jacket, the compassion in his eyes, gone.
‘I can’t, Lockie,’ said Lily. ‘I daren’t. I just have a feeling about it. I’ll have to take the tray downstairs for Mr McConaghy and his brother-in-law soon.’
‘You can do that in a minute, but first, let’s have ourselves a little swing in this chair.’
Lockie flopped into the green leather chair and placed both of his hands on the polished wooden arms. Then, planting his feet on the floor, he pushed off until the chair swivelled round and round.
Lily put her hand over her mouth and began to giggle.
‘Have you ever seen anything like that!’ Lockie exclaimed as the chair slowed down and he jumped off.
‘I thought you were going to spin right off, I did!’
‘Hang on, let me see how it works.’ He removed his cap and, holding it in his hands, bent down and looked underneath the seat. ‘Well, blimey, that’s a nice bit of engineering, that is. It’ll need a regular drop of oil, I would say, but those springs will last a lifetime. Well forged, they were. Come on, you, try it for size.’
H
e took Lily’s cup and saucer out of her hand and, placing it on the desk, pushed her backwards into the chair, grabbed the arm, and spun her round and round and round.
‘Lockie, stop. Lockie, don’t,’ was the only protest Lily could make as, caught off guard, she found herself flung back in the chair while Lockie propelled it round. She clung on to the arms for dear life.
She saw his face, she saw the door, she saw his face, she saw the door, she heard the bell. She saw Mrs McConaghy.
Her head was spinning so fast, her thoughts could not keep up, but she heard the laughter in Lockie’s voice fade, sensed the atmosphere in the room changing as quickly as the temperature was dropping, felt the fresh blast of icy air from the open door.
Lockie grabbed the arm of the chair and Lily was flung forward. She tried to stand, but her legs failed to work and she slumped to the floor. She felt nauseous and dizzy, like a child who’d been spun round in a playground game of blind man’s buff. Her legs were like jelly as she tried to grab the edge of the desk and heave herself up from the floor. She wanted to die with the shame of it.
Lockie stretched out his hand and with one pull she was on her feet. She swayed backwards slightly. Lockie pushed her forward. She was aware of something else hitting her senses. A smell. Of flowers, of scent. A lingering memory from the inside of the chemist’s shop.
Her eyes focused as for the first time she realized that there was a young woman standing next to Mrs McConaghy. She had dark hair cut short below her ears in a sharp bob. Her lips were red, her hat made of fur, her coat woollen, and it was she who smelt of loveliness.
‘I will ask once more. What on earth is going on here?’ said Mrs McConaghy, who looked dismayed.
‘Yes, do tell. We would love to know, wouldn’t we, Auntie?’
The young woman purred as she placed her handbag on the new desk. Lily looked down and saw that her red leather booties had grey fur poking out around the ankle, matching the fur of her hat. For the first time in her life, Lily felt envious. She looked down at her own brown leather shoes, now years old. They had been worn every day since Sister Therese had acquired them on her behalf and were now stained almost black by the wet and the snow. Her feet were so frozen with the cold and the damp that her chilblains throbbed. She would have loved to own a pair of booties just like those.
‘Is this my desk, Auntie?’ asked the young woman.
‘Yes, it is, Amy. I was hoping to have a word with you, Lily,’ Mrs McConaghy added, with a hint of guilt in her voice. ‘This is my niece, Amy Curran. She will be working here from today.’
Lily heard the faintest intake of breath from Lockie.
So this was the famous Amy. She of the escapee boyfriend.
Amy now sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs one over the other. Placing her hands on the green leather surface, she leant to the side. ‘And who does this belong to?’ she asked as she picked up Lily’s cup and saucer.
Lily held out her hand to take the cup. She wanted to speak, but the realization that, just as she’d suspected, the desk was not for her, had made her tongue thick and immobile. She was angry with Lockie for having raised her hopes when, really, she should have known better. She saw her new hairbrush lying on the desk and held her breath, but it was too late, Amy had also seen it.
‘Oh, is this for me? Is it a welcome present? Why, thank you.’
Amy picked up the hairbrush and walked to the mirror. She brushed her hair and Lily’s heart stopped. It was the only new thing she had ever owned, apart from the headscarf, and she had been too afraid when she opened it to touch the brush to her hair. She had wanted to savour the moment. To let her hair down and brush her long locks slowly. Words failed her as Amy took the brush and, in one swift movement, opened the drawer of the desk and dropped the brush in.
Lily felt the tears prickle. It was all too much. Some days, life was too much. How could it be Amy’s desk? She didn’t work at the plant. That was where her desk lived.
She almost visibly shook herself. She would let the crushing disappointment wash over her. Of course the desk wasn’t for her. Why would it have been? Finally, she found her voice.
‘I’m sorry, the cup is mine. I will move it now.’
Mrs McConaghy failed to make eye contact with Lily. That was the first time that had ever happened. From somewhere inside, a sense of injustice rose like bile in Lily’s throat. She could never defend herself at home, and now, even at work, people were walking all over her.
‘Please could I have my hairbrush back?’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘What did you say?’ asked Amy. A menacing smile playing at the corner of her lips. She was making Lily squirm, she knew it and she was enjoying herself.
‘Can I have my hairbrush back, please. You have put it in the desk drawer.’
‘Oh, this.’ Amy pulled open the drawer and held up the hairbrush. ‘Well, all I can say is that Auntie must be paying you too much.’
She slapped the hairbrush down in the hand Lily held out. The palm of Lily’s hand stung.
‘Well, I’m off,’ Lockie announced.
Lily realized he had moved from her side and was already standing by the door. He looked sheepish and shifty. He was obviously embarrassed.
‘There’s no ships in, Mrs McConaghy. Reckon I won’t be back now until the morning.’
Lily wanted to run to the door and grab Lockie’s arm and pull him back into the office. Don’t leave me, she thought. Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone with this Amy. But it was too late. The bell above the door jangled again and without a backward glance, Lockie was gone.
Mrs McConaghy didn’t waste any time. ‘Amy is here to learn the ropes, Lily, and it’s down to you to teach her. She will be working here from now on, won’t you, Amy?’
Amy made no reply. She smiled at Lily. Not a friendly smile, but one that said, not if I can help it.
Amy was so perfect, she made Lily feel ugly and inadequate. Her clothes, her make-up, the way she spoke, her confidence and audacity, the way she swung her legs to and fro under the desk and smiled her half-mocking smile at Lily. It all made Lily feel thoroughly foolish.
She was also stunned by the new side she was seeing to Mrs McConaghy, who was at the sink, pouring the tea. She had never made a cup of tea in all the time Lily had worked there. She assumed it must be for Amy, and she was right. Mrs McConaghy waddled over, carrying the best cup and saucer. The one they kept for when Mr O’Hara from the bank called by.
‘Here you go, warm yourself up. Don’t spill any, though, on that beautiful coat.’
Lily’s mouth fell open in disbelief. It was instantly apparent that Amy was making the most of being the only niece of the childless Mr and Mrs McConaghy. She clearly had them wrapped around her little finger and was benefiting greatly from the prosperity of the business. The way Mrs McConaghy had run her hand along the sleeve of Amy’s coat told Lily one thing: she had bought it.
Lily wondered if being made to work in the office was Amy’s punishment for having been caught with a boyfriend. That question was answered when Mrs McConaghy spoke.
‘You see, Amy, all this will be yours one day soon, so you have to learn how it all works. And the only way to do that, love, is by working here, in the office, and learning from your aunt and Lily here. But of course you will be the boss. You understand that, don’t you, Lily? Amy is family.’
Lily’s heart sank. Working for the fashion-conscious, apparently cheeky, spoilt and lazy Amy was not an attractive prospect. She remembered all the whispers she had heard about her down on the plant floor. She liked Amy’s father, but he was a soft man who was pushed around by the McConaghys. She knew he’d been hurt by the stories about his daughter.
‘You’re going to teach me the ropes, are you, Lily?’ said Amy, her eyebrows arched as she removed her coat and handed it to Lily.
Lily’s arm almost hit the floor. The coat was as heavy as little Joe. It was soft in her hand, and warm. A sweet aroma wafted up from t
he lining and Lily resisted the urge to press the coat to her cheek. To feel the quality, inhale the femininity she knew she did not possess, and absorb the warmth.
‘I will teach you what I know, Miss Curran,’ said Lily softly.
Mrs McConaghy smiled and looked more relaxed. ‘That’s a good girl, Lily,’ she said as she made her way to the stairs leading down to the plant. No doubt to tell Mr McConaghy that Lily had been ‘not a bit of trouble’, thought Lily.
Amy’s face softened. ‘I’m Amy, Lily. That’s all you have to call me.’
‘Well, you know I’m Lily. I have to start the order book this morning and the time sheets for Christmas Eve have to be entered into the pay book.’
‘Oh God,’ groaned Amy. ‘I don’t want to be doing any of that stuff.’ She looked towards the door.
Lily noticed that she seemed distracted, as though something else entirely was occupying her thoughts.
‘Who was that bloke in here when we came in?’
‘Who? Lockie?’ asked Lily, surprised.
‘Well, there was no other bloke in here, was there, when I arrived? Unless overnight I’ve become as stupid as you look?’ snapped Amy.
‘It was Lockie,’ said Lily. Her cheeks burnt with shame from the insult as she hung up Amy’s coat on the stand. For a fleeting second, she let it brush against her face while she took a deep breath.
‘What was he doing here then?’ said Amy as she strode around the office, picking up ledgers, examining what was written on the side and then dropping them again in disgust. Before Lily could answer, she snapped, ‘I can’t believe I’m being punished like this. In this dirty place. Hardly glamorous, is it, Lily? So, go on, what does he do?’
‘He’s one of the traders. He brings goods up from the docks, usually jute, quite often metal, and sells it to your uncle.’
‘Does he make good money doing that?’ Amy had walked over to the window and her gaze took in the full length of the Dock Road, the cobbles, and the dark grey river that blended into the dark grey sky all the way to the horizon.
The Children of Lovely Lane Page 16