Emily’s heart sank. She had been dreading this. How could she complain about the state of the house without sounding mean and ungrateful? But it had to be said or nothing would be done and it was just too depressing to live with.
She had not lived in a home of her own since the night of the bomb. The accommodation at the hospital had been a huge improvement on her digs in Sefton Park, but it had been furnished. She had carried three battered leather cases around with her from pillar to post, waiting for the day when she could unpack her belongings in a place she could genuinely call home. And soon this would be it. But it was so unprepossessing, and what was more, it had been decorated to the taste of Dessie’s late wife. It would never properly feel like her home until it had her own stamp on it.
‘Dessie, I have washed the walls already, twice. You know this.’ Standing up, she smoothed her plaid woollen skirt, adjusted the waist and moved over to Dessie’s chair. She tugged down her jumper and mentally made a note that she would need to start acquiring some new clothes. She guessed her skirt was as old as the lino and only marginally more attractive.
‘What’s up, my lovely queen?’ Looking up, Dessie sat back, put his arms out to Emily and pulled her down on to his knee. ‘What’s that look about, eh, eh? What’s up?’
His stomach churned. He had not seen her look unhappy since they had got together, not once. Was she having second thoughts about being with him? About moving to his humble home on Arthur Street? Fear gripped him and his heart raced. If she was having second thoughts, if she was about to leave him, how could he live? How would he go on? If he looked to a future without Emily, he could see only blackness and despair, a gaping void. He was desperate to make things right. In the manner of a man unused to happiness and terrified of losing it, he asked, ‘What is it, Emily? What’s up? What’s wrong?’
Emily curled up in his lap and laid her head on his chest. Deploying the gentlest of tones, she said, ‘Dessie, I was rather hoping that we could redecorate the house throughout. Give the place a new coat of paint, some new lino, wallpaper in the bedroom, and some new chairs and nets.’
She nearly fell off his knee and on to the floor as he sat bolt upright in the chair.
‘Are you kidding me?’ he said, sounding alarmed. ‘When I decorated this place in ’35, I did it to last for ever. I didn’t think I would have to do it again.’
Emily almost laughed at the look of outrage on his face, but she steadied herself and grabbed the arm of the chair. ‘Dessie, for goodness’ sake. I haven’t asked for the walls to be papered in gold and we have enough saved up between us. I know you decorated it, but you didn’t decorate it for me, did you? It was for someone else.’
Dessie pulled her close to his chest and slumped back into the chair. How could he have been so insensitive? Every woman needed a home which reflected who she was. It was part of what made them tick; one of the reasons they loved it when the travelling salesmen came to the door, as they did almost every day now, selling Hoovers, electric irons and ready-made curtains. This dull room was my wife, he thought as he looked around. It was as if the scales had just fallen from his eyes. What man ever had any say in how a home was decorated or run anyway? And objecting would not be the route to an easy life. His purpose now was to make the woman he loved happy. To love, cherish and honour – these were the promises he was about to make. Soon, soon, he would ask her to be his wife, and more than anything in the world, he wanted her to say yes.
‘Emily, you are right. We have to get cracking. Let’s choose the paper and paint at the Sunday market and let’s go mad and get a runner for the stairs.’ A grin spread across Emily’s face. ‘And we can have one of those fancy cabinets and a fridge. Jake has a fridge, why shouldn’t we have one? He’s my deputy and he has a house better kitted out than mine. Though he did win on the pools, mind.’
Emily jumped off Dessie’s knee, returned to the table and picked up her pen and list. ‘Everyone will have a fridge soon, now the price is coming down. And you get a bit of extra work space on the top. Biddy has a fridge and keeps her bread crock on top of hers. We both have enough saved up, you know. English Electric are doing some lovely ones at Blacklers. I’ve already been to have a look.’
Silence fell between them for a few seconds. Neither wanted to add that the reason they had money saved up was because there had never been any children, on either side. Dessie’s wife had also died on the night of the bomb in ’41 and from that day on his pay had remained untouched until he was demobbed in ’46. After which he went straight on to work at St Angelus. Emily had never been married to anyone or anything other than her job.
‘You know what this means, don’t you? No more putting the jelly out on the back step overnight with a pan lid on it, waiting for it to set.’ Emily’s heart was fluttering at the excitement of it all.
‘Well, won’t that be the thing, eh? But do you want to do all that before we get married? It would add six weeks on, if you ask me.’
Emily landed back on his knee and threw her arms around his neck. Her thoughts were running away with her and she wasn’t listening. ‘You haven’t even asked me yet. I might not say yes. I expect a proper proposal you know. Down on one knee.’ Dessie began to kiss her, but she pulled away. ‘I can ask Maisie if she will help me to run up some curtains for the parlour too, she’s always been good with a needle. I don’t mind the furniture that’s already in there, Dessie, but we can get some new knickknacks and ornaments and things. I’ve a few of my own things in my case.’
She was too embarrassed to tell him that over the years she had added to her own bottom drawer. A tea towel here, a set of sheets there, aware that even if she didn’t marry, one day she would have to fend for herself.
‘Emily, listen. You are still sneaking in and out of the back door and avoiding Hattie Lloyd’s curtain twitching. If we do the house up, it will delay the wedding. Can’t we just get married first so that you can walk in and hold your head up high without having to pretend you didn’t stay the night. When I carry you over the threshold, it will be straight up the stairs and into our bed. We won’t be studying the wallpaper.’
Emily bit her lip as she thought hard. Dessie was right. Life wasn’t so comfortable at present. There were a number of women who had turned their heads and tutted in the street as she had walked past and said hello. She would never tell Dessie that. She didn’t want to be a problem to him and she knew he would be hurt. No one had done more for the young lads and families around there than Dessie had. It was only the prestige of her position at the hospital that stopped people from commenting out loud and within her hearing, and not everyone refrained. She had overheard Hattie Lloyd over the back-yard wall discussing her with someone only the other day. ‘It’s a sin, living over the brush like that, it is, Hattie, and not fair that you should have to live next door to it. You should complain to Father Brennan, he’ll have something to say about it.’
Biddy had hinted any number of times that Emily should try and be a little more discreet. ‘You don’t want to go getting on the wrong side of the women around here, you know that. They live by the Bible and Father Brennan. Between the father and Sister Theresa, no one puts a foot out of place. They rule us all – well, all apart from the Ryans, and look what has happened to that family. Father’s word is stronger than any law.’
Emily knew she was playing with fire. She was not a churchgoer, although she nursed a desire to be married in the church she had known all of her life and where she and her two little brothers had been christened. She felt in her heart that being married in St Chad’s would mean that they would be there too, in spirit and memory. They were her family, all she had, and they were always in her thoughts. She had to include them in the big events of her life because they should have still been there with her. And she knew they were, somewhere.
Neither was Dessie a strict churchgoer and never had been. ‘I go often enough to keep Father Brennan from banging on the door,’ he had once told Biddy, and left
it at that.
‘Dessie, if we get married in the church, it will take for ever to arrange. I will need a dress. The cake will take a month to make and as for bridesmaids and bridesmaids’ dresses, suits and all the rest of the paraphernalia… I want a nice home and I want to be your wife. Given my ripe old age, we need to get cracking on both. We can get this house done at the same time as we make the arrangements for the wedding.’
She looked up at him. The passion of their lovemaking had removed all memory of the blushes that used to colour her face on a regular basis. Emily was no longer a late-blooming bud. She was a woman.
Dessie wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her round and round. ‘Not so fast, Emily. There is something I have to do first. Let’s talk tonight. I’m going to get my shirt on now and nip down to the Silvestrian. We’re having a pool night tonight and I’m picking up Paddy on the way. I’m forcing him to walk on that crutch of his. I promised Noleen that I’d get him out more. First, though, I’m calling round to see Matron about a new job I want to create. I think I can get Paddy taken on as night watchman.’
‘Could he do the job, Dessie?’ Emily began to help him with his tie.
‘He could. I’ve had a chat to Joe in the prosthetics clinic. He said for me to take Paddy in and he will take a look. He said they can get men sent home in wheelchairs walking now and so he should be able to work something out for Paddy. It will make the world of difference to that family if we can pull this off. He will bring home five times as much as Noleen cleaning at the hospital. Jobs around here go to families of the fallen first and to those who served second. Thing is, we often forget about the injured and that’s my fault. But I have a little theory about Paddy. Give that man something useful to do and it will be a million times more effective than any amount of physiotherapy. It’s a reason to walk he needs.’
Emily smiled and gave him a kiss.
‘I’ll get the bus straight back from the Silvestrian. Getting Paddy on and off will be a laugh. Might have to throw him on my back. Will you be all right?’
‘Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ve got plenty to do. I’m going to pop down and tell Biddy about my plans for the house and talk wallpaper patterns.’
Dessie returned her kiss before heading out of the room and upstairs to fetch his coat. Then the door banged shut and he was away.
*
Emily looked around at the brown walls. I’ll be glad to see the back of you, she thought. That was something she loved about Dessie. There was no dithering, no hesitation. He could make a decision and get on with it. He grasped life with both hands, which boded well for the future. They had wasted so much time, both of them, that every day now had to be worth two.
She could see yellow – bright daffodil yellow and white for the walls, with a bright yellow-topped Formica table and plastic-covered chairs to match. She smiled as she buttoned her coat and fastened her paisley-patterned headscarf under her chin. Yes, she could envisage exactly how it was going to look. Slipping stealthily out of the back door, she failed to catch the waiting image of the Silver Cross pram, standing against the wall.
The night was dark and moonless, but Emily liked that. It gave her cover. She glanced up at Hattie Lloyd’s bedroom window and saw the curtains lift and fall. God, does that woman never give up, she thought. She turned from their own entry into the adjacent entry that crossed along the bottom and made her way down to Biddy’s back gate.
She smiled at the familiar sounds filtering over back-yard walls as she passed each house. Alongside the back gate to Jake and Martha’s house she heard the persistent cry of a baby and the sound of adults clucking. ‘Try putting his dummy in, Martha.’ That was Elsie; Emily instantly recognized her voice. Music on the radio serenaded her as she walked past Madge’s, but as she approached the back gate of the sombre and silent Betty Hutch there was not so much as the sound of a mouse scratching.
She came across company in the form of Lorraine Tanner and Mary Delaney chatting at the Tanners’ back gate. They were deep in conversation and didn’t hear her approach until she was near. She caught the tail end of it.
‘What did he say? What did he say? Did he say he saw me in the shop?’ Lorraine was demanding.
‘He didn’t say nothing, Lorraine. Our Bryan never does. He wouldn’t have known who was in the shop. He’s a lost cause. Only interested in his job and playing pool down at the Silvestrian. He’s down there now.’
Lorraine looked crestfallen at Mary’s words. She had tried every means available to attract Bryan’s attention when she had found herself queuing in the shop behind him. She had coughed, shuffled her feet and even shouted out, ‘Hello, Mrs Lloyd,’ to Hattie Lloyd when she walked in behind her. Lorraine didn’t like Mrs Lloyd, she asked too many questions, and saying hello to her had encouraged just that.
‘Oh, hello, Lorraine. How’s your mam, lovie? I see she’s got a new jardinière in the window. Where did that come from? Did she go to the prizes-only bingo in Bootle? Was that all she won then? Or did she win something else too?’
Lorraine blinked. Her mother had indeed won the plant pot at the prizes-only bingo in Bootle – she’d been over the moon about it – but she’d only put it in the window about an hour earlier. She had been waiting to buy the aspidistra for it first.
‘I don’t know, Mrs Lloyd, I haven’t even seen it,’ she lied. As she spoke, her eyes never left Bryan’s back, willing him to turn around. But he didn’t even seem to notice that she was speaking.
Hattie Lloyd had continued. ‘Well, it looks very nice, it does. Tell your mam it has the Hattie Lloyd seal of approval. She must have got the full house of the night to win that, did she?’
Lorraine was irritated and regretted having attracted her attention. Hadn’t she just denied all knowledge of the jardinière?
Hattie Lloyd was looking at Lorraine through narrowed eyes. She knew Lorraine was lying when she said she hadn’t seen what was in the parlour window. Hattie had known something was going on earlier in the week. Maisie Tanner didn’t wash the front nets two weeks in a row for nothing.
Lorraine was saved from having to reply by the arrival of another poor child into the shop, who now became the focus of Hattie Lloyd’s attention. Lorraine dropped her wicker basket on the floor. Bryan shuffled his feet in the sawdust. Still no recognition. It hadn’t always been this way. He used to tease her and mess about along with the rest of them, but since he had begun work up at the hospital he had become aloof, quiet. Grown up. It was true that the boys rarely spoke to the girls when they weren’t in gangs, but Bryan had stopped hanging around on the wasteland and he no longer played football with the other lads while the girls loitered on the periphery. He was never down the entry with the gang and she barely saw him any more, unless she visited Mary in the Delaney house. She felt sorry for him. Everyone knew that he looked after Paddy and the kids and helped Noleen out, and she’d seen for herself that he carried a heavy load. It was that which made her heart melt and want to reach out to him.
She coughed loudly. No response.
‘Eh, Bryan, are you going up the Silvie? Me da’s already left. I’m following up now.’ This was one of the porter’s lads shouting through the shop door.
At last, Lorraine thought. Oh, God, at last. He turned around to answer. Now he would see her standing there waiting to be served. But he looked straight over her head.
‘I will, aye. Later. I’ll walk Mam to Mass first. My da’s coming to the Sylvie too. Dessie is knocking on for him.’
Walking Noleen to work or St Chad’s was not something Bryan was afraid to admit to. Every mam in the street was revered, feared and respected. What many a da achieved with his belt, every mam could do ten times better with the side of her tongue. Bryan would not mention that he had to clear up the dishes, fold the washing when it was dry, put the kids to bed and wash down the back yard last thing because their Mary did nothing to help.
His turn to be served had arrived and he turned around to Mr Shirley without
so much as a glance at Lorraine and said, ‘A pound of carrots, a Spanish onion and a bag of the broken arrowroot biscuits, please, Mr Shirley.’
Lorraine’s heart had dropped into her boots. Half an hour later, she had run down the entry to speak to Mary.
‘Did he not even say he had seen me stood there? Nothing? Are you sure?’
Mary was by now both bored and desperately uninterested in Lorraine’s infatuation with Bryan. ‘No, he didn’t, Lorraine, but me mam did say this. She said, “Our Bryan’s acting a bit funny, Mary, I reckon there’s someone he’s sweet on.”’
Lorraine’s mouth opened and closed. ‘Oh, God. He did see me then. He’s just pretending that he hasn’t.’
‘Evening, girls,’ said Emily Haycock as she passed.
Lorraine, still in a state of near stupefaction, jumped in surprise as Emily emerged from the shadows. ‘Oh, hello, Miss Haycock.’
It didn’t matter how many times Emily came face to face with Lorraine, she could not help but recall the night in the shelter when Lorraine was born. How could she not – it was the night Emily had lost her entire family. Emily had brought Lorraine into the world. Hers were the first pair of eyes Lorraine had looked into. Lorraine had been born knowing, inquisitive and silent. ‘She’s been here before, that one,’ said the neighbour who was helping her deliver the scrap of a child in the midst of bombs and sirens and cigarette smoke. And Emily couldn’t help thinking that maybe she was right.
‘Why, anyone would think that you two girls had a secret,’ Emily said, ‘chatting away in whispers out here.’ She smiled and rubbed her hands together for warmth.
‘Oh, no, not really,’ said Lorraine. ‘Our Stan’s driving me mad and me mam, she always takes his side, so I’ve come out here to talk to Mary. No point in me going in anyway, until I can get near the scullery, and me da’s got our lads stood at the sink.’
The Mother's Of Lovely Lane Page 18