Mary smiled up at Emily as Lorraine spoke. She wanted to be Emily. Just the sight of her almost took Mary’s breath away. Miss Haycock was groomed, cultured, special. She even spoke nicely, not with the peculiar half-west-coast-Irish, half-Scouse accent of so many on the dockside streets.
‘Did you wanna come in and see me mam? Shall I shout her for you?’
‘No, no, not at all, thanks, Lorraine. I’m off down to Biddy’s. Say hello to Maisie for me though, if you will. Night, girls.’ And with that, Emily disappeared, back into the shadows in the direction of Biddy Kennedy’s house.
Mary sighed. ‘Oh God, I love her. Isn’t she amazing? Did you see her make-up and look at the cut of her coat. She’s done that all herself, me mam says. Always been working. Kept herself and her da – went mad, he did, they say, is that right? And she got a good job and everything. I would die to be like her. Emily Haycock is a woman of standing. Don’t know why you want to hang around our Bryan. You’ll turn out just like me mam, slaving away in the kitchen. Cleaning up the hospital. I wanna be like Miss Haycock. In charge of me own life.’
‘Ooh, get you, fancy pants,’ said Lorraine. ‘How would you pay the rent if you weren’t married? Anyway, Mam says it won’t be long until she’s getting married now, to Dessie. So being footloose and fancy-free can’t be all it’s cracked up to be, can it, or she wouldn’t be giving it all up so easy. Me nan used to say that she’d be left on the shelf. Not the marrying kind, and when I asked her why, she’d say, “She’s seen things no one should have to see and it affects you.” It affected me nan. She was doolally most of the time.’
The girls fell silent. The wisdom of the Tanners’ nana was legendary, and not to be questioned.
As she neared the end of the entry, Emily became aware of another presence approaching her. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said as the figure moved closer. On the left was the older end of the street, where, following the Blitz, the war widows had been housed. Mrs Green’s house was in darkness. Probably already in bed, thought Emily. She heard an owl hoot just as goose-bumps spread across her arms and the fine downy hair on her arms rose. It was a man and he hadn’t responded. Everyone who lived locally said hello to each other. Emily had grown up on George Street and knew most people. This man was not someone she recognized. He was wearing a jacket, for one thing, and it wasn’t a scruffy one, she could make that much out.
‘Hello,’ she said again.
His footsteps moved nearer. He was wearing a hat, which again struck her as unusual. Every man and boy around there wore a cap; not one wore a hat. Emily noticed that the man appeared to melt into the wall, as though he was pressing himself as far into the shadows as he possibly could. And then he was gone. She turned around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was nothing to see. He had been absorbed by the night as quickly as he had appeared.
*
‘Come on, Lorcan, you don’t need to worry about money. Here, Dessie asked me to give you this.’ Jake slipped a shilling into Lorcan’s hand.
‘What’s that for?’ Lorcan asked as he clenched his fingers tightly.
‘It’s to reward you, he said. Look, Dessie has been mighty pleased with all the effort you have put in. Blimey, you haven’t stopped. Here’s a word of advice, though, from me. Calm down a little or you’ll put the other lads’ noses out of joint. They won’t be putting up with someone who tries to look better than they do. Everyone works hard for Dessie, no one needs to do more than anyone else. Do you get my meaning, Lorcan? They might think you are after a favour or something.’
Lorcan nodded. ‘I’m not doing that, Jake. I just wanted Dessie to know I was grateful like, for the chance…’ His words tailed off.
‘I know that, lad.’ Jake reached out, lifted Lorcan’s cap clean off his head and slapped it back down again in a gesture of affection. ‘So does he and that’s why the man himself asked me to give you this. It’s good you’ve come to the Silvie tonight, it’ll help you to fit in like.’
Lorcan pushed the shilling down his sock and into his shoe. Jake didn’t smile or comment. Many of the lads had more holes than pockets and did the same.
‘Did I see you and your mam coming back from the baths tonight?’
Lorcan looked straight up at Jake. ‘We were there. Mam says because there’s only two of us at home now, we can use the tin bath in future. I’ll have it on Sundays and when I’m coming out to work, she will have it then.’
‘Good lad, Lorcan.’ Jake was full of pity for the earnest young boy. He had been told a dozen stories that week by the other lads. How Lorcan had been seen by one of them from his bedroom window, burning rubbish, boiling the copper late at night, putting washing out in the dark. He had started his job and taken on the running of the house at the same time.
‘We go to the Silvestrian or the Irish Centre every Friday, so you’ll have a night off and enjoy a bit of the craic. Knock on the back gate for me at seven every Friday from now on. I’ll walk up with you so you don’t feel like a stranger. You’re one of us now. But for now, that money from Dessie, it’s to get yourself a jug and join in.’
Jake moved over to one of the pool tables and as Lorcan followed in his wake, he thought his heart would burst. He was one of them now. The St Angelus porter’s lads; the closest bunch of workmates in Liverpool. He belonged to a team and not one of them had ever mentioned J.T. to him. He felt as though his life was slipping into place.
He had done his best to see that his mother was well looked after before he left the house. He was sure he was doing everything right and proper and that Biddy and Noleen would approve. But he still felt a twinge of guilt leaving her.
‘Your potatoes and cabbage are on the range, don’t leave it,’ he’d told her. ‘And here’s some tea.’ He had boiled the potatoes in the cast-iron pot and in the last five minutes had added salt and cabbage. When the cabbage was soft, he drained the water off and chopped the potatoes and cabbage up together until the cabbage was shredded finely. He then scraped a bit of butter over the top and browned it off. He was pleased with himself. Biddy had taught him how to make it. ‘It’s better with rashers and a bit of fat and butter and milk in it, lad, but when you have none, it’ll keep the wolf from the door. It’s even better the next day.’
Before he went out, he’d tried to get his mam to make use of the empty bed upstairs. ‘Mam, you can go up to the room now, as there’s only you and me. No need to spend day and night down here in your chair. Why don’t you go up tonight?’
Mrs Ryan was sipping from the enamel mug of tea Lorcan had given her. ‘Aye, I will, lad. Soon. I’ll give it a go. God, now, isn’t the place just looking lovely. Who did that?’
Lorcan swallowed hard. He couldn’t tell from one day to the next where his mother was in her mind. He wondered who she thought had done it. He had spent three hours scrubbing and cleaning after work every night until he was fit to drop, but he didn’t mind. He was getting a good meal now, thanks to his money and being organized. Once he’d had a night’s sleep, he was ready to go the next morning.
The place was indeed looking lovely. The only room he hadn’t cleaned was his brother’s. He had left that until last, but tomorrow he would be up there with the scrubbing brush, the Aunt Sally in a bucket of boiling water, and a cloth to wipe up the murky water with. By the end of the night, it too would be spotless. He would put the sheets in the copper boiler and hang the old army blankets over the line. Biddy had told him how to do that too. ‘Beat the dust out of them and leave them to air, Lorcan. It doesn’t matter if it rains and it’s best to do it when there’s a good frost. Wait until they are frozen hard and then bring them in to dry off over the copper boiler and in front of the range when you go to bed. That way the ice kills the bed bugs and any lice with the cold. Good as new they are after that. Then, when there’s a hot day in the summer, you can give them a wash in the leftover water in the boiler, before you drain it away. But only on a hot day, mind. They take for ever to dry once they have soaked through. You c
an only fit two at a time on the line though.’
Lorcan had done exactly as Biddy had instructed with his own blankets and he was proud of his efforts. The sores on his legs were healing slowly and no new ones had appeared. He was winning the battle with the lice and the bed bugs. He had brought a tea chest home and turned it upside down to fold his shirt on and put his few things on at night so that they didn’t have to lie on the floor.
‘I did it, Mam. I’ve been doing the cleaning. Do you like it? And I’ve made you ’tatoes and cabbage on the range.’
‘How would you have done that?’ His mother looked into the pan. ‘I’m after thinking that maybe you have a woman slipping in when I’m sleeping, Lorcan.’
Lorcan smiled. It was a rare thing. ‘No, Mam, I haven’t. Biddy Kennedy has been helping me.’
His mother reached out and grabbed his hand. Her eyes welled up with tears as she looked at her son. He was the only person she had left in the whole world.
Lorcan knew the look and the words that were about to follow. ‘I’m not going robbin’, Mam. I’m not like the others. I’m going to make our house nice and clean and I’m working in a proper job at the hospital. I’m going to work hard, Mam, so Dessie keeps me on. Jake told me that one day I might become an under-porter and that’s enough of a wage to keep a home and a wife, he said, but I will just look after you, Mam, and anyway, we have enough now, don’t we? We never need any of the others again. And even if they were to get out, I’m the man of the house, Ma. We don’t need none of them. I can manage. We are respectable now, thanks to Dessie.’
Lorcan couldn’t remember ever in his life feeling as good as he did today. He wasn’t just wasting his words, it was true. He was the man of the house.
Mrs Ryan looked up into his face. ‘Oh, don’t be saying things like that now. We want them to come back, ’tis their home too. The place isn’t the same without J.T.’ She shook his hand in her own, hard, as though to shake it away, but kept tight hold.
Lorcan felt as though she had pierced his heart with a knife. ‘The place isn’t the same? No, it isn’t, Mam, it’s cleaner and we have regular food and it’s better without J.T. He brought us nothing but shame. People talk to me now he’s gone, and Dessie gave me a job.’
‘Oh, shush, Lorcan. I never wanted them to go robbin’, you know. They just wouldn’t listen. Wilful they were, like all boys. Once they had a notion in their head about things, there was no stopping them. They went off the rails when your da fell in the war and I couldn’t control them. Everyone said it was because I had all boys, not a single girl amongst you, and they needed a da, you know, ’twasn’t their fault, Lorcan. Boys, oh sure, they do need a da and don’t I know it. They all… well, they just got too strong for me, they wouldn’t listen to a word I said, ran wild they did.’
Lorcan had vague recollections of arguments. A memory surfaced of J.T. hitting his ma and himself as a little lad trying to beat at his brother’s legs with his clenched fists to stop him and then a hand coming down and swatting him away.
‘It was hard, Lorcan. I couldn’t stop crying for your da. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t coming home. It was like all the strength went out of me, and it just never came back. Do you know, Lorcan, when the klaxon goes, it has taken me all this time to believe that your da won’t be walking through that door. I was sure they were wrong, maybe they had mistaken him for someone else and that he might be one of the missing ones. He’s not, I know that now, but then I didn’t have the notion to do a thing, not even get myself washed. I used to keep a nice house, I did, before your da left. They were bad days, they were. It’s not your brothers’ fault, you know. Don’t think too badly of them. If I had been a proper mother to them, now, wouldn’t it all be very different.’
Lorcan looked at his mam and for the first time he had an insight into how tough life must have been for her since their da had died in ’42. But he also knew that, whatever the reason for her malaise, he was as good as an only child now. Her defence of his brothers almost took his breath away. Surely she would just slam the door in J.T.’s face if he ever turned up there again? He never wanted to set eyes on any of his brothers again. They could hang for all he cared. His job now was to make the name Ryan one that didn’t cause people to sneer and curse.
He put on his cap and went to the bread bin for his money. His pride and joy, saving money. He made for the press, lifted the lid on the bread bin and put his hand inside. Disappointed, he pulled his hand back out.
‘Aw, Mam, did you take the money out of the bread bin, did you?’
Mrs Ryan didn’t try to pretend. ‘Aye, I did, Lorcan. One day, it was, but I can’t for the life of me remember which. Was it you what put it there? Did you put it there? Well, would you fancy that. I thought ’twas J.T. now.’
‘Mam, you know I did. J.T. is in prison, Mam, and he’s gone for a long time. It’s just me and you now. It was for the shopping tomorrow.’ He didn’t say that he’d also wanted to take some for his night out with the porter’s lads. He wasn’t going to drink, but he knew he’d need some pennies for the light over the pool table. Jake had told him that. He let out a deep sigh. He would have to hide the money in his room from now on. And he’d have to start calling into the rent office on payday every week, on his way home from work.
*
Hours later, as she woke in the chair, it dawned on Mrs Ryan that Lorcan had said something about being out. Her head seemed clearer. She was feeling more hopeful. She wiggled her toes and nudged the sleeping kittens off her feet, then stood to tip the scuttle of coal Lorcan had left on to the fire. As she straightened her back, she remembered the visit, from the man, after Lorcan had left.
‘Who was he now? Was it J.T.? It was,’ she said out loud. ‘The man in the hat and the jacket? ’Twas J.T. It was. Sure, wasn’t he looking fine in the fancy jacket.’ But then she remembered Lorcan had told her J.T. was in jail. The memory of Lorcan leaving was foggy at first, but some light began to filter through. ‘Oh, yes. It was J.T. He had wanted to keep something in the bedroom upstairs, now why was that? Should I be telling Lorcan?’ No. He had told her not to tell Lorcan anything. ‘Haven’t I been good? I said not a word.’
She would do anything for J.T., keep any promise. He wasn’t a bad lad, just a bit wayward at times, but hadn’t he been the most beautiful baby? The most endearing toddler. Hadn’t he been the one who caught her heart and wasn’t she the only one who understood him? She did miss him. Lorcan never understood, always acting as though J.T. didn’t exist, was not part of her flesh. Expecting her to turn him away when he returned. She was his mother, brought him into the world. She would give him anything she asked. And wasn’t she good, she never told Lorcan where the money in the bread bin had gone.
She was muttering to herself as, for the first time in years, she climbed the stairs. They were so unfamiliar to her, she panicked for a moment and stopped her ascent, clinging on to the banister, believing she was in someone else’s house. She heard a noise. In the yard, she thought, or was it upstairs?
‘J.T., is that you?’
She clung on to the banister and continued to the top. Opening the door to J.T.’s bedroom, she switched on the light and looked around. It was cold and bare. She’d prefer to sleep by the warm fire, like she always did, but maybe it would be nice to lie down for once, just for a nap. She couldn’t remember what it was like to lie on a bed, it had been so long.
There was a stale aroma in the room, of unwashed bed sheets and body odour. The bare light was reflected in the greasy window. The oak floorboards were now black with dirt and age. She smiled. The room smelt of her son. J.T. might not be there in person, but she could smell him. She lifted the sheet to her face and inhaled. Despite what Lorcan had said, if he were to walk through the door now, she would welcome him back with open arms. Lorcan would too. ‘Oh aye, he would,’ she said to herself.
She laid the sheet back down and smoothed it over, wanting to touch the place where her boy had last slept. The
bottom sheet felt warm. She frowned at the bed and placed her hands on her hips. A small pile of J.T.’s clothes lay in the corner of the floor and a floorboard, sticking up from under them, caught her eye. ‘Well, we’ve mighty strong mice now,’ she said. ‘I’ll be putting the cats up here.’
Her eyes widened as she remembered what the young man had said to her. J.T., was it? Oh, why could she not remember? He was keeping something in here, for later. That was it. ‘What was it?’ she said out loud.
She thought she heard the back door. Moving to the bedroom door, she shouted down the stairs, ‘Lorcan, is that you? J.T., is it you?’
No reply came back, but a ginger kitten leapt on to the bottom step.
‘Oh, ’tis you. You scared the life out of me.’
She didn’t like being upstairs alone in the house. A tinker had once called at the door and because she hadn’t any money for the heather had told her in a menacing tone to watch herself up the stairs if she didn’t want to be having an accident. She hadn’t been up the stairs from that day to this.
She decided to investigate the floorboard and to take a look at what was under there. She lifted the corner and it came away with the ease of a paper bag as it slipped to the side. It was dark below, and she could see nothing until she moved and the glow from the overhead light glinted on something that was metal.
‘What’s that?’ she said, curiosity getting the better of her. Falling on to her knees faster than she had for many years, she put her hand down inside and felt something long and cold and metallic. Lifting it clear of the floorboards, she gasped. It was a gun, and there were more just like it. They had shifted and clattered as she lifted the first one free.
Her mind was still struggling to make sense of it all when she heard a floorboard creak behind her. In the reflection in the greasy grey window she saw a man behind her, his hat in place and his arm outstretched. He looked faintly familiar. He was holding her poker from the side of the fire.
The Mother's Of Lovely Lane Page 19