‘Hello, Uncle Dessie.’ The girls spoke as one, but only Lorraine Tanner continued. ‘How long is Bryan going to be at the Ryans’?’ She was direct, as was the way with the entire Tanner family. But Dessie could tell this was no general enquiry. Lorraine was fast becoming a precocious teenager. ‘Do you like me nails?’ she said before he could reply. She held out her hand in the manner of a courtier waiting for it to be kissed.
‘Yes, very nice. That’s a good colour if you like rotting roses.’
‘Rotting roses!’ Both girls squealed.
Lorraine pulled her hand in sharply to re-examine her nails. ‘That’s Cutex pink shimmer, that,’ she said, affronted. ‘It’s not rotting roses, who would wear a colour called that?’
Dessie winked at Paddy, who grinned as he winked back. ‘Oh, your Uncle Dessie has always been able to wind you girls up, hasn’t he?’ Paddy closed the newspaper and folded it. ‘You never learn, do you? Mary, do you think you can tear yourself away from the rotting flowers and make Uncle Dessie a cup of tea?’
‘Do I…’ Mary was about to protest, but she caught the warning look in her father’s eye and thought better of it. ‘When’s our Bryan coming back?’ she asked testily as she slid from her chair and with the ball of her hand pushed the kettle along the range to the hot plate, being careful not to smudge her newly painted nails.
Lorraine swivelled round in her chair, keen to hear the answer. She couldn’t sit around in the Delaneys’ kitchen much longer.
‘You see, Dessie, if our Bryan was here, he would have made the tea and Mary could have continued with what she does best, which is very little, as you know.’
‘Now, Paddy, that’s not true. Mary is a good girl, aren’t you Mary?’ Mary grinned as Dessie continued. ‘She just needs a few lessons on how to be a help to her mammy, that’s all.’ Mary’s grin quickly turned into a scowl.
‘That’ll be the day,’ said Paddy. ‘But it’s not our Mary’s fault. I keep saying this, but Noleen, she’s her own worst enemy. Thinks she’s the only person who can do anything around here. Sometimes I’m glad I’ve only got one leg and have an excuse not to do anything because I’d only do it wrong. There’s only one person Noleen doesn’t have a go at in this house and that’s our Bryan. Isn’t it, Mary?’
Lorraine wanted to scream. Dessie hadn’t answered the question.
Dessie gently pushed Finn’s feet over with his boot and sat down on the settle opposite Paddy. Finn didn’t appear to notice.
‘It’s something to do with birds, you know,’ Paddy said as he inclined his head towards Finn’s book. ‘Swallows and Amazonians or something. Sister Theresa lent it to him. I don’t know how he passed that eleven-plus. Our Bryan said that when he went to wake him up yesterday, Finn was sat up in bed reading that book and then he shouted at Bryan to get out of the water. Bryan was only stood in the room. He’s not all there sometimes, our Finn. Anyway, how’s Mrs Ryan? I hear she’s through the worst.’
Dessie almost laughed out loud. Never in his life had he been the first person to impart any news, anywhere. Before he could ask Paddy how he had such good knowledge of Mrs Ryan’s condition, Paddy went on to explain.
‘Betty Hutch called in to tell Noleen on her way back from the shop and she heard it in from Madge, who was buying flour.’
‘Ah, Madge.’ Now she really was the first one with the news. ‘The doctor thinks she will live, but she might have brain damage.’
‘Jesus, how will they be able to tell?’ said Paddy. ‘You could get more sense out of mad Betty from the mission.’
‘I know. Anyway, she will live and that’s all that matters and all that Lorcan is bothered about right now.’ Dessie dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Lorcan wouldn’t have got to keep the house if anything had happened. The harbour board would have had him out within a week. It’s a blessing in more ways than one.’
‘What did the bizzies say?’ Paddy lowered his voice too. ‘Was it one of J.T.’s mates? He was a bad bastard, that one. If the father, God rest his soul, could see what those sons had turned into, he would swivel in his grave.’
‘Aye, well, Lorcan isn’t like any of them, so thanks be for that. It looks like it was one of the Bevan boys. There is more, though. J.T. has jumped prison. He was being transferred and he overpowered the two officers and did a runner. I told the police, all the Ryans are fast runners.’
‘It wouldn’t have been J.T. who attacked her… would it?’ said Paddy.
‘No, never. No son could do that to his own mother. No, the attacker was in the Bevan gear – the hat and jacket malarkey, big ponces that they are. Emily saw him and she could tell he wasn’t from anywhere around here. She told the bizzies that. They said there is a man coming out that will take fingerprints in the house and then they’ll be able to tell if it was a Bevan or not.’
Paddy shook his head. ‘I’ve read about that fingerprinting in the Echo,’ he said. ‘They got a murderer in Toxteth with it. I’d like that job. What an interesting job that would be, catching fingerprints.’
‘Well, now, I have news on that score,’ said Dessie. ‘I have you a job. It’s at the hospital.’
Paddy raised his eyebrows and looked hard at his friend.
‘We are moving on to night-time coal deliveries. It’s crazy, but the corpy believes that the dust which becomes airborne during large deliveries can be a fire and health hazard, so now the coal has to be hosed down after each delivery. Which means we have to do it at night. I need a man to check the coal lorries in. I’m putting a lad on nights to hose down. Matron is a stickler for the rules and it has to be done. It’s a sit-down job, twelve green ones a week, six times more than Noleen earns, and you start on Saturday, five nights a week. It’s on one condition though, Paddy, that Noleen drops four of her nights, at least. She’s been working five and six nights a week and it’s been killing her. I swear to God that she’d work seven if we’d let her.’
Paddy threw his newspaper into the coal bucket and answered Dessie without hesitation. ‘Well, you can keep it. I don’t want your job. I was an engineer, not a night watchman and I won’t be taking it.’
Dessie was too stunned at the chilling tone in Paddy’s voice to respond.
Paddy leant forward in his chair, his face flushed and his eyes glinting with a resentment Dessie had never before seen. ‘You think I’m going to sit in a hut like a useless article while the men I grew up with work on the docks and get taken on from the stand on account of their strength and not much else? Because they weren’t in the wrong place like I was? Because they came back in one piece? They aren’t taken on for their brains, I can tell you. Most of them drink away half of what they earn. I may not have much to call my own while I am sat in this chair, Dessie, but one thing I do have is my pride and I won’t let anyone take that away from me or my family. This is a made-up job and it better not be Biddy Kennedy and her interfering ways behind this, so help me God. You were a good man, giving our Bryan a job, and I will always be grateful for what you have done for him. But me, I don’t need your charity, thank you very much. Mary, where’s that tea?’
‘You can put on your big hard-man act with anyone else, Paddy, but not with me, you know that, don’t you?’ Dessie shook his head in annoyance. ‘I knew you before, lad, we all did. We faced the same here and over there. ’Tis a terrible thing happened to you, but there are many like you, getting on with life. You will see them when Jake takes you to the prosthetics clinic, if you’ll let him. Now why don’t you just straighten your bloody face for one night and let that wife of yours have a break. You never know, you might even enjoy working yourself.’
Lorraine left the table and moved over to the range, where Mary was pouring Dessie’s tea. ‘I’m off now,’ she said.
Mary put the teapot down with a bang. ‘What? No, you can’t, your nails aren’t dry and I thought you were going to put my rags in my hair for me after.’
‘I can’t, we’ve taken too long on the nails.’ The truth was that Lo
rraine felt uncomfortable. Although Dessie and Paddy had been speaking in hushed voices, the atmosphere in the kitchen had chilled and Paddy looked angry. Lorraine loved Uncle Paddy, but she didn’t like the moods and sulks he was prone to. ‘I promised Mam I’d get home earlier tonight. She’s been on her feet all day long, cleaning, and I said I’d do some of the flat-ironing for her.’
‘Flamin’ clean, cook, scrub, wash and flat-iron, it’s all women around here do,’ said Mary. She continued pouring the tea and almost missed the mug when she heard Lorraine’s reply.
‘Well, except for your mam, Mary. She does all that, and works nights at the hospital too. My mam says she doesn’t know how she does it. She says the women at the bingo say that your mam is the unluckiest woman on the street. My mam said she really would be dead on her feet if she had to do everything your mam did all on her own. I have to pull my weight in our house, Mary, ’cause if I don’t, I get it in the neck from me da. I used to think you were dead lucky and I was jealous of you, but I like helping me mam, really.’ She turned to face the two men. ‘Bye, Uncle Paddy, bye Uncle Dessie. No point in saying bye to soft lad on the floor there now, is there?’
Paddy looked up. ‘Now, Lorraine, you cannot call him that any more. Jack and Cahill, they have changed his name to “the professor” now he’s passed that exam.’
Lorraine laughed. ‘Right you are. Night, Professor.’
Finn didn’t stir from his book.
Lorraine made her way down the yard and left Mary staring at the closed door. Lorraine was going off to help her mam, and Maisie Tanner had never worked a day in her life, other than looking after her family. Except for your mam. She does all that, and works nights at the hospital too. Lorraine’s words rang in Mary’s ears. Your mam is the unluckiest woman on the street. She stared at the door with Dessie’s tea in her hand as the words sank in.
*
Noleen fell to her knees on the prayer stool, placed one hand on her brow and closed her eyes. As she shut down the worries that plagued her, the familiar surroundings became all that mattered. The burning of the incense and the tick, tick of the swinging thurible as it clicked in time with the beat of her heart. The holy smoke that filled the air and drifted, waiting to carry her prayers heavenwards. The low, melodic chanting of the nuns that washed away her cares, easing her breathing to a steady rhythm. The footsteps of the altar-boy, the swish of his skirts; the fading tones of the organ and the smell of the wood. And the darkness, illuminated only by the flickering candles. The weight and worry lifted from Noleen’s shoulders and she sighed. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, be with us now, in our hour of need, and always.’ She took her rosaries out from her coat pocket and pressed them to her lips.
Paddy has a job. She almost whispered the words out loud. Paddy has a job. Finn wants to go to the school. Dessie wants me to cut down my hours. She opened her eyes, looked to her right to the statue of Our Lady and whispered, ‘What do I do?’
Father Brennan began to move about at the altar. She heard the coughing of one of the mothers from Charles Street in the row in front and glanced her way. Her coat was thin and worn, the shoulders damp and her headscarf frayed. She had lost her husband in the war and had looked ill for months, but like all war widows, all wartime mothers, she had no option but to carry on and work. With five mouths to feed, who could not? Once again the thought crossed Noleen’s mind that the poor woman was not well. She promised herself that she would ask her if she was managing and if there was anything she could do to help. It would be hard because, like herself, all dockside mothers were proud, but Noleen would do it, before they left the church. She had been so long bemoaning her own plight that she had failed to notice others around her who were also finding life tough.
Tonight Noleen had a lot to be thankful for. She might be able to spend more time at home with her children, and Dessie had said that Finn really should go to the grammar. A cold fear squeezed her heart. She didn’t know any family who had a child at the grammar, and wasn’t that really what she was afraid of? She didn’t know what to do. But Sister Theresa had said, ‘We will do all there is to be done, Noleen. Just let the boy go and do his best because he has a gift for the learning and it’s all he wants in the world. And if Finn isn’t afraid of the tremendous opportunity before him, why are you?’
Noleen did what she always did when in doubt, she closed her eyes and prayed to the friend of all mothers everywhere. Sister Theresa is right, isn’t she, she prayed. It’s not a mother’s job to hold her children back. And it’s not as though I will be alone. I have the nuns and Father Brennan to help me. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, be with us now and in our hour of need.’ She kissed her rosaries again. The prayer I ask, you have already delivered, because you understood my needs before I knew myself. Our worries are over. Paddy can earn a regular wage and won’t that just change everything. There will be a life to be lived. She smiled. And ’tis all down to you, Holy Mother.
The nuns’ chanting started to fade and Father Brennan’s sonorous voice began to reach her. Noleen let his prayers seep into her soul. There was no better place to be. As all her problems melted away and the strength she desired to carry her through each day and night filled her, she smiled as she began to pray once more. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb.’ Tears of love and gratitude for the mother of all mothers filled her eyes and her heart as she whispered, ‘Thank you.’
10
Victoria looked down at the three pairs of blood-covered wellingtons standing in the long sink and wanted to heave. Theatre was nothing like she’d thought it would be. ‘I’ve yet to see a single patient, awake or asleep,’ she grumbled to Beth. ‘They don’t even tell us what operation it is, we have to guess from the body parts being wheeled in through the door into the dirty sluice.’
Beth laughed. ‘I’ve told you, all the operations are listed on the blackboard, with patient names, wards, surgeon, theatre number and the expected time of surgery.’
‘What does that matter?’ Victoria snapped. ‘You have to be able to have two minutes to escape from this room to read it. The only thing we do up here is clean and clean. We are just glorified boot-washers, do you know that? Cleaners of blood and gore.’
Beth, usually the chirpiest and least complaining of all the Lovely Lane girls, for once agreed. She switched off the hot tap she was running into the sink and sighed. ‘I’m not sure Sister Pokey is fully aware of my degree of competency,’ she said. ‘She does seem to prefer the staff nurses she has worked with for years. I do wonder sometimes if she wishes we weren’t here.’ She fastened her rubber apron at the back and reached for her rubber gloves. ‘I live in rubber. I squelch when I walk.’
Victoria turned her head sharply and pursed her lips. ‘Your competency, Beth? We are all as competent as each other, we started together, remember?’ She sounded very unhappy and the tone of her voice put Beth on her guard. ‘You always speak as though you are more qualified than the rest of us. I haven’t seen much proof of that and I have worked with you more than the others.’
She pulled the tap handle on her own sink in frustration and while the scalding water ran through, she opened the metal container of sterilizing tablets and threw two into the sink. As they landed in the water and began to fizz, she placed the back of her hand under her nose and against her mouth. The faint aroma of the Yardley lilac hand cream she had slathered on that morning struggled to compete with the pungent smell of blood as the water hit the boots. Her head swam, her eyes watered, her mouth tingled. ‘I’m sorry Beth,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to snap. I’m still not feeling very well.’
It had amazed everyone who nursed with Victoria how well she had adapted to her training. Being the daughter of Bolton’s grand Baker Hall, which had been in her family for eleven generations until her late father managed to lose it, she was used to a life of privilege and comfort. Everyone had expected her to be the weakest of her group of
student nurses, but she’d been the star, much to others’ surprise.
‘Oh, poor you.’ Beth quickly dried her hands, walked over to Victoria and placed her hand in the small of her back.
Victoria had turned a ghastly shade of pale. Beads of perspiration stood proud of her brow, and her face powder, applied only an hour earlier, had begun to cake on her damp skin.
The loud hum of the suction machines in theatre, which had filled their room as they’d scrubbed and cleaned, had now become intermittent. ‘The tonsillectomy must have almost finished,’ Beth said. ‘Would you like me to fetch Sister Pokey?’
Both girls were silent. The end of an operation meant only one thing. More bloody boots and aprons. Bloody swabs to be counted and dressing sheets to be rinsed before being sent to the autoclave. Enamel kidney dishes and instruments to be rinsed and submerged in the water with sterilizing tablets that stung and burnt their hands and arms where it splashed.
Beth’s shoulders drooped. She had been holding her own feelings at bay, determined to say nothing, just get on with the job and put up with whatever Sister Pokey threw at her, but it had taken Victoria only a couple of minutes to break her resolve. Beth had wanted desperately to be on theatre, but as more than just a dirty nurse. She learnt nothing trapped in this small sluice room while all the action took place in the main theatre outside. She felt sick herself as the sharp metallic smell of blood filled the air. ‘Let me open the window a bit more,’ she said as she pulled up the sash. A cold blast of fresh air rushed in.
‘Trolley coming through.’ Sister Pokey’s voice rang out as the swing doors pushed open. ‘Catch,’ she said as she pushed the first trolley through. The fresh air lost its battle with the instruments of surgery and a pair of freshly removed tonsils.
Victoria turned away from the sink to reach out her hand and stop the trolley, but it was no use. She failed to make it to the adjoining sink and promptly discharged the contents of her stomach directly at the feet of Sister Pokey. Victoria had always been the one with the weakest stomach. Vomiting at each new sight and smell associated with nursing had been her biggest challenge, but it was one she had eventually, with some difficulty, overcome. This had served only to further impress everyone as to how well she had adjusted to nursing, as though a sensitive stomach in an aristocrat was much more difficult to conquer. Pammy, born and bred in Arthur Street, had reinforced this myth as she had never so much as batted an eyelid at the worst sights and smells. But Beth, who had been present with Victoria through some of her more sickly moments, was aware that this latest moment of weakness was a dramatic event even by her standards.
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