My Mam Shirley

by Julie Shaw

  ‘Hey!’ Malcolm said, beginning to laugh, albeit a bit nervously. ‘Don’t be blaming me, Shirl. He’s the oldest here. Old enough to do what he wants, an’ all. Face it,’ he drawled, warming to his theme now, ‘you’ll never have that one under your thumb, love. He’s an ’udson.’

  Shirley was shaking. Actually shaking all over, she was now that angry. ‘Oh, is that right, Malcolm?’ she asked, pleased to see him blink in surprise at her rejoinder. ‘Well, let me spell something out for you, shall I? As of March, I’ll be a bleeding Hudson as well, so I might as well start acting like the bleeding rest of you!’

  She threw the two pints with all the force she could muster. One straight at Keith, the other towards Malcolm, and in such a temper that she didn’t give a hoot for the consequences. Which were, despite her rage, just what she’d hoped for. Each glass hit each Hudson brother square on the head, smashing with a satisfying explosion of glass and sound, and showering both surprised brothers in beer.

  The pub became silent as the yeasty smell pervaded the air. But perhaps it had been quiet from the moment she’d spoken, Shirley reflected, as she stood there, feeling the stares drilling into her back. She didn’t care. Rather than blush, as she normally would, she felt a rush of satisfaction. Not to mention pride, almost, which pleased her even more. She leaned forward and tipped over the table for good measure, causing the contents of their own glasses to spill onto them too. Then she turned and strode through the pub back to the entrance, and turned back only once before walking out into the cold afternoon air. ‘And by the way,’ she shouted, to everyone and no one in particular, ‘I wouldn’t take any notice of what those two have been telling you. They probably got battered, the pair of them – they both think they’re ten men when they’ve had a few.’

  Shirley glared towards her fiancé and his feckless little brother. ‘Only trouble is, they bleeding aren’t!’

  Shirley walked back to Clayton feeling strangely euphoric, her stride purposeful and rhythmic and her head held high. Something had changed in her, something fundamental, and she liked it a lot. No more would she be a doormat – not for anyone, ever – and no more would she keep her trap shut if she had something to say.

  It had been a stressful few months for her, no doubt about it. What with organising the wedding, dealing with her dad and everything else, Shirley knew she was almost at breaking point. Keith had left everything to her and her mam to do – the church, the bridesmaids, the dress, the catering, the invites, everything. All he’d done was assure her that he didn’t care what she did. ‘Just as long as I get to marry the love of my life, Shirl,’ he’d said.

  At first she’d been touched by his romantic pronouncement. ‘Oh, Mam,’ she’d said to Mary, ‘isn’t that just the loveliest thing to say?’

  But it had taken more than her mother’s sceptical expression to make her realise that, actually, Keith had played a bit of a blinder. He’d set it up perfectly – to enable him to get away with doing frig all! Not that that mattered now; things were almost all organised anyway. But it did add grist to the mill and serve to strengthen her resolve about how things were going to be from here on. He was going to grow up a bit, that was what was going to happen. She’d make sure of it, if it was the last thing she did.

  Though right now, she thought as she turned into Lidget Terrace, he’d best keep right out of her way. She glanced at her own snow-white nets as she headed up to her mam’s house, hoping Keith would have more sense than to return there tonight. She hoped he might end up at Malcolm’s house back in Buttershaw rather than taint their new home with his bloodied clothes, his hangover and his stupid, pissed-up brother, and wouldn’t dare darken her mam’s doorway till the morning. Oh, she knew he’d be all apologetic the next day – he always was. She just hoped – and resolved – that by this time tomorrow, she’d be strong enough not to succumb to his charms, immediately fall into his arms and forgive him. That was important. He needed to learn that she wasn’t ever going to be a pushover; that she’d never put up with what she’d seen for herself where his brothers’ wives were concerned.

  She was learning. She’d been learning since she’d first joined the family. That if you were a Hudson lad you were the boss, almost by definition. And that if you were a Hudson girl, you were always the boss as well. But if you married into the family – boy or girl, it didn’t matter – you were expected to be the underdog.

  Well, not this girl.

  Chapter 14

  Shirley was pacing the floor in her mam’s living room. It had been two weeks since her run-in with Keith in the pub and it was something she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Already tagged the ‘showdown at the Blue Lion corral’, it was something she recalled with both pride and a giggle, not least because only last night – the first time she’d felt brave enough to go in the pub since – she realised she’d become as notorious as certain members of her fiancé’s family. Having reassured her that he was on her side and that she’d done exactly the right thing, Billy the landlord had then served her and Keith’s drinks, and put her half of bitter in a plastic glass. ‘Just to be on the safe side,’ he’d joked.

  Not that Shirley was still at odds with Keith – far from it. He’d learned his lesson, as she’d known he would (as would that little tyke Malcolm, for that matter) and as, luckily, there’d been no damage done, except to his pride, all was once again peace and harmony between them.

  Keith had worked hard to make amends, too. He’d been beavering away at their new house for most evenings since and earlier in the week had presented her with an enormous bunch of daffodils. That was the clincher in terms of an apology, as far as Shirley was concerned – even if he continued to swear blind he’d been too drunk to remember the ins and outs of any of it.

  She was also having a rare day off from her Saturday job, so she’d felt particularly good when she’d jumped out of bed this morning. Better than good, in fact, and not just because of the excitement of the coming wedding; no, today was going to be something of a red-letter day in itself: Keith had, it seemed, acquired a car.

  Shirley couldn’t have been more excited if she’d tried. And it was obviously showing. ‘You’re going to wear that bloody carpet out in a minute, lass!’ her dad admonished, as she kept going to the window to check the street for any sign of Keith’s appearance. ‘Why don’t you go make me a pot of tea instead? He’ll be here when he gets here. Gawping down the street won’t bring him any quicker. And I don’t doubt we’ll hear him coming before we see him, in any case. And, if we don’t, pound to a penny your mother will.’

  Her dad was probably right, Shirley conceded, because Keith would be arriving in style; all being well, he’d be picking her up in it. He’d got it from his boss, Peter Canning, whose house he’d been decorating in his spare time these past few weeks, and which Mr Canning had given to him in lieu of extra wages.

  Shirley couldn’t quite believe it – she and Keith were actually going to have a car! There weren’t many people who could say that round their part of Bradford. She knew they’d be the envy of all their friends, most of whom hadn’t even passed their driving tests. Keith had been lucky in that regard, having passed his years back, while in the army, but she’d never dreamed he’d actually be able to put it to use – not yet.

  But that had just been the first bit of exciting news he’d had to share with her the previous evening. He wasn’t just coming round to pick her up and take her for a bit of a spin. They were actually heading off on a bit of a holiday for a few days, going to their Margaret and Bob’s over in Preston.

  ‘To Preston? In January?’ Raymond had muttered when she’d told him the previous evening, keen to obtain his permission so that she could actually go. ‘Who the bleeding hell wants to go on holiday to Preston in January?’ he wanted to know. ‘At any time, in fact. You must want your head testing.’

  ‘They do,’ Mary had pointed out. ‘To stay with Keith’s sister. And a very nice time I don’t doubt they’ll have as well
. They can go to Blackpool.’ She’d sighed wistfully. ‘Oh, I’d love to go back to Blackpool.’

  ‘In January, woman?’ Raymond had persisted. ‘Then you need your head testing as well.’

  But at least he’d agreed to it – well, based on Shirley’s promise that they wouldn’t be sharing a bedroom, anyway – and now she was packed and they were actually going, she felt a swell of excitement at the thought of them driving off together like a proper married couple.

  Not that it was going to be a holiday in the usual sense. They were going to Preston, first and foremost, to collect Keith’s mam and bring her home, to give his elder sisters a much-needed break from having to look after her all this time. Not that Shirley cared what the reason was. She was just pleased to be going anywhere. Growing up, she’d been used to doing an annual trip to Blackpool with her mam and dad, but since she’d started work at 16, she hadn’t been away anywhere. Apart from the odd concert she’d attended with her mate, Anita, she’d barely put a foot outside of Bradford, in fact.

  They were definitely returning to Blackpool as well, whatever else they did with their time. It wasn’t very far – only about 17 miles from Preston – and Keith had promised her a day out there, and she couldn’t wait to go on some rides, eat fish and chips and have some fun. She’d packed her winter woollies, too, because what she was looking forward to the most was being able to have a romantic stroll along the fairy-lit pier with him, arm in arm. She could almost smell the candy floss and the sharp, salt-laden breeze. She certainly didn’t care what the weather did.

  ‘Here you go, Dad,’ she said as she passed Raymond his chipped pint pot of tea. ‘You didn’t hear a car pull up, did you?’

  Raymond lowered the paper he’d been reading. ‘Shirley, when he gets here, you’ll know about it.’ He cast his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘You know what your mam’s like – she might be reckoning to be changing the bed up there, but as sure as eggs is eggs she’ll have her nose glued to that bedroom window. You mark my words, you’ll hear her when he gets here.’

  They did so too, almost as soon as he’d got the words out, from the sound of her mam clattering down the concrete steps to the kitchen.

  ‘Shirley!’ she called, ‘Keith’s here! Oh, you should see the car, love! Oh, it’s a little beauty, it really is!’

  She popped her head round the living-room door, almost as excited as Shirley was, before disappearing again, presumably to open the front door.

  Shirley followed, as did her dad, after carefully putting his tea down, and soon all three were spilling out onto the street to see his new toy in the flesh. Shirley wasn’t sure what constituted a ‘little beauty’ in car terms and, given that Keith had acquired it for no more than a few days’ hard graft, she wondered quite how beautiful it could possibly be. Still, she thought, as Keith revved it, sending clouds of grey smoke down the street, she’d find out soon enough, wouldn’t she?

  He turned off the engine and the car shuddered into silence. ‘Are you sure it’s going to be all right, Keith?’ Shirley asked, fanning her face as he clambered out to join them. ‘Only there seems to be an awful lot of smoke coming out of it.’

  Keith was grinning from ear to ear as he shut the driver’s door – the proverbial Cheshire cat. He then went round the front and patted the bonnet affectionately. ‘Course she is, Shirl. She’s a 1949 Ford Popular. Safe as houses, she is. My boss told me she’ll run for ever.’

  It was dark green and curvy, with a front that Shirley decided looked almost like a face. Wistful-looking, eyes on stalks, a little like an eager-to-please sheepdog. And old and worn, she thought, eyeing it suspiciously; as was also the case with her mum’s comment about it being a little beauty, she was equally uncertain that she and Keith shared the same idea about what the words ‘for ever’ might mean.

  But it had got him here, hadn’t it? And his excitement was certainly infectious. And, as her dad had said already, a car was a car – it represented freedom of a kind she’d never had. They could go anywhere. Anywhere. Well, provided they could afford the petrol. Which was as thrilling a thought as she’d had in a long time. No more trams, no more buses, no more trains. She turned to Raymond now. ‘What d’you think? Do you like it, Dad?’ she asked him hopefully.

  Raymond drew a hand over the nearest wheel arch as if checking a sideboard for dust. There was never any danger of him seeming too enthusiastic, even if he was. And given he’d never owned a car himself – or ever wanted to, for that matter – Shirley wasn’t expecting him to wax that lyrical about it. She just hoped he’d pronounce it good enough to transport her to Preston and to help lift Keith a little further in his ever-critical eyes. ‘I don’t know much about cars, lass,’ he said finally. ‘But it got him here from Listerhills, didn’t it?’ He winked at Keith. ‘So I suppose it’ll be all right.’

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely, Keith,’ Mary enthused, looking hopefully up and down the street. ‘Did the neighbours look out as you drove past, Keith, love? I bet they did. That Beryl up the road’s daughter’s boyfriend can’t even drive yet. Get in it, girl,’ she added, pushing Shirley in the direction of the passenger door Keith had now opened. ‘Go on, hurry up. If they’re looking out I want them all to know whose it is.’

  ‘Oh, Mam!’ Shirley said, refusing to play the usual game. ‘Who even bloody cares? Besides, they’ll know soon enough because you’ll tell them, won’t you? Chances are you’ll have told half of Clayton before we’ve even left the city.’ She turned to Keith, then, who was lovingly brushing specks of dirt from the windscreen. ‘Are we ready to go, love? I’ve packed my suitcase. I’ll have Dad fetch it out, shall I?’

  ‘Hark at you,’ Keith laughed, affecting a plum-in-the-mouth voice. ‘Gone all posh now you can travel in style, have you? You sound just like that daughter from Dixon of Dock Green. Shall Daddy pack the car for one, too, while he’s about it?’

  An hour later, the flush of excitement Shirley had carried with her all morning was a little more tempered by reality. It was lovely being snuggled up close to Keith as he drove, certainly, marvelling at the driving prowess she’d not before seen in action, and feeling childishly proud that anyone they passed might think she was already his wife. But it had quickly become clear that, as little beauties went, the car had an ugly side too – and that ‘for ever’ was a very long time. Every five or six miles it would shudder to a halt, refusing to be coaxed back into life until Keith had leapt out, opened the bonnet and rapped energetically on its ‘springs’ (whatever they might be) with a hammer he’d obviously brought with him for the purpose. Not that he’d explained as much when Shirley had first climbed in and questioned why they needed it. ‘You never know,’ he’d told her, his expression one of great seriousness. ‘There could be bandits or anyone out on the roads to Preston. I brought it so I could protect us if we get accosted.’

  So it was, then, that when she eventually dozed off, somewhere near Manchester, her dreams were plagued by mask-wearing ne’er-do-wells brandishing knives and swords and demanding what little money they had between them, as well as her mother’s freshly baked Victoria sponge cake. She jumped in the darkness as she was finally jolted awake, the chilly air forming a white haze in front of her face. And was that ice on the inside of the windows?

  ‘Come on, you lazy mare!’ Keith was saying as he shook Shirley’s shoulder. ‘We’re here.’

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked him, trying to stretch her frozen limbs. She felt welded to the seat. ‘Blimey. I’m bloody freezing!’

  ‘Yeah, you would be,’ he told her, opening the driver’s door and letting an Arctic wind in to join them. ‘That’s because there’s no heater and it’s January. This isn’t a bleeding Rolls-Royce, Shirl! And it’s nearly tea-time, I reckon. We passed a town-hall clock a few miles back and it was half four then. So, yep, nearly tea-time is my guess. Come on, get your skates on and let’s get inside and thaw out.’

  As she got out of the car and reached into the back for her small, brown leather
suitcase, Shirley saw Margaret’s home for the first time. Here was something for which the words ‘little beauty’ were the correct ones. Behind a white-painted wooden gate lay a neat little garden, bisected by a straight flagstone path. It was flanked by flowerbeds that, while resting from their summertime endeavours, were still nicely dug and punctuated by neatly pruned bushes. Shirley was completely taken aback as her gaze travelled around. She knew Margaret and Bob’s lives were somewhat different from the family’s back in Tamar Street, but she’d never imagined anything quite as grand as this. It looked like somewhere that you might imagine a posh family from the telly living, certainly not someone like the brash matriarch that was Annie Hudson; no wonder she’d been so keen to stop up here since Reggie had died. And, no doubt, so reluctant to return to the Canterbury estate, because this was a whole other world. Although it was quite dark now, the house positively twinkled; there was no mistaking the fact that this home, and this area, was very different to that of either Canterbury or Lidget Terrace, and she felt an unexpected stab of self-consciousness.

  When Margaret came to the door to show them in, however, she felt immediately at home; there were no airs and graces here, as her own mam might have put it – even though she certainly had a few of those of her own. The house inside was as grand as the outside, with a beautiful hall carpet that ran through into the living room, and right up to the walls on all sides. The furniture was beautiful, too – light and modern, just like the furniture she and Keith had drooled over in Busby’s in Bradford, and which they’d not be able to afford for years, if ever. But it wasn’t just the posh furniture that made the place feel so pretty – it was all the plants; Margaret had plants in pots everywhere. On the window ledges and sideboard – even one big green plant in a giant tub on the floor. Shirley smiled appreciatively, imagining how her own little home could be. This was so nice – this was what a home should look like.