by Joan Jonker
Molly leaned forward. ‘Tell yer dad it . . .’ Her words ended in a scream of fear as two arms encircled her waist and she was lifted off her feet.
‘Molly, me darlin’, you’re as pretty as ever.’
She let out her breath. There was only one person that bellow could come from. ‘Corker, yer frightened the life out of me!’ Her feet once more on the ground, Molly turned to face Jimmy Corkhill. ‘I haven’t see you for ages.’
Jimmy was a merchant sailor, a colourful, larger than life character known to every adult in the neighbourhood as Corker, and to the children who followed him around as Sinbad the Sailor. He was six foot five in height and built like an ox. His weatherbeaten face was covered by a thick beard and moustache, the same colour as the hair showing beneath his peaked navy blue cap. ‘I’ve been away for six months, Molly me darlin’, sailing the seven seas.’
Corker lived with his widowed mother at the top of the street. He’d never married, and to anyone who asked why, he’d say he was married to the sea. ‘But you’ll be glad to know I’m home for a few weeks now.’ He let out a hearty chuckle as he gathered her in his arms and swung her around. ‘I can tell by your face you’ve missed me.’
‘Stop actin’ the goat, Corker.’ But Molly was smiling. Even looking at this mountain of a man was enough to cheer her up. ‘Put me down.’
Releasing Molly, Corker tilted his head towards the Clarkes’ open door. ‘What’s going on in there?’
‘That’s Nobby in one of his tempers,’ she said. ‘I came to ask them to put a sock in it because we can’t listen to the wireless in peace.’ She nodded at Gordon who was looking with wide eyes at Corker. ‘But this little one’s been sent to tell me to go away.’
Without a word, Corker picked the boy up and set him down next to Molly on the pavement. Then, clenching his fist, he pounded the door, sending it crashing back against the wall. ‘Is this a private fight,’ he roared, ‘or can anyone join in?’
There was complete silence. Not even a whisper came from within the house.
‘Well, it looks as though they’ve settled their differences.’ Corker picked Gordon up and set him down in the hall. Patting the boy’s head, he said in a gentle voice, ‘Tell your dad it was Corker, an’ if he wants me I’ll be with me friends next door.’ He jingled some coins in his pocket and brought out a threepenny bit. ‘Here y’are, sonny, buy some sweeties tomorrow. Now go in and tell your mother that it’s time little boys were in bed, before the bogey-man gets them.’
They waited till the door closed, then walked towards Jack, still standing on the step. ‘Long time no see, Corker.’ He held out his hand and winced as the big man gripped it firmly. ‘Take it easy, I need that hand for me work tomorrow.’
Corker roared with laughter. ‘Don’t know me own strength, Jack.’
‘Don’t be standin’ at the door, come on in.’ Molly gave the big man a push. ‘Tell us about some of the exotic places yer’ve been to an’ cheer us up.’
Corker’s massive frame filled the doorway. His twinkling eyes rested on Jill and he clicked his tongue. ‘My, my! You’ve grown into a beautiful princess while I’ve been away. If I was twenty years younger, Jill, I’d be knockin’ on your door.’
Jill smiled with affection as she remembered the times her Uncle Corker had swung her over his head to straddle his shoulders, and the smiles of the people they passed on their way to the swings in the park. She surprised herself and her parents when she answered, ‘If you were twenty years younger, Uncle Corker, I’d be waiting for your knock.’
Molly grinned. It was funny how Corker drew everyone to him. He gave out the feeling that he was a man you could trust with your life. ‘Yer’ve shut next door up, anyway,’ she said. ‘Pity yer not here all the time to keep Nobby in his place.’
‘Is he always like that?’ Corker held his packet of Players Extra Strong out to Jack, then struck a match and lit both their cigarettes. ‘Sounded like a madman.’
‘That’s just what he is,’ Molly said angrily. ‘He’s got a wicked temper. Ellen ’as a hell of a life with ’im.’
‘You didn’t know Ellen when she was a young woman, did you?’ Corker inhaled deeply. ‘She was quite a beauty. Nice slim figure, always well dressed and made up, and a smashing dancer. Could ’ave had her pick of the lads, and that’s no exaggeration. God alone knows why she settled for Nobby Clarke, he’s never been any good.’
‘I’ve never known ’er any different than she is now.’ Molly looked surprised. ‘She always looks so plain and dowdy.’
‘Aye, well, you see what marriage can do to yer!’ Corker’s laugh ricocheted around the room. ‘With the sea yer have the best of both worlds. The beauty without the nagging.’
‘How long are yer home for?’ Jack asked. ‘Short leave, is it?’
Corker shook his head. ‘No, I’ve signed off the ship I was on ’cos it keeps me away from home for too long. Me ma’s not getting any younger, an’ I think it’s about time I spent more time with her. I haven’t been much of a son to her, away all the time, and it was brought home to me when I saw her this time. She’s gone to look real old. So I’ll take a few weeks off now, then sign on for a short trip so I’ll be ’ome to spend Christmas with her.’
‘Oh, she’ll be over the moon,’ Molly said. ‘She never complains when I see ’er, but she must get lonely.’ Then she chuckled. ‘She’s always praising yer, thinks the sun shines out of yer backside.’
‘Yeah, she still treats me like a young boy, askin’ if I get enough to eat.’ Stroking his beard, Corker turned to Jack. ‘Fancy a pint, me old mate?’
Jack’s face coloured. He had fourpence in his pocket, just enough to get him to work the next day. ‘I don’t think so, Corker, not tonight.’
‘Oh, come on, man!’ Corker didn’t need to be told Jack was skint. He didn’t need to be told a man had his pride either. ‘Keep me company, let me buy yer a pint. I’m home for a couple of weeks, so you can mug me next time.’
‘Go on, love, it’ll do you good.’ Molly’s eyes sent a message to say she could spare enough for a pint. It would do Jack good to go out, he didn’t get much out of life. ‘But don’t yer bring ’im rollin’ home, Corker, or I’ll flatten yer.’
The next morning Molly got through her work quickly. She had something on her mind and the sooner she got it over with the better. Her washing was put in to steep, the living room dusted and the beds made. Then she dressed Ruthie and took her across to Mary Watson’s to ask her neighbour to keep an eye on her for half an hour.
The next stop was a knock on the Clarkes’ door.
Ellen Clarke opened the door an inch in answer to Molly’s knock. ‘Who is it?’
‘Who the ’ell d’yer think it is, Ellen, the bloody bailiffs?’ Molly breathed out hard, her patience ebbing. ‘Open the flippin’ door.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘Yez were busy last night an’ all, weren’t yez? So flippin’ busy we couldn’t hear ourselves think in our ’ouse.’ Molly put her foot to the bottom of the door and pushed. ‘What the . . .?’ Her words petered out when she saw the red and blue bruises on her neighbour’s cheek. ‘Oh, God, Ellen, what’s ’e done to yer?’ Her anger evaporating, Molly stepped inside the dark hall. ‘Why the ’ell d’yer put up with it?’
‘What else can I do?’ Ellen put a hand to her tender cheek. ‘When ’e gets in a mood there’s nothin’ will stop ’im.’
‘Oh, yes there is!’ Molly snorted. ‘There’s the bloody rollin’ pin! Give ’im a crack over the ’ead with that an’ he’ll soon come to ’is senses.’
‘You don’t know ’im like I do, Molly. I daren’t even answer ’im back ’cos it makes him worse.’
‘So yer just stand there like a flippin’ lemon an’ let ’im knock yer about, is that it? And ’is flippin’ language is choice, too! I can do me share of swearin’, but I draw the line at the language ’e uses. Some of the things he came out with last night was enough to make yer hair curl!’
Molly pushed a hand into the pocket of her pinny, thinking of the things she’d do with her fist if Nobby Clarke was her husband. ‘Yer want yer bumps feelin’, Ellen. I’m blowed if I’d let a man knock me about. If yer ask me, he’s not all there on top . . . got a slate loose or somethin’.’
‘It doesn’t take much to start ’im off.’ Ellen folded her arms across her thin chest. Everything about her was thin. Her body, face, nose and mousy hair. Her eyes were small, always darting around as though she was frightened of someone coming up behind her. ‘Last night he took off because I didn’t ’ave anythin’ to put on the bread for our tea.’ Ellen sat down and pointed to a chair, inviting Molly to sit. She’d never told anybody before what her life was like, but seeing the compassion in Molly’s eyes, she began to open up.
‘He doesn’t worry that ’e doesn’t give me enough money to live on. I didn’t ’ave a penny to me name yesterday to buy anything for ’is tea, but Nobby won’t even listen.’
‘Yer mean yer get yer wages on a Saturday, an’ are skint by the next day? What the ’ell d’yer do with yer money?’
‘By the time I pay me rent, coal, and money for the gas meter, there’s not much left out of the thirty-five shillings ’e gives me. I live on tick from the corner shop all week, an’ by the time I pay that back, there’s nothin’ left.’
Molly’s tongue darted out to wet her lips as she gazed around the cold, cheerless room and her nose wrinkled at the smell of damp pervading the air. No fire burned in the grate, the old sideboard was falling to pieces with two of its doors hanging open, the hinges broken. Every surface was devoid of ornaments or photographs, except for a chipped saucer standing on the hob with a half-used candle stuck in thick wax. And the oilcloth on the wobbly table that stood in the middle of the room was covered in stains and cigarette burns.
Molly shivered. This was a room that had never known laughter, happiness or love. Her gaze rested on Ellen. ‘Thirty-five shillin’s a week? Is that all he turns up to keep six of yez? Bloody ’ell, girl, he must earn more than that!’
‘I don’t know what ’e earns, but that’s all I get. The bookie gets the rest. He ’as a bet on the gee-gees every day, his few pints every night an’ his ciggies.’
Molly snorted in disgust. ‘The miserable bugger!’ She shook her head, lost for words. ‘What did the kids ’ave for their breakfast . . . fresh air?’
‘Bread and marge.’ Ellen was pinching the flesh on her thin arms, her eyes moist, her voice choked with emotion. ‘I’ll ’ave to wait for them to come ’ome from school to go to the corner shop for me. I can’t go out with me face like this.’
‘I’ve got to go meself, so I’ll get some things for yer.’ Molly stood up, looking with pity at the pathetic figure. ‘Yer’ve no need to tell me what yer want, I’ll use me nous. Anythin’ I forget, yer can send the kids for.’
‘Ta, Molly.’ Ellen followed her to the door. ‘Yer won’t say anythin’ to the neighbours, will yer? It’s bad enough ’aving to live with it, I don’t want everyone lookin’ at me with pity.’
‘The neighbours are not goin’ to keep yer, Ellen, so I wouldn’t be worryin’ what they think.’ Molly rubbed her arms briskly. ‘Ooh, that wind’s cold, cuts yer right through to the marrow. I’ll get me coat then go up to the shop. I’ll see yer later. Ta-ra for now.’
Chapter Six
‘Mornin’, Maisie!’ Molly held her tummy in while she squeezed through the shop door. It was a double door, but one side was always kept locked. ‘Only a flippin’ ghost could get through this door. I wish yer’d open it up proper.’
‘You’ll have to put up with it, I’m afraid, Molly, ’cos when both doors are open it’s like a blinkin’ gale blowing behind this counter. Red flannel drawers is what I need, with the wind whistling up me skirt.’ Maisie Porter grinned. ‘Where’s Ruthie?’
‘Playin’ in Bella Watson’s.’ There were no customers in the shop so Molly leaned her elbows on the counter, ready for a good natter. It was a friendly shop, open seven days a week, and sold everything under the sun from small bags of coal to babies’ dummies. It was the smell Molly liked: paraffin, newly chopped bundles of firewood and the freshly baked bread delivered every morning.
‘What can I do yer for, Molly?’
‘I’m gettin’ a few things for Ellen Clarke, she’s not feelin’ too good today. So I’ll get her shoppin’ first, then nip back for me own.’ Molly cupped her face in her hands, her expression thoughtful. ‘I was goin’ to ask yer what she usually buys, but I think I’ll take a chance and use me own judgement. Now then, let’s see, I’ll ’ave two large tin loaves, half of marge, pound of sugar, two ounces of tea, and six ounces of brawn.’
Maisie placed the two loaves on the counter. She was a small, wiry woman with auburn hair showing traces of grey and laughing brown eyes. ‘She usually only gets a quarter of brawn.’
‘Well, it’s ’er lucky day then, isn’t it? I’ll ’ave five pound of spuds and a large tin of peas, as well.’
‘Are you sure?’ There was doubt on Maisie’s face. ‘She never buys that much. Usually it’s two pound of spuds, small tin of peas, and never more than two ounces of marge.’
‘Who’s doin’ the shoppin’ here, you or me?’ Molly laughed. ‘It’s a wonder yer make any money the way yer try to put people off buyin’.’
‘It’s Mrs Clarke I’m thinking about, she has to count every penny.’
Alec Porter came through from the back of the shop carrying a side of bacon over his shoulder. ‘Mornin’, Molly!’ He heaved the bacon up and hooked it on to the rail hanging from the ceiling. ‘How’s my favourite customer today?’
‘Ooh, ay, Maisie, I’ve got a click!’ Molly stuck her nose in the air, rolled her eyes and patted her hair. ‘Yer ’usband fancies me.’
‘That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about.’ Maisie opened her mouth wide and winked. ‘He’s too busy for a fancy woman. And too tired, too! He wouldn’t have the energy.’
‘Did I hear right, Molly, you’re shopping for Mrs Clarke?’ Alec wiped his hands down the front of his navy and white striped apron. ‘Funny little woman, that. Never a word to say for herself, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.’
Molly didn’t answer right away. She spent a few seconds turning things over in her mind. When she spoke her tone was serious. ‘If I tell yez somethin’, yer won’t let it go any further, will yez? I feel a bit mean tellin’ yer her business, but I think yer might be able to help ’er out now an’ again. You know, any bits yer might ’ave over.’ Molly quickly related all that had happened while Maisie and Alec listened intently.
When she’d finished, Alec said, ‘I can’t abide a man who hits a woman.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Worst sort of coward in my book.’
‘The poor soul,’ Maisie said. ‘Now I know why her kids are the only ones around here who never come in to buy sweets with their pocket money. They probably don’t get any.’
Molly was gazing at the row of biscuit tins by the window. They were tilted and she could see ginger snaps, custard creams, arrowroot and Marie. The last tin contained an assortment of broken biscuits, and it was to this she pointed. ‘Put half a pound of them with ’er things an’ stick them on my bill.’
Maisie pulled at the lobe of her ear. ‘Okay, you pay for the biscuits an’ I’ll only charge ’er for two ounces of brawn.’
Molly straightened and dipped into her pocket for her purse. ‘Put a tin of corned beef and half a pound of onions with that lot.’ She passed Maisie half a crown. ‘Take the money for the corned beef an’ onions out of that. I want me bumps feelin’, ’cos even with our Jill’s money comin’ in every week it’s still a struggle to make ends meet. But I’ve never been as hard up as Ellen. Her an’ the kids look half starved, poor buggers.’
While Maisie was getting the order together, Molly eyed a poster stuck in the window. ‘Eh, Maisie. See that Carter’s Little Liver Pills sign? Does it mean the pills are little, or that they’
re only good for people with little livers?’
Maisie roared. ‘That’s more like it, Molly Bennett! D’yer know, I thought for a while that this was goin’ to be the only day you’ve ever been in this shop and not made me laugh?’
‘Maisie, if I ever lose me sense of humour I’ll throw meself off the Seacombe ferry into the River Mersey.’ Molly put her basket on the counter and watched as Maisie started to fill it. ‘Keep the change out of the half crown and take it off Ellen’s bill at the end of the week. And here’s a tanner to put off me Christmas club. It’ll be ’ere before we know it.’
‘I can’t afford all that!’ Ellen Clarke viewed with mounting horror the groceries spread out on her table. ‘Yer’ve bought far too much of everythin’.’
‘Oh, for ’eaven’s sake, stop yer moanin’! Apart from bread, yer’ve got enough there to last yer two days. Maisie isn’t chargin’ yer for the brawn ’cos it was cut yesterday.’ Molly crossed her fingers behind her back and asked God to forgive her for telling lies. But He wouldn’t mind, not when it was to help someone. ‘An’ the biscuits are from me for the kids.’
‘You’re very good, Molly. I’m sorry yer have to listen to all the rows, but there’s nothin’ I can do about it.’
‘I’ll watch out for Nobby passin’ on his way ’ome from work, an’ I’ll tell him to keep ’is voice down in future. If it doesn’t work, I’ll ask Jack to ’ave a word with him.’
‘Yer won’t tell ’im about this, will yer?’ Ellen nodded her head towards the things on the table. ‘He’d kill me if he knew I’d told anyone.’
‘’Course not, I’m not that thick.’ Molly bustled towards the door. ‘I’d better go, the coalman was down the street when I came in. I don’t want to miss ’im ’cos I’ve only got enough to light the fire tonight.’
He was knocking on Molly’s door when she stepped into the street. ‘There y’are, Molly, I was beginnin’ to think yer were out flying yer kite.’