MB01 - Stay In Your Own Back Yard

by Joan Jonker

  ‘Great!’ Tommy speared a chip with his fork. ‘An’ a jam doughnut with sugar on.’

  Molly closed the door after seeing the two girls off to work, and coming back down the hall she laughed to herself. That Doreen’s a hard clock if ever there was one. One day workin’ in the shop an’ yer’d think she owned the place.’ The house was quiet as Molly stood in the middle of the room wondering what to do first. It was Christmas Eve and she had so much on her mind it was reeling.

  ‘Dishes first,’ Molly spoke to the empty room, ‘then clean the grate out an’ set the fire. After that, a quick flick round with the duster before I get Tommy and Ruthie up.’

  Tommy was fast asleep when Molly went into the room that was so small there was only space for a bed, a chest of drawers and a chair. When Tommy was small he’d slept in with the girls, but when Ruthie came along Jack had built a partition across a third of the room so their only son could have some privacy.

  Molly looked down at the sleeping figure, a smile on her face. He was well away, and it seemed a shame to wake him. But there was so much to do she couldn’t afford to let him stay in bed any longer. ‘Come on, sleepy head.’ Molly shook his shoulder. ‘Christmas Eve, sunshine, so wakey-wakey.’

  Tommy turned over, grunting, ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Time to get a move on. Look sharp now, Tommy, there’s a good boy. I’m goin’ to get Ruthie up.’

  ‘What time we goin’ to town?’ Tommy asked, munching on a piece of toast. ‘An’ what’s happenin’ to her?’ He jerked his head at Ruthie. ‘She’s not comin’ with us, is she?’

  ‘Mary Watson’s mindin’ her for me.’ Molly was rummaging through a drawer in the sideboard. ‘Where the ’eck did I put me club card? I could ’ave sworn I put it in ’ere.’ She pulled out a pink card and held it aloft triumphantly. ‘Got it! Now you keep yer eye on yer sister while I nip up to Maisie’s an’ get me Christmas club out.’

  As she closed the front door behind her, Molly said a little prayer that Tommy wouldn’t ransack the place looking for where she’d hidden the presents. Not that he’d find them, mind, ’cos they were all in Nellie’s. But he didn’t know that and could wreck the place in his search.

  Molly’s step slowed as she reached the Clarkes’. She hadn’t spoken to Ellen much since the incident over the noise. In fact she thought Ellen was sorry she’d confided in her and had been avoiding her ever since. I wonder what sort of a Christmas they’re going to have, Molly asked herself. Then, with a determined shake of the head, she walked quickly on. She had enough on her own plate without worrying about anyone else. Then she stopped in her tracks. Wasn’t Christmas supposed to be a time of goodwill towards all men? You’ll regret it, Molly told herself as she retraced her steps and knocked on her neighbour’s door.

  ‘What d’yer want?’ Peter, six years of age, had the wizened face of an old man. A face that had never known a smile, and eyes devoid of emotion.

  ‘Tell yer mam I want to see ’er a minute.’ Molly smiled to show she meant no harm, she’d come as a friend. Then a movement in the boy’s hair brought a look of horror to her face. My God! The child’s hair was alive with fleas!

  ‘What is it?’ Ellen came up behind her son. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

  Molly bit back the quick retort that sprang to her lips. Remember, goodwill towards all men, she told herself. ‘I just called to see if there was anythin’ yer needed that I could get for yer?’

  Ellen’s thin chest heaved. ‘Thanks, but no. The kids can get me any shoppin’ I need.’

  ‘Peter, you go inside while I talk to yer mam, private like.’ Molly watched the boy glance at his mother before turning and walking back along the hall. ‘Step outside a minute, Ellen.’

  She pulled the door to before stepping into the street. ‘What is it?’

  Molly kept her distance, having no wish for one of the jumping fleas to land on her. She’d had enough of that when her children were younger. It had taken her months to get their heads clean and she had no desire to go through that again. ‘Are yer all right for presents for the kids?’

  Ellen’s laugh was hollow. ‘Presents! Yer must be jokin’, Molly! Tomorrow will be no different to any other day in this ’ouse.’

  Molly tutted, her face sad. ‘It’s a bloody shame, yer know, Ellen. The poor kids didn’t ask to be born, an’ they don’t deserve a father like Nobby.’

  ‘Tell me somethin’ I don’t know, Molly! D’yer think I don’t know what it’s like for them? If miracles happened an’ wishes came true, my kids would ’ave the best of everythin’. But miracles don’t happen in real life, so I’ll just ’ave to get on with it.’ Ellen’s chin dropped to her chest. ‘I do love me kids, Molly, even if yer don’t think I do. I’d give my right arm for them to wake up tomorrow mornin’ an’ find Santa had been an’ left them presents an’ a Christmas stockin’ full of goodies.’

  Why didn’t I just keep on walking? Molly was asking herself. How can I enjoy Christmas, knowing that in the house next door there are kids without even a proper dinner, never mind presents? ‘Can’t yer get something on tick, until after the holiday?’

  Ellen’s head was shaking, her lips forming a straight line. ‘I’m up to me neck in debt at the corner shop as it is, I wouldn’t ’ave the nerve to ask for more.’ She looked Molly straight in the eye. ‘I’ve tried to get a job. I’ll scrub floors, anythin’, but there’s nothin’ doing.’

  Molly let out a deep sigh. ‘I wish I could help, Ellen, but I’m not that flush meself. I will try, though. I’ll see if me an’ Maisie can do somethin’ between us. It won’t be much, but even that’ll be better than nothin’.’

  Ellen screwed up her eyes tight. ‘I should tell yer not to worry about us, but pride is somethin’ I can’t afford. Not where my kids are concerned anyway. If yer can do somethin’, Molly, I’ll be ever so grateful. An’ I’d pay yer back, somehow.’

  ‘I could strangle that ’usband of yours,’ Molly said. ‘Yer’d be better off without ’im, living off the parish.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that.’ Ellen sounded bitter. ‘I’ve been told that a wife’s place is with ’er husband.’

  ‘I bet he’s got enough in ’is pockets to go out celebratin’ tonight, though, hasn’t he?’ Molly was so angry, if Nobby Clarke had walked up the street at that moment she’d have gone for him. ‘Laughin’ an jokin’ with all ’is mates, all hail fellow, well met. I wonder what they’d say if they knew what he was really like?’

  Molly wrapped her coat closer to her. ‘I’ll see what I can scrounge off Maisie an’ give yer a knock later.’ She walked away a few steps, then turned. ‘I’ve got a bottle of sassafras oil in our ’ouse, left over from when my kids had dirty heads. I’ll pass it in when I’ve been to the shop.’

  ‘Maisie, I’m on the cadge again.’ The shop was full of customers using up their club money so Molly’s explanation was told in brief bursts each time Maisie passed, getting a customer’s order together. ‘Can I ’ave two bob worth of sweets on tick? I wouldn’t ask, but I’ve still got a lot of shoppin’ to do for meself an’ I’m running a bit short.’

  ‘You’re a sucker for a hard luck story, Molly.’ Maisie weighed out half a pound of margarine before patting it into an oblong shape with two flat wooden spoons. ‘Was it a quarter of tea, Mrs Milcraine?’ Her eyes on the scale as she weighed the tea, Maisie whispered, ‘Tell yer what, Molly, I’ll fill two stockings, you fill the other two. Okay?’

  ‘Maisie, yer an angel.’ Molly’s smile was wide. ‘Yer’ll get paid back in heaven.’ A loud guffaw brought all eyes to her. ‘Mind you, I won’t be there to see it. I think I’m destined for that place down below, where they’ve always got the fire stoked up.’

  St John’s market was so crowded you could hardly move. Tommy had never been before, and the crowds and the noise frightened him. ‘Looks like everyone’s had the same idea as meself,’ Molly shouted in his ear. ‘Just grab hold of the back of me coat and hang on like grim death.’
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  With her elbows bent, Molly bulldozed her way through the mass of heaving bodies. This was no time to act like a lady, and anyone who stood in her way was pushed aside. When he’d got used to the noise, Tommy began to look around and was soon caught up in the hectic atmosphere. He was fascinated by the smells all around him, fruit, bread, flowers and the pine Christmas trees. The loud voices of the stall-holders had him spell-bound. At six o’clock on a Christmas Eve they were eager to clear their stalls and they vied with each other to attract customers.

  ‘Here y’are, folks!’ A chicken in one hand and a turkey in the other, one market trader caught Molly’s eye. ‘Come on, missus, yer won’t get cheaper anywhere in Liverpool. Two bob the chicken, three bob the turkey. Or yer can ’ave a goose for three bob. Practically givin’ them away, I am. But I was always soft hearted, that’s me one an’ only fault.’

  ‘Then yer wife’s a lucky woman.’ Molly grinned. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, I want to look at the trees first.’

  ‘There’s a nice one, Mam.’ Tommy pointed to a tree leaning against the stall, his eyes eager. ‘It’s a belter.’

  Molly looked sideways, her eyes on a level with Tommy’s mouth. ‘What height are yer, son?’

  ‘I dunno!’ Of all the silly questions, he thought. ‘What yer want to know for?’

  ‘I’d say yer were about five foot six.’ Molly sized him up. ‘Yeah, easily. But that tree is well over six foot.’

  ‘So what?’ Tommy stood up straight. ‘I bet yer I can carry it.’

  ‘All the way home?’

  ‘We’re gettin’ a tram, aren’t we?’

  ‘An’ yer think the conductor would let yer on with a tree that size? No chance!’ Molly saw the disappointment on her son’s face. ‘Yer’d never get it on the tram, son, it’s too big. What about that one over there? It’s got nice thick branches, an’ it would fit under the stairs on the tram.’ Molly bargained the trader down with a hard luck story and got the tree for a shilling. Feeling pleased with herself, she asked if she could leave it there while she got the rest of her shopping in. She’d bought her potatoes and veg the day before at Waterworth’s so only needed fruit and a turkey.

  The next half hour was an eye opener for Tommy as he listened to his mother bargain with the stall-holders. She ended up with a bag full of apples, tangerines, bananas, dates and nuts, all for a shilling. Then she bought a spray of holly for twopence, and got a piece of mistletoe thrown in for nothing. It was when they came to buying a bird that Tommy’s admiration for his mother reached its peak. She asked the prices at one stall, turned, and walked to a stall immediately opposite. Then she stood back while the two butchers battled it out for her custom.

  ‘Mam, yer were brilliant!’ Tommy leaned the tree against the tram stop, his face beaming. ‘A chicken and a turkey, all for four shillings!’

  ‘It’s the way yer hold yer mouth, son.’ Molly laughed. ‘Talk about act daft an’ I’ll buy yer a coal yard, isn’t in it! I’m dead pleased with meself, though, even if I ’ave only got enough money left to get us ’ome.’

  Molly was hanging the holly up when they heard the strains of ‘Silent Night’ coming from the street. ‘Oh, not more carol singers, they must think we’re made of money.’

  ‘I’ve got an odd ha’penny, that’ll have to do.’ Jack handed the coin to Tommy. ‘Here y’are, son, take it out to them.’

  When Tommy came back he was followed by Jill and Doreen. ‘You two are late, I was beginnin’ to think yer’d left ’ome.’ Molly stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘Been rushed off yer feet, have yez?’

  ‘It’s been mad busy all day.’ Jill was carrying a cake box which she handed to Molly with a smile. ‘A present for you from Mr John.’

  Molly wrapped a piece of tinsel around her neck and dived for the box. ‘Ooh, er!’ Nestling on a bed of tissue paper was a Christmas cake. It had white icing on top, with a tree and a red robin standing either side of a silver sign which read ‘Happy Christmas’.

  ‘He’s a good man, that Mr John,’ Molly said. ‘Generous and thoughtful.’

  ‘He doesn’t half make yer work hard, though,’ Doreen grumbled. ‘Flippin’ slave-driver, he is.’

  ‘Jack, get off yer backside an’ make them somethin’ to eat, will yer? I want to get the tree finished.’ Molly picked up one of the silver balls that had decorated every tree they’d had over the years. ‘I’ve got the turkey to clean yet, ready to put in the oven before we go to midnight Mass.’

  ‘The tree looks nice, Mam,’ Jill said. ‘I wish we had some fairy lights for it.’

  ‘Next year, sunshine, next year. There’ll be three of yez workin’ then, please God, so we’ll be able to break eggs with a big stick.’

  While the girls were eating their supper, being amused by Tommy’s account of his first venture into Reeces and St John’s market, Molly beckoned Jack into the kitchen. ‘Do us a favour, will yer, love? Take these four stockings next door. Nobby won’t be there, he’ll be in the pub as per usual. I’ve wrapped them in newspaper so the kids can’t see them, but make sure yer give them to Ellen so she can hide them till the mornin’.’

  ‘Yer a cracker, yer know that, love?’ Jack nuzzled Molly’s neck. ‘Yer’ve got a heart as big as a week.’

  ‘Aye, an’ a purse as flat as a pancake.’ Molly gave him a push. ‘Go on with yer, yer daft ha’porth, an’ let me wrestle with this flamin’ turkey.’ Jack had just reached the door when she grabbed his arm. ‘I forgot to tell yer, I’ve asked Maisie an’ Alec down for a drink tomorrow night. Shame they’ve got no kids, it must be a bit miserable for them bein’ on their own over Christmas. Me ma an’ da will be here, so we can ’ave a bit of a sing-song.’

  Jack was only away for a few minutes. ‘God, yer can smell the sassafras oil a mile away! She must have doused the poor kids in it!’

  ‘Go way!’ Molly feigned surprise. ‘Must be havin’ the same trouble we ’ad when our kids were little.’

  Chapter Eight

  The first snow flakes started to fall as they stepped out of the front door and Molly laughed with delight. ‘Lovely! If it sticks, it’ll look real Christmassy tomorrow.’

  Jill spread out her hands to catch the falling flakes. ‘Don’t they look pretty . . . just like feathers.’

  Jack turned his head and smiled when he saw the pleasure on the faces of his two daughters. It was the first time Doreen had accompanied them to midnight Mass and she was walking tall, feeling very grown up. Tommy, after a few moans, had agreed to listen for Ruthie. ‘Have yer got money for the collection plate?’

  Both girls nodded, Doreen patting her coat pocket. ‘In here.’

  The church was filling up rapidly, so when Molly spotted an empty pew near the front she pushed the girls towards it. She knelt to say a short prayer then sat back and looked around, hoping to spot her ma and da. When her eyes lit on them, she smiled and waved, mouthing, ‘See you later.’

  Molly gazed along the pew and her heart swelled with pride. She was so lucky to have such a lovely family. A mother and father she adored, the best husband in the world, bar none, and wonderful children. She certainly had a lot to be thankful for.

  She was brought back from her thoughts by the people in the pew in front standing to let a man pass to the empty seat in front of Molly. He sat down, coughing as he turned his head, and Molly wrinkled her nose as the smell of beer wafted up her nostrils. Fancy coming to church straight from the pub! Probably only came to Mass once a year, hoping it was enough to save his soul. Another Nobby Clarke by the looks of his red nose and big beer belly. An angel on the outside, a devil on the inside.

  Molly mentally chastised herself. Christmas is no time to be thinking ill of anyone, so while I’m thanking God for all the good things I’ve got, I’ll add a little prayer for the sinners.

  The alarm clock had barely finished its first shrill ring before Molly’s hand shot from beneath the bedclothes and banged her palm on the off button. It was freezing in the bedroom and
she pulled the blankets up to her chin, promising herself just ten more minutes. But the more she thought of all the things she had to do, the more those extra minutes became a penance rather than a luxury.

  ‘Jack!’ Molly’s elbow came into contact with her husband’s ribs. ‘Time to get up, love.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven o’clock.’ Molly swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘Put a move on.’

  Jack sat up, rubbing his eyes. ‘Do we ’ave to get up so early? I feel as though I’ve only been in bed five minutes.’

  ‘I want to set everything out nice for the kids.’ Molly rubbed her arms briskly before reaching for her old blue fleecy dressing gown. ‘While I’m doin’ that, you can get the fire started.’

  ‘No rest for the wicked.’ Jack was pulling his trousers on. ‘They were so late gettin’ to bed, they might sleep till about ten.’

  ‘Aye, an’ pigs might fly.’ Molly pulled the belt of the gown tight. ‘Don’t make a sound when yer comin’ down, d’yer ’ear?’

  ‘Okay, boss, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’

  While Jack raked the ashes from the grate and carried them out to the bin, Molly laid four old lisle stockings on the table. Into each of them she dropped a tangerine, apple, banana, packet of sherbet dab, peanuts in their shells and a bag of sweets. Then on the top she placed the presents her ma and da had sent round for the children. Tangee lipsticks for Jill and Doreen, a mouth-organ for Tommy and a knitted doll’s outfit for Ruthie. Then she hung them from the mantelpiece, securing them with ornaments and well away from the fire which was now beginning to show some life.

  ‘It’s freezing out there, the snow’s thick.’ Jack shivered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. ‘I’ll wash me hands, then put the kettle on.’

  ‘Uh, uh!’ Molly shook her head. ‘Yer’ve got to get the presents from Nellie’s. Take a dekko, an’ if their light’s on, give a knock.’

  While Jack was away, Molly put the finishing touches to the tree; two chocolate Father Christmases, chocolate animals wrapped in silver paper, sugar mice and two net bags of chocolate money. ‘There, it’s beginnin’ to look like Christmas now.’