“Anyways, Comet was whinnying away and he started pawing at the ground in front of the pile. He must’ve put the fear of god into young Corey as the little swine came tear-arsing out from behind the pile and tried to make it past Comet towards the far wall; you know the one backing onto the canal side?”
Again, Albert nodded his head, raising his glass to his mouth.
“Comet moved to one side and budged into the little git, causing him to fall over. I swear the horse is a reincarnation or something, I’ve never met an animal like him.”
Smiling, Archie stared at the wall in front of him.
A picture hung of a street scene from years ago, in the background he saw the unmistakable outline of his old cart.
“Jesus, that was far too many years ago the picture was taken, I’m starting to feel old.”
“It isn’t Comet in the picture, is it?” Albert asked, turning to look at the picture.
“No,” Archie replied, shaking his head gently, “that was old Sovereign. He passed away a few months after the photograph was taken. Never thought I’d find another horse like him until I stumbled across Comet.”
Knowing once Archie started on the subject of Comet, he would not stop until he felt ready to do so, Albert stood.
“Another one?” He asked, nodding to the empty glass in front of his old friend.
“Oh, let me get this one Albert.”
“It’s okay Archie, I need to nip to the gents anyway. I’ll grab a round in on my way back.”
Walking through the cramped confines of the bar towards thetoilets, Albert stopped for a moment to order their drinks from Jackie, stood behind the bar.
“I take it old Archie is talking about Comet?” She half-whispered to Albert, looking across at Archie, staring once again at the picture.
“Aye, thought it may be best to take a quick visit to the gents, as it may be a long one,” he replied, smiling.
“Bless him,” Jackie replied, leaning to retrieve a couple of clean glasses from beneath the bar.
By the time Albert returned from the toilets and retried the glasses of ale from the bar, Archie already set up the domino pieces on the table.
“Oh, you fancy being beaten, again do you?” Albert said.
“You’d have to learn how to play the game first,” Archie replied, taking the offered glass from Albert’s hand.
“Come on Archie, don’t leave an idiot in suspense. What happened with young Master Corey back in the day?” Albert said, chuckling.
“Where was I up to?”
“You said Comet knocked him on his backside.”
“Aye, that’s right. Anyway, as I said, Comet knocked into him and the little swine was on the deck. I knew it was Corey by now and made my way over to where he lay.”
“He’d started whinging and crying before I’d even reached him. I was only going to give him a clip around the ear, when I noticed he’d a bag on the ground next to him. I leant down to grab it when the little swine went to make a break for it.”
“I grabbed at him and managed to get a hold of his belt, when the bag spilled out onto the ground. The little bastard had only robbed our Winnie’s best knives and forks and what have you.”
“How on earth did he manage to get them?” Albert asked, pausing from taking another sip of his drink.
Taking this opportunity to take a gulp of his own drink, Archie placed the glass back on the table sighing.
“Our Winnie had locked them up in the outhouse. She’d been giving them a good polish all day and had left them in there. The little swine had managed to jemmy the bloody door open.”
“If it’d only been a bit of scrap iron I may have gone easier on him, but those old knives and forks were one of our Winnie’s pride and joys. He tried to grab at one of the knives and I saw bloody red I can tell you. I took my belt off while he was crying for his old man before I gave him a right good leathering with it.”
“What did old Mick say? Did he find out?”
“Oh, Mick was fine by it. I dragged the little swine through the streets to his house myself, making certain I told everybody we passed, what a thieving sod he was.”
“No bloody wonder you never seem to be flavour of the month with him!” Albert said, bursting into laughter, the party at the other table turning to look in their direction.
“Don’t tell me Archie has actually cracked a joke worth laughing at?” Ron shouted across.
“In a way Ron, in a way,” Albert replied waving, before returning his gaze to his friend.
“How many years have we known each my friend?” He asked, picking up his glass.
“Seems like a lifetime Albert,” Archie replied, “you’re like a brother to me if truth be told.”
“Oh, behave yourself Archie,” Albert replied, chuckling.
“Seriously, I don’t have any family left since Winnie passed away as you know, yer the next best thing to kin I have.”
“Jackie love!” Albert called to Jackie, currently serving one of the other regulars.
“Yes love, what is it?” She shouted.
“Have you been putting anything a little extra special in Archie’s drink? He’s getting all loveliness and stuff over here!”
“Nothing in his drink Albert love,” she replied, “he’s just being lovely Archie that’s all.”
“Oh, get away with the pair of yer!” Archie replied, his laughter filling the room, before fading away whilst he turned to his friend, a serious look set upon his face.
“I’m being serious Albert. In fact, when old Archie here finally kicks the bucket, he’s leaving something in his will for you.”
“Get away with yer Archie and stop talking so morbid,” Albert replied, “yer going to outlive us all.”
“I’m getting on in years me old pal,” Archie said.
“C’mon off it, yer up and out each day from dusk ‘til dawn. You’ve more energy than the lot of us put together, including the kids!”
“We feel the invincibility of youth, but bear the ravages of time,” Archie replied, sipping his drink.
“Philosophical this evening, aren’t you Archie?” Albert asked.
“We begin to die from the moment of our birth my dear Albert, most of us in denial of deaths patient courtship, until we’re late in our lives or fell deep in sickness, until we become aware of him sat there alongside us.”
Albert stared at him.
“Complete and utter pish,” he said with a laugh, “now cheer up Archie, as you’ll have me crying next!”
Archie stared into Alberts eyes.
As memories flashed through his mind recalling the memorable times they spent together in their friendship, an enigmatic smile crept slowly across his face.
“Oh, I’m cheered up old friend, but old Archie means what he says,” he said, standing to make his own way to the toilets.
“I’ll be leaving you something to remember me by.”
Chapter Nine
Standing directly in front of the oval mirror over the bureau in the living room, Iris adjusted her hair, glancing meaningfully and sadly at the girl staring back at her from the untouchable world beyond the mirrored glass.
Each time she looked in a mirror she became reminded of her Father, possessing the same dimple in her chin as did Robert.
Her eyes, of the deepest dark brown, held a sparkle, shining with a green glisten when light caressed them.
Closing her eyes momentarily, she remembered the last time she saw her Father. Leaning from above her, he placed a kiss her upon her forehead, calling her his ‘Little Butterfly’.
Opening her eyes again, she noticed in her reflection, rather than having felt it, a glisten as a sparkling tear formed, slowly tracing a path from her eye onto her cheek.
She wiped it away with the back of her hand.
I need to be stronger!
Finishing adjusting her hair, she walked to the hallway, looking up at the sound of footsteps to find her Mother descending the stairs.
&nb
sp; “You ready Iris?”
“I am Mother, how about you?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be love, now let’s get off and get to work.”
The pair of them exited the house into the street outside and the warm, embracing morning air, ready to embark upon their journey to one of the rare occasions they were on the same shift together.
Iris enjoyed these shifts, being able to spend time with her Mother away from the house and the distractions of having four growing boys. Though not begrudging having them running around, as it filled their house with life and laughter once more.
Not that Jacobs differed in too many ways, at times feeling the whole of their shift were one huge family, laughing, bickering, gossiping, looking out for one and other, come what may.
Making their way into the windy morning air, they noticed their neighbour Sheila across the street, closing her own door behind her.
“Hiya Shee!” Patty called over, waving.
Turning around, Sheila gave a wave before making her way across the street to meet them, confident the make-up she wore concealed her still swollen eye.
“Hiya Patty, Iris. Are you two off to work then?”
“Aye love, for our sins eh? But the way this wind is picking up, we’ll be flying there. You off down to the shop?”
‘The shop’ where she worked, being the haberdashery located in Saint Johns Road, a busy high street in Waterloo.
Though only a couple of bus stops away, she rarely took the bus, the money saved spent somewhere else more needed.
In addition, it was one of her only means of independence.
“Aye Patty, I’m on a half-day there today.”
“Lucky you love, the rest of the day to yourself eh?”
“Ah, I wish Patty, I’ve a lot of things to get done today.”
“It never rains but it pours as they say love. Talking of which, did you hear the rain last night? I thought the roof was going to cave in at one point.”
“You wouldn’t believe it’s the same week would you Patty? The sun is already starting to crack the flags.”
“It certainly is love. Anyways, you have a good day whatever you’re doing and hopefully we’ll catch up with you later.”
“I hope so Patty, I’ll pop over for a cuppa if you aren’t too busy.”
“Our doors always open to you Pet.” Patty said, before they exchanged hugs, walking away in opposite directions.
The morning felt warm despite the strong winds whilst she walked in the direction of Waterloo, pausing only once on her trek at the Five Lamps, a monument to the brave souls who lost their lives during the Great War.
Sitting on one of the three steps constructed from Derbyshire stone, she took a moment to catch her breath.
She stared up at the tall, bronze statue of a winged female holding a laurel wreath in her right hand and a palm branch in her left.
Beneath the statue lay the roll of honour of the gallant servicemen who gave their own lives, so others may have their own to live on in freedom.
Beginning to read the names, she realised she would be late for work. Making her way to her feet she hurried along the long road.
The morning passed by without incident at the shop, quieter than usual with only a few of the regular customers popping in. For once, this pleased her, feeling not able to deal with too many people today. Though the evening before at home had not been as bad as normal.
Hardly touching his dinner whilst he and his Mother sat at the old wooden table in the kitchen, Wally had given his excuses and retired to his roomearlier than normal. She asked him if anything bothered him, as he wasquiet after returning from his trip to the beach, appearing withdrawn, but he replied he felt tired.
Staying up for a few more hours after her son went to bed, she awaited the return of her husband, to heat his dinner if he demanded it.
It turned passed midnight, when her head eventually lay upon the pillow. The sounds of the rain beating against the glass would normally sound musical to her, but lay there in the darkness, it did nothing to improve her current mood.
Laying there awake for at least an hour, she dreaded her husband’s return, fearing the door being violently pushed open and being dragged from bed.
Eventually she heard the front door open, after what sounded like several fumbled attempts accompanied with cursing.
She held her breath as he ascended the stairs to their bedroom, her heart in her throat as the bedroom door opened.
The duvet lay positioned half covering her head, her eyes closed tightly shut, feigning sleep in the hopes he would leave her alone, the smell of alcohol on him reaching her nostrils across the bedroom.
Mumbling incoherently, he rummaged around the old wooden wardrobe pressed at the wall opposite the window, taking his rain drenched jacket off and throwing it against the floor next to the bed, closely followed by his trousers.
Upon finding whatever clothes he sought out, he struggled into them before mumbling something to her sounding like ‘teemeraw’ before leaving the room.
Listening to him descend the stairs, stumbling by the sounds of his steps, she monitored his movements carefully, until she heard the front door being opened then closed.
Listening to his receding footsteps splashing through the puddles, whilst walking along the pavement, she swore she heard both male and female laughter.
He did not return home for the rest of the night, this was by no means a rare occasion and she welcomed the evenings when she would be spared his wrath.
It was the unknowing, affecting her more than the beatings she endured since their marriage took a turn for the worse.
For the life of her, she was unable to remember when they were truly happy in their marriage.
But now the abuse, both physical and psychological worsened.
Wishing she possessed the strength to take him on, especially now he began raising his hands to their son, she felt trapped both physically and emotionally.
The uncertainty of what mood he would be in when he returned home from wherever he had been, whether her and Wally would be on the receiving end of another beating made her feel physically sick.
She lost count of the amount of times she vomited into the sink, purely from worry, anxiety and fear.
It had been years, since she worried her vomiting may be the morning sickness and she was with child.
A particularly nasty beating she received from her husband after informing him, in the false hope he may be pleased with the news she felt she may be pregnant, put paid to her having any more children.
He ensured she stayed in their home for days whilst the bruising subsided, before he would allow her to go the doctors.
The doctor himself rushed her to the hospital, when he suspected she may be suffering from internal bleeding.
Her husband ensured there would no sibling for their Wally to play with as he grew up.
Now, the morning was nearly over, it would soon be time for her shift to finish, butterflies swarming throughout her stomach at the thought of what she was about to embark upon.
Making her way towards the room located at the rear of the shop, she entered it to fetch her coat and discovered Irene, the shop’s owner, sat at the narrow desk in the corner, pouring through mountains ofpaperwork.
“You alright Irene?” Sheila asked.
“I am Pet, I am,” Irene replied, looking up from the paperwork set out if front of her, “just trying to get my invoices and things together, not that there is too much of them these days.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sheila offered.
“Not really Pet,” Irene replied, “anyways, I thought you had to go meet up with a friend or something in Town?”
Sheila felt terrible lying to Irene about where she really intended on going, but she did not wish to upset her.
She worked for Irene since the war ended and, though the bond between them felt not as strong as a paternal bond, it was one Sheila valued.
Her own Mother passed away several years before, nearly a year to the day her Father died.
“Oh, I’ve a few minutes yet,” she replied, staring at the clock on the wall.
“It’s alright Pet, unless you can think of a way to double our business,” she replied, giggling in her soft Geordie accent.
“There are lots of things we could try doing Irene,” Sheila said, smiling at her.
“Oh, like what?” Irene asked, looking up at her.
Sheila recounted the ideas she had thought about for months; buying a mannequin similar to the ones they used in the larger stores in the city centre, placing adverts in the local papers, having pictures in the shop window showing the latest trends from Paris and America.
Her list of ideas appeared endless.
And now, after giving Irene a peck on the cheek and a hug, she exited onto the pavement of Saint Johns Road and into the bright light of the warm afternoon sun.
Rushing along the pavement in long strides before breaking into a run, she ran to Crosby Road, to ensure she caught the bus into town in time.
Realising she reached it in plenty of time, she stood talking to an elderly lady about the ongoing rationing situation, before eventually her bus arrived.
Finding barely anybody on board, she climbed the stairs to the upper deck to take in the fresh air.
At the front sat a man and woman she estimated to be around her age, his arm over the woman’s shoulder, laughing and occasionally giving each other a quick peck on the cheeks.
Hope it lasts for you.
Staring into the bright sky, she noticed hardly a cloud moved in the vast expanse above her. The sky, now a beautiful azure blue, appeared to be beckoning her to another destination, another country where people said the sun shone brightly each day.
You know your journey, your beginning at the start of the day and your destination at the end of the day. Am I doing the right thing, trying to start my own new day?
The sound of gentle laughter from the couple, assured her she was.
She had family over there, having emigrated earlier on in the year, Reenie her sole sibling, her husband Spencer and their children.
The letter she received from them weeks ago, spoke of their hope and optimism for their future in a new country.
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