“Anyway Maureen, don’t you be thinking yer in with a chance either at getting some of that silver spoon in yer mouth!” Beryl continued, bringing more laughter from her colleagues.
“Why do you say that?” Maureen asked, giving a twirl on her feet, whilst holding up the bottom of her apron, “people tell me, I look like Greta Garbo they do!”
“More like Clark bloody Gable!” Liz said, as Maureen continued her impromptu twirl.
“Har de bloody har Liz,” Maureen retorted, sticking out her tongue playfully.
“Anyway Beryl, why wouldn’t I be in with a chance?” She asked, stopping her twirling and leaning against the large machine in front of her, before her dizziness caused her to lose her balance.
“Oh, come on,” Beryl replied, “we all saw the way he was staring, at our Iris here.”
Attempting to busy herself with a task in front of her, Iris discovered the large conveyor belt was still switched, since the party arrived.
The other women quietened, in exception to the giggles they attempted to suppress.
“Yeah, well alright.” Maureen said, placing her hand on her friend’s shoulders.
Knowing full well Iris would be feeling mortified by their earlier outbursts, she was a good enough friend to ensure, she did not have to endure anymore.
“It only goes to show he’s got good taste.”
The other women stared at her in disbelief, half-expecting her to take umbrage, she was not the focus of the man’s attention.
Maureen however, did not appear to mind Iris received more attention than her, from this particular gentleman.
“Pardon?” Iris herself asked, looking at her friend in puzzlement.
“I said, he must have good taste is all, Iris love,” Maureen replied, looking over her shoulder at Iris, presenting her with a genuine smile.
Speechless, Iris expected, still half-expected, a brash remark or two from her friend, causing her to blush again.
But Maureen appeared preoccupied, setting up the huge machine for the next lot of biscuits.
“C’mon Ladies,” Maureen called, “these biscuits won’t check themselves, you know!”
The rest of the afternoon passed by as normal, filled with the usual banter, until the bells tolled throughout the factory, announcing their shift was now over.
Walking to the changing room, they stripped from their overalls, readying themselves for their journeys home.
“Are you okay Mo?” Iris asked.
“Course I am chuck, why’d you ask?” Maureen replied, taking the net from her hair and replacing it with a bright red ribbon, accentuating her blonde hair.
“You just seemed a bit quiet earlier, you know after that man left.”
“You mean, I wasn’t piss taking as much as usual,” Maureen replied, adjusting the ribbon until her hair fell in a pony-tail.
Iris stared at her.
“I’m sorry Mo, I didn’t mean…”
She was interrupted by Maureen leaning across, giving her a gentle tickle to her side.
“I’m only messing Iris,” she said, her hand on Iris’s hip, leading her closer to the wall, out of earshot of the other women, “look love, I was bang out of order earlier, taking the micky because of that Welsh lad and I’m sorry.”
“Look Mo you don’t have to…”
“No love I do. I’m sorry,” Maureen continued, “it was thoughtless of me and I’m glad you received attention from that posh sort, as you’re a really good-looking girl and deserve it.”
“No, I’m not,” Iris replied, feeling her cheeks redden.
“Yes, you are Iris Bennett!” Maureen exclaimed, raising her arms into the air in exasperation.
“You’ve always been a pretty girl, ever since school. So, stop putting yourself down, as I’m having none of it alright?”
Knowing there was no point in arguing, as Maureen would not give up, Iris placed her arms around her, hugging her gently.
“Thank you, Mo,” she said, releasing her embrace, “you’re a good friend.”
“Always for you Iris,” Maureen replied, smiling, “now, get your skates on, as you’ll miss the bus!”
Maureen, giggling, gave a wave and joined the other women exiting the room.
Iris gathered her belongings, picking her bag up from next to her. She opened it and retrieved the ticket stub David had given her.
The memories of their evening together flooded her mind, as a wave of warmth radiated from within.
Placing it carefully back into the bag, she realised her recollecting took longer than she thought, as the cleaning staff entered the room.
Smiling at them, she hurried passed into the corridor, finding it empty.
No, I’ll miss the bus!
Running the length of the corridor, she pushed open the exit door and stepped into the early evening air.
As cool rain fell lightly upon her, she glanced around the carpark, finding it empty of her colleagues.
Mr Mawdsley’s car remained in its space, next to another equally impressive car.
Glancing up to the heavy, brooding clouds of the shower befalling the area, she felt the drops of rain becoming heavier.
I’m going to get drenched.
She started across the carpark to the gates leading into the main road, knowing she missed the bus back to Seaforth, when a voice startled her from nearby.
“Pardon me, but are you running late?”
She turned, to find herself facing the handsome gentleman from earlier.
Stopping his walk to his car, he smiled at her.
Mr Anderson is his name, I think.
“I, I think I may have missed my bus,” she found herself replying.
“Well, if it is not too impertinent of me,” he said, gesturing to his car, “may I be so bold as to offer you a ride home?”
“Oh, I, err, I couldn’t really,” she replied, “honestly, thank you anyway.”
Holding the passenger door open, he gestured to the inner confines of the car.
“Please, I insist,” he pleaded, “the heavens are opening even as we speak and I would feel terrible, knowing I’d let you walk in this.”
Feeling anxious, Iris glanced around the carpark, the rain now soaking her hair.
“Please,” Tobias said, “I do not usually offer lifts, but you will become drenched and heaven forbid, you may catch yourself a cold.”
The rain itself, appeared to side with Tobias’s suggestion, as the shower became heavier.
Nodding her head, she walked to the door held open for her.
Bending to enter the car, she failed to notice the admiring glance, Tobias paid to her rear.
It was a glance, not unnoticed by the man turning the corner into the carpark, after walking on foot over several miles to meet her.
The engine of the car fired up and as it reversed, the figure stood at the corner, turning his back and slowly walking away.
The car entered the road with a squeal of tyres, accelerating into the distance.
David did not turn to watch it recede away, merely dropping the bouquet of flowers he held, into the raid sodden gutter.
Walking away from the edifice of Jacobs, he failed to notice the petals coming apart from their stems, silently floating atop the rainwater, to a nearby grid.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The large, beaten van slowed to a stop at the entrance to the docks, due to the short, elderly man standing in front of it, waving it to a standstill.
Approaching the cab, he produced a list from one of the pockets of his heavy duffel coat.
“Corey O’Leary,” O’Leary said, casting the man a cursory glance, “I’m expected.”
Licking his finger, the old man ran it slowly across the list of expected visitors upon the sheet in front of him.
“I should be on there,” O’Leary said, now staring at him impatiently, “as I told you, I’m expected.”
“Aye, you’re down here, so you are,” the other man replied, “open up
the back please.”
“You what?” O’Leary asked.
“Can you open up the back please, I have to check your van?”
“The van is bloody empty! There is nothing to check.”
“That may well be the case, but I must check anyway,” the old man said, staring up from his list, “and could you please refrain from using profanity, I’m only doing my job.”
“I’ve told you, it’s empty!” O’Leary exclaimed, “Can’t you just check it on the way out?”
“Again, could you open the van please? Otherwise I’ll have to ask you to turn around, as your vehicle’s causing an obstruction.”
Looking from the window, O’Leary peered back in the direction of the Dock Road, finding no sign of any other vehicle behind him.
“Are you only doing this, to try and wind me up or something?” He asked.
“Look, if you will not open the van doors,” the old man said, “then I have to ask you to turn around and go the way you came.”
“Bloody hell, alright, alright for crying out loud!” O’Leary exclaimed loudly.
“Tony, open the doors, to let this cocky little watchman take a look.”
Stepping from the passenger door, Tony rushed to the back of the van.
“I asked you, to please refrain from using profanities,” the old man said, staring up at O’Leary.
“What? Oh, for crying out loud, just check the van will you?!”
Slowly, the elderly man strolled to the back of the van, appearing to O’Leary, he was deliberately taking his time.
“Is he doing this to get my back up?” He exclaimed loudly.
“Dunno Boss,” replied Brendan, sat in the cab, staring from the passenger side window.
“I hope he didn’t give the other van the same treatment, or I’ll make sure he is out on his auld arse when I get the business over here.”
It took another ten minutes, before the old man was satisfied with examining the rear of the van.
He slowly ambled to the cab, O’Leary’s arm hanging from the window, his hand tapping the side of the door, impatiently awaiting his arrival.
“All seems to be in order,” the old man said, reaching the cab window.
“Of course, it’s all in order; it’s an empty van for crying out loud!” O’Leary exclaimed, bringing his arm back in and switching the ignition on.
“You in here for long, Mr O’Leary?” The old man asked, glancing at the list.
“Why? What’s it to do with you?”
“Well, I’ve been told we have to get back on top of our game, since the unfortunate incident which happened here,” he answered, looking up at him, with a nearly toothless grin.
“So? What’s it to do with me?” O’Leary demanded.
“Oh, I only want to know if it’ll be me or Herb, who’ll be having the honour of checking your van on the way out,” he said, moving away from the van, “you have a good day now.”
Staring at him with contempt, O’Leary engaged the vans first gear and drove into the vast expanse of the Liverpool docklands.
Looking in the mirror to find the old man waving, with a broad grin across his face, O’Leary shook his head.
“Up yer arse O’Leary yer nasty bastard,” Bert said, continuing to give an exaggerated wave to the van in the distance.
The van navigated through various signs, of the slow regeneration occurring after the aftermath of the last war.
The docks of Merseyside continued to operate and the sight of many ships caught their eyes, as they drove to the two vehicles awaiting them, in the distance.
As they approached, three men climbed from the cab of the waiting van, virtually identical to the one they were in, whilst nearby, a smartly dressed man stepped from an expensive car.
The van halted with a loud crunch as O’Leary braked on the gravel, pieces flying into the morning air.
Stepping from the cab, he strode to the three men, now stood next to the other van, sharing a cigarette lighter between them.
“Lads, morning,” O’Leary said, approaching them, “good to see you’ve turned up again Henry, play yer cards right and I may take yer on fulltime.”
“Cheers, Mr O’Leary,” Henry McCluskie replied, taking the lighter from the hands of one of the other men.
“You three, go join those two at the other van, whilst I go have a chat with the government bloke. The movers will be arriving shortly, so make sure they know where to go alright?”
“Mr Anderson,” he said, waving and walking to the man stood next to the car, “pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure, is all mine Mr O’Leary,” Tobias replied, walking to him and shaking his outstretched hand.
“Did yer manage to find it alright?” O’Leary asked, letting go of Tobias hand, before rubbing what remained of his hair, in the light breeze coming across the Mersey.
“Yes indeed, it was no trouble at all,” Tobias replied, “the hotel is but a mile or so away from here and the directions the porter furnished me with, were spot on.”
“Only a mile or so away you say? I’d have thought you’d be staying in the likes of the Adelphi or somewhere like that, a bit more upmarket like?”
“Oh, dear me no, though I am certain the Adelphi is a wonderful hotel, in fact I am meeting up with the proprietor there tomorrow,” Tobias replied, “there is a bit of a dance occurring there shortly he wishes me to attend, to show how well the hotel is doing by all accounts.”
“No, I quite like the view my room affords me across the river,” he continued, “it is quite wonderful, watching the clouds caressing the tips of the majestic mountains in the distance, as I partake of a most wonderful cup of tea.”
O’Leary looked at Welsh Mountains, far in the distance, the only thought occurring in his mind, being how much minerals and ore could be mined from them.
“Behold!” Tobias said, at a volume loud enough for O’Leary to jump.
“What?” O’Leary asked.
“Behold! On the opposite shore, the high crested mountains arise; so famed in the annals of yore, whose summits ascend to the skies,” Tobias said smiling.
O’Leary stared at him, mouth agape, uncertain whether to ask if he was feeling alright.
Staring back at him, Tobias found no signs of recognition on his face, only bewilderment.
“On beholding the Welsh Mountains, from the opposite side of the Mersey?” He offered.
Turning to look again at the mountains, O’Leary raised his hand, pointing at them, before turning to look at Tobias to gauge what he was talking about.
“Fenton?” Tobias said.
Not understanding if it was a question or statement, O’Leary shook his head, still pointing to Wales.
“Benjamin Fenton? He penned those very words, not too far from where we are now stood ourselves.”
“Benjamin Fenton, you say?” O’Leary asked.
“Yes, I find it one of his better works, though I confess the most favoured of his works in my estimation must be ‘Haddon Hall at the present day’,” Tobias said, hoping the name of Fenton’s more famous work would spark a recognition of sorts.
“Haddon Hall,” O’Leary uttered, letting his arm fall to his side.
Nodding his head with a smile, Tobias believed for a moment O’Leary may not be as coarse, nor as ill-educated as he appeared and acted.
“So, Haddon Hall,” O’Leary continued, “is that the name of the hotel, this Fenton guy owned before the Adelphi?”
Allowing his own mouth to drop open, Tobias smiled again.
“He was a poet and a writer my dear Mr O’Leary, I was only allowing myself a moment to quote from one his works, which he became inspired to verse, whilst viewing the Mountains of Wales from this side of the Mersey.”
“Ah, you see I don’t hold up much with poems and the like,” O’Leary stated, “I don’t see any call for it, in this day and age, if truth be told.”
“Come now Mr O’Leary, there is always room in the world for the
arts.”
“Ahh, now ‘art’ I do appreciate,” O’Leary said.
“Enlightening, to hear,” Tobias replied.
“You see, ‘art’ as it where, can ‘ave a price put on it,” O’Leary said, “whereas stuff like poems and stories and things don’t. I mean you can buy them and that, but they aren’t real, are they?”
“Art on the other hand, is something which you can see and touch. My old lady, sorry, my wife, dragged me to one of those arty auctions things a couple of years ago in Somerset, just after the war ended. You should have seen the price on some of the stuff there, ludicrous amounts!”
“Still, managed to grab a few pieces myself after being convinced they’re an investment,” he continued, “should make a fair few bob on ‘em, when I finally retire.”
“If your work here is more than satisfactory, then I do believe you may find yourself in a position in the future, to obtain more pieces of art to add to your no doubt, tasteful collection,” Tobias suggested.
“It will be ‘more than satisfactory’ Mr Anderson,” O’Leary said, smiling.
Returning the smile, Tobias cast his gaze away from the river to the distant roofs of the Seaforth houses.
“That’s a shit-hole, if ever there was one,” O’Leary said, noticing the other man’s gaze.
“Pardon me?”
“I said, that’s an eye-sore, if ever there was one.”
“Oh, my apologies, I must have misheard.”
“That place, should have been bombed into the ground during the Blitz,” O’Leary sneered, “nothing good to be seen there except weeds. I mean to say, the buildings are fine right enough, but the people who live there, those are the weeds bringing the place down.”
“Oh, I don’t know Mr O’Leary,” Tobias replied, “I do believe, certain beautiful flowers tend to flourish in even the most hostile of locations, regardless of how many ‘weeds’ there may be.”
“Am I to take it, you mean a girl or something?” O’Leary asked, raising an eyebrow, causing the lines in his balding head to crinkle.
“Oh, it’s nothing Mr O’Leary I assure you,” Tobias said, lightly laughing, “I merely escorted a young lady home yesterday, from one of the places of business I was visiting and I must vouch, she was certainly more of a beautiful flower, than a weed.”
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