by Joan Jonker
‘I’m always miserable on wash-day, girl. If the sun was shining and I had nowt to do, and me purse had a few bob in it, me memories would be happy ones. Like remembering when my feller used to put his hands around me waist and tell me I was the most beautiful girl in the world, bar none. He hasn’t said that for years, girl. Mind you, I haven’t had a bleedin’ waist for years, either.’
Although there was a brick wall separating them, Mary could see her friend as clearly as if she was standing next to her. She was only five foot, was Amy, and as round as she was tall. Right now her mousy-coloured hair would be covered by a mobcap which would be down to her eyebrows because the elastic had withered, the pocket of her pinny would be bulging with clothes pegs, her stockings would be wrinkled around her ankles and her face would be creased in a smile.
‘Another memory keeps coming back to me, girl, but I have a bit of trouble with it ’cos it’s faded with age. It was when we were first married, before the kids came along, and my feller was that eager he used to carry me upstairs to the bedroom.’ Amy’s laugh was so loud they must have been able to hear it in the next street. ‘Now it takes him all his time to carry himself up. And the most I get out of him in bed is, “Don’t let me oversleep, d’yer hear?”.’
‘Well, the men are tired after a hard day’s work, Amy, yer’ve got to make allowances for them. The first flush of youth isn’t there any more.’
‘What the bleedin’ hell do they think we do all day? Sit on our ruddy backsides? I’d willingly swap places with my feller and go out to work while he minded the three kids. He wouldn’t know what had hit him, having to polish and scrub, wash, iron, get the shopping in, see to the dinners, do the darning … I’d give him a week and he’d be pleading for mercy.’
‘Some good could come of it, Amy,’ Mary chuckled. ‘If he was at home all day he could put his feet up for a couple of hours, then he’d have the energy to carry yer up the stairs to bed again.’
‘He’d need more than energy to carry me up the stairs now, girl – he’d need a bleedin’ hoist. And by the end of all that palaver he’d have lost the urge.’ Amy finished pegging the washing on the line and stood back to gaze with satisfaction at the clothes blowing in the wind. They’d be dry in no time and she could start ironing before the two kids came in from school and got under her feet. ‘Ay, girl, yer don’t happen to have any custard creams in, do yer?’
‘I might have a couple, I think. Why? Are yer having visitors?’
‘I’m not, girl – you are! I’m inviting meself in for a cup of tea and a chinwag. There’s nothing better to chase the blues away than a good old gossip.’ Her chubby face did contortions. ‘Yer don’t need to get yer best china out for me, girl, I’m not a snob.’
‘Don’t be funny, Amy Hanley, yer know I haven’t got no china cups.’
‘That’s why I said yer didn’t need to get them out, girl, I knew yer didn’t have none. I didn’t want yer rummaging in yer cupboards for something yer haven’t got. And don’t be coming over all embarrassed when yer give me a cup with a chip in, ’cos like I said, I’m not a snob.’
‘Ye’re a bloody scream, you are, Amy! Yer invite yerself over without a by-your-leave, then have the nerve to criticise me crockery before yer come. And ye’re expecting custard creams into the bargain.’
‘Only one, girl, I don’t expect no more. And yer’ll get yer money’s worth, ’cos I can tell by yer voice that yer need cheering up.’ Amy raised her voice to a shout. ‘You put the kettle on, girl, while I stick the guard in front of the fire.’
‘You’re well-off having a fire this time of the morning, aren’t yer? Has your feller had a win on the gee-gees?’
Back came a whispered, ‘Fooling the neighbours, girl, that’s all. I bet a pound to a pinch of snuff that nosy Annie Baxter has had her ear to the wall, listening to every word we’ve said. She’ll be round to Lily Farmer’s as fast as her skinny legs will carry her. And by the time she’s put her own interpretation on our conversation, it’ll end up something like this. “Ay, what d’yer think, Lily? Monday morning, and that Amy Hanley’s got a fire up the chimney. And yer’ll never guess where she got the money from for a bag of coal. What’s that yer said, Lily? Oh, yer’ll have three guesses … okay. No, she didn’t get it on tick off the coalman. No, she didn’t find a two-bob piece. No, yer silly cow, the bag hadn’t fallen off the bleedin’ coal-cart. That’s yer three guesses, Lily, and I knew yer wouldn’t get it in a month of Sundays. Just wait till I tell yer, yer won’t believe it. She got it off her feller for letting him carry her upstairs so he could have his wicked way with her. How about that, eh? Dirty pair of buggers”.’
On the other side of the yard wall, Mary was in stitches. Amy might not be able to sing like Kate Smith, but her impersonation of the street gossip was perfect. ‘That was very good, Amy, yer sounded just like her.’
‘If I had false teeth, girl, I could do it better. Yer know how her teeth are always clicking when she talks – well, I can’t do that. Still, it’s not worth having all me teeth out just to sound as miserable as she does. I’m all for getting things right, but that would be carrying it a bit too far.’
‘It’s to be hoped she’s not listening to yer now, Amy.’
‘I couldn’t give a sod, girl, and that’s the truth. If she wants to listen in to private conversations, then she doesn’t deserve to hear anything good about herself.’
‘Ye’re right there, sunshine. Anyway, I’m going in or the day will be gone before we know it. I’ll have a cuppa on the table in ten minutes. Oh, and I won’t forget yer custard cream. It won’t be a whole one because I could only afford half-a-pound of broken biscuits, but I’ll see if I can stick two together for yer, seeing as ye’re me best mate.’
‘This is more like it, girl!’ Amy faced her friend across the table. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a lady of leisure. If someone could trace me family tree, I’m sure they’d find me ancestors were very wealthy. They could even have been of the nobility, ’cos I’ve always had the feeling that I was cut out for better things.’ Her body shook with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, girl, I won’t be expecting yer to curtsy to me. A slight nod of yer head will do.’
‘D’yer think one of yer ancestors lost the family wealth through gambling and loose women?’ Mary’s face was deadpan. ‘That could account for yer being reduced to sitting in the living room of a two-up two-down house, eating broken biscuits. It could also account for yer obsession with what goes on in the bedroom.’
Amy laced her chubby fingers and nodded her head. ‘Someone’s got a lot to answer for, haven’t they, girl? Dragging me down from riches to rags.’
‘Money doesn’t always bring happiness, sunshine.’
‘No, I know that, but at least yer can be miserable in comfort. I wouldn’t mind the kids running riot if I was stretched out on one of those chaise longue things, with a glass of whisky in one hand and a big box of Cadbury’s in the other.’
‘We don’t do too bad, Amy, we’re better off than some in the street. At least Stan and Ben are working, even if they do get a lousy wage. We’ve always managed to scrape along somehow. And things can only get better with the kids growing up.’ Mary topped the cups up and put the cosy back on the teapot. ‘Yer’ve got your John working already, bringing in a few bob, and Eddy will be leaving school in eighteen months, same time as our Jenny. Then yer’ll only have Edna at home, and yer won’t know yerself. Yer’ll be living the life of Riley.’
Amy grinned. ‘I wish I knew this Riley feller, he could give me a few tips. I don’t know what he’s got that nobody else has, but I’d like a bit of it.’ Her brows drew together. ‘What are yer looking at, girl?’
‘Unless I’m seeing things it’s starting to rain. Hang on, I’ll make sure.’ Mary opened the kitchen door and groaned. ‘It’s only spitting at the moment, but there’s a dirty big black cloud overhead so we could be in for a downpour.’
Amy’s legs were too short to reach the floor, so she
had to shuffle her bottom to the edge of the chair before she could push herself up. ‘Damn, blast and bugger it! I was hoping to have the washing dried and ironed before teatime. There’s nothing I hate more than wet clothes drippin’ on me bleedin’ head while I’m seeing to the dinner. The kitchen gets full of condensation and the steam’s so thick yer’ve got to fight yer way through it.’ She adopted the stance of a boxer, her shoulders hunched and her clenched fists stabbing the air while her feet danced in time with them. For a small woman carrying a lot of weight she could certainly move. ‘Like this, girl, that’s how I fight me way through the steam.’
‘Yer’ve got a screw loose, Amy Hanley.’ Mary grinned at the woman who never failed to cheer her up. There might be black clouds in the sky, but when her mate smiled, and her pretty face creased, she brought sunshine into the house. ‘Yer’ll need to be able to fight if Annie Baxter heard yer talking about her. She’ll have yer guts for garters.’
‘Huh! She’s small fry, that one. I wouldn’t need to fight her – one good puff and she’d be out for the count.’
‘What if she’s got her mate with her? Lily Farmer’s not half big, she’d make two of you.’
‘Ay, well, I’ve got to admit that Lily’s a different kettle of fish. But I’ve got one thing in my favour, I can run faster than her. I might have a screw loose, girl, but I know me limitations and Lily Farmer is definitely outside of them.’ Amy pushed the chair under the table and her face took on a thoughtful expression. ‘It’s funny yer should mention a loose screw, girl, ’cos I think ye’re right. Every time I turn me neck sharply, I can feel this thing rattling around in me head. Could that be the loose screw yer were talking about?’
‘Amy, I don’t want to rush yer, sunshine, but the rain is teeming down. I’m bringing my washing in now before it’s wringing sopping wet. If the weather clears I can put it out again when I come back from the shops.’
‘I’ll come to the shops with yer, girl, keep yer company. What time are yer going?’
‘In about twenty minutes.’
‘Just enough time for me to spend a penny, give me face a cat’s lick and a promise, pull me stockings up and comb me hair. I don’t need to cake me face with powder or lipstick, not with my natural beauty.’
‘Ta-ra, sunshine, on yer way! I’ll see yer later.’ Mary left her friend and dashed out into the heavy rain. She sighed as she unpegged the clothes that were a damn sight more wet than when she’d put them out in the first place. Her eyes went to the heavens. ‘Please God, take pity on us poor women, we don’t do no one no harm.’ She could feel the dampness as the rain soaked her dress, but she managed a smile. ‘Only with words, God, and we don’t really mean half we say. Besides, words don’t harm no one.’
Mary turned into the butcher’s shop with Amy in her wake. ‘Good morning, Wilf, lovely weather for ducks, isn’t it?’
‘I’m happy for the ducks, Mary, but it’s bloody awful weather for business.’ The butcher feigned horror when his eyes lit on Amy. ‘Oh dear, yer’ve brought the menace with yer. D’yer not think I’ve got enough problems without blighting me life with Amy Hanley?’
Amy slowly lowered her basket to the floor before placing her hands on her ample hips. ‘Any more lip out of you, Wilf Burnett, and I’ll take me custom elsewhere. I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by the likes of you, yer know. All I’ve got to do is walk to the butcher’s in the next block and let him insult me. He’s better at it than you; some of his insults really get yer here.’ With a dramatic gesture she placed a hand where she thought her heart was. ‘Cut to the quick I’ve been, several times. In fact, and Mary here can bear me out, I was once that upset I had an attack of the vapours and someone had to hold a bottle of smelling salts to me nose, to bring me round.’
Wilf was shaking with laughter. He was a middle-aged man with thinning sandy hair and twinkling blue eyes. ‘Yer mean sal volatile, Amy?’
Amy dropped her pose. ‘What’s salvotily when it’s out?’
‘Smelling salts.’
‘That’s what I said, yer silly bugger! D’yer know what? Yer’ve talked that much I’ve forgotten what I’ve come in for. It’s no wonder yer’ve got no bleedin’ customers, yer’ve probably talked them to bloody death.’ She turned to Mary and gave her a broad wink. ‘That funeral that’s just passed us, I bet the poor sod used to shop here.’
‘Well, I’m going to make amends for insulting yer, Amy, by giving yer a little bit of advice,’ Wilf said. ‘Next time yer do yer drama queen act, try putting yer hand where yer heart is. Yer were miles out.’
‘I’ll return the favour and give you a bit of advice, Wilf Burnett. You just keep yer eyes off my … off my … off my thingummybobs. My Ben wouldn’t take kindly to yer weighing me up and down the way yer are. It’s not your fault, ’cos men are drawn to me like a moth to a flame, but yer’ve got to be strong and keep yerself under control. I know yer mean well, and to put yer mind at ease, I do know where me heart is. It’s well-covered, like, but it’s in there somewhere.’
Mary banged on the counter, and when Wilf turned her way, she waggled her fingers. ‘Yer do know I’m still here, don’t yer? I hate to split you two up, but I would like serving.’
‘Ah, she’s jealous.’ Amy shook her head and pouted her lips. ‘I get this with her all the time, Wilf. If a man looks at me with longing in his eyes, she goes into a deep sulk. I feel sorry for her, ’cos she’s me bestest mate. But I can’t help being desirable, can I? It’s not as though I’m a vampire, God forbid.’
When Mary and Wilf doubled up with laughter, Amy looked surprised. ‘Is it a private joke, or can anyone join in?’
Wilf reached for a clean piece of meat cloth and dabbed his eyes before answering. ‘Amy, a vampire sucks blood. The word you should have used was vamp, which means a flirt.’
‘Go ’way! Well, yer live and learn. I came in here for three-quarters of shin beef and get a lesson in geography and English. Not that I needed the geography lesson ’cos I know where me own bleedin’ heart is, but a vampire sucks blood, eh?’ Amy curled her fist and rested her chin on it. ‘We haven’t got none of them living in our street, have we, girl?’
‘How about the woman in number seven, sunshine? It looks like bright red lipstick from a distance, but yer never know.’
‘I’ll weigh the shin beef while you two crucify the poor woman in number seven.’ Wilf was reaching into the shop window for a tray of meat when Mary stayed his hand.
‘Oh no, you don’t! First in, first served, that’s how it should be. I’d like a round neck of lamb, please, the leanest yer’ve got. And will yer chop it into four for us?’
Two more customers came into the shop then, and the friends were soon served and on their way to the greengrocer’s. When Mary shopped on her own, she was around the shops in no time. After giving her order in and passing a few pleasant remarks, she was on her way. But shopping with Amy was a different experience altogether.
‘Don’t be trying to palm me off with a rotten cabbage, Billy Nelson, ’cos I haven’t just come over, yer know.’
‘What are yer on about, Amy?’ Billy scratched his head. He was short and stocky, with a mop of black curly hair and a cheeky grin. ‘I’ll have yer know that that cabbage was in a field yesterday; it’s as fresh as you are.’
‘Pull the other one, Billy, it’s got bells on. And when the bells start ringing everybody will think it’s Sunday and get themselves ready for Mass.’
‘Five o’clock this morning I was at the market getting me fruit and veg, Amy. Even the bleedin’ birds were still asleep. I’m telling yer, that cabbage is as fresh as yer’ll get.’
Mary thought it time to intervene, otherwise they’d be here all day. ‘What’s wrong with the ruddy cabbage? It looks all right to me.’
‘I dunno, girl, I can’t put me finger on it but I just don’t like the look of it. It might be the shape of the bleedin’ thing, or the colour.’
Billy slapped an open palm on his f
orehead. ‘Ah, yer wanted a pink one, did yer, Amy? Or did yer fancy one in pale blue?’
Amy squared her shoulders and pretended to take the huff. ‘Ay, Billy Nelson, you get sarky with me and I’ll clock yer one. Buying a cabbage is just like buying a hat, yer either like it or yer don’t like it. And I’m telling yer now, I don’t like that bleedin’ cabbage.’
Holding the offending cabbage in the crook of his arm, Billy bent down and took another one out of the wooden box. ‘How about this one, yer moaning so-and-so? Is it the right colour and shape for yer? Or would yer like one with a slim waist and a big bust?’
‘Nah, we can’t have two big busts in the house, we wouldn’t be able to pass each other in our small kitchen. That one will do me fine, I’ve taken a liking to it.’ Amy picked a well-worn purse from her basket, asking, ‘Did yer say it was a penny, Billy?’
Billy looked forward to Amy’s visit, you could always get a laugh out of her. And she didn’t get upset if the laugh was at her own expense. Not like some moaning Minnies who came in the shop. ‘There’s a bloody big sign on the box, Amy, and it says the cabbages are tuppence.’
‘Daylight robbery, that’s what it is,’ Amy said, passing a threepenny bit over. ‘Ye’re like that Ben Turpin feller who used to waylay people on the highway and rob them.’
Billy threw the coin in the big pocket of his apron and fished out a penny. ‘Here’s yer change, Amy. And it was Dick Turpin, not Ben.’
‘What was Dick Turpin?’
‘The highwayman.’
‘Oh, it was Dick, was it? Was he Ben’s brother?’
‘No, Amy, Ben Turpin is a film star.’
‘Well, I never!’ Amy turned wide eyes on Mary. ‘D’yer know what, girl? I’ve had more education in the last half hour than I had in me nine years at school.’
‘I’m afraid yer’ve had yer last lesson for today, sunshine, ’cos it’s time to get home and put the dinner on.’ Mary took tight hold of her friend’s arm and pulled her through the shop doorway, calling, ‘Ta-ra, Billy, we’ll leave yer in peace now.’